“Do you have any other?”
“Nay. None have spoken to me as you do for decades. Even the Wizard Fleuryse called me only ‘manticore.’ ”
“Okay, so ‘Manny’ is short for ‘manticore’-or would you rather I called you ‘Ticky’?”
“Manny will do,” the monster said quickly. “Thought so.” Matt looked up and saw a peasant shamblingdown the road, driving a gaunt and spavined cow with lackadaisical flicks of a switch. “Well, look what came to order! Say, fellow, that cow for sale?”
“Sale?” The peasant looked up hungrily, then saw the manticore and froze. The monster licked its chops. “That’s for the cow, not you,” Matt said quickly. “Here, I’ll buy it for a silver penny.”
The peasant stared at the silver coin, then snatched it. ‘Take the cow, and gladly!“ Then he turned on his heels and ran, as Manny leaped on the cow with a howl of joy. It didn’t even have time to moo. Matt firmly turned Pascal away. ”I could tell it was dying of hunger; why not put it out of its misery?“
“It is tough,” the manticore complained. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Matt called back, then to Pascal, “Don’t look so sad. Cows turn into food every day.”
“It is not that-it is the price! Three coppers would have been enough, and generous!”
‘Think so? Well, maybe you’re right. I’ll haggle a little next time-but there wasn’t time just now. Manny looked really hungry“
“I was,” the manticore mumbled around a bone. “It was the cow, fast, or the peasant,” Matt explained. “Fortunately, I’ve got enough silver to turn into lots of coppers.”
“We shall need them,” Pascal said with an apprehensive glance at the feeding manticore. “I hope your purse is never empty!”
“Good wish,” Matt approved, and decided to see if he could work up the appropriate spell. For his part, he hoped that the stories he had heard about the prosperity of Latruria were true-especially the ones about food being plentiful.
Chapter 7
Unfortunately, Matt was really very skeptical about the claims of good living in Latruria. The sight of that apathetic peasant and his spavined cow had been enough to remind him that up until a few years ago, Latruria had been the private property of a sorcerer with a reputation for delighting in human suffering. Matt had done a little homework before he started south, spending an hour or so reading up on what little history of Latruria Alisande’s library held, and had talked to oldsters he met on his journey about what the southern country had been like during their youth. He couldn’t talk to recent travelers, because there weren’t any-King Maledicto had closed the border as soon as he seized the throne. The only Merovencians who had been to Latruria between that time and King Boncorro’s coronation were smugglers, and so far Matt hadn’t had much luck finding any of those-until he met Pascal, of course. Privately, he wondered if this was really the young man’s first trip down this way. But what he had heard from the oldsters was hair-raising. He had decided right away that if he ever got back to his own universe, he could make a living just writing them up and calling them fiction. The only problem was that he couldn’t decide whether he should market them as horror or pornography. He ended by deciding that he’d be mortally ashamed if he wrote them at all. Of course, it could be that his informants had been making up those awful tales. Atrocity stories always grew up around the enemy-like the early stories about Phoenicians throwing babies into the fiery furnaces built into their idols. Only trouble was, archaeologists had found some pretty convincing evidence that the Carthaginians had done exactly that, and they had been a Phoenician colony… So, applying his scholar’s caution and training, Matt had made a stab at sifting fact from fancy in the reports of Maledicto’s reign, coming to the sad conclusion that most of what he’d heard could have been stone-cold fact. Even after allowing for exaggeration and propaganda, he still thought there was probably some truth in them. Maledicto had delighted in cruelty and encouraged it in his noblemen. But if that had been true, could King Boncorro really have reversed the state of affairs so thoroughly in just six years? He decided to check his findings under the guise of idle gossip. Besides, he needed to get Pascal’s mind off their faithful following monster. “Is it true that King Maledicto indulged in human sacrifice?”
Pascal shuddered. “Aye, from all I hear! He conducted obscene rituals to pagan gods of evil. Their names are only whispered, never spoken aloud.”
“Such as Kali and Hecate?”
Pascal shied as if he had just seen a rattlesnake pop up under his feet. “Forfend, Sir Matthew! I told you they are never spoken aloud!”
“Doesn’t do any harm, in a Christian universe.” But Matt wished he could be sure of that; the names he had mentioned could be powerful symbols in their own right. “Probably includes Satan in there under another guise. I also hear tell that he held a party every night, just himself and a few close friends.”
Again Pascal shuddered. “Aye, and vile carouses they were, too!”
“Mixing sex and torture?”
Pascal nodded. “And imbibing vile brews that drove them mad with lust.”
“Real sweethearts.” Matt glowered at the roadway in front of them. “I’ve also heard that King Maledicto came down with the pox now and then, but got rid of it by transferring it magically to some poor innocent peasant.”
“Not always innocent, I will say that for him,” Pascal answered, hard-faced. “Innocent folk of any rank became harder and harder to find, the longer he reigned. Must we talk of this, Sir Matthew? I find it distasteful in the extreme.”
“I’m not exactly happy about it myself, but I really do want to find out if there’s any truth in it.”
“Oh, be sure there is truth there! Through all those dark decades, our family did manage converse with relatives, or at least letters, borne by brave smugglers.”
“Weren’t they afraid King Maledicto would punish them for telling on him, if his agents captured the letters?‘
“Tell on him? He boasted of his cruelties! Nay, he wanted them noised abroad, mat all might shudder and obey him!”
That unnerved Matt for a minute-but only a minute. Then he plucked back his composure and maintained, “They couldn’t know whether or not the rumors were true, then. The king might have been spreading them himself, just to intimidate everybody!”
“Do not doubt their truth! My father’s cousin was taken for the king’s army, then wrenched from their ranks to be mutilated for his Majesty’s sport! There is no question that they would have slain him, had they not already had a maiden for the sacrifice. Nay, they let him go, with stern injunctions to tell all that he had seen!”
That unnerved Matt, for longer than a minute or two. A blood relation was as strong a piece of evidence as he was likely to get, and pretty thoroughly validated all the rumors. It was having to confront the fact that they were true that shook him. “I had wondered why you carried a lute on your back,” Pascal said. “Is it to trade songs of virtue for news of King Boncorro?”
“Something like that,” Matt admitted, “and because of that, I’d appreciate it if you’d lay off the ‘Sir Matthew’ sobriquet. Just plain ‘Matthew’ will do very nicely, for the nonce.” He looked back over his shoulder. “You, too, Manny!”
“My lips are sealed,” the manticore promised. “Somehow I doubt that. I’ll settle for you watching what comes out of your mouth a bit more closely than what goes in.” He turned back to Pascal. “Mostly I had in mind picking up gossip about the last few years in Latruria-and the current state of affairs. I find it difficult to believe that the new king could have reformed the land so completely, after almost a century of corruption.”
“I doubt it, too, and I intend to be extremely cautious as to whom I trust, and into whose power I let myself fall. The king may have forsworn needless cruelty himself, but his noblemen have been trained to it, all their lives, and may not so cheerfully forsake the old depraved ways.”
“My thought exactly,” Matt said grim
ly, “and though a knight might be treated with a certain amount of courtesy, a minstrel would not.”
Pascal stared at him, appalled. “You have deliberately made yourself their target?”
“Call it bait for the trap.” Matt just hoped he would be able to spring that trap if he needed to; he was getting very nervous about how weak his magic seemed to be in Latruria. “As long as there are only one or two knights against me, I can give them a very unpleasant surprise. I just hope I won’t have to sing.”
The chancellor laid another sheet of parchment in front of the king. “As you commanded, your Majesty-a summary of what we may expect to receive in the various taxes and levies, set against the monies we anticipate having to pay out in the next twelve-month.”
“Neatly done.” King Boncorro scanned the columns of figures. “Give the clerk an extra ducat’s pay-this was new to all of us, and he has invented a very good way to draw it up.” He laid the paper down with satisfaction. “It is well, Rebozo! For the third straight year our surplus shall increase-if we hold to this plan. The royal granaries shall be full, even the new score we are building. Famine shall not catch this country again.”
“No, your Majesty.” The chancellor didn’t sound all that happy about it. “Still, the surplus is due more to your own economies than to any increase in revenues. Surely you might now increase the taxes again!”
King Boncorro shook his head. “With taxes low, people spend more, thus giving work to others-who thereby gain money to pay their taxes. Merchants are using the money saved to set up new ventures, bringing me more tax money than they did five years ago, even though Grandfather demanded two parts in three, where I only demand one.” He nodded, pleased. “Yes, my conjecture is proved true-lower taxes yield higher revenues, though it did take some few years of tight living before the increase began to show. In fact, I see it is time for another experiment.”
Rebozo’s blood ran cold. “Majesty! Let us recover from your last! Whenever you say ‘experiment,’ I have premonitions of disaster!”
“This one is easily undone, if it fails,” Boncorro said, amused. “Have letters drafted to the noblemen who hold patents of monopoly on commerce in grain, timber, and wool. Tell them that hence-forth, any man who wishes may traffic in those commodities.”
“Majesty, no! They shall rebel, they shall bring armies!”
“I think not.” King Boncorro lounged back in his chair. “They may still be active in the trade themselves, of course-and having held the monopoly and the means of transporting the goods, they shall have a huge advantage over any who wish to enter the trade. But if they have been charging extortionate prices, they shall find they have no buyers.”
“Exactly, Majesty! Their fortunes shall evaporate!”
“They have fortunes enough to maintain them in luxury for the rest of their lives, Rebozo-aye, and their children’s lives, too. We speak of counts and dukes, after all, who have vast estates to maintain them. No, they shall not starve-but they shall have to strive if they wish to continue to dominate the commerce of the realm.”
“Majesty, how is this?” Rebozo cried, distressed. “A king should not concern himself with commerce, like a grubby tradesman!”
“Every subject must be my concern,” King Boncorro contradicted, “from those who grub in the dirt to those who command armies. The lifeblood of the land is trade, Rebozo. The peasants may raise the food for their noble masters, but it cannot feed the folk in the towns if it is not transported to them. The stomach may provide the nourishment, but it does no good if it is not carried to the limbs. If the kingdom is the body politic, the king may be its head, but the army and the artisans are its muscles, the peasants are its hands, and the merchants its blood. That blood has flowed but sluggishly under my father’s rule. I have freed it to flow more freely, and do so again now-and the result will be more nourishment for me.”
“An excellent analogy,” Rebozo said with irony, “but perhaps not accurate. Abolishing monopolies only means that the merchants shall have more nourishment, not you.”
“They shall pay their taxes if they wish to be let alone to trade. More well-to-do merchants will arise, even though they charge lower prices to the people who buy-for thereby, more people shall buy. More rich merchants means that there shall be more spending by merchants, which shall yield richer tradesmen and shall even allow some artists a living, and higher wages for peasants as more and more of them leave the land to become merchants or artisans. Thus shall there be more and more who pay taxes, and my revenues shall increase.”
“Well, you are a worker of magics.” Rebozo carefully did not say what kind-primarily because he wasn’t sure. “If you can make more money flow into your coffers by levying less, it is truly a wonder, and I must not argue with what I do not know. But how if the noblemen gather their armies and march against you, Sire?”
“Then,” Boncorro said, tense as a stretched cable, “I shall work some of those magics of which you have spoken.”
“You cannot slay a whole army by sorcery!”
“Be not so sure, Lord Chancellor,” the king said quietly. “However, slaying armies will not be needed-only slaying their masters.”
“You cannot slay dukes and counts out of hand!”
“Why not? My grandfather did. Then, like him, I can replace them with men of my own choosing.”
“Their sons shall bring those same armies back on the instant!”
“Then I shall slay the sons, too, and the grandsons, and the nephews, if I must-and all the noblemen know it. They have not yet even tested my resolve, nor, I think, will they. They know I am no saint, like my father, and fear that I may be as cruel and as powerful as my grandfather. No, Rebozo,” he finished quietly, “I do not think they will rebel.”
Rebozo shivered again, for the tone of the young king’s voice had been as remorseless and bereft of emotion as his eyes had been chill and flat. It was almost as if a man of stone had been talking, and Rebozo found that he-even he whom the king loved as much as he loved any-could not be sure whether or not King Boncorro could really rain down destruction on a rebellious army. He didn’t doubt for a second, though, that Boncorro could and would slay every single one of his aristocrats if they sought to unseat him. He might not even have to turn to the power of evil magic, for every single one of the counts and dukes had been so deeply steeped in sin that Heaven surely must aid the young king in defeating them! In fact, it was a perfect summary of Boncorro’s strategy-he would commit the sin of killing without the slightest tremor of conscience, and would thereby free his people to be good if they wished it. He would lighten their burdens of despair and fear and even give them grounds for hope-and would thus balance Good and Evil so neatly that surely the sources of magic must be confused as to which he was! In fact, Rebozo suspected that the king wasn’t sure himself-or was determined not to be either. It was impossible, of course. No man could remain exactly half good and half evil for more than half a minute. As soon as he did one more act of good than he did of evil, he would begin the progress toward Goodness-and it would take an act of outright sin to counter it True, Boncorro was determined not to fall into his father’s fate any more than into his grandfather’s-but his yardstick seemed to be the good of the people, and surely that must indeed lead him to Goodness eventually. Rebozo had to do something to prevent that. “If you are going to remove so many monopolies, your Majesty, you should balance them by instituting a new one.”
Boncorro stiffened, but he was caught by the word “balance.”
“What monopoly can I set up that will increase trade?”
“A monopoly on prostitution. No, hear me out! Only think, Majesty-if brothels were legal, but maintained under a monopoly that held the condition that all prostitutes be free of disease in order to do business, more men would patronize them!”
“Aye, to debase and abuse them!”
Rebozo shrugged. “There will be prostitutes whether the law allows it or not, your Majesty-you know it well
! Still, you could make it another condition of the monopoly that the women not be beaten by their pimps or procuresses, nor injured by their patrons! You could insist that any who treated them less than gently be hauled before a court-and you could station royal guardsmen within the houses to enforce that law! But you cannot impose any conditions as long as the trade is illegal!”
“But more trade means that there will be more prostitutes,” Boncorro said, frowning, “and that girls will be forced into it whether they wish to be or not!”
“Come, Majesty,” Rebozo wheedled. “If there shall be more money being spent, as you have said, there will also be more men wanting to buy an hour with a prostitute-and if there shall be more peasants leaving the land and coming to the cities, as you have indicated, there will be more girls drawn into the trade anyway! Why not have them all legally under your own eye, where you may at least insist they not be too heavily abused?”
The king frowned, stuck for a comeback-it was an issue he had never really considered. “Besides, you know there are some women who really prefer that way of life,” Rebozo said. “Or who choose it, at least.” It was as good as a capitulation, even though Boncorro followed it with, “… though their number never has been adequate to fulfill the demands of my more depraved subjects. Still, you do make some sort of sense-the women would be better protected under the eye of a duke who is under my eye. I shall consider it, Rebozo.”
“I rejoice that my feeble counsel has been of use to your Majesty,” the chancellor said, beaming. He bowed, thinking, A blow well-struck for corruption! He knew full well that the more twisted uses of prostitutes would continue to flourish illegally, as they did now-and that the king, by condoning prostitution of any sort, would be drawn toward the side of Evil. Indeed, convinced by Rebozo’s arguments and bored with his own stable of beauties, he would sooner or later patronize some of those establishments of vice himself, the ones he was even now discussing. Done once, done a dozen times-then twenty, then a hundred. Then, as his sexual prowess began to decline with age, he would be drawn to the more depraved amusements in a desperate attempt to flag his failing powers. The long slide to damnation was well begun indeed, and Latruria would one day be as securely on the side of Evil as it was in the old days. Everybody likes being the center of attention, but Matt was just paranoid enough for it to make him a little nervous. He dismissed it as stage fright and called out, “Come, good people! Tales and lays, poems and sagas! Listen and lose yourselves in far and fabled lands!”
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