The abundance of food presented in such elaborate profusion was intended not only to be political spectacle wherein the Minister of Culture manifested his power and wealth, but also to convey—to protect the Minister from accusations of ostentatious excess—a profound religious connotation. The plenty was ultimately an exhibition of the Creator’s splendor and, despite the seeming opulence, but an infinitesimal sampling of His endless bounty.
The feast was not convened to oblige a gathering of people, but a gathering of people had been called to attend the feast—a subtle but significant difference. That the feast wasn’t held for a social reason—say, a wedding, or to celebrate an anniversary of a military victory—underlined its religious substance. The Sovereign’s attendance, his being the Creator’s deputy in the world of life, only consecrated the sacred aspects of the feast.
If guests were impressed with the wealth, power, and nobility of the Minister and his wife, that was incidental and unavoidable. Dalton incidentally noticed a great many people being unavoidably impressed.
The room droned with conversation sprinkled with the chime of laughter as the guests sipped wine, nibbled food of every sort, and sampled with different fingers the variety of sauces. The harpist had started in again to entertain the guests while they dined. The Minister ate eel as he spoke with his wife, Stein, and the two wealthy backers at the far end of the table.
Dalton wiped his lips, deciding to make use of the opening offered by the relaxed mood. He took a last sip of wine before leaning toward his wife. “Did you find out anything from your talk earlier?”
Teresa used her knife to part a piece of fried pike, then picked up her half with her fingers and dipped it in red sauce. She knew he meant Claudine. “Nothing specific. But I suspect the lamb is not locked in her pen.”
Teresa didn’t know what the whole matter was about, or that Dalton had enlisted the two Haken boys to deliver a warning to Claudine, but she knew enough to understand that Claudine was probably making trouble over her tryst with the Minister. While they never discussed specifics, Teresa knew she wasn’t sitting at the head table simply because Dalton knew the law forward and backward.
Teresa lowered her voice. “While I talked with her, she paid a lot of attention to Director Linscott—you know, watching him while trying to act as if she wasn’t; watching, too, to see if anyone saw her looking.”
Her word was always trustworthy, never embellished with supposition without being tagged as such.
“Why do you think she was so brazen before about telling the other women that the Minister forced himself on her?”
“I think she told others about the Minister as protection. I believe she reasoned that if people already knew about it, then she was safe from being silenced before anyone could find out.
“For some reason, though, she has suddenly become closemouthed. But, like I said, she was watching the Director a lot and pretending as if she wasn’t.”
Teresa left it to him to draw his own conclusions. Dalton leaned toward her as he rose. “Thank you, darling. If you will excuse me briefly, I must see to some business.”
She caught his hand. “Don’t forget you promised to introduce me to the Sovereign.”
Dalton lightly kissed her cheek before meeting the Minister’s eye. What Teresa had said only confirmed his belief in the prudence of his plan. Much was at stake. Director Linscott could be inquisitorial. Dalton was reasonably sure the message delivered by the two boys had silenced Claudine, but if it didn’t, this would end her ability to sow her seeds. He gave Bertrand a slight nod.
As he moved around the room, Dalton stopped at a number of tables, leaning over, greeting people he knew, hearing a joke here, a rumor there, a proposal or two, and promised to get together with some. Everyone thought him a representative of the Minister, come from the head table to make the rounds of the tables, seeing to everyone’s pleasure.
Arriving at last at his true destination, Dalton presented a warm smile. “Claudine, I pray you are feeling better. Teresa suggested I inquire—see if you need anything—seeing as how Edwin is not able to be here.”
She flashed him a reasonably good imitation of a sincere smile. “Your wife is a dear, Master Campbell. I’m fine, thank you. The food and company has put me right. Please tell her I’m feeling much better.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Dalton leaned close to her ear. “I was going to relay an offer for Edwin—and you—but I’m reluctant to ask this of you not only with Edwin out of the city, but with your unfortunate tumble. I don’t wish to force work on you when you aren’t up to it, so please come to see me when you are fit.”
She turned to frown at him. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. If you have business that involves Edwin, he wishes me to hear it. We work closely and have no secrets where business is concerned. You know that, Master Campbell.”
Dalton not only knew it, but was counting on it. He squatted down on the balls of his feet as she scooted her chair back to be out of the table’s circle of conversation.
“Please forgive my presumption? Well, you see,” he began, “the Minister feels profound sympathy for men unable to feed their families any other way but to beg food. Even if they can beg food, their families still go for want of clothes, proper shelter, and other necessities. Despite the charity of good Anderith people, many children go to bed with the ache of hunger in their bellies. Hakens as well as Anders suffer this fate, and the Minister feels compassion for both, for they are all his responsibility.
“The Minister has labored feverishly, and has at last worked out the final details of a new law to at last put a number of people to work who otherwise would have no hope.”
“That’s, that’s very good of him,” she stammered. “Bertrand Chanboor is a good man. We are lucky to have him as our Minister of Culture.”
Dalton wiped a hand across his mouth as she looked away from his eyes. “Well, the thing of it is, the Minister often mentions his respect for Edwin—for all the unsung work Edwin has done—so I suggested to the Minister that it would be appropriate to somehow show our respect for Edwin’s hard work and dedication.
“The Minister fervently agreed and instantly sprang to the idea of having the new law headed as proposed and sponsored by Burgess Edwin Winthrop. The Minister even wishes it to be called the Winthrop Fair Employment Law in honor of your husband—and you, too, of course, for all your work. Everyone knows the input you have in the laws Edwin drafts.”
Claudine’s gaze had already returned to meet his. She put a hand to her breast.
“Why, Master Campbell, that is very generous of you and the Minister. I am completely taken by surprise, as I’m sure Edwin will be. We will certainly review the law as soon as possible, so as to allow its most expeditious implementation.”
Dalton grimaced. “Well, the thing is, the Minister just now informed me he is impatient to announce it tonight. I had originally planned to bring you a draft of the law, for you and Edwin to review before it was announced, but with all the Directors here the Minister decided that in good conscience he must act—that he couldn’t bear to have those men out of work another day. They need to feed their families.”
She licked her lips. “Well, yes, I understand . . . I guess, but I really—”
“Good. Oh, good. That is so very kind of you.”
“But I really should have a look at it. I really must see it. Edwin would want—”
“Yes, of course. I understand completely, and I assure you that you will get a copy straightaway—first thing tomorrow.”
“But I meant before—”
“With everyone here, now, the Minister was set on announcing it this evening. The Minister really doesn’t want to have to delay the implementation, nor does he want to abandon his desire to have the Winthrop name on such a landmark law. And the Minister was so hoping that the Sovereign, since he is here tonight—and we all know how rare his visits are—would hear of the Winthrop Fair Employment Law designed to help p
eople who otherwise have no hope. The Sovereign knows Edwin, and would be so pleased.”
Claudine stole a glance at the Sovereign. She wet her lips. “But—”
“Do you wish me to ask the Minister to postpone the law? More than the Sovereign missing it, the Minister would be very disappointed to let the opportunity pass, and to let down those starving children who depend on him to better their lives. You can understand, can’t you, that it’s really for the sake of the children?”
“Yes, but in order to—”
“Claudine,” Dalton said as he took up one of her hands in both of his, “you don’t have any children, so I realize it must be particularly difficult for you to empathize with parents desperate to feed their young ones, desperate to find work when there is none, but try to understand how frightened they must be.”
She opened her mouth, but no words came. He went on, not allowing her the tune to form those words.
“Try to understand what it would be like to be a mother and father waiting day after day, waiting for a reason to hope, waiting for something to happen so that you could find work and be able to feed your children. Can’t you help? Can you try to understand what it must be like for a young mother?”
Her face had gone ashen.
“Of course,” she finally whispered. “I understand. I really do. I want to help. I’m sure Edwin will be pleased when he learns he was named as the law’s sponsor—”
Before she could say anything else, Dalton stood. “Thank you, Claudine.” He took up her hand again and gave it a kiss. “The Minister will be very pleased to hear of your support—and so will those men who will now find work. You have done a good thing for the children. The good spirits must be smiling on you right now.”
By the time Dalton had returned to the head table, the squires were making the rounds again, quickly placing a turtle pie in the center of each table. Guests puzzled at the pies, their crusts quartered but not cut all the way through. Frowning, Teresa was leaning in staring at the pie placed before the Minister and his wife at the center of the head table.
“Dalton,” she whispered, “that pie moved of its own accord.”
Dalton kept the smile from his face. “You must be mistaken, Tess. A pie can’t move.”
“But I’m sure—”
With that, the crust broke, and a section of it lifted. A turtle poked its head up to peer at the Minister. A claw grasped the edge, and the turtle hauled itself out, to be followed by another. All around the room surprised guests laughed, applauded, and murmured in astonishment as turtles began climbing out of the pies.
The turtles, of course, had not been baked alive in the pies; the pies had been baked with dried beans inside. After the crust was baked, a hole was cut in the bottom to allow the beans to be drained out and the turtles put in. The crusts had been cut partly through so it would break easily and allow the animals to make good their escape.
The turtle pies, as one of the amusements of the feast, were a grand success. Everyone was delighted by the spectacle. Sometimes it was turtles, sometimes it was birds, both specially raised for the purpose of popping out of pies at a feast to delight and astonish guests.
While squires with wooden buckets began making the rounds of the tables to collect the liberated turtles, Lady Chanboor summoned the chamberlain and asked him to cancel the entertainment due to perform before the next course. A hush fell over the room as she rose.
“Good people, if I may have your attention, please.” Hildemara looked to both sides of the room, making sure every eye was upon her. Her pleated dress seemed to glow with cold silver light. “It is the highest calling and duty to help your fellow citizens when they are in need. Tonight, at last, we hope to take a step to help the children of Anderith. It is a bold step, one requiring courage. Fortunately, we have a leader of such courage.
“It is my high honor to introduce to you the greatest man I have ever had the privilege to know, a man of integrity, a man who works tirelessly for the people, a man who never forgets the needs of those who need us most, a man who holds our better future above all else, my husband, the Minister of Culture, Bertrand Chanboor.”
Hildemara pulled a smile across her face and, clapping, turned to her husband. The room erupted with applause and a great groan of cheering. Beaming, Bertrand stood and slipped an arm around his wife’s waist. She stared adoringly up into his eyes. He gazed lovingly down into hers. People cheered louder yet, joyful to have such a high-minded couple boldly leading Anderith.
Dalton rose as he applauded with his hands over his head, bringing everyone to their feet. He put on his widest smile so the farthest guest would be able to see it and then, continuing to applaud loudly, turned to watch the Minister and his wife.
Dalton had worked for a number of men. Some he could not trust to announce a round of drinks. Some were good at following the plan as Dalton outlined it, but didn’t grasp it fully until they saw it unfold. None were in Bertrand Chanboor’s league.
The Minister had immediately grasped the concept and goal as Dalton had quickly explained it to him. He would be able to embellish it and make it his own; Dalton had never seen anyone as smooth as Bertrand Chanboor.
Smiling, holding a hand in the air, Bertrand both acknowledged the cheering crowd and finally silenced them.
“My good people of Anderith,” he began in a deep, sincere-sounding voice that boomed into the farthest reaches of the room, “tonight I ask you to consider the future. The time is overdue for us to have the courage to leave our past favoritism where it belongs—in the past. We must, instead, think of our future and the future of our children and grandchildren.”
He had to pause and nod and smile while the room again roared with applause. Once more, he began, bringing the audience to silence.
“Our future is doomed if we allow naysayers to rule our imagination, instead of allowing the spirit of potential, given us by the Creator, room to soar.”
He again waited until the wild clapping died down. Dalton marveled at the sauce Bertrand could whip up on the spot to pour over the meat.
“We in this room have had thrust upon us the responsibility for all the people of Anderith, not just the fortunate. It is time our culture included all the people of Anderith, not just the fortunate. It is time our laws served all the people of Anderith, not just the few.”
Dalton shot to his feet to applaud and whistle. Immediately following his lead, everyone else stood as they clapped and cheered. Hildemara, still beaming with the loving grin of wifely devotion and fawning, stood to clap for her husband.
“When I was young,” Bertrand went on in a soft voice after the crowd quieted, “I knew the pang of hunger. It was a difficult time in Anderith. My father was without work. I watched my sister cry herself to sleep as hunger gnawed in her belly.
“I watched my father weep in silence, because he felt the shame of having no work, because he had no skills.” He paused to clear his throat. “He was a proud man, but that nearly broke his spirit.”
Dalton idly wondered if Bertrand even had a sister.
“Today, we have proud men, men willing to work, and at the same time plenty of work that needs to be done. We have several government buildings under construction and more planned. We have roads being built in order to allow for the expansion of trade. We have bridges yet to be built up in the passes over the mountains. Rivers await workers to come build piers to support bridges to those roads and passes.
“But none of those proud men who are willing to work and who need the work can be employed at any of these jobs or the many other jobs available, because they are unskilled. As was my father.”
Bertrand Chanboor looked out at people waiting in rapt attention to hear his solution.
“We can provide these proud men with work. As the Minister of Culture, it is my duty to our people to see to it that these men have work so they can provide for their children, who are our future. I asked our brightest minds to come up with a solution, and they have not
let me, nor the people of Anderith, down. I wish I could take credit for this brilliant new statute, but I cannot.
“These scholarly new proposals were brought to me by people who make me proud to be in office so that I might help them guide this new law into the light of day. There were those in the past who would use their influence to see such fair ideas die in the dark recesses of hidden rooms. I won’t allow such selfish interests to kill the hope for our children’s future.”
Bertrand let a dark scowl descend upon his face, and his scowls could make people pale and tingle with dread.
“There were those in the past who held the best for their own kind, and would allow no others the chance to prove themselves.”
There was no mistaking the allusion. Time meant nothing in healing the wounds inflicted by the Haken overlords—those wounds would always be open and raw; it served to keep them so.
Bertrand’s face relaxed into his familiar easy smile, by contrast all the more pleasant after the scowl. “This new hope is the Winthrop Fair Employment Law.” He held out a hand toward Claudine. “Lady Winthrop, would you please stand?”
Blushing, she looked about as people smiled her way. Applause started in, urging her to stand. She looked like a deer caught inside the garden fence at dawn. Hesitantly, she rose to her feet.
“Good people, it is Lady Winthrop’s husband, Edwin, who is the sponsor of the new law, and, as many of you know, Lady Winthrop is his able assistant in his job as burgess. I have no doubt that Lady Winthrop played a critical role in her husband’s new law. Edwin is away on business, but I would like to applaud her fine work in this, and hope she relays our appreciation to Edwin when he returns.”
Soul of the Fire tsot-5 Page 25
