The Blacksmith

by Howe, Barbara;

  Master Jean was worse. He hadn’t had any padding to start with, and she at least had a scarf hiding her naked skull. His new skin stretched tight over bones, all the knobs and sharp edges showing. I tore my eyes away and watched the fire lad juggle live coals.

  “Please, Master Duncan, take a seat,” Master Jean said. “I asked you here to explain what to expect at the coming trial.”

  “Aye, I’d like to know a few things, starting with: how soon?”

  “Perhaps another week, and less than a fortnight. The rebuilding is almost done, but Sorceress Lorraine is not yet ready for the rigours of a trial. She tires easily.”

  I could believe that. The Locksmith and Master Jean looked like sitting up was wearing them out.

  “Ideally,” he said, “she should be given months to recuperate, but we cannot hold the king off that long.”

  “I’m sorry for her, but I’d rather get it over with, too. And I’d like my brother and sister there.”

  “Of course. You need not fear for lack of support. We will send for anyone you request, and you will be represented by Frankland’s foremost authorities on both law and magic: the Company of Mages, backed by the four magic guild councils.”

  “Uh-oh,” the fire lad said. “Flint’s going?”

  “No.” Master Jean smiled. “I told him his presence was required. Warlock Sunbeam also declined, albeit politely.”

  “They didn’t want to see Injustice Hall?”

  Master Jean gave him a sharp look. “Be careful how you refer to the courtroom. Much depends on the outcome of this trial, and needlessly antagonising the Water Guild will do our cause no good. No one alive today is responsible for the miscarriages of justice that have taken place there.”

  “Yes, sir. I won’t call it that…there.”

  “Change how you refer to it here, and in your own mind, and you will be less likely to slip, there.”

  The fire lad made a face. “Yes, sir.”

  I said, “Why are you talking about Injust—the Crystal Palace? The Fire Warlock said Paris.”

  Master Jean shook his head. “The king wants a demonstration of the outcome of the trial and the justice of the sentence. He does not insist on the trial taking place before his eyes. We will hold the demonstration in Paris the day after the actual trial, to give ourselves time to implement an alternative strategy if the trial shows the Water Office is still broken.”

  “What alternative strategy? Taking it apart and not putting it back together?”

  “If necessary, we will rebuild it without the sentencing functions, but we must consider that the last resort. Moreover, I must warn you, even if the reforged Water Office behaves as we expect, and does not order your execution, the king may still override the Water Office’s verdict and order your death. He has that authority.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What makes you think he won’t?”

  “Custom, laziness, and the judgements favouring the nobility have kept King Stephen from ever exercising that authority before now. If custom and laziness continue to hold sway, he may not remember that he can override a sentence, or if he does, the exemplary quality of your life should persuade him not to.”

  “Fat chance. You know as well as I do the king hates commoners, and will stick it to us any way he can.”

  Master Jean frowned. “I know no such thing. Beware calling the king your enemy, lest you draw the Fire Office’s attention.”

  “Fine. But he thinks we’re his.”

  “He does not.”

  “Eh? But—”

  “In naming someone your enemy, you acknowledge your foe has the power to hurt you. The king does not rate you so highly. He does not consider commoners at all, neither as individuals with the same needs and desires he has, nor as groups with power that can be channelled towards constructive purposes. He notices commoners when they become mobs, and blames the magic guilds for not keeping the rabble under control.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. He’s paying that rabble-rousing Reverend Angus to stir people up.”

  “True, but he expects their ire to be directed towards those he does consider his enemies: the magic guilds. The damage the mobs did to the nobles shocked and frightened him. He cannot understand his own role in the disaster.”

  “But—”

  He held up a hand, palm out. “I say ‘cannot’ advisedly. King Stephen is an unintelligent, unimaginative man in a role demanding both. He is foolish, not evil, and the counsellors he trusts are equally foolish. Supporting Reverend Angus was not his idea, and he does not understand what the man does. He continues to pay him because he knows we despise him.”

  “And if you hate him, he must be doing something useful.” I shook my head. “It doesn’t seem right. Kings and Fire Warlocks were always at each other’s throats, but the kings used to be happy with the other magic guilds. What happened?”

  “In Frankland’s early days, when the king enjoyed the people’s love and respect, the king was more powerful than the Fire Warlock, whose role was limited to defence. The kings’ power waned as they forgot it sprang from the consent of those governed. King Stephen’s father became so bitter over what he saw as the rise of the upstart talented that he forced his son to swear imprudent oaths, including one to never take the Great Oath, simply because we wanted him to.” Master Jean raised his hands, and let them fall. “When, as Fire Warlock, I learned of this, I despaired. How can Frankland ever be restored to balance, when the king’s oaths trap him as surely as the Fire Office traps the Fire Warlock?”

  On the morning of the trial, I prowled the Fortress walls long before dawn, and was the first one in the mess hall when it opened. When I asked for eggs, the cook shook a knife at me. “Three eggs! Four sausages! What’s the matter with you, boy?”

  “I guess I’m a bit off my feed this morning.”

  “You’ve eaten four eggs every morning since you got here. I’m fixing you four eggs and six sausages, and you’re going to eat ‘em. We can’t have you fainting from hunger in front of Her Iciness. How’d that make us look? She’d think we didn’t know how to feed a man.”

  Maybe he was right. I did feel better after eating my regular breakfast, but I shovelled it down and left the mess hall as fast as I could. Most guards coming in wished me luck or told me to give ‘er hell, with a handshake or a slap on the back or a punch on the arm. Much as I appreciated the support, it didn’t help steady my nerves.

  Neither did Mrs Cole dragging me to the ballroom and handing me a top-drawer new suit. I said, “I won’t know how to behave wearing such finery.”

  She tut-tutted. “You’ll soon forget what you’re wearing, you’ll see, and you’ll behave like the respectable craftsman you are. I’m not worried about that.”

  “But that’s just it. I’m a craftsman, not a gentleman. You’re dressing me up like a gentleman. Those water witches will expect me to talk and act like a gentleman, and I can’t. They’ll laugh at me and call me uppity. Not that I’d care, usually, but I don’t want to make things worse.”

  She thumped me on the chest. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll sit quiet and let their Wisdoms do the talking. If you aren’t dressed up, you’ll look so out of place you’ll draw more attention, and they’d sneer at you for not talking the occasion seriously. Trust me on this. Besides, you never get a second chance to make a first impression. So make it a good one.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, and took the clothes. When I’d gotten dressed, I said, “What kind of magic is in these clothes? I look like an earl.”

  She smiled. “Don’t kid yourself. You look better than most earls. You look like a prince, or at least a duke. If there’s any magic involved, it’s the normal magic of good health, good muscles, and a good chin.”

  I tugged at my cuffs and watched myself in the mirror. “I’ll be the best-looking cold corpse Abertee has ever seen.�
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  She sucked in her breath and scurried away, sniffling.

  By the time we walked through the fire to the Crystal Palace gates, I was ready to bolt. Being close enough to Nettleton to walk home by nightfall hurt like a broken rib stabbing my chest. Sunlight bouncing off the windows stabbed my eyes. A year ago, when the light had pinned me down on the shore, I had watched for water wizards rising out of the surf, though they had nothing on me then. Now the charge was murder, and I was standing at the gate, handing myself in. Fool.

  The Fire Warlock gave my shoulder a hard shake. “Never thought I’d see a fellow as big as you look like a scared rabbit. The magic’s stronger if you walk in on your own than if I drag you in, but if I have to, I will.”

  “You said it was my choice.”

  “Too late—we’re on their home turf. If you turn around now, you won’t live long enough to wish you hadn’t.”

  Master Jean put a hand on my arm. “Take heart, my friend. No one here, either within or without, wishes you dead.”

  “Aye, sir. I’ll walk in on my own.”

  The Locksmith took my other arm. “I don’t like walking in there, either. We’ll go together.”

  I lurched up the ramp, a warlock on either side. Once inside, out of the glare, walking forward got easier, but stepping into the shadows chilled me like walking into winter.

  Injustice Hall

  Master Jean was talking to a dozen other wizards at the waiting room’s far end. He had put some weight on; he was skinny, but not a bag of bones. It didn’t hurt to look at him anymore. The other wizards were experts on law and magic, to provide support and counsel, he’d said. The advice they’d given so far was to tell the truth, all of it, when the Frost Maiden asked questions. Like I didn’t have enough sense to know that.

  Maggie had a vice grip on my arm and wouldn’t let go. I didn’t mind that. It was when she asked what the wizards said about my chances that I shook her off.

  “How’s Hazel?” I said. “Is Granny Mildred still pissed off at her?”

  The look passing between Doug and Maggie said they didn’t like my question, either.

  “Come on,” I said. “You know that isn’t right. I told Warlock Snorri to tell Mildred to come see me, but she wouldn’t. Maybe she knew I was going to chew her out. But if she won’t talk to me, you’re going to have to do something about it.”

  “Do what?” Maggie said. “I don’t want to fight with Granny Mildred, even when she’s wrong. I don’t want half of Abertee mad at me, too.”

  “Somebody’s got to tell her she’s wrong about Hazel. Guess that means you, Doug.”

  Doug had a hangdog look about him. “It’s not right to disrespect our elders. You know that.”

  “It’s not right to disrespect an almost-earth-mother, either, and that’s what Mildred’s doing. I’m not saying you have to tell Granny Mildred off in the Shepard’s Arms with all of Crossroads listening. Just tell her in private that Hazel saved my life turning me over to the Fire Guild, and she ought to thank her for it.”

  “I tried that,” Maggie said, “and it didn’t do any good.”

  “Why not?”

  “She said you being on trial showed you jumped from the frying pan into the fire. That when she heard the Fire Guild was looking for a test case, she held her breath, because you’re the big-hearted, damn-fool, would-be hero they were looking for. She really laced into me, saying after my brush with the Water Office, I should be the last person sticking up for Hazel. So I went crying to Cousin Ruth, and she sent me packing. Miserable day.”

  “Well, hell.” I gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Maggie. At least you tried.” I glared at Doug.

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t do any good now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Her trial’s this afternoon,” Maggie said. “We’re not likely to ever see her again.”

  The water wizard, Master Charles, led the way to Justice Hall. Master Charles didn’t look dangerous, but neither did Master Jean. I’d better not slip and call the place Injustice Hall. Guaranteed to make a water wizard go berserk, I’d heard.

  We stopped just inside the door, and gawked. On our right, rows of benches climbed higher than a two-story house, forming half of a bowl. Sunlight slanting in through windows set high up sparkled on white marble and dark blue tiles.

  On our left… I twisted my neck and moved further out to get a good look at the wall. King Charlie the Great and the first Frost Maiden, three times larger than life, stood on rocks in front of pounding surf, holding a magic mirror between them. The king raised a sword in his right hand. The sun picked out gold in his crown and her ring. In her left hand, she held an hourglass.

  I wrenched my eyes away and bumped into Master Jean. “Sorry, sir. I figured you would have sat down already. You must be used to it.”

  Without taking his eyes away from the wall, Master Jean said, “I have seen paintings of this magnificent mosaic, but I have never been in the Hall of I… Hall of Justice before, either.” He strolled closer to stare up at the king. Master Charles glared at the back of his head.

  Turning away from the picture of the hourglass brought me face-to-face with silver scales and a real hourglass on a stand. I cursed under my breath, and couldn’t move. Despite the chill, I was sweating.

  Master Charles grabbed my sleeve and tugged me past. “Royalty and nobles, when they are here, sit in the middle, there, with the talented on either side. Commoners sit in the higher rows, except for immediate family.” His voice echoed in the nearly empty hall. The empty benches dwarfed the magic folk in the bottom two rows.

  I wiped sweat from my face. “Where is everybody?”

  “Specifically uninvited. Only the witches and wizards involved in the rebuilding are here. This is a trial trial, you might say.”

  Mother Astrid, looking thirty again, nodded to me from a flock of healers. The Flame Mage and the fire lad gave me thumbs-up. The Earth Mother, Fire Warlock, and Locksmith had chairs below them, on the floor of the bowl. The Locksmith was grey. They shouldn’t have let her out of bed.

  At least the Water Guild was treating her like royalty, giving her a padded armchair and footstool. The two Officeholders only rated straight chairs. Everybody wore woolly hats and winter coats.

  I went where Sorcerer Charles pointed: the prisoner’s bench. Doug and Maggie filed into place behind me. Their bench had a cushion. Mine didn’t. Not that I cared to complain.

  Master Jean and the Air Enchanter slid into place on either side. I said, “They should have given you an armchair, too.”

  Master Jean shrugged, “They offered. I declined. We shall not be here long.”

  The Enchanter said, “I wouldn’t have minded a cushion.”

  A gong cut off Master Jean’s beg-pardon. We stood. Double doors on one side of the hall opened. The blue-robed Water Guild Council filed in and lined up before an unpadded bench under the mirror.

  The Frost Maiden floated through the double doors. I stared. The ancient Greek goddess in the Black Duke’s palace had stepped off her pedestal and taken Sorceress Lorraine’s place. No, it was the same witch I’d seen before; gorgeous, but as cold as ice, as pale and hard as marble, and as perfect as that statue.

  Nae, a broken statue, with one arm gone. I shuddered.

  She stopped at the short bench, directly in front, between the scales and the hourglass. We got to sit. Master Jean gave a soft sigh. He should’ve taken the armchair.

  The Frost Maiden said, “Let me remind you that in the administration of Justice the Water Office operates in two phases: first the determination of guilt and innocence, secondly the issuance of penalties. The first phase has not been problematic, and nothing there has changed. The second phase, which has been issuing penalties increasingly at odds with the first phase’s verdicts, has been the source of our troubles. We will now
perform the first phase: determination of guilt and innocence. Let us review Lord Edmund’s death.”

  The mirror came to life, showing the three horsemen entering the barnyard. I ducked my head. Awake or asleep, I had seen Lord Edmund die a thousand times since then. Maggie leaned forward and rested her head on my shoulder. I reached back and squeezed her hand.

  She whispered, “Excuse me, Your Wisdom.”

  Master Jean leaned back. “Yes?”

  “The problem is the Water Office’s right hand doesn’t know what the left one is doing? The left hand dishes out penalties the right hand said weren’t deserved?”

  “That sums it up rather well.”

  I muttered, “But her right hand’s the one that’s gone, and the left hand is the one with the teeth in it.”

  “What a repulsive metaphor.”

  “Sorry, sir.” But her right hand was gone, and I couldn’t tell if she even missed it.

  Did a goddess ever feel anything? Anger? Love? Pity for the poor louts she’d destroyed? She’d risked her life, but maybe she was so cold she didn’t know how to be afraid. She’d talked a fine story that night in the Fortress, but I hadn’t heard it in her voice or seen it in her face. I wished I could see something there besides ice.

  I ducked my head lower and kept my eyes on the floor. The marble was easier to take than her, or the mirror, or that frostbitten hourglass.

  When the mirror went blank, the mages got into an argument about manslaughter I didn’t try to follow. She asked a few questions I answered with “Aye, Your Wisdom” and “Nae, Your Wisdom.”

  Then she said, “We charge thee, Water Office, according to Frankland’s laws and customs, to show those assembled here a just verdict.”

  I looked up. The scales held two dolls: a big one looking like me, smaller one looking like Lord Edmund. I held my breath.

  She said, “In the confrontation at the Archer farm, which man’s actions, if either, indicated he intended murder?”