A Wizard In War

by Christopher Stasheff

  At last Ciare led him through the curtains behind the two carts into a large tent with the stage as one wall and the inn for another, with canvas above them and canvas to each side. "This is the tiring house," she said.

  "How does one tire?" Coll asked.

  Ciare turned to him, smiling, leaning back against the inn wall. "Why, one tires by long exercise."

  "Then I must have tired you in this long excursion, especially with all the questions I have asked." Coll's heart beat faster; he hoped the beckoning in her face was really there, not only the result of his wishful thinking. He stepped closer, and her smile widened, eyelids half closing.

  "Not so much effort by half," she said, her voice low and husky. "Can you not give my mouth more exercise than that?"

  Coll stepped closer still, his face mere inches from hers, their bodies almost touching, and smiling into her eyes, feeling his whole body tingling with her nearness.

  "You are too distant," she breathed.

  He kissed her, then kissed her again, longer-then again and again, longer and deeper each time.

  From that time on, Coll and Ciare were always careful to be very decorously well apart from one another-but they found frequent opportunities to be alone.

  Coll had to admire the skill of the older actor-women with their needles-but his sister's skill was another matter. She was soon sitting beside Dirk every chance she could make, asking him all sorts of questions, finally hitting on the matter of government and war, and settling herself to listen to a lecture. Unfortunately, her smile faltered a few times, and her boredom began to show.

  But there wasn't enough time for Dirk to become too elaborate in his subject. As soon as the bread and cheese had been washed down with ale, the players were up and rehearsing. They breezed through the show so quickly that Coll found himself wondering how they could make it last long enough for the audience to feel they'd had their money's worth. Dirk seemed to think so, too, for he asked Ciare, "Only an hour?"

  "No, they're just practicing the difficult parts," she told him, and gave Coll a look that said she would enjoy practicing herself. "With the audience, it will last several hours."

  "Several hours of pleasure would be well worth the effort," Coll murmured, gazing into her eyes. Then he gave himself a shake and asked, "How does the innkeeper make enough money from this to be so eager to have you perform? Do you pay him?"

  She nodded. "One penny in two-but most of his money he makes from the knights and lords who rent the rooms that look out into the courtyard-the only time he can charge more for them than for those on the outside." She gestured at the second-story rooms and the porch that ran in front of them. "He charges for the food and wine they eat, too, of course."

  "Sounds like a wonderful way to spend the afternoon," Coll said, with a look that made the statement ambiguous. "I would love to have the chance, someday," she returned, fluttering her eyelashes.

  "Even if the play were boring?"

  "Our play would be anything but tiresome," she assured him. "Even if it were, though, a knight and woman could simply retire into the room and draw the curtains."

  "How could you lose?" Coll leaned a little closer to her. "They come! They come!" Androv bustled up to them. "The apprentices lead them! The audience nears our gates! To your stations, one and all!"

  In a few minutes, they were trooping in, the young bloods handing their horses' reins to Gar and one or two of the younger players where they sat by the hitching rail. When anyone tried to push past the boys taking coins, Gar rose from his seat, towering over the gateway, and the customers suddenly remembered where they had put their money.

  Soon the patrons had formed a long line, jostling elbows and chatting merrily as they waited-merriment that grew as the landlord's potboys passed up and down the line with wineskins, pouring flagons for anyone who paid a penny. One or two chafed at the delay, though, grumbling about the unfairness of it. Coll, holding horses, could scarcely believe his ears when he heard Gar say, "Be glad you're only waiting for a play to begin, friend, not waiting for the next battle to start."

  People fell silent around them, staring, appalled. The grumbler turned on Gar. "Oh, we're always waiting for that! But at least we don't have to stand idle, or pay to be admitted!"

  "Of course you pay," Gar said, "in blood and ruin. What you really need is a playscript for war, so that only the evil are slain."

  Startled silence greeted the statement, a silence that erupted into shouts of laughter. Even the grumblers had to grin. "Well said, play-actor! But where will you find such a script, eh?"

  "In the courage of common folk," Gar answered. "Did you see the play last night?"

  "With the giant Gargantua? Aye! A brave tale, that!"

  "Brave indeed," Gar agreed. "Where was the knight or the lord when the giant came?"

  The people fell silent again, staring. Some began to glance around them nervously.

  "Why, that's right." It wasn't the grumblers who spoke, but a merchant with grey at his temples. "There wasn't a knight, was there?"

  "The play called for it, but the actor who played him was sick," Gar said. "Did you miss him?"

  The merchant's eyes kindled. "Not a bit!"

  "Nor did I," one of the grumblers said, frowning. Coll wasn't sure he wanted to hear any more.

  "That's the way plays are," Gar told them. "When you see knights and lords, you have wars."

  "Only in plays?" an apprentice asked. He was beginning to look angry.

  But the line moved forward then, and Gar was saved from an answer. Instead, he turned with interest to the next knot of grumblers, who were complaining about not being able to see very well. "The lords can," Gar told them.

  Coll gave the reins he was holding to a stableboy, and went inside to see how Dirk was faring. He hoped nothing would happen to Gar, but the giant's words were raising both his anger and his hope. He told himself the day's work would be enough.

  He found Dirk quickly-and wished he hadn't. He was telling a handful of journeymen and apprentices, "There are only three people in each cell. That's right, peoplewomen can be just as good at passing information as men. But each person knows someone in another cell, and each of them knows another."

  "So no one knows more than four people?" a journeyman asked.

  Dirk nodded. "The three in his own cell, and one from another."

  "So if word needs to travel, only one cell needs to be told." An apprentice lit up with enthusiasm. "Each of its three tells one from another cell, so four cells know! Then each of the three new cells tells others, and thirteen cells know!"

  "And on and on, so that within a day or so, everyone knows." Dirk nodded. "That way, the ones who are planning the action can make sure..."

  Coll hurried away before he could find out what "the action" was. He was already shaking with fervor, and he had to last through a long afternoon. Could Gar and Dirk really mean it? Really mean to haul down the lords, and stop the wars? Or at least to curb the noblemen, to impose some sort of law on them, too?

  "Audiences are usually far more unruly than this."

  "Uh?" Coll looked up, and found that his steps had taken him to Androv. The chief player swept a gesture out to include the whole audience. "I've never seen people who only laugh and talk and throw the occasional apple core! Usually there are loud quarrels, fights breaking out, women squealing as men make improper advances." He shook his head, marveling. "Your masters have an amazing way of calming a crowd, friend Coll."

  "Amazing indeed." But Coll wasn't all that sure that their way was calming. For the time being, maybe, but he had a notion they would prove quite exciting in the long run.

  When the performance was done, Gar and Dirk lounged about, not near enough to overhear much that went on between Androv and the innkeeper as they counted the money, but very obvious and in sight of Eotin, in case he decided to change the terms of the agreement. Coll stood near them, quivering with frustration. Now, when he could ask the dozen questions they'd stirr
ed up in him, now when he could swear to do anything they asked if only there were a real chance of muzzling and chaining Earl Insol--now the knights only wanted to talk about the performance, and the players!

  "They have enthusiasm," Dirk pointed out.

  "Oh yes, tremendous enthusiasm!" Gar agreed. "Of course, their delivery is, shall we say, grandiose, and their concept of characterization comes straight from the carpenter's shop-but they do it with zest!"

  Dirk shrugged. "They have to make their voices heard all the way to the far wall, and their gestures have to be clear to people a hundred feet away and two stories up. Of course they're going to be big!"

  "And subtleties of character ... ?" Gar prompted. "Won't be clear beyond the first row. Of course, it might help if they stuck to the script. . ."

  Gar's shoulders shook with a silent laugh. "It might help if they had a script."

  "Of course." Dirk smiled. "But since they don't, and since their only reason for performing is to make a few pennies, you have to rate them according to whether or not they put on a good show, not their achievement as artists."

  "Which, of course, they would probably deny being,"

  Gar sighed. "Was it really from such rough and ready beginnings as these that Olivier and Evans and Omburt grew?"

  "You forgot Shakespeare and Moliere."

  "No, they did. You can see how it must have been-the scripts were lost, the serfs were forbidden to learn to read, but the actors passed down the plays from father to son and mother to daughter by word of mouth. They forgot the lines, but they remembered the story itself-so their descendants go out on the stage and make up the lines as they go along."

  "But why did the original colonists let some serfs be players?" Dirk wondered.

  Gar shrugged. "What else are you going to do in the evening?"

  Coll could think of a few answers to that, any of which would have made more sense than what the two knights were talking about. Apparently Dirk could think of them too, because he gave Gar a slow smile, but only said, "I can see your point. A play would be a welcome change now and then, wouldn't it?"

  "Very much," Gar agreed, "but only as a pastime. These bush aristocrats aren't the kind who care very much about art, after all."

  "They do have a few rough edges," Dirk admitted. "And would have rather drastic ways of treating players who failed to amuse, I doubt not," Gar said grimly. "No, all in all, I would have to admit that what these players do, they do well."

  "Exactly." Dirk nodded. "We just shouldn't be expecting them do to anything more-or trying to. After all, they probably don't even know it exists."

  "But they stay alive," Gar agreed, "and free of serfdom, though I suspect nobody raises the issue."

  "Come, woman! You cannot pretend to any great store of virtue!"

  All three men turned to look, suddenly alert for trouble.

  Four men had gathered around Ciare, chatting and laughing, and though the oldest had made the comment with a joking tone, his face was quite serious.

  "I think they might want some more company there." Dirk nodded toward the group, and Coll said, "Yes," as he strode, hands balled into fists, feeling anger hot within him.

  "Let me know if you need reinforcements," Gar called, then leaned back against a post, arms folded, watching with interest.

  "Pish, sir!" Ciare gave the man a playful push away. "Do you think that just because I walk onto a stage, I'm bereft of purity? For shame!"

  "Shame?" Another man chuckled. "Everyone knows that player women don't know what the word means." He reached out toward her bodice.

  Ciare gave his hand a playful slap. "We know it quite well, as knights seem not to! The king wears jewels in his crown-do you think that because you can see them, you should touch them?" She took a step back, right up against the chest of a tall young man, who reached around a groping hand, chuckling. "It's not the king's jewels that we speak of, lass, but your own charms." His arm tightened about her, and Ciare tried to pull it loose with a cry of distress. The men laughed.

  Coll couldn't take it any longer. He forgot the law said that a serf must not raise his hand against a lord; he forgot about the noose; he could only think of Ciare being forced to the pleasures of the lordlings. He reached out to seize the nobleman.

  10

  Ciare saw him reaching, and cried, "Coll, no!"

  But another hand intercepted Coll's, holding him off in an iron grasp, and it was Dirk's other hand that caught the lordling's wrist and squeezed. The young blood cursed and twisted his hand free of Dirk's-and of Ciare's waist, but he was too busy glaring at Dirk to notice. "Who are you, fellow?"

  "A gentleman who had a prior claim on this young woman's time." Dirk stepped up to him, nose to nose, though he had to tilt his head back to do it. "Do you dispute that claim?"

  The young blood glanced down at Dirk's hand on his rapier's hilt and grinned wolfishly. "Why, here's a poxy bold fellow! Do you know to whom you speak?"

  "What does it matter?" Dirk retorted. "Corpses need no names."

  The young blood's grin hardened. "But they have them, and their kin take unkindly to those who slew them."

  Dirk shrugged. "So you have a large number of corpses, all with the same name. Is that an improvement?"

  The young blood snarled and pushed Dirk away, leaping back himself to draw his rapier. Dirk's steel flickered out to guard only a second behind. The other young bucks started to move in, but someone nearby cleared his throat very loudly. All four of the playboys looked up-and suddenly became less willing to play, because it was Gar who stood nearby, hand on the hilt of a sword longer than any of theirs, towering over them all by almost two feet and a hundred pounds of muscle. He was only watching the proceedings with interest, but the backup group took the hint and backed off.

  "The landlord won't like spilled blood in his innyard," Gar said. "Be quick about it, will you?"

  "We'll see whose blood is spilled!" the young gentleman snapped, but with more volume than emotion. He leaped forward, thrusting.

  Dirk parried, then whirled his sword in a figure eight as the young blood advanced. He thrust, and Dirk's sword rang down, striking the rapier so hard it spun away into the dirt. Its owner cried out, shaking his hand in pain. While he was distracted, Dirk stepped up and twisted the dagger out of his left hand. The young blood stared at him, suddenly realizing how completely he was at Dirk's mercy. His face went white.

  Dirk sheathed his sword and took the injured hand. "Here, let me see." The young blood tried to pull away, then shouted more with alarm than pain as Dirk's left hand closed tight on his forearm. Dirk's right probed the other's sword hand gently. The man winced and ground his teeth. Dirk dropped the hand and stepped back. "Nothing broken-but I didn't think there was. Probably a sprain, though. You should wind a bandage tightly around it and let it rest for a day. Some brandy would help-inside you. Not too much, though."

  The young blood blinked, surprised that his late opponent should care.

  "Here, take him home," Dirk said to the backup group, then turned to Ciare, who was watching from the safe haven of Coll's arm. "Androv says you have work to do setting up for tomorrow's show."

  "Yes! Of course. Thank you." Ciare gave him a glance of gratitude, then went past him toward the stage, Coll following.

  Dirk watched them go, saying to Gar, "That fast enough for you?"

  "Yes, quite," Gar answered. "Lacking a bit in finesse, mind you, but certainly effective."

  Dirk shrugged. "You didn't say to make it pretty."

  Coll was inside the tiring house only a minute, then came out to see Dirk and Gar coming toward him, while behind them, the young gentry were escorting their friend out of the innyard with awed glances back over their shoulders. Coll knew just how they felt He stepped aside for Dirk and Gar, deciding they were his masters indeed.

  They came through the tiring-house curtains and found Ciare standing, hands on hips, looking about her. "I thought you said Androv wanted me here! "

&nb
sp; "He didn't," Dirk said. "I do," Coll told her.

  She darted into his arms, head on his chest "Oh, you darling fool, I was so afraid you would strike that lordling and have a dozen soldiers fall on you!" She looked up at Dirk. "Thank you, thank you, Master Dirk, for saving him for me!"

  "Anything to oblige a lady," Dirk said gallantly, "which you are, by your behavior if not by your birth."

  Ciare gave him a dazzling smile, which became slow and languorous as she turned back to Coll.

  "I believe it was you that Master Androv wanted," Gar told Dirk.

  The smaller man replied, "Did he? Guess I don't hear so well these days. Well, let's not keep him waiting." He led Gar out of the tiring house without a backward glance.

  "My employers are understanding," Coll said to break the sudden silence.

  "Understanding what you meant by saying that you want me, you mean?" Ciare turned her head a little away, regarding him through her lashes. "Well, then, you have me. What do you wish to do with me?"

  For answer, Coll lowered his head and kissed her. He meant it to be short and respectful, but Ciare's hand pressed down on the back of his neck, and the tip of her tongue danced over his lips, galvanizing him, so the kiss became far longer than he had intended. When it was done, he had to cling to her for a few minutes before his head stopped swimming.

  Ciare laughed softly and pushed herself a little away from him. "What else do you wish to do with me?"