A Wizard In Peace Read online

  "Enough to raise morale, at least. How fit is Miles to help you?"

  "I've been giving him and Ciletha lessons in my spare time, which I seem to have a lot of lately. They're both ready for their green belts, and Miles is an expert with the quarterstaff, so I won't be out there alone."

  "Helpful." Gar said.."Any luck with the Guardian?"

  "Well, it didn't say no." Dirk had spent half an hour in front of the decorated wall, trying to get a definite answer from the computer. "Says it wants to talk to you personally, when you're ready."

  "It didn't order us out of the city, then?"

  "Didn't even try. From the odd comment here and there, I gather it thinks we're the best thing to happen to these people since they started coming here. But it wants to make sure we're both aiming in the same direction as it is, so it needs a conference."

  "It can probably manage that right here." Gar looked up at the ceiling and called, "Can you hear us, O Guardian?"

  "Yes," the surrounding voice said instantly.

  Dirk jumped half a foot and came down oozing adrenaline.

  CHAPTER 14

  "You have not requested confidentiality," the voice explained.

  "So if I ask you to turn off your audio pickups, you will?"

  "Correct," the computer confirmed.

  "I don't think many of the inmates thought of that," Dirk muttered. "Must have picked up a lot of interesting sounds."

  "I don't think it's possible to shock a machine," Gar told him, then raised his voice again. "Shall we confer now?"

  "The timbre of your voice, and the amount of time you spend sleeping, indicates that you are not yet in proper condition for such a meeting."

  Gar nodded. "Fair enough. But tell me this-can you provide teaching materials for all the people here?"

  "Yes. They ,will be provided via the viewscreens in their suites."

  "May I compliment you on the quality of the frames you provide for them."

  "Thank you, but human designers deserve the credit, not I: What subjects will you be requesting?"

  "History, both Terran and local; literary classics; military strategy and tactics; local laws and bureaucratic procedures..."

  "I am quite out of date in that subject-by several centuries, in fact."

  "Yes, but you can teach them the basis from which the modern ones are derived. As to making the knowledge current, we'll see what resources we can rustle up."

  Literally, Dirk thought.

  "Oh, a whole host of subjects," Gar said, suddenly sagging back on the pillow. Dirk suppressed the urge to jump to take his pulse.

  "I see you are too tired for further talk," the Guardian said. "Call me at need. For now, good night."

  "Good night," Gar replied, his voice weakening.

  "I'll let you sleep in a minute," Dirk said slowly, "but in the meantime, I was just wondering. . ."

  "Yes?"

  "Well, your exhaustion is part of the answer, but only part."

  "Glad to hear it. What's the question?"

  "If you can cure mental illness so easily . . ." Dirk began, then stopped and said, "Let me revise that. If you can cure mental illness so quickly, why don't you do it more often?"

  "In the first place," Gar sighed, "I can't. Most mentally ill people are far more complicated than these, with several disorders all twined together. In the second place, even if I could, I'd have no right. It's a matter of invading somebody's mind, you see, and sick or not, I have no right to do that without their permission."

  "No, you don't," Dirk said slowly. "What gave you the right this time?"

  "Necessity," Gar sighed, "which means that I really had no right-but it was that, or forget about these people gaining their freedom, and I didn't have any right to do that, either."

  By the end of the week, all the recruits had learned how to fall without hurting themselves, and how to deliver and block a punch and a kick. The few who hadn't learned to read, had made a good beginning from the lessons the Guardian supplied them, and Dirk had started teaching them the basic outline of the history of their planet.

  In the first session of that class, people began to ask questions about where their ancestors came from, and were astounded to learn that the fairy stories about other worlds were true. That led to a lively discussion about which childhood tales had been true and which fantasy; Dirk helped resolve it by telling them which fairy tales came from medieval Terra, and which countries there-so by the end of the week, they had a very general outline of Terran history and geography in their minds, and an even more sketchy outline of the history of space colonization.

  Dirk had also learned which of them were very intelligent, and that no one was anything else. He asked the Guardian about that.

  "How come all your inmates have such high IQs?" he asked the decorated wall.

  "Because those who weren't would have felt inferior here, and that would have deepened their delusion," the computer voice told him.

  Dirk felt a cold chill inside. "What did you do with them?"

  "Sent them to the city of Firstmark. The computer there cares for them as I care for mine."

  "Oh, really." Dirk pricked up his ears. "I take it Firstmark is buried in the forest, too?"

  "It is indeed."

  "Just how many lost cities are there?"

  "Five," the computer answered. "Firstmark and Secondmark are for people of moderate intelligence. Thirdmark is for people of low intelligence, but Fourthmark holds delusionaries of high intelligence, too. I did not think .it wise to have more than three hundred people in each city."

  "So there are more than a thousand people ready to become subversives, not counting Thirdmark," Dirk said slowly, "and there are only a dozen living cities, and maybe four hundred towns, in this whole land."

  "You should have a potential labor force equal to half the bureaucracy, if I guess rightly from what you have told me of it."

  Dirk nodded slowly. "If Gar's health holds up, yes. Half should be enough for a revolution."

  "Quite adequate," the computer agreed.

  By the end of the third week, Gar had recovered enough for his conference with the computer. It was very distressed to learn that the bureaucracy it had served had become the tool of a dictatorship, and was completely in favor of overthrowing the Protector, provided that it could be done with very little bloodshed. Gar explained the plan, and the Guardian approved it.

  So the former delusionaries kept on with their training in weapons in the morning, then retired to their chambers to learn literature, history, psychology, mathematics, general science, music, strategy and tactics, and political science, then went on to learning the root legal code from which the Protector's laws were drawn. The computer was also able to teach them the bureaucratic procedure that was probably the basis for the current government. The people confirmed the resemblance from their own experience with magistrates and reeves.

  Very quickly, they began to form study groups, to discuss issues that confused them. Dirk explained to them that they could talk to the computer anywhere within the palace, and was amazed to find that the machine could explain a dozen different concepts to a dozen different groups at the same time. In those discussions, the Guardian revealed that the Protector was originally chosen by vote, and that everyone was born with rights-an alien concept which the cured madmen accepted eagerly, since it confirmed the ideas Gar and Dirk had given them.

  As soon as the educational program was set up, Gar and Dirk left for Firstmark-which the Guardian had explained was short for "first market." Dirk gave the original settlers high marks for organization, but negative marks for creativity.

  Miles was astounded to find himself left in charge of Voyagend, but even more surprised to find the people coming to him to answer questions and resolve disputes. He was most surprised to find that he knew the answers and could settle the disputes fairly. Apparently Gar and Dirk had taught him more than he had realized.

  CHAPTER 15

  Two years passed
, with Gar and Dirk returning from their journeys for brief visits; they were constantly on the road, overseeing training in all four cities. As the former inmates' minds grew, they hammered out their own idea of what a government should be. The bailiffs would be appointed by the magistrates, as they always had been, but to become a magistrate, men and women would have to pass examinations, then be appointed by the Protector, but would have to be approved by vote of the people in their villages every year. The reeves would be elected by the magistrates from their own number, but would have to stand for a vote of confidence from the people of their shires every year. The Council of Reeves would be elected by all the bureaucrats together from the ranks of the reeves; the Council would elect the ministers from their own ranks, and people would elect the Protector from the ranks of the ministers.

  Thus, to qualify to vote for the reeves, they had to initially pass examinations. To stand for office as a reeve, or minister, they had to prove themselves by years of service, and for Protector, by more years of service as a minister.

  Once they knew how they wished to reshape their government and why, Gar began to give them their assignments within the underground, so that they could undergo advanced training. Those most adept at music were appointed to be minstrels, given subtly subversive songs to sing, and special training as secret agents, to keep all the false magistrates in touch with one another. The women, knowing they couldn't become magistrates, were given very specific training on how to influence other people-persuasion and soft propaganda. The men, already trained as potential magistrates, now learned how to be secret agents, too, learning the cell system, codes, and infiltration techniques.

  Meanwhile, Dirk sent out minstrels with forged travel permits, to listen more than they sang until they learned of magistrates scheduled for reassignment. By the time the first such agent came back to the City in high excitement, knowing the time and place of the rotation, the first false magistrate was ready to go-Orgoru.

  The sun was barely risen as Orgoru came out of the city dressed in magistrate's robes to meet the false bailiff and the dozen men dressed in watchmen's uniforms.

  "Farewell! Oh, fare you well indeed!" Gilda cried, and threw her arms around Orgoru's neck. "I was among the first to greet you when first you came-let me be among the last to bid you good-bye!"

  "Good-bye-until I see you again." Orgoru took her into his arms, amazed that so bony a woman could feel so soft in his embrace-then even more amazed as she pulled her head back enough to turn, and kissed him full on the lips. It was a lingering caress, and for a moment, closing his eyes, Orgoru saw again the beautiful countess. Then he drew away, smiling with affection, for they had shared many long talks about right and wrong, and the fate of their country, in the last two years, and he had become almost as fond of common Gilda as he had been obsessed with the beautiful countess. "Good-bye until I see you again," he said, "and may all go well for you."

  "Send word as soon as you know you're safe!"

  "I will," he promised, and turned away quickly to mount his horse, before he could feel greater temptation to take her with him. Mounting, he turned back, and was surprised to see Ciletha standing by the gate, hand lifted in farewell, eyes bright with tears. Orgoru gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then turned away to his horse and his men.

  It never occurred to him to wonder why Ciletha had come to see him off, or why she should be teary-eyed. They were old friends, after all.

  He did wonder, though, if he really wanted to trust his life to that grim-faced Miles. What the deuce did the man have against him, after all? But his master Dirk was going too, leaving Gar and Ciletha in charge of the city-Ciletha in charge! an amazing thought!-so Orgoru mounted his horse and rode off to ambush a magistrate.

  They stopped at a place where a dusty country road joined the high road that led to the town of Greenthorpe. They had passed out of the forest, but huge trees overhung the crossroads. Orgoru looked around, frowning. "This isn't too good a place for an ambush, Master Miles."

  "It's as good as we're going to get," the peasant growled. Orgoru glanced at Dirk, but the master only nodded and turned pointedly to Miles.

  Miles sighed and explained. "The trees are large enough to hide our raiders, both behind their trunks and in their branches. We don't really expect to need them, though."

  "I know-the custom is for the outgoing magistrate to send watchmen to the halfway point, to meet their new master," Orgoru said. "I take it this is that point."

  "Not quite-not by a league. That's close enough so the new magistrate won't be surprised to see us, but far enough away so that the Greenthorpe watchmen won't come this far-though Nathan will watch half a mile down the road, and bring us word if they do."

  Nathan touched his forelock and jogged away toward the south. Orgoru watched him go, marveling that this man, two years before, had thought himself to be Lord Saunders. "So we'll deceive," he said, "not ambush."

  Miles nodded. "We'll only ambush if we have to."

  Ryan, formerly Lord Finn, went down the northern road toward Atterborough, from which the new magistrate was coming. The others sat down, ate, and rested, two napping and two awake, until Ryan came jogging back. "They're coming! A mile away-I saw them from high in a tree!"

  "Stations, quickly," Miles ordered.

  Andrew (the erstwhile Count Parlous) and Douglas (the quondam Duke River) climbed up into the trees and disappeared among the branches. Gar and Orgoru stepped behind a tree trunk. Orgoru heard the whisper of arrows laid against bows, and hoped, for the sake of the real magistrate and his men, that they would believe the deception.

  Ryan paced nearby, nervous and unable to hide it. He wore ordinary peasant clothes, as a coachman would. Miles and Dirk, though, were dressed in watchmen's livery, and sat leaning against the tree trunk, gossiping and yawning. Orgoru couldn't believe his ears-their intended victims nearly upon them, and the men were discussing government!

  A voice hailed them from far down the road.

  Miles came to his feet, Dirk right behind him. They waved at the approaching carriage with its two riders and extra horse, then waited smiling until the coachman drew the carriage up. The magistrate, a heavyset man in his forties, gave them a smile, and the gray-haired coachman called, "Are you from Greenthorpe?"

  "The Greenthorpe escort we are," Miles lied cheerfully. It went against all his upbringing, but Dirk had impressed upon him how important it was. Besides, they were planning to make sure a magistrate got to Greenthorpe just not this one.

  "Then we'll be pleased to let you escort our master." The coachman climbed down from the carriage and came around to gaze up at the magistrate. "You've been a good master, Magistrate Flound, and I envy the folk in Greenthorpe. Fare you well with them."

  "Fare you well," Flound said with a sad smile, "and I hope your new master is a good one. Give him a chance, Holstinhe's quite young yet, and is apt to be sharp in his nervousness."

  "Weren't we all!" Holstin held up a hand, horizontal, palm downward. Flound let his own hand rest on it for a moment; then Holstin stepped aside so that the two riders might exchange good-byes, and receive the laying-on of the magistrate's hand in farewell.

  It was enough like a blessing to give Dirk a start. He wondered if it was the only form of touching that ritual allowed between a magistrate and his men.

  The farewells done, Miles climbed up on the box and took the reins. He clucked to the horses and drove off at a sedate pace. Flound looked back once, with a fond smile, then turned his face resolutely toward the future-but Dirk, riding close beside, noticed tears in his eyes.

  They rode, Ryan and Dirk on either side, for half a league, to the intersection where Orgoru stood hidden. There Miles said, "Whoa!" and pulled in the horses.

  Flound leaned forward, frowning. "Why have you stopped?"

  "Because this is as far as you go, Your Honor," Dirk answered. "Climb down, please."

  Flound looked up in shock. "You're outlaws!"

  "
I'm afraid so," Dirk said with a sympathetic smile, "but we don't mean-"

  Flound sprang at him.

  He slammed into Dirk, knocking him from his horse and grabbing frantically at the saddle, but didn't quite manage to hold, and fell himself, half on top of Dirk. He scrambled to his feet and pulled a short club from under his robe. Dirk leaped up, too, and swung an uppercut. Flound blocked with the club, then swung it with a shout.

  It was a fast blow, but Dirk ducked under it, coming up to shoot a quick punch at the magistrate's jaw. Flound blocked with his left and swung the club again. Dirk leaped back, but the club seemed to follow him somehow, and caught him on the left shoulder. He ground his teeth against pain and grabbed for the club with his right hand.

  Ryan leaned down from his saddle to catch Flound around the throat, but the magistrate danced aside and chopped viciously with the club. Dirk snatched his hand away, and Miles sprang down to throw his arms around the magistrate from behind. Flound kicked back sharply, and Miles cried out at the pain in his shin. The distraction was enough; Flound twisted away, and swung his club at Miles's temple.

  Orgoru shouted as he caught Flound's arm and yanked it back, enough so that the club missed. The magistrate yanked hard, but Orgoru held tight to his wrist and turned the palm up, yanking the sleeve of the robe high.

  Flound finally took a good look at Orgoru and stared, thunderstruck by seeing magistrate's robes.

  In the second he was frozen, Dirk pressed a small bulb against his wrist.

  That brought Flound out of his stupor with a shout. He slammed a kick into Orgoru's stomach. Orgoru managed to block, but that only took some of the force from it, and he doubled over in pain. Flound yanked his arm free and turned to face Dirk, breathing hard and swinging his club in a whirring circle.

  Then, suddenly, his eyes rolled up. and he slumped to the ground.

  "Thought that drug would never kick in," Dirk panted as he came over to pick the club from nerveless fingers.

  "We didn't know," Miles said, eyes wide. "I swear to you, Mas-Dirk, I never knew magistrates hid clubs beneath their robes!"