by Hilari Bell
Prince Edoran stepped out of the shelter of Holis’ arm and stared down at the man. “Can you prove that he murdered my father?”
Master Darian looked at him, clearly calculating whether or not he could get away with a lie. But the truth would come out too quickly.
“No,” he admitted. “I wondered about that. I wasn’t his clerk back then, but from what I’ve heard, I don’t see how he could have done it.”
“I know the man who ran the investigation into your father’s death,” the officer, Diccon, added. “He’s an honest man, Your Highness, and he said the king’s death was an accident. No doubt about it.” He spoke to the prince, but his wondering gaze had strayed to the shield again. Country-bred, Weasel guessed, despite the educated accent.
The prince’s face was very closed now.
“But there’s a lot he is guilty of,” Master Darian added urgently. “A lot. Enough to make anyone glad she shot him.”
“You can’t shoot a man, then find him guilty after the fact,” Justice Holis snapped. “And far more important, you can’t just kill those in power and take their place! If the government doesn’t act within the law, then there is no law!”
The Falcon didn’t care about law—her hand tightened on the pistol.
Weasel closed his eyes. Chaos and death, not only in this room, but echoing into the future. Even if the Falcon escaped, she wouldn’t give up. No more than Pettibone would have. And if she died … He could already see Arisa, a few years older, taking over her mother’s cause, her mother’s place … her mother’s contacts in the navy. Fighting the army controlled by Holis’ friends … He had told the Falcon to kill Pettibone to prevent this! There had to be a way to bring the Falcon in with them! A way to make her something more than a bandit. To convince Holis, and the army, and the people …
He remembered the soldiers’ eyes, wide with awe as they stared at the shield.
Weasel looked at the soldiers. They were pointing their guns at the Falcon now, but their gazes still strayed in his direction. It was only a symbol, but symbols could matter.
Weasel lifted the shield, walked briskly across the room, and shoved it at the Falcon.
“Here,” he said. “It’s all yours.”
The Falcon’s free hand reached out to grab it, her pistol tipping aside. Several people gasped. Weasel stepped away, feeling oddly light now that the burden was out of his hands.
“What in the …” Then she saw the expression on the soldiers’ faces and gripped the shield more firmly. “I accept,” she said.
“Accept what?” Holis asked furiously. “Even if it is the true shield, it was never anything but a … a gift the king offered his favored advisers.”
“It is the true shield,” Edoran confirmed.
General Diccon looked like he was thinking very fast. Weasel hoped he was a practical man.
“Perhaps it is,” said Holis, “but neither you, nor your lawful regent, have bestowed it on anyone!”
“Who found the shield?” the general asked.
Arisa pointed at Weasel. “He did.”
“What difference does that make?” Holis asked. “The king bestows the shield.”
“The king used to,” said Diccon. “But we don’t have a king.”
Holis and Edoran both scowled, but several of the soldiers nodded.
“The person into whose hands it was given, after being lost for centuries, has bestowed it,” the general who truly led the army continued. “Be hanged if I’m going to argue with their choice.”
He was talking about the old gods, and if he was faking the wary reverence in his voice, he was a very good actor. The back of Weasel’s neck prickled. He had a feeling he’d gotten rid of that shield just in time.
Justice Holis was looking at the soldiers. They stared at the Falcon, straightening to attention. Clearly the shield mattered to them. As it would matter to all the country folk of Deorthas. Justice Holis’ conspiracy had just deposed the regent the townsmen favored—without the country’s support, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
Justice Holis was glaring at Weasel, who realized that he had just made the first political decision of his life. He wiped sweating hands on his britches and hoped he’d never have to make another.
“She can’t be regent,” said Holis slowly. “Not a bandit. No matter what she’s done for us. The shareholders would never consent.”
“Agreed.” The Falcon uncocked her pistol, resting it casually on her shoulder. “But I believe the position of lord commander of the army is about to fall vacant?”
“Yes, Mistress!” Somehow Diccon managed to make the two syllable “mistress” sound like “sir.” He snapped a salute, and the rest of his men copied the gesture.
Justice Holis winced.
Weasel couldn’t see Arisa, still hidden behind her mother’s body, but her sigh of relief was audible clear across the room.
Weasel went over to the justice. “It will be hard,” he murmured, “to get the townsfolk to accept a government that just shot the regent they liked. You’re going to need all the country support you can get.”
“We didn’t shoot him,” said Holis furiously. “We were going to act within the law. An obscure law, I grant you, but … Oh, rot. It seems I have no choice. Master Darian.”
“Anything,” Darian whispered.
“You’ll give us the papers, and your testimony in court, and instead of charges you’ll be banished from Deorthas. At least we can prove to the people that Pettibone should have been deposed, no matter how unorthodox our methods.”
“But who will be regent?” the Falcon asked. “Whoever it is will have to agree to all these deals you’re making.”
“That question should be posed to His Highness,” said Justice Holis, looking at the prince. “There are seven years left of your minority. Is there someone you’d trust to hold power for you during that time?”
A cynical smile touched the prince’s lips. “Tell me, if I choose someone who’s loyal to Regent Pettibone—which is most of the people I know—would he become regent?”
“Well …” Justice Holis was clearly taken aback. “Well, the person you choose would have to be suitable, of course, but—”
“So what you mean,” said the prince, “is that you’re going to choose a man for me.”
“Someone of our faction, yes,” Holis admitted. “But we’d certainly—”
“Fine,” said the prince. “It hardly matters. I’m going to change my clothes now. I seem to have gotten dirty.”
He stepped over his old regent’s blood and strode out of the room.
Justice Holis winced.
“Well, he’s right,” said Weasel. “You weren’t really giving him a choice.”
“I know,” said Holis. “But I thought if I could give him some choice, he wouldn’t feel quite so helpless. I didn’t expect …”
“You didn’t expect him to see through it,” said Weasel. “He hasn’t had much control over his own life, has he?”
“He’s a spoiled brat,” Arisa muttered. “He didn’t even thank us!”
It occurred to Weasel that the prince hadn’t asked them to shoot his regent, so perhaps thanks weren’t appropriate. On the other hand, he hadn’t seemed too unhappy about it.
“He’s an idiot!” the Falcon snapped. “My men are still roaming the palace. Send an escort after that young fool.”
Diccon shot her a startled glance. Then he saluted again and hurried out.
Holis sighed. “It seems the dam—the deed is done. Lord Commander.”
The Falcon smiled. “So it seems … Regent Holis. Please, spare us the modest protests! You know there’s no one else.”
Justice Holis, who’d opened his mouth for a modest protest, winced. “It was supposed to be Shareholder Marchington.”
“Well, he’s been hanged,” said the Falcon. “And I’d better get out there with your friend and stop our men from slaughtering each other.”
She took the shield with her whe
n she left.
Weasel’s thoughts were spinning. Was he responsible for this? Surely not—he didn’t even trust the Falcon! He just hadn’t wanted to see Arisa’s mother die. Weasel hoped he’d made the right decision. He hoped it would be the last such decision he’d have to make, but looking at Justice Holis’ increasingly thoughtful face, he feared that was unlikely.
“The One God help me,” Holis muttered. “I’ll have to work with that woman.”
“It won’t be as bad as you think,” Arisa told him. “She’s a good commander. And there isn’t anyone else who could be regent, is there?”
“No one who wouldn’t hang the lot of us for treason as his first act,” Holis admitted. “Except for some of my friends. And once they’re released from their cells, they all have other duties.”
“You’re really going to be the regent?” Weasel asked. “We’re going to live here, in the palace?”
He looked at the gold-covered dining room. He should have been overjoyed. Maybe he would be, in a year or so, when he’d managed to take it in.
“We’ll have to, I suppose.” Justice Holis didn’t sound enthusiastic either. “If nothing else, Prince Edoran appears to need all the friends he can get. I’ll expect you to help me with that. Both of you … Mistress Benison, is it?”
“Arisa,” she told him. She looked so appalled at the thought of befriending the prince that Weasel laughed.
“Well.” Justice Holis shook his head, visibly bringing his thoughts into focus. “If I’m going to take over the government instead of hanging, I’d better get started. Weasel, find a pen and some paper. I’ll need you to take notes … hmm. And draft a letter informing all the shareholders of the change in His Highness’ government. And another to the people of Deorthas, though their shareholders and town mayors will relay the news. Arisa, my dear, since the fighting seems to have ended, would you locate the servants and set them back to work? There’s a great deal to do!”
His face grew brighter as he spoke, and Weasel, contemplating weeks of writer’s cramp, sighed. Though after the last few weeks, writer’s cramp looked pretty good.
“At least it won’t be totally boring,” Arisa sighed.
“What do you mean?” Weasel asked. He found pens, paper, and an inkpot in a drawer and carried them to the table.
“The sword’s still missing,” said Arisa. “We haven’t even started looking for it yet.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” Weasel choked. “After the trouble that shield caused, you want to go looking for the sword?”
“Don’t be silly—the shield got you out of trouble. But since you gave it to my mother, we could give the sword to Justice Holis here. It would make his regency more legitimate.”
“And my regency will need all the legitimacy it can get.” Holis sighed. “But I’d rather gain it from the support of my ruler and the populace than from a silly super—an ancient symbol. You’ve found a pen, my boy? Excellent. ‘To the people of Deorthas. I, Prince Edoran’s new regent, offer my promise …’”
Weasel’s pen flew over the paper, and Arisa went in search of the servants. Justice Holis had a real government to build, and Weasel had real work to do to help him. The guards would probably find that cursed sword somewhere in the passage, and if they didn’t, well, it had been lost for centuries. It could stay lost, for all Weasel cared. But he had a sinking feeling it wasn’t going to be that easy.
