The Way of the Shield

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “If she’s even an Initiate after next week.”

  “Enough!” The voice boomed through the lobby—Madam Tyrell coming in from up the stairs. “Since it is Quiet Days, I suggest you all find someplace else to be quiet.”

  The rest of the Initiates scattered. Madam Tyrell came over to her, brushing off her dress uniform, as if it wasn’t perfectly crisp and clean.

  “I’m sorry about all that,” Jerinne said. “I didn’t mean to . . . get so much attention.”

  “Believe me, Initiate, I understand completely.” She sighed. “This sort of thing happens every year. Everyone is nervous that they won’t be here in a week. So they gang up on the person they know will be.”

  That threw Jerinne. She was the one they knew would be? “No, this is just about the carriages and the action.”

  “Jerinne,” Madam Tyrell said, bracing her hands on her shoulders. “They’re training to be Tarians. But you’re doing it. Do you understand?”

  “I think so,” Jerinne said, though she was more confused than ever. Partly by Madam Tyrell talking to her like she was her peer.

  Any response Madam Tyrell was about to give was interrupted by Dayne rushing into the lobby, adjusting the hasps of his coat as he came in. “Are we ready to go? No need to wait, right? Carriage is here?”

  Madam Tyrell left the lobby with only a quick, heated glance at Dayne. What was it Vien Reston had said about the two of them during their Initiacy? There was something happening between them, but Jerinne felt far happier not even thinking about it. Too much in her head already.

  “This way, Mister Heldrin,” the carriage driver said. Jerinne hadn’t even really noticed him, but Dayne smiled brightly when he approached.

  “Kaysen! Saints, man, it’s been ages! You’re driving the carriage, now?”

  The driver helped them into the carriage, grinning back at Dayne broadly. “I serve the needs her ladyship requires.”

  “Jerinne, this is Kaysen Ford,” Dayne said warmly. “He and I served in Lady Mirianne’s father’s household together.”

  “Listen to this one,” Kaysen said, mounting the driver’s seat. “Be clear here, girl. I served the earl’s household. As did Dayne’s father. Dayne didn’t serve one blasted day. They pegged him as a boy with talent early on, and put him on a path to be sitting right where he is now.”

  Dayne laughed. “I had no idea, Kaysen, that the earl had planned so long ago for you to be driving me around.”

  “Hush now,” Kaysen said. “Point is, young Miss Jerinne, this one was raised to be a Tarian. Best not let me down there, Dayne.”

  Dayne’s warm demeanor dropped suddenly. “Right. Absolutely, Kaysen.”

  As the carriage moved down the street, Dayne stayed in quiet contemplation.

  “Quite a crazy bit of business, wouldn’t you say?” Kaysen asked, though not to either of them in particular.

  “What do you mean?” Jerinne asked, once it was clear that Dayne wasn’t responding. “The two attacks from the Patriots?”

  “Patriots, right,” Kaysen said. “That’s right. But they’re taken care of. Thanks to you two in no small part, I’m given to understand.”

  “We just did our duty.”

  “Of course, of course,” Kaysen offered. “Shame, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They still got away with what they planned.”

  “Pardon?” Dayne asked, suddenly very engaged.

  Kaysen looked back at Dayne, his attention only partially on the road. “Well, they still managed to kill that man, right? That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “I suppose,” Jerinne said.

  “What they planned,” Dayne whispered. Then he leaned in close to Kaysen. “Listen, I need . . . I’m going to ask you a favor, old friend.”

  “Is this the kind of favor that would get me in trouble?”

  “Probably not,” Dayne said. “But I need to take a side trip. Can we swing by The Nimble Rabbit for a few clicks?”

  “If you’re worried about the dinner, I was in the kitchens earlier, and . . .”

  “No, nothing like that, Kaysen,” Dayne said. “Though I am beyond famished. I need to talk to some people there. It won’t take long.”

  “All right,” Kaysen said. “But it really can be only a few minutes. I presume you don’t want to mention this side trip to her ladyship.”

  “I don’t think it would be strictly necessary. Would it?”

  “Don’t sell me too hard, hmm?” Kaysen took another corner, and in a few minutes they were in front of a small, charming house—an old Sharain village brasserie, tucked into the alleyway.

  “Just a few minutes,” Kaysen said.

  “Come with me, Jerinne. I want to hear your thoughts on this as well.”

  “My thoughts on what?” Jerinne asked. “What is this place, and why are we here?”

  “It’s The Nimble Rabbit,” Dayne responded as if that answered everything. He went through the ivied archway, eyes searching.

  “Yes, but why—” Rich smells of lamb and onions and wine hit Jerinne’s nose. “Is the food good?”

  “Excellent, but we’re not here to eat,” Dayne said. “Well . . . maybe a crisper. But . . . ah, there they are.”

  “Who?”

  Dayne was already leading her to a table in a far corner of the courtyard, where two men were sitting in quiet conference over a bottle of wine.

  “Gentlemen, I trust you’re having a good evening,” Dayne said as they approached.

  “Indeed, Dayne,” the taller, hairier of the two men said. “Unless you’re here to yell at us again.”

  “Nothing of the sort,” Dayne said. “In fact, I need your counsel.”

  “Of course,” he said. “And this is the young Jerinne Fendall, the other hero of the day.”

  “That might be pushing things,” Jerinne said, taking the man’s extended hand.

  “Jerinne, this is Hemmit Eyairin.” Dayne introduced them. “And his friend with charcoal pencil and sketch pad is Maresh Niol.”

  “Artist?” Jerinne asked, shaking the spectacled man’s hand.

  “In part,” Maresh said. “But only for the purpose of the truth.”

  “They’re newsmen,” Dayne offered.

  “We pretty much are The Veracity Press,” Hemmit said. “Sit, sit.”

  “Newsmen?” Jerinne asked. “So were you in the Parliament this morning?”

  “No need for that,” Hemmit said. “I can imagine what happened: a few minutes of posturing and then closing today’s session in honor of Parlin.”

  Jerinne nodded. “That’s about right.”

  Dayne took a seat. “So what is the news today, now that the Patriots’ crisis is supposedly over?”

  “Is it over, though?” Jerinne asked.

  “You tell us,” Maresh said. “Most of the Patriots are arrested. Lannic will stand trial before High Justice Feller Pin. That’s interesting news.”

  “Why?” Jerinne asked.

  Dayne answered, though he looked distracted. “High Justices don’t typically sit before criminal cases, unless the criminal was a nobleman or in the Parliament.”

  “Even Alderman Strephen is up in front of the city justices, and that’s corruption that fills the whole city,” Hemmit said.

  “I thought that was just a mistress scandal,” Jerinne said. It had been the salacious news before the Patriots business started up.

  “Listen to her. ‘Just a mistress scandal.’ As if it were that simple. You know that said mistress has now vanished, no trace? Something foul is going on there. You see . . .” Hemmit got no further before Dayne interrupted.

  “I don’t have much time here,” Dayne said, though he flagged over the server and demanded a crisper. “But something has been gnawing at me all day, and I can’t ma
ke sense of it.”

  “Say your piece, friend,” Hemmit said. He offered to pour wine into Dayne’s cup, but Dayne begged off.

  “Yesterday when we talked—”

  “We kept your name out of last night’s debacle,” Maresh said quickly.

  “You did, yes, thank you,” Dayne said. “But more to the point, we talked about why the Patriots might target Parlin and Barton, two men of different politics.”

  Hemmit nodded, sipping at his wine. “I recall. Lin chastised us that we were overthinking it.”

  “I don’t think we were, though. Last night they made a point of going after Parlin. Not just killing him, but dragging him into a public place and making a spectacle of him. Parlin was clearly their target.”

  Hemmit considered. “Possibly so. But if you’ll allow me to whisper in the sinner’s ear: they were enraged at Parlin and Barton slipping through their grasp. They had a target of opportunity, which they missed. So they needed to re-create that. This time it was personal regarding Parlin because of what had happened in the museum.”

  Jerinne thought that sounded reasonable. Dayne seemed uncertain. He was about to respond when the server brought his crisper, which he grabbed out of the man’s hands and bit into greedily.

  “All right, let’s accept that,” Jerinne said, looking at the whole group of men, who seemed to be surprised she was speaking. “They went to a lot of trouble for their show, and the main thing they gained was one dead Parliamentarian.”

  “And a lot of fear and chaos,” Maresh added.

  “Right, but what does one dead Parliamentarian actually give them? Who gains from that?”

  Maresh tapped his fingers in thought. Hemmit screwed his brow up and took another swig of his wine. Dayne continued to eat his crisper.

  “This is something to consider,” Hemmit said finally. “The Parliament is constantly dancing on a knife edge. The current coalition of the Frikes, Crownies, and Minties has a strong majority—”

  “Not strong enough,” scoffed Maresh. “Only fifty-three seats.”

  “No, but strong,” Hemmit continued. “The Salties aren’t in the Coalition with them, but they usually vote with them. So that brings their nose count to fifty-nine.”

  Jerinne leaned in. “Wait, how strong does it have to be? If they have the majority, why does it matter? A win by one vote is still a win.”

  “You would think, except you have Dishers like Perry or Scott abusing gravity.”

  That sounded familiar somehow. Jerinne didn’t know how gravity could be abused by any member of Parliament. This morning had made it clear she didn’t understand all the intricacies of the Parliament, which was clearly something she needed to rectify.

  Dayne looked puzzled as well. “I had heard complaints in Lacanja about procedural nonsense causing trouble. But the newssheets weren’t much help in sorting out what was going on. Frankly, most of them were squarely Traditionalist, standing up Perry as a hero.”

  Jerinne waved her hands in frustration. “Procedure? Abusing gravity? Help me out.”

  Maresh sighed, looking as if the act of explanation he was about to make gave him physical pain. “A majority—fifty-one if all the seats are full at the voting call—is typically enough. Unless someone declares the matter being voted on is grave. A vote on an issue of gravity requires six-tenths of the quorum.”

  “Grave, yes!” Jerinne said. “Today during the session, they were arguing about cutting it short as an observance for Parlin. Someone stood up and said, ‘This is a grave matter.’”

  Hemmit nodded. “That’s it. And out of courtesy, since the august body is made of gentlemen, any member can attach gravity to any vote. It isn’t questioned or even challenged.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jerinne said, remembering the interminable voting session earlier this morning. “So Montrose’s proposal this morning, to stay in session, should have passed. Except that one fellow made it grave.” She had heard more yes votes, like she thought. But fifty-five wouldn’t have been enough to pass a “grave matter.”

  Hemmit laughed. “I’m not surprised. Perry has declared almost every single vote, on even the most trivial of matters, to be grave.”

  “How trivial?” Dayne asked.

  “I believe in yesterday’s session he declared a vote regarding the allotment of lamp oil to Parliament offices to have gravity.”

  Maresh added, “Fortunately, enough Books voted for that one to allow the offices to have light. But most of the time they all stand in arms with the Dishers to grind everything to a standstill.”

  “The Functionalists must hate that,” Dayne said. Jerinne knew well enough to know that the Frikes were moderate in their views, mostly wanting the government to work. Jerinne didn’t care for them—too willing to compromise principle for the sake of moving things along.

  “Like how,” Hemmit said. “I have some sources, speaking privately, who say that some of the Frikes are considering breaking the Coalition and giving the Dishers the Ruling Chairs, just to put an end to these games.”

  “It won’t work, though!” Maresh shouted. After a glare from Hemmit, he grumbled and poured himself a fresh glass of wine.

  “I think we’ve lost your point,” Dayne said, finishing his food. “How does this tie to Parlin’s death?”

  “Right, Parlin’s death,” Hemmit said. “Now, he was a Saltie, and the coalition holds the majority without him—fifty-eight to forty-one. But what concerns me is the election.”

  “I presume Parlin’s Chair wasn’t up this year,” Dayne said.

  “Not even close. He was reelected in ’thirteen, so he had three more years. The two Chairs open this year are Callun and Batts. Callun is a Disher, but he’s practically an institution in Acora. He’ll win back his seat without even trying. But Batts, he isn’t putting his name in.”

  “What’s his party?”

  “Frike. Been in for two terms, says he’s done.”

  A typical habit of the Functionalists. They believed that Parliamentarians shouldn’t hold their Chairs overlong, usually choosing to step down. Jerinne could respect that part of their ideology. “So how’s it going to go?”

  Hemmit shrugged. “Who can say what they do up there? But I know that two of Callun’s top aides resigned and went back Acora. I hear they are both getting their names whispered around as contenders for Batts’s Chair.”

  Dayne’s eyes went wide. “With a third Chair to fill, they wouldn’t have to fight each other. If there’s a strong enough Traditionalist sentiment in the voting . . .”

  “Which there surely would be, with Callun being balloted,” Maresh said.

  “They win those, it doesn’t take much more for the coalition to lose the majority and the Ruling Chairs.”

  “That’s crazy,” Jerinne said. “Look, whatever the Patriots wanted, it was simpler than that. Minor shifts in parliamentary majorities is too subtle.”

  “It may not have been their goal, but it’s what they may have caused.”

  Dayne nodded. “True. I doubt the Patriots had any such agenda, but Lannic and his associates have created consequences that we must live with.”

  “This all makes my head hurt,” Jerinne said.

  “Then drink more wine,” Hemmit said, pouring a fresh glass. “That is what I must do every time I think about what is going on in the Parliament.”

  “Not too much,” Dayne said.

  “Please, the girl is one of the heroes of the hour,” Hemmit said. “Relish that, young lady.” Jerinne couldn’t argue with that, and reached for the glass. Saints knew she had had enough happen in the past two days to harry her nerves. A taste of wine was just what she needed.

  “Moderation, Jerinne.” Dayne gave her a slight smile. “We have still a long night at Lady Mirianne’s.”

  “My, Lady Mirianne. The bright jewel of Jaconvale herself.” Mar
esh spat on the ground, as if his dismissive tone hadn’t made his opinion clear enough.

  “She is an old and dear friend,” Dayne said, with a hint of anger burning under his words. “Do not disrespect her.”

  “Fine.” Maresh shook his head and focused on his own wine.

  “Speaking of, Dayne,” Jerinne said. “We’ve probably gone past the few minutes we had to spend here.”

  “Indeed,” Dayne said. “Look, we must be off, but . . . my gut is telling me we’re not touching on something in all this. Some point, some goal, some long plan.”

  Hemmit nodded. “You think that this business with the Patriots isn’t over?”

  “They’re all arrested,” Maresh said.

  “Not all,” Dayne said. “There’s Tharek.”

  Jerinne perked up at that. “Right. He got away last night, didn’t he? And he’s the most dangerous of all of them.”

  Hemmit put down his wineglass. “Are you serious? The most dangerous of the Patriots is still free?”

  Dayne answered with a nod.

  “This is news,” Hemmit said. “Go to your dinner. Maresh and I have work to do.”

  Maresh gathered his supplies. “We do?”

  “Indeed, and we should find Lin.”

  “Are you sure?” Dayne asked. “We could . . .”

  “No, no,” Hemmit said, his tone now far more sober than it had been during the whole conversation. “You’ve done what you need to do, friends. Now truth needs to be ferreted out, and that is my job. Trust me to mine as I do you to yours.”

  He offered his hand to both of them and shook it vigorously.

  “I do appreciate your help, Hemmit,” Dayne said. Jerinne glanced at the archway and spotted Kaysen tapping his finger against the wood frame.

  “Dayne, we really must go.”

  “Yes, right,” Dayne said, and giving Hemmit and Maresh one last salute, he went to the archway with Jerinne.

  “I thought we weren’t going to eat anything here,” Jerinne teased Dayne.

  “And I haven’t eaten all day. I thought I was going to faint,” Dayne said. “Trust me, my appetite for Lady Mirianne’s feast will not be diminished in the slightest.”