Brisack sighed, took up the letter again, and clutched it securely. “But Nicko, she was right. My research was flawed. I’ve been thinking about it, and I should go back and look for volunteers—”
“NO!” Mal bellowed. “There’s no ROOM for that! And no room for HER! Not in our world! The Shins will not take my power nor dispute my work! Time to eliminate the anomalies!”
There was no reasoning with that adamancy. Brisack could only keep ducking. His back was beginning to ache. “So what are you planning?”
“A massive storm of our own,” Mal said with a thin smile. “One that I control.”
Brisack shook his head slowly. “I told you, keep this to tragedy, and you can continue it for years. But as soon as this evolves into outrage, people will notice—”
“There are storms brewing everywhere, my good doctor,” Mal said in genial tone.
“What are you talking about?”
“There are rumors that Guarders are infiltrating the villages. So much success recently in the south? Because of inside help!”
“Oh,” Brisack whispered. The next step. He’d likely already taken it. “Are you suggesting—”
“We can’t trust the magistrates and the chief of enforcement, my good doctor. One or two of them may be enemies to our world.”
Brisack suppressed a moan. It was too much, too soon. Too tight a hold on the world. Someone else might balk. “Nicko, the world will not tolerate—”
“The only way to truly secure each village,” Mal continued on with the sturdy determination of an overweight boy laying hold upon every piece of sugared candy in the sweet shop, “is to give the forts complete control over the villages. The few where there are no forts yet, the army will send representatives to help secure their villages.”
The transformation was already taking place. Brisack envisioned a caterpillar growing into a massively repulsive and sticky creature no one expected, with rows of teeth no one anticipated. “But Nicko, electing their local leaders has always been—”
“The people believe they knew who they could trust,” Mal plowed on as if no one else was there except for a few cockroaches scuttling around shelving, “but soon they’ll see that they can’t. There are spies living among them whose knowledge is so intimate that even entire families could be wiped out with one massive, calculated, Guarder attack in the north.”
Brisack could only swallow.
“And when the Guarders hit with full force—three villages at the same time targeting specific families—the world will realize how dependent they are upon the Army of Idumea and the Administrators who foresaw such a terrible outcome. Only the Administrators, directing the army, can ensure the sky always remains blue.”
“You still have Wiles’s map of Edge, don’t you?” Brisack whispered. “The one marked with Perrin’s house, his mother-in-law, and his great aunt and uncle?” He clenched Mrs. Shin’s letter protectively in his fist.
“I do,” Mal’s smile transformed into a sneer. “As well as a few other maps. Terrible storm on the horizon, one that none of them will see coming, correct Doctor? Because, you see, I know where you and your wife live, too.”
“Are you threatening me?” Brisack breathed.
“No,” Mal chuckled humorlessly. “I wouldn’t do such things. But Gadiman would.”
Brisack closed his eyes and nodded once, his thumb caressing the letter. He knew this time he couldn’t send a warning to its author, unlike over a year ago. Indeed, now he felt to be in more danger than the Shins.
“Don’t be so worried, my good doctor!” Mal said in a sickly sing-song voice. “If Shin is as skilled a commander as you suppose he is, all will be well in Edge! And if he isn’t, then you’ll have a great deal to analyze about how people deal with extreme grief.”
“But if all of the Shins are dead,” Brisack whispered, his eyes still shut, “who will grieve them?”
The doctor heard the smile in Mal’s voice. “Besides you? Why, the High General and his wife, of course! I’ve always wanted to watch an alpha wolf crumble.”
Brisack’s eyes flashed open.
“I do believe this is one of my most brilliant plans. We’ll be sorting information for years . . .”
---
A week before Peto’s first birthday, on the 84th Day of Planting Season 322, Mahrree went back to Mr. Hegek with her list in hand. He appreciatively studied it.
“This is a bit different than the shortened version they sent to the teachers, Mrs. Shin. I read through that thoroughly—”
His tone suggested someone who was hoping to appear as responsible as possible for someone of such small stature burdened by the Administrator of Education to carry the entire weight of the Department of Instruction. Just the titles alone were exhausting.
“—but some of these future changes aren’t in there. I wonder why . . .”
His voice trailed off as he sat behind his desk. He put her paper down on an untidy stack and tapped the list. “Hmmm.”
Mahrree didn’t have to see her notes to know what part he’d reached.
“No need for debating? I can see how it would save time, but still,” he looked up to her, “seems kind of a let-down, doesn’t it?”
Her faith in the little man began to increase.
“I think my favorite debate in school was about who created Nature’s Laws, and why.” Mr. Hegek got a faraway look in his eyes. “True, we got a little bit silly at times. One of my friends nearly had the class convinced it was our teacher who devised them, and she created the law, ‘All things want to be on the ground’ to keep us in our seats. She said she would’ve rewritten it more powerfully to keep us flat on the ground!” He chuckled at the memory. “But even so, it really got me thinking about forces and who’s in charge.”
A smile grew on his face.
Mahrree felt one reluctantly growing on her face, too. The man wasn’t as bad as she hoped he’d be. Despite all her effort not to, she almost felt some compassion for him.
“You know, Mrs. Shin, these are only guidelines—not mandated, yet. I know they’re trying to be progressive, but for now do you think Captain Shin would have a problem if we continued allowing debates?”
Mahrree was a mixture of relief and confusion. “I think continuing the debates is a wonderful idea! As long as you still cover everything on that test,” irritation snuck into her tone. “And Captain Shin was a great debater himself, but why would his approval be needed?”
The director’s face went from pleased to looking as if he’d accidentally uttered a very nasty word. “It’s only that he’s the authority here and—”
“Captain Shin’s the authority?” Mahrree chuckled. “Mr. Hegek, I thought you were. And the authority for the village is the elected magistrate. Captain Shin merely keeps the Guarders away, and he’s done that quite admirably.”
The director chewed nervously on his lower lip. “I see, Mrs. Shin. Of course.”
He sat up and straightened some papers which only disrupted several stacks in front of him.
“And I’ve heard about your After School Care program,” he said brightly, changing the subject. “I’m suggesting to the Department of Instruction that they consider implementing similar programs.”
“I already have, many weeks ago,” Mahrree sighed. “I received form letter number two. But maybe you’ll have better luck, since you’re the director of schools here. I’ve sent two more letters merely to see if anyone bothers to read them. Chances are I’ll only collect more forms. People in Idumea don’t care about the opinions of little women in tiny villages like Edge.”
---
Perrin came home much later than expected that night. Mahrree panicked briefly before remembering that he’d send Shem or another messenger should anything drag him away for an extended time again.
Jaytsy waited impatiently by the door calling for “Fodder!” and Peto dragged his at-home boots around the gathering room in anticipation.
When Perrin did finally co
me home, he greeted his little ones with a grim expression. “Mahrree,” he called to her in the kitchen where he heard her washing up. “There have been some changes . . .”
“Does it have anything to do with you being the ‘authority’ in Edge?” Mahrree called back casually.
His mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”
“They should have told you before they told the director of schools!” She came out of the kitchen with a plateful of food, grinning.
But he didn’t return it.
That’s when Mahrree felt a cold heaviness in the house. It was if Perrin brought it with him as a wave and it just now hit her, dark and menacing, as she clumsily put his dinner on the table.
“Perrin, what’s wrong?”
He sat down at the table and couldn’t seem to get comfortable.
“Did you, at all, tell anyone about our discussion the other night?” his voice became very low and terrifyingly serious. “About your theories as to why the Administrators would not want debates? Or why they wrote the documents as they did? Anything to Zenos? Your mother? Other teachers?”
“Of course not!” Mahrree whispered. She looked around, but wasn’t sure why. She thought briefly about her last letters, but couldn’t see how there was anything dangerous in those.
Annoying, possibly. But dangerous?
“Perrin, what’s going on?”
He absent-mindedly picked up Jaytsy who tried to get his attention by blowing on his face. “An edict came this morning from Idumea stating that all villages that don’t yet have a fort will have one built in the next two seasons. I’m supposed to send temporary reinforcements to Moorland immediately. There are eleven forts so far, but each village is now required to have one.”
He paused.
“So . . . ?” Mahrree tried to draw him on, wondering why more forts was so troubling. In some areas the Guarder activity had increased significantly. On the south side of the world there were weekly incursions and murders of citizens.
He pursed his lips before continuing. “Each fort is to have a commanding officer that will not only supervise the soldiers, but also act as the eyes, ears, and voice of the Administrators.” He looked solemnly at Mahrree to see if she understood.
“Eyes, ears, and voice?” she whimpered, remember how only last week Perrin said the Administrators didn’t have any eyes or ears in their house.
Maybe, maybe not.
“The local magistrates will now be accountable to the commander of the forts,” he continued tonelessly, “and all legal and criminal issues will be ultimately under the commander’s jurisdiction.”
Each of his words fell like cold buckets of water in the house. Even Jaytsy sat quietly now in his lap, and Peto stopped dragging his father’s boots.
“The commander of the fort will now be, essentially, in charge of the village as well?” Mahrree asked incredulously. She felt like she was beginning to drown.
“In a sense, yes,” Perrin said darkly. “The magistrate still does his job, so does local law enforcement, but the commander can override their decisions. And if the Administrators demand it—or the commander sees a need—he can take control of any situation, and require any kind of action. To the extent of a complete army takeover,” he said slowly.
Mahrree tried to comprehend the magnitude of that phrase. She wasn’t sure what it meant, except that the issue of debating suddenly seemed trifling.
“And the commander of the fort of Edge . . .” she began, hoping the rest of that sentence would not be, is Captain Shin. It seemed too much authority for a lowly captain.
“Must hold at least the rank of major.”
“Ah,” Mahrree said, feeling a little bit of breathing room.
With the same heaviness Perrin added, “I’ve been promoted.”
The words seemed to suck the remaining air out of the room.
“Congratulations, Major Shin,” Mahrree choked out. This moment hadn’t come as she expected it. She’d planned it to be accompanied by cake.
After a frigid moment, she asked, “Why?”
Perrin slowly shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure.” He sighed deeply as if he hadn’t breathed properly all day. “It came from the Administrators, not the garrison. The Administrators believe that members of the village may pose future threats. The reason Guarders have so much strength in the south might be because of inside help. Even local authorities in some areas are suspect. Only the commanders in the forts seem to be above suspicion, for now.”
“What’s your father have to say about this?”
“I haven’t heard from him,” said Perrin worriedly. “He’s been inspecting forts. This wasn’t his doing, Mahrree.”
Mahrree felt a chill, followed by a sudden sense of panic.
“Perrin, I’ve sent only four letters! No one reads them. I talk only to you! I didn’t cause this,” she gasped. “Is that what you think? Somehow this is my fault?”
Perrin shook his head quickly. “No, no, no, not at all! No one’s going to be concerned with someone like you. You know what I mean,” he said in reply to her hurt look. “The only reason I asked is because that’s precisely the kind of talk I’m supposed to be listening for!” he said in an earnest whisper. “Anything that might suggest anyone is considering opposing the Administrators. I didn’t want it to come back to me that I should start keeping a file on my own wife!”
Isn’t that what she predicted, three years ago in that second debate where she shouted at an army captain about the Administrators taking away their freedoms? She’d been right. And back then, she would have gloated that she was right.
But tonight?
Tonight that army captain—major—tightly cradled his little girl who played quietly with the shining buttons on his uniform’s sleeve. He didn’t notice her lick them, because his gaze darted around the table in deep, troubled thought.
And tonight, Mahrree didn’t feel any sense of triumphant anger, but instead was absorbed by a sense of dread—a foreboding that told her that what she didn’t understand now, she’s wasn’t going like once she did.
“I don’t know what all of this means either,” he said quietly as if he could read her mind. “And now I’m the eyes and ears of the Administrators!” He shook his head at the absurdity of it all.
“And voice,” she reminded him feebly. “Gadiman’s private army? How progressive. I talked to the director of schools,” Mahrree suddenly remembered. “Perrin, Mr. Hegek asked if you’d approve of his allowing debates.”
“What’d you tell him?” His still stared at the table while his daughter rubbed his buttons with her finger.
“I told him I thought you’d approve, but that I didn’t know why he needed your permission. Oh, but now I do. Will everyone need your permission to do anything?”
He dropped his head into his hands while Jaytsy wriggled off his lap. Other buttons on his jacket needed shining up, and her tongue was out and ready.
“I’m praying no. I’m late because the magistrate and the chief of enforcement were in my office all afternoon, and I had to finish drafting guidelines as to how to execute this stupid new mandate. Mahrree, it was pathetic—two panicked men, old enough to be my father, trying subtly not to ask if I was about to oust them.”
He looked up, exasperation on his face. “I didn’t sign up for this! I want to teach boys how to channel their aggression into something useful. I don’t have all day to assure a nervous magistrate and his furious chief of enforcement that I’m not about to take over their village. And I told them that, repeatedly. Just keep everyone in the village in line, and I’ll keep myself happily to the fort. I hate politics!” he boomed.
“Major Shin!” Mahrree hushed him. “Stop or you’ll have to start a file on yourself!”
She had meant it seriously, but the ridiculousness of it all caught them both by surprise.
Mahrree cracked a smile.
Perrin began to chuckle.
Then he laughed.
Th
en he shook his head.
Then he pounded his head on the table repeatedly so that his plate rattled.
Finally Perrin groaned into the table, whether out of pain or aggravation or both, Mahrree wasn’t sure. She didn’t know what to do as she sat helplessly across from him.
But Jaytsy giggled and patted his head. “Fodder funny!”
---
“Tell me the color of the sky today, Dormin,” Rector Yung asked over their late dinner.
The last son of King Oren smiled at the nightly routine that he never grew weary of. “It began as solid black, because of the cloud cover. When the sun rose, the black faded to a dull gray which remained until midday meal. Then the clouds parted, the white sun shone, and sections of the sky were a deep blue. By late afternoon most of the long stretched clouds were gone, replaced instead by big fluffy white ones. At sunset, many of those clouds hovered at the horizon. The sky behind them was a washed out blue with hints of green, while the sky in the east was so deeply blue it bordered on purple.”
He took a deep breath and plowed on.
“Then the sun dipped behind the clouds, darkening them but blazing all around, like a pillow on fire, but warm and relenting, like mashed potatoes lined with bright white. Then it all faded to pale blue, and is now becoming black again, with white stars beginning to show.”
The rector and his wife beamed at each other.
“He could be an artist, with an eye for color and detail like that,” Mrs. Yung said approvingly.
“Certainly not a poet,” the rector commented. “Clouds like burning pillows? Mashed potatoes?”
“I’m tired and hungry!” Dormin declared, digging into his dinner.
The three of them laughed.
“Besides,” Dormin said after he swallowed down a mouthful, “I could never be an artist. I can’t draw a straight line.”
“Oh, Dormin,” Mrs. Yung chuckled, “that’s not a problem. No one wants to see a straight line in a painting. You see very well now, more than you ever did.”
“I must confess, once I quit assuming I already knew the truth, the truth was much easier to recognize.”
Soldier at the Door (Forest at the Edge) Page 23
