Dan Willis - The Survivors

No more petitioners today,” Mayor Arbuckle said once Argus had been escorted out. “Clear the gallery and seal the chamber.”

As the audience above filed out, the mayor flopped back in his high chair, throwing the gavel down on the lectern in disgust.

“We have to do something,” someone said from the far side of the chamber.

“Clearly,” Jon Bladehook said, standing again. “Is it just me, or do these street preachers and religious zealots seem more common and aggressive than they used to be?”

An angry murmur ran around the chamber.

“Why, one can hardly walk from city hall to the Artisans’ Cavern without some lunatic shouting at you that you must repent, that the end is nigh, or some such nonsense.”

All around the chamber, councilmen were frowning and nodding and muttering. Bradok remembered the man with the painted sign and glanced involuntarily up at the gallery that had been so recently emptied.

“It’s a public nuisance,” Bladehook went on. “Not to mention the fact that any of these zealots might be in on whatever plot Argus Deephammer is hatching to stir up the people.”

“Arrest them all,” someone yelled. Others joined in until pandemonium filled the chamber.

Only Bradok noticed the oily, self-satisfied smile flirting around the corners of Jon Bladehook’s mouth. That was the solution he hadn’t wanted to propose himself.

Bradok felt the cold knot return to his stomach.

“Enough of this,” Mayor Arbuckle shouted, pounding on the lectern.

The room fell silent, and Bladehook’s face returned to an emotionless mask.

“As our new brother, Bradok, has shrewdly pointed out, any move by this council that is considered extreme will weaken our position.”

“Well, what do we do then?” old Tal Boreshank asked irritably. “If we don’t act, sooner or later it’ll look like we endorse all this religious rhetoric. I, for one, have had my fill.”

Angry arguments broke out all over the hall. Some of the council favored sweeping measures, while others urged caution. Bradok just sat there, thinking. He was no believer, that much was certain. Still, something about how the council had treated Argus Deephammer and his solemn warning seemed, well-undwarflike.

He looked down the row to where Jon Bladehook stood, leaning against the front of his desk. He seemed to be basking in the glow of the controversy. As a secularist, he clearly disapproved of the believers, but Bradok thought the intensity of Bladehook’s emotion suggested something more beneath the surface. It seemed as though the notion that others believed in something he considered foolish was a personal affront to him.

In that moment, Bradok felt certain that Bladehook would not stop until he’d put all the Ironroot believers in jail-or worse.

“Ban them,” Bradok said abruptly, his voice cutting through the arguing. He stood as all the eyes in the room returned to him. “We can pass an ordinance banning proselytizing outside the temple grounds and private homes,” he explained. “That way we get them off the street but they can still speak their piece.”

A long pause followed during which no one spoke. Bradok started to worry that he’d gone too far. Then Much cleared his throat.

“I like that plan,” Much said, standing formally. “It solves the immediate problem, and the citizenry will see it as a reasonable measure to prevent interference with daily lives.”

Around the chamber, bearded heads were nodding in agreement.

Mayor Arbuckle stroked his beard, a shrewd look on his face. Finally he smiled and nodded at the scribe who sat at a low table across the hall.

“Write it up,” he declared. “Make sure it’s posted in the square, at the temple, and in every tavern in Ironroot.”

As the scribe began scribbling diligently, Mayor Arbuckle rose from his chair and heaved a deep sigh. He tossed his gavel down on the lectern with a bang. “Well, that’s quite enough business for one day,” he said, donning his topcoat. “Unless anyone else has something to add, I’m going home.”

It was as if a magic spell had been broken. The tension dissipated. Everyone rose, talking among themselves and gathering their things. Within seconds the chamber began to empty.

“You did good, lad,” Much said, clapping him on the shoulder as Bradok descended to the outer walkway. “That was excellent thinking.”

“Seemed like the right thing to do,” Bradok said.

Much’s grip steered him in the direction of the door. “About that,” Much continued in a more conspiratorial voice. “You might want to be careful not to try to do right too much of the time,” he said. “Since you’re new, a lot of the older councilmen will expect you to mind your place for a while. They might feel threatened if Mayor Arbuckle takes too big a shine to you.”

Mayor Arbuckle taking a shine to him? Bradok didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. What he really wanted to do was tell Much that he’d fully intended to keep his mouth shut during his first day on the council. After Sapphire’s lecture that morning and the warning Much had just given him, however, he reasoned that it might be better to keep his private thoughts just that-private.

“One more thing,” Much said, his voice dropping even lower. “Be careful about Jon Bladehook; he’s not entirely a bad one. Make him your friend, if that’s still possible. He’s not one to cross.”

“I gathered that,” Bradok said. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of getting in Bladehook’s way.”

Much smiled and thumped Bradok on the chest. “Good lad,” he said. “I knew you had your wits about you.”

As they passed out of city hall and into the cool air of Ironroot, Bradok caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. There, at the foot of the stairs, stood the ragged dwarf with his painted sign.

Repent lest the Gods forsake us .

“Now, my boy,” Much went on, oblivious to the dwarf with the sign. “We have to do something to mark your first successful day as a councilman of Ironroot.”

“Much,” Bradok protested, “I really don’t-”

“None of that, now,” Much said, taking a firmer hold on Bradok’s shoulder as if he half expected the younger dwarf to make a break for it. “I told the people at the Bunch o’ Grapes to cook up a goose for us with all the trimmings and set aside a freshly tapped keg.”

Bradok dearly wanted to go home, to go to his workshop and lose himself in the workings of his craft-anything to take his mind off the troubling events of the day.

Much, however, was not to be resisted.

Thus it was well after midnight when Bradok made his way wearily up the stairs to his front door. The evening had passed swiftly with good company, good food, and plenty of beer. Bradok hadn’t spent such a pleasant evening in a long time. There was a tense moment when Bradok caught sight of Jon Bladehook drinking with the captain of the city guard, who, Much informed Bradok, was Bladehook’s brother-in-law. The awkwardness passed, however, when Bladehook caught sight of Bradok and sent him over a bottle of wine to welcome him to the council.

All in all, Bradok had had a most pleasant time. He had all but forgotten the new law he’d proposed.

Five hours later, however, the new law banning street preachers forcefully returned to his thoughts. An incessant pounding awakened him from a sound sleep.

Moments later Bradok pulled open his heavy door to find two city guardsmen on his stoop.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this late visit by the constabulary?” Bradok asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

The two blue-liveried dwarves looked at each other in confusion.