She beamed, adding more creases around her ever-twinkling eyes.
“My boy, no one said anything about marriage. Dear, did you say anything about marriage?” Hogal asked his wife.
“Just so you both understand: I’m not the marrying type.”
“Ah, Perrin,” said Mrs. Densal, patting his hand. “Everyone is the marrying type. They just don’t know it until they find their type!”
“And it’s my guess that Miss Mahrree may be your type!” Hogal winked.
Perrin ignored that comment and focused on the pie. “And you already scheduled another debate?”
“Oh, she suggested it, my boy,” the rector told him. “She’s quite thoughtful. Just like her father, one of the wisest men I ever knew. And she might be considered pretty, too.”
“Looks aren’t everything,” Perrin muttered as he broke off another piece, but something in his voice suggested they were part of the equation.
“She reads a lot. Tends to get a little outspoken, but I think you saw that,” Hogal mused, trying to see any reaction on Perrin’s face.
But Perrin kept looking at his plate, pushing bits of berries around with his fork.
“But at least she thinks!” Mrs. Densal interjected. “It can be difficult to find young women who care for anything more than popular dress colors.”
When the captain didn’t respond, the elderly couple looked at each other and communicated silently.
The rector cleared his throat. “I’m intrigued about your presentation of the topics. First, you receive that message from Idumea—”
“He’s always sending me weather reports,” the captain said offhandedly.
“Curious that he should, considering that the weather we have in Edge one day is visiting Idumea the next. Reports should be going the other way, I would think. Or perhaps he’s just drawing your attention to the color of the sky?”
The captain didn’t answer, but took another bite of pie.
The rector smiled at the avoidance tactic. “You wanted her to choose the color of the sky debate, didn’t you? Did you decide that before or after you laid eyes on her?”
Perrin shrugged without looking up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Another bite of pie.
“Of course not,” Hogal said, with a slow nod. “She did rather well, I thought. Took you on quite handily. In about five more minutes, she would have humiliated you. Maybe that’s why you cut the debate short?”
Perrin suddenly stopped and stared at his plate.
“But you made great strides in proving to the village that you and the army are not lingering death tools of the kings,” Hogal assured him. “You even earned a few smiles, nods of approval, and one hearty round of applause. Excellent work tonight, my boy.”
Perrin just studied his nearly empty plate.
“You know,” the rector said with a chuckle as he rearranged some of the dishes set for their breakfast, “I was just thinking, she doesn’t live too far away from here. Just north and east. Rather along the way to the fort, I would think. It’s kind of funny, it’s easy to find her house. It’s the only one without a proper garden. The woman cares nothing for maintaining her yard. She cares only for her books—and her students, of course.”
When this failed to draw any kind of response from the captain, Mrs. Densal tried. “I was just wondering what color Mahrree’s hair could be described as. It’s too dark for blonde, and too light to be brown. I have the same question about her eyes. I’m not really sure what color they are . . .”
Perrin stabbed his last piece of pie with more effort than needed and said, “Greenish-gray. But more green,” then put the fork into his mouth. Something in the air suggested he decided not to add, “with little flecks of golden brown.”
The rector and his wife exchanged triumphant looks. Rector Densal cleared his throat to begin again when Perrin finally looked up.
“Please don’t do this,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t need to be made to look like a fool in love in my first major assignment.”
“Oh, come now Perrin. How can we make the son of the High General of Idumea look like a fool?” Mrs. Densal asked. She looked at his empty plate and slapped the table. “I almost forgot!” She stood up, took a mug from the cabinet, turned to the cold cellar, and filled the mug with milk.
Perrin’s hand automatically went up to his forehead in embarrassment as she placed the mug in front of him.
“I know what you’re going to say: milk’s for children. But you’ve always eaten my pie with milk.”
Perrin slowly shook his head and fingered the mug. “I’m not a boy anymore. And if I want to find a wife, I can do it on my own. If!”
He gulped down the milk.
Mrs. Densal smiled. “That’s not what your mother said. By the way, I’m writing her tomorrow and I’ll tell her how nice you looked tonight.” She took a dish cloth, licked a corner of it, and rubbed one of the shining silver buttons on Perrin’s chest.
He respectfully accepted her grooming, nodded a thank you when she finished, then pushed away his empty dishes and stood up, adopting a formal stance.
“I need to be getting back to the fort. It should be completed in the next few days, but there are many details that need to be addressed.” Perrin leaned over and kissed the rector’s wife on her forehead. “Thank you again for the pie, Auntie Tabbit. But can you please try to do something about your husband?”
The rector grinned and pointed at his forehead expectantly, his eyebrows bouncing up and down.
Perrin gave him a playful glare, took up his cap, put it on, and left out the back door.
The rector and his wife watched him close the door. Then Tabbit kicked her husband under the table.
“Hogal, I said be subtle! Subtle! Do you know what that means?”
The rector feigned pain at her gentle kick. “But dear, he’s twenty-eight, and we’re in our eighties—we don’t have time to be subtle! Did you notice he talked about marrying, at least twice?”
“It was three times, I’m sure!” Tabbit giggled.
---
Outside the door, Captain Shin stood in the dark listening to his great aunt and uncle. He shook his head at their banter and smiled as he left.
He walked the alley that ran behind all of the houses to the road. One of the reasons he came to Edge was because of them, but Hogal’s idea of help was distracting him from his work. No other captain had been given so much responsibility. Then again, there was no other son of the High General, who was also the grandson of a High General. He had to make a good impression early, not only with the villagers but with the army and the Administrators.
Someday, once the fort was established and the threat of Guarders was again subdued, he could see himself looking around. By then he’d be about thirty, ten years older than any available females, but there still might be some close to his age. Miss Peto seemed to be older. And fairly attractive. And smart. So why was she still single? Something must be wrong with her.
Then again, she might think the same thing about him.
If she thought of him.
He took another turn, then another. It wasn’t as if her home was out of his way. He actually needed to walk past it on his way back to the fort. After all, it was his duty to learn every road and alley in Edge, to know how to defend it against the raids that may be coming.
Still, he felt guilty when he found himself in front of her dark home. The tiny yard had no distinguishable pattern to the foliage, but maybe that was because the sun had set a while ago. The house was typical for smaller villages. Large stones for the foundation, smaller stones mortared together for the main floor, and broad planked boards for the second level bedroom and attic, with a pitched roof covered in sun-dried tiles. It was small and neat with windows of thick wavy glass. In Sands the glass blowers were developing much thinner panes to import to Idumea, but no one else besides the forts needed to go to such expense. Neither did Miss Peto, he nodded in approval. He pause
d only for a moment to glance surreptitiously at the windows which revealed dark nothingness.
He walked slowly to the end of the road which led directly to the fort and stopped. Where she would be at this hour of evening? He felt concern for her safety—as a captain should—and turned to walk down past her house again.
Perhaps she was home, but had already retired for the night. Was she ill? That might be his responsibility, too. He reached the end of the road and immediately felt like a foolish fourteen-year-old. He turned again to walk past her home the third time and on to the fort. But again he slowed down as he passed her yard and looked in the dried weeds for any sign of trouble.
Strangely disappointed he picked up his gait, marched past the next house, and turned on to the fort.
---
From behind a thick evergreen shrub across the road, Mahrree finally felt enough courage to step out from her hiding spot and watch the dim figure of Captain Shin walk away. She’d seen him pass her house twice. What might have happened if she hadn’t spent so long at her mother’s? Was he lost? That didn’t bode well for the safety of their community, she thought with a wry smile.
She tiptoed across the cobblestones to the corner to catch the last glimpse of him. Maybe there was actually a threat he was investigating? Or maybe he was trying to find her house?
Instantly she felt a ridiculous about the entire thing. How would he even know where she lived? One part of her wished she paid closer attention to how her silly students stalked the young men outside the amphitheater. The other part wanted to slap her on the face and send her to the bedroom in disgrace.
---
The slender man in dark clothing standing in a shadow across the road from Mahrree Peto’s house watched as she entered it. Then he quietly slipped from his hiding place and slinked down the main road to the new fort, observing the captain’s progress. The report he’d be sending would verify the captain’s arrival and apparent intent to stay, as well as his defense of the Administrators’ positions at the debates. But the report would also describe his unusual behavior tonight.
The man smiled briefly. For someone of his age and stature, he shouldn’t have been forced so far for this assignment. Once in the mansion, always in the mansion. Or so he’d assumed. He hadn’t realized Stage One would mean leaving his well-deserved comforts to tail potential targets like a first year learner.
But this target—and those connected to him—was more important than any other.
The man knew his wisdom was needed, and so were his abilities. And now he was no longer resentful about his posting, especially after so many years of dull nothingness. Stage Two was beginning, and the north might actually be appealing.
Because Captain Perrin Shin was turning out to be interesting after all.
---
Go bold, Mahrree wrote on the scrap paper late that night.
She frowned at it.
It should have been Go boldly, right? She got it wrong, all those years ago.
But that indicated going somewhere, and what she’d really meant was, Be bold.
But then it would have been, Be bold, or don’t be at all, which was far more fatalistic than she intended.
She scowled at the paper. Things are so much simpler when one approaches with the over-confident superiority of a teenage mind.
Now, as an adult, she finally realized just how simplistic and incorrect her old motto had been.
No.
No, the captain had pointed out how simplistic and incorrect she was.
With those deep dark eyes he’d looked at her with what she could only describe as patronizing curiosity, almost arrogant affection. The way one might regard a lamb tangled up in a laundry line.
Ah, look at the darling little creature, caught by her own stupidity. Let’s see if she can get out on her own. Better yet, let’s just end it right here, before she can extract herself.
Mahrree crumpled up the paper and hurled it furiously into the cold hearth.
Then she reluctantly stood up and, wishing crumpled bits of paper flew more angrily and accurately, trudged over to the wall where the small white mass lay apologetically, picked it up and tossed it resentfully into the logs waiting for a cold morning.
She blew out the candle and clumped up the stairs to bed.
Twenty minutes later, Mahrree couldn’t stand it anymore. She got out of her bed, rushed down the stairs to her dark eating room, and relit the candle. Then she pulled one of the many books off the shelf, dropped it on the table, and thumbed to the back. She’d never read the pages of supposedly “Interesting Facts” of the leaders of the world, but tonight she raced her finger across the words until she came to High General Relf Shin.
She swallowed hard as she read,
Married, wife named Joriana. Son, born in 291,
The same year as her.
named Perrin.
She had debated, challenged, and insulted—and been insulted by—the son of one of the most powerful men in the world.
Her head hit the table in mortification.
---
Late that night two men sat in the dark office of an unlit building. Their meeting was private, secret, and the most important one in the entire world.
“Are you ready?” the first, older man with a shock of white hair asked.
“Does this mean you’re actually about to begin?” said the second, middle-aged man in a bored tone. “It’s been so long—”
“Question:” the first man cut him off, “how will the world react to the return of their most feared enemy?”
The second man sighed. “Finally! I—”
“Now, now,” the first man interrupted, holding up a finger in the dim room. “That’s not the proper response. I want your speculation.”
“You’re going to be this exact?”
The first man’s smile dimmed. “I’ve spent more than seven years preparing for this! And in the past two years the entire world has been placed under very careful controls. You really think I’m going to throw out all research protocols and be casual now?”
His companion nodded. “Of course not. My speculation: if the return is impressive enough, then the people will panic and beg to be rescued. They’ll likely cower in terror, as usual.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps there might be someone brave who decides to confront the conflict himself—”
“Ha!” the older man exclaimed. “Doubtful! That’s precisely what I’m out to prove. Granted, someone may try that once or twice—I’m counting on it—but he’ll realize there’s no purpose in risking his life. Not unless the army’s paying him, and even then he won’t see it as enough. No one dares anything without lure of a reward or fear of punishment.” He eyed his younger partner critically. “But your naïve optimism is why I chose you. I need balance and I appreciate your perspectives, as inaccurate as they may be.”
The middle aged man squinted. “Now, while I agree that people respond to rewards and punishments, I also believe they can act because of other motivations—”
“Oh, come now!” the first older man sneered. “Don’t tell me you’re just like him. Next you’ll try to convince me that humans have more noble traits than the rest of the animals.”
The second man blinked. “You’re still angry about that? That was what, four years ago?”
“Seven,” the first said hotly.
“So that’s what this is all about? Him?!”
The first man glared. “No, of course it’s not all about him! We’re about to embark on the most extensive research project regarding the animalistic nature of humans ever attempted. He may have initially influenced it,” the old man admitted, running a hand through his white hair to ruffle it, “but what we will accomplish is far bigger than merely proving a point to him.”
The second man regarded him suspiciously. “So your purpose is to . . .”
“Demonstrate conclusively that men are simply animals, and can be broken as such.” The older man rattled it off as if he’d been
practicing for seven years. Which, he likely had.
“What about women?”
The first man waved that off. “Everyone already accepts they’re only animals. Women have no more influence or thought beyond what their men accord them.”
The second man smirked. “You were never married, were you?”
“No. I have better things to do. So, are you up to it?”
“Just one question: you will be objective about all of this, won’t you? I’m a little concerned that your personal experiences—”
“Show me one man that’s completely objective!” the older man snapped. “There’s no such thing. All science—when you get right down to it—is about proving a bias. You know that as well as I do, so why should we pretend otherwise? I’ll be as impartial and objective as any man can be, but if I didn’t feel any drive to do what I do, why would I do it at all?”
The second man nodded in reluctant agreement. “You may have a point.”
“Naturally. Now,” the first older man continued methodically, “there hasn’t even been one incident, yet already some villages are reporting there have been sightings. You see,” he leaned forward, “it’s merely the perceptions of what is real that affect people, not reality. Just a suggestion of terror, and already they’re trembling like a broken dog. I fear it may all prove to be too simple.”
He sat back, almost sadly.
“But hopefully we’ll be able to enjoy this study for a few years before the world crumbles into a cowering mess,” he continued. “So, the oaths have been taken, all my men have moved into place—I’ve even already received a very interesting report—every fort will be in operation within the next few weeks . . . I can see you’re intrigued, so I ask you again: are you ready? Because Stage Two is.”
The second thought for a moment. “Who in the world will be tested first?”
The Forest at the Edge of the World Page 7
