by Karen Miller
Holze reached out an imploring hand. ‘Conroyd, please! Curb your wrath! As our precious kingdom’s most senior caretakers we must remain calm. We must seek Barl’s guidance.’
‘Holze, you amaze me.’ Jarralt’s tone was one of utter contempt. ‘As Barl’s holiest representative among us you should be leading the outcry!’
Holze drew himself upright and stared at Jarralt with wounded dignity. ‘My lord, nobody knows better than I what duties are owed by me to our blessed, beloved Barl. Shame on you for implying otherwise!’
Jarralt flushed. ‘I imply nothing. I merely suggest—’
‘Your suggestion offends me, Conroyd. And it hurts me too. I thought you knew me – respected me – better. I do not say this man should go unpunished. But you make it sound as though every week sees a new Olken transgression of the laws! You mustn’t be so intemperate or unfair. It is a hundred years at least since this crime was last committed!’
‘One hundred and thirty-eight,’ said Durm. ‘During the reign of Ancel the Red. The criminal was a woman named Maura Shay. She was beheaded, as will this man be.’
The king sighed. ‘Yes. He will.’ His fingers convulsed around the message, crushing it. ‘The fool.’
‘So now will you reconsider your son’s impetuous elevation of this Olken fisherman?’ Jarralt demanded. ‘Clearly this is not the time for any Olken to be seen wielding power, no matter how meagre.’
‘You’re wrong, Lord Jarralt,’ said Gar. ‘When news of this unfortunate business spreads, and it will no matter how discreetly Captain Orrick handles the matter, tensions in the Olken community will escalate. They’ll feel vulnerable. Examined. Guilty by reason of association. This man’s short-sighted—’
‘Short-sighted?’ said Conroyd Jarralt. ‘You consider this blasphemous, criminal act to be nothing more than a lapse in judgement, do you?’
Asher watched Gar’s lips pinch tight. ‘Of course I don’t. I’ll thank you not to put words in my mouth, sir. What this man has done is unforgivable. His actions will have dire repercussions for all of us, Doranen and Olken alike.’
Jarralt snorted. ‘They’ll have dire repercussions for him, I know that much. In fact, I say a private beheading is too good for him. He needs to be broken. Literally and publicly, to drive the message home once and for all: Olken disobedience and blasphemy will meet with no mercy.’
Gar leaned across the table. ‘You can’t possibly be such a fool. The test here isn’t how we deal with this stupid Olken, it’s how we conduct ourselves. Even you must see that!’
The king raised his hand. ‘Gar, please …’
‘But, Your Majesty!’ Gar pleaded, ignoring Jarralt’s salt-white fury. ‘Lord Jarralt is wrong. If we wreak vengeance instead of justice, what message will we be sending then? That the purpose of this Privy Council is to mete out heavy-handed retribution. That the Doranen hold all Olken accountable for the actions of one. If that’s the message we send, sir, we’ll undermine all trust between—’
‘Trust?’ said Jarralt. ‘What trust, when an Olken has been caught breaking Barl’s First Law? Attempting magic. This short-sighted act has risked all of our lives, Your Highness. It has threatened the peace of your father’s kingdom, sir, and jeopardised Barl’s Wall.’
Gar banged the table with his fists. ‘Hardly that, Lord Jarralt. Barl’s Wall has stood unwavering for centuries. It took Trevoyle’s Schism to weaken it, and that went on for eight months. One thoughtless, reckless act by a single Olken can’t possibly have done any real harm.’
If he could have Asher would’ve slapped his hand over Gar’s mouth then, because Jarralt’s eyes were shining like a shark’s scenting blood in the water and all his teeth were on show. ‘So. You’re questioning Barl’s Laws now, are you? Your Highness?’
Too late, Gar realised where his passion had led him. Asher closed his eyes briefly, wincing, as the prince snapped back in his chair. ‘No.’
Now Jarralt was all mock sorrow and solicitude. ‘Forgive the contradiction, sir, but I think you were. Barlsman Holze?’
The old man’s sallow face was troubled. ‘I’m sure His Highness has nothing but the deepest respect for the laws. He knows, as do we all, that they form the foundation of this kingdom. They are the warp and weft of our existence, and have been for over six hundred years. Barl said: Let no Olken raise his voice in magic, for it is not their way or their right or their purpose in this land. And let the Olken who does so pay with his life, as all would pay if my Wall were to be disturbed by such a lawless act. To this first law must we all hold true, or pay a terrible price in blood and tears. Is that not so, Your Highness?’
‘Yes, sir, it is,’ said Gar. His clasped hands rested on the table before him, white-knuckled with pressure. ‘With all my heart I believe it, and I challenge anyone here to dispute my faith. But one can be a man of faith and still question. There’s more to the warp and weft of this kingdom than Barl’s Laws, important though they are. People are the true fabric of Lur, gentlemen. Olken and Doranen. And if we don’t handle this matter with tact we’ll tear the fabric of this kingdom apart.’ He turned to his father, naked appeal in his temper-flushed face. ‘Am I not right, Your Majesty?’
Asher looked at the king. His expression was remote, chilled; stare as he might, Asher could see no softness there. No mercy. No sorrow even, for the death that would soon come to one unthinking Olken. For all the similarity of bone structure, the arch of an eyebrow, the curve of a lip, he and his son looked no more alike than did ice and a flowing river.
‘If you’re in any way suggesting that this act can be excused,’ said the king, ‘then—’
‘Excused? No, sir, not excused,’ said Gar. ‘I know that’s impossible.’
At the other end of the table the Master Magician stirred from his silence. ‘What, then? What would you have us do?’
Gar turned to him. ‘Lord Jarralt is … mistaken. Yes, this man must be punished, but not publicly.’
‘Why not?’ Durm’s eyes were hooded, his expression smooth as glass. ‘His crime was public.’
Gar took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Because, sir, it can’t seem that we take any pleasure in his death. If we turn his execution into a spectacle, as though it were … were street theatre …’ His voice was shaking. ‘For the same reason, his punishment can’t be cruel. If he’s truly guilty of this crime then he should die as precedent dictates. But that death must be swift, sure and with all the mercy we possess. And Asher must remain as my assistant. What better way is there for this Privy Council – for His Majesty – to show all the kingdom that the Olken people will never be held responsible for the actions of one misguided man?’
Jarralt’s lip curled. ‘You seem inordinately concerned on this point, Your Highness.’
‘Inordinately concerned, sir?’ Gar echoed. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d bother to study your history. One hundred and thirty-eight years ago, when Maura Shay was found guilty of the same crime, innocent Olken were dragged from their beds, locked up and terrified, and for no other reason than fear. That was a crime too. We may be Doranen, sir, we may have magic …’
Asher winced as Gar hesitated. As Jarralt raised an eyebrow at him, imperfectly hiding his scornful smile. Pale now, Gar continued.
‘But having magic doesn’t make the Doranen impervious to flaws, my lord. Speaking plainly, as Olken Administrator it’s my duty to ensure this business doesn’t interfere with the good name or wellbeing of the Olken community.’
Air hissed between Jarralt’s white teeth. ‘So. Now we come to it. You would place their welfare above ours, Your Highness. Isn’t that so? You would side with them against your own people.’
‘Why must you talk of sides?’ demanded Gar. ‘There are no sides here, Jarralt. As His Majesty’s subject and a child of Barl I want the law upheld. As Olken Administrator I want it upheld justly. Why would you criticise that?’ He turned to the king. ‘Your Majesty?’
Asher, barely breathing, st
ared at the king. Was he going to let this argument rage unchecked forever? Who did he side with, his son or his enemy? After a long silence Borne stirred and lifted his heavy gaze. Considered Durm.
‘I think I would know what my Master Magician has to say.’
All eyes turned to Durm. A large man, generously fleshed, he seemed to Asher not the least bit put out by the hot and anxious stares. His vast robed shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘And I, Your Majesty, would know the opinion of our newly appointed Assistant Olken Administrator.’
The king’s pale eyebrows lifted. ‘Would you, indeed?’ He turned. ‘Well, Asher? This business concerns you as much as any of us. Satisfy the Master Magician’s curiosity. And mine.’
Asher bit his lip. Now everyone was staring at him. He didn’t like it, not one little bit. His grand new trousers fit too tightly for him to shove his hands in his pockets, which was what he wanted to do. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.
‘What do I reckon?’ He glanced at the Master Magician then looked back at the king, because it was easier. ‘I reckon I ain’t to blame for what this sinkin’ fool’s gone and done, Y’Majesty. And I reckon y’should chop the stupid bastard’s head off five minutes after he gets here. That’ll teach him to go muckin’ about with things as don’t concern him, eh?’
Barlsman Holze leaned forward. ‘You are harsh, young man.’
‘Am I?’ said Asher, chin lifting. ‘Look. Sir. I ain’t the most religious man you’ll ever see in your chapel, but I reckon I know right from wrong. Olken don’t do magic. And if they try, and they get caught, then too bad. They can’t snivel they didn’t know it were wrong, or what would happen. Everybody knows.’
The king said slowly, ‘The idea of an Olken dying such a horrible death doesn’t distress you?’
Asher shrugged. ‘No. It’s only what he deserves.’
‘So,’ said Conroyd Jarralt. ‘You have no loyalty to your own people.’
Asher sneered, just a little. ‘Sure I do. But my first loyalty be with the king. And the law. Ain’t yours?’
‘Leave him be, Conroyd,’ advised the Master Magician as Jarralt’s face clenched with fury. ‘You provoked that. Your Majesty …’
The king smiled, the very faintest softening of his cold face. ‘Durm?’
‘His Highness is right. There can be no repeat of what occurred the last time we had a conviction of this kind. I see no detriment in this Asher remaining as your son’s assistant. Let him be seen freely by His Highness’s side as we prosecute this law-breaker. Let the Olken of Dorana City know by word and deed that we cherish them as we have ever cherished them and grieve as they grieve at this gross betrayal of Blessed Barl by one of their own.’
The king nodded. ‘As ever, old friend, we are thought and echo. It shall be handled as you suggest,’ He turned his attention to Asher. ‘Leave us. Attend to your duties as my son has requested and hold your tongue on this unfortunate business until he gives you leave to speak publicly.’
Swallowing relief Asher bowed, to the king and then the rest of the Council. ‘Aye, Y’Majesty,’ and escaped the chamber before something else could go wrong.
On returning to the Tower he collected his copy of the next week’s appointments from a prune-faced Willer, ordered himself an early lunch from the kitchen and settled down in his office to eat and work until Gar returned.
The prince walked in three hours later, looking tired and on edge. He threw himself into the nearest armchair and propped his dusty boots on the edge of the desk. ‘What are you doing?’
Asher shoved his pen back in its ink pot. ‘What you asked.’
‘Oh,’ said Gar. His fingers drummed on the arm of the chair. ‘Are you finished?’
‘Just about.’
Still drumming, Gar nodded. ‘Good.’
‘I had a question, though, on—’
Gar lifted his hand. ‘Tell me. Did you mean what you said?’
Asher considered him warily. ‘About what?’
‘Chopping off this man’s head. Did you mean it?’
Oh. That. With a sigh, Asher shoved aside his laboriously scrawled notes, leaned back in his chair and kicked his own heels onto the desktop. If it were good enough for a prince …
‘Course I meant it,’ he said. ‘Did you think I didn’t?’
Gar frowned. ‘No. At least … I thought … I wondered – Jarralt was being so difficult …’
‘Aye. He’s a right bastard that one, eh?’ Remembering, Asher scowled. ‘You said he might do me a bad turn. You never said he’d hate my guts. If he had his way, Gar, I’d be a slimy red—’
‘Don’t worry,’ Gar said flatly. ‘It’s nothing but bluster. Ignore him. Politely.’ He brushed a smudge of dust from his knee, still frowning. ‘Asher … I hope you know we’re not all so arrogant. About your people. Doranen like Jarralt, like …’ He hesitated. ‘It’s just that some Doranen hark back to the days when our magic was less … restrained. They’re fools, of course. That kind of magic destroyed us. Brought us here and changed a lot of things forever. Besides, most if not all of the incantations are centuries lost. But even if they weren’t, Barl’s Laws are clear. It’s prohibited, with penalties as severe as any the Olken face.’
Asher snorted. ‘Oh aye? So if one of your lot were caught pissin’ about with magic as didn’t concern ’em, would you turn y’self inside out worryin’ for ’em?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Gar, sighing.
‘Then why fret me on not carin’ what happens to this Olken fool in custody now, whoever he is?’
‘His name is Timon Spake,’ said Gar. ‘He hails from Basingdown.’
‘Never heard of him. But even if I had—’
‘Yes?’ Gar stared at him. ‘If you had? If you knew him? If it was Matt, say, who’d been caught breaking the law and not this stranger? Would you still be so eager to see his head struck from his shoulders?’
‘Well, for a start I ain’t eager to see anybody’s head struck off their shoulders,’ Asher pointed out. ‘I just want to know it got done. And Matt would never break Barl’s First Law. He ain’t a fool like this Spake man.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Asher sighed. Yes, he did know. ‘Gar, it’s the law. What are you tryin’ to say? That the rules should be different for your lot and mine? Or we should forget about ’em if we happen to know the law-breaker?’
Gar thumped his boot heels to the floor. ‘No! No, I just – I wish—’
‘’Cause y’know that’d never bloody work. The only reason your lot and mine rub along as well as we do is ’cause everybody’s livin’ under the same rules and nobody plays favourites. You start muckin’ about with that and the next thing y’know we’re all in the water and some of us is drownin’.’
With his elbows on his knees, Gar pressed his face into his hands. ‘I know that,’ he said, muffled.
‘Well, then,’ Asher said bracingly. ‘Now we got that settled, how’s about we get started on all these appointments you got lined up, eh? I been thinkin’ on ’em, just like you asked. Even got some ideas. I’ll tell ’em to you, so long as you promise not to laugh.’
It took a moment, but Gar finally looked up. ‘I promise I’ll try,’ he said, with a faint smile. ‘But that’s as far as I go.’
Their discussion of the next week’s calendar took the rest of the day. Gar had meetings scheduled with the Sheepgrowers’ Association, the Miners’ Guild, the Bakers’ Guild, the Vintners and more. Asher’s head whirled. He didn’t have hardly a clue what any of them did or what they thought their problems were. So Gar had to give him a quick history of each guild, who their meisters or mistresses were, what they wanted, who they were feuding with and how each one impacted on all the others. By the end of it he wasn’t sure whether he was horrified at all the things he was going to have to learn or impressed by the fact that Gar knew them so well already. Most of the ideas he’d already come up with had to be thrown overboard, which meant he’d ha
ve to come up with some new ones, quick smart.
He started to think that at fifty trins a week, he’d be underpaid.
Dusk was fast approaching by the time they finished. Groaning, Asher slumped against his chair-back and rubbed his eyes. ‘Don’t reckon I can see how you been managin’ on your own. Did the king have all this claptrap to go on with as well as his WeatherWorkin’?’
Just as slumped. Gar nodded. ‘A lot of it, which is why I stepped in. Of course since I made myself available for consultation and assistance the workload has gradually become heavier and heavier. Hence you.’
Asher grinned. ‘No good deed goes unpunished, eh?’
‘Something like that.’ Gar fought a yawn, and lost. ‘I hope you’re not too alarmed. Most problems can be solved by sitting down and talking them through. A lot of the time people just like to know they’ve been listened to. Once you’re familiar with who’s who we can—’ A knock at the door interrupted him. It was young Remy, carrying a note. ‘Yes?’
Remy bowed. ‘’Scuse me, Your Highness, but this just come from the palace.’
Gar took the note and dismissed the lad with a nod. He read it and sighed. ‘Timon Spake has been delivered to the guardhouse. There’s to be a preliminary enquiry before the Privy Council in the morning.’
Asher sat up. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means he’ll be asked formally, under oath, if he’s guilty of the crime. If he says no we proceed to a full and public trial.’
‘And if he says yes?’
Gar’s expression was bleak. His fingers worried at the note and his gaze was distant. ‘Then he’ll not see another sunrise.’
‘That fast?’ said Asher, surprised.
‘There’s nothing to be gained by prolonging the agony. Asher, I want you to do something for me. Go down to the guardhouse and make sure this Timon Spake is well situated. He must be decently housed and fed and not subjected to unnecessary restraint. At this moment he’s only accused, not convicted, but the crime is so heinous I fear for his safety.’
