“Oh, we’re still here.” And he carelessly nudged a few more coins into the pot.
“Can’t see that changing,” said Yolk, filling up everyone’s glasses again. Orso really should’ve told him not to, but he was too drunk to bother.
“Unless the king were to go to war again, of course.” Tunny raised his grey brows significantly at Orso. “In which case, my standard-bearing services are always at Your Majesty’s disposal.”
“Glad to know that my standard, if nothing else, would be competently handled.” Orso tossed his awful hand away with a flourish. “But I think I’ve had quite enough of war.”
“You show more wisdom than your father, in that case.” Tunny started to rake in the pot. “I’ll have to stick to procuring whores for Your Majesty.”
“How do you feel about being the king’s pimp?” Orso let go a burp. A royal burp, he supposed. He’d been drinking all day. Hadn’t helped. Never did.
“Daresay there are worse jobs.” Tunny gripped his pipe between his yellowed teeth as he shuffled. “Less marching than in the standard-bearing game, at least. More fighting, mind you, but at least there’s the chance of making people happy. Sure you won’t join us, Colonel Gorst?”
Gorst shook his head, eyes eternally roving around the dim room as though a Styrian assassin might spring from the dresser at any moment. If one had, Orso never doubted Gorst would have been ready with the utmost extremes of lethal force.
“You two know each other?” Orso looked from the old bodyguard to the old standard-bearer. They were probably of an age, but otherwise could hardly have been less alike.
“Fought together at the Battle of Osrung,” said Tunny, starting to deal. “Well, I say fought. He fought. I just sat there.”
Yolk raised a finger. “I sat there, too.”
“So you did, boy, and you even managed to do that badly.”
Yolk grinned. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s doing things badly.”
“I hear you sentenced Wetterlant to dangle,” said Tunny, still flicking out cards.
“I did,” said Orso. “Terrible decision.”
“Everyone says he’s guilty,” threw in Hildi, who was sitting cross-legged on the dresser between two large candlesticks shaped like naked women.
“Guilty as hell,” said Orso.
“So… you should’ve let him off?”
“That would’ve been a terrible decision, too.”
Yolk’s face crinkled up with incomprehension. Its usual expression. “So…”
“I tried to manage a compromise in which he’d get life in prison, probably to worm his way out when nobody was looking.”
“Compromise is always a good idea,” threw in one of the whores.
Orso raised his brows at her, and she blushed, and looked at the floor. “So I thought, but it turned out to be the worst option of all. I made the fatal mistake of trying to improve things. And of trusting Lord bloody Isher.” He scraped up his hand and started sorting through it. “A king can only select from a range of wrong choices and bad outcomes.” Another awful hand. Even worse than the last. “A lifetime of trying to ferret out the least worst in a mist of lies, stupidity and imperfect information.”
“Sounds like the army life,” muttered Tunny. “Wish you’d come to me first. I could’ve told you Isher’s a snake.”
“I should put you on my Closed Council.” Orso paused a moment, looking at his glass. “Actually, I’ve heard worse ideas.”
“High Justice Tunny!” Hildi gave a giggle, and a couple of the girls laughed, and Orso thought he even heard a snort from one of the Knights of the Body.
“Charmed by the offer, Your Majesty,” said Tunny drily, “but corporal’s as high as I go.”
“Leo dan Brock would make a fine king, don’t you think?” asked Orso. “Don’t you think? With those shoulders?”
“He’s pretty,” said Hildi, twisting her old soldier’s cap off so her blonde curls popped out in a mop, then twisting it back on.
“He’s very pretty,” said one of the girls, and the others nodded agreement.
“Bold,” said Yolk, thoughtfully. “Very… manly.”
“Reckless,” piped Gorst. Orso turned to him, surprised. It might have been the first time he’d ever heard the man volunteer a word of conversation. He shrugged, armour faintly rattling. “Kings needs cool tempers.” And he went back to frowning about the room.
Orso turned to the table to find the madam leaning over him in an explosion of heavily daubed perfume and lightly veined bosom. “Might one interest… Your August Majesty…” She traced a wiggly line on the tabletop in a manner that was perhaps intended to be arousing. “In anything?”
Orso sighed. “Fucking-wise?”
“It is what we do here.”
The girl who had extolled the virtues of compromise gave Orso a slightly desperate smile. His shoulders slumped.
“Do you know, I’m not sure I could even manage it. It’s not you. It’s not any of you. It’s me. Commoners, nobles, Starikland, Angland and Midderland, everyone bloody hates me.”
“Hasn’t Westport decided it likes you after all?” asked Hildi.
Orso ignored her. He was in a mood only for bad news. “It’s a Union indeed. United in their dislike for their king.”
“That’s what a king’s there for,” said Tunny. “High or low, we all need someone to blame.”
“Who do I get to blame?” asked Orso.
“Whoever you like,” murmured Yolk, frowning at his cards. “You’re king.”
“My Closed Council, my Open Council, the boy who empties my bloody chamber pot, too, I shouldn’t wonder, they all think I’m a fucking—”
“Who cares a shit what they think?” shouted Tunny, jerking forward and stabbing at Orso with the stem of his pipe. “Long as they bloody obey! You’re king, boy! Not me, not Yolk and not Leo dan bloody Brock! You! Now, I daresay being king has its downsides but I can tell you there are worse jobs.”
“Huh,” grunted one of the girls, adjusting her bodice.
“All this bloody self-pity. It was fun when you were a crown prince, but fuck, it doesn’t suit a king.” Tunny took a pull on his pipe, but it was dead, and he angrily smacked the ashes out on the tabletop. “Get back to the palace and get on with it. We’ll miss you, but these lovely ladies need to make some money and you’re scaring away the guests.”
There was a long silence. Orso glanced about the room. Everyone—the girls, the knights, the madam, Hildi and Yolk, even Bremer dan Gorst, had the same expression: mouth tight shut and eyes wide open, an expression that seemed to say, I can’t believe he said it, but it definitely needed saying.
“I see.” Orso tossed down his cards and stood, with only a small wobble. “Gorst, we’re going back to the palace. Hildi, could you see everyone paid for their time, please?”
She frowned over at him. “You already owe me sixty—”
“I think we know I’m good for it.”