Page 53 of Son of a Witch (The Wicked Years 2)

Liir worked mornings in Commander Cherrystone’s outer office. He copied documents, he filed, he recommended which of his peers needed punishment for various minor infractions. As often as not Commander Cherrystone was absent from the inner office. Liir could go in and smooth down the crinkled months-old newspapers in which the shipments of Gillikinese wine came wrapped. He read about the Scarecrow’s unfortunate accident involving that beaker of lighter fluid—what a horrible twist of fate, that it was right there!—and the subsequent elevation of the Emperor. “Would’ve liked to be invited to that investiture,” said Commander Cherrystone, coming in on Liir as he jerked upright from his perusings.

“Old news is better than no news,” Cherrystone remarked ruefully, about once a week. “Still, maybe it’s better to be marginalized. You don’t get noticed, and there’s a liberty in that, eh, son?”

“You’ll want a bottle of the Highmeadow blanc in the water well, sir, if you’re having guests at table tonight.”

“You remember everything. I’d be lost without you. Can you see to it?”

“I will.” He already had.

Once a small crate of perguenay cigarettes arrived. “Bless my sweet bankers, I must’ve made another killing,” said the Commander, reading a note. “Those Shizian accountants are wizards; they can make money out of a massacre of mice. Try one, Liir, you won’t find better.”

“I’ve no skill at that, sir.”

“It’s not much fun to smoke alone. Put down those charts till later and join me on the verandah.” It sounded like an order, so Liir obeyed, willingly enough.

The smoke of dried perguenay was nutty and gamy both, hardly disagreeable, though taking perfumed heat into his lungs made Liir cough. “Ain’t it grand, the life,” said Cherrystone, propping his boots on the seat of another chair.

“You could get used to this if you were an ironsmith. Bit roasty for me, though.”

“You learn to love it. So. Liir. What do you hear from home?”

Liir was unused to personal conversations with his peers, and this blunt question from his boss unnerved him. He was glad to have smoke in his lungs; he held it there while he thought what to answer. “Precious little.”

“Sometimes the less you hear, the more precious it becomes.”

Sentimental math problems were beyond Liir. “I follow my work day to day, breakfast to bedtime, sir. That’s my life, and it’s enough.”

“You’re a good lad. You’re shaping up. Don’t think I don’t notice.” Commander Cherrystone closed his eyes. “I would’ve been happy for a son like you, but my fond Wendina only gave me girls.”

“You must miss them, sir.”

“They’re girls,” he said neutrally, and his point was beyond Liir. They’re girls, so why bother? Or They’re girls, so of course I miss them, don’t be daft.

“Since we’re chatting, I wonder if it’s bold to ask a question of you, sir.”

“Ask away.”

“If you had children, how could you stomach storming the castle of Kiamo Ko and carting off the widow and children of Fiyero?”

“Oh, back to that! Fair enough; you’ve earned the right. It was another time, another country—perhaps another me, Liir. When you’re off on a posting and your family is left behind, they loom in your daily reflections with a…a size, a significance…and the thought of them gives you courage in times of doubt. I didn’t like the maneuvers at Kiamo Ko, I’ll have you know that right now. But I like being a man of my word. I like doing my duty. As I see you do, too.

“Besides,” he added, “I did my best to delegate.”

“Do you remember seeing Nor? The little girl?”

“She wasn’t a tyke, she was growing up. I saw her. She was brave, if that’s what you’re asking. Quite possibly she didn’t understand what was going on.”

“Quite possibly.” What a phrase. Of course she didn’t understand it: how could she? She’d been raised on a mountaintop by a widowed mother and a half dozen spinster aunts. What could she know of military maneuvers?

“I see it still gives you pause.”

Perhaps less pause than it once had. Waiting for fate to intervene was hardly taxing, Liir realized. “I think of her from time to time.”

“You probably harbor a youthful resentment against me. It’s all very normal, my lad. You were young at the time, and what could you know of duty and honor?”

“I am not sure, even now, I know what honor is.”

The Commander was silent for so long Liir felt perhaps he’d been rude, or that the Commander thought his remark was rhetorical. But finally he opened his eyes and said, “How would it seem to you to be promoted to the rank of a Minor Menacier?”

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