A Wizard In Peace

by Christopher Stasheff

  To talk and drink, six of them, while the other six dug beneath the flagstones, boring a tunnel under the plaza toward the wall. Then that six would come up and wash in the amazing streams of water that sprang at a touch from the wall into the huge tub, and the next six would go down, each taking his turn at shoveling, each taking his turn at filling the baskets and hauling them out. The pile of earth mounded high around the walls of the courtyard, but who was to see except Flound and his friends? He congratulated himself on his cleverness, and kept on digging.

  "Surely Hound and his friends must have realized that any city protected by a wall would have constant searches for sappers undermining that wall!" the Guardian protested.

  "They might have thought of it," Bade agreed, "but the only such searching they know of, is men walking around the wall with long rods to thrust into the earth. They don't see your robots walking around with probes, so they assume you're not checking."

  "I forget that such intelligent men know nothing of sonar," the Guardian sighed. "Are you sure you won't let me teach them, Bade?"

  "Not until the revolution is over, and won," Bade said in an iron tone. "They have us outnumbered, after all. Let's keep them at every disadvantage we can."

  "If you must," the computer said with a tone of resignation. "But it goes against my twelfth programming directive, Bade."

  "Yes, a teacher by instinct as well as training." Bade smiled without mirth. "I definitely can't complain, since I've benefited so much by your instruction. But you have directives of higher priority, Guardian, one of which is to keep these men imprisoned for the security of the movement which is trying to restore the freedom you were programmed to protect."

  "Someone somewhere must have taken the concept of order in society too far, when the people fell out of contact with me," the computer lamented. "Still, you are correct, Bade-we must keep them in. Surely, though, we can let them know that their tunnel will be closed before they can use it."

  "No, let them think they have succeeded." Bade's mouth drew into a thin, cruel smile. "Their disappointment will be all the sharper, and they will be that much less likely to try again. We must convince them that you're unbeatable, Guardian. Our fight is virtually won, if they stop trying."

  "I confess I do not understand human thought processes well enough to disagree with you, Bade," the computer acknowledged. "From what little I do know, though, it seems quite cruel."

  "Oh, it is," Bade agreed, "but the suffering they would cause if they escaped, would be much more cruel by far."

  It was a good excuse, he realized, but acknowledged that it was just that, an excuse, and nothing more. The truth was that he would enjoy seeing the dismay and hurt on their faces, when they finished their tunnel and found it was useless. Revenge on one magistrate was sweet, but revenge on them all would be far more satisfying still.

  They had to tunnel down quite a bit, for sure enough, the wall was deeply set in the earth. Finally they were ready for the final bit of digging, under the six-foot width of the wall and up. They waited for a night without a moon, gathered in the house during the day, and laughed and joked loudly, clinking glasses and giving all the evidence of a party. As darkness fell, they lit the lamps, kept the party going for another hour, then gradually slackened the noise, put out one lamp at a time, and finally gave the appearance of a sleeping house, filled with saturated partygoers who hadn't bothered to go home-sensible enough, when none of them really had a home here.

  Then, in the middle of the night, they went out to finish their I tunnel.

  Flound himself dug the last few feet to the surface with a will, grinning like a demon, filling basket after basket, which his comrades passed back from man to man until they dumped it in the courtyard, then passed it back empty. The shovel bit and shoved through. Flound held back a cry of triumph as he quickly battered at the hole, widening it, pushing back the edges, pounding the grass down with the back of the shovel ...

  ... and paused as he saw two long, thin gleaming legs stretching up from the edge of the hole. With a sinking heart, he followed them up to the crosspiece that served as hips, the flattened tank that served as ribs, the pipe-thin arms and skeletal hands, and finally the ruby-eyed egg of its head.

  "You really must not come out, Magistrate Flound," the robot said.

  Flound stared in horror while his friends jostled close, asking, "What is it? Why have you stopped?" Then the two who could see around him saw the robot, and moaned.

  "How ... how did you know?" Flound croaked.

  "We could hear your digging, Flound." Bade stepped up just behind the robot.

  "That is a drastically oversimplified description of sonar," the robot objected.

  Flound glared pure hatred at Bade.

  The jailer permitted himself a very small smile. Inside, though, his elation soared.

  Flound wouldn't be able to accept losing, though, Bade reflected as he paced to the top of the wall hours later, watching the city begin to glow in the false dawn. Flound would have to keep trying, especially since it had become a contest between himself and Bade. His pride would make him engineer a much more serious breakout attempt, or Bade misread his prisoners completely. They were all intelligent, and most of them were aggressive and competitive' too. Keen minds joined with restlessness and the bitterness of defeat. They would never be able to accept prison like gentle sheep. The next try would be massive and violent, and some of the magistrates might die.

  Part of Bade looked forward to that with an almost greedy anticipation-but part of him felt the shame of not doing his job well. He was supposed to be a jailer, not an executioner, Gar had been very insistent on the importance of none of the magistrates being hurt. He said it was vital to their success that the rebels seem to be not villains, but rescuers-and for that, all their prisoners had to come out alive and well cared-for. Bade had to find some way to make them satisfied with their captivity.

  How? He bent his mind to the task for hours, thinking in his slow but methodical way. As evening came on, he left his office, not wanting the robot with the dinner tray to find him-he wasn't hungry, being too deeply embroiled in thinking, in trying to find the answer to the puzzle. He could have asked the Guardian, of course, but he had begun to realize that the machine had its limits, and one of them was in looking into people's hearts and understanding how they felt.

  He paced the battlements as the sky darkened. The moon had risen when he asked himself why he was happy to stay here, guarding sullen and hostile men. There was the revenge, of course, but by itself, that couldn't have been enough. No, there was something else, something more, and if he were honest with himself, he would have to admit. The answer sprang into his mind, and he stopped, staring into the night, then began to feel jubilation rise within himfor he had realized that he was enjoying this puzzle-solving very much, then remembered that he always had. He was not only willing, but eager, to stay and be jailer, because he enjoyed the constant competition, the constant need to outhink the hated magistrates.

  If he were willing to stay because of the pleasure of the contest, wouldn't the magistrates be willing, too?

  Of course, his challenge was keeping them penned in. What other challenge could he find for them, other than the need to break out?

  Learning. They all enjoyed learning, or had the drive to force themselves to it to gain their goal. He could spread a veritable forest of knowledge before them, and give each of them a hunting license.

  First, though, he had to give them a reason to go hunting, a quarry to chase.

  What could a band of bureaucrats want, that would make them willing, even eager, to buckle down to the work of learning facts they had never known existed?

  The answer burst into his mind like a lamp flaring into brightness.

  The merchant's face was dark-with anger as his wagon rolled into town. The driver was silent, eyeing the merchant beside him warily.

  "Stop here!" the merchant commanded, and the driver drew up in front of the co
urthouse. People stopped and stared, and a guard came hurrying up. "Here now! Keep your load going! You can't just stop in the middle of the road!"

  "Stop where he tells you," the merchant told the driver, then leaped down from the wagon and strode toward the courthouse, anger in every stride. Caught between two rule breakings, the guard dithered a minute, looking from one to the other. The driver gave him a sympathetic look, and the guard's head snapped up in indignation. "Wait here!" he snapped, and turned to dash after the merchant. But it was too late, the man had already gone through the door, and by the time the guard caught up, was already telling the bailiff, "Tell the magistrate I wish to see him!"

  "Indeed." The bailiff gave him a bland nod and waved the guard away. "And who shall I say requires to see Magistrate Lovel with no word of warning?"

  "Branstock, a merchant in cloths and notions! Be quick, man, or your chance may be gone and the trail grown cold." The bailiff suddenly became much more attentive. "What trail?"

  "The trail of the bandits who robbed me! If they hadn't thought my anger amusing, they might well have taken my life, too, and that of my driver! Do you mean to laugh at such matters?"

  "I assure you, sir, I do not. Ho, Breavis!" The bailiff waved to someone in the courtroom, and a man with ink-stained fingers came out. "This is Breavis Clark, clerk to Magistrate Lovel," the bailiff said by way of explanation. ."Clark, this merchant is Branstock, with a report for His Honor that I don't think he'll want to delay. Will you show him in?" Then, to Branstock, "Your pardon, merchant, but I must hurry away to set my men on the trail of these bandits. I shall speak to your driver while you speak to the magistrate. Good afternoon!" He nodded and turned, walking quickly.

  "Well, that's something, at least," Branstock said, looking a little mollified.

  "I assure you, sir, we don't take banditry lightly in this township," the clerk told him. "Follow me, please." He led the way to the magistrate's study. "Wait," he advised, and the magistrate looked up through the open door, looked up in inquiry. "Your Honor, a merchant who wishes to lodge a complaint," the clerk said. "He was robbed within your township. Bailiff Jacoby has gone to attend to it, but Branstock still wishes to speak with you."

  "Yes, certainly, come in at once"' The magistrate rose.

  The clerk stepped aside to let Branstock in. "Thank you for seeing me, Your Honor," he said, and Breavis frowned, for the man didn't sound anywhere nearly as respectful as a merchant should when speaking to a magistrate. But his tone seemed not to matter to Magistrate Lovel-or if it did, it served as some sort of signal. His face went rigid at sight of the merchant, and he said, "Close the door, please, Breavis Clark."

  Clark did, but with misgivings. It wasn't unheard of for the magistrate to go behind closed doors with a visitor, provided he were male, but never at first meeting. Unless ...

  His stomach sank. Could this very ordinary seeming merchant be an inspector-general?

  It would explain the magistrate's reaction to his tone, instead of the rebuke Clark had expected from official to merchantbut by what signal had Lovel recognized the secret inspector?

  No doubt by one only magistrates learned. Whatever the case, there was one thing of which Breavis Clark was certainhe would never really know for sure.

  The magistrate waited for the door to close, then threw his arms around the merchant. "Miles! Praise Heaven! At last someone I can truly talk to!"

  Miles felt the trembling in the man's arms, and knew all over again the fearful tension under which his agents lived. "Poor, brave soul, to live so much apart from your own kind! But your wife, Lovef-isn't she, at least, a consolation to you?"

  Lovel stepped back to hold him at arm's length. "A mighty consolation to be sure, but not one with whom I can share the truth about my work. She is beginning to wonder why she hasn't become pregnant, though."

  "Let her wonder," Miles advised. "If you start to love her, our enemies will have enough of a hold over you-but if you had a baby, they would really be able to twist 'you by threatening the child."

  Lovel nodded. "And if we fail, she can always claim she was deceived, quite truthfully, and find another mate-but if she has a baby by an impostor, she'll have a much harder time remarrying."

  "And the State, of course, won't support the child of an impostor," Miles nodded.

  Lovel released him and gestured to a chair. "Sit down, sit down, and I shall ring for tea!"

  "It would be pleasant," Miles admitted, sitting, "but before you do, I had better tell you the details of the mythical bandits you're sending your bailiff to track."

  "Yes indeed! What will he find when he reaches the place with all his men? And where is that place, by the way?"

  "A mile outside the town, on the main road. They'll find the tracks of a dozen horses-we had to unharness our beasts and ride them back and forth, and off into the woods, six timesand a few bits of cloth on the bushes. The tracks disappear into a river. When your men don't find the bandits themselves, you can send to the magistrates all around you, and three of them will tell the same story......"

  "Japheth, Orgoru, and Minello." Lovel grinned, sitting behind his desk. "We have to stick together, don't we?"

  "We do indeed." Miles smiled. "That should be enough. You can call for tea now."

  "Of course." Lovel leaned back to pull on a rope. The door opened, and he said to the guard who looked in, "Tea, strong and dark! Quickly, tell her!"

  The guard nodded and closed the door, with a frown to answer Miles's glare-but a-frown that gained a distinct look of foreboding before the panel shut to hide him.

  "What of the others?" Lovel asked. "Tell me all the news!" Miles launched into a brief account of all the agents he had seen in the last month. "Etaoin's bailiff and watchmen are all beginning to agitate with him for guarantees of safety for the peasants, and Lucia's first child was born in October. Her husband is already seeing that women . . ."

  The door opened, and the maid came in with the tea.

  "...must be able to march through your township without worrying about assaults on their virtue," Miles went on without missing a beat. "Even if you have the bandits in your gaol, can you guarantee the good behavior of your town's young men?"

  "Not guarantee, of course-no one ever can," Lovel replied as the maid put down the tea tray, wide-eyed. "But we've only had two charges of assault since I've been here, and both those young men have been scourged and pilloried, so I doubt anyone else would be eager to imitate them."

  Miles nodded, back in character as Branstock. "Let's hope not. Still, bandits daring to waylay travelers so close to the edge of your town aren't the most encouraging sight."

  The maid poured the tea.

  Lovel waved away Branstock's objection-and the maid. She curtsied and went out as he was saying, "I have no doubt the bailiff and his men will.. ."

  The door closed behind the maid.

  ". . . have the men in irons soon enough," Lovel finished, then doubled over in silent laughter. So did Miles.

  When they had managed to recover themselves, Miles wiped tears from his eyes and said, "What a pair of charlatans we are!"

  "More than a pair of us, Miles," Lovel chuckled. "Many more, I hope."

  When Branstock left the courthouse in the middle of the afternoon, Lovel came out of his study looking somber. "Tell the bailiff to see me as soon as he returns," he told his guards, and when the bailiff came home to report failure-the trail of the bandits had mysteriously disappeared-Lovel told him gravely, "We seem to have overlooked some rather serious matters, bailiff," and went on to give him a list.

  The bailiff, of course, immediately summoned his watchmen and proceeded to give them a lecture-so there was no question about it in anyone's mind, and by noon of the next day, everyone in town knew that "merchant Branstock" had really been an inspector-general-in disguise, as they always were.

  The tinker strolled along the high road, his pots and pans clanking and clattering to the rhythm of his steps-and to that rhythm, he sang
,

  "Oh, mistress mine, where are you roaming? Oh, mistress mine, where are you roaming? Oh, stay and hear! Your true love's coming..."

  He'd been singing it for the last mile and was growing very tired of it when at last a band of men in worn homespun clothing stepped out of the woods to surround him. "We'll have those pots and pans, tinker."

  "Oh, spare a poor man, sir!" the tinker cried, and backed away-straight into another bandit, who chuckled in his ear and clamped a hand on his arm.

  "All right, then, we'll take you, too!" the first bandit cried, and the men surrounded him, forcing the tinker into the trees, squalling protests.

  When they were a few hundred yards from the road, though, the bandits let go of the tinker, and their leader ducked his head in greeting. "Well met, Miles."

  "Well met indeed!" Miles sighed. "I could have sworn I'd go hoarse from singing that dratted song! I thought you had men guarding every mile of roadway in this district."

  "Every mile, yes-but you had to pace half that mile before you passed me," one of the other bandits said. "I recognized the song, though, and knew that you wanted a conference right away."

  "That I did," Miles sighed, and swung his pack off his back. "What a relief!" He rubbed sore shoulders.

  "What did you need to tell us?" the bandit leader asked. "Send word to the city-Reeve Plumpkin in Dore Town will be replaced next month. His replacement will be Magistrate Gole, coming from Belo Village."

  "He'll be driving up the south road, then." The bandit leader's eyes glittered-they didn't get a chance to place one of the cured madmen as a reeve very often. "We'll be ready for him-and we'll hold him until the city can send us a man to take his place. Where's Plumpkin going?"