Gunpowder Empire

A Lietuvan carrying a similar staff came out of King Kuzmickas' camp. Polisso had grown out of a Roman legionary encampment. Roman soldiers on campaign still camped with everything just so, with each unit in its assigned place, with the camp streets at right angles to one another, and so on. Lietuva had imitated the Roman Empire in a lot of ways. Making camp wasn't one of them.

Tents of every size, style, and color fabric sprawled here, there, and everywhere, all higgledy-piggledy. If there were any real camp streets, Jeremy couldn't make them out. The closer to the encampment he got, the more he noticed that here was a place that smelled even worse than Polisso. He hadn't dreamt that was possible. It nearly made him want to congratulate the Lietuvans.

The big blond man with the staff of truce called, “Good day,” in neoLatin. In the same language, he went on, “Do you speak Lietuvan?”

“I am sorry, your Excellency, but we do not,” Jeremy answered. “Will we need an interpreter to speak to his Majesty?” The city prefect hadn't said anything about that.

To his relief, the blond man shook his head. “No, the King knows your tongue. Things would have been easier in ours, but he will get along. Come with me, if you please.“

They came. The Lietuvan led them through the camp toward the biggest, fanciest tent in it. Jeremy supposed that made sense. Who else but the King would have that kind of tent? Soldiers stared at them. Those stares didn't seem mean or fierce, just curious.

Guards stood outside the King's tent. One of them spoke in Lietuvan. The guide answered in the same strangely musical language. He turned back to Jeremy. “Before you see his Majesty, you will have to be searched. We do not want you Romans trying to steal a victory by murdering the King.”

Jeremy looked at the guards. He looked at Amanda, who rolled her eyes. “Those big lugs aren't going to search my sister,” he said.

“Oh.” To his surprise, the guide turned red. He spoke to the guard chief in Lietuvan. They went back and forth. At last, the guide said, “The King's women will search your sister.” Surprising Jeremy again, he added, “We meant no offense.”

Now Amanda nodded. “All right,” Jeremy said.

“You come here,” a guard told Jeremy in slow, heavily accented neoLatin. He patted Jeremy down and searched the bag he had with him. Since the bag had Swiss army knives and straight razors in it, Jeremy wondered if he would get upset about them. A security man in the home timeline would have. This fellow seemed to understand they were meant as presents, not murder weapons. He nodded. “All good. You wait for sister now.”

Two of King Kuzmickas' women brought Amanda out of a little tent a few minutes later. Like Lietuvan men, they wore breeches tucked into high boots, which made them scandalous to the Romans. They glittered with gold: belts, rings, bracelets, necklaces, big hoops in their ears. Their fair hair hung straight and free. The style was closer to what Jeremy would have seen at Canoga Park High than the fancy curls Roman women wore. The Lietuvans wore more makeup than either Romans or high-school girls.

One of them spoke to the guard chief. By the way he nodded, she'd given Amanda a clean bill of health. The other Lietuvan woman eyed Jeremy. She might have been sizing up a horse or a dog. She said something. She and her friend both laughed. So did a couple of the guards.

Jeremy stood there stolidly. He did his best to pretend the women didn't exist. They thought that was fu

“I will take you to the King,” said the Lietuvan who'd brought Jeremy and Amanda to the royal pavilion. One of the guards held the tent flap so they could duck their way inside.

King Kuzmickas sat in what looked like a folding wooden patio chair covered in gold paint. A portable throne, Jeremy realized. Guards with drawn swords stood on either side of it. The King's red-gold beard was streaked with white. A gold circlet shone in his greasy hair. He would have been very handsome if he'd lost twenty kilos. The fur robe he wore had to be valuable, even if it did make Jeremy a little sick. He'd been doused with rosewater, and had bad breath.

“Your Majesty!” Jeremy bowed low. Amanda curtsied, as she had for Sesto Capurnio.

“Good day, both of you,” Kuzmickas said. He had a light, true tenor voice. His neoLatin was very good, almost perfect, with only a vanishing trace of the Lietuvan accent that made him sound as if he were singing ordinary speech. He looked the two crosstime traders over. “I did not think you would be so young.”

“We are old enough to bring you presents from Polisso, your Majesty,” Jeremy said.

“Oh, no doubt.” Kuzmickas pointed at him. The King's nails were perfectly shaped but dirty. “You have some of those fancy things that are all the talk of the border the past few years?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Jeremy said.

“Good. I have seen some of these. I would like to see more. I would like to have more for myself.” King Kuzmickas was nothing if not direct.

Amanda spoke up: “Polisso would like to have peace.”

“Oh, yes. I know.” Kuzmickas sounded amused. “Some of us are likelier to get what we want than others.”

“You've already seen our city isn't easy to take,” Jeremy said.

“And so? Not many things that are worthwhile are easy. Just because something is hard does not mean it ca

But he wasn't there to argue with Kuzmickas. He was there to try to make him happy. “Here is one of our gifts for you, your Majesty,” he said, and gave the King a straight razor in a mother-of-pearl sheath that doubled as a handle.

He had to show Kuzmickas how to free the blade with his thumbnail. Kuzmickas tested the edge on the ball of his thumb. He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Yes, this is very fine,” he said. “A good tool for smoothing a throat-or for cutting one.” He did not sound as if he was joking.

Amanda said, “Here is a mirror for you, your Majesty.”

She gave him one of the biggest ones they had, in a frame set with sea shells.

Kuzmickas stared into it. He muttered a few words in Lietuvan. By the smile on his face, they meant something like, I sure am a handsome fellow. “I like this,” he said in neoLatin. “It is better than the mirrors we make. I will not try to tell you any different.”

“And here, your Majesty…” Jeremy gave the King a Swiss army knife.

Kuzmickas had learned his lesson with the razor. He started using his thumbnail to free blade after blade, tool after tool. Each new one made the smile on his face get wider. “Yes,” he said. “This is a wonderful toy, and useful, too. I would like to meet the knifesmith who made it, to tell him how clever he is.”

There was no smith, of course. Somewhere, someone sitting at a computer had designed the knife. After that, machines had done the rest. Just for a moment, Jeremy felt a twinge of regret about that. People here really got their hands on what they made in a way they seldom did in the home timeline. But machines could do things with so much less labor, it made the trade worthwhile.

“And finally, your Majesty…” Amanda pulled out a blue-plate special. She showed King Kuzmickas what the big, shiny pocket watch was for, how to wind it, and how to read the hands.

“Better than a sundial. I can take it anywhere. And I can tell the hour at night. And it is beautiful.” Kuzmickas was good at figuring out the advantages of what was new technology to him. His taste might have been a different question. He went on, “But what if I forget to wind it? What happens if it stops?”

He was clever, sure enough. Few people here ever wondered about that. Amanda answered, “Wait till noon, your Majesty, noon on a sundial, and set it to six o'clock.” Like the Romans, the Lietuvans started the day at sunrise, not at midnight.