The Ambivalent Magician

by Simon Hawke

  "Just as I predicted," said Harlan, nodding with satisfaction. "And word of mouth from them will make it that much easier for us to expand the marketing force. We'll have to see about stepping up production."

  "There's no problem in doing that with the teas, or with Doc's Magic Dirt Remover," Pat said. "The spam ranch is producing plenty of the ugly beasts, so the rendering plant is operating at capacity, but it's going to be tough expanding production on the knives and the Mickey Finn."

  "That's true," said Mick. "The dwarves will be buying up most of our supply, and that will ensure a steady source of raw materials from their mine. We can expand the brewery, but if we wait for the migration season every year, we'll run short on peregrine bushes. We'll just have to start raising our own."

  "Make a note of that, Pat," said Harlan. "We need to start a nursery. What about the knives, Mick?"

  "We're not really in a position to speed up production of the knives without affecting quality," the burly leprechaun replied.

  "Okay, let's not rush it, then," said Harlan. "We want to maintain quality, at all costs. The Many-Bladed Knife is our most important product. It has to be first rate. We'll expand production only when it becomes practical. Until then, we'll raise the price. The demand is there; the market can bear it. Now, I'd like to bring up some new business. Brigand's Roost is growing rapidly, and we need to think about the future. Up 'til now, no one's paid very much attention to us here, but all that is going to change soon. A little mud hole of a village that supports a motley bunch of brigands is one thing, but a boom town with a thriving economy is something else again. Sooner or later, someone's going to want a piece of it. And if we want to protect our interests, we've got to make preparations now."

  "What sort o' preparations?" asked Mick.

  "Well, we're all subjects of the King of Darn," said Harlan, "and at the rate we're growing, it won't be long before His Majesty, King Durwin, decides he's entitled to a share in our good fortune. I don't know about you, but I'm not too thrilled about that idea myself. Durwin's never lifted a finger to help us, why should we have to cut him in for a percentage of the profits in the form of taxes?"

  "But we've never been asked to pay any taxes before," said Robie.

  "That's because there's never been any money in Brigand's Roost before," said Harlan. "It was too much trouble to send tax collectors to a muddy little hole like this. But now we're no longer a muddy little hole and it's suddenly become worthwhile for His Majesty to take an interest in us."

  "So what do you think we should do?" asked Pat.

  "I propose we formally secede from Darn and form our own little kingdom," Harlan said.

  Silence fell upon the room. For several moments no one spoke as the full import of Harlan's audacious proposal sank in.

  "Our own kingdom?" Robie said with disbelief.

  Mick gave a low whistle. "That would sure enough get us noticed."

  "If we form our own kingdom, we get to make our own rules," said Harlan. "And nobody gets to put their hands in our pockets. Nobody."

  "King Durwin would never sit still for that," said Pat, shaking his head. "He's always left us pretty much alone before, but if we start our own kingdom within his lands, he's liable to take exception."

  "Let him," Harlan said. "We've got our own sorcerer, and at the rate people are arriving, we'll soon be able to have our own army, as well. And it will be a very well-paid army, which should attract the finest mercenaries. With Doc's knowledge and our skills, Durwin won't be able to do anything to stop us."

  "I don't know," said Mick, dubiously. " 'Tis an awfully big step. And a dangerous one. Who would be our king?"

  "Why not a queen?" asked Harlan.

  Their eyes got very wide. "Shannon!" Pat said.

  "Why not?" said Harlan. "The famous leader of the Black Brigands would make a formidable queen, and her consort would be the former top-ranked assassin of the Footpads and Assassins Guild. What better man to train an army? He's already got the school for it. And with Doc as royal wizard, we would be invincible. No other kingdom would dare to interfere with us. We'd also have our economy to back us up. If anyone decided not to recognize our right to rule ourselves, we'd simply cut them off from our exports. And people are going to want our exports. What we've done so far is only the beginning, my friends. Before long, Brigand's Roost is going to be a thriving city, with small towns and villages springing up around it. There's already a small village around Doc's keep, and it's growing every day. There are only a few miles separating it from Brigand's Roost, and soon, it will all be one town. Doc's keep would make a perfect royal palace-once we expanded it, of course. Doc would still have his tower, which we could designate as the official wizard's residence, but we could extend the old walls and build the palace on the grounds where the rendering is being done now. I'm sure Doc wouldn't mind the new construction if it resulted in a renovation of his tower and the rendering operation being moved. He's never complained, mind you, but the smell is enough to stun a unicorn."

  "It has gotten pretty bad," Mick agreed. "We could easily clear some land and move it."

  "My point is, before long, this is going to be the richest city in all the twenty-seven kingdoms," Harlan continued. "And if we want to determine our own destiny, we're going to have to become number twenty-eight."

  "Queen Shannon," Mick said thoughfully. "Have you spoken to her about this yet?"

  "I wanted to be certain we were all in agreement first," Harlan replied. "I think we should present the idea to her together."

  "Queen Shannon," Pat said, trying out the sound of it. "But queen of what? What shall we name our kingdom?"

  "How about... Brigantium?" asked Robie.

  "Brigantium," said Harlan, raising his eyebrows and nodding. "Now that has a ring to it. I like it."

  "Queen Shannon of Brigantium," said Mick. "It does sound rather impressive, doesn't it? But I'm not sure how Mac will feel about being a common consort to a queen."

  "Leave Mac to me," said Harlan. "He'll be no common consort. He'll be Commanding General of the Royal Army of Brigantium and First Minister of Defense."

  "Impressive," Mick said, glancing at Harlan with respect. "I find it hard to believe that only a short while ago you were a mere peddler."

  "I was never a mere peddler," Harlan replied. "I was a visionary. All I needed was the right opportunity. And this, my friends, is it. All we need is the courage to take it. All in favor?"

  "Aye," said Robie, immediately.

  "Aye," said Pikestaff Pat after a moment,

  Mick nodded. "Aye," he said softly. " 'Tis a bold and risky step, but I can see the reasons for it."

  "That makes it unanimous," said Harlan, pouring them all drinks of Mickey Finn. "I think this calls for a toast. Gentlemen, I give you . . . the Kingdom of Brigantium! Long live the queen!"

  "Long live the queen!" they echoed, and tipped their goblets back.

  Harlan gasped and turned purple as the potent brew went down.

  "Count of three," said Mick.

  "Two," said Robie.

  Harlan stood swaying for several seconds, then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed senseless on the table.

  "Four," said Pat, impressed. "He's getting better."

  "Since the chairman is unconscious, I declare this meeting adjourned," said Mick. He wrapped Harlan's fingers around the gavel, raised it, and let it drop onto the table. "We'll go see Shannon first thing in the morning, after he sleeps it off."

  "What?" said Shannon, staring at them with astonishment. "Have you all lost your minds?"

  "Think about it," Harlan said. He still looked a little green around the gills. "We've got a pretty good thing going here. You're making far more money now than you ever did when the brigands were plying their outlaw trade, and for a lot less effort, too. But at the rate things are going, it won't be long before King Durwin or one of the rulers of the other kingdoms decides to move in on us. When there's fresh meat on the road, the carrion begin to g
ather. If we want to hold on to what we've got, we have to take steps to protect ourselves. We must seize the initiative."

  "He's got a point, my love," said Mac, nodding in agreement. "Warrick is already searching for Doc. And that mercenary who tried to take you in for the bounty on your head has doubtless reported to him long since. I am surprised nothing has come of it yet. Warrick the White is not one to sit idle for long. He may be gathering forces against us even as we speak."

  Shannon nodded. "Aye," she agreed, "but making preparations to defend ourselves is one thing, forming our own kingdom is quite another. It would be an open invitation to King Durwin to send troops against us."

  "All the more reason for us to have a standing army," Harlan said. "And Mac is just the man to lead it. A general needs troops, but he also needs a king. Or, in this case, a queen. After all, who is better suited to the task than you? No one would question your leadership."

  "But how could I possibly be a queen?" asked Shannon. "I am a commoner, not someone of royal birth."

  "Royal birth is merely an accident of fate," said Harlan. "It has never rendered anyone fit to be a king or queen; it has merely allowed them to be born into the position. Keep in mind, however, that before any royal lineage was ever established, someone had to be first to assume the title, and more often than not, they assumed that title by virtue of overpowering all the other aspirants. I don't happen to see any other aspirants about at the moment, but even if there were, I have little doubt that you could overpower them quite easily."

  "True enough," said Mac with a smile. "We would have ourselves a warrior queen."

  "After all," continued Harlan, pressing the point, "you have always ruled Brigand's Roost in all but name. We would merely be making it official. We are a thriving town now. 'Tis only right that we should do things in a manner that was proper and respectable."

  "Respectable," said Shannon, mulling it over. "I had always wondered what it would be like to be respectable. A proper lady."

  "A proper queen," said Mick. "First lady o' the realm."

  "And you all want this?" Shannon asked.

  " 'Twas unanimous," said Robie.

  "All that's left is an official proclamation," Harlan said. "And the small matter of appointing ministers and recruiting a palace guard and an army. Mac is eminently suited to that task. After all, he has already founded a school to train assassins. It could easily be expanded to train an army, as well. With Mac's training and Doc's knowledge, we could have an army that would be unsurpassed in might."

  "Would I not need a king?" asked Shannon with a sidelong glance at Mac.

  "Well, that would be your royal perogative, if and when you should ever choose to marry," Harlan said quickly. "However, the Commanding General of the Army of Brigantium and the First Minister of Defense would certainly make a fitting royal consort."

  "General MacGregor," said Mac. "It does sound rather more impressive than 'Mac the Knife,' does it not?"

  "Have you spoken with Doc about this?" Shannon asked.

  "Not yet," said Harlan, "but I feel certain Doc will go along with whatever we decide. He doesn't seem to care a great deal about such things, one way or the other. You've all known him longer than I have, of course, but from what I've seen, it appears that Doc's concern is solely for his craft. He is not what I would call a terribly ambitious man."

  "Unlike some people I could mention," Shannon said wryly. "What's in this for you, Harlan?"

  "A fair question, to be sure," Harlan replied. "What's in it for me is a considerable measure of security, the ability to conduct my business-our business, I should say-without having to concern myself about anyone trying to muscle in and take things over. Or cut themselves in for a substantial percentage of the profits."

  "And if they did, then you could always claim you had no choice except to go along with the new regime," said Shannon. "No, I think not, peddler. If we secede from Darn, then my head, as well as Mac's, and anyone else's who becomes part of our new regime is on the block. I think I'd feel much better if you were to share in the risk, as well as in the profits."

  "There has been talk of running him for mayor," said Robie.

  "Not nearly risk enough," Shannon replied. "If you want me to be queen, then you, peddler, are going to be my prime minister."

  "Well now, I'm not so sure that's such a wise decision," Harlan said uneasily. "After all, I am a businessman, not a politician. I lack the talent for statemanship."

  "Oh, I think we have yet to plumb the depths of your talents," Shannon said. "If we are to form our own kingdom, then you, my friend, are going to play one of the key roles. If you share equally in the responsibility, then you shall also share equally in the blame if we should fail."

  Harlan looked decidedly uncomfortable. "I feel 'tis only fair to remind you that I already bear considerable responsibility. I am a member of the Town Council, and chairman of the board of The Rooster Corporation. I am also the chief executive officer of the First Bank of Brigand's Roost and Rooster Equity and Assurance. And I am also president of the Townlot Company and a silent partner in The Brigand's Roost Hotel and Bloody Mary's Gaming and Pleasure Emporium. Surely, that is more than enough responsibility for any man. After all, I am only human, and there is only so much I can do."

  "Then learn how to delegate responsibility," said Shannon. "If your new duties as prime minister of Brigantium start to interfere with your ability to operate your various enterprises, which you would never have developed had I not permitted it, then I suggest you find someone else to run them. I know nothing about being a queen. If you expect me to accept the title, then you shall have to advise me on the proper way to rule."

  "But I know nothing of such matters!" Harlan protested.

  "I am certain you know a great deal more than I," said Shannon. And with a lightning motion, she drew her sword and placed the point against the peddler's throat. "You will be my prime minister. I am afraid I must insist."

  Harlan swallowed hard. "Well... since you put it that way ... I accept your gracious offer of the post."

  "A wise decision," Shannon said, sheathing her blade. "And your first duty as prime minister will be to inform Doc of our plans, and ask for his support. I suspect that we are truly going to need it."

  "As you command... Your Majesty," Harlan said with a courtly bow.

  "Your Majesty," Shannon said. And then she smiled. "I must admit, I like the sound of that."

  Four

  It was a warm night, and the full moon bathed the grounds of the keep in a silvery glow. It would have been nice to say there was a perfume of heather on the evening breeze, or something equally poetic, but unfortunately, your faithful narrator must report that the only "scent" on the air was the stench rising from the rendering pots in the courtyard. It would be difficult to convey the precise sense impression, but if you've ever driven through Elizabeth, New Jersey, on a warm and muggy summer day, you'll get the general idea.

  No matter how he tried, Brewster just could not get used to it. He had no one but himself to blame. He had wanted to have something to wash with, and at the same time do something about the personal hygiene of the brigands, most of whom had smelled like bears in heat, so he had taught them how to render spam fat into soap. The wild spam was a rather loathsome scavenger, a hairless, pink speckled creature that looked like a particularly ugly cross between a wild boar and a rat. They were so inedible that even starving hunters would pass them by. Rendering them into soap was the only practical use anyone had ever found for them. Now, the brigands washed enthusiastically, the better to be walking advertisements for the soap they marketed under the name "Doc's Magic Dirt Remover," and the two or three rendering pots in the courtyard had multipled into a veritable sea of huge black cauldrons, bubbling away throughout the day and night, producing huge quantities of spam soap and a stench that made the eyes water.

  The soap had become such a profitable commodity that to keep up with the demand, the former brigands had become spa
m ranchers and the pens of domestically raised spams just beyond the walls of the keep meant that Brewster had to live not only with the stench" of the rendering operation, but the onstant grunting and squealing throughout the day and night. It wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he had set about bringing some progress to the muddy little town of Brigand's Roost. On the other hand, it did keep most of the villagers at bay, as they thought the "sulphurous fumes" coming from within the crumbling walls were part of his wizardly arts.

  Since he had moved into the keep and started renovating it, adding plumbing and electricity, the little settlement that had sprung up outside the walls had grown from a few tents and shacks into a small village of identical two-bedroom frame cottages, all painted in bright and cheery colors. And though Bloody Bob's construction company kept putting up new homes according to a simple plan Brewster had drawn up for them, they still could not keep up with the demand. Every day, more land was being cleared and more homes were going up and soon the little village spreading out beyond the keep would meet the town of Brigand's Roost, about four miles away. The roads between the houses were all dirt, which made things rather messy when it rained, and the sanitation was appalling, especially with the spam pens so close to the homes.

  Brewster made a mental note to see what he could come up with for paving the streets. Cobblestones would work, but asphalt or something like it would be more efficient. They would need some sort of steamroller. Perhaps the internal combustion engine he was working on, powered by the explosive peregrine wine, could be adapted to the purpose. And something simply had to be done about the sanitation, before disease began to spread. Not knowing any better, the people simply threw their refuse out into the streets. It was how the plague had started in medieval times on Earth, and Brewster had no wish to see it happen here. He would have to speak to Harlan about putting together some sort of sanitation department.