A Wizard in Peace

CHAPTER 16

Thus Orgoru was the first to become a magistrate, and stalled during the day while he read law books frantically at night, to learn the updates for the last few hundred years. When he was sure of procedure, he started catching up on business and getting to know the people. He was aware that he only had six months to find a wife and marry. But the people seemed to accept him, and though his clerk gave him a raised eyebrow on occasion and had to fix his mistakes fairly frequently, the staff seemed to accept him as genuine, and after the first few weeks, he began to calm down. Still, a terrible homesickness overwhelmed him every night, homesickness for Voyagend and the other cured inmates who had become his friends in reality as well as delusion.

After the first month, though, he had a very pleasant surprise. At the end of the court session, the bailiff told him, “There are two people newly come to Greenthorpe, Your Honor, a merchant and his sister. They wish to file a complaint against a neighbor, for their father died a month ago, and the neighbor laid claim to half the goods in their warehouse.” Orgoru sighed; he hadn’t really learned much about business, and would have to trust to common sense. Besides, he’d already found out that if you just asked enough questions, people frequently answered their own while answering yours. “Very well. I’ll meet them in the study. Please tell Varjis to bring tea.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Orgoru went into the library, threw himself down in a leather-covered chair, and sighed: He hadn’t realized that being a magistrate involved so much work. Then the door opened, and he looked up—to see Jules, the erstwhile King Longar, and Gilda!

He couldn’t help himself; he stared, and surely Bailiff Tundro must have noticed it before he said, “Merchant Ruhle and his sister Gilda.”

Orgoru recovered and forced a bland smile. “Sit down, won’t you? Thank you, Tundro.”

“Of course, Your Honor.”

Orgoru was sure Tundro’s sharp eyes hadn’t missed anything, but for the moment, he didn’t care. He bolted from his chair and caught Gilda in a bear hug. “Oh, thank you, thank you, my friends! It’s so good to see you, so good!” He let her go and turned to pump Jules’s hand. “Thank you a thousand times!”

“We couldn’t let you languish by yourself any longer,” Gilda said, “so we trumped up an excuse to visit.”

“Sit down, sit down!” Orgoru suited the action to the word, gesturing at chairs. “Be comfortable! Tell me, what news from home?” His eyes widened as he heard himself call Voyagend “home,” but it really was, far more than the village in which he’d grown up.

“All goes well,” Jules told him, “though very busily. The minstrels are sending back lists of which magistrates will be transferred when, and Gar has driven Miles crazy by setting him to keep records of each of them, then choosing which man to send to replace which magistrate. Every week we send out two more men to become officials, and three or four women to find ways to marry genuine magistrates, or to take positions as nurses that will help them subvert soldiers.” He grinned. “It’s quite a hive of activity, I can tell you.”

“And the magistrates they send back, the real ones?” Orgoru asked, with a bit of guilt.

“They’re furious, which means they’re well in every other way,” Gilda told him. “Gar has sent them all to live in that great long block of a building that is all living apartments, and appointed Bade—you remember, the former Duke of Despres?”

“Of course.” Orgoru nodded vigorously. “Surely Bade isn’t going to be head jailer, not with his hatred of officials!”

“He has more reason to dislike them than most of us,” Jules admitted, “considering what they did to his family. But the Guardian wouldn’t let him mistreat them even if he planned to, and his hatred will keep him vigilant to make sure none escape.”

The door opened, and the maid came in with a tea cart.

“I really don’t think the man has reason enough to hate you,” Orgoru said. “Can’t he understand healthy competition between businessmen?”

They gave him blank stares, then realized he had switched topics to the official reason for their being there. “He seems to be one of those who has to win at all costs,” Jules said, “and takes any competition as a personal attack.”

“Yes, that will do nicely, thank you,” Orgoru said to the maid, who curtsied and left, closing the door behind her.

Gilda caught her breath. “You do that so well! Just like a real magistrate!”

“I am a real magistrate,” Orgoru said, “or at least, I have to think that way, or I’ll fail completely.”

Jules frowned, concerned. “Be careful, Orgoru.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t fall back into delusion.” Orgoru looked about him and grimaced. “Believe me, if I were going to, I wouldn’t choose this!”

“Being a lord was so much more pleasing.” Gilda handed him a filled cup.

Orgoru stared at it in surprise. “Forgive me! I should have poured.”

“There’s certainly no need.” She handed a cup to Jules, then poured one for herself, set down the pot, then looked up past Orgoru’s shoulder. “Oh! What a lovely garden!”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Orgoru turned to look. “One of the compensations for the stresses of the job. It’s excellent for relaxation at the end of a long day—and for helping think through a problem.” He turned back to her. “Would you like to walk in it?”

“I’d love to.” She set down her cup. “Jules?” Orgoru asked.

The former king waved away the invitation. “I’ve had enough walking for one day, thank you. You two take your time—I’ll find plenty of company in your biscuits and tea.”

“As you wish.” Orgoru rose and held out his hand. “My lady, will you walk?”

Gilda came to take his arm, giggling. “Those courtly phrases sound so strange now!”

“But they come so naturally,” Orgoru said, as they went out the French doors into the garden.

They strolled down the pathway, Gilda saying, “It really is lovely.”

“Not as lovely a sight as my first glimpse of Voyagend, that first night,” Orgoru sighed. “That was magical indeed.”

“Fantastic, one might almost say.” Gilda smiled.

Orgoru laughed. “Yes, a fantasy indeed!” He turned to look into her eyes. “And so were you—luscious and lovely, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.”

“You were so tall,” she said, “and lean, and handsome.”

“No! Was I really?” Orgoru laughed.

“Indeed you were—gauche, but so very handsome!”

“Whereas now,” Orgoru said ruefully, “I am graceful and at least somewhat cultured, but plain and lumpen!”

“Certainly not lumpen,” Gilda said sharply, and squeezed his biceps. “Dirk’s physical training has given you a great deal of hard muscle.”

He smiled at her. “It gave you almost as voluptuous a figure as you had in my delusion.” He was amazed to feel a flicker of the old passion.

“In my delusion, you filled me with desire,” Gilda leaned closer to him. “Seeing you as a magistrate kindles it anew.” The flicker blew into a blaze. “In me also,” he said, and leaned closer himself. Their lips touched, very tentatively at first, brushing one another enough to tickle, to raise shivers. Then the kiss deepened and lasted a long time indeed.

When they parted, he embraced her, amazed to find himself trembling, delighted to feel her trembling, too. “Come, sit!” He stepped away and gestured her to a bench. She sat—but he knelt and said, “Marry me, Gilda! Please marry me!”

She stared, even though it was what she had hoped for, had burned for. “But … but I am plain and gangling!” she protested.

“You will always be beautiful to me, for I’ve seen you through the eyes of the Prince of Paradime. You still have all the charm, grace, and wit of the Countess Gilda—and I’ve fallen in love with you all over again.”

“Oh, Orgoru!” She leaned forward, clasping both his hands. “But will it last?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. When he saw that she still hesitated, he said, “Come, my love! You know that I have to marry somebody soon, to stave off suspicion. Will you leave me to the clutches of some illiterate, clumsy village maid?”

“No, never!” She smiled fondly. “Far better that it be someone you trust.”

“And love,” he breathed, then stretched up to kiss her again. When they parted, he caught his breath and said, “Still, if you have any doubts, I promise not to make physical advances.”

“Oh, do you indeed!” Gilda cried. “Am I so ugly after all that you can’t bear to touch me, then?”

“You know the falseness of that from my kiss,” Orgoru protested. “Be assured that I do want to touch you, and very badly, too.”

“I certainly hope you will not do it badly!” Gilda exclaimed. Orgoru spread his hands, laughing. “Come, now! You will be angered if I don’t, and angered if I do!”

“Not if you do it well,” she returned, and leaned down with a lazy smile. “If you think you can, and really want to, prove it!” He did. She wasn’t angry.

When they parted, Orgoru moaned, “Marry me, sweet lady, or forever after know yourself to be cruel! Will you marry me, sweeting?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

This time, their kiss lasted and lasted, until Jules finally came to the window, alarmed that they had been so long silent—but what he saw made him smile, and eased his fears for them immensely.

Miles was hard at work in the palace office—it had been the sitting room of his suite, but the records had overflowed, and he had been forced to move—when a voice called, “Hail the conquering hero!”

Looking up, he saw Jules coming through the door and looking very proud of himself. He grinned and leaped up, coming around his desk. “Hail, hero! What have you done?”

“Escorted Gilda to see Orgoru, and I assure you, he was very glad to see us, and very hungry for news.”

“But he was well?”

“Well? He was thriving! Now he’s even better.”

“News from home did that much good, eh?” Miles asked, grinning.

“News from home—and Gilda. Ask me where she is, Miles.” Miles lost his smile. “Where is she?”

“She stayed with Orgoru! They started talking about old times, and fell in love all over again! They mean to be married in a month!” Jules frowned. “Why the face of calamity? Don’t you understand, boy? They’re engaged!”

“Oh, I understand well enough!” It was the strangest mix of emotions Miles had ever felt—elation that Orgoru was no longer his rival, but real, deep fear at what effect the news would have on Ciletha. “Whatever you do, don’t tell her!”

“Her? Who? Gilda? I think she knows.”

“No—Ciletha!”

“Don’t tell Ciletha? Whyever not?”

“Yes—why not tell Ciletha?” The lady herself came through the doorway, slender and light as though blown on the wind. “This lamebrain seems to think I shouldn’t tell you Orgoru and Gilda are engaged.” Jules turned to her, frowning—it was very deflating to have his wonderful news treated as a tragedy. Worse, Ciletha didn’t treat it as much of anything. “Are they really?” she asked with a polite little smile. “How wonderful for them!” Then she went to Miles’s desk and laid some papers on it. “The reports from Fourthmark, Miles. Dirk said you’d want them.”

Jules scowled. “No one seems to care much about romance anymore. If you’ll excuse me, I’m tired and hot from my trip. I’m going to my suite. At least the tub will appreciate me!”

“Thank you very much for the news, Jules,” Miles said hastily. “Believe me, you don’t know how important it is!”

“I do. I’m glad you have some hint of it yourself.” The former king went out, not much mollified.

Miles turned to Ciletha anxiously.

“I’m all right, Miles,” she insisted. “Anyone who knew those two knew this would happen some day.”

“But … but it doesn’t … grieve you?”

“Grieve me? No.” She looked up at him, exasperated. “How blind can you be? I fell out of love with Orgoru two years ago!”

It was the first time she had admitted she’d been in love with him.

“Then—you don’t really care?”

“Care? I’m glad for my old friend. I hope they’ll be happy.” Then, suddenly, her eyes brimmed over.

Miles reached her in one step and swept her into his embrace. She wept into his chest, gasping. “I don’t know why … I’m crying… I don’t care … about him … anymore…” Then she raised a tear-stained face to him. “I suppose I’m mourning the past, what little good there was in it.”

He gazed down into her face gravely for a moment, then quite deliberately kissed her.

It started as a short, light kiss, but it deepened and lasted amazingly. When he finally lifted his head and drew breath, astounded and stunned, Ciletha gave a little, happy sigh and laid her head on his chest again. “I thought you’d never do that!”

“I never would have dared, until today.” He stroked her hair, gazing over her head, feeling the most delightful sensation steal over him. “I would tell you to take heart, but you already have—my heart.”

“And you took mine long ago, you silly man! Didn’t you see that I’d fallen out of love with Orgoru and in love with you?”

“I’m blind,” he whispered.

“Then you’ll have to work by touch,” she said, and raised her head for another kiss.

They forgot to close the door. Sometime later, Jules stumped by, bathed and trimmed. He stopped to stare in at them, then turned away, shaking his head and muttering about something in the air.

Miles stared. “You want me to do what?”

“To coordinate all the efforts of the underground,” Gar said patiently, “to keep track of what everyone’s doing, and if anyone makes a mistake, send someone to fix it.”

“We’re asking you to be chief rebel, Miles,” Dirk said, smiling. “We’re asking you to boss the revolution.”

Miles sat down hard, staring blankly in front of him. It was just good luck he’d had a chair handy—or maybe that was why they had come into his study and told him at his desk.

He looked around at the room, not even seeing the velvet drapes, the tapestry, the gilded moldings, the fireplace, or the graceful, damask-covered furniture. “Chief rebel?” he asked, stupefied.

“Yes;” Gar said. “Why do you think we had you take care of the records and send people out, then interview them when they came back?”

“You were training me for the job!”

“Very successfully, too,” Dirk agreed. “You’re ready for it, Miles—and we’re ready to go find other oppressive governments to overthrow. You can handle everything here for the next four years.”

“Don’t worry,” Gar said. “We’ll come back for the actual revolution.”

Miles’s mind seized on something trivial. He gazed at a random note on his desk. “Isn’t it an amazing coincidence that the peasant you chose for a guide should prove to be the man you want to lead the revolution?”

“No coincidence at all,” Dirk snapped. “Why did you think we chose you for a guide, out of all the outlawed peasants in the land? Why do you think we kept you with us?”

“You have the intelligence to do the job, and the strength of will to hold the position,” Gar told him. “Besides that, you can think quickly enough to handle an emergency.”

“We’ve taught you all we can,” Dirk said. “You can do the job—and you’re the only man on the planet who can.”

“Me? An illiterate peasant, oppose the Protector and all his soldiers?”

“You,” Dirk said, “and a thousand false magistrates, not to mention the soldiers our agents are subverting at the rate of twenty a day. They may not know the word ‘revolution’ or our intention to overthrow the Protector, but they won’t fight to stop you.”

“Just remember that you have to keep the real magistrates penned up until after the revolution,” Gar cautioned. “They know how to flatter and fawn, and they’re very likely to convince you of their loyalty—then turn their coats the second they’re free, and bring back an army to destroy you.”

“The magistrate who does that will become a minister overnight,” Dirk agreed.

Miles nodded. “I’ll remember.” Then he shook himself. “Wait a minute! I haven’t even said I’ll do it yet!”

“Well?” Dirk said, hands on his hips. “Will you?” Gar demanded.

Miles’s gaze strayed. “I’ll have to talk to Ciletha first.” He braced himself for exasperation, but they must have known more than he thought (when didn’t they?)—for Dirk only nodded, and Gar said, “Of course you must.”

He met Ciletha for their usual walk in the park—the captive bureaucrats had been very indignant at having to clear away the vines and overgrowth enough for the robot gardeners to begin work again. Now he met Ciletha there every evening, even if they’d been together at their desks all day, to enjoy the cool air and gaze at the ponds and flower beds.

“You’re quiet tonight, my dear,” Ciletha prodded.

“Yes. I-I have some … some very important news, Ciletha,” Miles said.

When he fell silent, Ciletha suppressed a sigh and said only, “Go on.”

“Gar and Dirk came to see me today…”

He stopped again. Ciletha pressed. “What about?”

“They want me to be chief rebel. They want me to lead the revolution.”

“Chief rebel! Oh, how wonderful, Miles!” Ciletha planted a huge kiss on his lips. Instinct took over, and he embraced her, amazed.

Suddenly she broke the kiss and pushed herself away, eyes wide with horror. “Miles! The danger! If they catch you, they’ll torture you to draw everyone’s name from you. Then, when they’ve milked you dry, they’ll draw and quarter you!”

Miles shuddered at the thought of the dread, slow punishment and put it from him resolutely. “I know, Ciletha. I can’t take that risk without your understanding. I’m foolish enough to think my life affects yours, after all.”

“Foolish! Oh, you dear boy, no! You are my life now!” The horror lifted from her suddenly, and her smile was like the sunrise. “Come, now. We both knew we were wagering our lives for this. We all do. If the Protector’s spies catch us, we’ll all be tortured and hanged—but we can’t go back now.”

Miles frowned, thinking of it for the first time. “No, we can’t, can we? Even if I took you back to my home village and presented you to the magistrate as my fiancée, he’d still have me flogged, set me to years of hard labor—and probably forbid our marriage, to prove that no one can defy the Protector.” He shuddered. “No, I think I’d rather have a real death than a living one.”

“I would, too,” she said softly, “and we can only be slain once.”

“Yes, we can, can’t we?” Miles smiled at her, realizing all over again what a unique woman she was. “But I’m far more concerned for you than for myself, Ciletha. After all, I’m the one who dragged you into this mess.”

“I dragged myself into it,” she told him sternly, “or blundered into it, rather—blundered into you and Gar and Dirk that dark night. But I chose to stay—and I choose to stay now.”

“Well, yes,” Miles said, “but you wouldn’t have done so if it hadn’t been for me.”

“I thought you would never realize that,” she whispered, swaying very close to him. He stared at her in surprise, then realized her meaning and took her in his arms to kiss her again.

When they came up for air, he whispered, “I love you, Ciletha.”

“So you have told me,” she replied. “Do you finally believe that I love you, too?”

Miles smiled as joy swept him again. “I could only hope for that,” he said, “but never believe it.”

“Believe it, then!” she scolded; then, swaying right up against him and half closing her eyes, “What will it take to make you believe it?”

He kissed her again and came up smiling. “A wedding,” he whispered. “Marry me, and I’ll believe you love me.”

Ciletha gave a sigh of mock exasperation. “The lengths I must go to, to make you see what is clearly before you! Well, if I must marry to make you trust me, then I will.”

He gave a shout of joy, then kissed her again. When he drew back, he said, “But I haven’t asked you properly,” and dropped to one knee. “Will you marry me, Ciletha?”

She gave him a mock cuff on the ear. “Yes, you blockhead!” Then more softly, “Yes, you wonderful, handsome man, I will marry you.”

They kissed again. Then she pushed herself away, suddenly very serious. “But not until this revolution is won or lost, Miles. It would be horrible to bear children and see them chewed up by the Protector’s forces. If we win, then I’ll marry you.” She frowned, suddenly worried. “You did mean to have children, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Miles breathed, and the kiss was even longer this time.

When Miles lifted his head, though, concern shadowed his face. “I didn’t tell Dirk and Gar that I’m not the only person who knows who all the rebels are, and where. I’m very frightened for you, my love.”

“Well, then.” Ciletha wrapped her arms around him and pressed her head into his shoulder. “You’ll just have to take very good care of me, won’t you?”

“Why, yes, I will,” he said, his smile returning, and pressed a finger under her chin to lift her head. “I won’t let you out of my sight, my love.”

“Well,” she said, “at least not at night,” and kissed him again.

So it was that Ciletha stood beside Miles on top of a hill in the very first predawn light a week later, wondering what Dirk and Gar were waiting for, but too polite to ask.

“How do you write out your records?” Gar asked one more time.

“In ink that runs if it gets wet,” Ciletha said patiently, “and we keep a tank of water nearby, to dump in the records if our sentries tell us soldiers are coming.”

“Infiltrate the secret police if you can,” Dirk reminded them for the tenth time.

“We will if we can find them,” Miles told them patiently. “You don’t know how sorry I am to see you go, and how glad I’ll be to see you come back!”

“Thank you.” Gar smiled warmly. “But you don’t really need us any more. This revolution will run itself now—it’s like a boulder that’s been pushed off the top of a hill. If nobody stops it, it’ll knock down the castle at the bottom.”

“It would take a very great deal to stop a boulder going that fast,” Dirk seconded, “especially since this boulder gets bigger as it rolls.”

“Good-bye.” Gar reached down to embrace Miles, then Ciletha, and came up with that fleeting trace of longing flickering over his face.

“Farewell indeed!” she told him. “Until you come back to us!”

“We will if we live,” Dirk promised, “and we intend to. Go now, you two. Leave us to our transportation.”

“Go on,” Gar said, still smiling.

Miles took Ciletha’s arm in his. Together they turned and started down the hill. They heard nothing, saw nothing, but as they reached the bottom, something made them turn and look up.

They saw the huge golden disk hovering over the hilltop, and Dirk and Gar climbing up the ramp it had lowered to them. They disappeared inside; the ramp lifted, and the disk rose.

Miles and Ciletha stood staring at it until it was long out of sight.

“Now I believe our ancestors came from another star,” Miles whispered.

Ciletha shook herself and turned away. “Come, beloved. We have a Protector to overthrow.”