The Trials of Lance Eliot (21 page)

Atticus waved a hand toward the man in the wheelchair. “This is Eben. He works at the newspaper press.” He paused for a sip of wine and looked around. “That's everybody. Where do we begin?”

13

THE RESOLUTION OF LANCE ELIOT

WE TALKED FOR NEARLY two hours. Well, the others talked. I listened and drank wine until Regis took away the bottle.

The most pressing item of business was the rebellion against Senshu. The Resistance couldn't deal with the other crises until he was out of the way. However, the rebellion would not succeed without military force. It would take months for the soldiers from the first Resistance to return to Valdelaus. We faced a terrifying dilemma. We couldn't act until we had military support, but were doomed unless we did something soon.

Petra advocated raising an army of civilians and storming the Royal Palace. Tsurugi broke his silence, arguing that untrained civilians would be slaughtered by the Palace guards. Regis and Atticus sided with Tsurugi. Eben dismissed Tsurugi's warnings and sided with Petra. It was turning into a fine argument when Jian restored silence by tapping his fork on the rim of his cup.

He suggested a compromise. The Resistance would wait two months. Petra and Atticus would recruit citizens. Tsurugi would train them in basic combat. With any luck, these recruits would be joined by a large number of experienced soldiers from the first Resistance by the end of the second month. During these two months, Eben and his family would sneak into the newspaper press at night and print pamphlets calling for the removal of Senshu.

On the day of the rebellion, these revolutionary pamphlets would be distributed throughout the city. Petra, Atticus and others would stir up crowds in the market squares. If all went according to plan, the city would be roused to rebellion against Senshu. Protected by soldiers and civilian recruits, the crowd would storm the Palace and remove Senshu from power. The Assembly would be gathered and a regent elected.

With the new leader firmly established, General Fox would take charge of the military and deploy soldiers to repel the Tyrians and Nomen. The pirates ravaging the western coast would be dealt with once the northern and southern reaches of the kingdom were secure.

“What about the Darkness to the east?” asked Regis.

Jian closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I haven't thought about it.”

“Send me,” said Tsurugi.

Every eye turned to him. He sat with a blank expression, looking very much like a stuffed fish, his eyes as empty as the morning sky.

“You're crazy,” said Petra.

“The Darkness must have a root,” he said. “Maybe it can be destroyed. I'll go east and find it.”

“You're crazier than crazy,” exclaimed Petra. “Your plan is suicide. You can't possibly be serious.”

Jian stared hard at Tsurugi. Their eyes met for a second, and then Tsurugi dropped his gaze to the table.

“It's a mad idea,” said Jian. “I don't like it. Tsurugi, I don't like it at all.”

Tsurugi spoke in a quiet voice. “Let me go, I might die. Keep me, we all die.”

To my surprise, Regis spoke up next. “I think Tsurugi has a point. Plunging into the Darkness isn't a perfect plan. It might fail. It's a gamble, but experience has taught me that gambles sometimes pay off. It's the only chance we have.”

Then Regis did the last thing I could have expected him to do under the circumstances.

He smiled.

“I've got a good feeling about this. I vote we let Tsurugi go.”

“First he trains our recruits,” said Petra. “I won't have him running off and dying till he's done something useful.”

“Have we agreed on Jian's plan?” asked Atticus.

Eben sighed and pointed out that we had little choice.

“It has too many problems,” objected Petra. “There's no guarantee the city will turn against Senshu, and then what happens to us? Even if the city turns, it won't be a peaceful rebellion. There will be blood.”

“There will certainly be blood,” said Eben. “A little if we overthrow Senshu, rivers if he remains in power. If he were our only enemy, we could bide our time. The kingdom is not laid waste by plague or famine. Trade and diplomacy with other nations have almost ceased, and the king demands many taxes, yet the people endure. Senshu is a selfish, foolish brute, but not a tyrant—except to those few who have the misfortune to get in his way.

“But Senshu is not our only enemy. The kingdom is sorely besieged on all sides and the Rovenian Legion is weak. If Senshu clings to the throne, his idleness will destroy the kingdom. We can delay no longer. I think the city will be quick to turn against him. Just yesterday his chariot struck and killed a girl in the street.”

Petra put a hand to her mouth.

“There was quite a stir,” continued Eben sadly. “The girl's father was imprisoned for ‘Assaulting the Royal Guard' and ‘Insulting the Royal Personage.' The crowd that gathered at the scene was hot with indignation. A few words would have ignited a rebellion then and there. I believe the city will turn against Senshu, but not until someone makes a stand. ‘Kindling takes a spark to burn,' as the poet said.”

“You're probably right,” admitted Petra. “Everyone I know despises the man. One of our women escaped his harem. His soldiers had taken her when she was only fourteen. She told me at least thirty women have been abducted for his harem, so I'll bet my shop there are at least thirty families in this city that would gladly push him off the Palace roof.”

“The upshot is that Jian's plan might work,” said Atticus. “At any rate, it's the best we've got. Are we all in favor of it?”

There was a sudden movement as my companions raised their hands. I looked around the table. Regis had his hand up. So did Atticus, Petra, Jian, Eben and Tsurugi. There was a long pause, and I realized with a shock they were all staring at
me.

“Do you have an objection?” asked Jian.

I blinked. “I'm expected to vote?”

“Of course,” said Atticus. “You're part of this Resistance, aren't you?”

It didn't hit me until that moment. I was about to pledge my support to a criminal conspiracy. I was about to become a rebel, a radical, a rabble-rouser. If caught, I would be executed. It was quite a jolt.

What the devil, I thought.

I raised my hand.

“Marvelous,” said Atticus. “Petra and I will do our best to find recruits. I can think of a dozen lads who'll join in a heartbeat. Tsurugi can train them in the courtyard behind the house. Eben will begin work on the pamphlet.”

“What about Lance and me?” asked Regis.

Eben coughed—a gentle cough, quite unlike the horrible hawking of the Skeleton. “If I might make the suggestion, you can take a job at the press. The manager has been looking for workers. You could work during the day and help us with the pamphlets at night.”

“A fine idea,” said Regis. “We accept.”

“Then it's sealed,” said Atticus. “Our Resistance has begun. May El lead us to victory.”

I thought it unlikely.

The following morning, fourteen young men arrived at the door while we were at breakfast. Abandoning his bread and blackroot, Tsurugi led them to the courtyard behind the house.

“What next?” I asked Regis, who was buttering his toast.

“I suppose we wait, old boy. Until we hear from Eben about the job at the press, we haven't much to do.”

I was sipping a second cup of blackroot when I remembered my staff. Tsurugi had begun to teach me to use it, but the events at Ventus had driven my training out of both our minds. Now that I had some time on my hands, there was no reason I shouldn't pick up my training where I had left off.

The pieces of my staff had settled to the bottom of my pack. I disentangled them from my clothes, fitted them together and descended to the courtyard to find Tsurugi.

I found him demonstrating basic unarmed combat, watching with vacant eyes as his students tried and failed to imitate his flowing movements. After fifteen or twenty minutes, he divided them into pairs to practice what they had learned—apparently not much. Tsurugi had a long, hard job ahead of him.

I confronted him with my staff as he turned away from the other students. “You never finished teaching me,” I said.

He looked at the ground, and then at the staff, and then, for one fleeting moment, at me. Then he took the staff and assumed a fighting stance. As miserable as I felt, I had to repress a smile. It was comforting to be training again. He handed me the staff. I mimicked his stance. He corrected me. I tried again. He corrected me. My impulse to smile vanished. I tried again, and this time I got it right.

He soon resumed teaching the recruits, leaving me to practice alone. I diligently struck, blocked and shifted stances until he turned his attention back to me. We trained for several hours, Tsurugi dividing his time between me and the recruits. At last he told them to sit down. Sweaty and red-faced, they collapsed upon the flagstones.

“You did well for your first session,” he said.

I was surprised. Encouraging words were unlike Tsurugi.

“You lack stamina,” he continued. “You'll run half a league, do fifty pushups and a hundred sit-ups after each day's session.”

I smiled. This was the Tsurugi I knew.

There was a chorus of groans, intermingled with remarks such as “Have a heart!” and “He can't be serious.”

“Eat well and get enough sleep,” he said. “You can go.”

They departed, stumbling and grumbling.

The recruits trickled in and out at odd hours over the next few days. Most of them had jobs and families, so they came when they could. Tsurugi waited in the courtyard, ready to teach anyone at any time of day. From early in the morning to past midnight, he labored to prepare the recruits for the rebellion.

On the fourth or fifth day, I arrived at the house to find Eben and Regis in the parlor. I had been out drinking and was somewhat less than sober.

“We have the job at the newspaper press,” declared Regis as I staggered to a chair and sat down.

This was good news. My supply of valores was almost depleted, and the announcement that I would soon have a steady income was cheering.

“Now that you're here, we can go,” said Eben.

“Go where?” I said, trying to rub my nose and missing.

“The press,” said Regis. “To work on the pamphlets, remember? Eben's family is already there.”

I whimpered and whined and mumbled and moaned, but Regis was relentless. I was led out of the house, down the street, through a square, down another street, across a bridge and along a pavement, protesting all the way. We arrived at a large building with carved wooden doors and pillars of white marble. Along the arch over the door were inscribed the words
Truth, Integrity, Impartiality
.

“The founding virtues of the Voice of Valdelaus,” said Eben, wheeling his chair past the pillars. “The Voice is the weekly newspaper, as Atticus must have told you,” he added, fumbling in his pocket for a key.

“Weekly newspaper?” I asked. “Is there no daily paper?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Regis. “To print the paper every day would be impossible. It would take hundreds more workers and dozens more presses. The cost of the paper and ink alone would be enormous.”

“Regis is quite right,” said Eben. “Printing three hundred thousand newspapers every day would be impossible. Printing half so many pamphlets over two months will be difficult enough.”

I paused to figure out one half of three hundred thousand. It took at least half a minute. I was drunk, remember, and my mathematical skills are dodgy at the best of times.

“That's one hundred fifty thousand pamphlets,” I muttered. “We have to print that many?”

“Valdelaus is a large city,” said Eben. He had finally found the key and opened the door. A single lamp hung from the ceiling, giving just enough light to make out the dim shapes of a dozen printing presses.