James Levey, which may be abbreviated to Fras Levey. Constable, proceed." "Are the defendants present?" called the Constable. Tarrin and his attorney stood.
"Tarrin Dargetty, Dragon Gold Librarian, the mayoral library of Libris in the Mayorate of Rochester. I am representing the may orate on behalf of the Mayor and office of Highliber."
"Holward Derris, attorney for the defendant, being the Mayorate of Rochester."
"The court will be seated," the Constable concluded. "He's not sympathetic," whispered Holward as Tarrin sat preparing himself for the ordeal ahead. "My objection should never have been overruled, the law is the word of the Mayor in decree until challenged and--"
"Order!" warned the Constable.
"Fras Overlord, I wish to call my first witness," said the attorney for the assailed. "Fras Tarrin Dargetty." Tarrin and his attorney ordered emu steak and kidney pies for lunch as they sat in the taproom of the Drunken Wizard. Both were nursing a fist-shot of macadamia whisky.
"He should be free by now," grumbled Holward.
"Didn't even want to be free," muttered Tarrin. "Told me as much. He has an... understanding with MULTIPLIER 417---lovely woman."
"His wife's been sleeping with her attorney. The Scribe of the Court told me."
"Then why free FUNCTION 22, ah, what's his name again?" "Fras Levey." Holward stared into his fist-shot whisky. "The attorney has now created a precedent by freeing a component who does not want to be freed. That means be can mount a class action to free all components who are not held in the Calculor against a specific felony or who have served out their original sentences. That will be a major professional victory, as well as giving him a big share of the damages that the Overmagistrate awards. Drink up, here come our pies."
Two large pies were placed before them, but Tarrin seemed not to notice.
Holward smiled up at the serving wench. "Thanks, Frelle, oh, and two do heads of ale at your convenience."
"We're doomed," said Tarrin morosely. "Oh no, not at all. A class action will take time to assemble, and will apply only to Alliance citizens who were not felons. That means all Southmoors are excluded until the Emir signs an extradition treaty, and that's not happened in two centuries. The felons still serving their original sentences are also included."
"But the felons who have served out their original terms are not and if they go, then the heart of the Calculor will be cut out. Our most experienced components are those most likely to be released."
"Ah, but how many of those are of military service age? Even though it's peacetime you can still have a goodly number for five years of military service-fighting for the Mayor and may orate by working in the Calculor. Now, should the Overmayor start a Class-A war, we would have the right to demand five years of military service from everyone, felon or nay."
"A Class-A war is an invasion," said Tarrin, shaking his head. "There are no states left that would contemplate that. The Southern Alliance has become too powerful."
"Well, whatever, but as you can see, there's no cause to give up hope. The
Calculor may grow a little lean, but it's by no means broken."
"Overmayor Zarvora will be furious nevertheless." Holward began to cut into his pie. "Fras Tarrin, the problem is that the Overmayor's power is being eroded by her own innovations. For example, the Mayors are learning to move troops by galley train and use the beam flash towers to their advantage. They have their own calculor teams, as they call them." He washed down his pie with a mouthful of newly arrived ale.
"I know what you mean, and it's another reason to drag us through the courts," said Tarrin as he at last took a bite from his pie. "The Libris Calculor is the greatest source of trained components in all of the known world. I have heard rumors that the Human Rights people are being funded by a secret group of mayors, all of whom are anxious to build up their own calculors with experienced people."
"But surely the Overmayor will not put up with that? What are her plans to fight the releases?" "She says that she needs the Calculor and has instructed me to fight the releases all the way. Pah, she spends most of her time in Kalgoodie and sends her data over the beam flash network. I feel used and abandoned, Fras. The Calculor is in decline and nobody seems to care but me."
The Bullfrog's Rest was in the rail side quarter of Kalgoorlie. Denkar wandered about the tavern's rooftop beer garden as he awaited the landlord's arrival, sweltering in the white mask of an auditor. The shady rooftop garden was cultivated from both local and rare, imported plants, all strange and subtle. Goldentongue shrubs attracted swarms of bees, which provided a soothing yet busy background as mixed and complex as that of the city streets below. The landlord kept hives, and the big tavern was famous for its mead. Ferns grew in stone tubs amid the bushes in whitish limestone soil, and their fronds were soft and lurid green in the shade of the garden's folly stones Beneath these were subtle, spidery plants with flowers about the size of a small pea, but with no leaves. Bending close, Denkar noted that each of the flowers was fringed with a frill of red tendrils that ended in a sticky drop of fluid. One of the flowers had a tiny insect struggling in its grip.
"A sundew," announced a voice behind him.
"Yes, yes, a carnivorous plant," said Denkar, neither turning nor getting up. "I've seen them in illustrations." "Where I was born they grow wild. Welcome to the Bullfrog's Rest, Fras Auditor, home of the finest mead and chardontal white in Kalgoorlie." He gave a formal bow. "I'm Jack Orion."
Denkar bowed, they shook hands, exchanged script cards, and rattled through the Business Morality Oath together. Lackeys came running with wickerwork chairs and deep cellar mead. Denkar sat back with a clipboard against his knee and began to scribble with a char black stylus.
"Now, how have I sinned?" asked Glasken.
"There's nothing to fear, Fras Orion. So, you bought this tavern six weeks ago?" "That I did," replied Glasken, gazing at the bees at work in the golden tongues. "A fine investment--nay, more than an investment, a real home." "You seem rich, for someone so young." "I come from a good family."
"You paid for this estate with gold bars. I see that you also have a fine collection of Alspring gold coin, as well as personal and harness jewelry."
"Ah, so you have heard of it too. It's been the pride of my family for generations. Would you like to see some pieces?" "Certainly, but later. Some weeks ago a diligent clerk in the Rochester treasury noticed an increase in unregistered gold bars in the intermayorate repository, Fearing that they were adulterated, he had them examined. It was quite a desirable sort of adulteration, as it happened. The gold in those bars turned out to be of an even finer grade than either Alliance Standard or Kalgoorlie Benchmark."
"Is this not a cause to celebrate?" "Indeed, but on inspection of the standards and sample tables by the culor, the gold turned out to be identical to that of the gold coins ori the Alspring Cities."
"Ah-ha, I know what you are going to say, but rest assured that I have been robbed, Fras Auditor. Not one gold coin, not a single ring of my is missing."
Denkar leaned back, holding his clipboard out at arm's length. He at his host's face again and nodded to himself. Glasken gently brushed away bee that had alighted on the rim of his polished silver goblet; then he took a of mead. Denkar finally held up a sketch.
"Oh, very good!" exclaimed Glasken. "Such an excellent likeness although is my expression really so somber today?"
"Take it, it's yours."
Denkar leaned forward and handed the sketch to him. After a ken's eyes bulged as if he were being strangled.
"By your expression, Fras, I gather that you have seen the caption at base." Glasken began to read again, but aloud this time. The words were slow deliberate: "COPY OF CALCULOR COMPONENT FILE SKETCH / COMPONENT
NUMBER 3084, FUNCTION. FEBRUARY 1700 GW. DRAWN
BY THE HAND OF WILBUR TENTER FORTH PERSONNEL LACKEY,
GRADE 2." "I have a very poor way with art, Fras Glasken. I merely added your month's growth of beard. Do not
panic, all that I want is the answers to a few questions. I am Denkar Newfeld."
Glasken slowly lowered the sketch to his lap.
"If it's about the gold--" Glasken began, but Denkar shook his head and reached for his goblet of mead. He took a mouthful before replying. "It seems that we have something in common, Fras Glasken," he said, rummaging in his sleeves. He held up a strip of punched tape. "You and your friend Nikalan were the first components to escape from the Calculor, while I am the first component ever to be legally discharged from its service."
"You do seem familiar," said Glasken, peering at him more closely now. "A senior FUNCTION, were you not?"
"I was FUNCTION 9 for nine years, two months, three weeks, six days,
fourteen hours, and twelve minutes." "And they let you go?" "They did." Glasken frowned doubtfully. "In my limited experience in the Calculor's ranks, Fras, the better that you performed, the more they wanted to keep you." "In mine, too, but here I sit."
Glasken clasped his hands together and stared intently at Denkar. "What was demanded from you in return?"
"I was offered other work, which I accepted."
"To me it sounds more like you rogered some highly placed Dragon Librarian and pleased her mightily."
Denkar gazed at him steadily, his eyes unblinking.
"Fras Glasken, you have a grubby mind, but then the world is a rather grubby place. Now to business: services are required of you."
"Really? What manner of services?" "The enhancement of explosives and some calculor work--as a regulator, not a component. Additionally, you are an escaped felon with a half-century of sentence outstanding."
"That's no worry, Kalgoodie has no extradition agreement with the Southeast Alliance," said Glasken smugly.
"As of last night, wrong." Glasken's smugness evaporated. "That's a worry." "However, Overmayor Zarvora signed a provisional pardon for you last night."
"A pardon? The devil she did!" exclaimed Glasken, then his eyes narrowed. "Where's my copy?"
"Uh-uh, it will be given to you and registered with the Constables' Presidium once you sign her contract, The Overmayor needs experts in the chemist tic of explosives, especially those who also understand the programming of caiculors. At the contract's end you will be granted a full pardon."
"Can I have that in the contract?" asked Glasken eagerly.
"I... don't see why not." When the constable of the watch arrived at the chapel of the Liberal Reformed'. Gentheists the priest was waiting by the door. He beckoned to the constable, then led him to the alleyway beside the chapel, where a large handcart was the narrow gap entirely. There was a tarpaulin over the load, and the ties werel sealed with red wax and an unfamiliar guild imprint... "I found it after this morning's Call," said the priest. "The glazier was tol repair a lead light window beyond, and he couldn't get past with his ladder and kit."
"Aye, and the wheels be strapped as well," observed the constable,
over with his hands on his knees. "The alley is maintained by the parish," explained the priest. "Nobody me can approve standing rights for carts, and I didn't approve this one."
The constable looked at the wax seals, lifted his hat, and scratched his "Don't know the guild house as uses these." "They can be looked up in the register later. I just want it moved." "Suppose I can impound it, but I'll have to go find hauliers." "Pah, don't trouble yourself, I have two volunteers from our ready to move the thing. All we need is authority to move it."
"Aye, I'd say there's a case for moving." i The priest left, and presently two young men arrived. They unstrapped wheels as the constable watched, making sure that they did not tamper with load. Lifting the push beams they strained to set the cart in motion.
A thin cord attached to a spoke tightened, pulling against a catch which turn released a spring-loaded lever. The lever slipped free, ramming a striker and sending a shower of sparks into a pan of gunpowder beside
The ensuing blast was heard across the entire city. The priest and glazier had been just around the corner of the alleyway although thrown many yards they were not badly hurt. The wall of the was blown in, bringing most of the roof down with it. The stables on the side were totally demolished. Dust and fragments were still raining down as priest got to his feet, his ears ringing. All around him were groaning, shoppers, tradesmen, and merchants who had been hit by flying debris.
For the size of the blast it was amazing that only five had been killed. The constable, the two boys from the Youth League, a worshiper in the chapel, and a stable hand in the other building died, but more than sixty others were injured. Before the hour was out the synod of the Liberal Reformed Gentheists was blaming the blast on Mayor Bouros, while the local bishop held a service in the ruins and railed against machines and mechanisms of all kinds. Watching from a distance were two merchants from the may orates to the west.
"A passionate speech, Fras Sondian," commented the taller of them, "but the blame is misplaced." "That does not matter. The priest and glazier survived, and they know the cart was not there before this morning's Call. When the priest is fit to preach again you can be sure it will be against Call demons or whatever they call us here."
"They have no name for avia ds in the western may orates Fras Sondian." "Ah, but they will soon, and it will be an unpleasant name, too. Aviads are at a threshold, Raleion. We are more organized than ever before, but we need unity too. War with the humans will provide it."
Denkar and Glasken interrupted lunch upon hearing the blast. They watched the cloud of smoke and dust dispersing from the rooftop garden of the tavern. Glasken speculated that some militia's powder store had blown up. Jemli sent a servant after them with their goblets and another jar, then returned to the management of the tavern.
"Impressive Frelle you have there, Fras Glasken," Denkar remarked as they were descending to the master parlor. "By her accent, I'd say she is from the Eastern Highlands."
"That she is, we met on the train. She's quite presentable and charming until someone says 'librarian' or 'poet' in front of her--and she's a wonder with accounts."
"She hates librarians?" "Aye, so don't let on that you are one. She has a tongue like hellfire. When I bought this place I flicked through the accounting papers and settled down to a drink with the vendor. Before I'd finished my pint--and I'm not a slow drinker she's gone through all the columns in her head and uncovered six hundred Kalgoorlie royals worth of outstanding debts and more botched entries than a whorehouse gets on old folks' day. Well, you never heard anything like what followed! I got the place for twenty-nine hundred, and now I give her five percent clear for managing the books and minding the staff. So, what have you been about since you were FUNCTION 9?"
"Performing certain tasks on a new type of calculor."
Glasken shuddered, picked up the jar again, and discovered that it was 322
SEAN McMULLEN
empty. He rang for another two jars. "I hope you're easy on the
"They don't complain. More recently I have been confronted with
Frelle Theresla: Dragon Gold, Edutor of the Chair of Call Theory at the of Rochester, Personal Adviser to the Highliber Zarvora--and weirdo."
Glasken seemed to shrink a little into his chair. "Does she still eat mice on toast?" "When there is toast available. I was approached by her one morning at the Kalgooflie mayoral palace. We had coffee in her rooms, during which she her intentions toward me very plain. She is quite attractive and fascinating course."
"Of course." Glasken allowed himself a smile.
"I pointed out that my wife, Overmayor Zarvora, was very dear to me, that it would hardly be fair to cheat upon her."
"Very generous of--Hell and Greatwinter! You're the Overmayor's sort?" exclaimed Glasken, jolting bolt upright and spilling his newly "Correct. I left for the University where I am developing.." various thingl Fourteen hours later I rolled home reeking of sweat and burned beeswax tion, covered in grease and soot, and near-blinded by a migraine, only to be by Zarvora and Theresl
a. Theresla had asked Zarvora for permission to my invel-spouse. Zarvora had agreed to give up her right to invel-husbands would wed Theresla."
Glasken thought for a moment. Liberal Gentheism allowed but only to one partner or the other. Zarvora would have given up her right other husbands so that Theresla could marry into their partnership.
"Should I askT" Glasken said with a shrug. "Oh I agreed. I was almost surprised that they bothered to consult me. weeks later we had a full mayoral wedding: Theresla in white, Zarvora and gold."
"New-star-in-the-morning-sky symbolism. Very traditional."
Glasken closed his eyes and exhaled. A clock began to ring out the with cool, pure chimes. "So, ah--look, did you actually roger her7 That is, in the classic sense?" "Well yes, as a matter of fact. There was one odd thing about it, "Only oneT"
"One in particular. Although she was consummate at little the general banter that precedes the act of seduction, she was..."
"Was something of a virginT"
Denkar smiled broadly. "I've never encountered any degree of other than a hundred percent or nil, Fras John, but yes. Her behavior strange in some ways, but perfectly civilized in others. Now Zarvora me to go east and seek her out over some business that I cannot discuss with you."
Denkar drained his goblet and placed it upside down on the tabletop in the Kalgoodie gesture for farewell.
"I am sincerely delighted by this meeting," Glasken said as they stood up together. "You have changed since you were 3084," Denkar said as he shook Glasken's hand. "Thank you for your hospitality. May your tavern thrive."
"May your components be ever sober, Fras." "And speaking of components, Fras Glasken, call in at the palace and ask for the Highliber tomorrow morning at the tenth hour, or you may find your name changed back to FUNCTION 3084."
They shook hands, bowed, and made their way out into the street. Denkar mounted his horse and gestured to his escort to set off. "Fortune be with you, Fras Glasken." "Fortune be with you too, Fras Denkar."
Souls in the Great Machine Page 44