Weapon of Fear (11 page)

“Um…of
course, sir.”

“Good. 
Now send those runners, then make arrangements for your trip.  I want you on
the road tomorrow morning.”  Sereth whirled away, barking out commands to his
Blades.

Dee
hurried out of the parlor, his mind flicking through the tasks he needed to
accomplish before his trip.  If he was to have any chance of finding Mya in
Tsing, there was one person he needed to talk to.

“Milord! 
This is unprecedented!”

“No
it’s not, Chief Magistrate.  Read your history.”  Arbuckle scrawled his
signature on the last of the edicts he’d had drawn up.  Pressing the imperial
signet ring to the bottom of the parchment, he felt a slight tingle as its weak
magic impressed an indelible seal on the paper, ratifying its authenticity. 
This ring was the only one of his father’s that he consented to wear.  “The
Articles of the Foundation grant the senior noble final judgment in all cases
and the right to pardon those convicted of crimes.  Effective immediately, I’ll
review all judgments and sentences.”

“That
makes a
mockery
of the judiciary!”  Graving clenched his hands at his
sides, quivering in rage.

“The
mockery
is what currently passes as justice in this realm!”  Arbuckle
stifled his temper.  “I may not be able to
change
the laws yet, but I
can nullify unfair judgments on a case-by-case basis.”

The
chief magistrate rocked back on his heels, seeming to gather his resolve and
gird his temper.  “Milord Prince, I’m sure you have more important things to do
with your time than review
commoner
court cases.  With the recent
unrest, there are hundreds!”

“Only
hundreds?”  Arbuckle handed the signed edict to Tennison with a wry smile. 
“Then it’s not as bad as I feared.  And what better use of my
time
than
assuring that justice is served for
all
my subjects?”

“But
the
law
—”

“The
law is draconian and abusive!”  He bit back his tirade.  There was no point in
it. “But as you pointed out, I can’t change it yet.  The Articles of the
Foundation do, however, allow me to pass final judgment.”

“I
know
the Articles, milord!”  Graving’s face flushed from crimson to almost purple.

“Good! 
Perhaps you’ll start instituting them.”  Arbuckle clenched his teeth to avoid
saying something he would later regret.  “I won’t argue about this.  You’re
dismissed, Chief Magistrate Graving.”

“You
can’t
dismiss me!”  Graving sputtered.  “Only the emperor can appoint or
dismiss magistrates!”

“I
didn’t mean
permanently
.”  Arbuckle smiled with an utter lack of amity. 
“Not
yet
, anyway.  I meant that I have much to do, so you may leave
now.”

Quivering
with rage, the chief magistrate whirled and stalked out of the audience
chamber.  The crown prince ignored the insult; no commoner would dare present
their back to a monarch. 
No matter
. 
I’m not emperor yet
.  As
the tension of the encounter waned, Arbuckle longed to close his eyes and lay
his head to the table.  He had spent half the night poring through tomes of law
and history, rooting out precedents for the changes he wanted to make. 
Unfortunately, there was still work to be done.

“What
next, Tennison?”

“Your
missive to the provincial dukes, Milord Prince.”  The secretary handed over
another sheet of parchment.

“Good. 
I’d like this to get out right away.  Please summon Archmage Duveau while I
read it through.”

“Yes,
Milord Prince.”

Arbuckle
had drafted the missive that morning, then given it to Tennison to be copied
fair and embellished with the requisite official flourishes.  It laid out the
essence of his edicts and instructed the dukes to review all judgments levied
by their magistrates to ensure evenhanded justice.  It also required them to
submit to Arbuckle reports enumerating the number of cases, the judgements, and
sentences.  His orders wouldn’t be popular, but they were necessary.  He read
it through twice and was approving it with his signet ring when Tennison
returned.

“Milord
Prince, Archmage Duveau.”

Arbuckle
looked up from the page into the red-rimmed eyes and sallow features of his
archmage.  “Gods of Light, man, are you ill?”

“I
am fatigued, Milord Prince.”  Duveau nodded respectfully, his lips a thin white
line.  “Do you not recall commanding me to re-cast the magical wards upon the
palace with no delay?”

“I
recall ordering the dungeons be protected along with the rest of the palace.  I
had no idea it would be so taxing…or take so long.”

Archmage
Duveau sniffed.  “The wards are complicated and intricate, milord.  To protect
the lower levels, the entire lattice had to be replaced.  I have only just
completed the final spell.  The barrier is impenetrable and seamless.  No one
may use magic to enter or leave the palace grounds.”

“And
that includes the dungeons?”

Though
the mage’s face seemed set in stone, he fairly radiated indignation.  “Of
course, Milord Prince.”

“Thank
you.  I’ll sleep better knowing that I’m protected by your skill.”

The
mage bowed, though not deeply.  “I’m at your service, Milord Prince.  Now I
must rest before—”

“Just
one more thing.”  Arbuckle held out the parchment.  “I need you to send this to
all the provincial dukes by magical messaging.”

Duveau’s
bushy eyebrows raised even as the corners of his mouth turned down.  “Now?”

“Immediately,
Archmage.”  Arbuckle could brook no delay on this.  The longer the missive took
to reach the dukes, the more commoners would be unfairly beaten or killed.

Plucking
the missive from Arbuckle’s hand and holding it with his fingertips, Duveau
scrutinized the page.  “The
entire
message, milord?”

“Yes. 
Word for word.”  Arbuckle wondered at the mage’s reticence.

“To
every
provincial duke?”

“Yes. 
Is there a problem?”

“It
is…labor intensive, Milord Prince, and I’m the only one of the Imperial Retinue
of Wizards privy to the secret of the messaging device.”

Arbuckle
flushed with irritation, his lack of sleep undoubtedly curtailing his
patience.  He strove to calm himself before continuing.  “I’m sorry, but
there’s really no way around it unless you want to teach one of the other
members of the retinue to use the device.  The new edicts must be implemented
immediately.”

“Of
course, Milord Prince.”  Duveau bowed again, his face clouded in a mask of
discontent.  “Anything else?”

“Nothing
right now.  Thank you.”

When
the door closed behind the archmage, Arbuckle slumped back in his seat.  “Why
does it feel like scaling a battlement just to get anyone to
do
anything
around here?”

“They’re
testing you, Milord Prince,” Tennison explained.  “The chief magistrate and
archmage served your father without question for decades.  Through his favor,
they rose to high offices and became accustomed to doing as they pleased.  That
privilege has ended.”

Arbuckle
shook his head.  “They better get used to it.  What’s next?”

“Commander…ah,
Captain
Ithross and Chief Constable Dreyfus await an audience, Milord
Prince.  They arrived just as Archmage Duveau did, and are eager to speak with
you.”

“Very
good.  Show them in.”  Arbuckle’s heart beat a bit faster, sweeping away his
drowsiness. 
Perhaps they have news about the unrest in the city
.

The
two officers stepped through the door with a broad-shouldered man leaning
heavily on a cane between them.  Despite the drastic change in the man’s
appearance—his resplendent uniform replaced by simple rough-spun clothing, his
healthy complexion now sallow—Arbuckle recognized the man instantly.

“Captain
Norwood!”  The crown prince stood.  A curious thought popped into his head:
If
this is the man who murdered my father, should I kill him or thank him
? 
“Chief Dreyfus, where did you find him?”

“At
the Temple of the Earth Mother, Milord Prince.”  Dreyfus bowed low.  “I brought
him immediately to Captain Ithross.”

“Milord
Prince.”  Ithross bowed.  “I tried to question the captain, but he refused to
answer, insisting that he speak with you personally.  I was suspicious,
but…this situation is unusual.  I thought it best if we—”

A
knock at the door interrupted Ithross, and Tennison admitted Master Keyfur, member
of the Imperial Retinue and second only to the archmage.  His flamboyant
dress—a wild mix of lavender, yellow, and green that highlight his ebony
skin—seemed to brighten the entire room.

The
mage bowed low, the peacock feather stuck behind his ear sweeping nearly to the
floor.  “Milord Prince.”

 “I
sent for Master Keyfur, Milord Prince, to determine the truth of the captain’s
statements,” Ithross explained.

Arbuckle
noticed that Norwood was shaking, leaning heavily on his cane.  “Guards.”  He
waved his blademasters forward.  “Bring the captain—”

Captain
Norwood’s cane clattered to the floor.  He stumbled back and collapsed to his
knees, his face blanched white and his eyes wide.  “Please, Milord!  I had no
part in the emperor’s death!  I beg you!  Don’t—”

“What?” 
Arbuckle held out a hand to forestall his guards, dumbfounded by the captain’s
distress.

What
could have turned such a strong man into this quivering wreck?  Looking
closely, he spied pin-point bruises on the captain’s hands and face, saw how he
flinched as Ithross and Dreyfus reached down to grasp his arms. 
Dear Gods
of Light
…  He remembered Norwood’s arrival, how the emperor had ordered
Arbuckle, Tennison, and the scribe from the room. 
No witnesses
…  Then
he recalled blood-tipped spikes in an iron cage.

“It
was you, wasn’t it?  You were held in the dungeon.  Tortured by my father.”

“Yes,
Milord Prince.”  Norwood struggled to his feet with the officers’ help, still
trembling, his eyes darting to the blademasters at Arbuckle’s sides.  “I
was…taken, and Sergeant Tamir was… murdered by the emperor’s bodyguards.”

“Murdered…” 
Arbuckle glanced at his contingent of stone-faced blademasters.  They would
follow any order he gave them, oath-bound to obey. 
No wonder he’s so
frightened of them
.  “Blademasters, take position behind me.  You will only
intervene to protect me.  Tennison, fetch some chairs, and cancel the rest of
my appointments for this afternoon.  I’m going to have a chat with Captain
Norwood, and I don’t want any interruptions.”

Norwood
seemed to relax a trifle as the guards and secretary obeyed.

Ithross,
however, looked distinctly nervous.  “Milord Prince, before we relax our guard,
may I establish that this man is no danger to you?”  He gestured to Keyfur

“Of
course, Captain.  Chief Constable Dreyfus, I’ll let you get back to your duties. 
Good work finding Captain Norwood here.  Oh, and please see Tennison later for
a copy of the edicts I just authorized.  They’ll affect the way your constables
conduct their duties.”

“Milord.” 
Dreyfus bowed and left the room, for once looking disappointed at being
dismissed.

“Captain
Norwood, Master Keyfur here is going to cast a spell to ensure that what you
say is accurate.”

“I
would have insisted upon it myself, Milord Prince.”  Norwood’s voice sounded
firmer now, and some color had returned to his face.  “What I have to say may
be difficult for you to believe, and I want no doubt that I’m telling the
truth.”

“Very
good.  Master Keyfur, please proceed.”

The
wizard plucked the feather from behind his ear and waved it in a circle before
the captain’s face.  “Captain Norwood, do you intend any harm to Crown Prince
Arbuckle?”  The mage’s voice rumbled low and melodious, almost hypnotic.

“No,
sir, I do not.”

“Did
you have anything to do with the death of Emperor Tynean Tsing II?”

“No,
sir, I did not.”

“Do
you know who killed my father?” Arbuckle interrupted, catching Norwood’s eyes
in his gaze.  The captain stared back without flinching.

“No,
Milord Prince, I don’t.”

“He
speaks the truth,” confirmed Keyfur.

Tennison
returned then, along with several servants carrying chairs, and two more
bearing a full blackbrew and tea service and platters of neatly prepared
sandwiches.

“Ah,
Tennison, you read my mind.  Perhaps something stronger than tea would be
welcome as well.”  Arbuckle motioned toward a sideboard by the window. 
“Captains, Master Keyfur, please sit down and help yourselves.  I’m sure
getting the entire truth laid out is going to be a long, difficult process. 
Verul, make sure you don’t miss anything.”