Soldier at the Door (67 page)

“Querul the Second and the Third
simply kept them,” he continued. “After all, the seven servants were marrying and making more loyal, terrified servants. The kings told them all kinds of horror stories about the world outside the compound of the mansion, and that if ever they left, they’d be destroyed by the ravaging people of the world. They truly believed the kings had ‘chosen’ them out of the world to give them such a protected existence. And to earn that honor? All they had to do was work day and night cleaning, building, repairing, cooking—everything.”

Mahrree was nearly breathless. She had never heard so many details. “How do
you
know all of this?”

“My grandfather Pere was the one who liberated them when he was first made High General, about forty years ago.”

“Really?” Mahrree felt a surge of pride for her children’s ancestor.

“Once he discovered what was going on in the mansion, he wanted to put a peaceful end to it. Eighty-one years they had lived like that. More than three generations of servants had never left the compound, never had contact with anyone else on the outside, and never knew what was really going on the world. My grandfather told Querul the Fourth that he’d heard some of his ‘servants’ were actua
lly related to Guarders who had recently been contacted by the outside, and now the servants were waiting for the right moment to massacre his family. Fortunately the Fourth was a gullible, suspicious man and he released all of the servants the next day. His first instinct was to kill them all, but my grandfather had told them that if they were released instead, Querul and his family would be safe from future attacks. My grandfather sent them far away from Idumea where they could get a new start. He appointed some teachers and helpers for them in Winds—I suppose your father’s friend was one of them—and Winds was a very peaceful place. A few years ago I tried to find out what happened to them, but couldn’t find any records. Probably changed their names and moved elsewhere.”

Mahrree grinned into the dark. “Now I wished I had known Pere Shin! Very clever, telling Querul a lie to right a wrong.” 

“Hmm, interesting,” Perrin said smugly. “Lies are sometimes necessary—”

“Oh, not that again!” She snorted in spite of herself. “My f
ather’s friend told him how astonished the servants were to discover they had been fed lies for so many years, that it never occurred to them to question the source of all their information, because why would the kings ever keep them enslaved? They claimed they loved them. They had no comprehension of freedom. It took them more than a year to adapt to the real world,” she recalled.

Perrin scoffed. “My grandfather Pere suspected that the first
Queruls even fathered a few of them, based on some noticeable resemblance. They sired their own slaves. Little surprise that none of that information was ever made public. My grandfather told me about it only once, years ago when I was about twelve, with the firm admonition to never reveal it. He told me only because he thought someday I would be High General, and if so then I should—” he stopped abruptly.

Mahrree bit her lip. He didn’t want the position, and they never talked about it. It was as if they had each privately decided that not talking about it would make sure it didn’t happen. It certainly wasn’t a logical rationale, but it
was
comforting.

Perrin began again, as if he never said the last sentence. “What would the world think of their leader if they knew he purposely e
nslaved people for his own pleasure? Gives me chills just remembering it,” he whispered. “Mahrree, sometimes I wonder if that’s not what’s going to happen again. But instead of the servants being restricting in their movement and knowledge, it could someday be the entire world—all of us trapped by our own ignorance.”

“Now you’ve given
me
chills,” she said shivering under the blankets. “How will we ever know we’re being controlled and trapped?”

He breathed out. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?”

“That’s why we always have to find out the truth!” she pointed out as she snuggled into her husband. The enjoyment of debating her husband increased in relation to her proximity to him. Besides, her nearness frequently made him lose his concentration. “At least, find the truth as often as possible.”

“Conceded,” he unwillingly agreed, and pulled her tighter to him. “But here’s a follow-up question,” he stated in a debating tone. “Will we recognize the truth when it’s presented to us?”

She groaned. “Ooh, good point. If no one’s allowed to debate, no one will ever know, will they?” she whispered. “There’s always The Writings. We can always refer back to that.”

“But will everyone?” Perrin whispered. “Did my father tell you that the Administrator of Culture is writing a new history text for the schools?”

Mahrree groaned again, but louder.

“Obviously he didn’t. I took a look at the teacher scripts Idumea sent. For history, the teacher is
merely supposed to read the new book to the students. No discussions, no arguments.”

“Oh, you can’t be serious—”

“The Administrator of Science will have a new book coming out soon, too,” he told her reluctantly. “And references from The Writings in those books? I wouldn’t bother looking for any. In a generation or two, people might forget all about them. And that’s precisely what the Administrators want: the only authority influencing the world will be theirs. No mystical ‘Creator’ gumming up their plans or confusing their people.”

Exasperated, Mahrree growled and rolled out of his embrace. “People should be able to think and believe whatever they
want
to think and believe! Let us find the truth for ourselves. If the Administrators were completely honest and honorable men, we should be able to teach and believe and discuss and even debate
anything
. But obviously, that’s not the case. Dishonest men perceive threats everywhere!” she spat.

Perrin cleared his throat and propped himself up on one arm. “Be
careful
, Mrs. Shin.”

“Why?” she gestured pointlessly to the ceiling. “They’ll think
I’m
a threat? Someone will start a file on
me?
I thought I was going to bed with my husband, not Major Eyes and Ears and Voice. Don’t you remember what you suggested a few minutes ago?  The Administrators are out to control the thoughts of the next generation? They might even enslave the world? You might be considered a bigger threat than me!”

He chuckled. “All right, all right. I won’t report me . . . or you. Now we can both sleep better.” He leaned over to kiss her.

She didn’t notice. “So the Administrator of Culture is writing a new history book . . . do you realize no one’s teaching the stories of Terryp anymore? I didn’t see any mention of him in the sixty pages of the Full School description, he was the most important historian of the Middle Age! Who else and what else will they eliminate? Guide Hierum was mentioned only once. I’ll be fascinated to read the new and enlightened explanation of how Idumea came to be.”

Perrin let out a low whistle. “Ah Mahrree, Mahrree, why do you like to get into such discussions so late at night?”

“Because it’s the only time the house is quiet.”

He sighed. “Weren’t you going to kiss me a few minutes ago?”

“Is that all you can think about right now? Our entire future may be changing, and Perrin, what if we don’t notice it?! What if we someday discover we’re . . .
on the wrong side?
”

There. It was out.

He sighed louder. “There’s not going to be any kissing, or even any
hope
of arguing, until you get this resolved in your head, is there?”

“We’re arguing now!” she declared, a bit put out that he didn’t seem worried about whose side they were on.

“No, this is debating—loudly,” he said patiently. “I was suggesting the kind of
arguing
that begins with kissing.”

Mahrree kissed him quickly on the cheek.

“Well
that
was hardly worth the effort . . .”

“So what do we do?” she asked earnestly.

“Well, first, I come over here to face you properly—”

“No! I mean, how do we expose the Administrators, preserve the truth, and save the world?!”

Perrin chuckled. “That’s a
little
more than we can expect to accomplish tonight, my darling wife. I have a much better chance at kissing you, but now I’m beginning to doubt my odds of succeeding at that.”

She giggled sadly. “I supposed you’re right. About fixing the world, that is.”

“There’s one thing we
can
do,” he said. “We can make sure
we’re
not touched by whatever may be coming.”

“Nor our children,” she reminded him.

“Nor our children, I agree. In our house we will discuss and believe whatever we want. We can recognize for ourselves that the sky is dark and threatening with a storm obviously on the way, and explain to our children that the rest of the world has been conditioned to believe it is blue, despite all evidence to the contrary.”

She kissed him quickly on the lips. “Have I told you lately that you are the most perfect man, and that I love and adore you more than words can express?”

“That kiss is still inadequate for the perfect man. And, if you insist, you can even believe the dinner leftovers can evolve into something as handsome as me, and I’ll explain to our children how their mother is a little
odd
at times.”

Mahrree giggled. “
I’m
odd? Mr. Let-Me-Put-My-Boots-at-a-Perfect-50-Degree-Angle-to-the-Bed?”

He chuckled. “Just as long as no one
outside
of our house ever finds out what we discuss
inside
the house, we should be all right.” He sighed. “It’s simply too big a battle to fight, Mahrree. The two of us against the twenty-three Administrators? Definitely not good odds.”

Mahrree had heard that excuse before, and she tried to ignore it.

“Hmm. At least the forests are still quiet,” she mumbled in resignation. “At least that’s one less battle we have to fight.”

Perrin slipped his arm under her. “Mm, yes. At least the forests are still quiet. And the soldiers know how much I
love
a quiet forest, especially at night. But they don’t know entirely
why.
” 

She giggled as he pulled her close and finally claimed his kiss.

-
--

Barker was waiting when the man in the black jacket reappeared. He trotted over to the fence and began his slow climb.

“Up, up, up. Well done, well done. Jerky again, but you seemed
to enjoy that. Sorry about being late. Didn’t realize messengers showed up this hour of night. But it figures—we’ve had nothing but delay after delay. Alongside, now, alongside. Hope you’re ready. Long night ahead of us, boy.”

Chapter 22 ~ “Now, how do I go about putting an end to all of this nonsense?”

M
ahrree was getting breakfast ready the next morning when she saw the flashes of blue come over her back fence and run towards the kitchen door. Immediately she knew there’d be no announcement that night at the amphitheater about the new taxation. Something bigger would be occupying the Army of Idumea.

“PERRIN!” she called, and went to open the door for the two soldiers.

“Ma’am! Major Shin here?” said one of the corporals breathlessly. In the alley Mahrree saw a third soldier arrive on horseback with an additional saddled horse ready for her husband.

“I’m right here!” Perrin announced as he hurried through the door, his sword ready at his side. “News?”

“Something moving in the forest, sir!” the soldier told him, and Perrin jogged out the door without a word to Mahrree.

Jaytsy toddled into the kitchen, her long tunic bed clothes nearly tripping her as she rushed after Perrin, but the door was already closed. Disappointed, and with her wild brown hair in disarray, she said, “Where Fodder go?”

Mahrree waved half-heartedly and unnoticed at the windows as Perrin rode off in a puff of dust. “Had to go to the fort early, Jayts. Something’s come up.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” Mahrree smiled at her. “I rarely do. Guess it’s only you, me, and Peto for pancakes.”

“Only
you and me, Mudder,” Jaytsy said. “Peto sleeping. He can’t eat. He’s messy wif pancakes.”

Mahrree chuckled. “Your brother gets to eat too, Little Lady! Even pancakes.”

“No, just keep the pancakes a secret. Give him apples.”

“Jaytsy, we don’t keep secrets from your brother.”

“Why not?” Jaytsy asked, her big Perrin-brown eyes looking up at her, truly wondering.

“Why we don’t keep secrets? Because . . . it’s not nice.”

“Why?”

Mahrree sighed. “That really was an inadequate answer, wasn’t it?”

Jaytsy nodded soberly as if she understood what ‘inadequate’ meant.

“Because people deserve to know. Because even if we don’t like watching Peto eat, with his mouth all open and syrup dribbling down his chin, he gets breakfast too, even if you don’t think he deserves it—”

Mahrree stopped, a variety of ideas flashing in her mind too quickly for her to keep up with them all. “Even though
you
think he doesn’t deserve to know the truth, he
does
,” she said slowly, trying to put all her thoughts in some kind of order as if they were more obedient than her children and the dog. “Every person
needs
to know the truth of everything.”

Jaytsy just blinked at her.

But Mahrree was looking past her. “And it’s up to us to find out that truth. We can’t expect someone to give it to us, we have to go out to
find
it. Even take risks to find it, if necessary. No . . . no, that’s it exactly! The truth brings great responsibility because it takes great risk to actually find it! Few people dare to take those risks, but there’s no great reward without great struggle. Oh, Jaytsy.” She looked out the wavy window at the large dark smudge that was the forest and mountains.

A plan was forming in her mind.

A most ridiculous, incredible, and brave plan.

And the timing was absolutely perfect.

“We have to find the truth ourselves!”

Jaytsy blinked again and shrugged. “So I hide Peto’s pancakes. If he finds them he eats them?”

-
--

All day long Mahrree felt like a rebellious child sneaking out of school, but she tried to convince herself there was nothing wrong with what she was going to do. Yes, her plan was daring and risky, but it was also completely legal and didn’t break any rules of the Army, the citizenry, or the village.

So why was her stomach in constant knots, and why did she keep feeling the need to relieve herself in the washing room every fifteen minutes?

At midday meal she boldly walked up to the fort, her children in the wagon that she pulled, merely to see what was going on. She stopped about a hundred and fifty paces away from the tree line and gazed at the action across the barren strip of land. Extra soldiers patrolled along the forest’s edge, but the movement back and forth from the fort to the trees wasn’t frantic. While there wasn’t a direct threat, something unusual was happening, that was for sure.

She heard a familiar voice. “Mrs. Shin!”

“Zadda!” Jaytsy called back, and Peto began to squirm in his seat to get out.

Staff Sergeant Gizzada always meant that two little children would be given sweets from a hidden pocket in his uniform. If they noticed the lint stuck to the morsels, they didn’t care.

Sergeant Gizzada started patting himself down as he approached Mahrree. Every disappointing pocket in his blue uniform etched a deeper line of apology in the large man’s face. He pulled out bits of papers, a long knife, lengths of string, and finally eyed an unusual bulge in his jacket pocket that he didn’t retrieve because he couldn’t immediately identify it. Worried, he bit his lip.

“I’m so sorry, Small Ones. I wasn’t expecting to see you today, so I’m not prepared. Actually, I’ve been on since late last night.” He looked at Mahrree remorsefully.

“It’s all right, Gizzada.” Mahrree smiled, but her children hooting at the staff sergeant told them it wasn’t acceptable to be without treats for them. “I didn’t bring them up to steal your sweets again. Or your afternoon snacks.”

Gizzada bravely fished out the bulge from his jacket—a shri
veled piece of aged jerky—and wrinkled his nose at it.

“A bit tough for the Small Ones,” he said, trying to bend it. “Barker would appreciate it, though. Where is he?”

Mahrree rolled her eyes. “Probably visiting another small dog to once again further his parentage. Ever since he discovered how to climb over the fence, we can’t contain him.”

Gizzada smiled. “He followed me to the markets a couple of weeks ago. I think I made him a permanent friend by giving him a sweet roll. Sorry about that.”

“Next time, let him follow you to the fort and keep him here!” She looked up towards the forest. “I was just wondering what’s going on up here,” she said, trying to keep a careful balance between sounding casual, and not sounding as if she
were
trying to sound casual. “Perrin left without his breakfast.”

Gizzada shook his head sadly. “That
is
a tragedy,” he said in all seriousness. “I’ll see to it that sandwiches are brought up to him.”

Mahrree squinted at the trees. “Exactly
where
is he, Gizzada?”

“Not
in
the trees, Mrs. Shin,” he promised. “Look down towards the west and you’ll see him on the brown mare. Already tired out the bay gelding. Been riding up and down all morning.”

“Why?” Mahrree asked, hoping she sounded relaxed enough that he would tell her.

“Not sure, ma’am.” He shrugged and patted himself down again when he saw the pouty faces of Jaytsy and Peto looking up at him, still hopeful. “Just a great deal of movement deep into the trees. Not wolves, not bears, just . . . odd. We can’t even see up to it, but we’re hearing lots of crashing about.”

“Maybe some lost livestock?” Mahrree suggested.

Gizzada shook his head. “We thought that at first, too, since the cattle fence isn’t completed yet. But cattle, pigs, sheep, or goats would all be crying and calling. We don’t hear anything like that.”

“So,” Mahrree said as nonchalantly as possible. “Guarders then?” She watched the large staff sergeant from the corner of her eye as she pretended to observe the forest.

Any sign . . . any sign at all . . .

He shrugged helplessly. “But Mrs. Shin,” he lowered his voice and looked around to see no one near, “it’s driving your husband nearly to distraction. He’s just staring into the forest, longingly, as if he sees a . . .” he searched for an appropriate comparison, “a lu
scious, giant pie just out of reach, and he’s a starving man on his last legs. And the pie is bursting with berries, still steaming from the oven, juices dribbling down the crust—”

Even Mahrree found herself so distracted from her questioning that she began licking her lips.
If only Gizzada were a few years older
, she thought to herself, as she had dozens of times, or Mother were a few years younger, they could be very happy together.

“—and he can’t reach it. It taunts him, beckons him, he smells it, hears it—”

Mahrree stopped licking her lips and wondered exactly how one
hears
a pie. But by the faraway look in Gizzada’s mournful black eyes, it was obvious all kinds of foods spoke to him.

“Staff Sergeant?”

“And he’s forbidden to touch it,” Gizzada’s arm began to rise, his chubby brown hand making a grasping motion. “He can do nothing but dream and long for it, his heart ready to break—”

“Gizzada, have you had midday meal yet?”

“No.” He sighed sadly, the longing in his eyes intensifying to true anguish. Mahrree was sure she heard his great belly rumble.

She put a comforting hand on his arm. “As the wife of your m
ajor, I have special privileges, or so I claim. And, as the woman with the ear of your commander, I
order
you to the mess hall to make my husband two sandwiches, and take along three for yourself.”

Gizzada’s
mouth turned into the heartfelt smile of a man who had just been rescued from an execution squad.

“Truly, Mrs. Shin, you are an incredible woman,” he said with great feeling. “Major Shin is lucky to have found such a thoughtful, deep, and compassionate woman as you.”

Mahrree suppressed her laugh, and it showed up instead as a sweet smile on her face. “Thank you, Gizzada. And thank you in advance for taking care of my husband.”

He looked down at the children who gave him one last try with their lambs’ eyes. “Next time, Small Ones, I promise I’ll have extra treats, all right?”

He patted their heads gently, tipped his cap at Mahrree, and took off in a lumbering jog back to the fort.

Mahrree sighed and looked again towards the forest to
distantly see Perrin kick his heels into his mount and head off again towards the east, yelling something. It wasn’t his panicked yell, Mahrree noticed. Only his, I’m-getting-very-frustrated-with-the-situation yell, which meant there wasn’t anything dangerous, just maddening.

Truly a massive pie just out of his reach.

“We need to get some berries,” Mahrree decided.

“Fodder?” Peto asked, pointing at the fort.

“I’m sorry, sweety. Your father is busy right now. See over there? The horsey? That’s Father. He’s not too happy right now. Let’s make him a pie for later to cheer him up. On to the market.”

---

It was past dinner time and Perrin still hadn’t returned, nor had Shem been by with a message. That was all right.

In fact, it was better this way.

Mahrree rubbed her hands nervously as she stared at the lovely blackberry pie with two small slices and one large slice already cut out and eaten for dessert.

“Fodder!” Peto sang to the back door, as if his voice would bring Perrin.

“I’m sorry, Peto,” Mahrree said as she picked him up. She pointed out the thick glassed window towards the back fence. “No Fodder, I mean,
Father
tonight. He has to work until late.”

Peto sighed sadly and wriggled to be put back down. “No Fo
dder,” he moped as he toddled back to the eating room.

“That means something is still going on,” Mahrree said to he
rself, wringing her hands. As much as she wanted something to keep going on, a small cowardly part of her didn’t. She had made a deal with herself that morning, and hoped against herself all day. But now as it grew to be evening, she realized she was going to
have
to—

No, she was
grasping the opportunity
to go through with it. She desperately wanted to, but strangely, she almost as urgently hoped someone or something would stop her.

The evening dragged on at a curiously fast rate as Mahrree bathed her children, dressed them for bed, and told them stories until they dozed off.

Each hour she watched to see if Perrin came home, and each hour that passed upped her heart rate. She was going to have to do it. She had to know, and she’d forever be ashamed of herself if she let this chance pass. There were more secrets in the world than just that of the thirty-three servants held by the Queruls.

The biggest secrets were held
only a couple miles from her house, and those secrets dragged away her husband, threatened her in-laws, and . . . well, she was just tired of it all. Tired of secrets, of unknown variables like her favorite soldier, tired of surprises in the night—it was enough.