A Wizard in Mind

CHAPTER 15

Beams of light stabbed down from the golden ship, striking one end of each of the metal fish. They plummeted, spinning crazily. Only a hundred feet above the earth, flame roared from the bottom of each fish, slowing its plunge—but only slowing; one struck the earth outside the city walls and one inside. The prince’s soldiers shouted with fear as they saw it coming and ran, any way as long as it was away from the bulbous, plunging gray shape. The fish struck, and was still.

Later, Gianni learned that the other fish had struck squarely in the courtyard of Castle Raginaldi, breaking its back and splitting its skin. Gar had barked commands, and a dozen marines came running to ring the object with spears—if they had any fear, they didn’t show it. When four people in dark gray came staggering from its bowels, the marines clapped them into irons and hurried them into a tower room, where they mounted guard over the prisoners until their commander was ready to deal with them.

On the wall, Gianni wrenched his eyes away from the wrecked fish in the middle of the prince’s army, recovering both himself and the initiative. “Fire!” he shouted, and his crossbowmen came to themselves with a start and loosed a flight of bolts at the enemy soldiers. Some went down, screaming; most ran, or hobbled with bolts in their flesh, away from the walls.

“Cannon, fire!” Gianni shouted, and three cannon fired buckets of nails. The cannoneers had aimed high, and the nails came down in a lethal rain. The prince’s soldiers shouted in panic; demoralized by seeing a sky monster plunging at them afire, by bolts and raining nails, but most of all by the huge golden disk that still swelled above them with its promise of lightning bolts, they ran. This was no retreat, but a rout—and the troops Gar had hidden in the woods atop the ridge recognized their signal for action. They stormed downward, loosing arrows and bolts, catching the prince’s men between two fires and shouting, “Surrender!”

Thoroughly demoralized, soldiers threw down their weapons and held up their hands, crying, “I yield me!”

It spread; in minutes, all the prince’s men were surrendering, and Gar came up before Gianni, shouting, “Sally forth! Take surrenders, bind prisoners!” The gates opened, and the army of Pirogia charged out with a shout.

But across the valley, fifty picked men didn’t stop to take prisoners—they bored on, and finally came to a knot of soldiers who still fought: men-at-arms and knights, the prince’s bodyguard. The fifty Pirogians called for reinforcements, and other soldiers left off taking surrenders to help. In minutes, the knot of men had swelled to hundreds, and the fight was bloody, but brief.

“Keep the command, Gianni!” Gar shouted, and ran to take horse. He leaped astride and went galloping out the gate and across the valley.

Gianni wasn’t about to be left behind at such a moment. “Vincenzio! Command!” he cried, then ran to mount up and ride after Gar.

He caught up just as Gar was dismounting and walking slowly toward the circle of spears that held the prince and a handful of noblemen at bay—immobilized, but sneering. Gar walked up to them, erect as a staff, hand on his sword. The circle of spears parted just enough for him to enter. “Surrender, my lords,” he called. “You cannot escape.”

“And dare you kill us?” the prince spat. “Be sure, lowborn churl, that if you do, every nobleman in Talipon—nay, in the whole of the world—will not rest until he has seen you flayed alive!”

“I dare,” Gar told him, “because I am the son of a high lord and great-nephew of another.”

Gianni’s mouth dropped open. Never would he have dreamt of this!

The prince stared, taken aback. Then his brows drew down, and he demanded, “What is your house and lineage?”

“I am a d’Armand of Maxima, of the cadet branch,” Gar told him. “My home is far from here, very far indeed, Your Highness—perhaps even as far as the world of your Lurgan Company. But even they will not deny that Maxima exists, or that it is home to many noble families.”

“I would deny that if I could.” The prince’s eyes smoldered. “But your bearing and your manner show it forth; blood will tell, and breeding is ever there to be seen, if it is not deliberately hidden.” Then outrage blazed forth. “But you did deliberately hide it! Why in all the world would the son of a nobleman soil his hands with trade, or defend the baseborn tradesmen and merchants of Pirogia?”

Gar’s manner softened, became almost sorrowful. “Because, Your Highness, my lords, all of life draws its sustenance from the ebb and flow of money and the goods and food it represents. You who draw your wealth from land alone are doomed to poverty and ignominy if you do not learn the ways of trade, for the merchants bring the wealth of a whole world to your doorstep—aye, and the wealth of many worlds, as your Lurgan accomplices have shown you. It is not to be gained by stealth or theft, but only by nourishing and caring for the ebb and flow I speak of. Trade is like the grain of your fields, that must be tended and cared for if you would see its harvest. This world has ripened into trade now, and will grow by trade and gain greater wealth for all by trade—unless that ripening is ended by burning the field before the harvest. If you blast Talipon back into serfdom, it will be centuries before Petrarch flowers again, and when it does, it will be the noblemen of another land who reap the wealth—wealth ten times your current fortunes, fifty times, a hundred. But if you nurture and encourage that growth, Talipon will lead the world of Petrarch, and if you come to understand the ways of trade, you shall lead Talipon, and reap the enormous first fruits.” He smiled sadly. “Noblesse oblige, my lords, Your Highness—nobility imposes obligations, and your obligation in this new era is to learn the ways of trade, that you may guide its swelling and its flowering. Trade may be only the concern of the commoner now, but it must become the concern of every aristocrat, or you will fail in the calling of your birth.”

He stood silent, looking directly into the prince’s eyes, and the gaze of every one of the lesser noblemen was fixed upon him.

At last, the prince himself reversed his sword and held it out to the giant. “I yield me to a man of noble blood—but when the ransom is paid and my home restored to me, Signor d’Armand, you must explain this chivalry of trade to me, that I may determine for myself if it is as much the duty of the aristocracy as you say.”

Gravely, Gar took the sword and bowed. Then he turned to the other noblemen and, one by one, collected their swords, too. They never even noticed when the great golden disk above them receded, and was gone.

Looking back on it, Gianni was amazed that they stayed in Tumanola only two weeks, and the time went very quickly—but it seemed far longer, for each day was packed with what seemed thirty hours’ worth of events. The prince’s army had to be disbanded and the soldiers seen to depart for their homes, then watched carefully to make sure they didn’t try to rally. The city had to be searched for weapons, and anything that might be used to wage war brought to a central piazza, loaded onto wagons bound for the coast, and shipped home to Pirogia. The whole matter had to be explained to the prince’s subjects, and the Pirogian army carefully policed to make sure the soldiers didn’t take advantage of the prince’s subjects—Gar was very insistent that there be no looting or pillaging, and especially no rape. It did make the matter difficult for Gianni when several of his troopers fell in love with local women—but he was able to ascertain in every case that not only had there been no rape, but also that the lovers hadn’t even been able to be alone together. There were some cases where he was clearly able to determine that the women in question were prostitutes, but he punished his soldiers anyway, even though there were no charges of rape. When the sergeants came to him to demand if he expected them to behave like alabaster statues of saints, he simply answered, “Yes,” then explained why they had to behave as examples to the prince’s subjects.

There were also tedious meetings with the few merchants of Tumanola, as Gianni explained that their responsibilities and activities were about to undergo a vast and sudden change, then worked out the ways in which their relationship to the prince would be transformed.

All the while, Gar was closeted with the prince and his vassals. The guards at the door reported hearing voices raised frequently and angrily, though Gar’s was never one of them. Ostensibly, they were working out the terms of the treaty, but Gar had to explain the need for those terms, of course, and when the guards told Gianni what they had been overhearing, he came to eavesdrop himself. Sure enough, the raised voices were protesting the simple facts of trade, and in a tone of iron patience Gar was explaining why those principles were something that no man could impose or cancel—that it was the nature of trade that was forcing them down the noblemen’s throats, not the merchants of Pirogia.

They may have kept the door shut, but the weather was warm, so they left the windows open. Whenever Gianni could spare a moment, he loitered beneath, and heard Gar explaining how government could encourage trade or kill it, and how the noblemen could reap fortunes by regulating trade and taxing it mildly. He also told them how to kill trade, by over-regulation and overtaxing. The noblemen argued ferociously, but Gar held firm—it wasn’t merely his opinion, but that of centuries of scholars who studied such matters. Where had he come from, Gianni wondered, that merchants had been so active for a thousand years and more?

Finally, he overheard Gar giving the aristocrats inspirational talks about their role in the increasing prosperity of Talipon and, through its traders, of all the world. By the time he was done, Gianni was imbued with an almost religious fervor, a sense of mission, of his obligations as a merchant to improve the lot of all humankind everywhere. If he felt so inspired just from the scraps of talk he managed to find time to listen to, what must the noblemen be feeling?

Finally, with full ceremony, they signed the treaty in the prince’s courtyard, where large numbers of citizens and soldiers could witness. Then the Lurgan merchants were brought forth, laden with chains, for their trial. The prince himself presided as judge; Gar presented the case against the Lurgans, and one of their number presented something of a defense. It was weak indeed, partly because he could scarcely be understood due to his accent, partly because he tried to justify the actions of his companions and himself by spouting streams of numbers. The prince ruled that he and his fellow merchants were to be held in the dungeon until the far-traveling men Gar had summoned came to take them away. At that, the Lurgans turned pale and spouted incoherent pleas for mercy—all except one, who fixed Gar with a very cold glare and said, “We will remember this, d’Armand. Be sure.” But Gar only nodded to him courteously, and watched as he was taken away.

There was no mention of the false Gypsies. Gianni wondered about that.

Finally, the Pirogian army marched out of Tumanola with the citizens cheering them—or their departure, it was hard to tell which—and the soldiers cheering their reluctant hosts—or being rid of the inland city with its humidity and mosquitoes, it was hard to tell which. Everyone seemed to take the cheering as protestations of friendship between the two cities, though. The prince was left with his castle and city again—but with no cannon or army other than his personal guard of a hundred men, and a night watch.

The Pirogians came home to a triumphant welcome from their fellow citizens. The returning army marched down the boulevard on flower petals, and came to the Piazza del Sol to find the Maestro and the Council drawn up to award medals to Gar, Gianni, and their captains. Then they were given time to rest and celebrate.

The next day, though, Gar and Gianni were summoned to the Council to meet the ambassadors from the other merchant cities, all of whom had survived the war, though some had suffered, and all of whom needed urgent guidance on what sort of relations to establish with their returning contes and doges. The deliberations turned into debate about the form and processes that would be involved in the new League of Merchant Cities. All that was really in debate was the specific terms and, as it turned out, ways of limiting Pirogia’s power within the League—but all the cities were sure they wanted the League to continue.

There was no question but that Pirogia would lead. All this time, Gianni slept without dreams, to his relief and disappointment relief that he had not seen the Wizard again, disappointment that he had not seen his Dream Woman. He earnestly hoped that he was rid of the one and would rediscover the other.

Perhaps it was only that he was working too hard, and sleeping too soundly—or so he hoped.

Finally, the day came when the treaty was signed and the ambassadors took their leave, each with a copy of the Articles of Alliance to discuss with their Councils and ratify or modify. They left with great ceremony and protestations of eternal friendship.

Gianni wondered whether the good feeling would last past the next trading season. Somehow, though, he was sure the League would endure, no matter how intense the rivalries within it became. They were all too vividly aware of their common enemy: the aristocrats.

The next day, Gar thanked his hosts, the Braccaleses, for their hospitality, but explained that he must leave them. Mama and Papa protested loudly, but Gianni had somehow known this was coming. When the lamentation slackened, he said, “He’s a wanderer, Papa. We can’t expect him to tie his destiny to ours forever.”

“But who will lead the army he has built?” Papa wailed.

“Gianni is more than capable of that little chore,” Gar assured him. “He has become quite the general in these last few weeks, and has an excellent cadre of officers to help him.”

Papa stared at Gianni in surprise; then Gianni saw the rapid calculations going on behind his father’s eyes, of the gain in status for his family and the resulting increase in their influence within the city. Slowly, he nodded. “If you say it, Gar, I must accept it.”

“Someday,” Mama told Gar, “you’ll find a woman who will make you cease your wandering, and wish nothing so much as to stay and care for her—aye, and the children she shall give you.”

For a moment, there was pain in Gar’s eyes—but only a moment; it was quickly masked with a wistful smile. “I dearly hope so, Donna Braccalese—but she isn’t here.”

Gianni nodded. “He must go.”

Not without ceremony, though. That evening saw a hastily prepared but elaborate farewell banquet, in which the councillors pressed rich gifts on their rescuing general, hiding their relief at his leaving—and Gar surprised them all by presenting rich gifts in return, foremost among them a small library which, he said, contained everything he had taught the aristocrats about trade and regulation. Everyone wondered where he had obtained the books, but everyone was too polite to ask.

Then home—but before they went to bed, Gar presented some gifts to his hosts: rich jewelry for Mama, and for Papa, a little machine that calculated overhead, profit, and all manner of other business sums. They pressed a huge necklace of orzans and gold upon him, and everyone retired in wonderfully sentimental melancholy.

Gianni Braccalese!

Gianni sat bolt upright—at least, in his dream—and found himself staring into the eyes of the Wizard. The giant goes, Gianni Braccalese. If you wish to see him off, you must rise at once!

How like Gar not even to wait till the household was awake! Cursing, Gianni began to struggle toward wakefulness, but the Wizard said only, You shall see me no more. Farewell! And with that, he was gone, and Gianni waked in the act of sitting up and reaching for his clothing.

He was dressed and down to the main portal in minutes, just in time to see Gar softly lifting the bar and pushing the door open. “Wait!” Gianni cried. “If you must go without ceremony, at least let me go a little way with you!”

Gar looked back, smiling—but not surprised. “Well, then, if you must force yourself up at such an unreasonable hour, come along.”

They went out into the chill darkness of very late night—or very early morning. Gianni glanced at the east but didn’t even see a glow on the horizon. “How far are you going?”

“Into the hills,” Gar answered.

Gianni wondered what he intended to do once he arrived. “Horses, then. Why walk?”

Gar nodded. “With you along to take them home, yes.”

They went into the stable, saddled two horses, and rode out through the silent streets of the city—so silent that neither of them spoke. The sentries at the inner gate needed no convincing, not when it was Gianni Braccalese and General Gar who told them to open the portal—briefly. They rode out over the pontoon bridge that temporarily replaced the causeway. The sound of the water beating against the hulls beneath them broke the spell of silence. Gianni asked, “Why?”

Gar shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because you could have lost your life,” Gianni answered. “Because you went through a great deal of suffering and misery that you didn’t have to undergo. Because it wasn’t your fight.”

Gar said slowly, “Would you believe me if I said I needed the money?”

“With a wizard-friend who travels in a great golden wheel? Besides, if you needed money, you wouldn’t be going. Why, Gar?”

The giant sighed. “A man must do something with his life, Gianni Braccalese. He must have some purpose, some reason for living—and for me, the mere pursuit of pleasure is nowhere nearly enough.”

They rode in silence a few minutes more; then Gianni said, “But why us? Why make our problems yours?”

“Because you had need of it,” Gar said. “Because I couldn’t very well make things worse. Because my inborn sense of justice was outraged years ago, so I look for people unjustly treated, to satisfy my craving for revenge that should have been sated long before I met you.”

That, at least, made sense. Gianni lapsed into silence again, and it lasted until they had passed the charred stumps of the land gate. Then curiosity drove him again. “Just how far away do you come from?”

Gar sighed and tilted his head back. “Look upward, Gianni Braccalese—look at the stars. Each of them is a sun, and most are far brighter than the one that shines on this world. Some of them even have worlds of their own, swinging about them as a sling whirls around the fist of a hunting peasant—and here and there, one of those worlds is warm enough and gentle enough for people to live on it.”

Gianni stared upward, trying to grasp the enormity of the concept—then trying to grapple with its implications. “And you—you come from one of those worlds?”

“Yes. Very far away, and its sun is so small that you can’t see it from here—but I was born on a planet named Gramarye, and my father was born on a tiny world named Maxima.”

“The world in which you are a nobleman,” Gianni whispered.

“No—the world in which my great-uncle is a conte. My father is a high lord on the world of Gramarye now, and I am his heir.”

Gianni let that sink in for a while, then asked, “Why did you leave home?”

“Because being my father’s son wasn’t enough for me.”

Well, Gianni could understand that. “How did you come here?”

“In Herkimer,” Gar answered, “in the great golden wheel. It’s really a ship the size of a village, Gianni. My great-uncle, the Count d’Armand, gave it to me. He didn’t say it was a reward for leaving, but that’s what it came to.”

The intense loneliness of the man suddenly penetrated Gianni, and he shuddered. Trying to throw it off, he asked, “And the false Gypsies? Were they, too, from another star?”

Gar nodded. “They’re members of a league that calls itself AEGIS—which stands for the Association for the Elevation of Governmental Institutions and Systems.”

“Did they really believe persuading the lords to crush us merchants would bring peace and happiness, not a blood-bath?”

“Oh, yes,” Gar said softly. “I don’t doubt their good intentions for a minute. They’re very intelligent, very idealistic, and very knowledgeable people, Gianni, who are also incredibly naïve, and have a lack of judgment that borders on the phenomenal. Yes, I really do believe that they thought the lords’ actions against the merchants would be only commercial competition.”

“Incredibly naïve indeed,” Gianni said, numbed by the enormity of it.

Gar shrugged. “They’re determined to believe only the best about humanity, no matter how much evidence they see to the contrary.”

“But you didn’t tell the prince about them,” Gianni pointed out. “You didn’t have them arrested and put on trial.”

“No. They saw for themselves the folly of their ideas, and the war the noblemen’s alliance caused—but they also saw that the merchants’ league prevented the worst of it. They’ve learned humility, Gianni, and guilt alone will make them work for the good of every individual here, not just the princes. Besides,” he added as an afterthought, “they’re stuck with the results of what we’ve done here, you and I. They can’t very well undo it without causing a war that even they can’t help but see coming. No, I think you can trust them, in their way. They’ll do Talipon a great deal of good, and very little harm now.”

“But … Medallia?” Gianni felt his heart wrench as he asked it. “Was she really one of them?”

“Yes, but she transcended her naïveté and was able to believe the evidence of her eyes. She overcame the bias of her idealism and realized that the AEGIS plan wouldn’t work here, so she left them to try to form a merchants’ league, hoping your commercial leverage could forestall the war.”

“But she would have failed, if you hadn’t come meddling.” Gianni looked up keenly. “How did you do it all, Gar? How did you win our war for us?”

“Herkimer gathered a great deal of information for me,” Gar said. “I pretended to be an ignorant barbarian, asking questions so obvious that even an idiot would know the answers, until I had learned the rest of what I needed to know.”

Gianni looked up sharply. “It was all a pretense, then—your being a half-wit?”

“We both pretended, at first,” Gar reminded him. “But after that blow on the head, when we both waked naked and shivering in the rain? No. That was real—the effect of concussion—but when I came to my senses and realized how useful the pose could be, I pretended. It let me attack the Stilettos without being killed outright, and make them bring us all into the Castello Raginaldi.”

“Where you knew what you would find.”

Gar nodded. “Yes, but I had to prove it.”

“But how did you persuade the other wanderers to do as you said?” Gianni burst out. “I have to command men now, so I need to know! How did you keep the guards from seeing us? How did you convince the porter to lower the drawbridge? No one could have believed Feste’s posturings!”

“Ah.” Gar rode in silence for a minute, then said, “I don’t mean to sound conceited, Gianni, but it’s nothing you can do.”

“Why not?”

“Because of my father’s rank,” Gar said quietly. “Because of the gifts I inherited from him.”

“What gifts? What rank?”

Gar still hesitated.

“You’re leaving now, Gar,” Gianni pressed. “There’s no reason for me to tell your secret—and no harm if I do! What can your father’s rank have to do with it?”

“Because,” Gar said, “he’s the Lord High Warlock of Gramarye.”

“Warlock?” Gianni stared a moment, not understanding. Then the implication hit him. “The Wizard! He never haunted my dreams till I met you! Now you’re leaving, and he told me only an hour ago that I would never see him again!”

Gar nodded slowly.

“Then it was you who put the Wizard in my mind!”

“More than that,” Gar said softly. “I am the Wizard.”