The Survivors (5 page)

“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.

“What do you want?” Bradok stated more plainly.

The taller of the two dwarves stepped forward. “Begging your pardon, Councilman,” he said in a slightly jittery voice. “We’ve been sent to summon you to the council chamber.”

“At this hour?” Bradok demanded before he realized he had no idea just what hour it was.

“Yes, sir,” the second dwarf said. “The mayor has called an emergency session on account of the, uh, riot.”

Bradok’s head snapped up, and the fog left his weary brain. “What riot?” he wondered.

“There’s a riot going on outside the temple,” the first guard said. “We’ve been sent to ensure your safety, Councilman. Please hurry.”

“Can I dress first?” Bradok asked.

The guard nodded and Bradok stepped back so they could enter his foyer.

“What’s the meaning of this,” Sapphire’s voice floated down from the balcony above. “Why are there armed dwarves in our home in the middle of the night?”

“Go back to bed, Mother,” Bradok said, climbing the stairs two at a time. “It’s council business. I’m needed.”

His mother protested as he passed by, but he was too dazed to pay her any mind. He threw on whatever clothes were handy, and five minutes later he was back in the foyer.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The guardsmen went first, walking shoulder to shoulder, with Bradok in their wake. He had checked his watch when he dressed; the hour was four. Normally at that hour of the morning the streets of Ironroot would be deserted save for the night watch and the occasional tradesman trying to get a jump on the day.

That night, however, the city was awash in activity.

Even before Bradok reached the main cavern, he could hear the hum of a crowd. The acrid smell of smoke reached his nostrils as they emerged into the main cavern. A large, angry crowd had gathered in front of the temple.

Skirting the crowd, the guardsmen led Bradok along the far edge of the cavern to the steps of city hall. A large number of armed guards ringed the building, watching the crowd near the temple with nervous glances. All of them had their hands on their weapons.

“We’ll leave you here,” his escort said. “They’re expecting you inside.”

Bradok watched the guardsmen as they turned and headed back into the city, presumably to fetch another council member.

If the outside of city hall was in chaos, the inside was pure frenzy. It looked to Bradok as if the majority of the councilmen were already there, most yelling, while some were pounding
on their desks. On the high seat, Mayor Arbuckle sat, his chin resting on his hands, clearly having lost control of the proceedings.

“There he is,” someone yelled, and the chamber went suddenly, frighteningly quiet.

All eyes turned to Bradok and for a long moment a pregnant pause hung in the air.

“There,” a voice hissed.

“Traitor,” came another.

“Silence!” Arbuckle’s voice cut through the room like thunder.

“What is going on here?” Bradok demanded. He was still fuzzy-headed but felt certain something was terribly wrong.

“You brought this trouble upon us,” Councilman Auger yelled.

“The riot?” Bradok asked, trying to keep his voice even. “I know nothing about that. I have just woken up and arrived here.”

“It was you who thought up that law,” Auger yelled. “The law that has sparked the riot. You probably plotted this whole mess with your oh-so-reasonable solution to our problem.”

“It did seem reasonable, didn’t it?” Jon Bladehook cut in. “Only an unreasonable person would object to it.” Bladehook walked out into the center of the floor, drawing full attention to himself. “But no, we shouldn’t fault our new comrade for being reasonable,” he said, his voice smooth as butter. “It is the believers who are being unreasonable. I warned you they were dangerous.”

“I beg to disagree. They are
not
dangerous or unreasonable,” a new voice said.

All eyes turned to the entrance, where the high priest of the temple stood.

“Sarru,” Mayor Arbuckle said, a note of forced joviality in his voice. “Welcome.”

Sarru Firebrand had the thick, muscular kind of build
one usually associated with a bouncer in a seedy tavern, and the polished wooden staff he carried did nothing to soften his image. He had red-gold hair that he braided in two thick cords on either side of his head, and his beard was held in place with three descending gold clips. His robes were crimson with gold trim and an amulet of Reorx, wrought in steel, hung about his neck.

“I seriously doubt that I am welcome here,” the priest said, his eyes sweeping over the room accusingly. “What do you mean by restricting the religious freedom of the good dwarves of Ironroot?”

“We did nothing of the sort,” Bladehook said, his voice sounding suddenly less confident than it had been a moment before.

“He’s right, Sarru,” Mayor Arbuckle said defensively. “The law simply requires that preaching be done in the temple, where it belongs.”

“That’s right,” Bladehook said, trying to regain his superior footing. “It keeps the preaching off the street. I should think you’d relish the idea of us eliminating the competition for you.”

At that a scowl crossed the priest’s face.

“I do not know why Reorx chooses to send these messengers here,” the priest said after a long moment’s pause. “I wonder if perhaps he is displeased with me. Regardless of the reason, however, I will not hinder his will, and neither will you.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Bladehook said complainingly. He opened his mouth to continue, but Arbuckle cut him off.

“Nobody’s trying to prevent these people from being heard,” the mayor said with all the dignity he could muster.

“Really?” Sarru answered him. “Did you know that since you passed that ordinance, over forty dwarves have been arrested? Are you aware that the Goldspanner family is in
the city jail right now for praying over their food in a tavern? One dwarf was taken right off the street for saying ‘Reorx bless you!’ when someone sneezed!”

Mayor Arbuckle looked shocked; then his face reddened slightly. “Uh,” he said, clearly trying to form a coherent response to Sarru’s assertions. “Well, uh, it seems our city guard has, uh, misinterpreted the spirit of our ordinance,” he muttered.

Bradok noticed the mayor cast Jon Bladehook a dirty look. Then he remembered seeing Bladehook drinking with the captain of the city guard that very afternoon.

“Misinterpretation or not, the people won’t stand for it,” Sarru declared haughtily. “There are several hundred dwarves over at the temple who I’ve convinced not to burn city hall to the ground. Right now they’re willing to listen to me, but I don’t know how much longer that will last, with their friends and families in jail.”

“Of course, of course,” Arbuckle said, taking out a piece of paper and scribbling on it. When he finished, he dribbled wax onto the paper and stamped it with the seal of Ironroot.

“Here,” he said, waving a guardsman over. “Give this to the captain of the guard”—he glanced irritably at Bladehook—“and tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he is to release all the prisoners arrested in violation of the no-preaching ordinance.”

The guard reached out to take the paper, but Arbuckle pulled it away before he could grab it.

“And tell that fat-headed buffoon,” the mayor added, loud enough for his words to carry throughout the chamber, “that if he messes this up, he’ll be a street sweeper before lunch.” Arbuckle handed over the paper, and the guard departed.

“It will take more than that, I’m afraid,” Sarru said tersely.

Arbuckle ground his teeth but smiled pleasantly before reaching for his gavel. “All in favor of rescinding the ordinance
barring street preaching, say ‘aye.’”

The room thundered with assent.

“Any opposed?”

There were none, not even Bladehook, who dared dissent.

“Then I declare the ordinance against street preaching rescinded.” He nodded toward Sarru. “I’ll leave it to you to deliver the news to the faithful.”

Sarru harrumphed then turned and left, his staff rapping sharply on the floor.

“Everyone go home and get some sleep,” Arbuckle roared once Sarru had vanished. “Jon, Bradok, not so fast, you two,” he went on. “I’d like to see you in my chambers for a moment.”

Bradok looked warily at Jon Bladehook, but Bladehook simply looked annoyed. As it turned out, Arbuckle met with them separately. Bladehook went in first, staying almost an hour while Bradok waited in an overstuffed chair outside Arbuckle’s heavy office door. Toward the end, Bradok became aware of raised voices inside.

“You move too soon!” Arbuckle was saying.

“And you do nothing but bide your time,” Bladehook replied vehemently. “We passed an ordinance, correct? All I did was tell my brother-in-law to enforce that ordinance to the letter.”

“But you didn’t give the people time even to learn about the law, Jon. You have incited them and called our motives into question.”

“What do we do now?” Bladehook asked, clearly piqued.

“We wait, Jon,” Arbuckle said. “We bide our time.”

A moment later the door burst open and Bladehook stormed out. He marched past Bradok and down the hall without a backward glance.

“Sorry about that, Bradok,” Arbuckle said, standing in the doorway to his office. “Jon can be a little high-strung at times. Come in.”

Bradok rose and followed Arbuckle into his office. The round room had been cut from the wall of the cavern. Cabinets of dark, polished wood curved along the back wall. They had glass fronts so Bradok could see that they were full of thick leather-bound books. Arbuckle’s oval-shaped desk stood in the middle of the room with two comfortable-looking chairs before it. Papers, books, and blotters littered the top of his desk.

“Sit down,” the mayor said, waving his hand in the direction of the chairs.

“If this is about that ordinance,” Bradok said, sinking down into the seat, “I just—”

“I know you had nothing to do with what happened,” Arbuckle said, some of his easy manner evaporating. “I brought you here tonight because you seem to have a level head and a keen mind.”

“Uh, thank you,” Bradok said uncertainly.

“Your ordinance was a good one,” Arbuckle said. “A sound idea.” He got up and began to pace back and forth behind his desk. “But it seems we have quite a few citizens who took it the wrong way.”