Soldier at the Door (49 page)

“I’m listening,” Mal said, hope lighting in his eyes.

“The world is still conflicted, grateful the forts are helping, but also wary of their magistrates and enforcement men losing power. Something like this happened before, back with Querul the First.”

Mal’s eyes grew bigger. “Exactly! Querul instituted a registr
ation program when the first Guarders were running away! Everyone had to tell him where they moved to, and in to what house, so that he could track families and bring the Guarders to justice! HA!” he boomed. “We can knock this down by saying Perrin’s resorting to Querul-like tendencies!” He clapped his hands loudly, then rubbed them together. “Perfect!”

             
Brisack massaged his chin thoughtfully. “
However
, there’s some merit to knowing the names of people in each house. In the past, Gadiman occasionally had problems finding out exactly where someone lived. The messenger services don’t even know where most people live. Using Perrin’s system,
we’d
have ready-made maps of every single village in the world.”

             
Mal held up a finger and paused, as if stuck in thought.

The good doctor tried not to smirk at his companion’s internal quandary. Perhaps Mal was trying to figure out which side—the Administrators or the Guarders—should win this toss of the dices.

A smile formed on Mal’s face. He’d made a decision as to this round’s winner.

“Record only the last names.
That
will make the forts feel better, knowing who lives where. But no first names or the number of people in a household.
That
should keep the citizens from feeling we’re going too far.”

Brisack nodded back. Both sides were going to win. That was always the way Mal played things—until he won. He never gave up. If he sensed he was losing at something—be it an argument or a government—he’d keep pushing and going and changing the rules
until he was winning again. Nicko Mal
had
to win. There was nothing else for him in the world, except to win it all. He saw himself as a high-minded and intelligent leader, doing the world a service by demonstrating how animal-like it was and studying its responses.

But that was all a cover.

Because Mal was, at his heart, simply the most competitive man in the world. Everything he ever did was about proving he was better than anyone else. It was childish, really, Brisack considered as Mal begin to blather on about how he was turning the tables on Perrin Shin’s so-called brilliant ideas. The doctor wondered if, as a boy, Nicko had been on the small side, abrasive with others, but arguably the smartest boy in the school. And, despite his excellence, he was overshadowed by the tall, handsome, charming boy that every peer and teacher couldn’t help but admire. 

That would explain a lot, Brisack decided as Mal ranted about arrogance of army officers. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out who Mal saw—and hated—as Mr. Popularity.

People think competition it a good thing, Brisack considered as Mal now stood up and gestured wildly about how he would always prevail, no matter what tactic Shin threw at him. But at what point does friendly competition develop into maniacal despotism?

Maybe—Brisack decided—that’s like asking when tumbling pups become ravaging wolves.

When’s our man going in?!” Mal barked, shaking Brisack from his thoughts.

“With the fifty new soldiers,” Brisack sighed. “Later this week. He’ll find our Quiet Man, discover what he knows, and guarantee that Shin fails—I promise you.”

-
--

Barker didn’t even need bacon. He saw the man and was over the fence in less than a minute.

“Well done, well done. Something new tonight. Alongside.”

-
--

Hycymum had been very busy for weeks sewing constantly and boasting to her friends that the security of Edge rested squarely on her shoulders. Her son-in-law
needed
her talents, and she couldn’t be bothered with anything else until her duty to the Army of Idumea was completed.

One afternoon Perrin came home from the fort for midday meal, annoyed.

“If one more of your mother’s sewing friends ambushes me again, I may have to issue a mandate that no women over forty years of age is allowed to talk to me.”

“Why? What do they want?” Mahrree asked.

“To help secure Edge! What in the world is your mother saying to them?!”

Mahrree laughed. “I’m not sure, but she said she’ll be done at the end of the week with your project.”

“Good,” Perrin said, calming down. “We’ll test them early next week, then.”

“I’m rather excited!” Mahrree said.

“Well, I was too, but not anymore,” Perrin grumbled. “The first men to test the system have already been decided.”

“Who?”

Perrin groaned.

“You?!” Mahrree squealed. “It’s about time. What happened?”

Through clenched teeth he said, “
Zenos
happened.”

Mahrree didn’t get to hear anything more about that until Shem came by later that afternoon with the message that Perrin would be home late again. That’s when Mahrree found out what occurred at the fort that morning.

“He had no choice,” Shem grinned at her. “He
had
to accept! I know you’ve wanted to watch him run, so I set him up.”

“Shem, once again you’ve solidified your status as my favorite soldier. So how did you do it?”

“Wrestling,” Shem said, twisting his own muscular neck as if it were still kinked. “You know how he likes to motivate us by insisting that no one is stronger, tougher or faster than him? Well, he brought fifty of us to the training arena for a sparring challenge, and I stepped up to be the first to take him on.”

Mahrree shook her head. “I’ve told you—take him on after the eighth man. That’s when he starts to get tired, and someone as large as you will have a fair chance at beating him.”

“I didn’t want to beat him. Although I was close.” He sighed wistfully. “
This
close . . . then, there I was again, flat on my back staring up into that cocky grin of his. But I knew I had him. I stood up, looked him in the eyes, and said, ‘You know,
sir
, there’s one way to prove you really are the strongest soldier. And I find it interesting that of all the soldiers in the fort, you’re the
only
one who has yet to participate in it.’”

Mahrree grinned and clapped her hands. “Perfect, Shem!”

“Well, he folded his arms and gave me that haughty look of his. ‘What are you going on about, Zenos?’”

His impersonation was good enough that Mahrree snorted.

“‘I’m talking about the Races to Edge, sir,’ I told him. ‘Even Captain Karna has run in two of them, but
you
never leave your horse.’ I even folded my arms to try to look as intimidating as him. So he raised that angry eyebrow of his and said, ‘I’m on a horse so I can track progress, Corporal, and make sure none of
you
cheat.’ So I told him, ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s the entire reason,
sir
. I think you know you’d
lose.
’”

Mahrree covered her mouth briefly before she said, “Oh Shem, you’re the bravest man in the fort!”

He shrugged modestly. “About half the soldiers took several large steps backwards at that point. So then the major glared at me and said, ‘I don’t race you soldiers because I don’t want to humiliate you. No one’s faster than me, Zenos.
You
know that.’”

Mahrree kept giggling.

“That’s when the ‘oohs,’ began, and the
rest
of the men took a large step backwards. So I looked your husband in the eye and said, ‘Check the race postings, sir. No one can beat me. I think I’m ready for you, so I challenge you to a race. No teams, just you against me. We’ll see who the strongest soldier really is!’ What else could he do?”

Mahrree burst out laughing. “Brilliant!”

Shem laughed too. “Then he said it would be
his pleasure
to humiliate me.”

“He’s sure he’ll humiliate you?” Mahrree rubbed her hands t
ogether. “Ooh, I can hardly wait!”

Shem chuckled. “I kind of hope he’s behind me, chasing. Even though it’s been several weeks since he accused me of being a Guarder, Mahrree, he sometimes still scares me near to death!”

-
--

Perrin passed several carpenters and nodded amiably as they waved to him. His mother-in-law wasn’t the only person busy on his latest project. He stepped into the shadow blocking the afternoon sun, stopped, looked up, and grinned. Now that they were nearing completion, his latest ideas looked even grander and more imposing than when he first sketched out their dimensions late one night in his study.

For the past several weeks a small army of lumberjacks, carpe
nters, and craftsmen had been building twelve tall, covered towers just like this one, in strategic locations in Edge. Each was a wooden structure rising higher than any surrounding trees, and capable of holding two men who could hoist signal banners during the day or light a fire in a metal cauldron on the roof for nighttime warnings. The furthest tower was a quarter of a mile south of Edge, along the main road to Mountseen and Idumea. Additional towers surrounded the village and several were within, including one at the center of the village green. With the addition of fifty soldiers that were coming from Idumea, Perrin had calculated there would be more than enough men to operate the towers day and night.

The views from the top were remarkable. At first the carpenters were frightened to build to such a height, until Major Shin took all of them to his command tower to show them that the air was still as breathable as it was on the ground.

Within days of the first towers reaching their final height, he had the opposite problem—keeping people
off
of them. Everyone wanted to see how well their back gardens could be viewed, and how much of their neighbors they could spy on. It didn’t matter that the ladders going up through the middle weren’t yet complete; daring Edgers simply climbed up the lattice work on the side, just as the builders had done.

Perrin had to implement a strict rule: only workers allowed on the towers, and when they were completed, only the soldiers a
ssigned to them. Security of Edge, specially trained men, potential hazards to the citizens, and all that. Since it came from the major, the man who protected Edge so well that the only deaths from the recent raid were those that most directly affected him, Edgers obeyed. Usually.

Perrin held his breath as the ladder in the middle was heaved i
nto place by several burly men, to the cheers of another dozen or so citizens watching the progress. Tomorrow each tower, nearly completed, would also be equipped with Hycymum’s creations which he was on his way to inspect: long banners that could be hoisted in a moment’s notice to signal the fort.

Red banners would mean Guarder activity had been spotted; yellow, fire; blue, official visitors were on the way; and orange, the Chief of Enforcement requested back-up assistance.

Perrin imagined that one would be going up most frequently since a couple of enforcement officers revealed to him they were losing a bit of confidence in the chief, and could they sign up to be soldiers? The station hoisting the banner would also denote the general area where the trouble was.

The whine of an eighteen-year-old broke into his admiration of his creation.

“Are you
sure
three carts are necessary, sir?” asked one of the privates waiting behind him, pulling a wooden cart.

The other two privates, also manning the small wagons usually pulled by mules, looked at him with warning in their eyes. It was r
are that anyone questioned the judgment of Major Shin.

But fortunately for the new soldier, the major was in an exce
llent mood. Edge was becoming more secure every day and he was finding it easy to smile again.

“Believe me, Private—cloth can weigh a great deal. Don’t wo
rry. This is really quite an easy assignment. But if you prefer, we need some latrines dug by each of the towers to service the men working there . . .”

“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. This assignment is just fine.”

“Oh, I’m
so glad
you feel that way.”

A few moments later they arrived in front of Hycymum Peto’s house, and Perrin groaned. He’d been dreading the assignment more than his three privates. He knew she’d make this complicated.

“And there they are!” his mother-in-law squealed as the crowd of neighbors turned and applauded. “And you know what an event like this calls for, right Perrin? Cake!”

“No, Mother Peto,” he rubbed his forehead and mumbled, b
ecause he knew she’d never listen to him, “it does
not
call for cake.”