by Steve Rzasa
Lysanne laughed.
Cope was nonplussed for a minute, his grin faltering. Then he put an arm around Lysanne. “You see? See what I’ve had to reckon with for the past twenty-five years?”
She slapped his hand hard enough that the smack made the two secretaries pounding at their tele-typers look up. Cope jerked his hand back, with feigned sadness on his face. Lysanne patted him on the cheek. “I am beginning to see it well, after being married to him for ten years of my own.”
Cope winked at Winch.
Winch chuckled. It felt like far longer ago than a week when he and Cope sat in this very spot, nursing their injuries from the showdown with Reardon Ray. Winch had been petrified and sick with fear. Now he basked in the morning sun coming through the round window, just as he had then, only he enjoyed it much more. It made the flax-colored walls and goldenrod carpeting glow, and bathed everything in the same aura. The four tele-typers in the office were, if possible, churning out messages even faster than they had a week ago.
He took of his glasses and rubbed a smudge off the lenses. Much better.
“What I wonder, Winch, is whether that pilot, that Troy fella, had to face those spheres the cythramancers flung at us from their biplanes.” Cope shook his head. “If he did, it’s no wonder he crashed.”
“We can only hope he didn’t suffer,” Winch said.
Miss Plank strode across the room. “Gentlemen. Good to see you are well.”
Winch donned his glasses. He stood and shook the hand she proffered. “You look well, also, Miss Plank.”
And she did, in the formal dress and blouse she’d worn on their first meeting. Her hair was prim and pert. “Copernicus.”
“Miss Plank.” Cope tried to kiss her hand, and to Winch’s surprise, she let him.
“I am glad to see you suffered no permanent injury in our…escapade,” Miss Plank said to Lysanne.
She blushed. “Well, I did have a decent protector.”
“Though why you would need my protection when you shot Greer’s ear clean through is beyond me.”
Winch gaped.
“You didn’t mention that?” Miss Plank lifted an eyebrow.
“Well…I told you I’d helped Miss Plank apprehend the spy,” Lysanne said. She sounded very apologetic. “The details… I thought you’d worry.”
“I suppose I’m more in awe.” Winch shook his head. His wife? Catching spies and shooting villains? “I always knew you were a good aim but…through his ear?”
Lysanne smiled. “Maybe you’re in need of a refresher.”
“Ain’t that true,” Cope said. He slapped Winch on the shoulder. “Your man here can’t hit much beside the broad flank of a hangar.”
“Thanks, Cope.”
A new sound filled the office. It was a steady beat, a quiet rumble that grew in volume, and competed with the chattering tele-typers for attention. Miss Plank beckoned them to the large, circular window. “Come. You three of all people deserve to see this.”
Winch crowded in with Lysanne and Cope by the window. A long line of men in Trestleway militia uniformed trudged down Main Street. Most were bereft of their hats. They weren’t bound, though. Perch militia on branterback rode alongside, carbines at the ready. “Great clouds. There must be hundreds of them.”
“Four hundred and seventy-six,” Miss Plank said firmly. “Our prisoners. Colonel Cuthbert is taking them to a temporary camp in the foothill just outside town on the Jackmans’ ranch.”
Cuthbert rode into view, astride his black branter. He waved his hat as he passed. Men, women and children lined the street, some waving homemade Perch flags. A cheer rose up so resounding that it vibrated the glass in the window. Miss Plank undid the latches on the window and pushed open one bottom quarter of the circle. The cheers flooded into the room.
“There’s your paperboy, Winch,” Lysanne said.
Konrad stood at the corner of Main and South Streets, across from City Hall. He had a stack of broadsheets at his feet, just the single page Winch, Gil, and Annora had worked up overnight. “Read it well, Konrad.”
The boy held one aloft. “Extra! Trustee Borman indicted on spying! Confesses role in bombings! Spies disguised themselves as Tirodani! Mayor-General calls tactic cowardly! Read it all! Extra!…”
He started the spiel over as people flocked to him, coin in hand.
“I see you’re admiring our handiwork.” Mayor-General Jonas Keysor’s voice startled Winch.
He turned and was dismayed by the sight of the man. Keysor’s attire and hair were impeccable, but the shadows under his eyes and the tilt to his smile told Winch he was still sorrowful.
“The people need to know the Tirodani of this city-state are not traitors and anarchists and had no part in the bombings.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Winch said.
“Mayor-General.” Cope stood face-to-face with him. Winch had never heard Cope sound so contrite, or his voice hover so close to breaking. “I regret to say I’ve acted like a branter’s hind end toward you. I aim to fix that, and ask your forgiveness.”
Keysor shook his hand with both of his. “Cope, I understand. You needn’t ask forgiveness. It’s given, and I took no offense. Jesca must have made quite the impression on you.”
“She did.” Cope took a deep breath.
“You served her memory well.” Keysor’s smile faltered. “She and Troy—by all that Nature bestows, I miss them. They were casualties lost to Trestleway and the dark powers just as much as the eleven pilots and two hundred forty men that died.”
Winch bowed his head in the silence that followed. More than two hundred fifty Perch citizens, killed. And there were more wounded. He’d seen Maddy at the infirmary, caring for her boys. Eight of them had died.
He missed Jesca, too, and Oneyear, the brother in the faith he never had the chance to know. The pilot Treadway Krol would never soar alongside Cope again. Sheriff Luis Tedrow would never keep a sharp eye on peace in Perch’s valley.
Lost friendships. Lost souls. Winch took solace in knowing some found their way to the homes in the Unfading Lands, with Ifan the Exaltson there to greet them.
“Well. Please. Come in.” Keysor gestured to his office. “There’s things of importance we must discuss.”
• • •
The office was soon crowded. Winch was surprised to see Gil Davies there, ensconced in one of the plush leather chairs. He puffed urgently on his pipe and gave Winch a curt nod.
Oh, no. When Gil was in this mood, the news was never pleasant.
There were enough chairs for everyone. Miss Plank closed the door behind them and stood stiffly by Keysor’s desk.
“I won’t keep you long,” Keysor said. “I know you have your chapel service in a few hours.”
“You blamed well ought to know it,” Gil grumbled. “It’s why the Exalters in this city miss work every Sunday.”
“Indeed.” Keysor frowned. “Mister Davies and I here were having a discussion about the upcoming issue of the Perch Advocate.”
Winch didn’t like the sound of that. “Should I infer that it has to do with the article I’m writing about the conflict with Trestleway?”
“You should. And you should also infer that I have the full cooperation of Mister Sun Jianguo in this matter.”
Gil jerked the pipe from his mouth. “He’d have us suppress the true account of what happened out there yesterday, Winch! I don’t cotton to it one bit.”
“You can’t do that.” Winch tightened his grasp on the edge of the chairs.
“Actually,” Keysor said, “since Mister Sun has already assented to this course of action, I can.”.
“To what end?” Winch asked. Lysanne put her hand atop Winch’s. It was a calming gesture, Winch recognized, but there was no calming the storm inside. “To hide the truth from the citizens of Perch?”
Keysor steepled his fingers. “Truth is a funny thing, Winch. The truth is, Trestleway is highly embarrassed that a reporter and a pilot laid to ruin th
eir plans to conquer Perch. The truth is, they would rather the whole thing just go away, and so they’re not in a position to quibble if Perch refuses to extradite the men who infiltrated their railyards and escaped Peace Branch custody.
“The other truth is what we saw out there. What many eyes saw. Some, because of fear, will deny what their senses told them. And others will praise the Allfather because of it. But I cannot have strife divide this city-state. Which is why Mister Davies has been instructed to print not a word of the…otherworldly aspects of Trestleway’s surrender.”
Winch scowled. “But that was what saved the city!”
“True enough,” Keysor said, but he didn’t look like he was about to change his mind.
“So we tell them lies?” Winch said.
“No. We don’t lie. We obfuscate what is true. We expunge certain details. We leave in all the truth, save for the parts that bother people’s spiritual sensibilities. And we…creatively enhance some of the martial prowess of our brave defenders.”
“No doubt there will be some mention of the Consuls’ divine providence,” Winch said.
“Easy, Winch,” Lysanne said.
“It won’t be easy.” Winch stood. He curled his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “You saw what happened to Sheriff Tedrow, to you, Mayor-General Keysor. You’re going to deny that sort of evil power? And you and hundreds of men saw what I did—what the Exaltson did—to defeat it. That was the power of Thel at work in our rescue. And the power of the cythramancers was no match. It turned against the mortals who had likened themselves to be masters.”
“And what do you think will happen when we tell everyone in Perch that?” Keysor snapped. His normal ebullience was gone, replaced by stern disapproval. He too stood. The man towered behind his desk. “We tell them that cythraul knocked planes from the sky, that Exalters prayed and their Thel listened…don’t you think people will panic? They’ll be afraid of you and your kind, is that what you want? And what do you think they’ll do then? They’ll hang you just like the Tirodani they were ready to string up when those Trestleway agents bombed us.”
Winch was stunned into silence. He hadn’t thought it out.
Keysor sighed. “Winch, it does me no good if Exalters are persecuted. It’s bad for business in this city-state. But some people will get so knocked off their branter with the truth that they will rampage. You know it. Mrs. Sark saw it herself.”
Lysanne made a face. “That doesn’t mean I advocate suppressing what’s true.”
Keysor didn’t respond to her. “If I have to gloss over something to avoid panic and rioting and vigilante justice in my city, I’ll do it.”
Winch glared but couldn’t think of a reply.
Keysor gestured to Cope. “You’ve remained quiet.”
Cope folded his arms. “I don’t rightly know what happened out there,” he said softly. “All I know is that when the believers in Thel called on Him, well…there came this…lifht. And the cythramancers couldn’t stand up to it.”
“I’m sorry, Mayor-General,” Winch said. “The truth won’t be suppressed, even if it goes unprinted.”
“I didn’t reckon to swear you to silence,” Keysor said dryly. “I only ask you to consider your own safety, and your family’s.”
“The Allfather will keep us in Him, no matter what happens in this world,” Lysanne said firmly.
“This world, as you so aptly put it, is already getting more intriguing.” Keysor thumped his hand upon a stack of papers and tele-type strips on his desk. “It’s all here—Trestleway’s denunciation of the entire invasion, for starters. They claim one Captain Beam overthrew the chain of command and turned what was meant to be a ‘peaceful, neighborly intervention’ into—”
“Free Fliers must have misread that lofty prose,” Cope muttered.
“Into a bloody grab for political power.” Keysor shook his head. “They claim that Second Councilor Ehrlichmann was removed from his post of command by Beam. He’s been censured by the Trestleway council and stripped of his seat, pending trial. They have their scapegoat, since Beam is dead.”
“Trial.” Gil puffed smoke. “Bah. A lot of codswollop, if you ask me.”
“Then there’s the matter of the Sawtooth League. Megunticook and Naxothrace have agreed to my proposal, which is no small feat.”
“What proposal?” Winch asked. He reached for his notepad. “On the record, sir?”
Keysor chuckled. “Sorry, not yet.”
Winch put the notepad away.
“It involves establishing a permanent garrison at Fort DeSmet, with armed companies from all four city-states rotating by season,” Keysor said. “Megunticook dispatched seven hundred men this morning, and Naxothrace promises several hundred by the middle of the week. Fort DeSmet is more than willing to join us.”
Winch’s thoughts raced like trains steaming down the tracks. The potential advantages of a full-blown military alliance were staggering. “What has Mintannic said?”
Keysor’s smile broadened. “I’ve received a communique offering their assistance in collecting compensation from Trestleway, via the sanctions Mintannic’s merchant houses are putting into place.”
Cope whistled low.
“Indeed.” Keysor leaned forward, his hands folded before him on the desk. “Trestleway will feel pain from this futile exercise for a long time.”
Relief flooded Winch. Part of him had worried that Mintannic would exercise some of the far-reaching and overbearing clout it used on city-states in the northern plains. “We’re not quite big enough to worry Mintannic with our antics down here.”
“No, but Trestleway is.” Keysor stood. “I told you I wouldn’t keep you long. Mister Davies, I appreciate your cooperation and your, ah, candor in this matter.”
Gil shook his hand. Winch wondered if he would have preferred to tear it off. “Mind what the lad said about the truth, Mayor-General. It won’t stay under a basket for long, even if you don’t read it in the Advocate.”
“I shall remember that.”
Gil winked at Winch on his way out the door. He took Lysanne’s hand and kissed it in genteel fashion. “Farewell until chapel. And I’ll see you, young Winchell, in the office soon thereafter. You have a story to finish. Ta.” He blustered through the office, startling the secretaries.
“And Cope,” Keysor said, “again, we are in your debt,”.
“Thanks much.” Cope grinned. “Winch, why don’t you and your lovely lady wait for me at your place before—well, before you go to that chapel service of yours? It will take me a spell to find some of my finer duds.”
“Will do, Cope,” Winch said. “We’d welcome you to join us.
“That and…well…” Cope rubbed the back of his neck. His cheeks flushed. “I reckon Daisy might join me. Us. All of us. There.”
Winch grinned. He gave him a mock salute.
Cope returned the salute and was gone.
Winch put his hand on Lysanne’s back to guide her through the door.
“Winch? If you and Lysanne would wait one moment.”
Miss Plank sidled in front of the door. She closed it with barely a click of the catch.
“You two proved yourself quite able in my service, and the service of all Perch, for that matter,” Keysor said. “I would like very much to continue that service.”
Winch and Lysanne glanced at each other. He reckoned she looked as surprised as he felt.
“I don’t recall resigning from the Perch Advocate, Mayor-General,” Winch said.
Keysor chuckled. “You didn’t. But let us say that this would be…additional employment. Seasonal, occasional. At the request of the mayor-general’s office.” He drew a brass disc from a desk drawer. It caught the sun. A slip of paper was tied to its underside. “You’ll need these.”
Winch took it. He untied the string and unfolded the paper. The word “TRANQUILITY” was printed on it, nothing else. “Sir?”
“The opposite of ‘TROUBLE.’ You see, since
JD Borman already knows we used that as a code once, we need a new one. What you have there is the same kind of cipher wheel I gave to Jesca. And I will also give you this.” He handed Winch a small black notebook. “It contains the cipher I used to send messages to Troy. The key for that is ‘HAMISH.’ Memorize both key words and destroy the slip of paper.”
“You’d have us be your spies?” Lysanne said. Awe colored her hushed tone.
“And my apprentice.” Miss Plank arched an eyebrow. “Your skills can be improved. Doubtless I’ll need to have you attend my regular sessions of Bansaw hand-to-hand.”
Winch was astonished.
But Lysanne managed a laugh. “And here I was going to invite you along with the ladies I lead in cross-stitching every other Thursday.”
“That too would be agreeable,” Miss Plank said.
“Of course I don’t expect your immediate answer, only your discretion.” Keysor looked down at his hands. “Winch, whatever it was you did out there—what your Thel did—is beyond my comprehension. And I fear it may ever stay that way. But that does not mean I’m about to be a fool and throw away valuable resources.”
Winch turned the cipher disk over in his hand. What to make of this, Thel? I seek your will.
Remember the Writ.
Listen. I’m with you always. So don’t fret.
Lysanne rested her fingers on Winch’s wrist. He met her eyes. “Anything we do, anything we decide, we are together, Mayor-General.”
“I hadn’t any doubt. It would be a fine way to honor those who died. Think on it, Winch. And…perhaps pray on it, as well?” Keysor asked.
Winch smiled. He slid the cipher wheel into his vest. It clinked softly against his grandfather’s pocket watch. The notebook joined them both. Whatever crosswind he faced, he was ready. “I most assuredly will.”
It was dark. She was in pain.
She winced. Her hands were tied together, so tightly they had no circulation. Her face was sore and swollen.
He had returned.
He sat down on a wooden stool. It creaked under him. “You’re not enjoyin’ this no more, Miss.” He chuckled.
She spat at him.
“That’s not very nice. Mind your manners.” He had a belt in his hand. It slapped a steady, heavy rhythm against his leg.