Mayer Alan Brenner - Spell of Intrigue

“An exaggeration to be sure,” said another voice, “but when set upon and misused, not to mention maltreated, by the forces of misguided, misinformed, or even, shall we say, mistaken officialdom, what is an honest merchantman to do but to seek clarification, at the least, from -”

“What is going on out there?” Dooglas shouted across the room.

That was a question whose answer Groot was eager to learn as well. He had recognized the second voice, which was well-nigh unmistakable. The three torturers, now apparently promoted to inquisitors, had paused halfway down the aisle, and had turned with everyone else to view the new spectacle at the entranceway as a familiar man in a nautical outfit plowed through into the chamber like a manic rod-puppet, dragging behind him two reluctant guards, each with a tentative hold on one of his arms, and behind them a gaggle of at least half-a-dozen assorted officials of increasing rank, everyone of them gesticulating vigorously and simultaneously babbling. Behind this rabble came another fellow in oilskins and dock boots, and an aloof but amused expression.

“What is this?” said Dooglas. “Who is this ragged sea-captain to disturb the decorum of the Representative Council?”

“I told him he couldn’t come in here,” said one of the bureaucrats, “but he wouldn’t accept -”

“So did I,” said another, and then they all started yelling at each other afresh; they had thus far been too busy, it appeared, to have noticed the troops standing guard around the chamber, and the three inquisitors ahead of them in the aisle. The inquisitors began padding toward them with a menacing glide.

“Who is responsible for interfering with my ship?” Shaa demanded loudly, his captain’s jacket flapping. “Some excuse for a commercial center this Oolsmouth has become. You people of the Council should be ashamed of yourselves - obstructing an honest trader just trying to do a good day’s work. I am not unknown in the Maritime Guild, no, not unknown at all, and I will make the strong recommendation -”

“Shut up !” said Dooglas. “We have no time for this! Inquisitors, silence him.”

“Are you in charge here, sir?” said Shaa, aiming an accusing finger down the aisle at Dooglas. “Well, then, sir , I would advise you that you have no more important matter before you than this. I will have you know that I represent the shippers Crumwald, Twist, and Loop, and I can assure you that they will not be pleased, not pleased in the least, with the way you now choose to do business in your jurisdiction. Words will be said, I can promise you, words indeed. When all is said and done - in fact, without exaggeration, I will venture to state that by the time not more than half has been said and perhaps even less done - you will rue well the day that - I beg your pardon?”

Two of the three inquisitors were facing Shaa; the third had kneeled on the floor to open his case of instruments. Shaa glared at each of them in turn. “You heard Speaker Dooglas,” the central one said. “Shut up. Please hold his arms more securely,” he added to the guards who had accompanied Shaa into the chamber. “We are all professionals here.” He raised his hand, flattened his palm, and moved it toward Shaa. Then the black-covered arm seemed to shrink as a truly massive hand appeared from the side and clasped it with an almost gentle ease. The gentility might have been deceptive, though, since the man let out a small shriek and fell to his knees next to his assistant who was still fumbling for their equipment.

“He will speak.” The gigantic fingers opened. Its arm was raised. Arm and voice were attached to the same body, that of the big barbarian guard, the big barbarian one. The voice had been big and deep, too, just the sort of voice you’d expect from a barbarian, in fact, and the floor under his feet and the framed plaques on the wall behind him hadn’t yet stopped rattling. The barbarian raised his eyebrow and looked around him. The members of the wharf delegation were looking at him with their mouths open. Everyone was looking at him with their mouths open. Groot, from his perch in the Pit, had a look of satisfaction on his face: the look of a businessman who has just appreciated that a transaction of his was working out even better than he’d anticipated. Even Shaa had craned his neck around and was eyeing the barbarian with surprise. Clearly the barbarian had the floor.

“Where did he come from?” mumbled the original leader of the wharf delegation, the duly constituted and jurisdictional representative of the Municipal Authority of Oolsmouth who had challenged Shaa on the deck of the disguised ship. He and his delegation had been waiting on the wharf for the ship when the big guy had come walking up, claiming to have been sent by the Captain of Police as a reinforcement in case of trouble. He’d had some kind of token he’d claimed was from the Council, too. Now that he thought about it, though, the official didn’t remember ever having seen the barbarian around the city before.

Svin coughed; the catarrh had eased enough for him to start getting back in shape, but his throat still spent most of its time being clogged. Still, it had deepened his already subterranean voice and added to its resonance, so that when he spoke it was like blowing through a low-register organ pipe. He thought perhaps he should remember to get sick more often. “It has been a lot of trouble to bring him here,” Svin said, when he was sure he had everyone’s attention. “He is very annoying.” For good measure, he rested a hand on the hilt of his axe. “He will speak.”

“Thank you, sir,” Shaa told Svin, inclining his head in a bow of acknowledgment. “At least one man here has the right of the matter. Now, Meester Speaker - Dooglas, I believe this fellow said your name was? - now, Meester Dooglas, then, I have -”

“Enough of this!” Dooglas shouted. “An end to this, I say! Won’t any of you subdue this man?” Some of his goons grunted, some stood still as though they hadn’t heard a thing, and one or two out-and-out shook their heads; some of them had had experience with big barbarians before, and the others had no desire to find out if the stories they’d heard about berserker ferocity or the strength of ten or the bullheadedness not to know when you were beaten were even half true. “Be that way, then!” Dooglas told them. He tilted his head back and looked up at the rotunda dome. “Gazoont! Are you up there?”

A hand appeared over the edge of the railing of the observation deck and waved. “Here, master,” a voice echoed. “Shall I rain fire upon him?”

“Yes,” said Dooglas. For the first time, some of the Council members started to take cover, sinking down out of sight beneath their benches. “Why don’t you do that?”

A sudden sizzle and a swelling orange glow came from the balcony. Svin let go of Shaa’s arm and launched himself down the aisle, one foot coming down neatly onto the outstretched hand of the head inquisitor where he had placed it on the floor for leverage in getting himself back up onto his feet. The inquisitor wailed again and collapsed, then hollered yet another time as Shaa’s other guard, who had somehow found himself propelled forward using the leverage of his firm hold on Shaa’s arm, only to be thrown cart-wheeling over Shaa’s hip, fell full onto the inquisitor’s back. Shaa dove out of sight under the nearest bench. A pillar of flame reached from the observation deck toward the aisle. The gaggle of bureaucrats scattered.

The end of the flame-coil from the balcony paused, lashed around like a snake looking for the best target, then looped around in midair and headed down the aisle after Svin. Svin had reached the central pulpit. His knees flexed and sent him into a tremendous leap up over the lip of the lectern, across it, then down into its interior, his weight jamming Dooglas up against the side containing the entry gate. The latch to the gate came free with a rip of wood, the gate slammed open, and Dooglas tumbled out of the lectern to fall flat on the floor next to the Speaker.