Soldier at the Door (25 page)

Mal blinked. “A test of her own?”

“I had a colleague once observe a group of children taunting a teacher,” Brisack smiled in recollection. “He was young and nervous and for a time he ignored their tossing small rocks at him. But after about half an hour, and several well-thrown pebbles, the teacher lost his composure and whipped three of the boys.”

“Dr. Brisack, has anyone ever told you that you don’t make your points very well?” Mal sighed.

The doctor chuckled. “
My point is
, the boys were trying to push the teacher to acknowledge them. He was obsessed with getting through his lesson—probably because he knew my friend was there observing him—and he was trying to proceed at any cost.”

“So you’re suggesting that she’s going to keep sending letters until someone takes her out behind the school building and whips her,” Mal intoned.

“In a matter of speaking,” Brisack nodded. “I think she simply wants a personal message, to believe someone’s actually listening to her.”

“Hmm,” Mal grunted. “You know, I have a wide variety of whips that I use on the horses and dogs. Could try a cat . . .” A sneer grew on his face.

“I have no doubt that you do,” Brisack responded coldly. “When will your test of her be ready?”

Mal rolled his eyes. “I don’t think there’s any department in all of government more slow to act than the Department of Instruction! If the world ended tomorrow, their committees wouldn’t be able to ‘formulate an educational strategy’ for ‘teaching it most effectively’ for another twenty years.”

Brisack smiled at Mal’s attempt at sarcastic humor. “Which, of course, would be utterly unnecessary since the world
no longer existed
.”

“I’m putting pressure on them,” Mal said ominously enough to wipe the smile off of the doctor’s face. “There’s no logical purpose for them to take so long. It’s as if they are always waiting for som
eone to give them permission to do the next thing, to check off every little detail before they continue. Without someone hovering over them, they don’t work!”

“Soun
ds like the effects of Full School already,” Brisack muttered.

“Which is what we want, I agree,” Mal said, agitated. “We
want
the citizenry to hesitate before they act, to seek permission for every little thing! That’s the only way to keep them contained and controlled. But I need
more
from their leadership! I need people willing to experiment, to dare, to innovate, to take the
initiative
—”

“Someone like Mrs. Shin?” Brisack waved her letter like a ba
nner. “After School Care?”

In an uncharacteristic display of exhausted exasperation, Mal rubbed his temples with fingers. Through clenched teeth he said, “Someone
like
her, but
not her
. Send her form letter number two, in about four weeks. The Department of Instruction should be finished by then. Or I’ll finish them myself!”

“I suspect she’ll keep throwing stones,” Brisack warned.

“Let her. No one has more whips than me.”

---

He’s right, Mahrree thought to herself five weeks later as she watched from the front door the message carrier ride by her house yet again without dropping off a response to her second letter. Perrin kept reminding her that they did still have time. The end of Raining Season and the year 322 was just around the corner, but Jaytsy wouldn’t be turning two until halfway through Planting Season. And then it was
still
another four years.

Four very short years.

She shrugged that off and turned to admire again the latest addition to their family: the longest, widest, sturdiest sofa she could afford to have built, complete with very thick brown cloth that the furniture maker assured her would stand up to the abuses of ten rowdy boys, one very large captain, two small children, and even the unwieldy black dog that climbed slowly on to it and resisted all efforts of Mahrree to drag him off.

One should never own a dog that weighs more than one’s self.

That’s where he was again, Mahrree grumbled to herself. Barker had taken over the sofa once more, since the children were napping and Mahrree had been working at the table. The only reason she tolerated the animal was because Perrin loved him so much. And her heart softened a little towards the beast when Shem confessed that it was actually him who brought the large black puppy to Perrin. Shem had found him abandoned, muddy, and whimpering along the canal by the fort. Perrin kept him for two days in the stables to make sure he would live before he brought him home.

How could Mahrree demand he be thrown out again? She had two old blankets that she alternated throwing over the new cloth to
keep it clean. Most of his body fit on it, except for his big paws and sharp nails.

“Just don’t drool on it,” she glowered at Barker as she passed him on her way to the kitchen.

He only twitched a black eyebrow.

Mahrree was starting to wash the dishes from midday meal when she saw Perrin hopping over the back fence.

“That can’t be promising,” she whispered. He always sent Shem with messages, unless—

The back door flew open and he smiled his practiced grin. “He
llo, my darling wife!”

“What is it?” she asked tonelessly.

He leaned over and kissed her. “Can’t I come home in the middle of the day to check on my wife and her new sofa? Oh. Wait. I see. There’s someone
else
here, isn’t there? What’s his name? Out with it.” He folded his arms and glared at her severely.

“You’re right, Perrin,” she tried to keep her face solemn as she wrung her hands. “I should have told you this before, but . . . there
is
someone else. Has been for some time. I’ve regretted the relationship from the beginning, and I never should’ve agreed to it. But now I’m trapped. No matter what I do, I can’t get him to leave me alone. He resists all my attempts and . . . well, he’s on the sofa right now,
staring
at me.”

Perrin nodded slowly. “Well, I’ll take care of that. BARKER!”

They heard his claws on the wood floor eagerly scrambling to come to the only human he ever obeyed. He plunged through the door and sat obediently at Perrin’s feet, the dog’s melon-sized head even with Perrin’s belly.

Perrin petted his head and opened the door for him to go out.

“Right into the muddy back garden!” Mahrree whimpered. “Not exactly what I was wanting. Well, you’re far less gullible than Shem was last week when I pulled the same thing on him.”

“That’s because he told me about it,” Perrin chuckled. “Said he was so nervous that you might be serious about an unwanted man on your sofa that he nearly dropped his long knife. He still dreads using his sword, unless it’s in practice.”

“So, I’m still wondering why you’re here . . .” she hinted.

His pastry smile returned. “There are, indeed, changes to the education of the world!”

For a brief moment her heart leaped, then it fell back into place when she realized his voice was far cheerier than his eyes.

“What have they done?”

“After
such
a successful debut on a trial basis, Full School is now mandatory throughout the world, beginning with the upcoming Harvest Season. Isn’t that wonderful?!” He could have frosted cakes with his grin.

Mahrree bared her teeth.

“That’ll never do for a convincing smile, by the way,” he gestured at her face. “Work on lifting the corners of your mouth, like this.” He pointed to his own stiff grin.

“I’m not smiling,” she assured him.

“Obviously.” He sighed as he pulled out some folded pages from his jacket. “Thought you’d want to know as soon as possible. Teachers will no longer need to worry about consulting parents about what their children will learn,” he said, holding up the document in his hands. “Since it’s
such
a
burden
. . .”

Mahrree snatched the official parchment from him. Forts always got news from Idumea a day before the village magistrates received their bundle to post on the notice boards. Maybe it was to hint to the army that trouble may erupt the next day.

Mahrree was near to boiling as she read out loud. “‘All directives in children’s education will now come directly from the Department of Instruction, under the supervision of the Administrator of Education.’” She let out a low whistle.

“There’s more,” he pointed. “But only if you feel compelled to read it.”

She grunted. “Like running across a the remains of a mouse after Barker’s had at it—as gruesome as it is, you feel
compelled
to see it all . . . ‘All schools will now be under the guidance of Directors of Education, up to three depending upon the size of the village. These men will oversee school construction, teacher selection, and curriculum implementation, thus removing the responsibility of parents to worry about, for even one moment, their children’s education.’”

“
What?
” Perrin said, moving behind her to read over her shoulder.

“I added the
last part,” Mahrree confessed between her clenched teeth. She continued reading. “‘In order to improve management of the schools, new Educational Regions will be established to oversee the Directors of Education—’ So that’s two more levels of supervisors?”

“Well, there’s the Administrator, then the Head of the Depar
tment of Instruction, then the Overseers of the Educational Regions, then the Directors of Education—”

“Oh, this is insane!” Mahrree spat. “At least they can’t add any more levels, because I think they’ve exhausted the amount of titles they can come up with.”

Perrin shook his head wretchedly. “I can think of a few more, depending on how many more friends need pointless jobs. Give them time. They’ll find a way to complicate this even further.”

“Next they’ll choose a representative for the parents who alone can discuss concerns with the Director, who then can send a message to the Overseers, who
might
pass it along to the Head of the Department, who
maybe
will remember to show it to the Administrator!”

“Ideas such as After School Care?” Perrin suggested.

“No. No new letter about that,” she said in disgust.

Perrin pulled ano
ther envelope from his jacket.“This was brought to me by mistake.”

She dropped the document on the work table and snatched the envelope out of his hands, tearing it open in the process.

The writing she sneered at was frustratingly familiar. “‘We appreciate your concern and assure you that the Administrators are doing all they can . . .’”

“Form letter number two,” he tried to say brightly. “Your co
llection is growing.”

She threw it down on the work table. “I’m completely voic
eless!”

“That’s debatable,” he said daringly.

“You know what I mean!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t read the rest.” He subtly slid his hand over to the announcement about education.

But she was quicker to snatch it up.

“Each class will have twenty-five students?!” she declared a moment later. “Madness! How can a teacher get to know each child intimately enough to help him if she’s wrestling with twenty-five of them? Eight to ten was difficult enough!”

He only sighed.

“More?” she demanded.

His sickly-sweet smile returned and he nodded to the document.

A moment later her upper lip curled. “They ARE making schools here! Big ones! Out of block! Oh, how
lovely!
”

“I believe it’s deliberate,” he said tapping his lips with his fi
nger. “You see, the schools I saw in Idumea are very square, very plain, and very gray. Surround children with that much dullness so that their imaginations die, then a classroom of twenty-five
depressed
students will feel the same as ten
normal
lively children.”

“That’s probably true,” she said, her eyes squinting in fury. “Our new director of schools, along with the new curriculum, will be arriving by the middle of Planting Season,” she said as she scanned the rest of the document. “So where’s he going to stay?”

“I was asked to give him our study,” he said.

“WHAT?!”

“Just teasing, just teasing!” he said, pulling her into his arms. “He’s probably going to take a storage shed at one of the schools as his office.”

“I hope the roof leaks on him,” she snarled.

“That’s my sweet, kind, compassionate wife,” he said, stroking her light brown hair. “I knew you’d be open-minded and fair about this.”

“I hope the roof leaks, the floor floods, his desk molds, and trees collapse on it. Then a land tremor strikes, opens a crevice in the ground, and devours it all.”

“And here I thought you would be small-minded and petty, wishing horrible things upon someone you don’t even know. Some poor, hapless puppet of the Administrators who’s doing his best to deal with a daunting situation—”