Chapter Six

Havor, Dryden, Pugh, Brine, and Wolcott went together as a group to the ball. They walked from the fort through the cantonment and up towards the Shah’s palace which formed a kind of complex with the Vastrum residency and a few governmental buildings that neighbored it. Some of the officers had decided to arrive in carriages or to ride up on horseback. Havor’s small cadre arrived later than was generally fashionable. This was a rare night that the servants of the officers had been given to themselves, so Rathma and the translator Chatham were not with them. Mar, not being technically an officer, and not of particularly good breeding, had also managed to weasel his way out of the event and was likely out on the town whoring and drinking with the war wizards from other regiments.

The palace of the Shah was enormous and utterly lavish. The façade of the building was made of marble, with huge pillars and a grand staircase adorned with gardens and fountains made to look like huge waterfalls flowing down to large pools containing brightly coloured fish. It was lavish even by the standards of Vastrum nobility. It would have been gaudy even if it were King Victus’ own pleasure palace.

The Shah’s name was Guranji An-Dakal. He was in his fifties and had spent much of his youth as an exile in the southern colonies. He had been the heir to the throne of Vurun, and when his father had been deposed by rebels, he had fled into the safe and waiting arms of Vastrum. When opportunity arose, the armies of Vastrum had marched north, killed the usurper, taken Vurun, and placed Guranji onto his throne. Trade in aethium flowed. So did money, straight from The Company and into both Vastrum’s and Guranji’s coffers. It was good business for The Company and Vastrum. It was good business for Guranji and his allies. It was bad business for the poor folk of Vurun. It could have been good for them too, Dryden mused. They could have built schools or libraries, but instead, Guranji had built a gaudy pleasure palace with the aethium-tainted gold.

The whole enterprise in Vurun hinged on this one man. Guranji, their ally. He gave them an air of legitimacy. A man whose family had ruled Vurun for two hundred years. A man who could trace his lineage in the city back a thousand more. There were others they could have used, but he was especially cooperative. It was in his best interest to maintain the status quo, even while his people starved in the streets. Without him, their place in Vurun didn’t bear thinking about.

The cavalry officers entered the grand hall. A footman announced the officers in turn as they went in.

“Lieutenant-Colonel Lord Jackson Havor of Coldbridge!” He was the first son and heir of his father, the Earl of Coldbridge.

“The Honourable Major John Dryden, son of Lord Dryden of Starlington!” The rest of the officers with them were all “Honourable” being that their fathers were minor lords. None of them had come as an escort or come with any women to the party. They were all young unspoken for cavalrymen. Except for Havor, they were second or third sons. They were from families with means but with little themselves. They were strangers in a faraway land. They were also among the most eligible young Vastrum men in this colony, so far from their home.

The inside of the palace was perhaps more lavish than the exterior. It was brightly lit by huge crystal chandeliers and was richly appointed with brightly coloured carpets and silk-upholstered furniture. The grand banquet hall in the centre had a glass skylight, a fountain, and several palm trees growing out of a kind of garden in the middle. By the time they arrived at the banquet hall dinner was already winding down and a buffet had been laid out for latecomers. Most guests had already gone to the ballroom to dance and the sound of violin and chatting voices could be heard somewhere else in the palace.

Dryden went to get some food from the buffet. Havor found a table that had not yet been cleaned by servants, sat down, leaned back, and put his boots upon it. The rest of the officers went with Dryden to get food. Dryden inspected the lavish dishes that were put out, huge roasts of meat, foods in spicy sauces he barely recognized, and dishes piled with seafood.

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“Salmon?” Pugh leaned in, “There’s not a wild salmon within ten thousand miles of Vurun. Where the bloody hell did they get this?” He asked as he piled some on his plate.

Dryden shrugged, “Raw oysters too. We’re a thousand miles from the sea. We’ve got dead rising, an enemy army coming in from the north, and they’re bringing in seafood.” His voice grew contemptuous. He found he wasn’t hungry anymore, put his empty plate on a nearby table, and walked back to Havor.

“Nothing to your liking?” Havor asked.

“Seafood turns my stomach.” He replied, then turned to a passing servant who was carrying some bottles of fizzy white wine, “We’ll have some of that if you please.”

The servant poured each of them a small glass and tried to walk away. Havor stopped him, “Leave the bottle.” Then, “Got anything stronger?”

“No sahib. Only wine.”

“Fine, just bring us another bottle, boy.”

The servant, who was not a young man, hurried off to find another bottle for the colonel. As they were drinking and sulking at the table Brigadier-General Belfair seemingly appeared from nowhere. “Stay seated, stay seated, at ease, I won’t rest on protocol, not tonight. Enjoying the party are we?” His corpulent face grinned at them.

“Indeed, sir. We were just toasting the 13th Dragoons and to the King’s Own 7th brigade.” Havor answered quickly.

“Splendid, splendid, very good. I fully expect to see you, Major Dryden, out on the dance floor before the night is through. Well then, as you were.” They all breathed a sigh as he marched off.

After he was gone Lieutenant Brine laughed, “Better go dance with the general’s daughter, then. Off you pop.”

The rest of the men laughed as Dryden blushed, but he finished his wine in a single swig, stood, and said, “Duty calls, gentlemen.” Then went to find the ballroom.

It was hardly difficult to locate. Sounds of violin and harpsichord wafted through the cool air of the palace. He walked past grand pillars and gardens and into the great ballroom. The room was enormous, it seemed they could have fit the whole of the fort of Zundak inside it. Tall palm trees ringed the dance floor which was filled with officers and ladies and the court of the Shah engaged in a waltz.

Dryden felt a presence behind him. It was Pugh, “Couldn’t let you go it alone.” He smiled reassuringly.

Somewhere in the throng of dancers, Dryden heard a delighted laugh and he saw the bright blonde hair of Lady Belfair. She was dancing with a black-clad Company officer. Dryden recognized him in passing but didn’t know the man, he made a point not to associate with mercenaries. The dance ended and the partygoers made their way off the dance floor to mingle. Dryden found the young Lady Belfair amongst a small circle of young infantry lieutenants. He approached her, bowed, and asked, “May I have the next dance, Miss Belfair.”

Now that she turned to him he could see that her attire was stunning. Her ball gown was made of shimmering blue silk from the southern colonies. She was adorned with purple jewels that would have been the envy of royalty. She smiled at him from behind a brightly coloured lacquered fan as she waved it to cool herself. “I’d be delighted.” She replied.

The music began again, a lively song, and Dryden led her to the dance floor. He was enchanted by the young woman. He was not the best dancer in the world, but with her, he felt that he was. He led, rather mechanically, but she knew precisely how to respond. She was an incredible dancer, smooth, precise, and above all graceful. The music faded into the background and there was only the dance and his partner. Before he knew it the song had ended and he felt a tap on his shoulder.

It was Pugh again, “Mind if I cut in, old chap?”

“Of course.” He nodded, it was only customary. He bid Lady Belfair good evening and wandered off. The glow of the dance, and being close to the Lady lasted until he made it to the edge of the dance floor. Then he turned and watched. She was as magnificent a dancer with Pugh as she had been with him, and Pugh was perhaps even clumsier than Dryden was. They only danced a minute or so before the music ended abruptly and everyone turned to see the Shah being carried in by several enormous Vurunian palace guards on a richly adorned and gold-painted palanquin. Once the palanquin had been placed on the ground the Shah struggled to his feet, he was a large man in every way, both tall but also fat. He was older, bordering on elderly. His hair was white and his face weathered and wrinkled with a huge bulbous red nose that spoke to his legendary and prodigious alcohol consumption.

Once he had finally stood he spoke and his voice boomed out across the ballroom. He spoke the Vastrum tongue well, with only a slight accent, “Welcome. I hope you are enjoying my party and my hospitality. I have arranged several entertainments for you this evening. Please enjoy them.” Once he was finished speaking he sat back down and music of another sort began.