The Guild (27 page)

Caught on the spot, Rexei stammered. “I . . . that is . . . uh . . . I-I don’t think a . . . a member of the Holy Guild should . . .”

“
I
think you should think about these things. Remember, we suffered in part because what the deity is all about, the kingdom
becomes
,” Marta told her. “Now, since I have personally seen it, I know that women can be just as effective as men in combat,
if
they are given training appropriate to their strengths and their reflexes.”

“But women aren’t as strong as men,” Rexei stated, bemused by the turn of conversation. She had come in here to use the talker-box to contact other Consulates to find Gearmen apprentices willing to serve in the new Holy Guild, and . . . Marta was shaking her head. “What?”

“Longshanks, Mekha gave us all that mechanical knowledge to
augment
our abilities. It honestly does not matter if it’s a man or a woman steering a motorhorse. It does not matter if it’s a man or a woman maneuvering around in a motorman suit. Both can do so equally well. It doesn’t even matter all that much if it’s a
man or a woman operating a cannon, save that it may take two women to easily load the munitions into the chamber, versus one man with a bit of effort or one woman having to struggle hard. But they can all load the cannon and fire it. Not that I advocate going to war, but I do strongly suggest we prepare ourselves to defend against it.”

“Well . . . good,” Rexei agreed, seizing on that. “Because my Goddess does not
want
to go to war. We’ll stand ready to defend against it, but . . . but we’ll only take on those who
want
to join us. None of this forcing ourselves on others. That’s nonsense and does nothing to ensure that our Patron will be a strong one, capable of standing strong in the face of anything. The False God certainly wasn’t strong. We’ll accept only those cities who want Her, because we won’t be like Him.”

That half smile came back, this time more amused than wry. Marta lounged back against the talker-box desk. “He wasn’t very strong, was He? What made you think up that antiwar policy?”

“Because . . . well, because He was all about war and conquest, yet we’d not managed to make our borders budge any bigger,” Rexei said. “We’re lucky the Arbrans and the Aurulans and the Sundarans haven’t been interested in claiming a single inch more for their own lands. And we’re lucky the northeastern barbarians haven’t enough organization, magic, or militia to do more than hold their borders.”

Marta winced. “Please, that’s not the diplomatic way to address them. They’re hardly barbarians. They’re just small, clan-organized, city-sized kingdoms, each with a God or Goddess no more powerful than Mekha was. Now, what do you think about setting up a new capital city? Should we do it in the same place as the old one?”

“Where the Patriarch lives?” Rexei asked, quirking her brows.
“Are you crazy? We’ll have enough problems from Archbishop Elcarei. The old capital is full of the Patriarch’s lackeys and yes-men. Besides, they only have five or seven or something Guild Masters. Heiastowne has twelve. The capital of
Guildara
should be located wherever the guilds are strongest, wouldn’t you think?”

Both corners of Marta’s mouth curled up, and her blue-gray eyes gleamed with good humor. It transformed her face from pleasant and full of character to actually beautiful. Rexei hoped the woman had never smiled like that around members of the priesthood.

“Heiastowne has
thirteen
Guild Masters,” the older woman corrected her. Not much older, not by more than a decade at most, and probably only her late twenties, if Rexei was any judge. “At least, while you reside in the Precinct. Oh, the leftenant sent his congratulations on your triple elevation,” she added. “Master Actor, Master Gearman, and Guild Master. Quite an achievement in just one night. Everyone will be expecting great things from you as a consequence.”

Those words wilted her. Abandoning the door, Rexei pulled out the other chair at the talker-box table and slumped into it. “I don’t know if I can
handle
this . . . I mean, I
believe
I’ve picked the right sort of Patron Deity for us—I truly do, and it’s quite obvious, or it was last night, but . . .” She tried to gather her thoughts instead of letting them ramble. “Miss Grenspun . . .”

“Marta, please,” the other woman said.

“Marta . . . I have no idea what I’m doing, beyond blind faith. Master Tall set me the task of writing out ideas, but . . . I’m just one person,” she confessed. “I’ve had training as a Gearman and as a Sub-Consul, I’ve seen the workings of literally dozens of guilds, and . . . Well, you’re asking me things I don’t know if I should be discussing! Mekha’s priesthood stuck their greedy, gouging fingers
into
everything
. I don’t want my Holy Guild to be anything like that.
They
were political.
I
think the priesthood should stay out of politics, save to try to bring opposing sides to some sort of understanding, in the hopes of them reconciling through . . . through
logic
and calmed emotions. By remembering our similarities. That’s hardly the formula for creating a kingdom, I should think.”

“It’s a far better start than some,” Marta countered. Reaching for a bound notepad, she pulled it over and flipped through several pages of neatly written notes to the beginning. “Now, after listening to Gabria talking last night—ranting and wibbling, rather—I got up early this morning and wrote down several ideas I had. I
like
the idea of a new kingdom based on the faith we all have in the Guild System. There are many laws we should retain, and we’ll have to take some time to sort through all of them to see which ones were imposed by the priesthood for their own benefit rather than the benefit of all. But since you have the clearest idea—obviously—of what Guildra stands for, I was hoping to run a few preliminary ideas past you.

“If we—you and I and anyone else so inclined—all agree on what the differences should be, then we can start implementing them right away. I figured, since I
am
so good at organizing and thinking of little details, I could come and help you figure out all of the things that will need to be settled soon,” she explained. “So. First thought: What sort of cultural gesture or ritual should we use to invoke the thought, presence, or spirit of Guildra?”

“I . . . don’t know.” Rexei hadn’t given that any thought. Glancing down at her hands, which were knotted together, she spotted her thumb. Frowning softly, she lifted it, fingers curled in and thumb poked out sideways. “We used
this
symbol as a way to imagine a day when we wouldn’t have Mekha around. The thumb that we pricked our blood to sign all those petition books. Maybe we’ll keep this one? I mean, it wouldn’t do to
forget
where we came from,
because if we forget what we suffered, we might find ourselves straying into the wrong paths again.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Marta agreed, bending over her notes to mark an additional comment with a couple of underlines. “What about invoking the Goddess by name? Any specific ideas for prayers? Benedictions? Blessings?”

“‘In the guilds we trust,’ perhaps?” Rexei offered, shrugging. “And, uh . . . ‘May Guildra guide you in your tasks’ . . . ?”

“Good! Short, to the point, and easily memorized. Okay, what about the role of women in this new society? Are you going to go with an all-female priesthood?” Marta asked next, lifting one brow.

That was an easy one to answer. Rexei shook her head. “Definitely not. That’d lead to the temptation of treating men the way the old priesthood treated women. It should be a mix of both. Equals all the way.

“We may have a Goddess, but anyone can serve Her if they believe—actually, I should change my ruling that an apprentice in my guild has to
first
serve in three others,” she added, sitting forward as she warmed to the subject. “Rather, to advance to the rank of journeyman of the Holy Guild, he or she should agree to co-serve in at least three guilds. To be an apprentice, they just have to serve in at least two guilds.

“And to be journeyman rank, their service should preferably be from at least two different types of guilds. From among those that design and inspire, those that craft and fix, those that tend and provide, and those that advance the quality and ease of our lives—the brush, the hammer, the scythe, and the gear,” she said. “And then those of master rank should serve in at least five guilds, with one in each of the four categories, and be of at least journeyman rank or higher in two of them.  . . and grandmasters should have so many years and so many guilds, with such-and-such rank . . . Sorry, I’m getting off subject, aren’t I?”

“Not to worry, I’ll just make a note of it so we can come back to it later . . .” Flipping to a new page, Marta wrote that down as well. “Right. It might be a better idea to start the apprentices with just two guilds’ worth of experiences instead of three, since you’ll have a harder time getting anyone from the more limited pool of the Gearmen’s Guild. But it’s wise to have that cross-guild understanding of how the various crafts and skills work. So. On to the next question . . .”

• • •

“
Y
ou
.
”

Waiting in the front hall for Alonnen to finish checking via talker-box on the condition of the roads, Rexei flinched inside at the sound of the archbishop’s voice. Silently in the back of her mind, she started humming hard; she hadn’t done much of it during her long conversation with Marta Grenspun because the subject had been too fascinating for her to concentrate, but now, she needed her protective meditations.

Turning to face the middle-aged man, she gave him a bland look. “Yes, Mister Tuddlehead?”

From the narrowing of his eyes, he didn’t like being addressed as anything less than
Your Holiness
or
Archbishop
. Still, he merely gestured sharply with a slash of his hand that ran from his assistant to her. The novice at his side stepped forward and drew a coat and cap out of the cloth bags he carried. Rexei took her cap, quirked her brows at the light brown wool of the coat, then shook her head. Flushing, the young man dug deeper. Two coats later, she nodded and held out her hand for the correct one.

“Thank you,” she stated as calmly as she could. The wool jacket, she draped over her left arm; the cap, she shoved into one of its pockets. A subtle glance to the side showed that the apprentice
Gearman who had been mopping melted snow off the stone floor was trying not to move, so as not to draw attention to his brown-clad self. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to draw the ex-priest’s attention.

She wasn’t sure what to make of the archbishop personally coming along to deliver her and the other Servers’ belongings.
For all I know, he’s placed some sort of tracing spell on this coat. He was quite upset with me last night.
As much as she wanted to curse him and kick him out of the land, Rexei’s rather lengthy chat with Marta had included a few questions about how she, the head of the new Holy Guild, should behave.
Which means I need to be gracious and forgiving . . . ugh.

Taking a deep breath, she pictured her anger and her fear, imagining them as heavy bucket handles. In her mind, she opened her hands—though she kept humming to disguise her magic and hide herself from any magical traps or tracking spells—and let go of her burdens. Unbidden, words rose up within her, gracious words. She hoped Guildra would be proud of her for speaking them.

“May Guildra guide you onto a path of remorse and reparation in the days to come, Mister Tuddlehead,” she told the ex-priest. “Returning our things is an encouraging first step. One, I hope, of many that will lead you to a much more worthy and well-deserved life.”

“May who, what?” Elcarei asked, frowning in confusion.

The same quirk of courage from before made her flash him a brief smile. “Guildra. Goddess of Guilds, Protector of Heiastowne . . . and soon to be our new Patron Deity, the Goddess of Guildara. The kingdom that is about to rise from the ashes of Mekha’s many mistakes.”

Elcarei reddened at her claim. “Listen,
boy
—”

“
Master
,” she countered flatly. “It’s
Master
Longshanks.” Another tight smile, and she dipped her head. “I have you to thank for my elevation to the rank of Master Actor last night. Which also elevated me to the rank of Master Gearman. So I thank you.”

“Thank me, for
fooling
me?” he asked, his own mouth twisting into an equally tight but far less pleasant smile.

She softened hers. “Yes. You must remember that everyone here had regarded you, the Archbishop of Heiastowne, as a very astute, keen-eyed, sharp-witted man. You served a cruel, hated, and utterly
unwanted
master in the False God . . . but aside from that one particular flaw, no one in this town ever considered you a fool. And again, I remind you I went into the temple to investigate allegations of abuse against the members of the Servers Guild . . . and in two months found none. Not unless you count verbal abuse.”

Elcarei folded his arms across his chest. “Every master has the right to castigate an apprentice. Regardless of guild affiliation.”

“It can be carried to an irresponsible extreme,” Rexei admitted, thinking of the foulmouthed, foul-minded bastard in the Roofers Guild she had fled from after only two months of his version of verbal abuse. “But in your case, it was more a matter of dismissive arrogance than destructive vitriol. I saw no reason to mention it as a flaw in my report to the Consulate.”

Elcarei stepped forward, brows drawing together. “You dare
judge
me? You? A
boy
too young to grow a beard?”

Instinct warred with experience. Instinct said she needed to avert his wrath and avoid his attention. Years of ducking and hiding said she should apologize, grovel, and extract herself as quickly as possible from his attention. The Consulate apprentice did just that, quickly taking himself out through a side door so that he could escape further notice. She hoped he had also fled to report to one of his superiors, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath.