Slaedrin, Captain of the King’s Guard, was just as old as I was, although he didn’t like you to notice it. The King’s Guard Barracks comprise the outer wall of the inner palace. These walls curve around the foot of the east pinnacle like great arms, holding the palace and its grounds in their embrace. The palace sits at the top Arahabast Hill, once forested and considered wilderness by the inhabitants of the old city, now the center of the somewhat small and self-regarding Rahasabahsti universe. The King’s Guard stand along the walls, the embroidery of their battle robes shimmering as they blow in the wind. At least they did, and I suppose that they will pose majestically on their perch over the city once again someday soon. Without them the palace walls look bare, despite their gleaming tiles. I don’t like the King’s Guard, yet I feel the tragedy of their absence. Not that Slaedrin or I had any inkling of what was coming as we faced off across his rather dainty desk that day.

  He was a big man, weathered, his skin cracked with hundreds of little scars. And he liked things that were petite, delicate, fragile. He was drinking from a porcelain cup when I came in. Its sides were so thin that it was almost translucent. Watching him hold it was like watching a lion grip a swallow’s egg.

  He was outwardly calm but I could sense his annoyance in the way that he pursed his wide lips to sip. That was always his way. In times of crisis he slowed down, became even more mannered in his actions. Like he had a little book of etiquette in his head, and he had drilled himself in it so that he could enact its suggestions instinctively in moments of stress. He sipped, he wrote on a slip of paper with a tiny gold brush, he took a small kerchief from his robes and dabbed at his enormous forehead. I watched him, waiting.

  Finally he blessed me with his momentous regard. “Why,” he asked, as if musing to the air, “has the king chosen to accompany your princess on this, of all days?”

  “She’s not my princess,” I said brusquely. I liked countering his delicacy with an overly hearty, man-of-the-people persona. “And you’ve had more opportunity to study the workings of the king’s mind than I ever will.”

  Sip sip. The steam from the little cup wetted his nose, which was scarred with the aftermath of fighting through fires and a long battle against acne. “Now, of course, most of the court wants to go along,” he said. “So your responsibilities have grown.” I must have grimaced, for he said, “This is what you signed up for,” as if he were talking to a new recruit who was whinging about sentry duty.

  “It’s what you signed up for, too,” I said lightly. We could have been the best of friends. Both old. Both waiting to retire. We had fought together on many occasions. But he chose to treat me as a subordinate, and a not very bright one at that. “We are able to accommodate an increase in personages,” I told him, “as long as they are able to present themselves at the princess’s house within the hour.”

  He winced. “They won’t like that.”

  “That’s when we’re leaving.”

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  “They will present their complaints to the king.”

  “How can they, when they’re busy dressing and assembling their retinues? And when the king will be doing the same?”

  “Your deadlines don’t apply to him.”

  “But if he’s wise,” I suggested, so that Slaedrin would suggest it to old Poritifahr, “he will make my deadline his own. Why would he want to wait for all of his aunts to get their corsets on?”

  Slaedrin sighed. He set the cup down and went to the window. The glass had been painted with a delicate pattern of yellow birds. He looked at them, as if he could imbibe their apparent peacefulness. “Listen, Haendil,” he said, “I don’t like it. The entire kingdom is coming into the city, and we are going out the other way. We’ll be pushing against the tide.”

  I considered. “We don’t have to. We could take the Golden Flotilla.”

  He glanced back at me, surprised by the suggestion. “But the shrine is to the north.”

  “We have the tow paths now,” I reminded him. “They already extend to Doefrit's Bend.”

  He considered. “The flotilla has never been pulled up the river before.”

  “I’m sure that the king could be convinced that it’s the perfect way to begin the corvee. Why not demonstrate the efficacy of the river project? People will like it. It will make them remember that all of their digging and rock breaking has a purpose.” Even as I said it, I had my regrets. All my work of the morning would go to waste, if we were simply pulled up the river instead of processing through the city. And poor Yaendrid would have a dozen angry flower sellers, who wanted to see their blooms strewn along the streets and would now have thousands of untrammeled petals on their hands. But a guardsman must accept change, as must a seneschal, and when I next saw her I could blame Slaedrin for the decision.

  He tapped on the window pane, as if he were issuing orders to the painted birds, and returned to his desk, where he lifted a very lovely little bell and rang it. It made a dainty sound. A door opened and one of his lieutenants came in. I relaxed in my chair as Slaedrin scribbled a stack of orders. But in my mind I was issuing orders of my own, rearranging everything, trying to ensure that Princess Iyedraeka had one of the best boats. I would have to get her to the quay before any of the other stuffed countesses and duchesses were aware of the change. It would mean that we would have to cool our heels there for a bit. Now that it was a state occasion, the official opening of the Corvee, the aunts and cousins and sundry nobles really couldn’t be put off. Never mind. I would make Vaenahma go and requisition some sweet sherbet from the palace kitchens. And two of Princess Iyedraeka’s maids-in-waiting has very fine voices, and one played the guitar rather well. It might be a pleasant and diverting afternoon, despite all the odds against this.

  I was tired. At my age, a trek across the city takes it out of you somewhat. As I waited for Slaedrin to dismiss me, I thought of my hammock. If only I could send someone to fetch it from my little arbor in Thaeto’s house. I could imagine myself laying in it, swinging gently with the flow of the river as our boat lay at anchor, undisturbed by the hustle and bustle.

  Such are the simple desires of an old man. I remember that moment in Slaedrin’s office so clearly, and with a great deal of nostalgia. It was the last moment I had of daydreaming about a peaceful future within the expectation that such a future might actually arrive.