Of Machines & Magics

by Adele Abbot

  The air was filled with the odors of decay, a fact which went unnoticed by the populace and quite probably disregarded by regular visitors. Calistrope, Ponderos and Roli were marched along the boardwalk street. A mud lizard basked in the heat from a baker’s window; a pair of insects with great fan-shaped feet hopped out of their way and went flap-flapping across the mud beneath the walkway.

  They came to a more robust building than most. A civic hall, Calistrope supposed, for inside was a maze of corridors painted mud-green and mud-brown and through which they were conducted to the Enforcer’s office. There was much discussion in heated whispers between the Enforcer and the Purser while the travelers watched long slim-winged insects hovering around the light globe and crawling across the ceiling.

  At length the Purser left, his expression a mixture of disappointment and satisfaction. They were to be accommodated in spare rooms at the house of one of the town’s lawyers. A pair of constables conducted them along the main street and back to the more elegant part of town where the wealthier citizens lived. In fact, two of the lawyer’s three daughters were moved to share a single bedroom to make space for Roli. The situation surprised the three travelers and they discussed it with their host.

  “Jail?” asked Linel the Advocate. “No, no, we have no jail. I am responsible for you until the trial has run its course.”

  “And what if we escape?” asked Ponderos. “After all, this is all a mistake and will be corrected in due course but we might be desperate men.”

  “Escape?” he asked, amazement loud in his tone. “Where to? Jesm is bordered on three sides by salt marshes where your lives are not worth the flick of my little finger.” Linel the Advocate made a complicated gesture—at the end of which his little finger clicked satisfactorily. “The river awaits you on the fourth side but it runs through those same salt marshes. Escape by all means. You deprive me of my fee but what of that? I am wealthy enough.”

  “Then suppose we take your wife and children as hostages?”

  “Goodness me!” exclaimed the Advocate. “As close as we are to the final freeze and you expect me to believe that such unruly behavior is possible here in Jesm? The militia would bring you down with three crossbow bolts in each of you before you left my gate.” Linel took out a large handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Sir, your conversation is quite disturbing.”

  Calistrope sought to calm their host. “My friend was merely interested in local custom. Please compose yourself, there are times when he exceeds propriety.”

  Linel’s wife and daughters served the travelers with good, wholesome food. The wife and children—including a babe in arms—sat and ate at the other end of the room. Afterwards, Linel asked the travelers to sign a requisition for the food which he would tender to the town’s governors.

  After the meal they discussed the case in detail until Linel leaned back in his chair, his chest heaving with great guffaws. “I cannot present this as a serious defense of your actions.”

  “But it happens to be so, what is the matter with it?” Calistrope could not understand.

  “The Lady Shamaz is traveling back to her home town of Jesney, along the coast. She had contracted to marry a certain merchant of the hinterland who, she found, was a coarse fellow of low breeding and interested largely in her dowry.”

  Linel opened a bottle of wine and handed round glasses. He filled them, added a figure to the bill they had already signed.

  “She is a woman of considerable wealth. The Lady refused the contract—she had that right—and had been accommodated in the carcery at her own request and expense—and for her own safety.”

  Linel tasted the wine. “The very best vintage, you will agree if asked?”

  Calistrope found the wine to be rather ordinary but readily agreed since it would not affect his purse. In any case, tastes differed from region to region, his own partialities were hardly commonplace and if Linel made a copper flake or two, well…

  “She supposed her erstwhile betrothed might pursue her and take the dowry which he maintained was his whether she married him or not.” Linel held out his hand and rocked it from side to side, “The law is not clear on the matter, but in any case, this is all beside the point. Misleading the Lady Shamaz is nothing, a minor affair. What should concern you is the matter of interfering with the governance of the raft. This could well be a capital offence.”

  “There was no damage Sir, no injury.”

  “Principle is all in such things.” Linel opened a wall case and consulted a chronometer inside. “Besides, it is sleep time. We must do our duty and then sleep will refresh us. A gong will sound when the first meal is ready, you may return to this room to break your fast.”

  Calistrope took advantage of his civilized surroundings and drew himself a bath of steaming hot—if slightly brackish—water. He disrobed and stepped into the tub and settled down to enjoy the warmth.

  It was sometime later, aroused from a state of somnolence by loud voices, that Calistrope discovered how cold the water had become. He dried himself vigorously and dressed again while he listened to muffled shrieks mingled with the lower and increasingly vexed tones of Ponderos.

  Calistrope went out into the corridor and listened at the door to the adjacent room. Ponderos seemed to be thoroughly exasperated, what little patience he still possessed was fast running out. Calistrope opened the door and went in. One of Ponderos’ discarded boots almost tripped him up, the other lay on the windowsill and his great coat had been tossed in a heap in one corner, apart from these, there was no immediate sign of Ponderos’ presence. What he saw was a pair of naked girls, plump and nicely rounded, bouncing up and down on a pile of bedclothes.

  “Calistrope,” said the pile of bedclothes in the voice of Ponderos. “Thank the Graces, save me.”

  Calistrope raised an eyebrow and looked more closely. A hand poked from under the blankets and waved feebly.

  “Help me,” called Ponderos. “Get them off me.”

  Calistrope bent and put an arm around each plump waist and heaved. He cheated a little, applying a minim of magical power and lifted the two buxom girls off the couch. Ponderos’ face looked up at him with evident relief.

  His burden was kicking and screaming theatrically with an occasional giggle. Calistrope carried them to the door, lifted the latch, opened it with mind power and set them down on their feet outside. He administered a sharp slap to each pair of buttocks to send them on their way. The girls ran off, jiggling and bouncing along the hall.

  Calistrope closed the door. “Ponderos?”

  Ponderos shrugged. “Neither would take ‘no’ for an answer,” he said. “I told them to go and bother Roli, that he was more their age. They wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “Clearly you have something which appealed to them. Why didn’t you use magic?”

  Ponderos sat up and clutched the blankets to himself. “I…” He looked around the room. “I, er, that is, I was concerned that I might hurt them.” His shoulders slumped, he gave Calistrope a sheepish look and shook his head. “In truth, I never thought of it… magic,” Ponderos sighed and pushed the blanket away.

  He was partly naked. His boots and hose were gone. His shirt hung in strips from his shoulders. His breeches, minus several buttons, were down around his thighs.

  “I wish I had a bright, incisive mind like yours, Calistrope. Magic!” The ribbons of his shirt rewove themselves together. Buttons flew back like golden bugs and sewed themselves back in the right places. Socks, boots, coat, kerchief, pocket contents; all flew back from various parts of the room and fitted themselves to Ponderos’ person or folded themselves up in a neat and tidy pile. “Never gave it a thought.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you to rest. You seem to have straightened up well enough.”

  “Thank you, Calistrope.”

  Calistrope laughed. “Rest easy. I’ll see you when they call us for the meal,” Calistrope left and returned to his room.

  The curtains, which he was certain had
been open when he left, were now drawn. There was a faint but unmistakable scent of woodland flowers in the air. Someone sat on the edge of the couch, hair falling in a long cascade over one shoulder, a sheer gown of silk hinting at a slim figure and long, charmingly proportioned legs. Even in the gloom however, Calistrope could see that the woman was less than charmed to see him.

  Silence, he decided, was the most propitious approach.

  “Well,” she said when the silence had stretched out long and thin. “Do not think you will come to me now.”

  The remark was puzzling. She was angry—this was obvious. Very angry, and her voice identified her as the wife of their host. “Come to you?” his considered course of action was forgotten in an instant.

  “Certainly not!” There was considerable venom in her tone. “You keep me waiting like a common hireling while you and your gross friend play with my daughters for half an hour. Now you come back expecting me to still be waiting, dewy eyed and breathless.”

  Calistrope held up his hands as though to fend off the tirade. “Madam, I assure you that neither I nor Ponderos played with your daughters.

  The woman stood up and smoothed her gown down over her hips and thighs. “I am going. If that is discourtesy in my husband’s house, then so be it. Even if I were content to be treated in this way, I daresay it would be time wasted after all the efforts I heard you making with the girls.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Calistrope spoke loudly, trying to make her listen to him. “I did nothing with your daughters. Nothing. And nor did Ponderos.”

  “And now you compound the insult. Stand aside and let me go.”

  “At once, Madam,” Calistrope stood aside and she swept past him. The door slammed behind her. Calistrope lay down and put his hands behind his head. He attempted to make sense of the bizarre argument. After a while, he dozed a little then woke and puzzled some more until the gong sounded for the meal. This signaled breakfast, the meal taken by ephemerals after sleeping away a third of their arbitrary day.

  Calistrope, Ponderos and Roli met in the same room where they had taken their previous meal. Breakfast turned out to be a somber affair and a brief one. The Advocate’s wife brought in two trays of toasted breads and two pitchers of ice cold spring water; one was placed in front of the travelers, the other on a table at the far end of the room where she was joined by her offspring—two of which cast surly glances at Ponderos and giggled whenever they caught Roli’s eye. The Advocate came in then and as silently as the others, placed another receipt on the table and laid a pen beside it. He went to join his family.

  The travelers began to eat. “That’s very queer,” said Roli. “I smiled at the Advocate and his wife and they ignored me.”

  “I believe I’ve made sense of the situation,” Calistrope spoke through a mouthful of crisp bread.

  “The situation?” asked Roli. “This lack of courtesy?”

  “And?” asked Ponderos.

  “How many people are there here? In Jesm.”

  Ponderos shrugged. “Six thousand? Seven?”

  “There is magic here too, isn’t that so?” Roli asked. “I heard you mention it, I’m certain.”

  “Seven thousand at the outside, I would guess. And the same for other villages along the river. Each one self-contained, a tiny pool of inheritable traits,” he turned to Roli. “Yes Roli, a certain amount.”

  “Small communities but the river links them all. Aha,” Ponderos saw the shape of Calistrope’s hypothesis. “Without new genetic material being accepted at every opportunity, these villages would become terribly inbred.”

  “It is tempting to imagine each one becoming a separate subspecies over the course of generations.”

  “Will someone explain what we’re talking about?” said Roli. “Please?”

  “Miscegenation is a necessity,” Ponderos continued. “Welcomed.”

  “By the younger ones, Ponderos. I cannot vouch for the older generation.”

  “Oh yes,” Roli nodded. “The younger ones go for miscegenation in quite a big way.”

  Roli’s companions stopped eating and looked at him. “Is this the case?” Calistrope asked, and then signed the receipt with a flourish.

  Linel the Advocate was right when he had expressed his doubts about their defense. The judge, a small man—barely able to see over the bench let alone visualize the truths of the matter—was plainly unimpressed by the case before him.

  “Abduction? Yes?”

  “As you say, Sir Arbiter.” The prosecuting lawyer nodded.

  “A vile business. And you allege the injury, Sir Phelan? Correct?”

  “I do.”

  “Onward then Sir Phelan. I am eager to hear the arguments.”

  “The Lady Shamaz was traveling back to her family home in Jesney. Her accommodations were broken into by these despicable men, intent on making off with the Lady’s strongbox…”

  Linel the Advocate stood up, raised his hand.”

  “Sir Linel?” asked the Arbiter.

  “At last,” whispered Calistrope. “He will end these calumnies.”

  “All this is quite unnecessary, Sir Arbiter. We acknowledge the verities of this case and crave your indulgence. We admit to grave errors of judgment.”

  Calistrope and Ponderos gaped. Calistrope was about to protest but the Arbiter intervened.

  “For the record, Sir Linel, just for the record. I am as anxious as you to say judgment and get this tiresome business over with but the forms must be observed. They really must.”

  Sir Linel covered a yawn and nodded. He sat and became intensely interested in a law book.

  “Sir Phelan, proceed if you will.”

  “The miscreants went so far as to attempt to abduct the Lady with what odious and abhorrent ends in mind it is best not to enquire.” Sir Phelan shuddered with great dramatic effect and the Arbiter shook his head at such a tale of misdeeds and perversions.

  “Only the vigilance of the brave caravan guards and of Captain Minallo in particular saved the Lady and her wealth.”

  Sir Phelan bowed. “And there you have it. A sorry tale, Sir. We beseech you to spare no punishment, to set an example in your judgments that will echo up and down the Long River. Strike fear into the hearts of any who might consider such base deeds as we have lain before you.”

  “Excellent, Sir Phelan. Clear, concise, telling. A pleasure to listen to such eloquence.” The Arbiter turned to Sir Linel who had taken his nose out of the book and was standing, waiting for recognition. “Now, Sir Linel, to your trade. Do your best. The prognostications may not seem good but do not stint on the well-turned phrase, the grand gesture. Let us hear what you can do.”

  Sir Linel bowed to the Arbiter, to Sir Phelan. He cleared his throat, ordered his notes. “Sir Arbiter, my distinguished adversary, gentlemen. All that Sir Phelan has said is undoubtedly—aye, incontestably—true.

  Calistrope raised his hand. “A parody…”

  Sir Linel spoke more loudly, ignored the attempted interruption. “Yet these, er, these travelers are from a far-off land. Refined customs are not understood by them, the pleasures of gentle company are lost on them. Let us not mince words, these provincials are uncouth, unused to the niceties of civilized life. No doubt they share their houses with domestic animals and consider wrestling to be the height of cultural activity. In short, these rude, ill-mannered, barbarians know no better.

  “Sir Arbiter, we entreat the forbearance for which you are so well known.”

  “Oh splendid, splendid. Most enjoyable Sir Linel. And so, judgment.” The Arbiter closed his eyes for several moments, deep in thought or perhaps, he was overcome by the emotional appeal of Sir Linel’s oration.

  The eyes opened, he peered down into the holding pit. “Gentlemen. I am decided; let no one call me a harsh man. My judgment is to set you free. Go and from this moment on, lead a blameless life. Is this agreed?” he beamed down at the three men. “Well?”

  “Assuredly,” said an astonished
Calistrope. “Every one of us.”

  “Good, good.”

  “Now. What is next? Why, Sir Phelan, are you still here?”

  “A matter of nefarious intervention with sundry navigation mechanisms, Sir Arbiter.”

  “Ah yes, of course. And who is alleged to be responsible for the mischief?”

  “The three whom you see before you, Sir.”

  The Arbiter expressed disbelief. “Are these not the same three I have just implored to be upright and moral?”

  “The very same, Sir Arbiter.”

  “What can you say to this, Sir Linel? Hmm? Have you powers of rhetoric which will convince me of their innocence a second time?”

  “I confess, Sir Arbiter. I have not.”

  The Arbiter shook his head in sorrow.

  “I placed trust in these three and it is thrown back at me. Truly, duty is a grievous burden. What else is there? Hmm? Expulsion. They are not fit to be a part of our society.”

  The Arbiter held his hands up to block them from his sight. “Take them away.”

  Later, after they had been taken by the constables, Linel came to see them. “Well now, there it is. Despite my exercising my skills to the utmost, your crimes were too monstrous to be ignored. Still, what is expulsion?” Linel shrugged his shoulders. “You did not wish to stay in Jesm and now you will be escorted on your way. These gentlemen, “he indicated the two heavily muscled constables, “will conduct you to a barge which I am given to understand will sail within the hour. Farewell.”

  Linel bowed and watched them go. His face bore a curious expression. Relief? Satisfaction?

  “Well. We seem to have been lucky,” observed Calistrope as they walked along the boarded street. “I am not proud of this escapade; let us forget it as quickly as possible. Ponderos nodded curtly. Roli, blameless in the affair, walked ahead, pointedly ignoring the exchange.

  The barge which waited for them was already more than half full of men and women. A few were obviously highborn, many had the shifty look of the professional embezzler or the dainty step of a cat burglar. However, by far the greater number appeared ordinary and commonplace.