Mayer Alan Brenner - Spell of Intrigue

“What -” sputtered the lead torturer, “- what? This is beyond blasphemy, beyond mere disobedience to divine will, beyond -”

“Yes, well, there it is,” stated Groot. “Your orthodoxy is not well chosen in this instance. The operative passage of the Charter of Rights clearly states that Oolsmouth does not submit itself to the sole sovereignty of any -”

“When we get our instruments on you, I will enjoy -”

“It is true that it is difficult to say no to a god whose determination is set on a particular path,” said Groot, the pain in his cheek goading him to more feistiness than he usually displayed. “The gods are like the hypertrophic mountain ape of the proverb, which goes where it chooses rather than where society would have it; admittedly, then, the quoted paragraph of the Charter of Rights is more a matter of general policy than blanket writ. If there were no gods there would still be earthquakes, volcanoes, calamities of all sorts against which legislation would similarly fail. Nevertheless, we still must stand for some things. If this Sapriel is so committed to this course of action, let him come and prosecute it himself; if not, let us follow the procedures imposed by the consent of the governed.”

“If you listen to this argument,” the torturer told the jailer, “I will personally see to it that any children of yours are -”

“In truth, there is something to be said on each side,” interrupted the jailer. “On the one hand, as Meester Groot has it, the rule of law; on the other, as you yourself put it, the force of fear and power. As Meester Groot stated aright, you yourself and the other gentlemen with you have no official standing, you and your ‘question’; in fact, you are outlaws, if I might be so bold. You are also, at this moment, behind bars.”

“We will set to work on him,” said the torturer.

“I will summon the reinforcements,” said the jailer.

“Wait a moment,” said Groot. “I do not understand why Meester Dooglas, known throughout Oolsmouth for his suspicious and devious attitude, would be so open about issuing such a controversial and ill-grounded order or involving himself so unambiguously with any particular god, since gods are so notoriously fickle and unreliable. I did not understand this and I still do not, but another explanation has presented itself. I have discovered just now that this signature is not actually in Dooglas’ handwriting.”

“Do you mean to tell us that you claim this document is forged ?” said the torturer.

“Look for yourself,” Groot said, holding it up. “Whoever is behind this is toying with you just as you are toying with me.”

“This is absurd,” the torturer declared. “You would expect him to say anything in his futile attempt to escape.”

“Are you sure, then?” the jailer asked Groot.

“Absolutely,” Groot lied.

“This is a suspicious business,” said the jailer, “a very suspicious business indeed. It is too much for the likes of me to decide, of that there is no question. I will not yield Meester Groot without the approval of my superior.”

“Now you just -” shouted the torturer.

The jailer rolled stolidly over him. “I reckon that my superior would require more proof of this order you have here. I’d reckon that he’d require a personal appearance or some other proof from this Sapriel, or enough convincing from this Meester Douglas, and I know my superior well enough to be sure he’d need a good quotation of the right municipal codes. Then you can have him.”

“By rights.” said Groot, “the full Council should convene for discussion, since the name of the Council has been brought into this. An individual Council member does not have the authority to act against another citizen, let alone another Council member, let alone in such an underhanded way as this, and especially using the name of Council as a whole, so you can clearly see the necessity for a full debate.”

“As you say, sir,” said the jailer. “Here is my decision. Since Meester Groot is under my keeping, I will not have you mutilating him before reinforcements can arrive. Since you have made threats against me, I will not let you go free to mutilate me without reinforcements at my side to prevent that. What I will do is this. I will blow this noisemaker to summon the troops outside. Right then, I will unbar this door and retreat quickly up this hall away from the exit. If you hurry and do not pause for any mutilations whatever, you will have just enough time to escape from this building before my colleagues arrive to capture you.”

The lead torturer had been sputtering and trying to break in, without success. Now, he had just managed to insert, in a shout full of menace, “Don’t you dare blow that -” when the clear tone of a hunting horn burst on them at close quarters-”oo-OOH; oo-OOH; oo-OOH !” The torturer’s curse was buried under the echoes, and then under the creak of the door being dragged open by his two assistants as they almost tumbled over themselves in their haste. “Damn!” yelled the leader, following the other two through the exit at a dead run. A short moment later, the jailer poked his head back into the cell.

“Thank you,” said Groot.

“I may be just a plain man, just a turnkey, as you see, but I know what my job is, not to pat myself on the back, don’t you know, and sometimes I even know what’s wrong and what’s right. Now, after I check with my captain to make sure they caught up those three characters on their way out, I’ll just get back to what I was doing before, then, which was moving you to a cell without a passage straight through the wall, and if you don’t mind I’ll fetch you something for that cheek of yours, too.”

“You are a prince among civic officials,” said Groot as the jailer barred the door again from the outside and took off. Groot spread out the warrant, which he had retained, and had another careful look at it. So, it was Dooglas, after all. Groot regretted his exaggeration concerning the forged signature; on the other hand, at that point it had still seemed possible for the matter to swing either way. Now the situation was clearer. There would be no more of this pussyfooting around. Dooglas had thrown down his gauntlet. It was time to see he got it back.

The trip down to Oolsmouth was a total bust as far as answers were concerned. Zhardann and Jill-tang and I rode horses all day, stopped for an occasional meal, and let the servants pop open the baggage train for a peaceful fire and the raising of Zhardann’s mobile pavilion when we dug in for the night. I didn’t sleep in the pavilion, don’t get me wrong, and whatever Zhardann and Jill were up to in there was fine with me; she may have thought she was my wife, but that didn’t mean I had to agree, and if she thought she could tick me off by hanging out with Zhardann I was perfectly willing to let her waste the effort. I was happy enough that she wasn’t trying to put the make on me . I didn’t let her know that, of course. If she discovered anything that made me happy I figured she’d immediately set about removing it from the scene, and anything that drove me up the wall, well, I didn’t particularly want to think about that.

I’m not complaining. It was a pleasant enough excursion as long as I didn’t dwell too deeply on my fate if they discovered I wasn’t who they thought I was. For that matter, lazing around with the gods was not nearly the transcendental experience I might have anticipated. They didn’t wear their power on their sleeves, so to speak, and the grass didn’t turn greener (or blacker, which I guess would have been equally probable) when they walked across it. In fact, you’d have been hard put to find any difference between the way they traveled and the habits of any normal rich person with a retinue to wash the dishes and pick up after them, if you’d be willing to call that normal.