On the ground, though, his neck was prickling as the prince stepped out of the car and looked around in perplexed amusement. Just need one slick with a rifle or a compound bow in those trees, he worried, fingertips light on the Whipsaw's firing lever. And it's early retirement with no pension.
"There isn't anyone to greet me," the prince said, rather petulantly. "Aren't there supposed to be singers and dancing monkeys and trays of sweets? I thought the kujen wanted me to come visit this dirty little city of his!"
"We should go inside, sir." Dawd didn't think Gandaris was dirty at all – the city climbed the side of a thickly forested mountain in tiers of white and tan and russet buildings. The air was cool and the climate – from what he could see of the foliage and surrounding mountains – was temperate. A far cry from the dirty, industrial sprawl of Parus far to the south. Even the railway line they'd followed along the winding valley seemed to be well maintained, with painted bridges each time the tracks crossed over the swift, white-flecked current of the Kophen. He could understand why Gemmilsky had chosen to set up shop here, where you could smell something like pine resin on the wind, and there were white-capped peaks lining the horizon in every direction.
Tezozуmoc gave him a hurt look, put down his head and walked quickly to the side door of the house. Dawd waved the pilot to park the 'car in the carriage house and, walking backwards, his eyes restlessly scanning the trees beyond the closely cropped lawn, followed the prince inside.
"Now this is a gun," Colmuir said, beaming at the enormous rifle in his hands. "You'll enjoy shooting this, mi'lord. Yes you will."
Tezozуmoc, who had only recently managed to drag himself out of bed, was sitting in the private garden behind the mansion with a steaming cup of coffee clutched in his hands. Despite the frosty morning – Dawd nearly wept with relief to step out into a proper temperature – the prince seemed entirely comfortable in a thin cotton shirt, flannel pants and bare feet. He regarded the Gandarian hunting rifle with naked distrust.
"You've mistaken my useless commission in the regiment, Master Colmuir, for actual skill at arms. This rifle is longer and heavier than I am."
"Now, sir – it can only weigh twenty or thirty kilos!" The Skawtsman heaved the weapon up to his shoulder. The heavy wooden stock, inlaid with curlicues of pearl and gold, didn't quite fit into Colmuir's shoulder, forcing him to brace it against his right pectoral instead.
"Bit unwieldy, though…" Colmuir grunted a bit before he could get his hands wrapped around the firing trigger, which was slightly longer than his thumb. A basket-guard resembling an archaic saber enclosed the trigger and the rest of the fittings were etched with tiny scenes of daily life in the northern kujenate.
Tezozуmoc scratched his eyebrow, downed the rest of his coffee and set the cup under his chair. "I only weigh fifty-five kilos myself, Cuauhhuehueh. If I pick up that cannon, I'll fall over, much less survive shooting the abominable thing." The prince gestured impatiently at Dawd. "Sergeant, give me your side-arm. I will demonstrate the extent of my martial skills."
Dawd hesitated for just a fraction of a second, hand clutched possessively over his Nambu, and then forced himself to hand the weapon over to the prince. Colmuir watched the transaction with equal trepidation. Tezozуmoc spat into the bushes, fumbled off the safety, turned his body like a duelist and pointed the gun at the far side of the garden.
"That potted tree," he said through clenched teeth and pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. The whip crack reports tripped over one another and a pinelike tree two meters to the left of the potted lemon tree shivered, shedding finger-length needles.
Dawd's combat visor – currently configured as a rakish pair of sunglasses – showed the other two bullets miss the pine tree as well and crack into the brick wall at the back of the garden. The lemon tree was unharmed. Tezozуmoc turned, shrugged and tossed the gun to the sergeant, who caught it with both hands – gently as a baby – and immediately cleared the action and safetied the automatic.
"My father – glorious Light of the Heavens which he is – forced a dueling tutor upon me for nine years, Master Sergeant. Among my many faults are unsteady hands and a tendency to flinch. I couldn't hit the side of a ball-court to save my life." He grinned nastily. "Thus, your constant presence."
"But how -" Dawd swallowed the rest of the sentence, catching the furious expression on Colmuir's face. Flushing with embarrassment, he bowed in apology. "Your pardon, mi'lord."
Tezozуmoc ignored him, snapping his fingers to summon one of the servants hovering just inside the patio doors. "Bring me something to drink," he barked as soon as a timid-looking Jehanan poked its head outside. "I smelled vodka last night, I'm sure of it – bring me the best you have! Two bottles!" Then the prince turned back to Dawd, who had assumed a stiff parade rest. "How did I graduate Officer School, you mean? Where I had to show skill with rifle, pistol and blade?"
Dawd remained entirely still, staring fixedly at the puffy clouds cavorting amongst the shining white peaks looming over Gandaris. Tezozуmoc squared his shoulders, planting his bare feet on the ceramic tiles as if he were on parade himself.
"My glorious father would rather have cut out his own heart than stoop to 'speaking privately' with the commandant of Chapultepec. There were no bribes, no gifts, no quiet exchanges of favors." The prince licked his lips and Dawd caught a glimpse of half-forgotten pain in the prince's face. "A candidate is allowed to bear his personal weapons in the challenge – a rarely invoked privilege in these modern times, but in common use when a noble Mйxica or Nisei youth was expected to bring his own sword, armor, horses and pistols with him to the Castle. My father sent a man to me the night before the Last Day."
The prince's lips curled into a sneer. "He did not come himself. I was provided with a pistol, a rifle and katana of exquisite make. Straight from the workshops in the Radiant Palace itself, I'm sure. Toporosky himself could not have crafted finer weapons. The pistol and rifle were provided with their own custom-loaded ammunition. I wondered if I was meant to use the pistol to end my own life, sparing my father further embarrassment."
Tezozуmoc scratched the back of his head, still puzzled after so many years. "I didn't. To be truthful, I was so drunk from the Last Night revels I couldn't even stand up when the man came to deliver the weapons. But in the morning, when I woke up with my head ringing with all the hammers in Hachiman's forge of war, I thought of suicide, and then decided to go ahead anyway. If I failed – well, then, I'd have a bit of revenge on him – blackening his radiant name with a tiny smudge. If I succeeded? Well, then anything was possible, wasn't it?"
The prince's eyes lit, and Dawd saw the servant scuttle up out of the corner of his eye and place a silver-chased platter with three crystal goblets and a chilled bottle of Zlotawoda on a low table. Tezozуmoc ignored the goblets and uncorked the bottle with a smooth, effortless motion. He saluted the sergeant, Colmuir and the distant mountains in turn, then took a long swallow.
"Ahhh…excellent choice. My compliments to…where is our host?" The prince scowled at Colmuir. "He is remiss in not sitting to breakfast with me. I can tell he is a man of refined and elegant taste."
"The viscount Gemmilsky is away on a business trip, mi'lord," Colmuir said with a perfectly straight face.