by D. M. Almond
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From the street outside section six, Magistrate Fafnir watched the last two visitors exit the building through the window of his carriage. His lip curled at the thought of the sanctimonious little pigs plotting against him. Outside section six, close to forty men and women were gathering for an evening of protests. Some were already shouting for Lady Cassandra’s release.
His men had asked if he wanted the rabble rousers arrested, but he scoffed. “No, let the little street urchins have their moment in the light.” He paused then added, “But do record all their names so we can keep an eye on them after this is all through.”
Fafnir put on a brave front for his men, but the old man was secretly bothered by the recent turn of events. He had not anticipated the outpouring of support Lady Cassandra’s arrest incited. This would not be good for his plans. Zacharia would be displeased to hear of the people’s unhappiness. If he caught wind of the protest, the Arch Councilor was sure to follow the will of the people. The old goat was getting soft.
You did not bend over for this rabble of commoners. They were nothing but lower level trash. If Fafnir were the High Elder, he would make an example of the entire lot, crushing them beneath his heel like ants. And who among them would dare step out of line after that?
A rap came lightly on the side of his carriage. His guest had arrived. Fafnir bid her enter, and she slipped in, hood hanging low to hide her face.
“Oooh, how provincial of you,” he teased over her weak disguise. “What do you have to report?”
“Everything has been taken care of, milord,” the woman said. “You were right, she was easy to ploy.”
“That is always the way of these country bumpkins, too stupid to get out of their own way. It’s no wonder Elder Morgana went to live with them.” To Fafnir, the farmers of Riverbell were nothing more than fodder for his plans. “You have done well. If you deliver as agreed, the trade rights of Riverbell will be yours to own,” he promised, feeling a little better knowing at least this part of his plan had not fallen through.
The woman bowed her head then slipped out of the compartment back into the street, leaving him to brood in private. Looking back outside at the rabble causing a commotion, Fafnir could not help worrying that it was not enough, .not nearly sufficient to overcome the support Lady Cassandra was gathering. Perhaps he had made a mistake betting against her? Maybe he had pushed the scales too far in the wrong direction?
Scowling, he called for his guard.
“Yes, Magistrate?” the guard said.
“I’ve changed my mind. Get some men together in plain clothes, no uniforms. Then go hurt a couple of those dogs for their disobedience,” Fafnir said, cruelly pointing a crooked finger at the protesters.
