by M. L. Brown
He waved us through the gate and turned back to the road, ready to persecute the next unwitting traveler.
Tsurugi led us through a web of streets, looking for a particular building.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He didn’t respond.
“Hang it, Tsurugi, where are we going?”
He remained silent, and I gave up.
We wandered through the city for a quarter of an hour, and for those glorious minutes my Thursday Afternoon of the Soul seemed to disappear. Everything about Valdelaus fascinated me. Like Faurum, it seemed almost familiar in a thousand different ways. Its structures and inhabitants were eclectic enough to give a headache to the most intrepid anthropologist. Some buildings had an Asian delicacy; others were solidly European. The passersby might have been gathered from the four corners of Earth.
We came to a three-story house. Tsurugi dismounted from his hund and knocked.
“Wait a moment,” murmured Regis, looking up at the house. “This can’t be the place, can it?”
The door was opened by a girl of eleven or twelve. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Tsurugi. Tell Atticus we’ve arrived.”
Regis opened his mouth in wonder, closing it at the exact moment the girl slammed the door. The effect was so funny I couldn’t help but smile.
“This is the house I grew up in,” he said. “I haven’t been here in years. It’s a lot smaller than I remember.”
The door opened and a gray-haired man stepped out.
“Atticus!” cried Regis. He threw himself forward and embraced the man, like a rugby player tackling an opponent.
“Regis,” said the man, laughing softly. “You’re a good deal bigger than the last time I saw you. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m so sorry about Kana, my boy. I was devastated when I heard. He was a good friend. I’m glad you could make it.”
“How did you know we were coming?” I asked.
Atticus inspected me with curiosity. “You must be Lance Eliot. You look just like the rest of us. I guess Terra must not be so different.”
“It’s very different,” I said. “Never mind that. How do you know about me?”
“I got a letter from Tsurugi. It was heavy reading, I tell you. Said the Resistance is gone and we’re the last hope Rovenia has. Not much hope, but a little is better than none. But don’t let me ramble. Come inside. I’ll kennel your hunds and join you in a minute. You can have the kids show you your room.”
We entered the house and were instantly mobbed by children.
“They’re here!”
“Get back, Hardy, I wanna see.”
“Do you bring us anything?”
“Yatima, that’s not a polite question.”
“Get off my foot!”
“Come and I’ll show you your room,” said a little girl, tugging on my hand. We followed her to the topmost room in the house, a garret with three beds and a window overlooking the street. The rest of the children galumphed up the stairs and peeped into the garret, jostling each other for a better look at us.
Atticus entered, pushing his way gently through the crowd of children. “Kids, give our visitors some peace,” he said. “I want you to stay away from this room, got it?”
The children left with many whispers and backward glances. The last to leave was the girl who had led us to our room. She gave a shy smile and a wave before disappearing from view.
“That’s Trista,” said Atticus. “She’s a good girl. Her parents were killed in a raid up north, but the Tyrians didn’t find her. Her mother had stuffed her in the flour barrel to keep her out of sight. But I’m rambling again, pardon me. I’m glad you made it safe.”
For the first time in weeks, Regis looked happy. “It’s so good to see you, Atticus,” he said. “How have you—”
“How soon can we meet the others?” asked Tsurugi.
“They’ll be here by supper,” said Atticus. “I’ll spread the word. You make yourselves at home and talk to the kids if you need anything. Sorry to interrupt you, Regis, but our talk will have to wait.”
Atticus left, shutting the door behind him.
“What others?” asked Regis, looking at Tsurugi. “You haven’t told us your plans for re-forming the Resistance. In fact, you haven’t told us much of anything.” His voice became sad. “We’ve kept to ourselves since Ventus. I think it’s time we talk to each other again.”
I agreed with him, but felt too miserable to admit it. Tsurugi sat with an imperturbable expression, apparently unmoved.
“Never mind,” said Regis, crestfallen. “I’m going to meet the kids. Lance, do you want to come?”
I shook my head, and Regis left the room.
“Where’s the nearest pub?” I asked.
Tsurugi walked to the window and stared at the windowsill. “You’re making it worse,” he said. “Wounds take time to heal. Drink won’t heal them any sooner.”
“Shut your mouth, Tsurugi.” I sat upright on the bed and glared at him. “You stand aloof as I suffer through a month of hell, and now you decide you’ve the right to tell me how to live my life? This may not have occurred to you, O purveyor of wisdom, but I don’t want your opinion.”
After spending nearly two months with Tsurugi, I had become quite adept at discerning emotion in his emotionless expression. Though he didn’t reply to my outburst, I could see something flicker across his face. He looked like the man who tries to be stoic as the surgeon operates without anesthetic.
I instantly felt a burning shame. “I didn’t mean that, Tsurugi. I’m sorry. It’s been a hard month, that’s all. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“There’s a pub down the street, on the left.”
I left him staring at the windowsill. I felt guilty, but four pints of beer doused the feeling. Rather tipsy, I wandered back to the orphanage and lurched up the stairs to the garret. Tsurugi was gone. I lay down and slept, awaking with a jerk as the door burst open.
It was Regis. “Time for supper,” he said.
I groaned and rolled out of bed.
“You don’t look good, old boy,” said Regis. “Don’t you think it’s time you let the tipple alone?”
“Shut up,” I slurred, trying to stand. “What’s for supper?”
“Never mind what we’re eating. There are people you need to meet.”
He led me downstairs to the dining room, where a table was laden with rice, bread and a vegetable stew. Three strangers sat at the table with Atticus.
“This is Lance Eliot,” announced Regis. “He’s from Terra. Tsurugi will be back soon. He told us to start the meeting without him.”
“I’m still not willing to trust Tsurugi,” said a matronly woman sitting at the table.
“Not trust Tsurugi?” exclaimed Regis. “Are you daft—pardon me, madam,” he amended, blushing very red. “I’ve never had reason to distrust him.”
“How much do you know about him?” asked the woman, frowning.
“He risked his life for us,” said Regis. “He saved our lives at least three or four times. He practically starved himself for a month to make sure we had enough to eat. Tsurugi isn’t very friendly—”
Amen to that, I thought.
“—but that hasn’t kept him from being a brave, loyal friend.”
“I trust him,” said Atticus, who was sitting at the head of the table. “Petra, my dear lady, everybody makes mistakes—”
Amen to that, I thought.
“—and should always be given another chance,” he concluded.
“I’ll leave the decision with Jian,” said Petra. “He of all people has the right to decide.”
She motioned to the man sitting across the table from her, a wiry chap with Asian features and cropped black hair.
Jian said nothing for a moment. Then he sighed and said, “We have to trust him. Tsurugi is a military genius. We need a military genius.”
“You’re both geniuses,” said Petra.
; “I’m just a medic,” said Jian. “We need someone to organize the soldiers when they arrive. I can’t do that, nor can General Fox—not without raising suspicion. No one suspects Tsurugi. Apart from the Resistance, no one in Valdelaus even recognizes him anymore. He might not be our first choice, but we can’t afford not to use him.”
“Fine,” said Petra. “Tsurugi’s in. Now let’s eat and get started.”
During the meal I examined my companions, these staunch and stalwart heroes of the Resistance. Besides Regis, Atticus, Petra and Jian, there was a man in a wheelchair. He looked Arabian or Jewish, with brown skin, gleaming black eyes and a nose of heroic proportions.
Tsurugi arrived halfway through the meal and pulled up a chair without speaking. Regis and Atticus welcomed him back. The man in the wheelchair beamed at him. Neither Petra nor Jian acknowledged his arrival.
When we had finished eating, Atticus called for someone named Hardy and was answered promptly by a boy of thirteen. “Would you get one or two of the others and bring in dessert?” asked Atticus. The boy sped out of the room and returned with a cake balanced on either hand. Two girls followed. One held a bottle of wine, clutching it with both hands as though afraid she might drop it; the other carried a tray with porcelain cups.
“I’m afraid we haven’t got any proper wineglasses,” said Atticus, uncorking the bottle. “This is an orphanage, not a palace.”
“Fine wine is delightful, whether served in a crystal goblet or a tin cup,” said the man in the wheelchair.
Atticus smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid this isn’t fine wine.”
“I think it very fine,” said the man. “As the poet reminds us, ‘Hospitality makes all things praiseworthy.’ Thank you,” he added, taking a slice of cake from Jian.
“We’re all here,” said Petra. “Where do we begin?”
“Introductions are in order,” said Atticus. “I don’t think Lance and Regis are acquainted with all of us.”
“I’m Petra,” said the woman.
“They need a little more introduction than that,” said Atticus.
“What more is there to say? I live on the other side of the river. My husband and I are tailors. That’s all.”
“What she has conveniently forgotten to mention,” said Atticus, his eyes twinkling, “is that she and her husband happen to be heroes.”
“Don’t try to be funny,” she said.
“Petra takes in broken women,” explained Atticus. “No matter where they come from, whether the streets, the brothels or someplace worse, Petra offers them a safe place to stay and employment in her shop.”
“Quit prattling and introduce someone else,” said Petra.
“This is Jian,” said Atticus, motioning toward the wiry man. “He works at the military hospital in the Fifth District. I wish I could introduce General Fox, our man at the Palace, but he couldn’t make it. Senshu is hosting a banquet tonight and he was obliged to attend.”
Atticus waved a hand toward the man in the wheelchair. “This is Eben. He works at the newspaper press.” He paused for a sip of wine and looked around. “That’s everybody. Where do we begin?”
13
THE RESOLUTION OF LANCE ELIOT
WE TALKED FOR NEARLY two hours. Well, the others talked. I listened and drank wine until Regis took away the bottle.
The most pressing item of business was the rebellion against Senshu. The Resistance couldn’t deal with the other crises until he was out of the way. However, the rebellion would not succeed without military force. It would take months for the soldiers from the first Resistance to return to Valdelaus. We faced a terrifying dilemma. We couldn’t act until we had military support, but were doomed unless we did something soon.
Petra advocated raising an army of civilians and storming the Royal Palace. Tsurugi broke his silence, arguing that untrained civilians would be slaughtered by the Palace guards. Regis and Atticus sided with Tsurugi. Eben dismissed Tsurugi’s warnings and sided with Petra. It was turning into a fine argument when Jian restored silence by tapping his fork on the rim of his cup.
He suggested a compromise. The Resistance would wait two months. Petra and Atticus would recruit citizens. Tsurugi would train them in basic combat. With any luck, these recruits would be joined by a large number of experienced soldiers from the first Resistance by the end of the second month. During these two months, Eben and his family would sneak into the newspaper press at night and print pamphlets calling for the removal of Senshu.
On the day of the rebellion, these revolutionary pamphlets would be distributed throughout the city. Petra, Atticus and others would stir up crowds in the market squares. If all went according to plan, the city would be roused to rebellion against Senshu. Protected by soldiers and civilian recruits, the crowd would storm the Palace and remove Senshu from power. The Assembly would be gathered and a regent elected.
With the new leader firmly established, General Fox would take charge of the military and deploy soldiers to repel the Tyrians and Nomen. The pirates ravaging the western coast would be dealt with once the northern and southern reaches of the kingdom were secure.
“What about the Darkness to the east?” asked Regis.
Jian closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“Send me,” said Tsurugi.
Every eye turned to him. He sat with a blank expression, looking very much like a stuffed fish, his eyes as empty as the morning sky.
“You’re crazy,” said Petra.
“The Darkness must have a root,” he said. “Maybe it can be destroyed. I’ll go east and find it.”
“You’re crazier than crazy,” exclaimed Petra. “Your plan is suicide. You can’t possibly be serious.”
Jian stared hard at Tsurugi. Their eyes met for a second, and then Tsurugi dropped his gaze to the table.
“It’s a mad idea,” said Jian. “I don’t like it. Tsurugi, I don’t like it at all.”
Tsurugi spoke in a quiet voice. “Let me go, I might die. Keep me, we all die.”
To my surprise, Regis spoke up next. “I think Tsurugi has a point. Plunging into the Darkness isn’t a perfect plan. It might fail. It’s a gamble, but experience has taught me that gambles sometimes pay off. It’s the only chance we have.”
Then Regis did the last thing I could have expected him to do under the circumstances.
He smiled.
“I’ve got a good feeling about this. I vote we let Tsurugi go.”
“First he trains our recruits,” said Petra. “I won’t have him running off and dying till he’s done something useful.”
“Have we agreed on Jian’s plan?” asked Atticus.
Eben sighed and pointed out that we had little choice.
“It has too many problems,” objected Petra. “There’s no guarantee the city will turn against Senshu, and then what happens to us? Even if the city turns, it won’t be a peaceful rebellion. There will be blood.”
“There will certainly be blood,” said Eben. “A little if we overthrow Senshu, rivers if he remains in power. If he were our only enemy, we could bide our time. The kingdom is not laid waste by plague or famine. Trade and diplomacy with other nations have almost ceased, and the king demands many taxes, yet the people endure. Senshu is a selfish, foolish brute, but not a tyrant—except to those few who have the misfortune to get in his way.
“But Senshu is not our only enemy. The kingdom is sorely besieged on all sides and the Rovenian Legion is weak. If Senshu clings to the throne, his idleness will destroy the kingdom. We can delay no longer. I think the city will be quick to turn against him. Just yesterday his chariot struck and killed a girl in the street.”
Petra put a hand to her mouth.
“There was quite a stir,” continued Eben sadly. “The girl’s father was imprisoned for ‘Assaulting the Royal Guard’ and ‘Insulting the Royal Personage.’ The crowd that gathered at the scene was hot with indignation. A few words would have ignited a rebellion then and ther
e. I believe the city will turn against Senshu, but not until someone makes a stand. ‘Kindling takes a spark to burn,’ as the poet said.”
“You’re probably right,” admitted Petra. “Everyone I know despises the man. One of our women escaped his harem. His soldiers had taken her when she was only fourteen. She told me at least thirty women have been abducted for his harem, so I’ll bet my shop there are at least thirty families in this city that would gladly push him off the Palace roof.”
“The upshot is that Jian’s plan might work,” said Atticus. “At any rate, it’s the best we’ve got. Are we all in favor of it?”
There was a sudden movement as my companions raised their hands. I looked around the table. Regis had his hand up. So did Atticus, Petra, Jian, Eben and Tsurugi. There was a long pause, and I realized with a shock they were all staring at me.
“Do you have an objection?” asked Jian.
I blinked. “I’m expected to vote?”
“Of course,” said Atticus. “You’re part of this Resistance, aren’t you?”
It didn’t hit me until that moment. I was about to pledge my support to a criminal conspiracy. I was about to become a rebel, a radical, a rabble-rouser. If caught, I would be executed. It was quite a jolt.
What the devil, I thought.
I raised my hand.
“Marvelous,” said Atticus. “Petra and I will do our best to find recruits. I can think of a dozen lads who’ll join in a heartbeat. Tsurugi can train them in the courtyard behind the house. Eben will begin work on the pamphlet.”
“What about Lance and me?” asked Regis.
Eben coughed—a gentle cough, quite unlike the horrible hawking of the Skeleton. “If I might make the suggestion, you can take a job at the press. The manager has been looking for workers. You could work during the day and help us with the pamphlets at night.”
“A fine idea,” said Regis. “We accept.”
“Then it’s sealed,” said Atticus. “Our Resistance has begun. May El lead us to victory.”
I thought it unlikely.
The following morning, fourteen young men arrived at the door while we were at breakfast. Abandoning his bread and blackroot, Tsurugi led them to the courtyard behind the house.