Roger Taylor - Whistler

What Cassraw had done at the summit must be yet another piece of trickery… surely? In common with most people, Skynner accepted without question such miracles as the turn of the seasons, the rising and setting of the sun, the growing of seed into tree and flower, even the arbitrary comings and goings of the wind and the rain. These were ‘natural’. But all else, he knew, was determined by an inexorable and conspicuous law of cause and effect. What cause Cassraw had evoked to create that particular effect was beyond him, but that was no doubt Cassraw’s intention and he, Serjeant Keeper, was not going to waste time being distracted by it. The artifice would come to light sooner or later and, in any event, was irrelevant. He had a duty to cut through to the heart of Cassraw’s intentions, or as nearly as he could, because even though he could not see what they were, he could see enough to know that they were not in the interests of the public safety and the peace. And whatever game he was playing at, Cassraw’s call for the levying of the militia was unequivocally illegal. Skynner would have been within his rights to arrest him there and then, but it needed no great sensitivity to the mood of the crowd to realize that that would have been a foolish, perhaps even potentially fatal thing to attempt. He would have to advise his superiors and let them choose the time for taking a step as serious as arresting a Chapter Brother.

The duty Serjeant looked up in surprise as Skynner strode noisily into the Keeperage, but reading Skynner’s expression, he bit back the jocular remark he was about to make, and simply pointed straight up with the comradely warning, ‘Careful, Chief’s in.’

‘Good,’ Skynner said grimly and headed for the stairs.

As he drew near to the Chief Keeper’s office, he reached the carpeted area of the building and the change in the sound of his footfalls set in motion long-imbued habits of discipline. He flattened his hair, straightened out his tunic, and began to marshal his words. Going straight to the Chief instead of through his Captain and High Captain was not something to be done lightly, but it was urgent, and as the Chief fortuitously happened to be there…

Two or three paces gave him a handful of excuses for his directness. Once he had made those he’d have no trouble holding the Chief’s attention. He gave his uniform a final twitch outside the door, then knocked briskly.

‘Come in.’

There was a middle-of-the-day wakefulness in the voice that made Skynner pause. As he reached for the door handle, he asked himself for the first time what had happened to bring the Chief in at this time of night.

He opened the door quickly and stepped into the office.

Someone else was there as well as the Chief Keeper. Someone sitting not across the desk from him, but in one of the comfortable chairs by the fireplace. The Chief Keeper was sitting opposite him and lying dolefully between them was a dull red and grey fire.

Skynner recognized the Chief’s companion immediately as Toom Drommel. So that’s why he’s here, he thought. Want the old beggar on a Keeper matter and he’s nowhere to be found. Let some politician snap his fingers and he abandons home and hearth in the middle of the night to make reassuring noises.

Well, this politician’s business could wait.

‘I’m sorry for disturbing you, sir,’ he said, ‘but an extremely serious matter’s come to light. I need to…’ he was about to say discuss but changed it quickly, ‘… report it immediately.’

The Chief pointed to a chair. ‘Bring that over here and sit down, Haron,’ he said.

Skynner’s every instinct leapt on to the defensive. The Chief using his given name like that was not a good sign. Something difficult was about to be brought up. Nevertheless, and trying not to look as tense as he felt, he did as he was told.

The Chief addressed Drommel as Skynner sat down stiffly between them. ‘This is Haron Skynner,’ he said. ‘Our most senior Serjeant.’ He became avuncular. ‘Should be a Captain by rights, but he insists he prefers footwork to paperwork and he’s not to be persuaded to higher ambitions.’ He nodded sagely. ‘I think perhaps he’s wiser than we know. I must confess, there’s been many a time when I’ve sat here and wished devoutly that I could be out there with my men, doing what we’re trained for, and best at.’

With commendable restraint Skynner remained silent, confining himself to a self-deprecating but knowing smile.

‘I’ve seen Serjeant Skynner many a time on duty at the PlasHein,’ Drommel said, endeavouring to ape the Chief’s informality but still having a little difficulty with his statesman’s voice. He nodded creakily towards Skynner then gave the Chief a significant look.

The Chief nodded. ‘Serjeant Skynner’s one of my best men, if not the best. There’s nothing I’d not trust him with, and he’s very sound in practical matters. A street Keeper to his boots.’

If only that didn’t sound like an insult, Skynner thought.

‘And what we have to deal with is nothing if not practical, is it?’

Skynner was watching the two men carefully, waiting for an opportunity to commence his account of Cassraw’s actions. Gradually, however, he became aware of an undertow of excitement between them.

The word ‘conspiracy’ came to him unbidden.

Drommel gave a sign of acquiescence. ‘I trust your judgement implicitly, Chief,’ he said. ‘I can see it will be important that the Serjeant and his colleagues be aware of what’s going to happen and why.’

The Chief nodded briskly and stood up. Skynner made to rise, but the Chief waved him airily back down on to his seat. He took up an authoritative stance with his back to the fire and his legs planted solid and wide. ‘Serjeant,’ he began, as though addressing a parade. ‘You know that, as Keepers, we avoid getting involved in politics. We’re executive officers of the state and it’s our job to do as the law-makers decree, not decide what should and should not be the law. We advise occasionally, of course, but purely to lay before them the benefits of our experience for their guidance.’ Skynner began to feel uneasy. The Chief rocked forward. ‘However, it needs no great political insight to realize that, for various reasons, the country’s currently facing serious difficulties. Difficulties that will need a strong head and a strong hand to see us through.’

Skynner nodded tentatively as the Chief seemed to be awaiting some response, though he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

‘The situation is this, Skynner. The Castellan Party is in complete disarray. They’ve no one else of the calibre of their present leader and he, frankly, is… unwell.’ He made a drinking gesture. ‘I have it on good authority that he’ll probably resign very shortly. That’ll leave us with the Ploughers in charge.’ He puffed out his cheeks in dismay. ‘They, unfortunately, are almost as disunited as the Castellans. And in any case, they’ve always been more theoretical in their thinking than practical, and under their present leader – a worthy soul as you know but hardly a driving force – they’re not remotely capable of standing firm in the face of what’s likely to happen after the routing of the Felden army. Frankly, I can’t see this present Heindral lasting the week. Then we’ll be facing an Acclamation. An Acclamation, Skynner. Two months leaderless with Tirfelden undoubtedly preparing to send another army against us.’ He shook his head. ‘Suicide, man. National suicide.’

Skynner was uncertain how to respond. He was about to tell the Chief that the situation was even worse than he envisaged, and that Cassraw was arbitrarily levying the militia, when the Chief forestalled him. ‘Fortunately, we have at least two strong men in positions of responsibility who can act to save us from this predicament. One is Heinder Drommel here, who has consistently tried to embolden the Heindral to take firm action against Tirfelden. The other is Brother Cassraw, who for months now has been decrying the moral decay in the country and who, with his Knights of Ishryth, has saved us from the first thrust of the Felden assault while our ostensible leaders dithered and appeased.’