Empire of the One (Wine of the Gods Book 14) Read online

  "Why would I want to buy such a rag?" Voun, the wife of a War Ministry official sniffed.

  "To cut out the pictures and frame them?" Dear One, was that the wife of Ydqe? Subminister, and expected to be the next Minister of War if the next Presidential race left an opening at the top? Amazing, the status of the women Endi Dewulfe was collecting.

  Xiat followed the crowd inside, and spotted Poppy. "Watching all these horses makes me wish I’d stuck with riding, sometimes."

  Poppy nodded. "You were terrific. Regional Champion twice, was it?"

  "And just beat out the last year, before I went off to Princess school. Do you still ride?"

  Poppy shook her head. "Uzga’s not interested. He’s here for the politics. Although if she were a rider, he’d be interested. One damn her!"

  Xiat winced. Looked for change of subject. "One! Everyone who’s anyone in the Party is here, aren’t they?"

  "Yes." Poppy sighed wistfully. "Uzga wants to get in on the talks about this war bill that’s being hammered out in the Council."

  Out of the corner of her eye, Xiat spotted Dewulfe. He was even more mouthwateringly gorgeous in a black suit. His teeth flashed in a smile as white as his starched shirt. He mingled, with polite smiles and bows, collecting smoldering female glances and male indifference.

  "Oh, One Damn." Poppy was looking the other direction. She stalked over toward a group of men . . . and a few beautiful women. Her husband was in a knot of War Party leaders. Poor Poppy looked furious. Her husband had an arm around another woman. Tacky. Married men were supposed to act like they adore their wives, in public. Xiat didn’t hear the words that they exchanged, but Poppy turned and stalked away, red spots of fury and shame highlighting gorgeous cheekbones. Her husband is an idiot. Poppy's eyes fell on Dewulfe and she stopped for a moment.

  Oh. No. Don’t do it, Poppy.

  Poppy showed her teeth and moved in. The man didn't resist when she linked arms with him and drew him upstairs in clear view of everyone there.

  Uzga had turned and was trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed. But his back was stiff.

  Idlo ghosted up to her side. "Note to self. If I ever reach high enough to be assigned a Princess, do not, repeat, do not piss off your wife. What do you want to bet that the next thing she does is find a really high powered Withione and quietly get pregnant?"

  Xiat choked. "Letting everyone assume Dewulfe, a Halfer, knocked her up when Uzga wasn’t virile enough? One! I can only hope that Poppy isn’t that pissed." Her analytical side cut in. "It's . . . very passé. A century out of date, but could someone actually be socially shunned if his wife cuckolds him? Surely no one could be shamed out of a powerful position."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brussels, European Region

  25 Rajab 1396 yp

  The temporary show stabling was sturdy, but far from sound proof.

  Across the partition, Xiat clamped her shield down hard and listened to Endi Dewulfe talking, apparently, to the horse he was brushing.

  "Stupidest damn thing I've ever heard of, testing genetic superiority through trial and error, and then hanging one's honor on it."

  The man shut up as footsteps approached. A new voice spoke, "Ready for another round with War Party?"

  "Ugg. Yep."

  Xiat put her eye to the crack in the opposite corner of the stall and got a good view of Endi Dewulfe and two grooms taking on their problem child. They backed the stallion into a corner, haltered him and brushed half of him, maneuvered him to the other side and got that brushed. Then with great difficulty got his butt brushed and his tail braided. Then they went to work braiding his mane. They managed it all without a single attempt at biting or kicking. Judging by the horse's expression, Xiat figured that was not because the horse hadn’t been looking for a good opportunity.

  "Can't you do any of your Juju on him?" The younger groom wiggled stiff shoulders as they stepped out for a break.

  "Gelding him might help. But the dominant behavior and lack of respect for people is so deeply ingrained, I wouldn't bet on it. And I can't do anything right before a show."

  The groom scowled back at the horse. "I've got a rusty pocket knife."

  "Now, now. None of that. A top jumper needs to be a bit full of himself."

  "Easy for you to say. You spend most of your time up on top, where he can't kick you."

  They swapped grins, then Dewulfe hefted his saddle and they walked back in.

  Xiat gave up listening, Dewulfe wasn’t going to say anything incriminating in front of people who weren't also smugglers. If that was what he was. And even though he talked to the horses, he didn't seem inclined to tell them all about his criminal plans. He just listens to the High Oner wives who are alleviating their boredom, playing with him.

  Time to melt into the crowd and watch.

  She slid into a position where she could see the warm up area, and the spot by the in-gate where the next rider and horse reported in and waited.

  Dewulfe had drawn an early slot for War Party, so the horse would cool down and have to be warmed up again before a jump off. It would be twice the struggle, getting him ready all over again. But the horse was definitely ready for anything right now, and he pranced and reared and twisted all over as Dewulfe tried to get him to ignore the noisy crowd and look at the jumps. Then back to the start, and the nod to the judges, and they were off. The horse kicked out over the first jump, rushed the next two. Corkscrewed in midair and nearly landed on top of the fifth. Dewulfe made him canter the in-and-out and then had trouble getting him faster for the big spread, turned and kept his heels in the horse's sides when the animal saw the rough brown of the rustic last jump, and tried to dodge it. The horse decided to avoid the monster vertically with a huge leap that came close enough to shaking Dewulfe loose that the horse tried a buck. But they were over the finish line, clean and under the time limit. Xiat wasn’t a bit surprised that he rode the horse all the way back and into the stall. She drifted along behind some adoring teenagers and watched as he narrowly avoided getting his leg crushed against the wall, and dismounted with the groom holding a pole in the stallion's sight.

  "One. I should demand a raise." Dewulfe pulled his saddle off, then the bridle. She heard him mutter something about the horse spending the next three hours rubbing the braids loose.

  He walked back to where he could see the competition. Xiat moved to where she could see both him and the show ring. A two times Olympic champion was trying out a young horse. They jumped well, but the horse was clearly jumping at the limit of his ability. The President's daughter rode her grey mare to a clean round. Damn nice horse. A confident, aggressive jumper. Ears pricked in enjoyment, her tendency to buck was for sheer joy and feeling good.

  Dewulfe disappeared, came back leading Verily's Red Dawn, Mrs. Haov's older jumper. He warmed him up and reported to the in gate right on time. The horse jumped with neat precision but no speed. He exceeded the time limit by a fraction which put him out of the jump off, but there were only three horses that had jumped clean so far, so he had a good shot at fourth place.

  Xiat tracked him as he saddled up War Party, and took him to the most distant ring to try to work off enough energy to keep control of him in the ring. The last jumpers jumped, and the announcer called in the order for the jump off. Xiat trotted back to the show arena, and found Paer, Rael and Madam Chin walking out the in-gate.

  The usual behind-the-stadium people had already learned to stay away from the stallion. The grooms took the horse to a corner of the ready ring and stood him there while Dewulfe made a quick run around the shortened jump off course, then came back to reclaim his mount.

  The older woman in the jump off turned her back on him and spoke loudly to her coach. "I don't know why we have to accommodate that behavior. They should geld him, for starters."

  Paer snickered, and whispered something to Rael.

  The guard grinned. "I'm pretty sure she meant the horse."

  "He’s too nasty to ride."
Paer’s voice carried a bit too well, that time.

  A newsie leaned over the rail, microphone on a stick as close as possible to Dewulfe. Grinning. "Endi?"

  Dewulfe grinned back. "She’s too young to ride." He winked at the vid cam, and walked off in the direction of his horse.

  The princess was standing stiffly, cheeks pale.

  Rael sent visual daggers Dewulfe’s direction.

  Paer’s only fourteen. Probably the first sexual innuendo she’s ever tried, and she got slapped down hard. Son-of-a-dog. Xiat sighed.

  Madam Chin snorted. "No manners at all. Now, remember what we planned for the turn into the third jump . . ." Xiat moved to where she’d be between Paer and Dewulfe as the girl walked back to mount. And smirked as War Party snaked his head around enough get his teeth into Dewulfe’s jacket. She didn’t hear what he called the horse, but a ripple of laughter swept through the crowd of teenage spectators drooling over him from as close as the barriers would allow.

  This jump off, the horse showed improvement in his control, actually managing tight corners without losing momentum.

  Then Paer rode a fast neat round, but a fraction of a second slower. The older woman brought down a rail.

  Xiat shadowed Dewulfe, as he walked the horse briefly, then returned to pick up awards and accolades.

  Then someone in the group, probably the older Servaone head groom, spelled the stallion to get him into the horse van, and on the way back to England. If there was any smuggling going on, it hadn't involved Dewulfe, this time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Paris, European Region

  1 Yusef 1396 yp

  Izzo bought a car. And told himself it wasn't so he could chauffeur a princess around. Although extending his time with her by the length of the drive would be useful for comparing notes and stuff. It was not sheer indulgence. He actually needed the independence the car gave him, for some of the places he was going to at irregular hours. Really.

  Fencing again. Glue invited him to a different club, larger, more members and less privacy for feeling out newcomers. Glue was a rank beginner. But without Akja to thrash him, and with the return of his usual flexibility, Izzo did well. But he didn't seek to move up the dominance ladder; he took lessons and sparred with people closer to his own governmental status and ability with the rapier. He kept his focus and speed to about the level his opponent was using, sparred with and gave pointers to people below him in ability. He hauled Ydro and Inre in for basic lessons. They looked alarmed. Inre was a Neartuone—he had one complete set of the Prophets' genes and less than half of a second set—but his body language was so firmly low class that he fairly screamed "illegitimate son of a Servaone mother and unknown but high ranked father." Ydro was also a Neartuone, with a count above a hundred and forty. And very, very smart. Without the brains, he wouldn’t have had much upward mobility in Oner Society. And which of those Oner genes they had would determine whether they could speed up their perception and reactions magically enough to stand up to Withione fencers.

  Once they got over the shock of being invited, they became regulars. Ambitious, the pair of them.

  But the salle wasn’t just for the lower levels. Izzo found himself being invited into some of the groups of advanced fencers—and political powers. A councilman, a couple of sub ministers. More War Party than otherwise. The Isolationists had cliques of their own, and the few Modernists got squeezed from both sides.

  He saw Uzga there regularly and sub-director Efge occasionally.

  On one of those occasions he joined them for a drink after a workout.

  "President Orde is too soft for the job. To accommodating, for all he says he'd stand up to the Earth."

  Izzo nodded. "I remember how it felt, when we learned Granite Peak was lost. We ran around dazed and sick, certain Homestead would be next. Target Forty-two, we really need to make an example of the Earthers there. Kick them off. I wish I was inside the loop on the situation there. And we need to find Granite Peak—well, that's also out-of-my-area. I trust External Relations is pursuing a large number of options."

  "You've got a good grasp of the intel needs. It's the political problems we need to focus on, however."

  Izzo nodded. "Who is the War Party going to run against Orde in the next election? Is General Akja well enough known to the general populous?"

  Faint flicks of surprise. What did I say, or was it something I was assuming that they didn't expect?

  He prodded them a bit. "Or do you have someone else in mind?"

  "Minister Opri, possibly. He has a better common touch." Efge's lips thinned. "Since we have to count the votes of the Multitude."

  "Hmm. I hadn't thought about that. I suppose you could run the primaries like a shotgun. If you put in plenty of good candidates, it almost doesn't matter which one wins, just that he has a better chance in the general election than Orde."

  Uzga gave him a rather dubious look and changed the subject.

  I think I just missed something. Some move in the game. Just as well. I don't want to play in real politics. I’ll stick to the office level maneuvering. At least for now. But as he walked out, he spotted other familiar people hanging around. Is it good or bad, to have been seen having a drink with Uzga and Efge? What do other people assume? Other players? Was I looking too subservient, or too ambitious? And should I care? He remembered his three old ladies in Precog and Div. What was that about a target on my back? I'm much too low level for that.

  I never did look into what really happened to my predecessor.

  "There is a matter I ought to call your attention to, Izzo." Efge frowned at him. "You do realize that we run periodic security checks on all our people?"

  "Yes, I signed a great number of forms."

  "Well, these regular written communications with Homestead has raised a red flag on your file."

  Izzo raised his eyebrows. "I was born and raised on Homestead. I find writing letters works best when keeping in touch with friends and family."

  "The report I received said you were in communication with Natives."

  "Yes. As I said, I keep in touch with friends."

  "One! You've lived and worked on the One World for decades. Lose your Colonial egalitarianism. You are an elite of the One. Act like it."

  Izzo clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. And didn't translate it.

  The next day he took his car for a long drive, arriving at a horse show two vehicles ahead of Endi Dewulfe. But no amount of prowling and eavesdropping and mental listening in gave him any indication that any smuggling was going on. Dewulfe made no contacts, and focused on the horses. The stable's Gran Prix jumper, the suitably named War Party was a dominant animal, an aggressive jumper Izzo wouldn't have ridden on a bet. Well, not since he’d turned thirty. Dewulfe and a pair of horseboys were fully engaged keeping him from killing someone before riding him to a victory in a three way jump off.

  Not a single member of the stable's team was looking around for anyone to meet or anything to pick up.

  The Newsies flocked around Dewulfe. "Did you hear what Princess Paer had to say about your riding last night, Endi?"

  The young man actually blushed. "I missed it, and probably just as well. I'm ashamed that I overreacted to a bit of humor, the other day. The princess is much too young for that sort of innuendo, but not too young to ride a horse at this level, as proven by the difficulty I have winning against her in competition. I apologize to her, and I really am ashamed."

  Not ashamed enough to not disappear with a couple of his older female fans, for half an hour at a time, as the post show hospitality (and paperwork) and nerves and excitement wound down. At least he wasn't taking advantage of all the teenagers who'd been hovering all day, and even a few into the small hours.

  They pulled out at five in the morning, heading for the next show.

  Izzo headed home. I don't think he's smuggling anything. His family and friends probably aren't either. But I really don’t think they are only what they
look like on the surface.

  He had a message from a Doctor Etli at the lab waiting for him. Neither Endi Dewulfe nor the four at the Knickknack Shop had any of the known genetic marker combinations that identified the Natives of the four colony worlds.

  "For that matter, they’ve got One damned little Multitude in them, practically no radiation associated damage to their junk DNA. They’re just about pure Prophet. Endi Dewulfe would fit the 'Warrior of the One' mold if he had a One Gene and had been born a thousand years ago. Incredible pity they had some sort of chemical exposure that caused major damage. One trusts their parents realized, and had them sterilized."

  Izzo shook his head at the man’s single minded belief in genetics. Bet he's an Isolationist.

  ***

  Voin brought a pair of friends along, to show him off.

  "Oh, you're just as cute as everyone says." The older woman moved in on him like a butcher picking out the next pig.

  Voin giggled. "Now Giog, you'll scare him!"

  Endi managed to not gawp. Surely not Minister Opri's wife. An opportunity not to be wasted, if only I can ditch Voin and the other one. I know our new orders are to undermine the War Party, but the Colonel is going to throw a fit over my methods.

  The sulky brunette had hung back a bit. "I hear he's all show and no performance. So what does it matter?"

  "Nock! Really!"

  Nock as in Noac? General Akja's wife? Old Gods! Time to bring out the heavy artillery. Endi pulled a bottle of the Wine of the Gods out of his tack trunk and retreated to the kitchenette. It did indeed have wine glasses. "How about a drink to War Party heading for the Olympics? I suspect all your husbands approve of the name, eh?"