"Ah yes, the long orange spindle," Wallengtor suddenly interjected. "It doesn't exist, you know."
"Beg to differ, sir. It is moored in the river, at Wharfside." Wallengtor frowned unhappily, vaguely aware that one of those awkward situations had developed where decrees were not quite enough to bury the facts. It was the sort of situation where the enemy might batter down the gates, seize you, and stretch your neck across a chopping block, even though they had been decreed not to exist. Given the possibility that ignoring the facts could actually be worse than ignoring the regent, Wallengtor's resolve softened.
'The regent declared that the Lupanians do not exist, and that the invasion is really the Terrisians, wearing exotic costumes and using illegal magical weapons," he explained, now skirting a little closer to the truth. "The regent never makes a mistake, of course."
"Oh no, never," I agreed. "Who brought the news?"
"A certain Commander Halland of Gatrov. The regent heard his story, concluded that it was obviously a trick, had him imprisoned, and issued proclamations reassuring the populace that all was well."
"Oh the regent was perfectly correct, sir," I said with a broad and sympathetic smile.
"He is? But, but, what about the huge spindle floating in the river, and those two things with the tentacles, and, er..."
"May I be taken to an interrogation cell, sir?" I asked with a gesture to the door. "I have matters of a delicate nature to speak of." The man mopped at his forehead with a lace kerchief. "Of course, this is clearly a matter where discretion must be observed."
Lavenci rolled her eyes as we left, Pelmore laughed, and the morris men merely looked frightened. Riellen stared down at the flagstones. Once Wallengtor and 1 were alone in another cell, I lowered my voice and changed my tone.
"This is clearly a matter of saving face for the regent," I said softly.
"Oh indeed sir, I'm gratified that you grasp the political realities," responded Wallengtor, very much relieved to hear the sorts of weasel words that he understood.
"Why not say that the Terrisians are indeed invading, but that they have allied themselves with powerful sorcerers from Lupan, who have flown through the void to us in huge, orange spindles. Add that there is a conspiracy abroad to conceal the presence of the Lupanians—if you see what I mean."
"But the Terrisians are not really invading, are they?" asked Wallengtor.
"No."
"Then the west really is crawling with huge, three-legged sorcerers that breathe fire?" he concluded, now with a hint of terror in his tone.
"Yes, but the base of their power is sorcery and magic. With a few dozen good sorcerers we might have a chance to fight back."
"You are just saying that to annoy me, are you not?" "Afraid not, lordship."
"But we—that is, the regent has just killed the last of our own sorcerers."
"So I heard."
Wallengtor paced silently within the little cell for some minutes. I sat back on the bunk and looked on sympathetically.
"Well, yes, the deaths of the sorcerers will indeed be a little hard to explain away if we launch a campaign to recruit any surviving sorcerers to the regent's service," he said as he continued pacing.
"As campaigns go, lordship, not a winner," I agreed.
"We also had it proclaimed that Baron Balbron died saving Gatrov."
"He was reduced to a small pile of ashes the day before Gatrov was annihilated."
"And that Duke Lestor repulsed the invasion."
"Duke Lestor's warriors were wiped out in somewhat less than a minute. The duke was eaten."
By now Wallengtor was so pale that he almost gleamed in the light of the single lantern.
"Oh dear, that will never do," he muttered, now wringing his hands as he paced. "The regent does so hate to be wrong."
"Then proclaim that the regent has discovered a Terrisian plot," I said as if the answer were so simple that it was boring. "Announce that lies are being spread that the Lupanians do not exist."
"Lies, yes, I like that."
"Say that the regent saw through the lies, and now he wants the truth announced to everyone." "Oh I say, I like that even better."
"Now then about Pelmore, the clown who tried to poison me." "Yes?"
"He was clearly trying to stop me reaching the regent with the news."
"Inspector, I like your style. But what about Commander Halland?"
"Oh just select some palace official that the regent doesn't like and blame him. Say it was he who had Halland arrested and issued the false proclamations."
Wallengtor had by now stopped and taken out a little writing kit. He scribbled on a reedpaper scroll for a while, kneeling beside the bunk.
"The burning of the sorcerers will take some explaining," he sighed as he wrote. "The regent was there in person, he ordered a trumpet fanfare, then lit the brushwood himself. A dozen artists were present, they sketched the scene, the regent has commissioned a huge painting for the palace reception lobby."
"Proclaim that they were Terrisian sorcerers, sent here to weaken Alberin from within."
"Young man, have you ever considered a career in diplomacy?" exclaimed Wallengtor, looking up from his scroll.
"Alas sir, my family is artisan class."
"Ah, pity. Now then, I must get all this down, and you must countersign it."
"It will be my pleasure."
"But, ah, the others?"
"I shall brief them, they will cooperate."
"Even the prisoners? Surely they will be vindictive enough to testify otherwise?"
"The constable will be no problem. As for Pelmore, gag him until the execution. The man is under provisional sentence of death, after all."
"Ah, yes, of course, we can even have a special public execution. I'll brief your superiors." Wallengtor began to scribble a list of things to do at the bottom of his notes. "I'll have Halland and Roval released—oh, be a good chap and brief them on all this, will you?"
"Yes sir, and I shall brief the others, too."
"Have prisoners released," mumbled Wallengtor as he wrote.
"But not Pelmore and Riellen."
"Of course not... Regent's declaration of thanks .. .five hundred florins each—is that enough?" "It will do nicely."
"Oh, silly me, we nearly forgot an official story. Something to make the duke and baron look as if they saved the day."
"Ah .. .the baron died in a savage battle from which only two Lupanians survived," I suggested.
"But there were only two Lupanians in the first place."
"Nobody need know that. One-third of the Lupanians lay dead after the attack in which Duke Lestor fell''
"But Halland killed them before the attack."
"But they were still dead after the attack."
"You really are in the wrong job, young man. Now then, we shall need heroes, so can you provide some suitable words? Nothing too heroic, mind."
"Well... militiamen led by Commander Halland killed three Lupanians. A fourth Lupanian died when the voidship was captured by forces of the Wayfarer Constables."
"Splendid! Almost perfect!" cried Wallengtor with delight.
"Almost, lordship?"
"Constable Riellen. Her case is far too complex." "You never said a truer word."
"She must either dance a jig in midair, or be a hero. The public will not understand, otherwise. Would you accept her being made a hero?"
"No, lordship."
"Even were she given a diplomatic posting to some distant place?"
"How distant?
"The penal colony on Estovel Island. It's surrounded by pack ice most of the year."
"I... could perhaps live with that, lordship."
+ 'm
Pelmore was gagged and taken away to the death cells. Wallengtor hurried off to confer with the regent. Halland and Roval were brought to our cell, where I explained what we would have to testify if we ever wanted to see the sky again. After perhaps half an hour Wallengtor returned with a very im
pressively scribed declaration. Unrolling it, he read it aloud to us, then set a writing kit down on the cell's bench. Halland read the freshly written words.
"There is nothing actually untrue in the words," said Halland, looking up from the scroll as Wallengtor offered him a goose quill. "It's just that the story told by these true words is a bloody lie!"
"It's these words or the dungeon," said Wallengtor firmly.
"And you're willing to sign, Inspector?" Halland asked me.
"The choice is either this dungeon, or five hundred florins, plus freedom, plus a pat on the back from the regent, not to mention being proclaimed a hero by the town crier. Add free ale from every tavern in the city, and don't forget nubile young women flinging themselves at you—"
"I'll sign," he sighed, accepting the quill and kneeling beside the bench. Halland signed. I was next, then Lavenci added her signature to the scroll. Azorian signed in some very strange script, and the morris men followed in order of dancing talent. Solonor wrestled a signature out of the goosequill, then Riellen's hands were untied and she signed last of all. Wallengtor now called for the guards, the door was unlocked, and we were led out to the cell. I contrived to walk beside Lavenci as we climbed the stairs.
"I fear for Azorian's safety," I whispered. "Some idiot is sure to order his death if his identity is discovered."
"I agree. He could be hidden in mother's academy. I shall ask her." Waiting for Roval, Riellen, Azorian, and me was a marshal
inspector from the Wayfarers. Waiting for Lavenci was her mother. The woman was tall, elegant, about fifty, and dressed rather like a Diomedan windrel dancer.
"Lavenci Si-Chella, just what have you been up to?" she asked in a vaguely amused tone. "Dirty, smelly, under arrest, and the guardhouse report said that you have some sort of glamour on you."
"Ladyship, it was my fault—" began Riellen, but I clamped a hand over her mouth.
"What sort of glamour is it?" the elder Si-Chella asked.
"A constancy glamour," said Lavenci.
"A constancy glamour, how exotic! You mean to say that you slept with some hedgerow sorcerer who bound you to himself? Well, that certainly beats most of my adventures. Come along home, you had best get into a bath, then some clean and scented robes before we investigate this constancy glamour." Lavenci now took her mother by the arm and whispered to her. Madame Yvendel flicked a glance to Azorian.
"Of course you may call upon us later, Azorian," she said with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile.
Lavenci and her mother left. For several dozen heartbeats nobody said anything.
"A tad more liberal than my mother," said Solonor from my pocket. The marshal inspector from the Wayfarers now stepped forward.
"Inspector Danolarian, just what have you been up to?" he demanded, waving a finger in my face. "Dirty, smelly, under arrest, and the guardhouse report said that you have eating migraine powder and daemonglare berries."
"With respect sir, up yours," I replied, my hands on my hips. The morris men gasped with horror, but the marshal just laughed and clapped me on the back.
"Let's away to Wayfarer headquarters, lad," he said. "There's no bath or scented robes, but we can probably manage tea, biscuits, a towel, and a horse trough. The directant is out of bed and waiting to congratulate you." We walked to the palace gates, where the voidship was already on display.
"Ah, one more matter, Inspector," said Wallengtor. "Those Lupanians on the barge." "Yes?"
"Nobody can get them to move from where you left them on the dock. A guardsman prodded one with a spear, but it caught him with a tentacle and threw him into the river. Arrows were fired at them, but they were somehow turned away in midair. Could you possibly help move them to somewhere better suited to public display?"
We set off for the docks, where a large crowd had gathered around the handling beasts. Azorian made the two creatures clamber into a cage on the back of a wagon, and this was driven off to the palace. The morris men, who had come along to watch, then made straight for the nearest tavern, which was the Lamplighter. By now it was past 1 a.m., but the tavern was still open, servicing the needs of the nearby crowd. The crowd followed the morris men into the taproom, and I had the feeling that the sun would be up before the landlord finally closed and barred the door.
Next, with Azorian in tow, I called past one of the secret doorways to Madame Yvendel's academy. An elderly porter met us at the door, and said that Lavenci was having a bath, and that Yvendel was attending her. I explained that Azorian was to be staying there for some days.
"Come along young man, nothing but your virtue is in danger under this roof," said the porter as Azorian entered.
At Wayfarer Headquarters I presented my report and journal to the Directant, who promised to have it read by morning, then went back to the bedchamber built beside his office. I had a cup of tea and a ginger nut biscuit, and fell asleep in a cell that was not currendy in use. Riellen spent the night in a locked cell.
>: >: >:
The following morning I awoke to discover that the regent had issued a new proclamation. Apparently Gatrov had been destroyed after all, but the Wayfarer Constables had joined with the town militia to avenge that atrocity against the innocent. Halland had even killed two Lupanians with his bare hands, while I had wrestled two others into submission and brought them to Alberin. The evidence was on display before the palace gates, in the form of the voidship and the two caged handling beasts. I was in the middle of breakfast when a carriage arrived from the palace, with a summons that I should attend the regent. I had a fairly good idea of what he wanted, so I retrieved my official journal from the directant.
When I arrived at the palace gates, there was quite a large crowd gathered around my trophies. The handling beasts sat quietly and unmoving while they were pelted with rotten fruit and insults by the onlookers. Wallengtor hurried up to me, explaining that the regent had wanted to see the interior of the voidship, but then discovered that nobody knew how to open it. I gave the officers some instructions on unscrewing the base, then stood waiting with Wallengtor.
"There will be a little ceremony after the regent has inspected the voidship," Wallengtor explained. "The others of your party are being gathered as we speak."
"The regent is very gracious," I replied automatically.
"Of course if you had been nobles there would have been a five-thousand-florin purse, a grand parade all the way along the Avenue of Conquerors, and the city would have had a half holiday to honor your triumphs."
"I'm grateful for what I get," I replied, not the slightest bit interested in fortune, and even less concerned with fame.
"That Pelmore, are you sure he's a felon? He has a magnificent, heroic body, and we could feature him in recruitment parades."
Suddenly Wallengtor had my full and undivided attention.
"He murdered Captain Danzar, a hero. He also tried to murder a noblewoman, and he came pretty close to killing mel" I snapped angrily, aware that I was not showing appropriate deference, but also aware that heroes could get away with that sort of thing.
"Look, I really fancy the idea of Pelmore as a hero," Wallengtor insisted.
"I've even had five hundred florins allocated for his reward. You really are a very young field magistrate, and your judgment may have been, well, clouded by hot blood?"
"Hot blood?"
"The ratifying magistrate could be persuaded that you were jealous of Pelmore's interest in Kavelen Lavenci, and that the severity of your sentence was your way of punishing him. Then there is Riellen. Riellen preaches treason, for which the penalty is death," said Wallengtor coldly. "You appear to have double standards, Inspector."
"Not so. Riellen advocates new systems of government, not violent attacks on our ruler. The only offense she has ever committed in the strict sense of the word is disturbing the peace. That is for local authorities to enforce, not Wayfarers. I have a very, very sound knowledge of the law's letter, lordship, but I also temper my judgments with
regard to its spirit. I excused Riellen's political nonsense because it was harmless. As soon as I discovered she had been guilty of assault, I came down on her like a cartload of gravel."
"You are not a good field magistrate. Your justice is selective."
"Oh I agree. Should I walk into a room and find you about to bisect the wife of the regent with an ax, I would arrest you, charge you, and even put the noose around your neck, were that required of me. If you merely had her bent her over the dressing table with her robes up around her ears, and should she be smiling, I would just back out and pull the door closed—and try very hard to forget what I had seen. I distinguish between law and justice, lordship. Take comfort from that, should you ever find yourself hauled up before me." Our philosophical discussion on the application of the death penalty and legislation associated therewith was interrupted by the arrival of a blacksmith and an armor repair forge on a cart. Moments later a squad of royal guardsmen arrived with the regent. I was introduced to our monarch while the blacksmith attended the hatchway. Our ruler was of middling height and had the broad shoulders of a warrior, but had gone to some lengths to soften and expand his abdomen with good living. I put his age at around fifty. He looked as if he had grown a beard to hide wrinkles, then dyed it a little too stridently black.
"You seem young for a hero," he commented as I went down on one knee and bowed.
"Thank you, sire."
"But very brave."
"Thank you, sire."
T suppose you spent the night drinking and wenching?"
"I presented my report to the directant, then slept at headquarters, sire. I was very tired."
"So, hardworking, virtuous, and a hero as well."
While the regent amused himself tossing stones at the handling beasts, the blacksmith rigged up a lever mechanism for the hatch. The guards then used it to unscrew the hatchway. I entered first, and set the walls glowing as Azorian had done. After a dramatic pause, I called to the regent that it was safe to enter. He insisted that all others were to be kept at a distance while we were within.
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