The Invisible Hand

by Chris Northern

  "Exactly."

  "Better explanation than the plate," he said.

  "The plate was handy."

  "So was the bread."

  I glared. "Price fixing kills people. It wrecks economies. It makes any effort to improve your life by your own efforts futile. It breaks the only system that works and everyone suffers. It wastes life. Makes lives worthless. It's worse than slavery because the bastards who do it have the gall to say they are doing it for the general good and won't give it up no matter how bad things get."

  "I know." He shrugged. "To you it is the antithesis of everything we stand for." We. "To him it was just an idea he was exploring."

  "It erodes ambition, promotes usury, destroys purpose, crushes hope, kills with kindness. There are plenty of examples in history; dammit, empires have crumbled into dust and they still wouldn't give up, just piled on more and more controls to force people to be what they are not and then puzzled abstractly at why it isn't working. Why won't you be what I need you to be to make this fantasy real? Forcing people to stay in the same profession and do what cannot be done for the price demanded and then punishing them, sometimes with death, for not doing the impossible!"

  "You’ve made the point. Enough."

  "Dammit! I know,” I told him. “I'm having trouble controlling my temper lately."

  "The head wound."

  I bore down on the anger and rubbed at my head, fresh with lengthening bristles that were beginning to itch. "It doesn't hurt any more."

  "Concussion. Mood swings. It's normal. It's only been a few days. It will pass."

  "Bastards." I wasn't sure who I meant. "Sooner the better."

  "Give it time."

  I sucked in a deep breath and held it a moment before letting it all go. I glanced at the broken plate, thinking that I had just increased demand and made plates everywhere just a little cheaper. "You think we can take him?"

  "Silgar? Only one way to know for sure."

  "Do we need help?"

  "Best not. The fewer who know a plan the less can go wrong. Maybe you could get some enhancements, though, if you can do it at the last minute. Discreetly."

  I nodded. "Maybe."

  There was a knock at the door. I didn't answer. "And the priest?"

  He shrugged. Glanced at the door. Shrugged again.

  Later, then. "Come," I said, raising my voice just enough to be sure to be heard. I reached for some wine; enough was enough and I had no one left to make abstinence worth the trouble.

  The senior centurion - I searched for his name and came up with Trethant - stepped in and closed the door behind him. I caught a glimpse of the hall beyond, cold and empty in the half-light of the false dawn. No orphans yet, then. Well, I'd only issued the order last night. Trethant saluted and I gave him my full attention.

  "Commander Meran sends greetings; we are ready to march. Are there any further instructions?"

  Meran would leave with one century and the centurion Trethant; also with him would be sixty men of Darklake under Kathan. With them went Saulan, and the other magistrates of Hederan, and their entourage; the magistrates stripped of their power and the soldiers of Hederan stripped of weapons and armor. Their fate was in Meran's hands and I gave them no further thought. With the small force went Balaran and one healer. I hadn't spoken again to Meran. He had his orders and knew what needed doing; how he did it was up to him.

  I considered giving him what I knew of the Keeps, but held back. Balaran would be with them, and soldiers talk. The Keeps were an unknown quantity. I had no idea how many of them, other than Silgar, might be abroad, or what their intent might be. "Move with caution, Centurion."

  A hint of surprise flitted across his professionally impassive features. "Yes, Patron."

  "Commander Meran knows what needs to be done, bid him be about it but to bring every man back is his first duty. You have Balaran and one healer. Your assessment, cCenturion? Will you get the job done?"

  He looked confident, perhaps with a hint of surprise that I needed to ask. "We will, Patron."

  That wouldn't serve, I realized. Meran needed to know what I knew of the Keeps, what I knew of the people who might - or might not - be opposing him. From what Duprane had told me, I didn't consider any of them a serious military threat, not individually. They each kept few warriors, the territory they controlled insufficient to support more than a handful of fighting men. But even individually... some of the abilities at their disposal were formidable. He needed to know, so I needed to tell him. I should have met him last night, when it was all fresh in my mind. I should have, but I hadn't.

  "Is there anything else, Patron?"

  I nodded and got to my feet, trying to look decisive. "I'll talk with Meran myself before he leaves."

  Trethant covered his surprise well, I thought. Kathan might be expecting me to make an appearance, to give a rousing speech and showy send-off, but our soldiers definitely would not. They viewed war as a job of work and went about it in a business-like way. Pageantry was for barbarians. I wasn't going with them, why would they need to see me? There would be a few raised eyebrows, maybe. And then I'd need to at least talk to Kathan lest I slight his barbarian sensibilities. For a moment I wished I were free to just get on a horse and ride away. A bath, a bed, a book and beer. A couple of other things desirable came to mind, but not all good things in life begin with a b'.

  Trethant opened the door and held it for me. If he noticed my smile he didn't say anything. Sapphire moved to join us without being asked. Watching my back now he knew the risk was real. I was glad he was there. I'd missed him.

  With the two guards falling in behind us, we made a minor procession of it. Any more of this and I would start to feel like a barbarian chieftain. It's but a small step from feeling to being. Maybe Anista would get her wish, after all.

  The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air of the courtyard as we walked in the light of the false dawn. I approved of the bustle of activity around the ovens; judging from the early morning custom, demand for his product far outstripped supply. It didn't worry me unduly; someone else would build ovens soon enough, maybe someone was already in the process of doing so. As we passed, a young lad was wrestling a sack of freshly milled flour into the kitchen and I glanced in to see that a handful of women were kneading dough and setting it to rise. Baking looked set to continue well into the day, so the baker planned to supply more than just those who were working outside the town, those who were even now getting set to leave for the day’s endeavours. The gathering crowd slowly parted for us to make our way through the press of bodies. None were unaware of us, and I could sense the warmth of their regard; not that reserved for a beloved ruler, but the contentment of people who are beginning to believe that they have a future. Good enough.

  As I passed, the baker pulled a dozen loaves from the heat of the oven, turned and slid them onto a table; he saw us as he did so and his contented smile broadened. I returned his greeting, started to raise an arm to give a cheery wave; stiffened the muscles of my arm as a blade glinted an instant’s warning. The edge scored my forearm from wrist to elbow before sliding clear as I stepped away, turned to face him, ducked under a wild swing accompanied by a grunt of effort that mangled a curse issuing from the same lips. A hand slapped me in the chest as someone came between us in a blur of movement and a moment later Sapphire stood over a man who howled as he thudded to his knees, one arm raised, knife spinning from a suddenly lax hand held in Sapphire's iron grip. The crunch of ligaments tearing in my would-be assassin’s wrist merged in my mind with his own cry of pain, a few short screams and shouts of surprise, the sharp stinging in the flesh of my arm, the look of almost comical surprise on the baker’s face, Sapphire’s appraising glance as he ran his eyes over me, his expression calm to the point of indifference. My gaze dropped to the knife, ringing as it struck the paves between us; I stepped forward to put my foot over the blade as the assassin reached for it with his free hand, his expression contorted by rage and pai
n. He howled and spasmed involuntarily as Sapphire applied more pressure to his damaged wrist and Sapphire's own booted foot kicked the blade away. A body pressed close by me and I tensed and swayed away before relaxing. It was Trethant, the point of his sword moving to touch the assassin’s chest.

  "Don't move," Trethant growled.

  "He can't," Sapphire sounded calm.

  "Don't kill him," I said. I glanced around. My guards were at my back, facing the crowds who were backing away, voices raised in a chaos of differing reactions. "Blades away," I told them. "All of you."

  The baker was coming round the table with a cloth but he froze as Trethant's sword lifted to point at his belly.

  "Sheath those weapons," I barked the order this time.

  The reluctance with which they obeyed showed clearly in how slowly they moved but three blades sounded as they slid home.

  "Rapist!" The voice of the assassin rang out over the other sounds, his voice twisted by pain and rage. "Defiler of children!" My gaze dropped to his face, noted the spittle flying and the expression twisted by pain and desperate anger. "Slaver!" I glanced at my arm. The sleeve of the tunic was soaked and dripping blood. I couldn't see the wound but knew from the feel of it that it ran the length of my forearm. My fingers tingled. Nerve damage. The stinging of the wound changed to a pulsing pain as I became more aware of it, imagining the damage. "Pederast!" Trethant took the cloth from the slack hands of the baker and took a knife to it while I frowned at the raging lunatic at my feet. "Paedophile."

  The crowd was still in motion, still reacting, some moving away, others drawing close. I could hear them, voices and movement. Some had fled but many remained in earshot.

  "What in the name of all that's sane is he talking about?"

  Trethant put away his knife and took my arm. With practiced skill he began to bind the wound tight enough to reduce the bleeding. "No idea, Patron."

  "Procurer of child sex slaves!" The assassin howled. His voice rang out, wild but clear.

  Sapphire had not moved. The assassin was on his knees, close enough that I could kick him in the face if I wanted to, but right now I was more puzzled than angry. The muttering of the remaining crowd was just beginning to impinge on my awareness; surprise and confusion dominated, but here and there I heard an angry muttering. I glanced around, judging expressions. They were recovering from surprise and fear still; but some were wondering, considering, listening. I glanced at the baker, closer than anyone. He stood with his head cocked to one side, looking down at the assassin, frowning, thinking. He caught me looking; met my gaze, his expression pale and horrified. "Is it true?"

  "Of course it isn't true," I spoke calmly but with my voice raised somewhat. I had no intention of competing with the raving assassin, though. There was no gain in that.

  "Don't think to deny it," the assassin shrieked. “Children are missing and I know who is responsible!"

  Trethant tied a final tight knot and I grunted, half in pain and half gratitude. "We had better put an end to this," he said.

  "Get him out of here," I said. Turning to the crowd, I continued, raising my voice in earnest now. "All those who witnessed the attempted assassination will attend this man's trial at noon today." The muttering of the crowd fell away as I spoke. "His accusations against us will be heard and answered at that time." I was aware of my two guards taking charge of the prisoner and hauling him away; his own rantings ran over mine for a while.

  "You dare not practice your vile habits openly but steal our children in the night and sell them south to be used by the vile men of the city."

  "I am aware that some orphaned children of Learneth have been kidnapped over the last few days. Only orphaned children are being taken. This is being investigated as a matter of priority. I have ordered that all orphans be brought under my protection and housed here for their own safety until the matter is resolved. Any who would speak on this matter, or who have any knowledge of it, should also attend the trial that will take place today at noon. Those who have had children in their charge taken away, must also attend and bear witness to those events."

  Further away the normal sounds of the waking town continued, but around me there was little to disguise the last sally of the assassin as he was dragged away into the hall. "The truth is revealed by Hesta, cityman; I have heard the god's own words. I know your vile sins..."

  His final words rang in near silence and I saw a change come over many of the faces I could see; doubt disappeared and cold angry certainty and resentment flooded over the expressions of the women of Darklake. The name of their god had been invoked. They now believed in my guilt. For them, there was nothing else to be said.

  Still, I could not let him have the last word, and there was only one thing that would now satisfy them that justice was intended. "Caliran, the priest of Hesta, called the god of Knowledge, will also attend the trial of this assassin and speak for his god on this matter."

  I picked up Sapphire and Trethant with a glance and walked on; the crowd melted to let us pass, giving us more room than we needed. All eyes were on me. And all the warmth had gone out of their regard, replaced at best by uncertainty.

  It wasn't a comfortable feeling.

  Away from the bakery the cool morning air was thick with other smells, none nearly so appealing as freshly baked bread. There were too many people here, carrying slop buckets to the latrines and to the stream that ran through the town, or simply tipping the contents into the street or animal pens. Despite a near imperceptible drift of people back to the dwellings in the valley behind the town, the population still needed to be thinned before disease did the job for us. I watched the people as we threaded our way among them, Trethant at my side and Sapphire one pace behind and to my right. Most paid us no attention, intent upon their own tasks. A few glanced our way only briefly and without perceptible reaction. Some expressions turned thoughtful; a few frowned; one or two glowered and turned away. It did my mood no good to glimpse fear on the face of one child before she fled. I'd spent little or no time judging the mood of the people. That they might think ill of me had not been a thought that had occurred.

  My right hand felt chilled. Drying blood cooled by a light breeze. The wound throbbed in time with my pulse. Someone had tried to assassinate me.

  "Whoever is in charge of sanitation needs to get a grip on it," I said.

  Trethant grunted. "We do what we can, Patron. We can't dig latrines in the rock and if we dig them behind the town it will seep into the water. Too far away anyway. I calculated that the lake can handle the volume but the stream through Darklake isn't deep or fast enough to clear what's dumped into it on a daily basis. Fixing that would be a major undertaking. The existing latrine was built for a much smaller population and couldn't handle the number of people here even if we tried to enforce its use, and we are too few to enforce any edict on the subject."

  I nodded absently, trying to focus on the problem, watching the faces as we passed, seeing only those whose expressions showed anger, resentment, fear, loathing. They were few enough, but any at all was too many.

  "Mielkan," I remembered his name, "the representative of the refugees I brought here; get him started on clearing and deepening the stream."

  Trethant cleared his throat. "I'll talk to Parast before I leave."

  Of course. Trethant was leaving with Meran. Parast, the senior centurion was to stay.

  I shivered. Reaction. If I hadn't been in the act of raising my arm to give a cheery wave to the baker I would now have a knife in my throat. I'd be dead, probably. This conversation wouldn't be happening. My ear suddenly throbbed and I raised a hand to it. Winced. He'd cut my ear. I'd barely noticed. Forgotten. Mielkan; had he heard the rumour? Did he believe it? Would he try and stick a knife in me? "Just have Mielkan report to me; I'll deal with it."

  "As you say, Patron."

  "Any thoughts?" I tossed the question over my shoulder to Sapphire as we passed through the gate, part of a steady stream of men heading out to wo
rk on the road south.

  "Get a fresh tunic."

  The new walls outside the gate were now at waist level; I could clearly see the units I was sending north. They waited in ranks, ready to march. My gaze flicked over them and on to a group of civilians gathering nearby; men and women and children in equal measure, burdened with bundles and pushing hand-carts laden with possessions. I dismissed them as camp followers but then realized that they were the bravest of the people of Learneth, ready to follow the soldiers back to their own lands. There were farms standing empty, livestock scattered, crops untended. It was premature, I thought, but decided not to step in and deny them the right. Let Meran deal with their security as he saw fit.

  Thinking of Meran made me look back to the waiting soldiers. Seeing me covered in blood would hardly inspire them to confidence that their line of supply was secure. I needed a fresh tunic.

  "Good idea." There were plenty of soldiers close by.

  One more borrowed tunic. This was getting to be a habit.

  "Better idea, Trethant," I said. "Bring Meran here." He was the only one I wanted to talk to.

  #

  Meran had not been happy to hear my news. No happier than I had been to give it.

  I watched my men move off. One hundred and sixty combatants, a mix of my own infantry and warriors of Darklake under Kathan, many had taken the horses of the delegation from Hederan. A fair price was paid for the mounts but I doubted the delegation felt adequately compensated as they were now on foot. Two scouts, one healer and Balaran. Not much for what needed doing; maybe not enough if things went sour. I watched them from a section the new wall that was going up outside the gate, constructed of fieldstone no bigger than a man could carry. It looked deep and solid enough. I hoped it was just a precaution.