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Director Linscott was near to purple with contained rage.
Bertrand uncurled a finger from his fist and pointed out at the crowd. “The masons vast knowledge should be employed, by all means it should, but with this new law, the common man will be employed, too, under the supervision of masons, and the children will not go hungry for their fathers’ want of work.”
The Minister struck a fist to the palm of his other hand to emphasize each point he added.
“I call upon the Directors of Cultural Amity to show us, now, by their raised hands, their support of putting starving people to work, their support of the government finally being able to complete projects at a fair price by using those willing to work and not just the members of a secret society of masons who set their own exorbitant rates we all must bear! Their support for the children! Their support of the Winthrop Fair Employment Law!”
Director Linscott shot to his feet. “I protest such a show of hands! We have not yet had time to—”
He fell silent when he saw the Sovereign lift his hand.
“If the other Directors would like to show their support,” the Sovereign said in a clear voice into the hush, “then the people gathered here should know of it, so that none may bear false witness to the truth of each man’s will. There can be no harm in judging the sentiment of the Directors while they are all here. A show of hands is not the final word, and so does not close the matter to debate before it becomes law.”
The Sovereign’s impatience had just unwittingly saved the Minister the task of forcing a vote. Though it was true that a show of hands here would not make the law final, in this case such a schism among the guilds and professions would insure it did.
Dalton did not have to wait for the other Directors to show their hands; there was no doubt in his mind. The law the Minister had announced was a death sentence to a guild, and the Minister had just let them all see the glint off the executioner’s axe.
Though they would not know why, the Directors the would know one of their number had been singled out. While only four of Directors were guild masters, the others were no less assailable. The moneylenders might have their allowed interest lowered or even outlawed, the merchants their trade preferences and routes changed; the solicitors and barristers could have their charges set by law at a rate even a beggar could afford. No profession was safe from some new law, should they displease the Minister.
If the other Directors did not support the Minister in this, that blade might be turned on their guild or profession. The Minister had called for a public showing of their hands rather than a closed-door vote, the implication being that the axe would not swing in their direction if they went along.
Claudine sank into her chair. She, too, knew what this meant. Men were formerly forbidden work at the trade of mason unless they were members of the Masons Guild. The guild set training, standards, and rates, governed disputes, assigned workers to various jobs as needed, looked after members injured or sick, and helped widows of men killed on the job. With unskilled workers allowed to work as masons, guild members would lose their skilled wages. It would destroy the Masons Guild.
For Linscott, it would mean the end of his career. For the loss of the protection of guild law while under his watch as a Director, the masons would doubtless expel him within a day. The unskilled would now work; Linscott would be an outcast.
Of course, the land’s projects would, in the end, cost more. Unskilled workers were, after all, unskilled. A man who was expensive, but knew his job, in the end cost less, and the finished job was sound.
A Director lifted his hand, showing his informal, but for all practical purposes final, support for the new law. The others watched that hand go up, as if seeing an arrow fly to a man’s chest to pierce his heart. Linscott was that man. None wanted to join his fate. One by one, the other Director’s hands began going up, until there were eleven.
Linscott gave Claudine a murderous look before he stalked out of the feast. Claudine’s ashen face lowered.
Dalton started applauding the Directors. It jolted everyone out of the somber drama, and people began joining in. All those around Claudine began congratulating her, telling her what a wonderful thing she and her husband had done for the children of Anderith. Tongues began indignantly scolding the masons’ selfish ways. Soon a line of people wanting to thank her formed to file past and add their names to those on the side of the Minister of Culture and the courage of his fairness.
Claudine shook their hands but managed only a pallid smile.
Director Linscott was not likely to ever again wish to listen to anything Claudine Winthrop had to say.
Stein glanced over, giving Dalton a cunning smile. Hildemara directed a self-satisfied smirk his way, and her husband clapped Dalton on the back.
When everyone had returned to their seats, the harpist poised her hands with fingers spread to pluck a cord, but the Sovereign again raised his hand. All eyes went to him as he began to speak.
“I believe we should take his opportunity, before the next course, to hear what the gentleman from afar has to say to us.”
No doubt the Sovereign was having trouble staying awake and, before he fell asleep, wanted to hear Stein speak. The Minister stood to once again address the room.
“Good people, as you may know, a war is spreading. Each side has arguments as to why we should join with them. Anderith wants only peace. We have no desire to see our young men and women bleed in a foreign struggle. Our land is unique in being protected by the Dominie Dirtch, so we have no need to fear violence visiting us, but there are other considerations, not the least of which is trade with the world beyond our borders.
“We intend to hear what the Lord Rahl of D’Hara and Mother Confessor have to say. They are pledged to wed, as you have all no doubt heard from the diplomats returning from Aydindril. This will join D’Hara with the Midlands to create a formidable force. We await listening respectfully to their words.
“But tonight we are going to hear what the Imperial Order wishes us to know. The Emperor Jagang has sent a representative from the Old World beyond the Valley of the Lost, which has now for the first time in thousands of years been opened for passage.” Bertrand held out a hand. “May I introduce the emperor’s spokesman, Master Stein.”
People applauded politely, but it trailed off as Stein rose up. He was an imposing, fearsome, and fascinating figure. He hooked his thumbs behind his empty weapon belt.
“We are engaged in a struggle for our future, much the same as the struggle you have just witnessed, only on a larger scale.”
Stein picked up a small loaf of hard bread. His big hands squeezed until it broke apart. “We, the race of mankind, and that includes the good people of Anderith, are slowly being crushed. We are being held back. We are being suffocated. We are being denied our destiny, denied our future, denied life itself.
“Just as you have men without work because a self-interested guild held sway over the lives of others, denying them work and thus food for their children, magic holds sway over all of us.”
A hum rose in the room as whispering spread. People were confused, and just a little worried. Magic was loathed by some, but respected by many.
“Magic decides for you your destiny,” Stein went on. “Those with magic rule you, though you have not willingly consented to it. They have the power, and they keep you in their grip.
“Those with magic cast spells to harm those they envy. Those with magic bring harm to innocent people they fear, they dislike, they envy, and simply to keep the masses in check. Those with magic rule you, whether you like it or not. The mind of man could flourish, were it not for magic.
“It is time regular folks decided what will be, without magic holding its shadow over those decisions, and your future.”
Stein lifted his cape out to the side. “These are the scalps of the gifted. I killed each myself. I have prevented each of these witches from twisting the lives of normal people.
“People
should fear the Creator, not some sorceress or wizard or witch. We should worship the Creator, none other.”
Low murmurs of agreement began to stir.
“The Imperial Order will end magic in this world just as we ended the magic that kept the people of the New and Old World separated for thousands of years. The Order will prevail. Man will decide his own destiny.
“Even without our help, fewer and fewer gifted are born all the time as even the Creator, with his nearly infinite patience, tires of their vile ways. The old religion of magic is dying out. The Creator Himself has thus given us a sign that the time has come for man to cast magic aside.”
More rustles of agreement swept through the room.
“We do not wish to fight the people of Anderith. Nor do we wish to force you, against your will, to take up arms to join us. But we intend to destroy the forces of magic led by the bastard son of D’Hara. Any who join him will fall under our blade, just as those with magic”—he held out the cape—“fell under mine.”
He slowly swept a finger before the crowd as he held his cape out with his other hand. “Just as I killed these gifted witches who came up against me, we will kill any who stand against us.
“We also have other means beyond the blade to end magic. Just as we brought down the magic separating us, we will bring an end to all magic. The time of man is upon us.”
The Minister casually lifted a hand. “And what is it, then, if not the swords of our powerful army, the Order wishes from us?”
