by Trish Mercer
Perrin’s face screwed into a picture of dismay.
“I mean, Colonel, I personally think it stands a chance of success,” Brisack explained, “but I doubt those who need to release the stores will agree. Not only do you need my authorization and Giyak’s, but you also need the Administrators of Taxation, Commerce, and Farming to agree. And your father, of course, since he’s the holder of the key to it. Now, I’m sure the Administrator of Security will give his approval—”
Giyak still stood with his furrowed brows, running the proposal over in his mind.
“—but you won’t easily get Taxation. No one easily gets Taxation,” Brisack chuckled mirthlessly. “However, the funds for rebuilding Edge lie in a separate coffer, one that I alone control. One that I will willingly give you—”
Perrin’s chest tightened. “Doctor, I appreciate the offer, but it won’t work. You can’t buy the loyalty of the village.”
“Buy?” Brisack blinked in surprise. “You see this as a bribe?”
Perrin shrugged. “What else is it?”
“Charity!”
“No,” Perrin shook his head. “Charity is something else. It comes from a deep sense of love, and asks for nothing back. Charity’s greater than love, even. Love is a feeling, but charity demands sacrifice, acting on that feeling. Forgive me, but I don’t think you truly love Edge, because you don’t know them well enough. What you’re offering is a bribe to retain their loyalty. But like an ill-tempered dog, this will come back to bite you. It takes away their dignity, and one of the few things Edgers have a great deal of, in their own odd ways, is dignity. Let them keep that. Feed them, let them repay you, and see if I’m not right.”
Giyak scoffed and turned to the doctor. “Are you just going to let him—”
Brisack held up a hand to silence him. “While I am a doctor and the Administrator of Family Life, there’s something I am above that: a scientist, and one who enjoys an experiment with teeth. Perrin Shin, I will accept your ‘speculation’ that Edge will become more loyal if we provide only food reserves. But I speculate against you.”
Perrin’s belly sank to his feet. “Sir?”
“Here’s my proposal: you return to Edge in about two weeks, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to evaluate Edge during the week after that. Task some of your soldiers to ask those in need what they want: food or gold. Then, after that week, send me a report as to the results. I expect complete honesty from you, Colonel. Let the people decide what they want and need.”
Perrin sighed. He couldn’t imagine why people would want shiny metals when they needed warm bread, but then again there were some less-than-logical villagers. “What if the results are split?”
Brisack shrugged. “Perhaps we’ll send relief that accommodates both. By then it will have been a few weeks, I will have had that much time to work on the Administrator of Taxation, and he may be willing then to release the stores.”
Perrin exhaled in frustration, but Brisack cut him off before he could protest.
“It’s the only way I’ll agree to this, Colonel. I’m a very fair man, Shin,” the doctor told him, his blue eyes staring deeply into Perrin’s nearly black ones. “You have no idea how fair. The preservation of life is critical to me. In the past I’ve gone to great lengths to ensure that some people had a fighting chance.”
For some reason the old scar across Perrin’s back, received from flushing out more than a dozen Guarders in the forest intent on killing his expecting wife and daughter fourteen years ago, itched.
“Unlike Moorland, Edge will survive,” Brisack assured him, with his voice strangely not containing any reassurance, “but on my terms. I’m allowing you the possibility of altering those terms. At any rate, relief will come to Edge in four to five weeks. What kind of relief will be up to them, not you. Is that understood, Colonel Shin?”
There were times Perrin realized there could be no other answer than the one demanded. It was those times that let him live to be forty-three years old.
“Yes, sir,” he agreed dully. But he still had a plan.
An hour later the meeting finally adjourned, and as the Administrators and officers tidied up their pages, Perrin made his way over to the lieutenant completing the minutes of the meeting.
“So,” said Perrin, trying to sound casual, “some soldiers earn their positions because they run the fastest, while others are placed because they can scrawl the fastest.”
The lieutenant chuckled and held up a finger as he finished writing his last sentence.
Perrin frowned. “Did you just record that as well? Wasn’t even a good line.”
The lieutenant looked up at him and smiled. “No, sir. Just a note to myself about who wanted copies of the minutes.”
Perrin nodded slowly, noticed the other men leaving the room, waved a final goodbye, and turned back to the lieutenant. “Nelt, is it? I know your father Colonel Nelt. He was a couple of years ahead of me in Command School.”
“Yes, sir,” Nelt said, standing up and gathering his notes. “He’s mentioned you a few times. Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Perrin looked at the pages hungrily. “May I uh, may I see all that you wrote down?”
Nelt held the papers a bit closer to his chest. “Everyone who was in attendance will be able to inspect the minutes and give his final say before they are distributed, sir.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Perrin a bit hurriedly. “I was only wondering if I might . . . if I might check one or two items?” It was his ramblings that worried him, realizing that his musings about Brillen and Shem and how pay is decided—ideas that he thought were mostly in his head—had actually come out of his mouth. Depending upon what this young officer, whose dark brown hands were gripping the pages even more possessively, wrote, Perrin may come off looking . . . well, not very supportive of the Administrators.
“Sir?”
Perrin’s gaze traveled up from the pages to meet the deep brown eyes of Nelt.
“Trust me, sir? I do an excellent job. That’s why I was chosen as scribe.”
“Yes,” Perrin said slowly. “That’s what worries me. Just how excellent a job do you do?”
Nelt chanced a small smile. “I write down what was intended to be heard, sir. After all, with so much discussion, it’s frequently difficult for me to record every last word,” he said meaningfully. “So instead I record the spirit of the conversation, if not every letter. Don’t worry sir, I do an excellent job,” he repeated. “You will be pleased.”
Perrin’s shoulders relaxed. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with that.”
Nelt smiled. “My father often remarked how unusual you were, in a good way.”
That made Perrin chuckle. “You’re coming to The Dinner, aren’t you?”
Nelt grinned. “Yes, sir! Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Last year my wife was feeling too ill, so we had to miss it—”
Perrin’s eyebrows rose. “You’re married? Good for you! Too many soldiers today think that’s not important anymore, but I promise you there’s nothing better than finding a wonderful woman.”
Nelt’s brown cheeks flushed. “She is, sir. And so is our son. That’s why we missed last year. The idea of food and dancing kept making her . . . um, throw up,” he said uncomfortably.
Perrin chuckled. “Understand. My wife had a rather unpleasant time of expecting herself. And to be honest, the idea of the food and dancing still makes me a bit sick to my stomach as well.” But the wheels of planning were turning in Perrin’s mind. “So your son must be very young?”
“Yes. And my wife’s a bit worried about leaving our baby with a tender the night of The Dinner, since he’s barely six moons old—”
“Then don’t leave him, Lieutenant,” Perrin said. “Bring him! The Dinner is for families, after all. And a baby’s the most entertaining part of a family, I always thought.”
Nelt blinked rapidly at that. “Bring the baby?”
&nb
sp; Perrin grinned. “And I’m making that an order, Lieutenant.”
---
On the way out of the garrison, Perrin stopped at the rubbish heap where Peto had seen the filthy man.
But the heap—and the man—were both gone.
Perrin tucked the full gold slip back into his pocket. There were still more rubbish heaps in Idumea.
---
“How was your meeting this afternoon with the Administrators?” Mahrree asked him as they readied for bed that night.
He groaned.
She chuckled.
“How was your afternoon with my mother?” he asked her.
She groaned.
He chuckled.
They slipped into the silk sheets next to each other, trying not to slide out of the slick bed.
“So, Jaytsy learned to dance today,” Mahrree began. “I have to confess, it didn’t look as bad as I imagined. I sort of started to think about it . . .”
Perrin sighed loudly. “Yes?”
She rolled onto her side to face him. “Would it really be so bad if we . . . I mean, you and I . . . um, danced?”
To her surprise he chuckled. “You sounded as nervous as a first-year private at his first dance.”
Mahrree punched his shoulder.
“But no, my darling wife, I guess dancing really isn’t that bad. It just strikes me as an odd development. Men and women who normally wouldn’t converse with each other more than twenty seconds suddenly holding hands and moving in time together for five minutes? What do you look at? What do you say in such intimate positions? An odd thing, really—”
She snuggled into him. “I don’t know. Some of those slower dances could be rather interesting,” she hinted.
He pulled her closer. “I agree. But there’s something I think you don’t understand about dances. If we dance together, we are then obligated to dance with others as well.”
She stiffened. “Really?”
“Oh yes. Any man that asks you, you must oblige him unless you are ill or exhausted, or it’s considered an insult to the Shin family name, which we simply can’t abide,” he said with a haughty sniff. “And consider—you may even be asked to dance by an Administrator or two.”
She recoiled as her husband chuckled again.
“And there’s something else,” he said more soberly. “I would be expected to ask other women to dance.”
Already Mahrree was gritting her teeth and clenching a fist at the idea. “Would a certain Versula Cush Thorne be there?”
Now Perrin went rigid, and Mahrree knew she had to find out more about her.
“Colonel Thorne is the commander of the garrison,” Perrin said in a dead tone. “He’s more socially and politically connected than even my parents. And since this is the first major event of the year, he’ll be there. And so will his wife,” he grumbled.
“Was she at the first one you attended, where you did dance? Your mother told me you did a few times.”
“I don’t remember,” he said hurriedly. “Mrs. Thorne was already married, and I was more interested in the dessert tables. Mother would know that. As for actually dancing, I think Mother’s getting a bit fanciful in her memory as she ages.”
“Well then, as hosts of the evening trying to assist your ailing father and your fanciful mother, I suppose it’s best that we both sit out dancing this year and tend to the party itself.”
“What an excellent idea,” he declared. “Funny I didn’t think of that myself, not dancing at all.”
Mahrree giggled, then said, “Perrin, did you know there’s a huge reserve of food at the garrison?”
“I do. That was part of the discussion at the garrison today. I want to take part of it back to Edge.”
“Yes!” Mahrree squealed, and kissed him happily. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“But it’s not what the Administrators are thinking,” he warned her, and explained what happened.
She sighed, deflated. “But you’re right. Give too much, people stop taking care of themselves. Just like thinking. Give them all the answers, especially the wrong ones, then don’t allow them to think about possibilities or debate those answers, and people stop questioning, thinking, fixing, innovating—”
“I got it, I got it.” He kissed her to stop her rambling.
“You said you have a plan for compensating those who will want to be repaid for their supplies and help. How?”
He swallowed. “Mahrree, how much would you say is in our cellar.”
She swallowed back. “You mean, hidden behind the jugs?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated only a second to calculate it. “Much more than we need. Especially since we don’t want to buy a house in the Edge of Idumea Estates. You want it to supplement what the auctions bring in, don’t you?”
“If those wanting compensation see there’s only a certain amount to go around,” Perrin mused, “they’ll lower their wants to match the supply. But if they think there’s an inexhaustible amount from Idumea, they’ll become greedier than Peto when he’s missed midday meal. If they become too accustomed to taking from the Administrators, they’ll never do anything for themselves again. What kind of existence is that?”
“They’re nothing more than children themselves, then,” Mahrree said.
“So you’re all right with this? I mean, it’s half your silver.”
“No, it’s not. Not half my silver, nor half my marriage. It’s ours—all of it. There are no lines between what’s yours and what’s mine. I’m all yours, and you, Mr. Shin, are all mine.”
He chuckled quietly. “Have I told you lately how your mind is so much like mine?”
“You don’t have to. I already thought it.”
“I know what you’re thinking right now, Mrs. Shin: How do I get out of The Dinner?”
“Hmm. Very good! What’s the solution?”
“I’m sorry, my darling wife, I don’t have one. I suppose I’m only allowed one genius solution per day. I’ve discovered a way to help Edge, but I can’t help you.”
---
Two men sat in a darkened room of an unlit building.
Nicko Mal whistled under his breath. “I warned you about him, didn’t I?”
Dr. Brisack sighed. “That you did. I hate to admit it, but I always thought you were exaggerating the aggravating nature of the man. But today?”
Mal chuckled. “Do tell. I read the draft of the minutes Nelt took, and they appeared innocuous enough—”
“Someone needs to retrain that lieutenant!” Brisack declared. “He has very selective hearing. While he captured the spirit of the meeting, he let escape the most incriminating moments. I saw Perrin chatting with him after the meeting, and Nelt told me he was only asking if he was coming to The Dinner. But I’m sure Perrin persuaded him to clean things up a bit. Our discussion was far, far messier, I assure you!”
“I do so enjoy seeing you humbled, my good Doctor,” Mal said. “So, do you think he’s right? About the villagers becoming too greedy and demanding too much without feeling loyal?”
Brisack shrugged. “I really don’t know. He compared them to spoiled children, but since neither you nor I ever had children, I don’t know if his comparison is valid.”
“Remind me again how you became Administrator of Family Life?”
Brisack scoffed. “Because no one else would take it. Because I do know a few things about families. This is merely another question for us to test.”
Mal shrugged diffidently. “So will you keep your end of the deal?”
“Of course. I don’t go back on my word. In fact, I’ll be sending a few assistants to make sure his survey is conducted according to my specifications.”
Mal clasped his hands in front of him. “Oh, good. What kind of assistants?”
“Haven’t decided,” Brisack said. “I don’t know any of our men well enough yet. We just barely regained contact, and I’m not sure that they can—”
“There are a few we�
�ve never lost touch with, my good doctor. We could use one or two.”
“Perhaps.” Brisack paused before saying, “How does Perrin come up with such ideas? It’s as if he sees the world sideways, somehow, from angles and perspectives no one else has ever considered. What makes a man function like that?”
Mal smiled. “It’s most fortuitous that we’ve started the experiments again, isn’t it? The trials and analysis of Perrin Shin are about to begin.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Brisack nodded. “And his wife.”
“Now, are we studying them to see how to encourage this kind of thinking, or how to destroy it?”
Brisack swallowed, knowing the correct answer but unwilling to state it. “There’s something that he said,” he mentioned, dreading to utter it. “About the Creator.”
Mal chuckled coldly. “Yes, I think Relf is a bit of a secret Writings Wretch himself. It’s rare to find any of them left among the so-called intelligent, but I suppose there’s one or two—”
“It’s what Perrin said,” Brisack said more firmly. “He distinctly believes the Creator made all people equal.”
Mal glared. “I told you years ago that Shin believes in a Creator. And you dismissed that years ago, and you were correct to do so, I reluctantly concede. The beliefs in the Creator are dying, along with their old rectors. There’s only one congregation left in Idumea, and no one younger than sixty attends. You’re outdated in your concern—”
“Yes, but there’s real potential—”
Mal rolled his eyes. “Potential? The Creator is their . . . their manifestation of Nature. Since so few still believe, I hardly see how this so-called Creator that brings imaginary comfort is a threat to us. If he were real, he would have shown himself by now. He’d be head of the Administrators, instead of me!” Mal worked himself deeper into his large cushioned chair as if to plant himself there.
“But it could be a threat,” Brisack said in a low voice. “The belief in a creator. Remember what Shin said about loyalty?”
Mal squinted, a splinter of his mocking demeanor falling away to see his companion so concerned. “Something about feeling loyalty to those who gave you something.”
