by Trish Mercer
Or your father, thank the Creator, Perrin thought briefly.
“So I never could have been a debator, even if it was still allowed. And I’m not as clever with politics and, and, and stuff like that, or know as many people like you do, because when I listen to all of you talk at dinner, sometimes I get a bit lost. And I’ve heard that girls tend to prefer someone like their fathers, but I’m not as brave as you, because I’m not aggressive at all. I can’t even butcher the animals I raise, and honestly, sir, sometimes the chickens intimidate me—”
“Deck,” Perrin tried to interrupt, but the young man was as unstoppable as a stampede, so Perrin simply watched with amused sympathy.
“I’m a cattle man, and becoming a farmer man—actually, that would be just a farmer, I guess, and I’m certainly not soldier material, sir, because I like to create life, not destroy it. No offense, sir, I realize you actually defend life, but even you told me once that you feel more like a destroyer. But sir, I want to assure you that—”
“Deck!” Perrin said, standing up to catch him as he paced around the table yet again. “You don’t need to keep listing for me all your very admirable traits. I’m already sold on you.”
“You’re what?” Deck said, blinking to wake his brain out of his speech to focus on what Perrin was saying.
“Deck, believe me: I don’t want Jaytsy interested in a soldier. I want her to be happy, and honestly, son, I’ve never seen her happier than since she met you. So if all of this isn’t about you wanting to ask her to marry you, you better think again because I won’t tolerate you breaking her heart. Instead, you’ll become the 52nd man whose life I end.”
Deck collapsed on the table at that point, and Perrin spent the next half hour patting him on the back and getting him water and helping him slow his breathing, feeling a bit guilty that Deckett still wasn’t sure when Colonel Shin was just playing with him.
Eventually he was able to say, “Sir, may I have your permission to ask Jaytsy to marry me?” while his head rested on the table with a wet cloth on his neck which Perrin had placed there.
“What an excellent idea! But I have one condition: you have to call me Perrin,” he said, unable to resist teasing him once more.
“I’m trying to, sir. Perrin.”
“Excellent, Mr. Briter. Well done, son.”
---
That evening Shem was already seated with the family to dinner when Deckett came boldly through the kitchen door without knocking. He cuffed Shem playfully on the shoulder and casually sat down by Jaytsy without even an apology for his lateness.
Shem gave him a reproving look which Deckett ignored.
Over the past five moons Deck had become as common a fixture in the Shin household as Shem, but usually he was more reserved, respectful, and nervous, as a courting young man should be.
But not tonight, and Shem watched him warily.
With a twinkle in his eye, Deckett pointed to the plate of bread. “Perrin, could you hand that to me?”
Shem’s eyebrows rose at his overly casual tone, and shifted his gaze to Perrin to watch his response.
Perrin didn’t look at Shem. Curiously, no one in the family seemed to be meeting his gaze.
“Of course, Deck,” Perrin said easily. “Anything else?”
“No, but Mahrree, could you pass the soup?”
Shem dropped his fork in astonishment. Now that was completely inappropriate, calling Mrs. Shin by her first name?
But Mahrree only nodded, seemingly biting her tongue, and gave Deckett the bowl.
Realizing neither Perrin nor Mahrree would meet his questioning look, Shem next sent Peto a demanding frown.
Peto frowned back as if to say, Something wrong?
To his right Shem noticed Deck elbowing Jaytsy, who stared hard at her plate.
“And how about something from you?” Deckett said, with a quaver in his voice that immediately put Shem on guard.
Jaytsy’s head popped up. “How about this?” and she kissed Deck full on the mouth.
“Whoa!” Shem’s eyes bulged nearly out of his head. He banged the table in Yordin fashion, sending all of the dishes clattering. “What’s going on here?” He snatched up his fork again and aimed it at Deckett. “PERRIN! If you don’t do something, I will!”
“What, Shem?” Perrin said coolly, taking a bite of bread. “Do you have a problem with my future son-in-law?”
Shem sat motionless for at least ten seconds, his jaw sagging.
The family watched him in eager expectation. Now all eyes were on him.
He turned slowly to Jaytsy and Deck, who were fully red.
Jaytsy, grinning, nodded.
Shem couldn’t help it. Great big tears rolled down his face as he realized that Jaytsy would be marrying the kindest, gentlest young man he had ever met.
And not Lemuel Thorne.
He stood up, came behind Jaytsy and Deck, and hugged them, chairs and all.
“Am I invited?” he asked, his voice growing husky.
“Of course! Uncle Shem, are you all right?” Jaytsy said as Shem pulled away and dabbed at his eyes.
He stood up and cleared his throat. “Yes, yes! I’m just so, so . . . surprised. I couldn’t be happier.” He punched Deck in the shoulder to show how happy he was and kissed Jaytsy on the forehead.
Deck winced as he rubbed his shoulder. “Thanks, Uncle Shem.”
Shem shook his head. “I’m an uncle again.” He sighed as he sat down and stared at the couple. “That’s just wonderful! Our little Jaytsy.” He couldn’t control his chin wobbling as he choked out, “Even little Jaytsy, whose cloths I changed and who used to suck her thumb, is getting married before I am.”
“Ah, Shem,” Peto said, scooping up some soup. “I promise I won’t get married before you. How’s that?”
“Not at all comforting, Peto.”
---
It was late at night by the time Perrin was able to slip into his office at home. Part of the problem was that he was battling his wife.
Maybe it was a bit dramatic to cast it in that light, but that’s how he felt as he tried to shut the door on Mahrree who kept tossing more ideas at him through the gap while Jaytsy took notes.
“Yes, yes, yes. I’ll take care of the letter to the Mountseen Briters. I’ll be charming and welcoming, Mahrree, don’t worry. And I’ll write to Yordin. No, I’m sure it won’t be a problem using the fort for the dinner. Move your foot, Mahrree. No, I’m not writing to the Fadhs and Karnas yet—it’s too early! I sincerely doubt they’re going to Idumea for The Dinner. All right, fine—I’ll send them brief messages in the morning telling them to keep the date open, so if you’d just let me shut the—Yes, I’ll remind them all to be discreet. No, the Thornes won’t find out. Look, I’m going to pinch your fingers in the door . . . Quit planning the dinner already! Get some sleep, Jayts. The entire wedding doesn’t have to be figured out tonight!”
He latched the door before Mahrree or Jaytsy could barge in. Peto, the night owl, had gone to bed two hours ago.
Perrin pulled out his best ink and newest quills, setting them precisely on his desk, but not for writing letters. He rubbed his hands together before retrieving a roll of parchment, resting horizontally on the shelf and looking like nothing too interesting.
Filled with renewing energy—and now working against a deadline to create the best secret wedding present ever—he silently unrolled the parchments.
He spent the next hour or so illuminated only by one candle, poring over his work with painstaking care. He stopped working before he became too sleepy, because he didn’t want to risk making any mistakes.
This one had to be perfect too, just like the others.
Chapter 25 ~ “Like everyone else, I fell for the stories.”
A couple of moons later, on the 37th Day of the new year 337, once again two men sat in the dark office of an unlit building.
“I think you will find all of this most intriguing,” said Mal, eyeing his new partner and
making mental notes of his every reaction.
For the past year Mal had grown bored with the world, and it was time to make it interesting again. Brisack was gone, but Mal’s heart had never felt stronger, so it was time to get it pumping again. Too long had the chair across from him remained unoccupied.
“I’m already very impressed,” said the second, younger man.
While he was short and a bit on the stocky side with thinning hair, he had sufficiently beady eyes that no one thought to cross him. He was a perfect badger; on first glance one might think it a soft, furry little animal, but quickly one realizes it’s the most vicious oversized rodent ever to terrorize the world.
Mal regretted that it took him so long to recognize the potential.
“I’ve admired your work for years, Chairman, yet never knew whose work it was. I suspected the directions originated in the hierarchy, but I never dared believe it was so high. You are to be commended, sir.”
Mal nodded at the acceptable response. “I’ve worked hard over the years to keep my involvement unknown. Your predecessor said it was interference, but because of his poorly executed ‘interference’ he’s no longer here to criticize. I certainly can’t leave everything to chance. There must be control in every situation.”
The second man nodded. “Of course, sir.”
The Chairman smiled, satisfied that his new partner was already seeing things his way. “A suitable and contributing colleague is most important to this work. I’ve been watching you for some time, and I was quite pleased with how your office handled that ridiculous ‘Midnight Ride of Perrin Shin’ play that ran for too long.”
“Why, thank you, sir,” Administrator Genev simpered. “Sometimes people simply need to understand the facts more correctly. It’s unfortunate that so much of the world labored under the impression that the rescue mission was the idea of General and Colonel Shin. My alterations to the play remedied that, and now the world understands that the Shins were working directly under the Administrators’ orders. The rescue of Edge was not their idea; it was yours.”
Mal nodded. “Yes, very well done. Nearly as clever as your recommendations on how to deal with the Moorland incident.”
Genev offered what he thought was a demur smile. “Again, I thank you, Chairman. Truly, had the garrison suspected what was happening in Moorland, they would have originated the plan that Colonel Shin implemented. He simply anticipated their desires, but the influencing factors of the raid itself, along with its immense success, came directly from the garrison and Idumea. However, for Shin’s small part in carrying out his orders well, the fort was renamed for him and he was released from his probation.”
Mal chuckled. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”
“We need the world to believe that Shin is acting—and always has been acting—in the Administrators’ behalf.” Genev blinked obsequiously. “To let the citizens believe there is any discordance is to allow them to lend their loyalties to him instead of the Administrators.”
“And a division of loyalty is not what we need,” Mal said.
Genev emitted a noise that barely fit the definition of chuckle. “You don’t need to tell me that, Chairman. That’s my department, after all. I’ve already added dozens of files to what Gadiman left, and I’m sure you’ve seen the reports on those I’ve had brought into Idumea for sedition. Granted, it’s not as many as Gadiman brought in, but it seems the world has become less . . . feisty over the years.” He sounded disappointed by that. “In almost every account they’ve accepted your rule and control quite thoroughly.”
Mal smiled faintly. Genev was bored as well. The perfect companion.
“Except,” Mal said slowly, “someone in the world has chosen to suddenly throw the past into our faces again.”
Genev sat up eagerly. “Oh, yes!” he snarled in glee. “If only we knew who—”
“I assume that in time your office will figure that out, and you can deal with their disloyalty,” Mal assured him. “In the meantime, we need a strategy for dealing with this development.”
Genev nodded thoughtfully. “First we need to ascertain if the map truly is Terryp’s lost map.”
“It’s not,” Mal said. “It’s a forgery. A copy.”
Genev squinted. “Are you sure?”
“Almost completely. I had some historians look at it and they say the ink is too fresh and dark, and the parchment doesn’t appear to be old enough.”
Genev shrugged. “Well, then. That’s that. Nothing more needs to be done—”
Mal held up his finger. “Oh, but there does. Think about this: whoever makes one copy can make several copies.”
“Yes,” slowly said the Administrator of Loyalty as if following the logic, but the blank look in his eyes indicated he was lost.
Mall took a patient breath. “This copy was sent to me. More copies may be sent elsewhere to others who may be curious or quietly rebellious. The entire world has been gripped with land lust, Administrator. We’ve had reports for several moons now about citizens stealing the land of the dead, and in many cases, the land of those still living. It’s whetted their appetite for even more. This map in the hands of the wrong people? We could have a major loss of containment. If people go searching for Terryp’s western lands on their own, there go all of our test subjects.”
Genev nodded, a bit slower than Brisack would have. “Naturally, sir. This means, of course, that we need to be in control of what happens next with the map. How many know of its existence?”
“Besides you and me, a few other Administrators at best. But as I said, I don’t know if other copies have already been sent out. We need to make the first move, and quickly.”
“Yes, we do,” Genev said, his eyes shifting in thought.
Brisack never appeared so overtly worried, Mal thought to himself. But it’s better to have such a transparent companion.
“How many people in the world even remember Terryp?” Genev wondered. “The schools stopped teaching him and his findings over 15 years ago. That’s nearly a generation.”
Mal nodded. “And how many of their parents and grandparents remember him? Or his travels with King Querul the First’s soldiers past the western deserts? Or his fantastical stories about the origins of the world? I suspect their memories are fuzzy and incomplete. We can manipulate that.”
Genev raised an eyebrow. “I saw the Administrator of Culture leaving your office earlier this evening. Was he there because—”
“Because the world is going to want to remember who Terryp was, once this business of his discovered map gets out,” Mal said. “The Administrator and his staff will provide that ‘memory,’ as well as a more correct evaluation of Terryp, his mental stability, and his findings.”
“Crafted just right,” Genev began to smile, “Terryp can be completely discredited.”
“But that won’t work with the entire population,” Mal sighed. “There are many in my generation who still think of him fondly. We can easily sway the younger who have no lingering memories and never played ‘Find missing Terryp’ in their schoolyards. But the older generation, with its propensity to remember everything far better than it ever was, will be a harder sell.”
“I also saw the Administrator of Science leaving your office?” Genev hinted.
“Yes,” Mal sighed more dismally. “We have to send out an expedition. We’re going to prove, once and for all, the truth about Terryp’s western lands beyond the desert.”
Genev’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious! Who would volunteer for such a dangerous mission and subject themselves to the same torments that affected Terryp so that he went insane—”
Genev stopped when he saw the slight smile on Mal’s face.
“I fell for it,” Genev whispered. “Like everyone else, I fell for the stories.”
Mal’s smile began to widen. “It won’t be that difficult, you see. Even you still believe what you were told. Genev,” the Chairman sat back in his chair, “did you know that the
first three Queruls kept servants?”
Genev shrugged. “Every king needs servants—”
“No, not like that. I mean, kept servants. For years. They never left the compound.”
Genev’s raised eyebrows told Mal this was news to him.
“When I first took over this mansion 20 years ago I made a thorough inspection of it. I knew the first Queruls were ruthless but brilliant in their own ways. They also would have been arrogant enough to keep records of their triumphs. And they did.” Mal smiled smugly. “I found crates of documents hidden behind a false wall dating back to Querul the First. I had never before realized he was such a skilled researcher in his own right; he began his experiment on containment at the beginning of the Great War in 195. He started with eight servants and kept them confined to this compound. Ever wonder why the grounds are surrounded by a stone wall twice as tall as a man?”
“Not to keep the enemies out?”
“No—to keep his servants in. Oh, he told them he had it constructed for safety, but his personal writings said it was to test a theory. He told his servants that they were like family to him, and he’d hate for them to be witness to the devastation that was occurring in Idumea with raids from outlying villages. They believed him. Every horror imaginable, he imagined and shared with them. Soon they were too terrified to even consider approaching the walls, sure that a stray arrow would come over the top and hit them. They found arrows many mornings in the compound, evidence of battles that raged around the mansion. Or so they surmised.”
Genev was breathless.
Mal smiled at his stunned response. “After five years Querul’s servants had no desire to leave the mansion grounds. Only their small corner of the world was safe, obviously.
“But whenever Querul thought his servants’ belief was waning, he’d drop more evidence over the stone walls, usually in the form of dead bodies desecrated in torturous ways. Even a few children’s corpses were tossed over, to demonstrate that no one was immune from the fighting surrounding the Idumea. He traumatized them into believing nowhere was safe.”