Restoration

by Peter David

  And Rheela heard herself saying, much to her surprise, “Would you care to accompany me into town? For the meeting?”

  He turned back and looked her up and down. “I’d be honored,” he said. “Is Moke coming?”

  “No … no, Moke is always bored at the—”

  “I’ll come.” Moke was immediately at her side, looking up eagerly into Calhoun’s eyes. “If it’s okay.”

  “Of … course it’s okay. I’m just surprised, Moke. You went once, and you said it was so boring that you never wanted to go again.”

  “I know. But Mac is going to be there. Right, Mac?”

  Calhoun nodded readily. “I suppose I should be.”

  “See? And I bet, with Mac there, things are never boring!”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Moke.”

  Rheela shook her head. “I … don’t know what to say, Calhoun. He’s … not usually like this.”

  “Like this? You mean, an exuberant child?”

  “Well … yes.”

  He laughed at that.

  She decided he had a nice laugh.

  The ride to Narrin on their respective luukabs went without incident. She was surprised to see how engaging and pleasant Calhoun was when he wasn’t trying to kill her. She also noticed, however, that he was decidedly guarded whenever she would broach—however cautiously or in a roundabout manner—questions about his own background. “I’m from up north,” was all he said. “No place you ever heard of.”

  “Really? What’s it called?”

  He looked at her with quiet amusement as the luukab’s back swayed gently up and down. “Xenex,” he said finally.

  “You’re right. I never heard of it,” she said. Moke was seated behind her, his arms wrapped around her narrow waist. “Tell me, Calhoun … do all the men in Xenex have purple eyes?”

  “No.”

  “Or scars?”

  He sighed. “Only those few who were stupid enough to let it happen.”

  “A fight?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m sorry you fared so poorly,” she said. “And the one who did it to you … ?”

  “Fared even more poorly,” Calhoun said. There was something in his voice that made it quite clear to her that further inquiries along this line might not yield any result she’d be comfortable with.

  She wisely dropped the inquiries on that topic, and instead said, “Have you ever been a Majister before?”

  “Not … exactly. I’ve done some jobs, though, that were somewhat along the same lines. They were just called something else. On that basis, I suppose I’m qualified to do this.”

  “And … do you have a woman?”

  “Not … exactly,” he said after a moment’s thought.

  She looked askance at him. “A man?”

  He laughed. “No,” he said with far more conviction. “And you?”

  “And me what?”

  “Do you have a man? What of Moke’s father?”

  She felt Moke tense up behind her, and she said quietly to Calhoun, “This … might not be the best time to discuss such matters.”

  Apparently he had realized as much even as he had spoken. “Yes. Of course. My apologies.” They spoke no more of it. Instead, they chatted in simple, noninflammatory ways about simple matters of less-than-dire consequence.

  She decided that she actually liked this man. She didn’t trust him, of course. She trusted no one. She had no intention of allowing him into her life, any more than she would permit men such as Tapinza near her. There was no way to tell what anyone’s true priority was, after all, or whether they intended good or ill for her and her son. All she knew was that she wanted to live her life, let Moke live his, and do whatever she could to help the people of Narrin. In a way, it had become a challenge for her. The more she was cold-shouldered by some, the more she felt compelled to try and make the remainder realize that she could only benefit them.

  The city was now evident in the near distance. “I’m told you’re a rainmaker,” Calhoun said suddenly.

  “I wouldn’t say that. I have … influence. No one ‘makes’ the rain do anything.”

  “Then what exactly do you do?”

  “I …” She smiled. “I ask nicely. Make requests of the weather, and it listens to me.”

  “How very considerate of it. Would it listen to me if I asked equally as nicely?”

  “I don’t think so,” she admitted. “But I wouldn’t take offense if I were you. The weather is, after all, just the weather. Most of the time, you can’t change it. Not even so much as which way the wind blows.”

  “Very wise words. I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

  There was a good deal of activity outside the town meeting hall. Apparently it was going to be a fairly full house that evening. Then again, it was a full house most of the time. It wasn’t as if there was all that much to do around town most nights.

  “Do you get into town much?” asked Calhoun as they approached the meeting hall. They had both left their luukabs tied off at a nearby post. The creatures seemed more than content to just stand there and wait for someone to come back for them.

  “No. Not all that much,” she said.

  “I’m surprised. A pretty woman such as yourself …”

  She stopped in her tracks and turned to face Calhoun. Moke had gone on ahead, attracted by the lights from within and the general loud noise and discussion. “Majister Calhoun,” she said, sounding quite formal, “let me be quite clear: I appreciate that you apologized to me. I appreciate that you took the time to accompany me here to the meeting. I freely admit that I misjudged you … albeit understandably, considering that misjudgment was based on your attempts to throttle me.” He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the comment, and she continued, “However, you can stop now.”

  “Stop? I wasn’t aware I’d started.”

  “You are being overly solicitous, overly attentive …” She sighed heavily. “It’s obvious, I’m afraid.”

  “Obvious?” His eyebrows knit. “If it’s that obvious, would you mind explaining it to me?”

  “You have your own motives, your own desires. You want something.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. You do.”

  “And might I ask what that is?”

  She folded her arms and made an exasperated sound. “Are you going to compel me to spell it out for you?”

  “Ah.” The edges of his mouth turned upward. “I see. Is that what you think?”

  “Majister, I don’t know what to think, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t want to have to worry about it one way or the other. I have too much to worry about: a farm—or what there is of a farm—to attend to, and a child to raise. I simply don’t need any further complications in my life.”

  “I appreciate your honesty,” he replied. “Now let me be equally candid: I’m simply passing through. I do not intend to be here for an inordinate period of time. And I need complications in my life even less than you need them in yours. All right?”

  “All right,” she said, suddenly feeling uncertain. She had the abrupt impression that she had offended him, and, in mentally reviewing her words, she realized that there was probably no way he could not have taken offense. She tried to say something to that effect, and perhaps even apologize, but he was already walking away.

  Well … she needn’t dwell on it, really. He seemed a sturdy enough individual to be able to handle even perceived insult. Still … it was a shame that he was obviously cross with her, because Moke certainly liked him …

  Immediately she drove the thought out of her head. She couldn’t think about what Moke liked and didn’t like. He was a child, she was the adult, and it was up to her to watch out for his best interests. That was all there was to it.

  She headed into the hall, and she noticed that there were a few nods of greeting. In times past, many people had been reluctant even to glance her way, but, slowly, some folks seemed to be thawing toward her. She held no ill
usions; it was probably because she had provided them with water not too long ago. As long as they felt there was a need for her, they would probably treat her decently. Well … there were certainly worse fates than being treated decently.

  Once inside the hall, she took a seat at the end of one of the long rows of benches. She looked around, trying to catch sight of Moke, and finally spotted him halfway across the room. He seemed to be engaged in animated discussion with Tapinza. That was certainly something that she couldn’t say she was happy to see. What was it about that boy that he seemed drawn to men who would ultimately be bad for him? She supposed that she shouldn’t think of it that way. Moke was simply an outgoing child who got on with just about anybody. Indeed, if there was ever someone whom Moke was at odds with, Rheela would be well-advised to run in the other direction the moment that person drew anywhere near.

  Rheela also cast a glance in Calhoun’s direction. She saw that he wasn’t talking with anyone, but merely walking along the edges of the room. He seemed to be surveying the area, looking for any possible trouble spots. Residents of the town were glancing toward him in a manner that they no doubt considered to be surreptitious. In point of fact, it was nothing of the kind, because if Rheela could see them engaging in such foolish behavior, Calhoun most likely could as well. However, he had a tendency—or perhaps the simple politeness—to look pointedly in the other direction from anyone who was looking at him. Thus did he give them the impression that they were spying on him with impunity when, in fact, he was fully aware of every moment that they were watching. It was almost like a game, and he played it extremely well.

  There was a banging of a gavel from up front, and people scurried to their respective seats. The Praestor was gaveling the meeting to order. Moke, upon hearing the meeting getting ready to start, looked around for his mother, caught sight of her, and headed toward her. She smiled approvingly as he slid into the seat next to her. Tapinza kept his distance. This struck her as being a good thing.

  “Fellow citizens,” called Praestor Milos once all of the normal chatter had died down, “I thank you all for coming to our town meeting. These meetings are the single most vital part of keeping our town running smoothly and for the benefit of all—”

  “—its citizens!” A number of voices were chiming in from all around, and this set off a round of good-natured laughter. The Praestor was renowned for saying, in essence, the same speech over and over again at the beginning of every town meeting. Even the Praestor laughed in mild self-rebuke. “I suppose I should really get a new opening statement, eh?” There were nods from throughout the room.

  He rose from behind the table, and Rheela found her gaze drawn to the people sitting behind it. It was the usual town council—the Praestor, the Maestress, and the mortician and the newspaper editor. The fifth seat was empty, however. Previously, Majister Fairax had filled it, and the sad and vacant state of the chair was a silent reminder of the loss that had been thrust upon them. Rheela cursed herself for being so out of touch; services had already been held for Fairax, his body disposed of by fire, as was the custom. It wasn’t as if she lived that far away, and yet it seemed as if a chasm separated her from the town.

  She wondered if Calhoun was going to be installed as the fifth member of the council. It seemed extremely unlikely; Fairax had only taken the position after he’d been there for three years, upon the unexpected demise of Old Man Binner. Would the council really suggest installing Calhoun, who was such a new arrival to the city, and with a background that was—at best—a question mark?

  “I am reluctant to begin our meeting on a somber note,” said Milos, “but this is the first one we are having after the passing of our dear and wise Majister, Fairax. I think it would be respectful to have a moment of silence in memory of a good man who was cut down doing his job—defending the people of this community.”

  All heads were properly lowered, and a silence fell upon the meeting hall. After a brief time had passed, the Praestor said, “All right … that’s the first thing. The second thing is, the town council, in emergency session, has decided to install a replacement for the late Fairax: Mackenzie Calhoun.”

  Now that subterfuge and hidden glances could be set aside, all eyes turned openly and unabashedly toward Calhoun. He nodded in acknowledgment of the scrutiny, even tipping his wide-brimmed hat slightly with a faintly amused air.

  “What do we know about him?” asked the Widow Att from across the room. “We don’t know anything. He could be anyone. He doesn’t look like anyone from around here.” There were a few nodding heads, but most people seemed to be playing their emotions close to the vest. They didn’t seem inclined to openly commit their feelings on the matter.

  “I’m from up north,” Calhoun said.

  “That doesn’t tell us anything,” the Widow Att pointed out.

  “It tells you I’m not from down south.”

  There was some faint laughter, but the Widow Att simply scowled all the more fiercely.

  “We respect your concerns, Att,” Praestor Milos said smoothly. “However—”

  “We had to make a decision, fast,” Spangler, the newspaper editor, spoke up. “Naming Calhoun the new Majister was the decision we chose to make. Given the circumstances, it seemed the best one at the time. However, we are no longer faced with an emergency. This matter can now be put to the entirety of the town. We are, after all, only the town council, not the town dictator. The permanent installation is a matter for the entire town to decide. Calhoun … do you have anything to say?”

  “Depends,” Calhoun said slowly.

  “On what?”

  “If the vote is yes … then no, I’ve nothing to say. If the vote is no … then I’ll say ‘Good-bye.’ ”

  There were uneasy looks around the room. “Is that your entire statement on the matter?” Howzer, the mortician, said with a touch of annoyance.

  “Pretty much, except to say that whichever of you decides to take over the position, well,” and he smiled broadly, “I hope you don’t get shot.”

  Rheela put a hand to her mouth to cover her broad smile. She could see the suddenly nervous expressions of everyone around her. In short order, a simple hand vote indicated that an overwhelming majority of the people attending thought that keeping Calhoun employed as the Majister was just a terrific idea.

  “So ordered. Majister Calhoun, welcome aboard. Do you have any opening or official statement you’d like to make to the good people of Narrin?”

  He smiled, bobbed his head and said, “I’ll do my best while I’m here … but I’m just passing through. Keep your heads down and, with any luck, none of you will get blasted. By me, at any rate.”

  Rheela bit her lip so as not to laugh out loud. The “good people of Narrin” looked at each other with clear uncertainty that they had done the right thing, but it was too late to go back now.

  The meeting then proceeded, with discussion on a variety of other topics. There were times when Rheela found it difficult to stay awake, but she knew as a responsible citizen that it was her obligation, at the very least, to make a pretense of paying attention. She found her gaze drawn time and again to Calhoun, though. He had taken up a position in one corner of the room that seemed to suit him, and she realized that, from that one spot, he could see every corner of the place with equal facility. He was leaning back against the wall, looking very relaxed and apparently not expecting trouble at all. But she watched as his gaze swept the room, consistently and steadily. No, he might not have been expecting trouble … but he was anticipating it, so that he would not be caught unawares. It made her wonder if there was any reason to expect trouble at the meeting, but ultimately she decided that he was just being cautious. It was incredibly ironic. She still knew next to nothing about him, aside from the fact that he’d tried to kill her. And yet, inexplicably, she felt safer with him around than without him.

  It was everything she could do to throw off such sentimentally nonsensical thoughts. The last thing she wanted
to do was depend on someone else in order to feel safe. The only one she could count on not to abandon her or Moke was herself. And she could never, ever, lose sight of that fact.

  “That,” the Praestor announced eventually, “takes care of old business. Now … on to new business. Not to be too unfeeling on a painful subject, but it’s obvious that we need to replace Majister Fairax on the town council. Now, we of the council have thought long and hard about this, trying to come up with an individual whom we feel has given a great deal to the community, and presumably has more to give in the future. And after developing a very short list of names, we would like to present to all of you the individual whom we feel would be the most appropriate to place on the council. This is subject, naturally, to your vote, but we are hoping that our recommendation will provide sufficient sway, or—at the very least—quell any concerns you might have.”

  “Who are we talking about here?’ inquired Ronk, an impatient and perpetually cranky dirt farmer from the southern district.

  “I am speaking of none other than the right honorable Maester Tapinza.”

  There was a round of genuinely enthusiastic applause in response to that, but Rheela shook her head in disbelief. Was everyone truly blind to the fact that there was something … unappetizing about him? Granted, he had never said or done anything truly threatening. She didn’t like his point of view, trying to profit off the Kolk’r-given ability she wielded. That alone, though, didn’t automatically mean that there was something wrong with him.

  Even so, though … even so … she felt nothing but great unease every time his name was mentioned. But all she was seeing around her were nods of approval.

  Tapinza was standing, nodding and waving to the people. He cleared his throat and said, “My good friends … as much as I appreciate this warm ovation, there are rules for a reason. Things should be done according to those rules whenever possible. If those rules call for a vote, then I must insist that such a vote be held.”