MacKinnie waved to Brett. “Now.” he ordered.
The mounted rider galloped toward the enemy ship. He stayed well out of arrow range, going around until he found the anchor the pirates had laid out beyond their boat. He cut the anchor cable with a quick slash of his sword, then rode furiously back toward Subao. His armor and that of his mount had earlier been put aboard, and as Brett reached the ship, Vanjynk was ready with a belly sling. Rider and animal alike were swayed aboard, as the thunder of approaching water grew louder.
MacKinnie climbed partway up the shrouds and stared seaward. He saw a dark line not more than a kilometer away, and as he watched it advanced at incredible speed, a wall of water three meters in height boiling furiously toward them. The pirates screamed, one standing in the stern of his ship and shaking his fist at Subao. There was nothing they could do; by the time they could reach
Subao’scable, the wall of water would be on them, and it appeared that no pirate was willing to give his life to make trouble for MacKinnie. Their ship was carried relentlessly towards the rocks as MacLean gave the order to raise sail and prepare Subao for her long voyage.
PART TWO
LOYALTIES
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE HUNTING LODGE
Twelve light-years from Makassar Malcolm Dougal cursed as he followed a winding road uphill through thick forests. The forest had been a game preserve for all the centuries since the Secession Wars had devastated Prince Samual’s World, but Dougal ignored its loveliness, as he ignored the bird songs and the calls of the corkborers.
He did not know that the trees themselves had been imported from Earth. If he had, he would have cursed them, as he cursed everything of Earth.
He wore plain kilts. His round face, always rabbit-like in appearance, was screwed into a grimace that made him look less harmless than he usually did, but still few would have guessed his occupation. He considered his appearance an asset; as he sometimes said in rare moments when he could relax with his friends, what should a secret policeman look like?
A corkborer fluttered past, and Dougal actually lashed out at it, although he usually enjoyed the antics of the small flying mammals. Others darted near in curiosity, but Dougal took no notice. As he neared the lodge he muttered more curses.
Twenty years, he thought to himself. No. Be fair. More like fifty. Damn the Empire of Man! Where was the Empire when we needed help? When we were trying to rebuild a civilization out of radioactive ash and ruined cities? And now, with our own spaceships not more than fifty years away, the Empire has come — and they won’t give us fifty years. They won’t give us any time at all.
They’ve come, and I must meet the king in secrecy in this lonely place …
It disturbed Dougal’s sense of majesty. Instead of walking up this wooded hill to a lonely log cabin, he should be approaching his sovereign across a purple carpet, or meeting him privately in the working office behind the Audience Chamber. Now those rooms could not be trusted. Nothing could be trusted. The Empire had ears everywhere.
They’ll not learn this secret!
But they might. Fear warps us all, he thought. And so I meet King David out here, and not even the royal guardsmen know where His Majesty has gone.
The king’s instructions were explicit: Dougal was to tell no one of this meeting, and His Majesty would be alone. No one, not even the guardsmen, were to know the meeting had taken place. Only two men in the universe were to know that Dougal and King David were meeting here.
More did, of course. Malcolm had provided men to cover the hunting lodge. But they were reliable men, absolutely reliable, men who could be trusted to—
“Halt!” Two men stood in the deep alcove of the lodge doorway. Dougal recognized them as guards officers out of uniform. They carried both pistols and rifles, and they stood alertly. One eyed Dougal coldly, then nodded. “Pass, my lord.”
But — why? Dougal wondered. As he entered the lodge he had an even greater shock, for the king was not alone under the high-beamed ceiling.
“Our greetings, my lord,” David said formally. “We trust you are well.”
“Thank you, yes, Sire.” Dougal bowed to the king, then to the other man.
In contrast to King David’s handsome youthfulness, the Prime Minister was old. His face was wrinkled, and his belly spilled over his waistband. Malcolm Dougal was quite aware that he would probably look much like Sir
Giles Og in thirty years — except that he did not expect to live thirty more years. His occupation made that highly improbable.
“I had understood this meeting was to be secret, Majesty,” Dougal said.
King David nodded. “It was and it is. Tell me, my lord, how many of your secret police do you have outside?”
Malcolm Dougal said nothing. The king nodded again. “And as I knew you would not let me come here alone, I saw no harm in bringing a few guardsmen as well. Trustworthy guardsmen.”
“And Sir Giles?” Malcolm asked.
“He’s the reason for the meeting. Malcolm, the budget’s no good. Sir Giles must have more money or the administration is going to collapse.”
“Raise taxes,” Dougal said.
Sir Giles’s voice was quite clear and steady, unlike his appearance. His orator’s voice and timing had been a major reason for his rise through Parliament. “I cannot in good conscience ask for higher taxes, my lord. We have the highest taxes in our history at this moment. Yet, between the wars, the mysterious expedition to-” He hesitated over the name. “To Makassar, and the growing amounts the secret police absorb, more than half the kingdom’s revenues have vanished. With such high taxes we should not have financial problems — but we do. I must know why.”
“No, “Malcolm said.
“I think we must tell him,” the king said.
“Sire! Your promise-”
King David shrugged. “I gave you my word, Malcolm. I won’t break it. Here, let’s sit down and end the formalities. There’s a lot to talk about. Get us a drink, will you, Sir Giles?”
King David sat in a rustic armchair before an open fire and waved the others to join him. He was not large, and although his features were handsome in shape and design, his face had been disfigured by an early disease, so that the gentlemen of the bedchamber had their work cut out before public appearances. He had not bothered with makeup for this meeting. The small scars gave him a rugged appearance, adding to his look of determination.
“His Majesty has told me nothing,” Sir Giles said. He brought small glasses and a bottle of grua and set them on a table near the king’s chair. “He told me only that it is vital to the realm that the large sums spent by your office continue.” Sir Giles paused. “I am a loyalist, and I appreciate the necessity for police to consolidate our new acquisitions, but I am not prepared to pay for my own enslavement, by the crown or by anyone else.”
Dougal laughed. “I do not have in mind enslaving the citizens of Haven, Sir Giles. Quite the opposite—”
“You will pardon my saying that as we do not know where the money goes, we have no evidence of your intentions—”
“The work is vital to the entire planet,” King David said. “My word on it.”
“And mine,” Dougal added.
“Not enough,” Sir Giles said. “Not enough at all.”
“I see.” Dougal regarded the Prime Minister coldly. “Neither my word nor the king’s is good enough—”
“Of course not.” The older man lifted his glass. “Your health.” They drank. “I am loyal to the dynasty, but I am also loyal to the Constitution. If you cannot entrust me with your secrets, I belong not in the government but in opposition.”