by Dan Willis
“At this hour?” Bradok demanded before he realized he had no idea just what hour it was.
“Yes, sir,” the second dwarf said. “The mayor has called an emergency session on account of the, uh, riot.”
Bradok’s head snapped up, and the fog left his weary brain. “What riot?” he wondered.
“There’s a riot going on outside the temple,” the first guard said. “We’ve been sent to ensure your safety, Councilman. Please hurry.”
“Can I dress first?” Bradok asked.
The guard nodded and Bradok stepped back so they could enter his foyer.
“What’s the meaning of this,” Sapphire’s voice floated down from the balcony above. “Why are there armed dwarves in our home in the middle of the night?”
“Go back to bed, Mother,” Bradok said, climbing the stairs two at a time. “It’s council business. I’m needed.”
His mother protested as he passed by, but he was too dazed to pay her any mind. He threw on whatever clothes were handy, and five minutes later he was back in the foyer.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
The guardsmen went first, walking shoulder to shoulder, with Bradok in their wake. He had checked his watch when he dressed; the hour was four. Normally at that hour of the morning the streets of Ironroot would be deserted save for the night watch and the occasional tradesman trying to get a jump on the day.
That night, however, the city was awash in activity.
Even before Bradok reached the main cavern, he could hear the hum of a crowd. The acrid smell of smoke reached his nostrils as they emerged into the main cavern. A large, angry crowd had gathered in front of the temple.
Skirting the crowd, the guardsmen led Bradok along the far edge of the cavern to the steps of city hall. A large number of armed guards ringed the building, watching the crowd near the temple with nervous glances. All of them had their hands on their weapons.
“We’ll leave you here,” his escort said. “They’re expecting you inside.”
Bradok watched the guardsmen as they turned and headed back into the city, presumably to fetch another council member.
If the outside of city hall was in chaos, the inside was pure frenzy. It looked to Bradok as if the majority of the councilmen were already there, most yelling, while some were pounding on their desks. On the high seat, Mayor Arbuckle sat, his chin resting on his hands, clearly having lost control of the proceedings.
“There he is,” someone yelled, and the chamber went suddenly, frighteningly quiet.
All eyes turned to Bradok and for a long moment a pregnant pause hung in the air.
“There,” a voice hissed.
“Traitor,” came another.
“Silence!” Arbuckle’s voice cut through the room like thunder.
“What is going on here?” Bradok demanded. He was still fuzzy-headed but felt certain something was terribly wrong.
“You brought this trouble upon us,” Councilman Auger yelled.
“The riot?” Bradok asked, trying to keep his voice even. “I know nothing about that. I have just woken up and arrived here.”
“It was you who thought up that law,” Auger yelled. “The law that has sparked the riot. You probably plotted this whole mess with your oh-so-reasonable solution to our problem.”
“It did seem reasonable, didn’t it?” Jon Bladehook cut in. “Only an unreasonable person would object to it.” Bladehook walked out into the center of the floor, drawing full attention to himself. “But no, we shouldn’t fault our new comrade for being reasonable,” he said, his voice smooth as butter. “It is the believers who are being unreasonable. I warned you they were dangerous.”
“I beg to disagree. They are not dangerous or unreasonable,” a new voice said.
All eyes turned to the entrance, where the high priest of the temple stood.
“Sarru,” Mayor Arbuckle said, a note of forced joviality in his voice. “Welcome.”
Sarru Firebrand had the thick, muscular kind of build one usually associated with a bouncer in a seedy tavern, and the polished wooden staff he carried did nothing to soften his image. He had red-gold hair that he braided in two thick cords on either side of his head, and his beard was held in place with three descending gold clips. His robes were crimson with gold trim and an amulet of Reorx, wrought in steel, hung about his neck.
“I seriously doubt that I am welcome here,” the priest said, his eyes sweeping over the room accusingly. “What do you mean by restricting the religious freedom of the good dwarves of Ironroot?”
“We did nothing of the sort,” Bladehook said, his voice sounding suddenly less confident than it had been a moment before.
“He’s right, Sarru,” Mayor Arbuckle said defensively. “The law simply requires that preaching be done in the temple, where it belongs.”
“That’s right,” Bladehook said, trying to regain his superior footing. “It keeps the preaching off the street. I should think you’d relish the idea of us eliminating the competition for you.”
At that a scowl crossed the priest’s face.
“I do not know why Reorx chooses to send these messengers here,” the priest said after a long moment’s pause. “I wonder if perhaps he is displeased with me. Regardless of the reason, however, I will not hinder his will, and neither will you.”
“That sounds like a threat,” Bladehook said complainingly. He opened his mouth to continue, but Arbuckle cut him off.
“Nobody’s trying to prevent these people from being heard,” the mayor said with all the dignity he could muster.
“Really?” Sarru answered him. “Did you know that since you passed that ordinance, over forty dwarves have been arrested? Are you aware that the Goldspanner family is in the city jail right now for praying over their food in a tavern? One dwarf was taken right off the street for saying ‘Reorx bless you!’ when someone sneezed!”
Mayor Arbuckle looked shocked; then his face reddened slightly. “Uh,” he said, clearly trying to form a coherent response to Sarru’s assertions. “Well, uh, it seems our city guard has, uh, misinterpreted the spirit of our ordinance,” he muttered.
Bradok noticed the mayor cast Jon Bladehook a dirty look. Then he remembered seeing Bladehook drinking with the captain of the city guard that very afternoon.
“Misinterpretation or not, the people won’t stand for it,” Sarru declared haughtily. “There are several hundred dwarves over at the temple who I’ve convinced not to burn city hall to the ground. Right now they’re willing to listen to me, but I don’t know how much longer that will last, with their friends and families in jail.”
“Of course, of course,” Arbuckle said, taking out a piece of paper and scribbling on it. When he finished, he dribbled wax onto the paper and stamped it with the seal of Ironroot.
“Here,” he said, waving a guardsman over. “Give this to the captain of the guard”-he glanced irritably at Bladehook-“and tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he is to release all the prisoners arrested in violation of the no-preaching ordinance.”
The guard reached out to take the paper, but Arbuckle pulled it away before he could grab it.
“And tell that fat-headed buffoon,” the mayor added, loud enough for his words to carry throughout the chamber, “that if he messes this up, he’ll be a street sweeper before lunch.” Arbuckle handed over the paper, and the guard departed.
“It will take more than that, I’m afraid,” Sarru said tersely.
Arbuckle ground his teeth but smiled pleasantly before reaching for his gavel. “All in favor of rescinding the ordinance barring street preaching, say ‘aye.’”
The room thundered with assent.
“Any opposed?”
There were none, not even Bladehook, who dared dissent.
“Then I declare the ordinance against street preaching rescinded.” He nodded toward Sarru. “I’ll leave it to you to deliver the news to the faithful.”
Sarru harrumphed then turned and left, his staff r
apping sharply on the floor.
“Everyone go home and get some sleep,” Arbuckle roared once Sarru had vanished. “Jon, Bradok, not so fast, you two,” he went on. “I’d like to see you in my chambers for a moment.”
Bradok looked warily at Jon Bladehook, but Bladehook simply looked annoyed. As it turned out, Arbuckle met with them separately. Bladehook went in first, staying almost an hour while Bradok waited in an overstuffed chair outside Arbuckle’s heavy office door. Toward the end, Bradok became aware of raised voices inside.
“You move too soon!” Arbuckle was saying.
“And you do nothing but bide your time,” Bladehook replied vehemently. “We passed an ordinance, correct? All I did was tell my brother-in-law to enforce that ordinance to the letter.”
“But you didn’t give the people time even to learn about the law, Jon. You have incited them and called our motives into question.”
“What do we do now?” Bladehook asked, clearly piqued.
“We wait, Jon,” Arbuckle said. “We bide our time.”
A moment later the door burst open and Bladehook stormed out. He marched past Bradok and down the hall without a backward glance.
“Sorry about that, Bradok,” Arbuckle said, standing in the doorway to his office. “Jon can be a little high-strung at times. Come in.”
Bradok rose and followed Arbuckle into his office. The round room had been cut from the wall of the cavern. Cabinets of dark, polished wood curved along the back wall. They had glass fronts so Bradok could see that they were full of thick leather-bound books. Arbuckle’s oval-shaped desk stood in the middle of the room with two comfortable-looking chairs before it. Papers, books, and blotters littered the top of his desk.
“Sit down,” the mayor said, waving his hand in the direction of the chairs.
“If this is about that ordinance,” Bradok said, sinking down into the seat, “I just-”
“I know you had nothing to do with what happened,” Arbuckle said, some of his easy manner evaporating. “I brought you here tonight because you seem to have a level head and a keen mind.”
“Uh, thank you,” Bradok said uncertainly.
“Your ordinance was a good one,” Arbuckle said. “A sound idea.” He got up and began to pace back and forth behind his desk. “But it seems we have quite a few citizens who took it the wrong way.”
“Starting with our captain of the guard,” Bradok ventured.
Arbuckle cleared his throat nervously and went on. “I don’t want something like this to happen again,” the mayor said in a pained tone. “Things could have gotten out of hand tonight. People could have gotten hurt.”
“What do you want me to do?” Bradok asked.
“Ah, that’s what I like about you, Bradok,” Arbuckle said with a beaming smile. “You get right to the point.”
He sat back down at his desk and leaned forward on his arms, giving Bradok an intense look.
“We need to find out what the people really want,” he said. “I want to know what they think of the street preachers.”
“I think they made that clear tonight,” Bradok said hesitantly.
“No,” Arbuckle said with a sly smile. “Tonight they showed that they don’t want to lose their religious freedoms. That’s a long way from whether or not we let wandering preachers annoy them in the public square. The problem of those preachers is still with us, and I think most of the town would like a solution.”
“I see,” said Bradok, nodding. “So you want to know what they want done about the preachers. Ideas for a better solution.”
“Precisely,” Bradok said. “Let’s say you make up a survey that we can hand out to the people of Ironroot, something innocuous and nonthreatening. We’ll use the pages here at city hall and ask them to take your survey and canvass the city.”
Arbuckle’s eyes sparkled, and Bradok couldn’t help but notice that the mayor was sweating. Something about the unnatural gleam in his eye made Bradok uncomfortable with his plan.
“So,” Arbuckle said. “Can I count on you?”
Bradok thought about it. The task seemed simple enough, just find out what the people wanted done with the street preachers. Yet something about Arbuckle’s overeagerness was unsettling.
“I’ll do it,” he said at last.
Arbuckle’s smile widened, seeming more genuine. He rose and extended his arm to Bradok.
“I knew I could count on you, Bradok,” he said as Bradok clasped his forearm. “Take a week to prepare and conduct your survey; then let me know the results. I’m sure this will be helpful.”
Bradok agreed, thanked the mayor for his confidence, and left the office.
A few minutes later, he had exited the building and was making his way through the cool air of Ironroot. The street was dark and empty. Everything had returned to normal, and that meant the streets were dark and deserted in the predawn.
Bradok should have been happy. No blood had been spilt. Those falsely imprisoned were going to be turned free, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was merely the calm before the storm.
He resolved not think about it.
It was a resolution he wouldn’t keep.
CHAPTER 4
Tavern Tales
Over the next few days, an endless parade of city guardsmen came and went from Bradok’s house, carrying copies of his carefully worded survey. As per Mayor Arbuckle’s instructions, the guards moved through the city, interviewing every citizen, getting their thoughts on the problem of the street preachers.
Bradok had divided the city into small districts in order to disperse guards throughout the city efficiently. After the near-riot caused by his ordinance, he wanted to make sure the citizenry wouldn’t be alarmed by large groups of guardsmen going door to door. Every couple of hours, one of his teams would return and present Bradok with a written record of their findings.
After sweeping two-thirds of the city, Bradok found that the mayor was right: Well more than half the populace considered the preachers a nuisance. Most of them, however, were not in favor of laws restricting freedom of speech as a solution to the problem.
“It’s about time,” Sapphire remarked as Bradok sat at his desk, preparing one of the daily reports he sent to Arbuckle.
“About time for what, Mother?” Bradok asked idly, without looking up. In the time since his father had died, Sapphire often would seek out her son at odd hours, desiring to speak with him at length about things that Bradok couldn’t care less about.
“It’s about time Arbuckle and those fools on the council learned who their enemies are.”
Bradok sighed. One of Sapphire’s favorite topics of conversation revolved around her hatred of the believers.
“This is just a public survey, Mother,” Bradok said in a strained voice. “It has nothing to do with enemies or fools.”
Sapphire chuckled. Her laugh had a derisive note in it, as if she were directing it at a willfully ignorant child.
“That’s what you think,” she said. “Once they have that list, Arbuckle and Bladehook will know who sides with them and who is against them. Then it will be just as I say: fools versus enemies.”
Bradok looked up from his desk to find his mother filling the doorway. Her face was flushed, and her eyes shone with malice.
“Mark my words,” she said. “We’ll soon be rid of those cursed priests. And the council will have you to thank.”
A cold knot dropped into Bradok’s stomach. He’d worried that Arbuckle had some nefarious purpose in the task he’d given Bradok, and as he thought about it, he realized that Sapphire was right. Those who didn’t object to the presence of the street preachers were likely to be believers or people at least sympathetic to the believers. He was compiling a list of all the believers for Mayor Arbuckle, Jon Bladehook, and all those who lined up with them.
His eyes dropped back down to the daily report he’d been preparing. That very page contained the names of every member of several families who didn’t object to the pr
eachers, where they lived, and how many were in their households.
In the wrong hands, Bradok’s lists could cost lives. The thought made him sick.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Sapphire said, still preening in the doorway. “You look a little green.”
“It’s nothing, Mother,” he said, straightening his papers and making a show of going back to work.
“You didn’t know,” Sapphire guessed. She barked out a raucous laugh. “I should have known you didn’t have the stones for this. Well, I think they will reward you, just the same.”
“That will be quite enough, Mother,” Bradok said, rising.
He blotted the fresh ink on the paper then folded it carefully and put it in the breast pocket of his coat. “I’m going out,” he announced.
“Going to warn your new friends at the temple?” she asked, still smiling like a wolf.
“Of course not,” Bradok said, brushing her out of his way. “I am going to do my duty and deliver the daily report to Mayor Arbuckle.”
Bradok turned down the hallway and passed out into his grand foyer. Behind him his mother’s laughter echoed down the hall, mocking him.
But Bradok did not intend to go to Mayor Arbuckle’s house, as he said. Instead he wandered through Ironroot, down past the Artisans’ Cavern and into the Undercity.
Down one of the many side tunnels stood a decrepit facade built of wood that covered a great hole carved in the rock. A warped, wooden sign outside read The Butcher’s Block in faded green paint. The wooden facade hadn’t been repaired in generations. It leaned away from the edge of the cavern, making it possible for Bradok to see into the tavern’s interior. As seedy as the place was, the Butcher’s Block had the best ale in the city, and Bradok needed something stronger than his usual beer just then.
An hour later he had nursed his third ale down to the bottom of the mug, and he still had no answers. He wanted to believe that Arbuckle’s motives were innocent, but at the same time he knew he had been duped. The council was plotting against its own citizens.