House of Reeds

A spear struck the window of the Imperial aerocar, the lohaja-wood point scoring the armored glass before falling out of sight. Prince Tezozуmoc, sandwiched in between Colmuir and Corporal Clark, flinched at the sharp sound. The young man's eyes were screwed tight and his white-knuckled hands clutched his knees. The lean-faced Skawtsman peered out the window, taking in the surging mob filling the square below and eased the safety on his Nambu back with a soft click.

"Now there is a vigorous reception, mi'lord. They do seem to love us here."

The city residence of kujen Nahwar, prince of Gandaris, was a gaudy confection of russet domes and towers and fluted minarets gleaming with rust-colored marble. Colmuir could see a series of interlocking courtyards and gardens, all flush with green trees and limpid pools. Some of the i

Below, in the center of the square, the mob was tearing a wooden landing platform apart with their bare hands while a whole array of priests hammered enormous drums, bellowed encouragement to the crowd and waved forests of painted ba

The statue crashed into leaping flames with a resounding crash and huge clouds of sparks leapt up. The cheering roar of the crowd penetrated the armored skin of the aerocar as a dull booming sound. Hooting in delight, the mob drew back as fresh jets of flame erupted from the collapsing ma

"Swing over the palace," Dawd said from his forward seat. The younger Skawtsman had a Bofors Whipsaw squad support weapon cradled in his arms, the six-barrel muzzle resting against his window. "See if there's someplace to land."

The aerocar jolted to speed, sweeping through the air. A cloud of cobblestones, burning torches and more spears burst up from the mob, though Colmuir noted none of them had the raw strength of arm possessed by whoever had pitched the first spear. All of the missiles fell short, and then the aerocar was turning over the palace. Both Dawd and Colmuir studied the maze of gardens and pools and sharply pitched rooftops with growing dismay.

"Nothing big enough," Dawd grumbled into the private comm linking him and Colmuir. "Unless we want to try a step-off onto one of those balconies."

The master sergeant shook his head dourly. "We're aborting this drop. We'll go directly to the Gemmilsky house." He turned to look over the silent prince's head at the adjutant. "Corporal Clark, make sure the staff there is informed of our imminent arrival. I'll see if the Legation representative has his comm on down there…"

The aerocar banked in a tight loop as the pilot took them back across the palace grounds. Dawd could see dozens of curious faces at the windows, and some of the Jehanan in the courtyards waved as they sped overhead. The young Skawtsman wondered if the clients of the kujen were truly friendly, or if they'd been ordered to put on a welcoming show. None of the Jehanan nobility he'd encountered so far had struck him as being truly interested in friendship with the Empire.

They want whatever edge we can give them over their rivals, and I'm sure our diplomats are just as cynical in dealing with them. A sorry world, indeed. Dawd hid a sigh. He was sure the owner would be very gracious about being bumped out of his own house for the duration. Sounds like he's a tough customer, though. Can't be dealing in cross-border trade in this place without having something to back it up with. The Legation dossier on Joha

Dawd could hear Clark speaking stiffly to someone on his comm and checked the ammunition load on his Whipsaw. He doubted Gemmilsky would get violent, but there was no guarantee the local rumor mill couldn't beat them to the townhouse in the form of another violent mob.

"This is outrageous!" The honorable viscount Joha

Colmuir, feet firmly planted, hands clasped behind his back, looked down at the Pole and narrowed his eyes. "This residence is now the property of a Prince of the Blood, Gemmilsky-tzin. You'd best be packing a bag and spending the night at your mistress's boudoir. With the situation in the city being so…volatile…we can't have any strangers about. You understand, of course. Security. Now, Clawk here will give you a receipt and you can charge the Legation for damages, but you'll be out of here before the Light of the World steps through those doors, won't you?"

Gemmilsky's pale blue eyes twitched from Colmuir's forbidding face to Dawd, then down to the black shape of the Whipsaw. The machine gun was politely pointed at the floor, but the younger Skawtsman knew he made a dangerous figure with the ammunition bandoliers looping over his chest and behind his back. The heavy dark combat jacket didn't hurt either.

"I see. Very well. I will go, now, and be assured there will be a very careful accounting of everything in this house! There will be a bill for damages!"

"I'm sure there will be," Colmuir said in a stolid voice. He inclined his head at the adjutant standing beside Dawd. "Corporal, see Gemmilsky-tzin on his way, will you?"

Clark, giving the older Skawtsman a reproving look, escorted the businessman out of the hall.

"That was a little harsh, Master Sergeant." Dawd said. "I doubt he's a security risk to the prince." At least he wasn't before! Now, though…who knows?

Colmuir sniffed in disdain, looking around at the opulent wall hangings and hardwood floors. The house was certainly fit for the prince to lay his head on the silk pillows and featherbed the opulently appointed lower floors promised would be waiting upstairs. "I don't trust Poles and Russians, sergeant. You know that. Tricky, devilish fellows they are and murderous t' boot. The Light of Heaven himself has often told me to beware their wiles."

Dawd didn't bother to hide his disbelief. "Of course. I'll bring the prince inside."

"You do that," Colmuir said, picking up a slender vase from a small table set against one of the walls. He rubbed a thick, scarred finger across the golden porcelain with an appreciative eye. "I'll be checking the rooms for hidden devices, bombs, and the' like. Can't be too careful."