I was worried. I
pranced from foot to foot like a little boy at a wedding who really
needed to pee. It was another day and I still had not gotten
started with Booboo and the Khadidas. Giving them and their
Goddess any time at all was bound to lead to mischief.
But I had more immediate responsibilities. The fighting was
over. Our obligation to the dead had to be handled now. And a huge
city, with many dead of its own, had to be kept on a tight rein.
Recent disasters would encourage plotters and conspirators.
The Children of the Dead knew how to put on a memorial for
fallen comrades. Deep-voiced drums muttered and grumbled. Horns
conjured forth the mood and gloom of a chilly, rainy morning
despite a bright, cloudless winter sky. The soldiers paraded in all
their brilliant colors, with all their thousands of banners. The
locals were suitably impressed. We sent Sleepy off in more style
than she could have hoped for while she lived. We said our
good-byes to a great many people.
Then we stood back and rendered appropriate honors as Aridatha
Singh directed equally large, if not nearly so dramatic, ceremonies
honoring those who had fallen on behalf of the Protectorate. And
when that was done we joined the local soldiers and the most
important men of the city in honoring the Prahbrindrah Drah.
His funeral was the grandest I ever attended. I developed the
distinct impression that all those leading men had gathered,
however, to eyeball one another suspiciously rather than to mourn
the passing of a ruler none had seen since they were young.
Aridatha Singh was popular with these men. Because Aridatha
Singh had gathered to himself the loyalties of the survivors of the
Second Territorial Division, the Greys, and the commanders of the
rural garrisons nearest the city. Aridatha Singh had become the
most powerful man in the Taglian Territories, despite having done
little to acquire that power—except to be competent and a nice
guy.
They say that when the hour comes, so will the man. Sometimes
fate will even conspire to put a competent, honest man in the right
place at the right time. Almost overnight the graffiti began giving
Aridatha Mogaba’s old title, Great General.
Now, if he could just manage to get by without antagonizing the
occupiers.
I tried to keep an eye on Tobo but that was difficult with a kid
so talented.
I was worried. I
pranced from foot to foot like a little boy at a wedding who really
needed to pee. It was another day and I still had not gotten
started with Booboo and the Khadidas. Giving them and their
Goddess any time at all was bound to lead to mischief.
But I had more immediate responsibilities. The fighting was
over. Our obligation to the dead had to be handled now. And a huge
city, with many dead of its own, had to be kept on a tight rein.
Recent disasters would encourage plotters and conspirators.
The Children of the Dead knew how to put on a memorial for
fallen comrades. Deep-voiced drums muttered and grumbled. Horns
conjured forth the mood and gloom of a chilly, rainy morning
despite a bright, cloudless winter sky. The soldiers paraded in all
their brilliant colors, with all their thousands of banners. The
locals were suitably impressed. We sent Sleepy off in more style
than she could have hoped for while she lived. We said our
good-byes to a great many people.
Then we stood back and rendered appropriate honors as Aridatha
Singh directed equally large, if not nearly so dramatic, ceremonies
honoring those who had fallen on behalf of the Protectorate. And
when that was done we joined the local soldiers and the most
important men of the city in honoring the Prahbrindrah Drah.
His funeral was the grandest I ever attended. I developed the
distinct impression that all those leading men had gathered,
however, to eyeball one another suspiciously rather than to mourn
the passing of a ruler none had seen since they were young.
Aridatha Singh was popular with these men. Because Aridatha
Singh had gathered to himself the loyalties of the survivors of the
Second Territorial Division, the Greys, and the commanders of the
rural garrisons nearest the city. Aridatha Singh had become the
most powerful man in the Taglian Territories, despite having done
little to acquire that power—except to be competent and a nice
guy.
They say that when the hour comes, so will the man. Sometimes
fate will even conspire to put a competent, honest man in the right
place at the right time. Almost overnight the graffiti began giving
Aridatha Mogaba’s old title, Great General.
Now, if he could just manage to get by without antagonizing the
occupiers.
I tried to keep an eye on Tobo but that was difficult with a kid
so talented.