The Last Paladin

by Ward Wagher

  “His father just passed away,” Jones said.

  “Oh my. I saw on the news that the Paladin was ill.”

  Jones nodded with a tight grimace on his face. “He has had a rough day.”

  “I am very sorry, Mr….”

  “Singman Jones. You can call me Sing. I guess I will be seeing you again.”

  “RWB comes here maybe once in a month.”

  Jones slipped of the stool and walked over to RWB. “Come on, Boss, we need to get you home.”

  RWB started to slide off the stool and counter. Jones immediately ducked and threw him over his shoulder. Hoisting himself up, he marched out of the bar with his unconscious patron. When he stepped out the door Cathay looked over and saw them. He then walked over to a row of surreys and began entering the address into the display. Jones rolled RWB into the back seat and then walked around to the other front seat.

  “Wilton House?” Cathay asked.

  “Probably as good as any for right now.”

  Chicago was a city of spires on the beaches of Lake Michigan and featured modern construction. Nothing looked old. The second Paladin, Jasper Wilton, had embarked on the massive project to clear away the radioactive ruins of the old city and began building the new city. Because of the weather extremes, particularly with a still cooling climate, Wilton had designed an enclosed city.

  At the ground level were the streets and thoroughfares for vehicular traffic – primarily the lorries that supplied the city with its needs. The levels above were enclosed and were reserved mostly for pedestrians. However, the citizens of the town had use of the four-seat autonomous electric surreys for travel beyond a short walk.

  “How long will we be working out of Wilton House, Sing?” Cathay asked.

  “RWB confirmed that he is our new employer,” Jones said. “I guess we will have to move him out whenever they choose the new Paladin.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “My guess is that it will happen in the morning.”

  “It is almost morning, Sing.”

  Jones glanced at the chrono display in the surrey. “There will be no sleep for us, today, Richard.”

  “Goes with the job, I suppose.”

  § § §

  “I must speak with RWB.”

  Holden Palmer met Singman Jones as the guard was coming out of RWB’s apartment. Palmer was a soft, stocky man with salt and pepper hair.

  “He is down for the count,” Jones said. “I would guess seven or eight hours before he will begin making sense.”

  “That is not acceptable,” Palmer replied, wringing his hands. “He must be present for the reading of the will.”

  “He drank until he passed out, Mr. Palmer. We brought him back to sleep it off. You might have a hard time waking him up.”

  “I cannot believe you let him drink to excess like that,” Palmer sputtered. “I think I will have to terminate you and utilize people who can control him better.”

  Jones offered a one-sided smile. “We do not work for you, Mr. Palmer. We work for Mr. Baughman. When he decides we are done, then that is when we will leave.”

  “You will hear about this from the governing committee,” he said. “We cannot allow this to stand.”

  “Let me suggest something, Mr. Palmer,” Jones offered. “When RWB awakens, I will comm you. I understand the importance of the Paladin’s will and the succession. I do not believe my client would be of any use to you at the moment, even if we did succeed in waking him up.”

  Palmer spun and stalked off. Jones watched him leave and then turned to Cathay.

  “Get yourself some sleep, Richard. I will watch the door.”

  “Can Palmer get us fired?”

  “I do not think so. However, I regret making an enemy of him. In the short time I have known him, RWB has a way of charming people and making them do what he wants. I am sure he will charm Palmer and anyone else when necessary.”

  “I will be inside, Sing,” Cathay said. “Wake me in a couple of hours. You need the sleep worse than me.”

  “Right.”

  The other guard retreated into RWB’s apartment and the door slid closed. Jones assumed his guard stance – feet slightly apart and hands folded behind his back. He understood Palmer’s concern. The Paladin had died suddenly and under suspicious circumstances. By tradition, he named his successor in his will. When that happened, RWB would have to vacate the premises. The Palatinate was a civilized place, so he did not expect an immediate eviction. However, he would probably have to convince the young man to make some decisions. He had no idea if that would be difficult or not.

  Palmer had the far more difficult job. As the Paladin’s secretary, he functioned much as the Prime Minister in the United Kingdom. The Paladins were hands-on governors and believed in small governments. But the secretary actively managed the day-to-day workings of the government.

  According to the Civics courses he had in school, a group of the key business leaders in the Palatinate would gather and give approval to the wishes in the Paladin’s will. This was considered automatic, however, the leadership of the Palatinate operated on consensus. The leadership, which consisted of the owners or CEOs of the major businesses in the Palatinate would provide a stabilizing influence for those rare times when the Paladin was headed towards a bad decision. The Paladin, in contrast, would often cajole, threaten, or perhaps take more direct action if one of the business leaders looked like he was going seriously off-kilter.

  It was a stable arrangement, perhaps even more so than the United Kingdom, which was saying a lot. Jones pondered this as he scanned the empty hallway as the morning aged. He hoped that RWB would moderate his habits somewhat. He seemed like a genuinely nice person. And… he was fun.

  Three hours later the door slid open.

  “I thought you were going to roll me out in two hours,” Cathay said.

  “You needed the sleep.”

  “Right. Well, I am up now, Sing. Go crash.”

  Jones nodded. He walked into the apartment and then looked in on RWB. He was sleeping deeply, and his tortured face was relaxed. He walked back out to the living area and stretched out on the sofa. He was asleep within thirty seconds.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Ward, you look terrible. How do you feel?”

  Holden Palmer moved quickly over to RWB as he walked into the Paladin’s expansive conference room and put his hand on the younger man’s arm.

  RWB pushed Palmer’s hand away and walked over to an empty chair about midway down the table.

  “I feel about how I look, okay? Let us get this over with.”

  A group of mostly men and a few women stared at him as he slumped into the chair. Though he recognized Leonard Cord and Clinton Worley, the rest he hardly knew. Three sitting members of the government were present: Holden Palmer, Arlen Senter, and Chaim Lewis. The others represented their business interests in the Palatinate.

  No one sat at the head of the table. Palmer eased into the chair beside it and keyed up his terminal. The others brought up their devices.

  Palmer cleared his throat. “We are here representing the leadership and government of the Palatinate following the death of the Paladin. The order of business is to reveal the Paladin’s will and then make decisions for moving forward.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” RWB said as he leaned forward and supported his head with his fingertips. “You all know who the next Paladin will be. If you had not been talking about it, you would not be doing your jobs.”

  “Actually, Mr. Baughman,” Palmer said patiently, “as the designated heir to the Paladin’s financial estate, you must authorize the opening of the will and be present while it is read. That shall be our first order of business.”

  RWB shook his head carefully. “I apologize, people. I am not at my best today. I should have realized that. What do I need to do?”

  “I brought your comp term into the meeting for you,” Palmer said. “I thought, perhaps you would need it.”


  The secretary stood and walked down the side of the table. He placed the comp term in front of RWB. The machine recognized RWB’s identity and woke itself up. He looked up at Palmer expectantly.

  “We have registered the death of the Paladin. All you need to do is request the will.”

  RWB looked down at the comp term and spoke the command. “Allow everyone in this room to see the will.” He looked up at Palmer. “Holden, you can read the thing. I do not believe I am able.”

  “Very well, Mr. Baughman.” Palmer looked down at the display and began reading.

  “I, Ryan Russel Baughman, being of sound mind, do hereby bequeath the following items:

  To the Apostolic Anglican Reformed Church, Chicago Diocese I leave two million Solarans.

  To the Paladin’s College in Urbana, I leave ten million Solarans.”

  And the list continued as Palmer read. Most of the items were of no surprise to the people in the room. The Paladin had publicized his charities. He often stated that this was to encourage others to give.

  ” And excepting the bequests listed above, I hereby leave all my worldly goods, properties and financial instruments to my son, Ryan Ward Baughman.”

  A sigh went around the table. RWB was a bit surprised. Although Pop had never threatened to cut him out of the will, he had assumed that he would be left with a reasonable bequest and would have to make his own way in the world. It was not like he would be a pauper. He had his own money. Essentially, he was left with his father’s intact estate. He became concerned when it occurred to him that he would have to manage the estate. His own modest fortune required enough time already.

  “In order to maintain the continuity and stability of the Palatinate,” Palmer read, “I wish to appoint my son and heir, Ryan Ward Baughman, as the new Paladin. May God bless his soul.”

  RWB looked up quickly and saw his astonishment reflected in the faces around the table. What had Pop been thinking? He had never expected nor desired to be appointed the Paladin. He was certainly the least qualified.

  Palmer cleared his throat and looked around the room. “There we have it. I must confess I did not expect this… this surprise. Perhaps… Ward might agree to leave the room as we discuss this?”

  RWB looked around the table once more. The varying stages of consternation were obvious. Except for Clinton Worley. The man looked amused. Although RWB had little interaction with the man, he did like him. He was a down-to-earth sort. This helped him make up his mind.

  “I probably have even less of an idea of how to approach this than any of you here today,” RWB said. “But since Pop obviously had plans for me, I should probably be a part of the discussion.”

  Palmer looked as though he wanted to strangle someone, probably RWB. Leonard Cord looked like he had bitten down on something sour. However, Worley smiled and nodded slightly. That gave RWB more encouragement.

  Archer Gleason cleared his throat and raised a finger.

  “Yes, Mr. Gleason?” Palmer quickly recognized him.

  “Our tradition has been that the Paladin’s will would direct us to a suitable candidate for Paladin. We would accept that unless the candidate was patently unsuitable.”

  “I think that is true, Archie,” Cord interjected. “Normally everyone has been comfortable staying within a family if it has a history with us. And the Baughman’s certainly have.”

  “There are two cousins that we know about,” Palmer suggested. “That might resolve things.”

  “Oh, come on, Holden,” Worley said. “Candace Baughman migrated to Baughman’s World decades ago. She is a recluse. Harvey Baughman skippers a pirate cruiser out of Victor.”

  “Well, it was a thought.”

  “Your family has not been very prolific, Mr. Baughman,” Worley commented.

  “I have wondered about that,” RWB said. “I mean, looking at all of the Paladins, not just my family, in most cases there was one child and that person was well suited for the role. I am the exception, apparently.”

  “I appreciate your honesty,” Cord said. “Are you saying then you would find it acceptable if we selected someone else?”

  “I did not say that.” Now, why did I say that? RWB thought. I do not want this job.

  “What were you saying, then?” Cord looked exasperated.

  “Just that regardless of the situation, I would not view myself as a strong candidate.”

  “How do you view the situation?”

  “Pop obviously felt I could handle it. For some reason.”

  “Before we go any further,” Gleason said, tapping the table, “we need to know where you stand, Mr. Baughman. Do you accept the appointment or not?”

  “If I accept the position, are we done here today, then?” RWB snapped.

  “It would remain for us to approve it,” Palmer said calmly. “I suggest we rein in our emotions.”

  RWB stood up and walked around the table to look out the windows. The floor to ceiling panels of crystoplast sheathed the building and offered a wide panorama of the city. The weather had grown even colder, and he could see the broad expanse of a frozen Lake Michigan. Although it was the largest city in the Palatinate, it was still relatively compact. Jasper Wilton had begun the tradition of building vertically, and that tradition remained. The other cities and towns in the Palatinate tended to be low-slung and understated. The Wiltons had built a beacon for the rest of the planet – and set the example for the recovery of human civilization on Earth. The Baughmans had continued the tradition and burnished the city to a fine pitch.

  RWB gazed at the view and saw something different. Things had changed. This was now his city. Pop had bequeathed him the responsibility whether he wanted it or not. The old rascal knew what he was doing. RWB knew he was hooked. He walked around the table and slipped back into his chair.

  “Very well. I accept the position. What do we do next?”

  “Wait a minute! You accept?” Cord snarled. “I thought you did not want to do this.”

  “I do not want to do this,” RWB responded. “But Pop laid the responsibility on me. I suppose I need to do it.”

  “What is so funny, Clint?” Cord snapped.

  “If I remember my history correctly, something like this happened to the first Baughman. That did not turn out too badly, now did it?”

  “That was two hundred years ago, Clint!”

  Worley shrugged. “That does not make it less valid. It rather reinforces it.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake! Look at the boy. All he does is party. He will eventually drink himself to death and we will be back here again trying to decide what to do.”

  “You do not need to refer to me in the third person, Mr. Cord,” RWB said. “I am fully aware of my shortcomings.”

  “Well, what are you going to do about them, Son?”

  “I suppose I should reverse the question. Are you willing to put up with my shortcomings? Do you expect people to put up with yours?” RWB was beginning to get impatient.

  Worley chuckled. “He has you there, Leonard.”

  “Call the question,” RWB said suddenly. “If you want me, let us make the decision and move on. If you do not, I can leave and get on with my life.”

  “I believe we have a motion on the floor,” Palmer said.

  “Second,” Worley added.

  “Very well. What is your pleasure?” Palmer asked.

  “I am satisfied with the old Paladin’s choice,” Worley said. “I am in favor.”

  Several of the other members of the meeting nodded in agreement.

  Archer Gleason looked around the room. “I guess I am willing to give it a shot.”

  Cord looked disgusted. “Holden, are you in favor of this?”

  “Mr. Cord, I am not allowed to vote. I believe it would be unethical to offer an opinion.”

  “It sounds to me like you are dodging the question. You have never been shy about offering an opinion in the past.”

  “Mr. Cord, I really resent that,” Palmer said.
/>   I did not intend to insult you, Holden. I simply want to know where you stand.”

  “My job is to support the Paladin. No more, no less.”

  “Are you with us on this, Leonard, or not?” Worley asked.

  “Oh, all right. I recognize the danger of not having a consensus.” Cord pointed his index finger at RWB. “But understand this, young man, I will not passively allow you to run the Palatinate into the ground.”

  “Mr. Cord,” RWB responded. “I will appreciate any advice and assistance you can give me.”

  “Very well, Clint, Holden. I guess we have our consensus.”

  Palmer nodded once. “Let the record show that Ryan Ward Baughman is the new Paladin. Congratulations, Sir.”

  “Thank you,” RWB said. “What is next?”

  “You must form a government, Sir. Plus, you must issue instructions in carrying on the business.”

  “Fine. Holden, I would like you to stay on if you would. You have done a fine job for Pop. Please ask the other official members of the government to stay on. Those of you in the shadow cabinet, I am expecting you to remain aboard. I believe there is also a consensus that I am not capable of finding my way to the fresher without help.”

  Worley laughed out loud. Cord merely glared at RWB. The Paladin started to stand up.

  “If there is nothing else…”

  “Actually, Sir,” Palmer interrupted, “there are several items we need to cover immediately.”

  RWB dropped back in his chair. This was going to be a long afternoon.

  “First of all, there is the matter of the memorial service for your father. I have a list of possible venues and participants.”

  “What’s the next item?”

  “We have a report from Mr. Lewis concerning your father’s death.”

  RWB slapped his forehead. “I forgot all about that. Chaim, what have you discovered?”

  “Arlen wrote the report and I instructed him to send the report to each one of you.”

  The people around the table brought it up on their comp terms.

  “We have deciphered the chemical composition of the poison that killed the old Paladin. It is nothing we have seen before. The doctors feel that in time, they could develop an antidote. Obviously, there was no time in this case. The poison was systemic in nature. It broadly attacked most of the organs of the body. So, there was no way to focus on any one area to get in front of it.”