A Wizard in Peace

CHAPTER 15

Two years passed, with Gar and Dirk returning from their journeys for brief visits; they were constantly on the road, overseeing training in all four cities. As the former inmates’ minds grew, they hammered out their own idea of what a government should be. The bailiffs would be appointed by the magistrates, as they always had been, but to become a magistrate, men and women would have to pass examinations, then be appointed by the Protector, but would have to be approved by vote of the people in their villages every year. The reeves would be elected by the magistrates from their own number, but would have to stand for a vote of confidence from the people of their shires every year. The Council of Reeves would be elected by all the bureaucrats together from the ranks of the reeves; the Council would elect the ministers from their own ranks, and people would elect the Protector from the ranks of the ministers.

Thus, to qualify to vote for the reeves, they had to initially pass examinations. To stand for office as a reeve, or minister, they had to prove themselves by years of service, and for Protector, by more years of service as a minister.

Once they knew how they wished to reshape their government and why, Gar began to give them their assignments within the underground, so that they could undergo advanced training. Those most adept at music were appointed to be minstrels, given subtly subversive songs to sing, and special training as secret agents, to keep all the false magistrates in touch with one another. The women, knowing they couldn’t become magistrates, were given very specific training on how to influence other people—persuasion and soft propaganda. The men, already trained as potential magistrates, now learned how to be secret agents, too, learning the cell system, codes, and infiltration techniques.

Meanwhile, Dirk sent out minstrels with forged travel permits, to listen more than they sang until they learned of magistrates scheduled for reassignment. By the time the first such agent came back to the City in high excitement, knowing the time and place of the rotation, the first false magistrate was ready to go—Orgoru.

The sun was barely risen as Orgoru came out of the city dressed in magistrate’s robes to meet the false bailiff and the dozen men dressed in watchmen’s uniforms.

“Farewell! Oh, fare you well indeed!” Gilda cried, and threw her arms around Orgoru’s neck. “I was among the first to greet you when first you came—let me be among the last to bid you good-bye!”

“Good-bye—until I see you again.” Orgoru took her into his arms, amazed that so bony a woman could feel so soft in his embrace—then even more amazed as she pulled her head back enough to turn, and kissed him full on the lips. It was a lingering caress, and for a moment, closing his eyes, Orgoru saw again the beautiful countess. Then he drew away, smiling with affection, for they had shared many long talks about right and wrong, and the fate of their country, in the last two years, and he had become almost as fond of common Gilda as he had been obsessed with the beautiful countess. “Good-bye until I see you again,” he said, “and may all go well for you.”

“Send word as soon as you know you’re safe!”

“I will,” he promised, and turned away quickly to mount his horse, before he could feel greater temptation to take her with him. Mounting, he turned back, and was surprised to see Ciletha standing by the gate, hand lifted in farewell, eyes bright with tears. Orgoru gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then turned away to his horse and his men.

It never occurred to him to wonder why Ciletha had come to see him off, or why she should be teary-eyed. They were old friends, after all.

He did wonder, though, if he really wanted to trust his life to that grim-faced Miles. What the deuce did the man have against him, after all? But his master Dirk was going too, leaving Gar and Ciletha in charge of the city—Ciletha in charge! an amazing thought!—so Orgoru mounted his horse and rode off to ambush a magistrate.

They stopped at a place where a dusty country road joined the high road that led to the town of Greenthorpe. They had passed out of the forest, but huge trees overhung the crossroads. Orgoru looked around, frowning. “This isn’t too good a place for an ambush, Master Miles.”

“It’s as good as we’re going to get,” the peasant growled. Orgoru glanced at Dirk, but the master only nodded and turned pointedly to Miles.

Miles sighed and explained. “The trees are large enough to hide our raiders, both behind their trunks and in their branches. We don’t really expect to need them, though.”

“I know—the custom is for the outgoing magistrate to send watchmen to the halfway point, to meet their new master,” Orgoru said. “I take it this is that point.”

“Not quite-not by a league. That’s close enough so the new magistrate won’t be surprised to see us, but far enough away so that the Greenthorpe watchmen won’t come this far—though Nathan will watch half a mile down the road, and bring us word if they do.”

Nathan touched his forelock and jogged away toward the south. Orgoru watched him go, marveling that this man, two years before, had thought himself to be Lord Saunders. “So we’ll deceive,” he said, “not ambush.”

Miles nodded. “We’ll only ambush if we have to.”

Ryan, formerly Lord Finn, went down the northern road toward Atterborough, from which the new magistrate was coming. The others sat down, ate, and rested, two napping and two awake, until Ryan came jogging back. “They’re coming! A mile away—I saw them from high in a tree!”

“Stations, quickly,” Miles ordered.

Andrew (the erstwhile Count Parlous) and Douglas (the quondam Duke River) climbed up into the trees and disappeared among the branches. Gar and Orgoru stepped behind a tree trunk. Orgoru heard the whisper of arrows laid against bows, and hoped, for the sake of the real magistrate and his men, that they would believe the deception.

Ryan paced nearby, nervous and unable to hide it. He wore ordinary peasant clothes, as a coachman would. Miles and Dirk, though, were dressed in watchmen’s livery, and sat leaning against the tree trunk, gossiping and yawning. Orgoru couldn’t believe his ears—their intended victims nearly upon them, and the men were discussing government!

A voice hailed them from far down the road.

Miles came to his feet, Dirk right behind him. They waved at the approaching carriage with its two riders and extra horse, then waited smiling until the coachman drew the carriage up. The magistrate, a heavyset man in his forties, gave them a smile, and the gray-haired coachman called, “Are you from Greenthorpe?”

“The Greenthorpe escort we are,” Miles lied cheerfully. It went against all his upbringing, but Dirk had impressed upon him how important it was. Besides, they were planning to make sure a magistrate got to Greenthorpe just not this one.

“Then we’ll be pleased to let you escort our master.” The coachman climbed down from the carriage and came around to gaze up at the magistrate. “You’ve been a good master, Magistrate Flound, and I envy the folk in Greenthorpe. Fare you well with them.”

“Fare you well,” Flound said with a sad smile, “and I hope your new master is a good one. Give him a chance, Holstinhe’s quite young yet, and is apt to be sharp in his nervousness.”

“Weren’t we all!” Holstin held up a hand, horizontal, palm downward. Flound let his own hand rest on it for a moment; then Holstin stepped aside so that the two riders might exchange good-byes, and receive the laying-on of the magistrate’s hand in farewell.

It was enough like a blessing to give Dirk a start. He wondered if it was the only form of touching that ritual allowed between a magistrate and his men.

The farewells done, Miles climbed up on the box and took the reins. He clucked to the horses and drove off at a sedate pace. Flound looked back once, with a fond smile, then turned his face resolutely toward the future—but Dirk, riding close beside, noticed tears in his eyes.

They rode, Ryan and Dirk on either side, for half a league, to the intersection where Orgoru stood hidden. There Miles said, “Whoa!” and pulled in the horses.

Flound leaned forward, frowning. “Why have you stopped?”

“Because this is as far as you go, Your Honor,” Dirk answered. “Climb down, please.”

Flound looked up in shock. “You’re outlaws!”

“I’m afraid so,” Dirk said with a sympathetic smile, “but we don’t mean—”

Flound sprang at him.

He slammed into Dirk, knocking him from his horse and grabbing frantically at the saddle, but didn’t quite manage to hold, and fell himself, half on top of Dirk. He scrambled to his feet and pulled a short club from under his robe. Dirk leaped up, too, and swung an uppercut. Flound blocked with the club, then swung it with a shout.

It was a fast blow, but Dirk ducked under it, coming up to shoot a quick punch at the magistrate’s jaw. Flound blocked with his left and swung the club again. Dirk leaped back, but the club seemed to follow him somehow, and caught him on the left shoulder. He ground his teeth against pain and grabbed for the club with his right hand.

Ryan leaned down from his saddle to catch Flound around the throat, but the magistrate danced aside and chopped viciously with the club. Dirk snatched his hand away, and Miles sprang down to throw his arms around the magistrate from behind. Flound kicked back sharply, and Miles cried out at the pain in his shin. The distraction was enough; Flound twisted away, and swung his club at Miles’s temple.

Orgoru shouted as he caught Flound’s arm and yanked it back, enough so that the club missed. The magistrate yanked hard, but Orgoru held tight to his wrist and turned the palm up, yanking the sleeve of the robe high.

Flound finally took a good look at Orgoru and stared, thunderstruck by seeing magistrate’s robes.

In the second he was frozen, Dirk pressed a small bulb against his wrist.

That brought Flound out of his stupor with a shout. He slammed a kick into Orgoru’s stomach. Orgoru managed to block, but that only took some of the force from it, and he doubled over in pain. Flound yanked his arm free and turned to face Dirk, breathing hard and swinging his club in a whirring circle.

Then, suddenly, his eyes rolled up. and he slumped to the ground.

“Thought that drug would never kick in,” Dirk panted as he came over to pick the club from nerveless fingers.

“We didn’t know,” Miles said, eyes wide. “I swear to you, Mas-Dirk, I never knew magistrates hid clubs beneath their robes!”

“Neither did I,” Orgoru said, and Ryan echoed him and added, “I never knew they’d been taught how to fight, either!”

“Then it’s a good thing we taught you.” Dirk handed Orgoru the club. “Keep that with your blackjack now, and use the club first if you have to use anything, since that’s what they’ll expect you to have.”

“I shall,” Orgoru said. “Good fortune that you taught me single-stick play!”

“Good fortune indeed,” Dirk agreed, “but we can’t trust to luck. From now on, the real magistrates won’t even get this much of a chance. We can’t have somebody winding up dead, can we?”

“Not if we can help it, no,” Orgoru said, slightly shocked at the idea. “After all, this isn’t war.”

“Yet,” Ryan said heavily.

“Well, into the carriage with you,” Dirk told Orgoru. “You still have a reception committee to meet.”

“Yes! Thank you for this help, Dirk.” Orgoru turned to Miles. “And thank you, too, Miles.”

“It’s I should be thanking you,” Miles answered, with the first real smile he had ever given Orgoru. “He would have cracked my head if you hadn’t stopped him.”

“I can’t have a highly trained agent stopped by a feeble old magistrate, can I?” Orgoru returned the smile.

“No, and you can’t stop, either,” Dirk told him. “Up into the carriage with you.”

As Orgoru climbed, Nathan came running up the southern road from his sentry post. “Horses! The Greenthorpe party must have gotten impatient!”

“Or can’t see their milestones,” Dirk said dryly. “You ride escort, Nathan. I’d better keep His Nibs here, until you boys get back.” He reached up to clasp Orgoru’s hand. “Good luck!”

“Thank you,” Orgoru said fervently; then sat back, his heart pounding, as Miles started the horses.

They came to the trio from Greenthorpe in only a few hundred yards. The Greenthorpers reined in, and Miles drew the carriage to a halt. Orgoru, his heart in his mouth, gave them a smile that he hoped had just the right degree of condescension. “Are you the men from Greenthorpe?”

“Aye, Your Honor,” one of the watchmen saluted.

“I am Magistrate Flound. Will you escort me to my new post?”

“We’ll be delighted, Your Honor!”

Ryan climbed down off the box and came around to the side of the carriage. “Farewell, Magistrate. You’ve been a good master to me.”

They reenacted the scene they had just watched the real Flound play out, then turned their mounts, Miles on the spare horse, and rode away.

“Onward, goodmen,” Orgoru said with a genial smile, and leaned back as his new coachman drove him off to the biggest sham of his life.

The carriage stopped in front of the courthouse, and the coachman hopped to open the door. Orgoru climbed down, smiling his thanks, and followed the man to the doorway, where a portly man in a bailiff’s short robe waited.

“Bailiff Tundro, may I present Magistrate Flound.”

“Greetings, Your Honor.” The bailiff gave him a little bow. “Welcome to Greenthorpe.”

Something within Orgoru thrilled to that. “Greetings, bailiff, and thank you for your welcome. Please introduce me to the rest of the staff.”

Tundro looked slightly surprised, probably at the word “please,” but led Orgoru inside and introduced him to the servants, who insisted on laying out a light supper, then drawing his bath.

Bathed, fed, and thoroughly scared, Orgoru locked himself in the library, hauled down the first volume in the Code of Laws, and started speed-reading frantically.