Talsu, his wife Gailisa, his younger sister, and his mother and father shared one room, none too large, and a tiny, cramped, kitchen. Bathroom and toilet were at the end of the hall. That was, Talsu supposed, better than sharing a tent, as they’d done after a Lagoan or Kuusaman dragon raid burned down Traku’s tailor’s shop and the rooms above it where the family had lived. Still, it did produce its share of friction.
When Talsu climbed the stairs to the flat, he found his father doing some hand stitching on a pair of trousers before using a spell to extend the stitchery down along the entire length of the hem. Traku set the work down when Talsu came in.
“Hello, son,” he said in his gravelly voice: he looked-and sounded-more like a bruiser than a tailor. “What’s new in the outside world? I don’t get to see it much.”
“A new broadsheet went up,” Talsu answered, and explained what was on it.
From the kitchen, his mother called, “That’s good. That’s very good, by the powers above. If I never see Mainardo’s cursed pointy nose on another piece of silver, I’ll stand up and cheer. The faster we forget the redheads ever conquered us, the happier I’ll be.”
“I don’t know, Laitsina,” Traku said. “Did you hear what Talsu said they’ll do to you if you make a mistake? We’ll have to sift through all our silver. I don’t want to spend a stretch in the dungeons just because I was careless.”
“King Donalitu is still King Donalitu,” Talsu said, and he didn’t mean it as praise. “If the redheads had picked one of our nobles instead of Mezentio’s brother, they would have had an easier time getting people to put up with them.”
“They didn’t care a fart whether we put up with ‘em or not,” Traku said. “They thought they had the world by the short hairs, and that what we thought didn’t matter. What were we? Just a pack of Kaunians. That’s why the arch on the far side of the square isn’t standing any more, even though it had been there since the days of the Kaunian Empire.”
“That’s right,” Talsu said. “I was taking some clothes across town when the redheads wrecked the old arch. They said it insulted them, because it talked about how the Kaunians of long ago beat the old-time Algarvians.”
“They did things like that all over Jelgava-all over Valmiera, too.” Traku lowered his voice. “And they did a lot worse to the Kaunians of Forthweg, by what everybody says.”
Talsu’s sister Ausra came out of the kitchen wearing an apron over her tunic and trousers and said, “What do you want to bet they find some way to cheat us when we turn in the money the Algarvians issued?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Talsu said.
“Neither would I,” Traku agreed. “I’m glad we don’t have King Mainardo and the redheads running things any more, but I’d be almost gladder if we didn’t have Donalitu back.”
That was treason. If anybody besides his family heard it, Traku might end up in a dungeon regardless of whether he exchanged Mainardo’s coins for Donalitu’s. Back before the Algarvians ran Donalitu out of Jelgava, his dungeons had had an evil reputation all over Derlavai. He wasn’t a madman or the next thing to it, as Swemmel of Unkerlant was said to be, but no one loved him.
Wistfully, Talsu said, “The Kuusamans have seven princes. Maybe they could spare one for us? The Kuusaman soldiers I dealt with when I was with the irregulars were all good people. They didn’t act like they were afraid of their officers, either.”
“Neither did the redheads, come to that,” Ausra said.
“No, they didn’t,” Talsu admitted unhappily. “But they had other things wrong with them-starting with thinking everybody who had yellow hair was fair game. Donalitu’s bad. They were worse.”
Neither his sister nor his father argued with him. Traku said, “They aren’t gone yet, either, the whoresons. They’re still hanging on in the western part of the kingdom. The sooner we’re rid of them forever, the better.”
“But if they leave, they know the Lagoans and Kuusamans will follow them right into Algarve,” Talsu said.
Traku grunted. “Good. I wish we’d gone deeper into Algarve, back before we got beat. Then maybe all this never would have happened to us.”
For a long time, Talsu’s father had blamed him almost personally for Jelgava’s lost war against Algarve. Traku had been too young to fight in the Six Years’ War, and didn’t know what the army-especially the Jelgavan army-was like. Talsu said, “If our officers had been any good, we would have gone deeper. But if our officers were any good, a lot of things about this kingdom would be different.” That was about as much as he cared to say about that, even in the bosom of his family.
Ausra said, “They’re putting together a new army for the kingdom, now that we have our own king back again. That was the last set of broadsheets, before this one about exchanging Mainardo’s money.”
“I saw it,” Talsu said. “It won’t be a new army-you wait and see. It’ll be the same old army, with the same old noble officers who don’t know their-” He broke off before using a phrase from that same old army in front of his sister. In spite of having to stop, he’d got out what had been wrong with the Jelgavan army in which he’d served. As in most armies, nobles held almost all officers’ slots. . and Jelgavan nobles, from King Donalitu on down, were some of the most hidebound, stubborn, backwards-looking men the world had ever seen.
Gailisa came into the flat then. Talsu was glad to break off and give her a hug and a kiss. She returned them a little absently. She hadn’t been quite the same since her father got killed when Kuusaman and Lagoan dragons dropped eggs on Skrunda about a week before the Algarvians had to clear out of the town for good. Talsu had shown Kuusaman footsoldiers and behemoths an undefended way through the redheads’ lines. He wished he’d done it sooner. Maybe the islanders’ dragons wouldn’t have flown that night.
His late father-in-law had been a grocer. Gailisa had helped him. These days, she was working for another grocer, one named Pumpru, whose shop had survived. She said, “Do you know about the new money-changing decree?”
“We were just talking about it a few minutes ago,” Talsu answered. “I saw the broadsheets on my way home from delivering a cloak.”
“It’s a cheat,” Gailisa said.
“What? Have they turned out light coins that are supposed to be worth the same as the older, heavier ones?” Talsu asked. “That’s what Mainardo did. Donalitu’s not too proud to steal tricks from an Algarvian, eh?”
“Close, but not quite,” Gailisa said. “Pumpru took some of Mainardo’s money in to be changed as soon as he saw one of the broadsheets. If King Donalitu told everybody to jump off a roof, he’d do that just as fast-he’s one of those people. But he wasn’t happy when he came back to the store. He wasn’t happy at all.”
“What’s wrong with the new money?” Traku asked.
“It is new money.” Gailisa nodded. “If they’d given old silver, weight for weight, that would have been fair. But all the coins Pumpru got are shiny new. And they’re too hard, and they don’t sound right when you ring them on a counter. You don’t have to be a jeweler to figure out there’s not as much silver in them as there’s supposed to be.”
“And Donalitu puts the difference in his pocket,” Talsu said. Gailisa nodded again. Talsu made as if to pound his head against the wall of the flat. “What a cheap trick! He didn’t waste much time reminding people what he is, did he?”
“He’s the king, that’s what he is,” Traku said. But he didn’t blindly follow King Donalitu, the way Pumpru the grocer did, for he went on, “And if you get on his wrong side, you’ll find yourself in a nice, cozy dungeon cell, too, so watch what you say.”