A Wizard in Peace

CHAPTER 24

Before the horde of magistrates, Bade stood wearing a black robe, though it was decked with silver trim. Solemnly, he raised his right hand; the multitude in front of him rustled as they raised their arms in imitation. “Do you swear loyalty to the Council of Reeves?” Bade asked.

“I do so swear!” the magistrates answered as though with one voice.

“Will you uphold their declarations and enforce their laws?’ I do so swear!”

“Will you defend and uphold the Charter of Human Rights?”

“I do so swear!”

“Welcome, brother officials of the New Order,” Bade intoned. “Leave this city now, to take up your offices under the Reeve of Reeves. Miles, your new Presiding Magistrate, shall soon send you your true wives, those with whom you have felt the actual bond of marriage. Those of you who have found no true wife will not be obliged to take one; you may serve the realm as magistrates anyway. All other wives who do not join their former husbands shall, as we have promised, continue to be supported by the Realm.”

The magistrates cheered and began to file out through the gate by which the Protector had just come in. He watched them go, his face ashen.

“All of those men have been my prisoners for at least a year,” Bade told him. “Some of them have lived here for five years. With a whole city to roam; they haven’t had close confinement to complain of, but they’ve tried to escape continually, even after I told them that whoever could learn more than the Guardian would be allowed to go free. None did, of course, but they were still trying when Miles sent word that they could go free, and could become magistrates again if they liked. You will have to be ingenious indeed Protector, to develop a scheme none of them has thought of.”

The Protector felt the truth in the words, and felt his heart begin to sink.

“Come, now.” Bade beckoned. “Let me introduce you to the Guardian.”

The Protector met the bodiless intelligence that greeted him courteously and answered every question he could ask. When he left the chamber, his heart could sink no lower.

Outside the city, Orgoru hurried to join Gilda and the aloof giant who watched their embrace. “It’s done,” said the former madman.

“Don’t tremble so, husband.” Gilda said into his shoulder. “You know it’s kinder than death, and that we had no choice.”

“Or do you think life in the City is so unpleasant as that?” Gar asked.

Orgoru looked up, startled by the implications of the question. “It was quite pleasant,” he said slowly, “but we were mad!”

“And I promised you that you could be so again,” Gar said gravely, “when you had done the task I asked of you. That work is done, Orgoru, Gilda. Would you claim your reward?”

The two looked at one another, startled. Then Orgoru said slowly, “You mean to make us mad again? To send us back to our illusions, so that I might once again be the Prince of Paradime, and Gilda the Countess d’Alexi?”

“I will, if you wish it.”

For a moment, Gilda’s eyes were bright with hunger—but she looked at Orgoru, too, in his new blue robe and chain of office, and said slowly, “To be a countess in illusion, or the wife of a reeve and high minister in reality? I think sanity has become sweeter than madness to me, Gar.” She caught Orgoru’s hands again. “But only as long as I have you. If you would rather go back to madness, Orgoru, I’ll go with you.”

“But if I have you,” he said softly, “I have no need of delusion, for the bitter world has been made sweet by your presence.” He stared into her eyes for a minute, beaming, then laughed and leaned away at arm’s length. “Besides, to be one of the foremost men of a real realm is at least as sweet as being the Prince of Paradime! Far more work, it’s true, but also far more satisfying! Will you stay in reality with me, my love?”

“I will,” she said, “till the end of my life,” and threw her arms around him.

Gar gazed fondly at their embrace, but felt the old craving grow within him. He solaced it by finding room to wonder if they had not simply found a more pleasant illusion than madness.

Back in Milton Town, Gar made the same offer to all the cured delusionaries. They all refused the return to madness; with even a little success, life was proving more enjoyable than delusion.

“I thought they’d make that choice,” Gar confided to Dirk, “but I must admit I had my doubts.”

“They seem content to be part of the new power structure,” Dirk said, “and to not try to take revenge on the people who made their childhoods miserable.”

“There is that chance, when the underdog comes to power,” Gar agreed. “I think we had better stay for a month or so, and see how our protégé, Miles, manages.”

At the end of that month, they sat on a balcony of the former Protector’s palace, with the French windows ajar behind them and the door to their mutual drawing room locked. It would have taken an ingenious burglar indeed to eavesdrop on them.

“Well begun,” Gar said, “and well intentioned—but our Miles is taking an awful lot on himself.”

“He has cleaned up the examinations system pretty well.” Dirk sipped his wine. “Of course, he hasn’t put in measures to keep it clean.”

“I’m sure he’ll think of them,” Gar replied. “If nothing else, he’ll keep the inspector-general system going, as soon as he’s sure who’s loyal and who isn’t. But measures against corruption are always temporary.”

“Yes, I know,” Dirk said, with a touch of bitterness. “Human ingenuity will always find a way around such safeguards. You don’t think there’s a permanent cure, do you?”

“Only eternal vigilance, with outbursts of public anger when corruption is found.” Gar sighed. “It’s unpleasant, but it helps a bit. Of course, so does a periodic housecleaning, and Miles has at least achieved that. The system will probably stay honest for a hundred years, and pretty clean for a century after.”

But the first meeting of the Council of Reeves reassured them immensely. After the opening ceremonies, Miles presented bill after bill, asking the Council to approve the reforms he had already put into place, and suggesting new ones to come. The next day, three different groups of reeves each endorsed some of Miles’s bills, but not all—and of course, each group had a different set of bills it liked. Then each group submitted some bills of their own. By the third day, each had given itself a name.

That evening, Dirk held up his glass to look at the sunset through the rosy fluid. “Much as I like what our boy Miles is doing, I like what the reeves are doing even better.”

“A three-party system.” Gar nodded vigorously. “Yes, that will help. Both out-of-power parties will always be criticizing the party in power, and watching it like hawks for any signs of wrongdoing.”

“It’s certainly more lively,” Dirk agreed, “but have we really improved anything? Other than everyone being free not to marry, and able to chose their own mates if they do decide to wed.”

“Oh, I think so,” Gar said thoughtfully. “The Council of Reeves is about to declare a Charter of Human Rights. The torture chambers have been torn apart, the justice system can’t be used as a tool of personal viciousness—did you hear that Miles has even proposed that every verdict be sent to the Guardian for review?”

“Hear it? I suggested it! Meanwhile, the President is accountable to a legislature that’s elected by the people—or will be, as soon as they hold their first elections.”

Gar nodded. “So all in all, it’s probably an improvement on the existing system, if not really a new system. There’s every chance that more people will be happier this way.”

“So why are you so depressed?”

“Because it isn’t new,” Gar sighed, “and I’m the one who told the Guardian to teach them an overview of human history, not just the annals of this planet alone. I had hoped that they would invent a system of their own.”

Dirk shrugged. “So instead, they chose bits and pieces that they liked and put them together to make a new variation. As long as it’s right for them, who cares?”

“I do,” Gar groaned.

Dirk studied him for a few minutes, frowning, then said, “There’s nothing wrong with following in your father’s footsteps, Gar—especially if you’re doing it by accident.”

The elections were actually held on time, and the ballots and all the records were taken to the Guardian for verification. The computer pronounced them legitimate, and the country let out a mass cheer. The score or so of reeves who weren’t re-elected weren’t so happy, but their replacements were. They switched places, the winners going to the capital and the losers taking their offices in the provinces—and immediately starting the groundwork for their next campaigns. Miles let out a massive sigh of relief, and spent the night celebrating with Ciletha—he was still President.

A few weeks later, they held their first inauguration. It was a solemn and awe-inspiring sight, albeit with something of an improvised nature to it. Gar and Dirk watched, beaming fondly.

Then all that remained was to wait for the newly elected Council of Reeves to draft their Charter of Government—quickly done, since they had been hammering out the details for five years—and incorporating all the safeguards Gar had recommended to Miles. He was delighted that, all by themselves and no doubt due to pressure from the female former lunatics, the reeves added a Grandmothers’ Council, which would have to ratify everything the Council of Reeves passed, and might themselves send bills to the reeves. At least, Gar was delighted until he realized that the Grandmothers made the legislature bicameral.

Then, finally, when the Charter had been passed and the new government was firmly in place, Miles left the victory party to take Ciletha out under the stars, turned to her, and said, “The fighting and arguing are done, Ciletha. The new government is in place, and we’re still alive and safe.”

“Yes, my darling, we are,” she whispered.

Never taking his eyes from hers, Miles knelt and asked, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, my love.” Her lips trembled as she bent to give him a long and lasting kiss.

It was a glorious day, with sunlight filling the crisp air of autumn and the leaves a riot of color. The choir sang a song of triumph that sounded suspiciously like a hymn as the bride and groom mounted the platform to stand before the Chairman of the Council of Reeves to exchange their vows. Then, as the crowd filling the square cheered wildly, Miles led his bride to the great doorway of the palace, picked her up, and carried her over the threshold.

The doors closed behind him, but he didn’t put Ciletha down—he was too busy kissing her. Finally, she broke the embrace and said softly, “Your arms are trembling, my love.”

“Only with desire,” Miles said stoutly.

“Nonetheless, please put me down,” Ciletha said, “for we have farewells to make.”

With great reluctance (even though his arms were aching), Miles put her down and turned to his closest guests. He clasped Dirk’s hand, then Gar’s, as he said, “I thank you, my friends. Ciletha and I would never have married if it hadn’t been for you.”

“Of course, there’s also the minor issue of a government overthrown and freedom won,” Dirk said dryly, “not to mention your still being alive to achieve them. But what does that matter against finding your mate, eh?”

“Exactly!” both said at once.

“We were glad to do all that we could,” Gar said, “and gladder still that it worked for the best. May you have long and happy lives.”

“May all your sorrows be small, and your joys great,” Dirk said.

Miles turned somber for a minute. “Will we see you again?”

“Probably not,” Dirk said, and,

“Only if you wake up very early tomorrow,” Gar said. “It doesn’t matter, though. You don’t need us anymore.”

“We will always long to see you again, though,” Ciletha said, extending her hand.

“Perhaps fate will bring us together again,” Gar said, but the gaunt longing flickered over his face for an instant, and was gone.

They climbed the hill outside Milton in the predawn light and stood waiting for the first sun-ray to reflect off something high up. As they waited, Dirk mused, “They might have waked up early, and be looking out the window watching us.”

“More likely that they haven’t slept yet,” Gar said, “but if you’ll pardon my mentioning it, they have far more important considerations just now than two departing friends.”

“You mean each other? Yes, they have.” Dirk cast a shrewd glance at his huge companion, saw the longing in his face, and felt its echo within him, which he sternly put down. To distract Gar, he said, “You know, for a man committed to self-determination, you seem to be leaving an awful lot of newborn democracies in your wake.”

The naked longing disappeared under Gar’s rueful smile. “I’m afraid that’s true, Dulaine. I’ll reason out why someday.”

“Not just now, though, okay?” Dirk pointed upward. “Here comes our ride.”

Gar looked up and smiled with relief as the great golden disk spun down.