by Roger Taylor
He settled for a haughty line. ‘A man was killed, Brother – a respected man who had travelled abroad in the quite legitimate pursuit of his business affairs. One of many such whose activities benefit us all in one way or another by helping to preserve our prosperity. This is not a matter for foolish political games. A strong response is necessary if our people are to feel safe as they go about Gyronlandt on our service.’
‘He was in his cups,’ Cassraw said sternly.
Drommel responded in like manner, pointing towards the Santyth that lay under Cassraw’s hand. ‘An activity of his own choosing, which though perhaps foolish, is legal both here and in Tirfelden, and in any event not one that deserves the death penalty.’
Cassraw’s expression did not change, slightly unnerving Drommel. Untypically, he blundered on rather than risk trading silences with this unexpectedly powerful individual. ‘The Ploughers with their foolishness would merely have injured us all. Such things as we trade with Tirfelden can be obtained from other countries, albeit more expensively. They would simply turn away from us and trade elsewhere.’
Still Cassraw’s expression did not change. ‘But your way might lead to violence,’ he said.
Drommel shook his head. ‘Violence is begotten only by violence, and we shall be using none. We’re a civilized people, after all. There’s no reason why expulsion of their people should not be conducted in an orderly and peaceful manner. And such assets as are seized will be released in due course, after an appropriate deduction to compensate the victims’ families.’ He gave a slight shrug, which seemed to use the whole of his upper body rather than just his shoulders. ‘Besides, I doubt it will come to that. If we remain resolute then the Felden will behave in a sensible manner before the matter goes too far.’
‘And if we don’t?’
Drommel’s nose twitched. ‘You mean if the Castellan Party retreats from its position? Then everything will be as it is now. Neither we nor they will vote for the Ploughers’ ridiculous scheme. Put simply, nothing will be done.’
‘You will not retreat from yours if they hold?’ Cassraw said quietly.
Drommel was pondering the question even as he was shaking his head. He could not read this Preaching Brother, and the whole atmosphere of the room and the interview was disturbing him profoundly. His every political instinct was crying out to him to be alert.
To his relief, the old servant interrupted the proceedings at this point, entering without knocking and bearing a tray on which stood two glasses.
‘A fruit juice,’ Cassraw said as he took the tray and silently dismissed the servant. ‘My wife has a rare way with the trees in our garden and an even rarer one with their fruit. This will refresh you – keep you in good voice for the PlasHein.’ He smiled disarmingly. To Drommel it was like the sun emerging from behind a dark cloud and his mood relaxed, although little of it showed in his rigid posture.
He murmured his thanks as he took the glass and followed it with a compliment after he had drunk a little.
‘You will not retreat from your position?’ Cassraw said again as he settled back in his chair.
‘No,’ Drommel said, seeing little alternative. ‘Our people must be able to travel abroad in safety. They must know that their government will act firmly should anything happen to them.’
Cassraw laid down his glass and tapped the Santyth thoughtfully. Drommel waited, still wondering why he had been asked here and what Cassraw’s true interest was in this affair. He was, after all, neither merchant nor trader.
Cassraw’s voice was reflective when he eventually spoke. ‘You recall, some weeks ago, dark clouds coming over the land, plunging us into night in the middle of the day?’ he said. Drommel nodded, disconcerted by this abrupt change of direction. ‘And I’ve no doubt that you heard about my own little escapade?’ Drommel nodded again and made to reply, but Cassraw raised a hand to stop him. ‘For a while, after my tumble, I lay in the darkness, stunned, in some pain and, I’ll be honest, frightened. I did not know how badly I’d been hurt, but it felt bad, and I realized that my colleagues,’ he smiled again, ‘not the youngest or the nimblest as you’ll appreciate… I realized that even if they managed to get up the mountain to look for me, they might well not find me in the thickening gloom. And if the threatened storm broke, then I could well die where I lay. As it transpired, of course, I was only a little cut and bruised, and, to shame me for my lack of faith, my colleagues did in fact venture into the darkness to seek me out.’ He leaned forward a little, and his presence filled the room. ‘But in that brief time, thoughts and memories cascaded through my mind like a river in spate. Many happy ones, some sad. Some regrets for things I’d done that I shouldn’t have but, worst of all by far, regrets for things that I had not done when I should have. They tore at me, Heinder. Ripped away much that I had taken for granted about myself.’ He paused and Drommel found himself struggling not to turn away from his piercing gaze. ‘Evil prevails when good lies abed,’ he concluded, simply and starkly.
It was an old Madren saying, but from Cassraw’s mouth all triteness left it. It was as alive and true and vigorous as the first time it had been uttered. More, it was a call to arms. A small part of Drommel ruefully noted that it was fortunate that Cassraw had never entered politics, for he would have been a formidable opponent. The greater part of him however, was simply swept along.
‘It was almost as if He Himself had led my feet astray and plunged me low so that I could learn that lesson.’
Then Drommel felt the pressure leave him. Cassraw was leaning back in his chair again, relaxed and smiling. ‘You are right to do what you are doing in this matter of Tirfelden,’ he said, reverting to their previous topic as suddenly as he had left it. ‘And I shall say so. I am no politician, nor do I want to play any politicians’ games. But right is right and I can no longer lie abed when wrong is liable to be done.’
‘I’m at a loss to know what to say,’ Drommel stammered. ‘We always think of ourselves as a party that in many ways represents the ways of the church in politics, and your support for our cause will be welcome. But in all fairness I should warn you that you will risk being severely rebuked, censured even, if you attempt to bring the church into the arena of politics.’
‘I understand what you say, Heinder,’ Cassraw said. ‘But unless something is done, my heart tells me that the Castellan Party will find a way of retreating from their declared intention, and that will be a step into the darkness for all our people.’
‘A little strong, I think, Brother,’ Drommel ventured.
The presence returned. ‘No,’ Cassraw declared. ‘There is little to be gained from euphemism. As you said yourself, a man has been killed. A family has been deprived of its heart, its support. Our society has been lessened by the loss. Those that the people have acclaimed must not betray the people by inaction. And theywill retreat, won’t they?’
There was such force in this last question, that Drommel almost stammered his reply. ‘They were taken aback by our support, without a doubt,’ he said. ‘And I know there’s been a great many hasty meetings of their senior officers and ministers of late.’
‘You mean yes,’ Cassraw said, still forceful.
Drommel hesitated. He was becoming increasingly concerned by the tenor and direction of this conversation. It was all very well for some preacher to theorize about what a government should or should not do under ideal circumstances, but he was a politician, and pragmatism was everything. He had to deal with the realities of balancing the innumerable and, not infrequently, incompatible claims of individuals and groups whose support was necessary if he was to retain office. And retaining office was essential… if he was to be able to do anything at all of value. The last thing that was needed now was this Tirfelden business being inadvertently stirred up by someone like Cassraw careening about recklessly. The only reason that the Witness Party had supported the Castellans’ blustering nonsense was to put them in a position where they would have to back down, thereby
enabling the Witness Party to point out their weakness and indecisiveness during the approaches to the next Acclamation. The whole notion of expelling foreign residents was, of course, fraught with hazard, and could not be allowed. If circumstances arose that obliged the Castellan Party to maintain its stance, then the Witness Party would in the end have to withdraw its support, thereby leaving them open to the same reproaches. It was not a happy prospect.
Yet, for some reason, he could not take this man head on. He had such force about him. Then, he reflected, a man who had risen so quickly through the church would necessarily have exceptional powers of eloquence. Drommel found himself thrashing about in search of a way to avoid a confrontation and to escape this man’s alarming presence.
Then his years of experience in the PlasHein came to his aid. He was concerning himself unnecessarily. What could this man do? Preach a passionate sermon, perhaps? But that would serve little purpose. It would be a rare sermon indeed that prompted people to take real action about anything. And even if he did so animate his congregation that they began to pester their Heinders, what would that mean?
Nothing, of course. Heinders were being pestered all the time and all were masters of the noncommittal response that enabled them to avoid any issue. He began to feel easier. Let this man rant. He might perhaps have some sway over the minds of a few people, but he had no control over their actions and that was what mattered.
‘I do mean yes,’ he replied. ‘You must forgive me if I have a politician’s gift of using four words where one would suffice. But, in that one word, yes, theywill step back from their original proposal now that our support has made it possible.’
Cassraw nodded. ‘We will not allow it,’ he said softly.
To his considerable surprise, Drommel found himself almost rallying to this unexpectedly gentle declaration. He crushed the response swiftly.
‘I doubt we can stop it, Brother Cassraw,’ he said without risking any amplification of the conclusion.
Before Cassraw could reply, the delicate chimes of a distant bell percolated into the room. Cassraw looked surprised. ‘I’d no idea it was so late,’ he said, standing up. ‘I get so engrossed when I start talking. You’ll have to excuse me but I’ve another visitor due any moment, I’m afraid.’ He shrugged apologetically and held out his hand. Drommel needed no urging. He was more than relieved at being given the opportunity to leave this place. As he held out his hand, Cassraw took it in both of his in a powerful encompassing grip which was both intimate and determined. It was almost as though he were accepting a pledge of fealty. And though Drommel was a full head taller than him, he nevertheless felt measurably smaller.
‘Thank you for giving up your time to come and see me,’ Cassraw said, ushering him gently towards the door. ‘It’s been both helpful and instructive. I see we’re of like mind. You may count on my support, and I, presumably, on yours.’ Far from certain what this last remark meant, Drommel made a vague gesture as he opened the door. A cat was standing in the doorway, its head inclined to one side.
‘Ah, I think that belongs to my next visitor,’ Cassraw said. ‘It’s apt to follow him about.’
Drommel did not like cats at all. And, as he had feared, it stepped forward and rubbed itself affectionately against his leg.
His skin started to crawl. Then the sensation was suddenly gone, for Cassraw’s hand was on his shoulder, like a healing touch. ‘You must be with me, Heinder Drommel,’ he said softly, ‘lest you find yourself alone in the darkness one day with the dogs of your conscience baying for you. You must be with me. We are at the beginning of great changes.’
Drommel moved quickly away from the Haven Parish Meeting House, telling himself that he’d best avoid encounters such as that in future. Amateur politicians could be lethally dangerous. But, despite himself, his heart was singing out. Here was a man of fibre. Here was a man of true power; a man who knew Ishryth’s will and would speak it against all the urgings of compromisers and backsliders.
Cassraw bent down and picked up Leck who looked at him through half-closed eyes. He chuckled. ‘Weak, weak, weak,’ he said as he stroked the cat. ‘He’s ours, cat. As will they all be in time.’
* * * *
Two men rode out of the bleak mountains that formed the northern border of Gyronlandt. At first glance they appeared to be ordinary travellers, if such an expression could be applied to the few people who traversed the mountains, but a close examination would have shown that their horses were particularly fine and their clothes, though simple in style, were both well-made and practical. And it was some measure of these two that they had passed through the mountains in the winter and emerged not only alive, but looking substantially untroubled by the journey.
One was similar in both age and build to Vredech while his companion was a little shorter and more heavily built, and nearer to Horld’s age.
The younger of the two spurred his horse alongside his companion. ‘You’ve been very quiet these last few days, Darke,’ he said. ‘Is something bothering you?’
The older man reined his horse to a halt, gazed out over the rolling foothills that marked the north of Gyronlandt, then turned in his saddle and looked back at the mountains. He did not speak for some time but his questioner did not press him.
‘I was wondering why we ventured through those mountains at such a time,’ he said eventually.
‘What?’ came the disbelieving reply.
‘I said…’
‘I heard you,’ the younger man interrupted, though not unpleasantly. ‘It’s an odd time to be asking that question. We came here to find out about this place and its people, as we’ve done everywhere else.’
‘We could have gone east or west at that mountain range. Why did we head south?’
‘Because we’ve been in the saddle so long our brains are addled. We could also have gone back home.’
Darke laughed a little at his companion’s manner. ‘True, Tirec,’ he said. ‘And we will, one day. But…’ The laughter faded.
‘Something is troubling you, isn’t it?’ Tirec said, more soberly.
Darke frowned, then rolled his shoulder as if it were stiff. Tirec noted the gesture and his eyes narrowed in concern.
‘You’re getting sharper in your old age,’ Darke said.
‘It’s the company I’ve been keeping,’ Tirec retorted. ‘And you’re the one who taught me to listen to the voices that whisper in the silence.’
Darke looked pained. ‘It’s… nothing,’ he said after a while, though with some effort.
‘It’severything, if it brought us through those mountains in winter,’ Tirec insisted. ‘And you don’t need me to tell you that, do you? Speak it before we ride another pace.’
For a moment, Darke seemed set to dispute the younger man’s command, then he said, ‘I haven’t the words yet. Just…’ He patted his stomach. ‘Bad. Very bad. I…’ He abandoned the sentence and clicked his horse forward. ‘We’ll carry on, south,’ he said purposefully. ‘Mark the way.’
Tirec, now openly concerned, watched him for a moment before moving after him. ‘As soon as you get some words, speak them,’ he said, frowning.
Darke nodded. ‘Of course.’
Then he looked at Tirec penetratingly. ‘And you, stay quiet.’ He patted his stomach again, then his head. ‘Be aware.’
Chapter 14
‘Do you still think he’s not human?’ Privv said, taunting. Leck did not reply.
‘Very wise, no answer,’ Privv went on. ‘It strikes me he’s all too human.’
‘You’re a fool, Privv,’ Leck said witheringly.
‘And you’re still sour because he gave you the creeps the first time you met him,’ Privv replied with airy contempt as he swung his feet up on to his desk and began chewing his thumbnail with relish.
‘Your funeral,’ Leck commented coldly. ‘It’s no fur off my tail what happens to humanity. In fact, it could be quite entertaining.’
Privv felt generous. ‘Come on, don�
��t be such a misery. He’s just odd, that’s all. We never meet church people normally. You’re not used to them. They must all be a bit strange, to go on believing in Ishryth and the Santyth once they’ve grown up. All we need concern ourselves with is the fact that he’s going to let me -me!…’
‘Us,’ Leck interjected.
‘Us then,’ Privv conceded with a wave. ‘He’s going to letus “represent his views in the Sheets”.’ He mimicked Cassraw’s voice, badly. ‘Discreetly, of course.’
‘He’s using you.’
‘Us,’ Privv mocked.
‘He’s using you,’ Leck repeated. ‘You’re his kind.’
‘Of course he is,’ Privv said, gritting his teeth purposefully around the edge of his thumbnail. ‘Everyone uses us. And we use them in turn, only better. That’s the Sheet business, isn’t it? Using people. What’s to the point is that for all his Preacher’s dignity and talk, he’s just as venal and self-seeking as any market-trader on the lookout for something to his advantage. I tell you…’ He swore as, in his enthusiasm, he tore a piece of skin from his thumb.
His head filled with Leck’s disgust. ‘When are you going to learn?’ she spat. ‘You’re always doing that. It’ll be sore for days now and I’ll have to put up with your incessant grumbling. I don’t know what it is about you creatures.’
Privv snarled at the cat then sucked vigorously on the damaged thumb, filling his mouth with the acrid taste of blood. Leck’s claws extended and her mouth gaped wide to reveal her teeth. ‘Stop that!’ she hissed furiously.
‘Well, shut up then,’ Privv snapped, spitting on the floor. Then he swore again and unearthing a dirty kerchief from somewhere, wrapped it tightly around his thumb. ‘As I was saying, he’s just another man looking for a way to gain an advantage. He’s always been marked as someone who’d rise to the top, but he doesn’t want to wait. He wants it now. And he sees us as a way to help him.’
