Read Online Not Really the Prisoner of Zenda by Joel Rosenberg - Free Book Online Page A

occupation officers had already taken retirement in the barony they had occupied, and if nothing else, the hostility that they had earned from the local lords and wardens guaranteed that they would remain loyal to the Empire long after the occupation was ended, and control of the rest of the Holtish baronies restored to the Holtish barons.
    Yes, every once in a while, an embezzler would be discovered and hanged, and it was probably hoped that that would keep theft down to a minimum, but Pirojil didn’t think that anybody ever got drunk enough to think it would ever be eliminated.
    The timing of this was interesting, though.
    Coincidental that Ketterling was conveniently dead just as the new baron was returning home?
    Pirojil didn’t much believe in coincidences. What was it that Walter Slovotsky said? “I don’t know whoever said that the first time is an accident, the second time is a coincidence, and the third time is enemy action, but whoever it was must have had one shitload of incompetent enemies, and me, I’d like to trade.”
    Yes, Keranahan was under occupation, theoretically under the baron’s reign but in practice and in law under the governor’s rule, but, still, if Forinel wasn’t given access to the account books if — when — he requested it, there would be some definite Imperial interest.
    The governor had bought himself some time, that was all. No wonder Treseen had scurried home, the first to leave after Parliament had let out.
    Treseen hadn’t known that it hadn’t been necessary, after all.
    While Kethol/Forinel was not totally illiterate nor utterly innumerate, he would have been no more capable than Pirojil was of penetrating a maze of account books.
    Leria, on the other hand …
    “Where is he?” Pirojil asked. “And is there some good reason that the governor himself hasn’t rushed downstairs to greet the baron?”
    Tarnell held up a hand. “Hey, Pirojil — take an even strain, man. He just got in from Parliament four days ago, and he’s not only had to try and then hang Ketterling, and then start to catch up on his own work — and Ketterling’s — but his new jerfalcon has taken sick with some sort of feather rot, and he was up half the night with her. He asked me to see to the bar — to all of the visitors’ comforts, and then bring you to his office.”
    Pirojil didn’t believe that, either — more likely, the governor had been out riding an old horse or a new wench, or had just been up drinking himself into a stupor late the night before, and had just crawled out of bed. Tarnell had been with Treseen since the war; loyal old Tarnell was just covering for him.
    “Then let’s go see him.”
    “Oh, please — there’s no rush. Why not have a bath and a meal first? I can have the cook fry you up a couple of chickens and some turnip cake, and have it all ready by the time you’re clean.”
    “The governor, first.”
    “But —”
    “Will my word do, Tarnell, or do you need to hear it from the baron himself?”
    “Argh.” Tarnell made a face. “As you wish.”
    Tarnell ushered Pirojil and the other three in. After making quick introductions — and, indirectly, covering for Forinel if he forgot that Forinel hadn’t met Tarnell before, even though Kethol had — they followed Tarnell up the main staircase to the governor’s office in what had, Pirojil suspected, been the castle nursery, back when the Keranahan barons lived in Dereneyl, before the occupation.
    There were two men waiting, and they stood as Tarnell led Pirojil and the rest in.
    One was Governor — formerly General — Treseen.
    It was easy to underestimate the Treseen that was slowly, painfully, rising from his chair to greet them. Vanity didn’t necessarily mean incompetence, although he was vain; his hair had been carefully blackened, leaving only pompous silver traces at the temples. There was something wrong, something weak about his eyes, as though he could never quite focus them