The Reformer g-4 Page 4

  But not entirely a fool, Esmond reminded himself. He'd even been a competent general once, in the western wars a decade back.

  He'd also spent every penny he'd wrung out of his province on trying to be elected Speaker of the Popular Assembly, one of the two magistrates who ruled the Confederacy, as much as anyone did. Virtually every well-established noble family in and around the city must have thrown their influence and clientage against him, for him to have lost after spending that kind of money.

  And without the opportunities of a Speaker, he was doomed. If his creditors didn't get him, the lawsuits of the provincials would-they'd be able to attract more than enough patrons in the capital, anxious to bring Redvers down and feed on the estates that would go on the block.

  "Do sit down, over there, Esmondi," Redvers said. "Pour me some wine, and yourself, my boy."

  Little Esmond, the little Emerald, Esmond thought, grinding his teeth as he smiled and obeyed.

  "We've brought you here to discuss a little matter of politics," the Confederate noble said.

  Esmond managed not to choke on the wine. Politics were for Confederate citizens-rich Confederate citizens, if you went beyond the level of the dole-feeders selling their Popular Assembly votes. Vision took on the clarity of desperation, the same bright hopping focus he'd had before the Five Year Games. One or two. . no, three of the guests weren't what they appeared. Purple-edged tunics and robes, yes, but those hard furtive eyes didn't have the lordly arrogance of the nobles beside them. Gang bosses, he thought. The type who could deliver a ward for a patron, or see that the other side's canvasers hurt bad or just disappeared. Some of them were as powerful as many Justiciars or generals. .

  The others murmured among themselves, nibbling on little pastries rich with nuts and creamed bananas, sipping at their wine. And looking at me, Goddess be my shield.

  "My lord honors me beyond my worth," he said smoothly. I may not be a rhetorician, but I've been listening to Adrian all my life. "If my lord will open his mind to me, I will assuredly do my poor best to aid him."

  Redvers nodded. "As you may know," he began, "I was recently cheated-foully cheated-of my legitimate election as Speaker of the Popular Assembly. By corruption! Unprecedented, extra-constitutional corruption! Interference from the Council!"

  Esmond darted a quick look at Audsley. Audsley's mentor Marcomann had been the one who ended the last round of civil wars, and he'd restored the powers of the Council and restricted those of the Popular Assemblies. . Audsley smiled and nodded.

  "To cleanse the State, a fire is needed. Drastic measures! Only thus can justice, peace and good order be restored!"

  Grave nods, glittering eyes.

  "My lord, may the gods themselves aid your enterprise." Esmond shot to his feet, then went to one knee, drawing and offering his sword. "I see that a new age is about to dawn for the Confederacy!"

  "Well, well, that's very handsome of you, Esmondi," Redvers said. "Each one of us has a part to play, you see. Councillor Audsley is collecting a sufficient force among Marcomann's veterans-many of them living in poverty, despite their many services to the State."

  Having blown their loot and land grants on whores, dice and wine, Esmond thought. They'd come back from the Western provinces staggering under the gold. . or rather the innumerable slaves they'd taken had staggered. Marcomann had used them to climb to the highest office. Usually the Confederacy had two Speakers, one for the Popular Assembly and one for the Council; Marcomann had been Sole Speaker from the day his troops marched in and the proscriptions began to the utterly unexpected day of his retirement. He'd died in bed, too, which was a strong argument for the belief that the gods did intervene in human affairs.

  "These other gentlemen will rise in arms on the appointed day. Some will seize the public buildings; others will start fires and riots to distract the City Companies. And you, my dear Esmondi. ." Redvers smiled. "It struck me just now. . there are so many foreigners in Vanbert these days. Emeralds especially; why, there are twenty or thirty Emeralds in my household, aren't there? And you're what passes for a great and famous man among them, aren't you?"

  "I have some small influence, yes, my lord," Esmond said. A Five Year victor did have a fair number who knew his name. That wasn't exactly what Redvers was looking for, but Esmond had no intention of lessening his value. He'd already heard far too much to live if they suspected for an instant he wasn't with them or wasn't useful.

  "And you'll be rewarded for it," Redvers nodded. "Why, even Confederate citizenship. . perhaps the narrow stripe and a modest estate in the provinces." He beamed, the furrows beside his fleshy beak nose deepening. "All you must do is call on the Emeralds and whatnot to rise and kill the leading corruptionists on the appointed day. Won't that cause confusion!"

  "My lord, it's brilliant," Esmond said, his voice hushed and sincere. "But please. . pardon my ignorance. . what will Councillor Ion Jeschonyk be doing? I've never seen the Speaker of the Council abroad in the streets without two dozen of his retainers, many of them army veterans or games fighters. And if any of the magistrates should escape and reach loyal garrisons. . loyal to them, I mean. ."

  "Clever, these Emeralds," one of the men drawled.

  "Well, my boy, all these things have been considered," Redvers said indulgently. "Indeed, mine is the hand-along with a few of my friends here-who will strike down the tyrant Jeschonyk. We'll call on him at home, you see, in the third hour of the morning, before his clients arrive to pay their respects. We'll stab him as he comes to greet us, and with him dead nobody will dare lift a hand against so many Fathers of the State. And Justiciar Demansk has twenty thousand men under arms not far from the capital, the levy for the coming Island campaign."

  "Justiciar Demansk is of your party, my lord?" Esmond strove to put worshipful admiration in his tone. Don't overdo it, he warned himself. But then, dealing with these people it was nearly impossible to overdo it. . on the other hand, the gang bosses were less likely to be taken in. If Demansk was with them, they actually had a chance to bring this off.

  "Justiciar Demansk. ." Redvers smiled, "is a man of ambition, shall we say, who has been. . approached. So. What do you say, Esmondi my lad?"

  Esmond stood and gave Redvers a salute, fist to chest. "Command me, lord, and success is ordained as if the gods themselves had spoken."

  * * *

  "Are you serious?" Adrian blurted, as his brother finished his tale, running his hands through his long curling hair.

  "Deadly. Most probably simply dead," Esmond said.

  Adrian stared at him, appalled. "Oh, Maiden of the Stars," he whispered. "They're all going to die."

  "That doesn't bother me," Esmond said grimly. "You're right, incidentally. The only reason they haven't gone up the post-" in fact, most of them were of high enough social standing that they'd be offered the knife "-is that the Council and the Speakers are nearly as much a bunch of amateur buffoons as they are."

  The tall form of his brother sank to a bench. "How in the name of the gods did we ever end up being subject to these people?"

  "They had a better army," Adrian said absently, the eyes of his mind fixed inward. "And in those days they didn't fight among themselves as much as we did. You know the saying: two Emeralds-"

  "— three factions and a civil war," Esmond said gloomily. "And the hell of it is, we're involved in this. . this abortion. I wouldn't give them one chance in twenty. The Confederacy may be ruled from Vanbert, but it isn't a city-state or a monarchy. You can't just seize one man or a couple of buildings and rule, or parade a little bodyguard the way. . what was his name, somebody the Tyrant, the one who came into town with a big girl dressed up as the Goddess, way back?"

  "Petor Strattis," Adrian said. Strattis had been Boss of Solinga for twenty-three years back four centuries ago, and his reforms had laid the basis for the later democracy and the Emerald League. "Wait-let me think."

  esmond gellert's appraisal is remarkably accurate, Center said, a slight tinge of
surprise in the machine voice. stochastic analysis indicates that the probability of a successful coup is in the range of 8 % ±3.

  Raj's gray eyes opened inside Adrian's head. Remarkable young man, your brother, he said appraisingly. I'd have been very glad indeed to have him as a junior officer; he's got natural talent, and I think men would follow him. Hmm. . that's something to consider. Center?

  correct. we must reevaluate long-term plans. . however, esmond gellert's fundamental belief-structure offers impediments to his usefulness as a tool.

  My brother isn't a tool! Adrian thought hotly. He's a human being!

  Human beings can be the tools of mankind, Raj thought gently. There's no higher honor. Better to serve mankind than some politician's greed or a myth that turns to ashes full of dead children.

  Sorry, Adrian thought. What can we do?

  Well, Redvers and his friends have one great merit, Raj mused. Two, actually. First, they're corrupt, amoral, shortsighted and utterly selfish. Responsible nobles wouldn't listen to you if you told them about earth-shaking innovations-they'd look beyond immediate advantage and realize that they could destabilize the system, and those of them who're loyal to anything besides themselves are loyal to the system here. Second, they're desperate. They'll grasp at straws, because it's a tubful of very bloody water for them if they lose.

  Adrian raised his head. "Did they give you any idea of the time of this. . uprising?"

  "Not immediately. They want to get Demansk on their side if they possibly can. Beyond that, at least a couple of months-I doubt if they know precisely themselves. Why? Do you think we can make it to the Western Isles before then?"

  "No, I think I have an idea," Adrian said slowly. "But I need some time for it to work."

  One of Lady Redvers' maids came back into the alcove where the brothers sat. "Oh, Esmond, I was so frightened-" she began, speaking a pure upper-class Emerald.

  Then she saw Adrian, and froze. Esmond went defiantly to her side and took her hand. "Brother, this is Nanya. Formerly of a citizen family of Penburg."

  Adrian bowed gravely; Penburg had been sacked after a revolt six years ago, while Wilder Redvers had been governor of Solinga Province. Every adult male sent to the pole, the rest sold into slavery. His eyebrow lifted: Do you know the risks you're taking? it signaled. If Lady Redvers found out. . being flogged to death was the best Nanya could expect. Killing a free resident of Solinga like Esmond wouldn't be legal. . but that wouldn't stop the lady, and she'd get away with it, too.

  "And, when the gods allow, my wife," Esmond went on.

  Nanya looked up at him with adoration, her large brown eyes going soft. Adrian closed his eyes. Give me strength.

  We will, son, Raj's voice spoke silently.

  * * *

  Vanbert's law courts had grown with the city. The highest of them-the Assembly Courts of Appeal-were housed in a new marble complex not far from the Temple of the Dual God, on the Spring Hill. The building was in an exaggerated form of the classic Emerald style, adapted to the needs of Confederate legal institutions. Two square blocks on either side held long halls where advocates, clients and hangers-on could walk and speak and deal; they were plain as Emerald temples, surrounded by giant columns supporting a Confederate invention, a barrel-vaulted roof. That was coffered and gilded, and tall windows ran around the eaves just below it. Even on a cloudy winter's day like this the light diffused off the hammered gold leaf in a shadowless glow, lighting the pale marble of walls and column and floor.

  Joining the two halls to make a square C-shape was a connecting bar, with a covered amphitheater in its center. Juries in Confederate cases were huge-in theory any citizen could sit, although the requirement for a purifying sacrifice excluded the poor-and they sat below the advocates and judges, like spectators at a games fight. Adrian had often thought that the comparison had merit on more levels than one; though more subtle, the clash of wit and quotation below was just as savage as sword and spear, or tusk and fang. The expressions on the jurors were similar too. Except that nobody was paid to attend the games, while jurors received a stipend, not counting bribes of money or patronage.

  An important case could be almost as expensive as a municipal election.

  Adrian gathered his plain white mantle around him and strode towards the low symbolic metal fence that surrounded the sun disk inlaid in mosaic on the floor of the court. The acoustics were wonderful; he could hear whispered conversations on the top benches, and even sleepy belches from the inevitable seedy hangers-on taking a nap.

  A man with a ceremonial whip and axe stopped him at the entrance. "If you come to speak, proclaim your citizenship," he said in a bored voice; his equipment was meant to indicate the magistrates' power to punish and kill, but it had been a long time since they were used on the spot.

  "I come not to speak, but to speak the words of another," Adrian said, pitching his voice in the way Center had trained him to do. The computer had also eliminated the last trace of the soft Emerald accent; now his voice had the slow, crisp vowels of a native Confederate-the upper-class city dialect, at that.

  "Pass, then," the usher said.

  Adrian advanced, his soft kidskin sandals noiseless, and made a deep bow before the panel of judges. They were all older men today, he saw, seamed hard faces with tufts of chinbeard and disapproving eyes.

  "This seems to be in order," the senior magistrate said, examining the scroll which deputized Adrian to speak for a citizen advocate. "I suppose we have to let the little Emerald speak. I don't know what Vanbert is coming to. A girl costs more than a sword, a pretty boy more than a tract of land, a jug of imported fish sauce more than a good plow team, and they let foreigners speak in the courts of law where Confederate gentlemen once showed their mettle. They'll be allowing them into the army next. Go on, Emerald, go on."

  His voice rolled heavy with disapproval. Adrian bowed again.

  "We are faced," he began, "with a case which runs on all fours with the notable-"

  He spoke easily, his voice conversational at first. That itself was daring-the usual mode was Oratorical, one hand outstretched, the other gripping the front fold of your mantle, right foot advanced, voice booming. He was using a rather daringly avant-garde style, at least for the introduction.

  Center's prompting flowed through his mind. Precedent, allegory, snippets of verse, or the doggerel that passed for poetry in this land. He could feel the coldness of the jury turning, men leaning forward in interest.

  "A pretty tissue of words to hide the plain truth," the other side's advocate said at last. "Yet Dessin and Chrosis clearly establishes that provincial corporate bodies have no standing for a petition for and through in this esteemed court. Citizens! Such appeals are your prerogative!"

  An appeal to Confederate pride rarely fails, Adrian noted. He'd expected that.

  "Citizens!" he replied. "Citizens. . what pride, what glory, what power resides in that simple word. Citizens of the Confederacy of Vanbert! Yours is the power to bind and loose; yours the hand that wields the assegai of justice. It is beyond dispute. The esteemed advocate for the Smellton Tax Farmer's Syndicate is entirely correct. A mere assembly of provincials-without standing in this court-cannot assume the right to present a petition 'for and through' in strict form."

  "Eh?" The chief magistrate's mouth moved, as if he was chewing toothlessly. "Are you conceding the case, Emerald? Is that what your 'principal'-" the scorn was back, this time for the legal fiction "-has set you to read?"

  "By no means, excellent magistrates, do I concede. For indeed-" he moved into Formal Mode "-even as my humble self is but a mouthpiece for my principal, who is a citizen of the noble Confederacy, so this petition is launched in the name of the following indisputable citizens, their names on the ten-yearly roll: I speak of Jusin Sambert, Augin Melton-"

  He rolled on, his voice booming up to the eaves. Faces along the rows of jurors' benches began to nod; heads leant together with murmurs of agreement.

  "Justic
e! That strict Goddess with axe and flail in hand, terrible in aspect, unbending in righteousness, watches us even now!"

  Adrian launched himself into the conclusion of his speech. When he halted, head bowed, hands outstretched, the jurors rose to their feet and applauded, the noise ringing back from the dome overhead. The mantled heads of the magistrates huddled together, mouths working beneath the sound.

  "Petition accepted for examination," the senior said, looking down on Adrian from the high seat. "Jurors and panel of magistrates in accordance." Which virtually guaranteed that the petition would be reviewed favorably. . which meant that the Smellton Tax Farmer's Syndicate would face a swingeing fine. "Dismissed."

  Adrian left slowly, despite an overwhelming impulse to bolt for the hall and get a glass of lemonade, or watered wine; you needed a throat of brass and a bladder the size of a wine jug to work the courts. Instead he strolled, smiling and bowing and exchanging a few deferential words with some of the long-established advocates and their clients.

  You can see how surprised they are, he thought ironically. How does an Emerald do so well in a place where real men are supposed to shine?

  If ever the Confederacy was destroyed, he suspected it was going to be because somebody simply couldn't refuse the temptation to smash a lead-weighted fist into the face of that bland, complacent assumption of superiority. You could only swallow the sour bile at the back of your throat for so long.