Page 63 of The Infernal Battalion

“So what did the living ones tell you?”

“Mostly they told me to talk to Goodman. A few expressed sympathy but said they couldn’t act without him. The others didn’t seem very friendly to Vordan.” He sighed. “Apparently Master Goodman’s hold over the Honest Fellows is as complete as Duke Dorsay led us to believe.”

“And Goodman? Did you see him?”

“I did.” Eric flipped forward a page. “He... doesn’t seem to like me. As he put it, ‘Why should I bother talking to a clerk?’”

Raesinia gritted her teeth. Fredrick Goodman had some very definite ideas about who he should be meeting with. She was starting to wish she’d brought Count Strav, just so she’d have an elderly, bearded figurehead to make Goodman comfortable. He’d see Raesinia, but clearly he didn’t take her authority seriously, and he’d flatly refused to talk to Cora. Which, being fair, is a little more reasonable. I wouldn’t believe Cora was running the treasury of a major nation if I hadn’t put her there myself.

“Did he get over himself long enough to talk about our proposal?”

“He said it was ‘absolutely unacceptable.’” Eric traced a finger over his notebook. “He said that there was going to be no negotiation except on the basis of Vordan acknowledging the validity of prerevolution contracts, and terms could be worked out with the debt holders. Anything less would amount to ‘accepting outright theft.’”

“Balls of the Beast,” Raesinia swore, flopping into an armchair. She hadn’t really expected more, but she’d hoped Goodman would at least provide some avenues for negotiation. Cora had worked overtime coming up with a debt settlement she thought Vordan could afford—​and the Deputies-​General might approve—​which had revolved around treating the overall amount owed from before the revolution as a block but ignoring the terms of individual loans.

That was the version Raesinia could follow, anyway. She hadn’t been looking forward to a laborious back-​and-​forth between Cora and Goodman, but now she apparently wasn’t even going to get that.

“The Duke of Brookspring sent a message,” Eric said, after a moment’s silence. “He asked to see you when you have a free moment.”

“That’s something,” Raesinia said. “Maybe he has good news.”

*

Duke Dorsay did not, in fact, have good news.

His quarters looked much like hers, gloomy and elegant, with nothing of his personality in them. He only lived at the Keep in times of crisis, he explained.

“Until this business came up, I hadn’t left Brookspring in years,” he said. “It’s on the western coast, across the mountains. You must come visit someday. In spring, preferably. We get snowed in through the winter, but spring is beautiful. It’s only a small manor, but it hums along neatly.”

“Honestly, I feel like we might as well go there now,” Raesinia said. “We’d make just as much progress.”

“I wouldn’t bother, unless you like sitting inside watching the rain.” Dorsay sat at his table, breaking nuts with an iron-​handled nutcracker and picking the meat from the debris. The cracks made Raesinia think of musket-​fire. “Chin up. I know you’re frustrated, but some things take time.”

“I would like it if you didn’t treat me like a child,” Raesinia snapped. “I’m not throwing a tantrum because I didn’t get a pat on the head. People are going to die, Dorsay.”

“I appreciate that.” Another shell broke with a crunch. “But I’m trying to get you to understand that not everyone else does.”

“How can they not understand what Janus’ return means?”

“Borelgai, I’m sorry to say, have traditionally taken a somewhat distant view of matters on the continent. There’s a school of thought that says you people are always killing each other, so why should we trouble ourselves? Not that I agree with it,” he added hastily. “But it’s the psychology of the matter. It lacks urgency for someone like Goodman.”

“What about the king?” Raesinia said. She started to pace back and forth in front of the table. “He sent you to Murnsk. You said yourself he doesn’t want war.”

“He doesn’t want to return to the old wars of religion,” Dorsay interjected. “Georg isn’t foolish enough to think that we’ll have peace forever. World affairs simply don’t work that way, I’m sorry to say.”

“But he at least knows the danger Janus poses. Why won’t he speak with me?”

“That I don’t know.” Dorsay leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his stomach. “Georg hasn’t been confiding in me of late, I have to admit.”

“If I could just talk to him alone, we might get somewhere.” Raesinia shook her head. “God knows I understand how hard it is to have a reasonable conversation with half the court looking on.”

“In Borel, private audiences with the king are considered a high honor,” Dorsay said. “Giving one to you would amount to a tacit endorsement of Vordan. Georg may not be ready to go that far.”

“Tell him I don’t care if he makes it public or not. I’ll sneak through the back garden if he wants me to.” Or jump off the top of a tower, some part of her mind prompted, with a hysterical giggle. “But as it stands we’re getting nowhere. Goodman isn’t going to budge unless we give him some reason to think we won’t eventually be forced to meet his terms.”

“Unfortunately, events seem to be playing into his hands,” Dorsay said.

“You’ve had news?” Raesinia said eagerly.