Shield of the People

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “My lady,” Lieutenant Pence said, bowing her head. Her other compatriots did the same. Hemmit realized on seeing the insignias on their collars that they all had the rank of lieutenant. He wondered, given their status as an honor show squadron, what that meant, exactly.

  “None of that,” Lady Mirianne said. “I am the biggest fan of all of you. You are truly remarkable, in your skill and the unity you represent.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Lieutenant Pence said. “You honor us.”

  “You do,” said another, whose Linjari accent made Lin’s seem mild. “We’re very glad someone appreciates all the hard work that we all do.”

  “Of course,” Lady Mirianne said. “Right now I’m about to have a luncheon in our store, and I would love all of you to be my guests. And, Dayne, you and your friends from the Veracity, of course.”

  “Thank you,” Hemmit said. “We’d be honored, my lady. But I must indulge you to give me a moment first, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, of course,” Lady Mirianne said. “Let’s come along.”

  They all went in, though Maresh looked absolutely terrified at the idea. Dayne hung back for a moment.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Wrong, besides constables pounding peaceful protestors into the cobblestone?” Hemmit shot back. “I’m serious, we must tell this out.” The lockwagons had arrived, and the protestors were being roughly dragged over and thrown into the back.

  “Well, there’s a constable lieutenant over there,” Dayne said, pointing to the wagons. “If you want to put someone in authority to the fire . . .”

  Hemmit shook his hand. “I’ll be along in a moment. Save me a glass of wine.”

  “I know you,” Dayne said with a chuckle. “I’ll save you two.”

  Hemmit went over to the lieutenant, waving him down. “Sir? Hemmit Eyairin, Veracity Press. A few questions?”

  The lieutenant—his badge said his name was Baskins—sighed and nodded. “What do you need, inkman?”

  “Your men were far too aggressive in arresting these people—using levels of violence far beyond what was necessary for the situation.”

  “That isn’t a question.”

  “Do you have any concerns about that?”

  “Always,” Baskins said. Hemmit was surprised by that. Baskins rubbed his temple and continued. “Look, it’s easy for you to watch the thing unfold and make a decision about how it ought to go down, how far is too far.”

  “Yes, it’s easy—”

  “It’s different when you’re in the moment. You hope you make the best decision, but at the same time, you want to shut down any trouble before it escalates to the point where people are getting hurt. The protestors weren’t violent, but what was the spark that would make them violent? Or the crowd around them? Or that Tarian?”

  “He would never.”

  Baskins shrugged. “I’m glad you know that. My men didn’t. They didn’t know what those protestors would do when ironed up. When you don’t know everything, sometimes you just have to be quick.”

  “I would think you wait until you do learn everything.”

  “Yeah, that’d be nice,” Baskins said with a heavy sigh. “You got anything else?”

  “What’s going to happen to these people?”

  “Brought to the stationhouse, processed for arrest. Charges will be considered for them, and for those the protector deems worthy, they’ll be sent to cells pending their hearing. The rest will be released with a warning.” He got up on the runner of the lockwagon. “If you ask me, the protector won’t touch this, and they’ll all be given walking papers.”

  So the arrests now were just to intimidate. Get these people off the street and hush up their protest for the moment.

  “So they’ll be back out in a few hours.”

  “A bit longer,” Baskins said. “The protector wouldn’t be in a hurry. It’s a Saint Day, after all.”

  “So tomorrow?”

  The lieutenant nodded. “A night in the lockup will cool their heads.” He gave a signal and the wagons started to roll off.

  Tomorrow. More than time enough for a polite lunch, some wine, and careful questions to Dayne and the Royal Irregulars, to give him some background. Tomorrow at first light, he would camp at the Constabulary stationhouse so when the cloistress was released, he’d be ready to get her side of the story.

  Chapter 3

  DAYNE HAD NOT ENJOYED the luncheon. The meal had been fine—mustard-seared lamb sandwiches with beer-cooked onions and cheese, served with duck fat-crisped potatoes and honey pickles—and Dayne definitely saw the appeal of the iced cream that Mirianne and the others had been rolling their eyes over in ecstasy. “A contribution from the great ice houses of the Earl of Carvelle,” Mirianne had said. But while everyone else chatted idly, he had far too many things occupying his thoughts to relax and enjoy the moment. Seated at her large private table in the Majestic Luncheonette, Lady Mirianne was all but ignoring Dayne, her attention on the members of the Royal First Irregulars.

  Dayne was concerned about the protestors—he had never seen a secessionist group in Maradaine with more than a handful of fringe folk howling on the street. Those movements were usually about as absurd and unpopular as those True Line folks, but this was an organized action, at least thirty people. That cloistress gave him the impression she was just part of a larger movement. And that was here, in Maradaine.

  Was there a significant movement in Scaloi that wanted it to be an independent kingdom again, divorced from the rest of Druthal? He truly had no idea.

  He watched Jerinne, who also seemed out of sorts, unusually quiet. It was possible she was intimidated by this crowd—with a lady of the peerage, these ten Irregular women, and the trio from The Veracity Press. Jerinne’s quiet attention was on Fredelle.

  Dayne could understand that. Jerinne—like anyone in the third year of their Initiacy—was probably anxiously thinking about what she might do if she wasn’t promoted to Candidate next year. Fredelle provided one possible answer, and for her part, appeared to be happy in her role in the Royal First Irregulars.

  Dayne found his thoughts drifting to Amaya Tyrell, even though he knew they shouldn’t. That was probably because in Initiacy, Fredelle’s skill with the quarterstaff was matched only by Amaya, and some of their spars were downright legendary. Now, Fredelle had been cashiered from the Tarians and was serving in this special morale unit of the Druth Army, and Amaya had, improbably, achieved the rank of Adept, an unprecedented promotion after one year of Candidacy. In the past month he and Amaya had reached a degree of accord, which mostly involved avoiding each other. It was very clear that she did not approve of his relationship with Lady Mirianne, though she had also made it clear she was not interested in revisiting their own history.

  “Oh, ladies, ladies, I’m just thrilled,” Lady Mirianne said. “Listen, in a few nights I am hosting a party. Not a party, but a spree. A soiree. In celebration of the Revels of Liberation. And what better way to celebrate that than with the ten of you joining me, as a very symbol of ten united archduchies?”

  “What kind of soiree?” the Linjari woman with the flail asked. Dayne had heard a round of names, but all of them had left his memory. “That word means something very specific in Yoleanne.”

  “Something debauched,” the Scallic one said.

  “You need to learn what fun is, my friend,” the Linjari one—Evicka, that was it—said. She then pointed to Lin. “You know what I mean, yes?”

  “She’s got a point, my lady,” Lin said. “Are you planning a proper Linjari party? Something that will turn people’s hair white?”

  “Well,” Lady Mirianne said, matching both Lin and the other woman in tone if not accent. “I definitely was not going to have your standard, staid affair of ten courses and box dances to a string quint.” Dayne recognized this behavior in
Lady Mirianne, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. She often liked to put up the facade that she was far more daring and radical than she truly was. This often came out of her events—the picnic dinner with the untraditional theater performance she held in her home a few months before was an excellent example. He felt that she wanted to be seen as daring and revolutionary, but her actions rarely displayed anything beyond that hint of subversion.

  Not that Dayne wanted her to be subversive, nor did he presume to dictate her actions. But he worried about the perverse thrill she seemed to get at playing at it.

  And this party seemed like it was more of that same game.

  “Would you like me to give a performance?” Lin asked.

  “What sort of performance?” Lady Mirianne asked.

  “You’re not ready for it,” Maresh said flatly. “What Lin does is far too provocative.”

  “Now I think I have to have it,” Mirianne said. “Are you available?”

  “For you and your soiree, my lady,” Lin purred. “I will clear everything else away.”

  “But what do you do?” This was Evicka again.

  “You know the ribbon dances?”

  Evicka chuckled. “I’ve seen it. I would never in my life dare to do it. At least in front of people.” She looked to Mirianne, and then everyone else at the table. “They might not be able to handle that.”

  Now Lin put on a wicked smile. Twirling her hands, she said, “Especially because my performance is enhanced.” Streams of colored light curled out of her fingers, accented with sparks and flashes.

  The Scallic woman’s eyes went wide. “Magic!” She kissed a knuckle and put it to her chest, her head down mumbling prayer.

  One of the other Irregulars wrapped her arm around the Scallic woman’s shoulders. “You’ll have to forgive Argenitte,” she said. “She’s very excitable.”

  Her isolated reaction to Lin’s magic made Dayne wonder about how else she might differ from the rest of the Irregulars. “Argenitte,” Dayne said. “You’re Scallic, yes?”

  She looked up at him and nodded. “Born and raised in Korifina, prettiest city in the world.”

  “So what do you think of the Open Hand?”

  “Are you talking about those fools making a spectacle of themselves outside, may the saints bless them?”

  “So you’re not a fan of their movement?” Hemmit asked, coming over to her side of the table.

  “Are you talking politics with her?” Miri asked. “Don’t bother her with that.”

  “No, no, my lady, it’s quite all right,” she said. “It’s important we engage all things with an open heart. Now, it is not my place, but the place of God and the saints who intercede in his name, to judge another man or woman for their beliefs. Especially when said woman has taken up the vestments of the church to do service in the name of God.”

  “You got her started, Tarian,” the Oblunic pikewoman said. “Mark it, and mark well, you’re going to regret getting her going.”

  “No, I want to understand the Scallic perspective here,” Dayne said. “Those people had an agenda, after all.”

  “Louse up people’s day,” Maresh said. “Hemmit, did you vote yet? I’m sure Dayne did.”

  “I’ll probably go down and do it after lunch,” Hemmit said.

  “They’re amazing,” Lin said. “Only three people at this table have the right to vote, and one of them doesn’t even take it seriously.”

  “I don’t see a pin on your chest,” Argenitte said. “And I can see enough of it.”

  “I don’t need a pin,” Lin said. “I write about it.”

  “With plenty of fire, too,” Lady Mirianne said.

  “You read our paper, my lady?” Maresh asked.

  “I certainly do,” Lady Mirianne said. “Ever since your pamphlet on our dear friend here.”

  All eyes went to Dayne. “There’s a pamphlet?” the Oblunic pikewoman asked.

  “There certainly is,” Fredelle said, chuckling to herself. “How he saved the Parliament and stopped Tharek Pell almost single-handedly.”

  “I really didn’t,” Dayne said, feeling the heat on his cheeks.

  “He’s being far too modest,” Lady Mirianne said.

  “We just reported what happened,” Maresh said.

  “I remember that,” the Linjari woman said. “You’re the artist who did those sketches? Ooh, those drawings of that Tharek fellow were better for me than pennyhearts.” She rolled her tongue in an excited yelp.

  “Please don’t be obscene, Evicka,” Argenitte said. “It’s poor form when you talk that way in my presence, and utterly vulgar in mixed company.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Hemmit said.

  “Cool your ink, sprat,” the pikewoman said. “Evicka has a thing for boys who are trouble.”

  “Tharek Pell was a deranged, murderous lunatic,” Jerinne said.

  Evicka fanned herself. “And if those pictures were to be believed, a pretty one at that.”

  “Please, let’s not discuss that terrible man,” Lady Mirianne said. “Go back to politics.”

  “Absolutely, my lady,” Argenitte said. Taking another spoon of her iced cream, she turned to Dayne. “Now, I don’t know about the Open Hand itself, save those dear fools thinking they speak for Scaloi as a whole. But I do know that there are a fair amount of people back home who think like them. And who are those people listening to, respecting? The reverend in their neighborhood church. They don’t know anything about some king sitting in a palace way up northways.”

  “You have a problem with the king?” Maresh asked.

  “I don’t have a quarrel with any man who lives a decent life, and by all accounts King Maradaine does just that, and I pray for him, hoping that no more tragedy is visited upon him, praise the saints.”

  “Praise,” Lady Mirianne said. Dayne wasn’t sure if she was joining in with Argenitte or teasing her.

  “But I can understand how my fellow Scallics would think that we are too far away from him, too removed from the, I’m sorry to say, less virtuous ways of our northern neighbors—”

  “Praise,” Evicka and the pikewoman said together. Definitely teasing.

  Argenitte glared at them but continued unabated, “That they would call themselves Scallic before calling themselves Druth. I would not do that myself, but I see it and I understand it.”

  Before anyone else could speak, a steward came over to Lady Mirianne. “Much forgiveness, my lady, but there is a customer who insists on a word with you.”

  “The managers can handle it,” she said curtly. “That is their job.”

  The steward looked nervous for a moment. “You see, my lady, it’s . . . a member of the high peerage.”

  That took her attention. She glanced apologetically at her guests, and then waved the steward closer. He whispered in her ear, and annoyance briefly flashed over her face. “Well, I suppose I must see to her, then.”

  There was a brief silence as everyone glanced awkwardly about. Then Hemmit got to his feet. “Along those lines, we have our own work to attend to. The news of today must be reported.”

  Mirianne smiled and gave a warm laugh. “If you must name me and can’t be kind, then please be fair.”

  “We are always fair,” Hemmit said.

  Maresh and Lin got to their feet as well. “My lady, thank you so much,” Lin said.

  “Always, friends,” she said. “And I do want that performance for my party.”

  “As my lady commands,” Lin said with a wicked smile.

  Jerinne got to her feet. “And I should probably return to the chapterhouse. We both should.” She aimed that last part at Dayne.

  “Of course,” Lady Mirianne said, rising. “I have abused your time far too much.” She kissed Dayne chastely and moved to the Irregulars to give them a proper farewell. />
  Fredelle came over to Dayne, giving him a quick embrace. “We didn’t get much chance to talk, I guess?”

  “I suppose not,” he said. “Sorry, my head has been many places today. You’re doing well?”

  “I’m using my skills,” she said with a shrug. “I presume you’re going to this party?”

  “I think I’m socially obligated,” he said.

  “Then I guess I’ll see you there,” she said. She glanced over to Lady Mirianne. “So you and Amaya didn’t work out?”

  “Oh, no,” Dayne said, a bit too quickly.

  Fredelle’s eyes lit up. “I want to hear that story.”

  “There’s not much story there.”

  “Dayne,” she said. “I may not be a Tarian Candidate, but I’m not an idiot.”

  “I know you’re not,” he said. Wanting to change the subject, he asked, “Is this treating you well? You wanted to be a Tarian, and now you’re—”

  “Performing talent shows?” she asked ruefully. “It’s not what I wanted, but . . . I’ve got a good squad here.”

  “Fred,” the one named Kelvanne called. “Let’s not dally further, hmm?”

  “Duty calls,” Fredelle said. “I’ll see you at the party.”

  “Until then,” Dayne said. He had hoped for one last word with Lady Mirianne, but she had already gone out behind the steward. Whoever had summoned her must have been someone of note to get Miri to react that way.

  INTERLUDE: The Duchess

  DUCHESS ERISIA LEIGHTON, the jewel of Fencal, the High Daughter of Kesta, keeper of the Coronet of Balanside, was deeply put out.

  She had been far from home for far too long, and while the affairs of the Duchy of Fencal handled themselves just fine without her, she missed her city deeply. But she was needed here in Maradaine. Someone among the High Peerage had to be present, to be a voice of reason and moderation in this deviant cesspool of a city.

  She had no formal function here beyond being at court, which was a useless role for any woman of her station when the kingdom had no queen.