Fable: The Balverine Order (Fable)

by Peter David

  That was when Thomas said, very softly but with great authority, “If she worked so hard for it, then I’d think she’d know how much of it there was. In the purse, I mean.” The edges of his mouth were turned in a smile.

  Immediately, James’s spirits, down in the cellar only moments earlier, buoyed considerably. She’d been too busy running to stop and count the contents. But James had been scrupulous about knowing exactly how much they had to spend at any given time.

  “Makes sense to me, Sergeant,” one of the men said to the leader.

  The sergeant nodded, pulling at his bristling beard. “It does indeed. Give it here, miss, and tell me how much is in there. Do so accurately, and these young men will be punished to the full extent of the law.”

  The girl knew she was caught out at that moment; she had to have known. Yet still she tried to bluff it through. “Sergeant, I hardly think that’s necessary. To punish them, I mean. Obviously, if they’re such desperate scoundrels that they have to stoop to such foul means of survival, that sort of existence is punishment enough to—”

  “Twenty three silver, five gold pieces,” James said briskly. When the sergeant looked at him in surprise, he shrugged, and said, “I just figured, why drag it out? For that matter, if she were innocent, I think she’d be trying to prove it as fast as she could.”

  “Only someone who’s guilty feels the need to prove anything; those with a clear conscience don’t feel any urgency,” she said with remarkable archness, but James could tell there was a false note to it, a slight crack in her demeanor.

  The sergeant apparently could discern it as well. His hand motioned with growing impatience. “Have it over, lass. He’s told us what his claim is about the contents; let’s hear yours.”

  “Well, it’s the same as his, obviously,” she said, “since that’s what’s in there. But he had enough time to count it when—”

  “When what?” Thomas said abruptly. “You said yourself he never got his hands on it. So when did he have the time to count it?”

  The sergeant looked from Thomas back to the girl, and the truth of Thomas’s words registered on him.

  The girl smiled and suddenly she drew her arm back and threw the pouch as hard as she could directly at the sergeant’s face. The towering official’s reflexes were formidable; rather than ducking back or even being struck, his hand snapped up and caught the purse deftly. She didn’t wait to see the result of her throw. Instead, she tried to bolt, but James was too quick for her and grabbed her firmly by the arm. Seconds later, the sergeant’s men had moved in, and they had her immobilized between them, holding the struggling girl with her arms between them. She tried to kick at them, but the angle was wrong, and all she managed to do was scuff up dirt.

  “I believe the truth of the situation has made itself evident,” the sergeant said. He tossed the bag of coins to James, who caught it deftly. “My deepest apologies, young sir, for your inconvenience. I discern that you are a stranger to our city. I hope that this encounter will not give you a distorted view of it.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said James, who could afford to be gracious under the circumstances. “So . . . do you need us to sign a complaint or something? Appear before a judge or even this magistrate of yours ...?”

  “Unnecessary,” the sergeant said briskly. “The rules about sneak thieves are quite clear. The magistrate has no time for such petty matters; he leaves it to me to implement the punishment, especially when the truth of the case is as evident as it is here.”

  And for the first time, the girl dropped all of her pretensions. Clearly terrified, she gasped out, “No! Please! It . . . it was my first time!”

  “Your first time?” said the sergeant.

  “Yes! I swear it was!”

  “Very well, then. Since it was a first offense, I will give you the option of choosing which hand it will be.”

  The comment made no sense to James, but he saw Thomas blanch at the sergeant’s icy tone, and then he understood. “Wait . . . you’re . . . you’re not going to—”

  The girl was screaming now, nearly drowning out the sergeant as he raised his voice and said, “Which hand, missy? Left or right? Makes no never mind to me, but I’m a busy man, and I haven’t got all day.” As he spoke, he slid his sword out of its scabbard. There were tassels dangling from the golden hilt, and the blade glimmered in the sun like a thing alive. Even standing several feet away, James could see that the blade was razor-sharp.

  And Thomas quickly stepped forward, coming between the sergeant and the girl. “Hold on, Sergeant. That seems a little severe.”

  “More like a little sever, actually,” said the sergeant, which prompted a burst of carefully modulated laughter from his subordinates. But then he quickly turned serious. “Seeing as you’re a visitor here, son, I’ll excuse your getting between an officer and his lawful duty for the moment. But only for the moment. You’d be well-advised to step aside so that I can do what I’m bound to do.”

  “Yes, well, I’m unbinding you,” said Thomas. “My friend and I are, I mean. We’re not going to press charges, isn’t that right, James?”

  James hesitated.

  “James.”

  “Well, she did steal my purse and then lie about it,” said James slowly, “and if I hadn’t been keeping such careful track of our money, then we’d be the ones who were in for it instead of her. And something tells me she wouldn’t be doing a damned thing to help us. Instead, she’d probably be standing over where you are, laughing up her sleeve and deciding how she was going to spend our money.”

  There were agreeing murmurs from the crowd, and the sergeant said to Thomas, “Your friend is making a pile of sense, lad. You’d be well-advised to listen to him. Besides, this has already jumped over the ‘pressing charges’ stage and gone straight to the punishment stage. Which reminds me, girl, your time is up. If you can’t make the choice, then I’ll make the choice for you. Gentlemen, the right one.”

  “No!” she screamed, as the soldiers shoved her right arm forward. She tried to yank it away, but two men were holding her bodily; one man had her by the upper arm while the other was firmly gripping her forearm and extending it. Her hand was flopping about on its wrist like a frantic fish on a beach.

  “Step aside, lad, now. Now,” said the sergeant, no longer taking the affable tone of one trying to humor someone from out of town.

  Thomas hesitated only a moment and then did as he was instructed.

  The girl cried out, thrashed in their grip, tried to slam her foot down upon their booted insteps in hopes of dislodging them just enough, but it did no good. The sergeant stepped around so that he would have a clear angle at it even as he said, “I would suggest you all step back. There’s going to be some blood, and you won’t want to be close unless you’re keen on being splattered.” Immediately, the citizens did as they were bidden. “Right, then,” he said briskly. “And keep in mind, young lady, that you only brought this upon yourself.”

  He drew back his sword, high over his head, like an executioner about to bring an axe down through the neck of a condemned man. And then in one swift motion, the blade sped through the air and down and sliced through the girl’s outstretched hand, barely slowing, sending the hand tumbling to the ground and blood jetting from the stump. Her screech of pain was overwhelmed by the approving shout of the crowd that justice had been done.

  At least that’s what the sergeant probably thought would happen.

  What actually happened, much to the surprise of the sergeant, was that another blade, seemingly extended from nowhere, intercepted his stroke and caused it to skid wide and harmlessly to the side.

  James watched in shock as Thomas faced the soldier, his own sword outstretched, having been pulled from its scabbard with such speed that even James was astonished; he’d had no idea that Thomas was that quick. Thomas, for his part, stood with his feet firmly planted, the blade thrust outward and above the girl’s hand, still quivering from the impact of the sergean
t’s sword crashing into it.

  “I won’t stand by and see such brutal justice done,” said Thomas with astonishing softness of voice. One would have thought that he was making some casual comment to an old friend about some bit of historical trivia while having a picnic. “This is barbaric, and if you wish to punish her, then you’ll be going through me in order to accomplish it.”

  “How dare you!” bellowed the sergeant. He turned to his men, snapped, “Hold her!” and then came right at Thomas.

  Thomas stepped back, and his face was as calm as James had ever seen. The sergeant was a trained soldier, presumably one of the better blades in the city if not the best, but Thomas didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. It was as if he was convinced not only of the rightness of his actions but that that rightness would carry him through and win the day.

  The blades came together, this time with equal force. A quick encounter, a riposte, and then the swordsmen parted, assessing each other. “You have a supple wrist, boy, I’ll give you that,” said the sergeant with a growl. “And your footwork is competent enough. But you are still obviously a rank amateur. Surrender now, or I’ll gut you where you stand.”

  Slowly, Thomas shook his head.

  The sergeant came in quickly then, the blade moving faster than before. Thomas deflected it again, still acting only defensively, searching out some weakness in the sergeant’s attack. There didn’t seem to be any. The blades engaged and disengaged repeatedly, each time a little faster, and Thomas’s confidence was visibly growing the longer he managed to hold his own. The sergeant’s scowl deepened, and he tried another attack, and another, and Thomas beat them all back, searching the entire time for a weakness in the sergeant’s attack.

  Suddenly, he saw the sergeant leave himself open, and he thrust forward, his first deliberate attack.

  The sergeant easily deflected it, and James realized belatedly that Thomas had been lured, for Thomas was momentarily off balance, and the sergeant took the opportunity to slam the hilt of his sword down on the back of Thomas’s head. Thomas staggered, still holding on to his sword, but now he was vulnerable, and the sergeant lunged forward, driving his sword through Thomas’s chest and out his back. The stunned young man fell to the ground, his life bleeding out onto the street, his quest never to be fulfilled.

  At least that’s what the sergeant probably thought would happen.

  What actually happened, yet again to the surprise of the sergeant, was that Poxy leaped forward, snarling viciously and barking so deafeningly that one would have thought the hounds of Hell had been unleashed. Immediately, the sergeant jumped back, moving so quickly that his feet almost went out from under him. He recovered at the last second, and shouted to his men, “Shoot that animal!”

  And that was when James stepped forward, and his gaze locked onto that of the sergeant, who turned automatically when he saw movement toward him.

  And James pushed.

  Not with his body. Not with his sword, which still remained in its scabbard. Instead, he pushed his mind, his personality, his pure focused willpower, right into that of the sergeant, overwriting the sergeant’s intentions as a scrivener would undo a written mistake and write over that.

  “You’re not going to do that,” he said firmly, as Poxy automatically darted behind him.

  “Excuse me?” said the sergeant, incredulity in his voice.

  “You are going to take us to the magistrate,” James continued, and his voice was flat and unwavering. He kept on pushing, thrusting his willpower as if it were a spear, driving it as hard as he could, as deeply as he could, into the sergeant. He didn’t actually know that he was doing it, and would have been unable to explain the technique if he’d been asked. All he knew was that something had to be done, and he was going to be the one to do it. Failing to do so literally never occurred to him.

  “We will explain the situation to him, and we are going to tell him face-to-face that this law of his is”—and he glanced at Thomas—“brutal and uncivilized. And if he demands punishment at that point, then we will deal with it. But we are not going to allow this girl to be maimed on our behalf. That’s just the way it’s going to be.”

  If anyone in the entirety of Lower Sutcliff had been making a sound, they had fallen silent. Indeed, it seemed to James that the whole world had just become unnaturally quiet. In his mind’s eye, somewhere back home, his mother and siblings were leaning forward to hear what would happen next without fully understanding why it was they were doing so or what it was they were listening for.

  The sergeant stared at James for a long moment, and then said brusquely, “You have more balls than brains, I’ll give you that.”

  Silence hung for a second, and then there was a loud burst of laughter from the onlookers. Then the sergeant pivoted on his heel and told his men, “Bind the girl’s hands. These gentlemen and their mongrel will be accompanying us to the gaol, to await disposition by the magistrate.”

  “I hope he has a pleasant disposition,” James said chipperly.

  The crowd didn’t laugh at that. Instead, they just scowled at him.

  “Great,” said James.

  Chapter 12

  THE CELL WAS DARK AND DANK, WITH the small window inset in the upper portion of the wall doing nothing to clear out the air and make it remotely breathable. There was straw scattered on the floor for no purpose that Thomas could imagine. It certainly did nothing to lessen the stink of the place. Nevertheless, Poxy seemed rather enamored of it, and she actually pushed a large clump of it together with her paws to fashion a nest for herself.

  Poxy was situated directly between the two of them, with her chin resting on her paws and her eyes closed. James was seated on the far side of the cell from Thomas, although “far side” might have been a generous description. The cell couldn’t have been more than eight feet from one side to the other. With Poxy stretched out at full length, James and Thomas had to keep their legs curled up in order to avoid kicking her.

  They said nothing to each other for a long, long time.

  Finally, it was Thomas who spoke first.

  “You waited until the dog was threatened?” He seemed to be having trouble processing it. “That’s where your priorities were?”

  James shrugged.

  “Seriously, James”—and Thomas cautiously stretched his right leg to one side in order to loosen it up—“they’re going to chop the girl’s hand off, and you say nothing . . .”

  “I didn’t say nothing. I said a lot of things, and all of them were true, and just because you disagreed with them doesn’t make them nothing.”

  “. . . and then you stand by when that sergeant was going to kill me ...”

  “I wanted to give you a chance to defend yourself, although frankly it was stupid that you went after him in the first place.”

  “But the moment the dog was threatened, that was when you jumped in?”

  “They were going to shoot an unarmed dog,” James said defensively. “That was just wrong.”

  Thomas didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that. “James, for crying out loud! Where are your priorities? They were going to butcher that girl—!”

  “Actions have consequences,” James shot back, “and I don’t ask anyone to intervene when I make mistakes. I take what’s coming to me and oh, by the way, so do you.”

  “And if the dog hadn’t been there? If Poxy hadn’t been threatened, would you have left me to my fate as well?”

  “Of course not.” James sounded hurt. “If I hadn’t been able to talk him out of it . . . if I’d had to draw on him . . . then that’s what I would have done. I would have stepped in. You’re my friend, for pity’s sake. We’re in this together.”

  “So you’re not defending a principle, really. Just the person.”

  “I suppose so, yes. But I’m actually okay with that.”

  “Well, I’m defending the principle, James. Something is either dead right or dead wrong.”

  James made a scoffing noise. “Y
ou know why tales of adventure and heroism are printed in black ink on white paper, Thomas? It’s because it’s only there, in such fables, that the world is black-and-white. In the real world, it’s all about shades of gray.”

  Silence then resumed between the two of them. With a deep and frustrated sigh, Thomas tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and tried to drift to sleep. He floated in and out of consciousness for a time, and at one point he turned and was startled to see that James was no longer sitting on the other side of the cell. He had come over to Thomas’s side and was sitting about two feet away, leaning against the wall just as Thomas was. Thomas stared at him in confusion.

  Gazing fixedly in front of him and not looking at Thomas at all, James said, “I’ll say this, though. The way you took on that sergeant . . . that was bloody brilliant.”

  “Really.” Thomas was confused by the praise. “Because a little while ago, you said it was frankly stupid.”

  “It can be both. Probably some of the greatest acts of bravery in the history of mankind were the stupidest as well.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I mean”—and James turned to look at him—“were you scared? The man’s a professional soldier. Did you really think you’d be a match for him?”

  “I wasn’t really thinking, actually,” Thomas admitted. “My blood was pumping and there was a sort of pounding in my head and my knees were shaking ...”

  “They were not.”

  “You couldn’t see it?”

  James shook his head. “Not in the least little bit. You looked absolutely sure-footed, and cool as ice. I’d never have guessed.”

  “Was the sword steady? I was sure my hand was trembling as well.”