Hood

by Laurence Dahners

  “Well,” Henry said, leaning over to peer at the tray of type. “Two reasons. The first being that if you did print something, somebody might decide it’s ancient and you should get lynched for having it. Second, if you look at the letters on these little metal blocks, they’re backward. Whatever you printed would be really hard to read.”

  Tarc hadn’t tried to read the type that was laid out on the tray. When he did, he was surprised to see that the letters were indeed backward and read from right to left, rather than left to right like standard writing. That’s weird, he thought. Then he imagined laying a sheet of paper on the type and peeling it up. Oh! The letters have to be backward and arranged right to left because when you touch them to a piece of paper the ink comes out backward as a mirror image. He glanced at Henry, wondering if he should explain. But surely someone else has figured that out! It’s probably mostly fear of people thinking it’s a page from an ancient book that keeps them from using it.

  Tarc wandered the rest of the museum in a bit of a daze. He couldn’t stop thinking about the printing press. If—instead of making each piece of type so it prints letters that look like the ones the ancients used—we made type that looked more like modern writing… He explained this idea to Henry.

  “Well, that sounds like a pretty good idea,” Henry said. If you were making your own type, you could also make letters that weren’t backward. The problem is that you’re not going to find a blacksmith that can do delicate work like that.”

  “Maybe a jeweler,” Tarc said. Meanwhile, he thought, Daussie could do it!

  Henry shrugged, “And you wouldn’t have to make them so tiny either. They’d be easier to read if they were bigger.”

  But it’d take more paper and ink, Tarc thought, which would raise the cost of the book when you were done. Thinking about that reminded him of Henry’s vision difficulties and the glasses he struggled to use so he could see better. This is a chance to bring it up. “Um, Henry, we’ve recently gotten access to some pretty good lenses in Clancy Vail. Our clinic could fit you with better glasses next time you come through.”

  Roper turned to stare at him. “Really?”

  Tarc slid his own glasses out of his pocket and showed them to Roper.

  Roper held them up to the light. “These’re perfect! They don’t even have scratches!”

  Tarc nodded slowly, wishing he’d thought it through before he’d started talking.

  Eagerly, Roper asked, “Where’d you get them?!”

  Tarc shrugged, “It’s a secret. But we have access to quite a few.”

  It looked like wheels were turning behind Henry’s eyes. “Enough you could sell me some? Some I could use for trade?”

  Tarc shrugged, “Probably.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when we were there in Clancy Vail?”

  “Um, the caravan left too fast. I didn’t have time to think of it,” Tarc said. “Besides, the plague had me distracted.”

  ~~~

  As he did his turn on guard duty that afternoon, Tarc kept thinking about the printing press. Wondering whether you could make money selling books. They’d have to contain modern knowledge, not stuff from the ancients. But maybe Eva could write a book about medical diagnoses and treatments. Even if it’s not true, it could be written as if it were all stuff she learned from her mother and grandmothers. Or figured out herself. Maybe the Gellers could write out their “recipes” for making dyes? Oh, and recipes for cooking. Surely people would like to have some of those. Maybe that kind of book could have just a few pages of recipes.

  Then, having decided a printing press would be a great idea, his mind started coming back to the problem of King Uray.

  ~~~

  After his guard shift was done, Tarc headed back to Realth to scout out the palace. When he was almost to the gates, a familiar figure came striding out of them. Lizeth asked, “Where’re you going?”

  “I, uh… I thought I might see if I could find something good to eat in town. I’ve been getting pretty tired of the caravan’s food.”

  Flashing him a grin, Lizeth pivoted and said, “Me too. I know a tavern with pretty good food.”

  To Tarc’s relief, the tavern Lizeth wanted to go to was close to the palace. The problem was that she’d expect him to walk back to the caravan with her afterward. Which would interfere with his plan to scout the palace.

  Entering the tavern, Tarc turned to an empty table, intending to sit.

  Lizeth grabbed him by the elbow and said, “I’m gonna teach you a secret. First, we tour around this place looking at everybody’s food. If what they’re eating looks good, we ask them if they liked it. If they did, we ask them what it is. Then we know what to order.”

  Tarc felt really strange going around looking at people’s plates. He didn’t actually ask anyone whether they liked their food, but Lizeth quizzed them amiably. They answered without apparently thinking it was as strange as Tarc thought it was.

  Once they’d ordered from the girl who was waiting the tables, Lizeth’s eyes focused on Tarc and she leaned closer, “Have you heard about the new king here?”

  Tarc shrugged, “Some. This one allows healing.”

  Lizeth nodded, “I guess that’s good for you Hyllises. But, otherwise, he’s just as bad as the last king.”

  Wondering what she thought was bad, Tarc said, “Um, what’s he been doing?”

  “Raping young girls. Wiping out their entire families if someone complains about it.”

  Tarc grimaced. Softly, he said, “I’ve heard that too. Well, I hadn’t heard he’d been killing their families.”

  Lizeth leaned much closer and whispered. “I’ve been thinking you ought to do like you did the last time you left this town.”

  “Break my mom out of prison?”

  Lizeth leaned back to give him a hard look, then rolled her eyes and leaned forward again. “No, shoot the king right in the middle of his palace grounds.”

  Tarc leaned back and blinked at her, hoping he looked puzzled, not worried. “What do you mean?!”

  She grinned, “I didn’t really understand it,” she leaned close and whispered, “until you explained about sensing things with our ghirits. That and the realization of just how good you are with an arrow. I often wondered why you stopped to shoot an arrow after we’d broken out of the palace.” She leaned back and said, “You couldn’t have been going for someone on the wall.” She leaned close again and whispered, “I don’t think the guards had even gotten there yet. Even after I heard someone shot the king, I never considered the possibility it was you, you wouldn’t have known where he was on the other side of the wall, so I figured someone in the palace took him out in the confusion… But your ghirit knew where he was, didn’t it?” She leaned and looked steadily into his eyes.

  Tarc shrugged, “I guess it could’ve.”

  “So, do it again.”

  Speaking in innuendo to confuse listeners, Tarc said, “The last one was really big around. Easy to find.”

  Lizeth lifted an eyebrow, “The new one’s really tall.”

  “Taller than all the other people in the palace?”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  Tarc said, “Still, it’s a bad idea.” He leaned close, “Last time there was a huge fight over succession and it killed a lot of people.”

  “A lot of assholes.” Lizeth hissed.

  Tarc shook his head. “Some of them were probably good people who were just following orders. Besides, when it was all over and done, the city wound up with essentially the same damned problem.”

  “If the kings just keep dying, they might get a clue they shouldn’t keep doing the same ugly things they’ve been doing.”

  Tarc leaned back, “They might not realize it’s because of what they’ve been doing. I think there should be a message that makes that obvious.”

  Lizeth gave him a disbelieving grin, “Are you wanting to post a sign afterward?”

  “Before.”

  Lizeth frowned, “What t
he hell do you mean by that? Giving a warning would be crazy!”

  Tarc leaned close again, “An arrow lands close by. A paper with the message is tied around it.”

  “What’s it going to say?”

  “Rape another girl - die like King Philip.”

  “Let this bastard live?!”

  “Change this bastard so a whole bunch of people don’t die in a revolt, only to bring in another bastard who’s just as bad.”

  Lizeth leaned back and studied Tarc. She chewed her lip, “He deserves to die.”

  “No doubt.” Tarc shrugged and spoke softly, “I’m worried about all the other people who’d die putting someone else on the throne.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  She leaned forward. “Let’s do it. How’re we going to make it happen?”

  Startled, Tarc leaned back. His initial reaction was to say he’d been kidding. He could feel his surprise showing on his face.

  Lizeth’s expression turned thunderous. She growled, “I hope you’re not going to tell me you were only speaking hypothetically?”

  “Well, no. But if I were going to do it I wouldn’t need help.” He leaned forward, “Shooting an arrow’s a one-man job, you know?”

  “Don’t be an idiot! You need a lookout. You don’t want someone seeing you do it, And,” she stared at him thoughtfully, “I’m pretty sure you need someone to help you plan this out. When were you thinking you were going to do it?

  “Um… I was thinking… that I needed to scout things out.”

  The girl arrived with their food. Once she’d settled their plates on the table and departed, Lizeth said, “Eat up. Then let’s get to scouting.” She picked up a chicken drumstick, said, “What do we need to know?” and took a big bite.

  Tarc shoveled in a spoonful of beans and thought while he chewed. Once he swallowed, he ticked off on his fingers, “Is this guy as big as they say? Where exactly does he stay? Where’s a good location to…” Tarc trailed off, trying to think of how to say “shoot from” without leaning across to whisper again. He settled for saying, “A good location to do the job.”

  Lizeth did lean across the table when she whispered, “We need to steal a couple of arrows. We don’t want to use ones from the caravan, they’re recognizable. Maybe we should wait until the caravan’s actually moved on before we do it. I don’t want Realth associating this with our people.”

  Tarc stared, “How’re we supposed to do this after we’ve left Realth?”

  The caravan leaves, we ride out scouting. We loop around, make a quick pass through town and rejoin the caravan.”

  “Come on, we’d be gone a lot longer than the usual scouting trip.”

  “They’ll just think we stopped to have sex,” Lizeth said calmly, then arched an eyebrow.

  Tarc felt the heat rising in his face.

  Lizeth rolled her eyes, “When challenged, we’ll deny it vigorously.” She choked out a little giggle, “Which, of course, will only serve to completely convince them.” She laughed, “Come on! We don’t want them to know what we actually did, do we?”

  “I should just do it myself.”

  She grinned, “I’m the one who’s going to have her reputation ruined. You’re the one who’s going to have all the other guys thinking you’re some kind of stud. If I think it’s important enough to do, you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”

  “I don’t want your reputation ruined,” Tarc said, sounding surly even to himself.

  Lizeth stood up looking a little disgusted, “Put on your big boy pants and let’s get on with it.”

  Tarc reluctantly stood and followed her out of the tavern.

  ~~~

  Arriving at the palace, they sent their ghirits into the grounds as they walked around the outer wall. To the best of Tarc’s recollection, the buildings inside the wall seemed much the same. When his ghirit went into the chamber where the previous king had done much of his business, it encountered a very large man. Not overweight like the previous king. Tarc estimated him to be close to two meters (6’ 7”), and not thin. He’d weigh a lot. Physically he’d be a powerful man.

  The chamber was close enough to the palace wall that Lizeth’s ghirit could sense it. She gasped, “That’s got to be him. He’s freaking huge!”

  “Just a minute. I’m going to listen to what they’re saying. Maybe I can tell for sure whether the big guy’s really the king.”

  “What?!” exploded out of an irritated sounding Lizeth. “You’re going to listen? From out here? How the hell are you going to do that?”

  Tarc explained how some people’s ghirits could detect the vibration of air molecules.

  “‘Vibration of air molecules?’ What in the world does that have to do with listening to the king?”

  “Um… Sound is vibrations in the air. Your ears sense the vibrations of the air’s molecules and you call it hearing.” He shrugged, “I don’t really know how to tell you to do it. But if you try, you might be able to use your ghirit to feel the vibrations people make when they’re talking. You might be able to translate that into understanding what they’re saying. Anyway, I’m going to listen to that big guy and see whether I can tell if he’s really the king.”

  When Tarc turned away Lizeth was practically cross-eyed with effort.

  Tarc hoped she wasn’t trying to listen to the king as her first subject. It’d probably be better for her to try to listen to someone she could see that was a short distance away. That way she could see the person’s lips moving to correlate and corroborate whether she was truly hearing what they were saying.

  However, Tarc didn’t want to spend a lot of time explaining how to do it. He’d rather not raise the suspicion of the wall guards by hanging around a long time. So, he focused on trying to listen to the guy who might be the king. Another man was talking to him. The smaller man was talking about someone who was waiting to talk to the king.

  The big guy suddenly interrupted the other man, saying, “It doesn’t sound like he’s ready to cooperate, does it?”

  “Um, no, sir.”

  “Tell him I’m too busy to talk to him today. He can come back tomorrow if he likes.”

  “He’ll want to see his daughter.”

  “Tell him she’s going to be busy this afternoon.”

  The smaller man sounded alarmed, “He might be upset.”

  “Remind him I’m the king.”

  That answers that question, Tarc thought, but he continued to listen.

  “But, Sir King,” the smaller man said, “he’s one of your wealthiest subjects. Money has its own power. You—”

  The king interrupted, “It has the power to keep his daughter’s legs together and his head on his shoulders. But only if he cooperates. Make sure he understands. Before you talk to him, send the guards for his daughter and that girl she’s gotten to be friends with.”

  “But Sir K—!”

  “Are you trying piss me off?” the king asked, a dangerous tone in his voice.

  A sick sensation in his gut, Tarc thought, He’s going to force himself on someone today. He closed his eyes, Say it like it is. He’s going to rape someone. He sighed, The way it sounds, he probably raped someone yesterday. He’ll probably rape someone tomorrow. This would’ve happened whether or not I was here… Can I just ignore what’s happening now and keep planning to stop rapes at some point in the future?

  Lizeth grabbed Tarc’s arm, “That’s the king all right. The bastard’s getting ready to rape two girls!”

  I guess Lizeth’s figured out how to hear at a distance, Tarc thought with a sigh. And I’m betting she’s not going to think it’s okay to ignore what’s about to happen to these girls while we plan how to save the next ones. Unhappily, he said, “Yeah, I heard.”

  “What the hell are we going to do?!”

  “Even if we had a bow, we couldn’t shoot an arrow into that room.” He turned to look at Lizeth. Her eyes were wild. She doesn’t want to hear about what we can’t do,
he thought.

  “We’ve got to do something!” She put up her palms, “I know, I know, if we weren’t here, no one would’ve stopped it, but we are here!”

  Resisting the impulse to shake her, Tarc tried to speak calmly, “What’re you thinking we could do?” Huh, I think I did sound calm, he thought, no matter how crazy I feel inside.

  Wide-eyed, Lizeth said, “I don’t know what we can do! I don’t have all your crazy talents!” Sounding glum, she said, “All I can do is see a second or two into the future.”

  Tarc turned and started away from the wall.

  Lizeth bounded after him, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?!”

  “Going somewhere to think!” Tarc hissed, frustrated. He shook himself free and kept walking, “Keep your voice down! We can’t just keep hanging around the wall there, the guards are going to get curious. Besides, maybe we need supplies.”

  Lizeth trotted a few steps to catch up to him. “What’re we getting?” she asked quietly in a tone with a mixture of anxiousness and curiosity.

  “I don’t know! Rope?” Tarc said, thinking that—even though he was whispering—he felt like he was shouting. “When I think of it, I’ll let you know.” He turned on her, “In case we can’t think of a way to save these girls, you can start looking for the arrows you’re going to steal for when we come back to save the rest of them.”

  “We can’t get too far away! We won’t be able to tell what he’s doing!”

  “If we can’t think of a way to stop him, I’d rather not know what he’s doing!” Tarc said angrily. “And I’m certainly not going to think of a way to stop him if you don’t shut up and let me think!” Tarc kept striding down the street, glancing at the stores on either side and unsuccessfully praying for inspiration. When he realized Lizeth hadn’t said anything for a bit, he turned to look at her.

  She looked furious.

  “Sorry—” he began.

  “I’ve. Shut. Up,” she interrupted, biting off each word. After a moment, she continued, “So, please, don’t waste your precious time talking to me. Do your damned thinking!”

  “Find some arrows,” he growled. He turned into a shop, not because he saw something useful; just to get away from her. Inside the shop, he realized that mostly it sold clothing. This is ridiculous, he thought, nothing in here’s going to save those girls! He turned to leave but suddenly his eye caught on a lightweight jacket with a hood. At first, he thought it was black, then he realized it was just a very dark green. If I’m going to come back here at night and shoot an arrow over that wall, it’d be good if I was wearing dark clothing. Especially something that had a hood to hide my head.