Shield of the People

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “I’m not letting you two out of my sight,” Lin said.

  “Blazes, yes,” Jerinne said.

  Amaya raised an eyebrow at that. “Are you forgetting something, Initiate?”

  Jerinne bowed her head to Amaya. “I meant, may I see this mission to completion, Madam Tyrell?”

  Amaya gave the barest of smirks, and said, “Blazes, yes.”

  By the time they reached the Parliament, the sun was hanging low in the sky, and Dayne was feeling every scrape and singe, every bang and bruise, over the whole of his body, and he was still wheezing with every breath. As they disembarked from the carriages, every step caused the discovery of some new source of pain. But that didn’t matter right now, because he was here, safely delivering the Scallic ballots, with those responsible for abducting them in irons, and all his dear friends were safe.

  And everyone lived.

  This time, everyone lived.

  That made this an incredible day.

  When they reached the war room, he was limping so much, both Jerinne and Amaya had to support him. They entered to find much the same collection of angry faces from before, only angrier and wearier, including Donavan Samsell and Grandmaster Orren.

  “Heldrin,” Samsell said as they came in. “You all look like sewage. The blazes you been up to?”

  “I see they rescued Miss Fendall,” the Grandmaster said. “But I fail to see why they brought her here.”

  “Sir,” Dayne said with a weak salute. He stepped aside for Beninaugh and the others to come in. “I’m here with the Scallic ballots and the authenticators. And those responsible are in lockwagons outside in the custody of archduchy sheriffs.”

  Samsell signaled for some of his men to go outside, then approached the authenticators with a salute. “Very glad to see you, sir,” he said to Mister Beninaugh.

  “I’m afraid some of our papers were lost, and some of the ballot documents may be damaged, so the verification process might be laborious.”

  Samsell chuckled. “I’m more than happy to go through it. This year’s election results are quite well earned.”

  The Grandmaster approached, his face hard to read. “I assume the rescues of Miss Fendall and the ballots were convergent.”

  “One and the same,” Amaya said. Dayne was content to let her speak. She was the ranking member, and it hurt his throat to talk. “Both were in the same place.”

  “And Mister Osharin?”

  “Arrested with those responsible. The Deep Roots.”

  “He will need to be expelled, in addition to whatever consequences the law has. It is a shame that one of ours is so entangled in this scandal.” He glanced at Hemmit and Maresh, standing in the hallway outside the door. “And I imagine that morsel will be dragged through the press.”

  “We’ll also focus on the heroes who saved the ballots,” Maresh said. “We’ll report that the Tarian Order got the job done.”

  “Well, then,” the Grandmaster said. “Miss Tyrell, I think we should get Miss Fendall back home. This excitement today has caused us to lose all the discipline of Initiate training. Routine should resume tomorrow. And Dayne, of course, your place is here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dayne said.

  He went out, and Jerinne gave Dayne a tight squeeze on his arm before following. Amaya went to follow, but stopped and put her hand on his cheek, and in her eyes he saw warmth and affection. He hadn’t seen that from her since before he and Master Denbar left for Lacanja. She gave him a tight smile, and then said, “Go see a doctor. You’re a mess.”

  “I feel it,” he said. “I will.”

  “Good,” she said, patting his cheek just hard enough for it to sting. Probably from the burns.

  Out in the hallway, the marshals were starting to bring the Deep Roots people down to the cells, with Quinara at the lead.

  “Why did an Acoran group take the Scallic ballots?” Samsell asked.

  Hemmit stepped into the room. “They had a plan to demand an alteration of the Acoran results, holding the Scallic results hostage until it was done. Their leader was, apparently, a Parliamentary functionary named Valclerk.”

  “Valclerk?” Samsell asked. He shook his head. “Parlin’s chief of staff. Odd bloke, and I heard he took Parlin’s death hard, but I never thought he’d . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head.

  “Given all that,” Dayne said. “It might be prudent to release Ret and the rest of the Open Hands with a profuse apology.”

  “Ret?” Mister Beninaugh asked. “As in Bishop Ret Issendel?”

  Samsell raised an eyebrow. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “You have him in custody?” Beninaugh bit his lip and looked at the other authenticators. “I shouldn’t say anything out of turn before we’ve finalized the authentication of the ballots, but . . . it would be most advisable to release him. Quickly.”

  Chapter 28

  JERINNE KEPT QUIET ON the carriage ride back to the chapterhouse, while Madam Tyrell briefed the Grandmaster on the full events of the day, which he listened to with a slightly distracted air.

  “Well,” he said as they reached the house. “We should be pleased at the good outcome. Miss Fendall, report to the infirmary immediately. You have more than a few scrapes that could fester if untreated.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, more than happy to get out of the carriage. She assumed he was prickly because of Osharin’s betrayal, but she felt his disapproval aimed at her. Possibly for the reasons Fredelle said. Perhaps she was just imagining it.

  Her time in the infirmary was short, as most of her wounds were superficial. “Is it all right if I go to the baths?” she asked the sew-up.

  “I’d recommend it,” he said. “Do that, and then stop back here. I’ll do fresh dressings when you’re dry.”

  She went down to the baths, and for a brief moment her heart raced as she approached the bathhouse. Which was absurd; there was no chance that she’d once again find a surprise traitor who would try to murder her. Two nights in a row of that would be astounding bad luck.

  Instead, she found a good portion of the third-year Initiate cohort all engaged in collective soak, the water so hot the room had a steamy haze.

  “I see you all were ready for me,” she said. All attention turned to her, with a collective whoop of joy.

  “What the blazes happened?”

  “Did you escape?”

  “Where did they take you?”

  “Where’s Osharin?”

  “All right, calm down,” she said, stripping out of her uniform and skivs. “I’ve been in quite a bit of business, no sleep, barely ate, and everything hurts. Let me get settled, and then I can tell you the whole story.”

  She slid into the water in the tub with the other girls, taking a spot next to Raila, a small thrill firing through her as their bare legs touched. The water was delicious, just at the point where it was almost too hot to bear, and was just what she needed.

  “So, talk!” Enther said from the other tub. While everyone used the bathhouse at the same time, the informal rule was that comingling in the tubs was “poor form.” She had remembered that in her first year, one of the third-year Initiates told her, “I mean, we all have to use them, so don’t be gross.”

  Jerinne launched into the story, making sure to emphasize her more heroic moments without embellishing them.

  “You really said ‘or do we have to make this hard’?” Tander asked at one point.

  “Wait, who was this cloistress again?” Iolana asked.

  “How did you carry Heldrin out? The man is like a bull!” Haden asked.

  “I didn’t carry him,” Jerinne said. “I just led him out. He could still walk.”

  “Sounds suspicious,” Haden said.

  “You look at the burns on her body,” Raila said, taking Jerinne’s arm and holding it up. “And you tell me sh
e wasn’t in the thick of things.”

  “She’s puffing herself up to be the big hero,” Dade said, big stupid grin on his face.

  “Big heroes were Dayne and Madam Tyrell,” Jerinne said. “I just followed their lead.”

  Raila turned to her. “Well, I think you’re a big damn hero.” And her eyes and smile took Jerinne’s breath away.

  The door of the bathhouse opened, and Madam Tyrell came in, wrapped in a drycloth. “All right, out,” she said. “You all need to hit the barracks. Tomorrow may be a holiday, but we need to make up for lost time.”

  Everyone scrambled out of the tubs, grabbing drycloths and clothes before running across the lawn to the main house. Before they all left Dade stopped at the door. “Hey, Madam Tyrell, is it true Jerinne fought off three guys at once while you took on the guy with the whips?”

  “Three?” Madam Tyrell raised her eyebrow as she got into the bath. “I counted five. Now scat.”

  They headed back in, and Raila waited while Jerinne stopped back at the infirmary to get fresh bandages. As they walked to their bunkroom, Raila asked, “Were you scared?”

  “Terrified,” Jerinne said. “But also, the fear didn’t matter. I knew I still had to fight.”

  “Right,” Raila said, outside the doorway. “The other day, on the ridge, I . . . I held my own in the moment, and then went and threw up right afterward. I still get . . .” She shook her head, and moved in closer. Dangerously close. “Does it get easier?”

  “The fear never goes away,” Jerinne said, and she was afraid of holding eye contact with Raila, and afraid to look away. “But you know what I remind myself?”

  “What?”

  “That I am rutting amazing.”

  Raila laughed, warm and full, but the spell of the moment was gone. Whatever courage Jerinne had in a fight, it did not apply to kissing Raila Gendon.

  Not yet.

  * * *

  The marshals’ doctor checked Dayne over, applying a salve on his various burns, and giving him a vile-tasting medicine. “Could have been worse,” the doctor said.

  The verification process of the Scallic votes went on, and while Dayne didn’t supervise the whole affair this time around, he also didn’t feel right just leaving until it was done. It was nearly nine bells at night when they finished, and the full results of the Parliamentary election were known. The results were mostly uneventful, with one notable exception.

  “We’ll make the announcement in the morning to the collective press,” Samsell told Dayne. “Aren’t you exhausted?”

  “Utterly,” Dayne said with a weary smile.

  “Then go to bed,” Samsell said. “Job well done and all.”

  “I should. But I’m famished. Is there any food?”

  “Let me take you to the commissary,” Samsell said.

  The marshal commissary was simple fare—bread, cold meat, cheeses. And it was just what Dayne needed. Samsell opened two bottles of beer from the icebox and gave one to Dayne. “Well done for your first week.”

  “I hope it isn’t indicative.”

  “Saints, no,” Samsell said. “But you’ll do fine, I think.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  There was a knock on the doorframe. Ret Issendel stood there, looking a bit out of sorts and disheveled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disrupt, but—”

  Samsell got to his feet. “No, sir, no disruption. I trust . . . I trust everything is well, sir. You and your compatriots were all released, yes?”

  “Yes, yes,” Ret said, looking a bit disconcerted by Samsell’s overeager politeness. “But it seems that Sister Frienne isn’t among our number. Someone said she was taken here.”

  Dayne stood up. “No, she wasn’t. She—she was taken to a hospital. I’m afraid I don’t know which one.”

  “Hospital?” Ret asked. “Oh, dear, how? Why?”

  “She saved a lot of lives,” Dayne said. “The ballot authenticators, she helped get them safe. But there was a fire, and she was in the smoke a bit too long—”

  “She was with you all?” Ret asked. “How did that happen?”

  “I was hoping you could answer that, sir. Somehow she was able to just find Jerinne. Did you have something to do with that?”

  “Who is Jerinne?”

  “She’s the young Tarian girl you touched this morning. You told Sister Frienne to look to her, do you remember?”

  Ret just shook his head. “That sounds like a miracle.”

  Dayne wasn’t even sure what to say to that. Did Ret not know, not realize, what he had done in the stationhouse? Did that not come from him? Dayne was even more confused.

  “I have to go to her,” Ret said. “Where is she?”

  “I’ll find out right away, sir,” Samsell said, and rushed out.

  Ret watched him leave and turned back to Dayne. “Is he all right? This morning he seemed ready to claw my throat out and now . . . did he have a revelation?”

  Dayne chuckled. “Of sorts. The official results won’t be released until tomorrow morning, but . . .” He extended his hand. “Congratulations, Good Mister Issendel, Tenth Chair of Scaloi.”

  Ret blinked several times, and then stumbled to one of the benches. “What?”

  “You won the election.”

  “You’re having me on.”

  “I would never joke about something like that, sir,” Dayne said.

  “No ‘sir,’ Dayne. I’m still just Ret.”

  “Well, get used to polite deference.”

  Ret chuckled drily as Samsell returned.

  “She’s at Eastpoint Ward. I can have a few men escort you over, sir.”

  “See what I mean?” Dayne asked.

  “Indeed,” Ret said, getting to his feet. “I have quite a few things to contemplate. But for now, I must see to Sister Frienne. So, yes, I would appreciate the help, Chief.”

  They left, and Dayne finished his beer and went to his chambers.

  “I was wondering when you’d get back,” a sleepy voice said as he came in to his suite. Lady Mirianne was lying on his couch, her boots left carelessly on the floor.

  “I had no idea you’d be waiting,” he said. “How long were you here?”

  “I forget,” she said. “I definitely dozed off. But it was quite pleasant to have a quiet, private place to hide away from the bustle of my household.”

  “How is the household?”

  She sighed as she sat up. “Shambles. The repairs will be extensive. And a few of the staff were quite badly injured. But it could have been worse.”

  “And you?”

  She gave a weak smile. “Also shambles. But happy to see you. All worked out well?”

  “As well as we could hope,” Dayne said. “The ballots and the authenticators were rescued.”

  “Modesty again. You probably did all that single-handedly.”

  “It was definitely a team effort.”

  “Well,” she said. “I’m not going to reward the entire team the same way.” She got to her feet and kissed him. He tried to respond in kind, but winced.

  “A girl might take offense at that.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I am in quite a bit of pain.”

  “I understand,” she said, leading him to his bed. She sat him down and started to remove his boots. “Then let me take care of you, for once.”

  “I won’t object,” he said.

  “Good.” As his boots came off, she said, “Tomorrow is a holiday, so they can’t expect you to save the country again, right?”

  “I sincerely hope the fate of the country will not be at stake tomorrow,” he said. “Did you have plans?”

  Caressing his feet, she said, “Well, I’m being a horrible person, because the store will be open. But I’m paying all my employees double wages for the holiday.”

 
“That’s far from horrible.”

  “And of course with that comes responsibilities. Meetings and the like. Hopefully I’ll have my managers in shape to run things unsupervised in a few weeks.”

  “I understand,” he said. “We are busy people.”

  “But I was thinking we could have a simple lunch together. Perhaps at The Nimble Rabbit?”

  He looked up at her and grinned. “You would be seen at The Nimble Rabbit?”

  “I am a humble businesswoman,” she said. “I can’t be bothered with society luncheons that drone on for hours.”

  “You never liked those.”

  “Hated them.” She gave him a wicked grin and crawled onto his bed. “Now, where doesn’t it hurt?”

  INTERLUDE: The Justice

  HIGH JUSTICE FELLER PIN was a powerful man, an influential man, one of the five high justices of the Royal Bench of Druthal. A man whose legal decisions could only be countermanded by a Royal Decree, and in the one hundred ninety-seven years since the foundation of the Royal Bench of High Justices, no king of Druthal had ever given such a decree. A feckless weeper like Maradaine XVIII certainly wouldn’t be the first to do it. He was a man with the position and authority to decide what exactly the law meant in Druthal.

  He should not have to come to his office on a holiday.

  “It’s Reunification Day, Mister Gendorin,” he said to his young clerk as he stalked down the back hallways to his chambers. “Why did your page say things were urgent? I shouldn’t be called on urgent matters.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Gendorin said. “I know that you have a lot of comings and goings and—” He stopped short, then coughed. “I mean you’re terribly busy, and normally I wouldn’t even, but—”

  “But what, Gendorin?”

  “It’s Miss Mirrendum, sir. She’s here and—”

  “Damn all to blazes, Gendorin! Arthady Mirrendum is a minor functionary not worth the boil on a pig’s backside! You’re telling me she summoned me?”

  “She is the representative for the Tharek Pell case—”