his demise will live longer than he did!”
The pelenaut asked a question that distracted both of us from possible morality songs. “Might any of you know what he was so anxious to talk about?”
The merchants all nodded, and Subodh spoke for the others in Nentian, which Fintan then translated. “We were hoping we could convince you to send at least a few hygienists back to Ghurana Nent. Our people are suffering and our businesses flagging without their aid.”
“It saddens me to hear that, and it’s regrettable,” Pelenaut Röllend said, “and I do hope to allow our hygienists to resume work abroad in the future. At present, however, we need them here to recover from the devasting aftermath of the invasion.”
“But you have so many here tonight,” Subodh protested. “Four of them when one would have sufficed. Surely you can spare one or two for Ghurana Nent. I ask not merely for myself but on behalf of the viceroys and even the king, who helped us get here.”
“I can’t spare them, no. They are here tonight after working all day in Survivor Field as a favor to me. And tomorrow they will go out there again. I wish I could give you better news, but you have my assurances that we will send hygienists abroad as soon as we can afford to.”
“Sir,” Poudresh Marekh pleaded in Brynt, his mustache quivering, “at the risk of leaving my llamas out to play with bloodcats, it’s the king. He’s not well. And it threatens us all. We need a hygienist for the king.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s unstable. Going mad, in fact, though I will thank you not to repeat that to him. And he has our families. If we don’t come back with a hygienist, he has promised to strap them to the posts of Kalaad and let his cheek raptor tear their faces off.”
The pelenaut snorted. “We’re talking about Bhadram Ghanghuli, right? Since when does he have a cheek raptor? That sounds like Viceroy Melishev Lohmet.”
The Nentians all traded looks of alarm and bemusement, and Fintan, I noticed, covered his eyes with one hand. Ghurang Bokh was the first to venture, “But it is Melishev Lohmet.”
“Who is?”
“The king,” Subodh said. “Melishev Lohmet is the king now.”
The pelenaut and I and every other Brynt in the room turned to Fintan. Rölly said, “Fintan, is this true?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
The pelenaut gaped, then shouted, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry, but I thought you knew! How could you not?”
“Well, we’ve been a bit busy, and the Nentians never use their king’s name, do they? They just call him the king. So I rely on the ambassador to tell me when there’s someone new sitting on the throne.”
“You threw him out a few days ago,” I pointed out.
“He didn’t know anyway. He was still calling Melishev a viceroy. And with the Granite Tunnel closed it’s no wonder we haven’t heard anything. We’ve had almost zero trade from Ghurana Nent since then. When did this happen?”
The question was directed at Fintan, but Subodh answered. “Two months ago.”
“Two months? Neither I nor the ambassador heard anything for two months? How is that possible?”
“Like you, we have been busy,” Subodh said, shrugging helplessly. “In the worst possible way.”
The pelenaut fumed and took a couple of deep breaths before saying, “Fintan.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t suppose Melishev’s coup is part of your tale in the coming days?”
“It is.”
“And Bhadram Ghanghuli, the former king? What happened to him?”
“Do you want all the details?”
“No; just give me the short version.”
“He’s dead.”
The pelenaut grimaced and clenched his fists. “Do you have any idea how angry I am with you right now? I want to beat you senseless with the biggest kraken cock in the abyss.”
“I’m very sorry, sir. I truly thought you would have been informed through other channels, and we just haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet.”
The pelenaut said, “Oh, you can be sure I’ll be following up through other channels. Never mind the Nentian embassy. Why hasn’t the Raelech embassy spoken to me about a change of leadership in Ghurana Nent? Or the Fornish, for that matter?”
“They may not know either, sir,” Subodh said, drawing all eyes to him. “I mean, now that I think about it. The king has been, uh. What’s the word?” He said something in Nentian, and Fintan translated.
“Paranoid.”
“That’s it, thank you,” Subodh said. “Paranoid. And violent. He is not well.”
“Yes, we’ve been hearing about that from the bard.” Röllend turned sharply to Fintan and said, “You’re not