The Invisible Hand

by Chris Northern

  I steered closer, keeping to a walk. "And when she needs help tomorrow? What then? And the next day? Come harvest, what then?"

  "Everyone helps at harvest," Anista said. "Everyone wants to eat, don't they?"

  The woman and the boy had looked up at our approach, both wary and hopeful, and I gave them a friendly smile as I swung down out of the saddle. "Going to give me a hand, soldier?"

  "Not my pig," he turned in the saddle, scanning our surroundings.

  "Exactly," I muttered as I passed him my reins. "Keep an eye out, then."

  "Rider coming out of the west, Patron. Was that an order?"

  "No." Like he said, it wasn't his pig. I looked. He was right. One rider, well over a mile away, not in any hurry. I looked back the way we had come. The second guard was on his way to join us, and would be with us sooner than the other. I wandered over toward the pig, shooting a brief glance at Anista, who had frozen in the act of dismounting, glaring at the indifferent soldier and then at me. I shrugged and focused on the problem.

  The animal had reached as high as it could, had its forelegs out of the hole and flat against the muddy ground; it hadn't enough strength to pull itself out and couldn't get purchase with its back legs to push its own weight higher. I briefly imagined straddling the hollow and reaching down to get my hands under its chest to lift it high enough and forward enough that it could get clear. Good way to throw your back out, I thought. And it would only work if the pig cooperated, which it wouldn't, being a pig; it would wriggle and struggle and fuss and make the task impossible. Get in the hollow with the pig and lift? Not a plan of genius.

  I looked up at the woman and grinned. "I suppose you could always butcher it where it is."

  A look of horror, almost fear, flitted over her features and she dropped her head to look at her feet. I could see she wanted to say something but was afraid to voice her concern.

  "Bad jest," I told her, looking at the boy who didn't look quite so terrified. Just wary, maybe a little angry. Much better.

  "Sow's pregnant, sire," the boy muttered, gaze drifting away from mine, face flushed.

  "Worth more alive, then. And it's patron, lad. I'm no one's king. Do you have a spade?"

  The lad nodded.

  "Go get it then," I could see a dwelling not much more than a hundred yards off. From a walled pen I could hear other pigs; so maybe only this one had gotten loose, or maybe they had fixed the wall and dealt with the rest, leaving only this one that had gotten itself into trouble. I couldn't tell how much damage the pigs had done while loose. Any was too much. The boy looked to his mother before going at her nod of assent.

  "How did you get them out from the town?" Pigs don't herd easily.

  She shot a glance up at me, then hurriedly lowered her gaze again. "Didn't have time to take 'em in, s..." She broke off, flushed. "Had to leave 'em." She shrugged helplessly; flustered, she looked for help and found Anista.

  "Don't worry, Nila," Anista soothed, "I won't let him hurt you."

  Hurt her? When I don't understand something I generally ignore it. "I'll dig the pig out," I looked over the hollow and pointed back of the pig, "there, then we'll get her to back out," I shrugged. "It shouldn't take long." I'd probably get blisters, though.

  They ignored me; Anista put an arm around Nila and walked her off, talking too softly to be heard.

  You’re welcome, I thought, and sympathised more with the soldier’s answer. Not my pig.

  The boy brought two spades. I took one and we got started on the task. He was too young and small to be much help and there wasn't enough room, so he more got in the way than anything else. Still, I let him, worked round him, and made sure he saw how I was approaching the task. Siege work is mostly digging, when magic isn't available. I'd done my share, thanks to my Uncle. I settled into the work and we got it done, talking only as much as needed. I hit rock pretty quickly and adjusted the plan, filling in as much as digging out. I warmed to the work; liking it. It felt good. Nothing hurt worth talking about. I felt well. The porker ignored the whole process apart from being spooked by the noise and motion behind it, occasionally scrabbling with its back legs and getting nowhere, grunting and sometimes squealing. After a while I got down in the trench, stamping down on the loose earth, tamping it into the exposed rock to firm up the impromptu ramp and getting pig shit on my boots and trousers. I walked out the way I intended the pig to back out and made it without much trouble. The other guard had joined us and both sat their mounts watching the approaching rider. He was close now.

  "Scout," one of them said, seeing me look.

  The pig was still resting against the end of the trench, forelegs splayed out in front of it. I walked around to the front, gesturing the guards to move. They hesitated. "I don't want the porker to run off," I said. With identical shrugs the two men walked their horses, leading mine and made a kind of wall of horses a little way back from the trench. The boy moved to plug a gap. Content with the arrangement, I stepped close and slapped the flat of the spade against the pig’s nose. It gave an outraged squeal and shuffled back, dropping into the trench and then kept moving, head turning from side to side, it backed slowly up the improvised slope and out. "Get it in the pen," I said, turning away and tossing the spade aside. The scout was close now and heading our way. I gave a wave and moved to meet him, ignoring the grunting of pig, huffing of horse and muttering of men behind me. My work there was done. In a moment I'd see about getting something for it; the least Nila could do for payment is feed me, I figured. Nothing is for nothing, after all.

  The scout greeted me, dismounted and we walked together, heading for the nearby dwelling. I recognised him but couldn't bring his name to mind; he was the same scout who had travelled with Meran and caught up to me just north of Twobridges. "Well," I asked, "what do you have for me?"

  "There's nothing out to the west that's a threat, Patron," he told me. "There are seven small clans within a day’s ride, twelve to fifteen miles distant, and none of them half the size of Darklake. Two are fortified, clinging to high ground but there'd be no need to take them. I've a couple of letters for you. Mostly they want to know what the city intends for them. They seem wary but not hostile; glad the Necromancers are ended as a threat and the two I mentioned will negotiate for their women. They will soon be coming here for that."

  "The terrain?"

  "Like this and harder; the trails narrow and the land not much use for anything. Everything's geared for subsistence," he shrugged. "They survive but little more than that; some low level mining at one place; they smelt it to pig iron and trade it out, not more than a ton a year. Small beans."

  That was all about what I'd expected and as much as I needed to know. "Write up a full report and I'll read it later; report to Commander Meran and leave the letters with him. I'm just about to cadge a meal here; you can join me or ride back, as you please."

  He stopped at once, eyed the pitiful dwelling we were closing on, and climbed back into the saddle. "I'm for a bath as soon as I can get one, so I'll go on, now I have your leave, Patron."

  I stepped back from the mount as he turned it. "Rest up a day, I've letters to go south."

  He saluted casually and rode away. I watched him go; after a short time I was sure that I didn't remember his name because I had never known it. I was glad of that.

  #

  "Rabbits?"

  The woman, Nila, was combing the long fur of a rabbit that rested contentedly in her lap. It wasn't the only one she kept; the dwelling was full of hutches, full of rabbits. She glanced up at me and returned to her task. Saving the fur from the comb.

  "For the wool," Anista said. She had moved to the door when I entered and was watching the pig being re-introduced to its rightful home; presumably checking that my men weren't carving off a bite to eat while they were unsupervised.

  I looked around the room; one room, a roundhouse, many rabbits. A couple of sleeping pallets. No food. "Wool? From rabbits?" There was none of the associated tools
for dealing with wool.

  They both looked at me, then shared a glance before Nila dropped her gaze back to her task. Anista looked condescending. "I was wearing a dress of it the other day. You looked close enough, though I didn't think you were admiring the dress."

  I remembered it. Black. A very fine clingy wool. "You make that cloth?"

  Nila looked up at me again, glanced at Anista and lowered her gaze. She shook her head.

  "There is a loom in the hall. The wool goes there," Anista said.

  The wool goes there. "You buy it?"

  "It's a gift, in return for the land."

  A gift. "You weave it?"

  Anista smiled and shook her head. "Nila and others do that work."

  Work. "And you sell it?"

  She answered absently, uninterested. "It's mine. Some is sold, some kept, some gifted to the wives and daughters of chieftains where it will do the most good."

  I was sure of the answer but asked anyway. "And they are paid?"

  They both looked puzzled. Paid?

  I took a step away from Anista. I didn't want to give in to the urge to slap her. I looked around the room. "So, let me see if I've got this right. Nila and other women tend the rabbits for their fur, which they spin to wool and weave to cloth which is then used by you as you see fit and none of the gain is seen by those who do the work?" By the time I was done asking the question the anger had reached my voice and I was looking again at Anista. Her face was flushed.

  "You make me sound like a thief," she snapped. "It's not like that at all."

  "Not a thief," I agreed, still angry. "Let's use the right words. When you use someone else's work to your own gain and none of theirs, you make a slave of them. This practice ends. Now. No arguments." Anista had opened her mouth to protest and Nila was looking up at me, afraid. I met her gaze, still speaking through gritted teeth. "You weave your wool in the hall and take the cloth to Lendrin Treleth at the trading post and negotiate a price for it. You may pay Anista a price for the use of the loom but if it is too expensive," I shot Anista a glare, "I will buy another and set up a workshop that can collectively be rented from me at a better rate. Any other practices that force free people to bear the consequences of slavery will be dealt with under the law. Think yourself lucky, Anista, that I am dealing with this unofficially. The penalty is harsh."

  Eyes wide and face pale, she stepped close, her voice a whisper. "How dare you? The Angora cloth is mine!" Her hand whipped toward my face. I blocked it without much effort to be kind. She was strong for a woman, but still the impact against my forearm hurt. She gasped with the pain and stepped back, gripping her wrist with her other hand, cradling it to her breast, head down. Nila cried out, dumped the rabbit and went to her side, glancing at me, fearful.

  "Nothing is yours save what you earn through your own efforts. I have offered you a job of work to do and what have you done? Nothing, so far as I can see. You cannot continue to feed off other people and give nothing in return. You are housed, clothed, you eat and give nothing for it. That ends now also. Tomorrow you meet me and discuss your duties as magistrate and begin work or I will kick your sorry ass out of the hall and you can find your own way." I kept my voice level, though I was still angry. She needed to know I meant every word. "Clear?"

  She cried and Nila held her and glared at me, white-faced.

  Well. Women. What can you do?

  I left them to it. The victimiser comforted by her victim. Sometimes I just want to give up.

  Outside my guards waited, holding both horses.

  "Leave that one," I snapped at the guard holding Anista's mount. "Find Kalan and tell him I want to see him in the hall. You know the man I mean?" I asked as the guard hesitated. "Bald man, local, powerful build." He nodded, passed the reins and left in a hurry.

  The boy was nearby, looking at me. Wary. I frowned at him for a moment, then cleared my throat to make sure my voice was calm before I spoke. "This place needs a man to work it. Make sure your mother understands that; make sure to hire someone or make some other arrangement soon."

  The boy jerked a nod and I left it at that. Taking the reins to Anista's horse, I tied them off so the beast wouldn't wander and climbed into my saddle. It was time the laws of a client kingdom were read in public so that people understood them. That was next. Whoever had come out of the north could hear them as well. It was past time everyone clearly knew where they stood. Old habits had to be broken, old ways of thinking abandoned and I hadn't the patience left to gently press for change. When my patience is ended and my temper lost it is lost forever. Best this be done before that happened.

  "Right," I said. "Let's go see what these northerners want."

  "Yes, Patron."

  We left.

  #

  It was bad timing on their part, though they couldn't have known that.

  I stared at the two heads displayed on spears and my blood thundered in my veins. How could they think murder would please me?

  Meran had kept the self-proclaimed embassy out of the town, amid the on-going building work outside the gate. Two magistrates of Hederan, simpering and confident at the head of their bodyguard of twenty men, despite the cold faces of the soldiers around them, despite Meran's discomfort and the stiff-faced disapproval of the centurions, despite Balaran's red-faced but silent outrage, and despite the open disgust on the face of the healers. I'd ridden close and listened to their opening speech of greeting, not taking my eyes from the impaled heads.

  "August Patron," he had bowed his fat head the smallest degree. "I have the honor to be the Magistrate Saulan, deputed to speak for our town. I bring this message," he gestured to the two heads, one either side of him, held aloft on long spears in the hands of two of his entourage. "The magistrates and town of Hederan capitulate; we have seen your demonstration of power and the fate of those that sought, against our wishes, to oppose you some days since, when you and your personal bodyguard sought free passage through the lands of the town. The Necromancers of Battling Plain connived to subvert our just and equitable rule and some among the magistrates and leading citizens were swayed by their threats and blandishments and forced us to submit to their tyranny. It took us some days since your brief transit of our territory to wrest control from the cruel hands of your enemies and thus be able to bring their heads to you, by my hand, as proof of our goodwill and cooperative disposition." His fat face had begun to sweat about half way through, eyes beginning to dart about, possibly for the first time noticing the lack of enthusiasm for his gift. Maybe he had taken a brief moment away from his own ego to observe a landscape outside his own internal fantasy version of the situation. He licked his lips. "Your enemies are our enemies..." his voice failed.

  I had not dismounted. I had not taken my gaze from the severed heads. Just two heads. They could have been anyone. I could feel my own expression; stony and grim and set.

  Saulan looked around him, taking in the sea of unfriendly faces, soldiers of the city. Hard men. Work had lapsed. They had drifted closer, instinctively drifting to ranks. They worked in armor, weapons to hand; I had to admit that were their ire directed at me, I would be a little intimidated. Saulan turned an expression of growing desperation to his companion, as extravagantly dressed, as wealthy, and possibly as misguided. The more slightly built magistrate was older, possibly wiser. He cleared his throat, obstinately refusing to meet his companion’s gaze. He opened his mouth, closed it and looked away.

  "By your hand?" I asked Saulan.

  "Your Eminence?"

  I did not correct him. "You said, by my hand, so you claim responsibility?"

  "By order... by order of the surviving magistrates of Hederan... our enemies were executed... your enemies..." he broke off, licked his soft lips again, "You are not pleased, Majesty?"

  "No more than I am by your flailing around for a title that pleases me. Murder never pleases me. That's just a head," I pointed to each, "and so is that. They tell me nothing except that you are a bloody-handed ba
rbarian." I raised my voice just a little to be sure I was heard. "You men of Hederan will dismount and lay down your arms. From this moment all of you are private citizens without authority to act in any matter." I dropped my gaze to the two magistrates, making sure they understood that they were included in this order. "You will return to Hederan in the company of Commander Meran Cerulian; you will obey his commands on pain of death. You will cooperate with him as he requires. That is all." I had nothing else to say to them. As I turned my mount away, I glimpsed Seldas' watching me, consideringly. As a first lesson in diplomacy it was exactly the opposite of what I had intended but it couldn't be helped. I caught Meran's eye. "Come and see me as soon as you are able."

  He saluted crisply and I left him to it.

  #

  I was still angry as I strode into the hall and saw that Kathan was waiting for me, in conversation with his nephew. Both tensed as I approached, catching my mood.

  "We need to talk," I said.

  They followed me into my office. Elendas took a seat at the table and drew pen and paper close. Kathan closed the door and stood with his back to it while I poured wine. "The subject is family loyalty."

  Kathan snorted. "Anista."

  I handed him a glass and glanced at Elendas. "Mother?"

  "You were right, Kathan. She really doesn't listen to what she doesn't want to hear."

  He swirled the wine in his glass, watched it move. "Her attitude didn't work with Orlek, and I told her it would work even less well with you. What do you intend?"