by M. C. Planck
“Tell us yours first,” Karl said.
“I want to go to Kingsrock and see if anybody there has more courage. I’ve decided to take up dueling as a career, for a time, and having your sword as a prize would attract more customers, so to speak.”
Christopher felt like he was betraying Niona, but it wasn’t his place to tell the man what to do with his life. “What do I get out of it?”
“What should you get out of it?” Cannan growled. “You stake an ordinary sword, and run none of the risk.”
“Not exactly, Ser. I run the constant risk of the Invisible Guild. And I’m staking the reputation of my sword, not just the steel.”
“I’ll not give you a quarter,” the knight declared.
Christopher didn’t particularly want to profit from Cannan’s killings anyway. “How about you help us with our task, and we’ll call it even?”
“Depends on the task, doesn’t it? Let’s hear it, then.”
“I’m going on this trip to invite the Guild’s attack, but I’m worried they might take me up on it too well. I want you to travel with me, disguised as an ordinary guard. Karl’s borrowed some chain mail and a coat for you. You’ll have to leave your horse behind and act like a commoner, not a noble, but I’ll still pay you five gold a day.” Although that would be another hundred gold, Christopher felt the continued benefit of being alive was worth the price. “It’s only for two more weeks, while we tromp around the Church fiefs. I’ll give you the same split on any tael we take from the thieves, one share for me and three for you.
“With your ring, which hopefully the guild doesn’t know about, you’ll be armored well enough to defeat any number of thugs, even in no more than chain mail. And with you leaving for Kingsrock to be my champion there, no one will suspect another common guard in my retinue. At least, that’s the idea.”
“The guild will never expect it,” Karl said. “No ordinary knight would pretend to such a low rank. Yet I think you are more interested in taking heads than turning them.” They were hoping that Cannan’s strange adventures to the south might have made him less fashion-conscious.
But the knight surprised them both with his reaction. “What does Niona think?” he asked.
“Um, we didn’t tell her yet,” Christopher admitted. “We figured she would stay in the village and take care of Bloodfire.”
“He’s a horse. Give him feed and room to exercise, he’ll be fine. But I don’t underestimate my wife’s value in a fight, like you do. She’s a lot more dangerous than that horse.”
“Can she pass as one of the boys?” Karl asked. “In a coat and helm, she wouldn’t draw much attention. No more than one-finger Charles, at least.”
“If I do this, then you’ll let me be your champion in Kingsrock? For how long?” Cannan pressed.
“Until the end of the year. Then I go out to the draft, so I think Faren will have to admit the sword isn’t magical. He can’t misrepresent me to the government.”
Cannan nodded in agreement. “Long enough, then. Get my wife a coat and another horse. She’ll want to leave hers to keep Bloodfire company.”
“We can’t pay her, though,” Karl cautioned. “It’s five gold for both of you.”
Cannan shrugged, accepting their limited finances. “What about her share of the tael?”
“She can have three shares too,” Christopher said, “but then I’m going to claim a share for my troop.”
Karl looked troubled, and Cannan looked pleased, at least for a few seconds. Then they both worked out the math. “That comes to the same thing, then,” the knight complained. “You get two shares out of eight, instead of one out of four, but that’s the same.”
Christopher grinned. Apparently these people could do math—when they really cared. And they always cared about tael.
Cannan and his wife would leave for Kingsrock the next day and then secretly return to the village to deposit his armor and warhorse. When Christopher warned the knight to make sure he wasn’t followed, Cannan laughed at him.
“Nobody follows Niona,” he finally explained, “unless she wants them to. You churchmen have forgotten all your druid lore.”
That left Christopher to get ready for tonight’s demonstration. He was nervous, suffering a touch of stage fright. It wasn’t the fireworks he was worried about. He had a speech to give, and a lot depended on his getting it right.
First he settled accounts with the church clerk, starting with the five gold for his eye. A large sum to a peasant’s purse, but the huge stacks of gold and tael he’d been dealing in lately made it seem cheap. He deposited all of the tael he’d gotten from Bart, and most of the gold, keeping a fat purse for expenses. Actually, he kept two, and another one for Karl, because he fully expected to be pickpocketed. In a world where a King’s ransom could literally be contained in a golf ball, pickpocketing had to be a popular skill.
When he went to beg some food from the kitchen for lunch, he was surprised to see Cardinal Faren doing the same.
“I’ve come out to give Rana a hand with her catch of cut-purses,” Faren explained. Christopher knew that couldn’t be the whole reason. The way Faren fortified himself with several mugs of ale suggested that his task was to placate the angry Vicar.
“She doesn’t seem too happy about catching so many,” Christopher said, playing along.
“We can’t hang them for stealing,” Faren glowered. “So there’s no profit in it. Not like cracking rich black walnuts.”
“Say the word, and I’ll stop,” Christopher shot back.
“No. Honesty compels me to admit a certain satisfaction in the events of the past week,” Faren said, though he didn’t seem very happy about it. “Now I go to take my share of the lumps, though I suppose I won’t sport such a scar for it.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that.” Christopher gave him a weak smile. Rana was furious, and Faren didn’t have sheer ignorance as an excuse.
So he spent the afternoon alone, reviewing the work Fae had left stored in the church. He was impressed, but he didn’t want to go visit her or Tom. They didn’t deserve to share the black cloud of doom he was trying to stir up.
With twilight came the moment of reckoning. He picked up the box of printed paper and wound his way through the church, followed discreetly by a growing tail of curious clergy. He could hear the noise from inside the main hall. When the guards opened the doors the volume was stunning. The public square at the foot of the church steps was packed with people.
“Did I not promise you numbers beyond reckoning?” Lalania smirked, springing up the steps and flourishing at the crowd.
“No, actually, you didn’t,” he said. “But I’ll be more impressed if you tell me where all of these people came from.”
“Mostly just your outlying villages,” she said. “But it’s a good turnout. I don’t know why you insist on visiting each village. They’re all used to coming into town for important events anyway.”
Because he wanted to give the guild plenty of chances to attack him, but he could hardly tell her that. Also, because he wanted to show his strength to the common people, to lay the groundwork for his future plans and win their trust.
What he could tell her was, “I want to get a feel for the land. Looking at a map doesn’t cut it.” Especially when the map was as primitive as the local technology provided. “Those people aren’t from a village.” He pointed to some jugglers and acrobats. They were everywhere, small dogs leaping through hoops, puppet shows, dancers and tumblers, a veritable circus of freelance entertainers.
“What did you expect?” Lalania asked. “You summon a crowd, and the mummers flock. It’s their livelihood, after all.”
“Oh no,” he groaned, “they’re not going to follow me around, are they?” How could he win points with the village locals if he brought this plague of locusts in his wake?
“Not all of them,” she cheerfully conceded. “The better acts will only be in the towns you’re visiting. But the poorer ones will be waitin
g for you at every village. I hope you already made reservations at the inns.”
“How many cut-purses and pickpockets are out there?” Every gold coin they stole would be one less bond he could sell.
“Not that many. Such pursuits are frowned on in these lands. Well, they are everywhere, of course, and usually much more harshly. But not all towns have truth-spells so readily at hand. Your police will likely be waiting at the gate tomorrow, with a priest at their back, to question every stranger leaving town. A simple ‘What did you steal?’ can be hard to answer when you think they might have lie detections cast. And of course, stealing a few coppers is a minor offense, but lying to a priest can get you in serious trouble. Next thing you know, you’re in a tiny room, answering questions about your affiliation and your past.”
Christopher could see how a functioning lie detector would have a big impact on jurisprudence. He could only imagine what effect it would have on Earth.
“How accurate is it?” he asked, thinking that she might give a less biased answer than he would get from a priest.
She looked at him curiously. “Like all magic, it can be defeated, and the higher your rank, the easier. But a high-rank thief is not going to be out there picking peasant’s pockets.”
“No, they’ll be picking mine.”
“Like this?” she said innocently, handing him one of his purses.
“Am I that easy of a mark?” he moaned.
“Only when you’re lost in that wonderland you visit betimes. I don’t know what’s there, but it must be passing strange, because you go there whenever you learn something that every child knows.”
With a sharp pang, he thought of the druid’s kittenhawk. Maggie would be entranced by the cute little monster, and it would probably love her, like all cats did. He wished she could see it. He wished he could see her.
“I did it again, didn’t I?” he said ruefully, as the bard handed him all three of his purses, shaking her head in dismay.
“In any other man, I would suggest he needed a woman. Yet hold your tongue, Christopher, I will not challenge your virtue tonight. I am wise enough to know I cannot compete with a ghost.
“But do not let your grief consume you,” she added softly. “There is yet this world before you.”
It’s not grief, he wanted to say, she is still alive, although she does not know that I am. But instead he put it away from him and turned his attention to the task at hand.
The troop was lined up, letting the townsfolk get an eyeful. They kept good order, despite the jeering from the younger boys. The older men opined that it was the queerest kit-up they’d ever seen, those short, pointy sticks and long, floppy coats. Karl nodded his head as if that was obvious and intentional. Then he stood on the back of Fingean’s wagon and addressed the crowd.
“Pater Christopher would like to say a few words,” Karl announced simply, and reached down to help Christopher onto the wagon. Christopher was mildly annoyed that all of the chain mail and leather he was wearing made him appreciate the help. Karl, after all, was wearing the same, and he had leaped into the wagon like a cat.
“Um, thank you all for being here,” Christopher started. He knew he was supposed to open with a joke, but he didn’t have any. “There’s a few things I want to say, and then we’ll get on to the show.”
Everybody cheered at that.
“This,” he said loudly, holding up one of Fae’s block-printed bonds, “is called a bearer bond. You can see—” he illuminated it with a light-stone “—that it says one gold on it.”
“We can’t read!” shouted a drunken heckler. The crowd laughed.
“In that case, it says a thousand gold,” Christopher responded. They laughed at that, too, which meant it was an easy crowd. “No, seriously, it says one gold. But I’ll sell it to you for only five silver.” He let them think about that just long enough and then went on. “Now, it’s also got a date on it, which is ten years from now. When that date comes, ten years from today, you bring me back this piece of paper, and I’ll give you one gold. See how that works? You give me five silver today, ten years later I give you ten silver.
“It’s like a loan,” he explained. “An investment in the Church of Marcius. The god saw fit to give me a sword. Somehow he forgot the huge pile of gold.” That got another laugh, thank goodness. “But you know as well as I do that wars require gold as well as swords. And you all know I’m going out next year, with the draft. I’ll take my sword, but I’d like to take something more. I’d like to make some new weapons, for me and the boys, but I’ll need money. So I’m going to show you what those weapons might look like, and I’m hoping afterward you’ll show me your money.”
“Now listen up,” Karl barked. “It’s loud, it’s fiery, and it smells like Hell cracked open. Pregnant women, small children, and dogs are to be sent home.”
That got their attention, as Christopher knew it would. They all pressed forward, the better to see.
The boys had formed a square around Charles, who’d loaded the first rocket into the launching tube. Karl gave the go-ahead, and Charles gave a respectable imitation of a salute before lighting the fuse. Some of the crowd were from Burseberry, so they were busy telling everyone else what to expect, but it was still a shock when the rocket boomed up into the air, trailing sparks and smoke in the gentle twilight. Even several of his troopers ducked their heads reflexively.
He’d started with a yellow burster, in his opinion the weakest of his effects. The crowd loved it anyway. Then there was nothing for him to do but worry while Charles loaded and fired the dozen rockets he’d set out for tonight’s show. The sparklers almost provoked a stampede before people realized they burned out before reaching the ground. He felt the green and blue double-bursts were suitably impressive. Nothing like the professionals at home, of course. Still, it was adequate for the amateur effort that a small town like this would be able to afford.
“This one is serious,” Karl warned for the last rocket. It was the traditional show-closer: the bomb. Christopher had ground the powder finer than ever before. His worst fear was that the launch would fall short and into the crowd, but of course the Church would just charge him to patch them all up again. He was stunned when the rocket worked perfectly. Literally stunned. The boom shook the wagon he was on.
Once the girls stopped screaming, everybody applauded. Karl raised his light-stone, called for silence.
“Those sticks the boys have aren’t much, right now,” Christopher shouted. “But I’d like to make them do something like that.” Not exactly, of course. He wasn’t going to make pretty colors. “But I need your help. I’m not asking for charity; I’m asking for an investment. This is a chance for you to do good, set aside some money for your future while doing good, helping out our boys.” He felt like a damn TV evangelist, playing to their patriotism, fear, and greed.
An utterly unexpected voice boomed out from the crowd. “Is it true,” Cardinal Faren shouted, “that the Saint has already invested one thousand gold of his own personal funds in your Church?” Of course he knew it was, but he gave Christopher the perfect opening.
“Yes, Cardinal Faren, that is the absolute truth,” Christopher confirmed, and the crowd drew in its breath. Even though the Saint was a rich man, a thousand gold was a lot of money.
“Then I cannot fail to do my part,” Faren answered, catching Christopher totally by surprise. “Put me down for one hundred gold.”
The crowd gasped. Yet the miracles were not at an end. Young Tom Fool shouted out his contribution. “Even I can give a gold to the cause! God knows the boys will need it more than I!”
Men started to raise their hands. Christopher could see the glint of gold and silver, hear the clink of coins. They crowded forward, and then Karl held up his light-stone like the Statue of Liberty, a beacon of hope, a dream of pride.
“The Pater put a weapon in my hands, and I brought down Black Bart,” he said into the suddenly quiet crowd, their silence a gathering before the sto
rm. “Let him put a weapon into the hands of our boys, and see what they can do!”
Christopher sold out in the first five minutes.
“I’m sorry,” he shouted at the milling crowd, “we’re out of bonds. I’ve got some more that I’m taking to the other counties, to give them a chance to buy in. And this is just the winter issue; I’ll have some more at the end of spring. But for now they’re all gone, and I thank you.”
And then he had to run and hide, before they asked any more questions.
Seeking refuge in the church, he was discovered by the Vicar.
“That was quite a show you put on,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “How much did you raise?”
He knew he couldn’t be evasive. “Two and a half thousand gold.”
“Who would have thought they had so much to spare?” She shook her head unbelievingly. “I am concerned that they have spent emotionally and not wisely. Will you refund their purchase, if they find they are short of money?”
“Of course,” he answered, “we’ll always buy the bonds back at the purchase price. You know,” he suggested, trying to be casual, “they can also trade them to each other. They’re bearer bonds, so we’ll honor whoever holds the note in ten years. Rather than walk all the way down to the church and cash it in, they could give it to somebody else instead of giving them five silver.”
Rana was not fooled. “You would turn paper into gold?” she asked, her brows furrowing. “Will they not wake up from your enthrallment and see through this swindle on the morrow?”
“I don’t think so. I know it seems like a new idea to you, but where I come from, nobody uses anything but paper money.”
Her eyebrows twitched. “I know you do not have the gall to lie to me, so this must be truth. And is it also truth that you will make weapons of your sky-fire, to arm our boys? Or is this just another one of Faren’s public fantasies, which a less charitable person might name as simple lies?”
“No, it’s not a fantasy. I don’t know how well they will work, yet, but I assure you, my Lady, those weapons are all that stand between me and your battlefield. And, at the risk of exhausting your credulity, I will tell you: where I come from, nobody uses swords anymore.”