Goldenrod hadn’t realized there would be a quiz. “Um . . . they have to share their power?”
“Maybe. Maybe the whole system collapses and our medieval fantasy is swept away in an anarcho-primitivist revolt. Or, and I’m taking a guess here, some of the upper class will try to slap down the upstarts and lock their current power in place.”
“I’m an upstart?”
“You, Newman, the hunters and gatherers, the mages. The weir brought you nominations in both—sorry, I can’t talk about that. The point is you’re a threat to some people’s status and they’re pushing back. That’s why you’re only a baroness.”
“Oh.”
The Autocrat stood up and brushed dirt from his pants. “Find someone who can advocate for you at the theft trial. Watch your mouth. Someone will take the worst interpretation of anything you say. Touch base with your friends. Pass the word to your fellow upstarts.”
A one inch weed was growing by Goldenrod’s foot. She grabbed it at the base and yanked. “Dammit, why now? Things were going so well.”
“That’s why. We’re not on the ragged edge. We have the energy for politics now.”
***
“Let those who have business before Lady Justice come forward!” called the herald.
Lady Justice—Duchess Roseblossom when not presiding over a trial—sat in a large wooden chair under the Court pavilion. Her seat was ten feet before the thrones of King Ironhelm and Queen Dahlia. During the trial she ruled. The monarchs only reigned.
More than half the populace was gathered before the pavilion. Possibly as much as three quarters. The prospect of the popular Baroness being punished for a common crime brought out those who usually avoided Court.
Duke Mace came forward with Lady Yarrow. Stonefist had drawn on old English Common Law tradition. Anyone could prosecute a crime if they cared to. Mace had volunteered.
Goldenrod had Mistress Tightseam as her advocate. Newman followed them up, carrying the notebook, scroll, and ritual dagger.
Duke Mace spoke before the judge could. “Your Majesty, the defendant’s advocate is a long-time friend and colleague of the judge. Should we not have someone impartial?”
King Ironhelm didn’t hesitate. “Your Grace, there are less than two hundred people in this world. Anyone who doesn’t know you or them is so lacking in social skills I would have no trust in him as a judge.”
Lady Justice eyed the duke as he bowed and thanked the king. She kept the stare on him until Duke Mace gave her a bow as well. Then she said, “Your Grace, state your complaint.”
“Lady Justice, we shall prove that five days ago, Baroness Goldenrod entered the House of the Green Stag, intimidated the head of the house into giving way, and removed several rare, valuable, and irreplaceable objects.”
“Thank you, Duke Mace. Mistress Tightseam, your response?”
Tightseam squeezed Goldenrod’s arm as a reminder to stay silent. “Lady Justice, we shall prove that there were no threats or intimidating actions, that the objects in question were not the property of Green Stag, that other property belonging to the late Belladonna had been taken without complaint, and that those objects are of no value other than to one investigating the magic that brought us here.”
“Bring forth the items in question.”
Newman walked up to the low table in front of Lady Justice’s chair. He put down the notebook open to one of the complex diagrams. The scroll went flat overlapping one corner of the notebook. The blade crossed over them both to hold them in place. Lady Justice pointed him to a seat with the spectators.
“Where are the late Belladonna’s other possessions?” asked the judge.
Yarrow whispered to Duke Mace. He said, “In storage at the Green Stag, your honor.”
“Constable, escort Lady Yarrow to fetch them,” ordered the judge.
Royal Court proceedings would fill a lull with minor business or bring up a bard for a story or song. Extroverted monarchs had been known to entertain the populace themselves. Lady Justice let them wait in silence.
Constable returned carrying a bundle. He unrolled it onto the table, careful not to disturb Newman’s arrangement. A dress, two pairs of panties, and a bra were visible among the religious items.
“Did Belladonna leave a will?” asked Lady Justice.
No one answered.
“That’s a no, then. Without an heir her property reverted to the Crown. That’s certainly not enough clothes for a young woman to have for a three day weekend. I also don’t see a sleeping bag or bedroll. Lady Yarrow, where are they?”
“I don’t know, your honor.”
“Very well.” Lady Justice waved to Duke Mace to begin his case.
He said, “Lady Yarrow, please describe the intimidation you faced.”
“She barged into my tent and got in my face and said she was head of the council of mages. She kills people by talking! She could’ve done anything to me.”
Mistress Tightseam asked, “Did Baroness Goldenrod at any time make a threat of violence? Or use magic in your presence?”
“No, but she said being head of the council gave her the right to go through Belladonna’s stuff.”
“Did she ask permission to take any of the items?” asked Duke Mace.
“No, not at all,” answered Yarrow. “She waved that weird thing about then picked up the others and left.”
“Did you tell her to stop?” asked Tightseam.
“No, I was afraid of her. She’s a witch.”
“Did you report a theft to the Constable?”
Yarrow looked uneasily at Mace before answering. “I didn’t think anyone would care, her being a baroness and all. But when a Duke asked me about it I thought it was safe to say.”
Tightseam turned to Goldenrod. “Did you sense any objection when you took them?”
“No. Nobody cared. I tried asking them about the leather scroll but they blew me off. So I left. I didn’t hide what I was carrying.”
“Could you show us the items you took and describe them?”
Goldenrod went to the table. She picked up the blade first. “This is the ritual dagger Belladonna used while casting the spell that brought us here. I was there. I saw her cast the spell, though I didn’t realize that’s what happened until later.”
She placed it gently down. “This is Belladonna’s notebook. It starts out as a diary, but then she describes the research and experimentation she did to create the spell.”
She exchanged it for the scroll. “She began that work when she found this. Belladonna never knew where it came from. I think it came from the world we’ve arrived on.”
The populace had kept quiet until now. Lady Justice had not tolerated chatter during previous trials. Now a buzz sprang up, cries of shock followed by speculation or explanations to those who hadn’t heard.
“Silence!” said Lady Justice.
Silence fell.
Mistress Tightseam resumed her questions after receiving a nod from the judge. “What have you been doing with them?”
“Studying them,” said Goldenrod. “If I can understand the spell completely I could reverse it to bring us home.”
A glare from Lady Justice stifled the crowd’s reaction.
Duke Mace stepped in front of Yarrow. “You formed your mage council to research that?”
“I formed the council to help each other. We have these gifts and don’t know how they work. Someone has to help us.”
There was a twinge in Goldenrod’s belly. She would have noticed it if her stomach wasn’t so knotted up over the trial.
Goldenrod finished, “So we help each other.”
The duke turned to Lady Justice. “A mutual help group wouldn’t be maiming its members or providing a pretext for pretended authority. The council of mages should be disbanded.”
The judge said, “Mistress Tightseam, do you have anything to add?”
“No, your honor.”
“Then I am ready to render my verdict. Lady Yarrow failed to
return royal property to the Crown. She allowed royal property in her possession to be stolen. I sentence her to two weeks of privy cleaning duty. My lord Autocrat, please schedule it. Constable, make sure the work is done to your satisfaction.”
Lady Justice waved Yarrow away, then turned to Goldenrod.
“Baroness Goldenrod misrepresented herself as having authority not granted by the Crown. As punishment, her right to first choice of the fishing weir’s catch is revoked.”
That reduced the flavor and variety of House Applesmile’s meals.
“This trial is concluded.”
“What about the council?” demanded Duke Mace.
“The Council of Mages is not a subject of this trial. This trial is concluded.”
Mistress Tightseam took Goldenrod for a long walk in the woods to work off her nerves. When they were far out enough to feel private she said, “That was as good an outcome as we could have hoped for.”
“I can’t believe she found me guilty,” snarled Goldenrod.
“You went over the line so you got a slap. You were slapped in a way that reminded everyone you’re responsible for all this fish they’re eating. And I’ll wager if you go down to the weir and ask for a favor the weir crew will let you pick something.”
“Hmph.”
“The important part is Yarrow being punished. The next time Duke Mace asks some commoner to be his judas goat they won’t be so eager to help. Or at least they’ll demand a bigger bribe.”
“You think Yarrow was bribed?”
“She’s been hinting around about how she deserves a senior service award for taking care of the newbies and strays for a couple of years now. Mace could have gotten her that.”
“Gods. I hate politics.”
“Yeah. But it’s interested in you, so you should take an interest in it.”
***
The next week’s mage council meeting was at sunset. Not meeting while people could be doing other work was one of the suggestions Goldenrod had received for reducing friction.
The commotion over the trial had brought out more mages. Tonight’s newcomers were a pair of women, one middle-aged, one older.
“Our tradition is for all the current members to introduce themselves and then people who are here for the first time.” Goldenrod gave her practiced pitch and nudged Marjoram on her left.
When the circle was complete eyes turned to the newcomers. The shorter one had streaks of grey in her hair. Her knitting didn’t falter as she started talking. “I’m Countess Fennel. I play with string in all its variations.”
She lowered her hands to her lap. The knitting needles hung in the air, moving back and forth to twist the yarn into fabric. “This trick is new. Came in very useful when I had a rheumatism flare.”
Fennel glanced at her neighbor. This one wore a richly embroidered gown, complementing her long, curly brown hair and elegant looks.
The woman raised a hand. One finger traced words in the air. Glowing gold letters floated in the air in its wake. I’M MISTRESS CINNAMON. She was in the shade of a tree, letting the letters stand out even more.
Soft oohs came from around the circle.
“I haven’t found a real use for it,” said Mistress Cinnamon. “But it is pretty.”
“Finding practical uses for our abilities is what this group is for,” said Goldenrod.
Tonight’s experiments focused on Plane, an apprentice carpenter who could freeze water. He couldn’t freeze more than a handful but it could be in any shape.
After he made a star Goldenrod encouraged him to “try something detailed.” Plane plunged his hands into the bucket of water. Minutes went by as the young man concentrated. Then he pulled his hands out and opened them.
Murmurs of appreciation went around the circle. They pressed closer for a better look. Balanced on the palm of his hand stood an icy horse. The detail was fine. The eyes and nostrils and strands of the mane were well defined, though viewers needed to lean in to notice it.
“That’s lovely,” said Goldenrod.
“Thanks,” said Plane. “Not very useful, though.”
Countess Fennel was last in line to take a look. “If you packed it in clay you could make a lost-wax sculpture from it. If we need an intricate metal part you could make the template for us to cast one.”
Plane brightened.
Goldenrod asked, “Do we have anyone who does lost wax casting?”
Mistress Cinnamon said, “Master Bronze, but he didn’t come to this event. He’s taught classes. We should be able to find someone who took one.”
The two newcomers attended every meeting and experiment session for the next week. They regularly had helpful suggestions. Cinnamon had a look of calm expectation that would steady down mages nervous about the next experiment.
When Goldenrod grumbled about not being able to keep track of all the experiments she’d been running Countess Fennel took back the laptop she’d loaned to the Autocrat’s staff. Over three days the countess interviewed all members of council about the experiments they’d performed or witnessed. The result was a spreadsheet listing everything they’d ever tried, and a much shorter report summarizing the useful abilities found so far.
She gave Sparrow an engraved bracelet in thanks for the effort he’d put into keeping the laptop charged up.
Mistress Cinnamon borrowed the laptop during meetings to take minutes and update the membership list. Goldenrod began to rely on her to keep track of the agenda.
As the latest meeting broke up Cinnamon asked Goldenrod, “Did you know Her Majesty is a weaver?”
“No, I don’t know much about her. Did she bring a loom?”
“Oh, her regular loom is a floor one, much too heavy to bring to an out of state event. She’s set up a hanging loom on the wall of their pavilion. Lovely work. Anyway, we were talking after the last crafters council and your troubles came up.”
“Oh?” Goldenrod didn’t think she wanted the queen talking about her troubles.
“It seemed to us that it would help things if there was a royal charter for the council of mages.”
“That—huh. I never thought of asking for that.”
“It certainly doesn’t happen often. The last one in the Kingdom was the Pastyme Players, the theatre group.”
“Would King Ironhelm be willing to give us a charter?”
“I feel he could be persuaded. The key would be collecting enough support among the Peers to let it go through without anyone making a fuss.”
Goldenrod made a face. “I hate buttonholing people to ask for favors.”
Cinnamon said, “Well, you have Mistress Tightseam and Master Sweetbread in your household. You could start with them. And I’d be happy to talk with my friends on your behalf.”
“Oh, I’d really appreciate that.”
“No trouble at all, my dear. Should we ask Fennel to help out?”
“Sure.”
Tightseam and Sweetbread thought a charter would be useful and volunteered to lobby other Peers. Goldenrod left it to them and focused on the next set of experiments.
***
A week later Goldenrod received a hint she should attend Court that afternoon. She and Newman stood behind Tightseam and Sweetbread, sitting in their folding chairs.
After the usual opening ceremonies some people were called up for awards. Some hunters received the Order of the Arrow. A few gatherers were awarded the Order of the Basket. Newman nodded in approval as the hunters received theirs. He’d learned to do award recommendations to get his regular team the recognition they deserved.
More awards followed for senior crafters and organizers.
Then a courtier brought out an illuminated manuscript. With the paper supply exhausted, it had been calligraphed onto tree bark. One that grew along stream beds had bark that peeled off in wide sheets.
King Ironhelm stood and began reading.
“To the Peers and Populace of the Kingdom, be it known.
“Whereas the gift of magic
has come to members of the Kingdom,
“Whereas these gifts may be crucial to our survival,
“Whereas those granted the gifts need encouragement and support to learn the full power of their gifts,
Goldenrod bounced on her feet and clutched Newman’s arm. He patted her hand affectionately.
“Whereas these gifts must only be used for rightful purposes,
“Therefore do we Ironhelm and Dahlia establish a Royal Council of Mages, to sustain, aid, and discipline those with magical gifts. We hereby appoint Countess Fennel as Head of the Council, Mistress Cinnamon as Deputy Head for Membership and Discipline, and Baroness Goldenrod as Deputy Head for Research.”
Newman felt the excitement drain out of Goldenrod as the names were read out. When her arms dropped down, he wrapped one of his around her. He turned to study her face. She’d kept her smile in place. The energy that filled it before was gone. But someone more than a few feet away wouldn’t notice.
He missed the last couple paragraphs of the charter in his distraction. When the reading concluded, he followed Goldenrod’s lead in cheering heartily.
The closing formalities were brief. When the populace was dismissed, the crowd turned into a churning mass as people tried to congratulate the head and deputies. Goldenrod smiled, shook hands, and said thank you dozens of times.
As the crowd thinned Countess Fennel offered her hand to Goldenrod. “Thank you for all your hard work. I want to give you all the support you need. Noon tomorrow work for an officer meeting?”
“Yes, of course.”
“My tent.” Fennel turned to greet her next well-wisher.
Cinnamon said, “It’s official!” with her handshake.
When a moment with no one demanding her attention came Goldenrod said, “Fish?” to Newman.
They headed down the bluff. Instead of walking to the fishing weir Goldenrod wandered upstream. Newman walked beside her. As they went farther from camp, he increased his alertness, watching all directions. He waited for her to start talking.
Goldenrod began, “If four weeks ago they’d come to me and said, ‘We’re starting a mage group, we want you to run the research part,’ I would have been thrilled. Instead I busted my ass recruiting people and running meetings and then they just walked in and took it over.”
The War Revealed (The Lost War Book 2) Page 4
