Page 7 of Into the West

“You freed us from a terrible slavery. Life among you has been . . .” She cocked her head to the side. “Pleasant. Very pleasant, for the most part. And there is an overwhelming likelihood that you will find a way to free us, and do so before we feel we need to remind you of your promise.” She straightened her head. “So now, I will leave you to your thoughts, and go to collect some food for you from the kitchens.”

She turned and left, leaving both of them to stare after her. “Well. That was unexpected,” he managed. But Isla had noticed something he hadn’t.

“Did Rose just call herself ‘I’?” she said incredulously.

Word was spreading around the encampment that Kordas was going to make a Speech, so people were getting through their evening chores as quickly as they could. Meanwhile, he set up the old family heirloom, the stately telcaster—seldom used for anything except entertainments on the estate for the last couple of generations—that allowed him to conjure up an image of himself that was twenty feet tall from the surface of the lake, and broadcast his words around the shore, and probably a lot further. It didn’t seem to bother the birds and animals, at least not after the first few times they’d used it, so he didn’t worry about what else was hearing him.

They’d been using the antique instrument for some time now, every night when the weather was fine, to update the entire camp on what had happened, what was scheduled, and what weather to expect. And immediately send telcaster-amplified warnings by bugle and shout—like the time a bear had gotten past the perimeter guards and headed for one of the kitchens.

That bear had become stew, rather than partaking of the stew. He often wondered if it was the same one that had chased Jonaton’s enormous black cat Sydney back through the first Gate they had established here. If so, Sydney had probably especially enjoyed his dinner of bear gravy and innards.

Every night after the news and any other pressing concerns for the camp were disposed of, there was entertainment. No great Bards had made the trek here—his court hadn’t been notable enough to attract even a minor Bard, and Merrin’s Bard had elected to stay with the new Duke—but in fifteen thousand people, there was bound to be plenty of talent. Musicians, or at least people who could make a pleasant noise, tell a good tale, dance, or do something else that entertained others volunteered, however odd their talents may be. One family juggled goslings, one troupe did a serialized puppet comedy, and yet another couple showed ways to cook, which was an unexpected hit. They all got their chances on what was probably the biggest stage anyone could ever have imagined. And if sometimes their audience drowsed or talked through their performance, well, they’d never know, because all they could see was a group around them that was about the size of an audience in their village. Kordas smiled a moment thinking of it, because it drew a tear to his eye every time the camp joined in on an anthem or ballad, thousands of voices echoing around the lake. Whatever differences or complaints they might have, they were united in song.

The telcaster had been in his family for generations, and it wasn’t an uncommon sort of object to have among the nobles of the Empire. It was considered a sort of toy, rather more backward than some of the advanced objects of its type had been back in the Capital. Among other things, when one had guests, having a telcaster ensured that no one was slighted by getting an inferior view of any entertainers. It required a mage to work it, of course, but the rulers of the Duchy of Valdemar had been mages all the way back to the first Duke, and apprentices had been taught its use.

The bigger, fancier versions went by the name of illusionarium.

Kordas preferred the humbler term “telcaster.”

Before he could set it up, he made himself a little three-sided enclosure with a sheet pinned to the branches of one of the trees nearby, and hung a mage-light where it would give the most flattering light. He’d done this so many times he could have set up everything in his sleep, and didn’t need Ivy’s help, although he always accepted it. Right now, no Dolls were around him, only the black-furred bruiser watching him. Sydney’s tail flicked, though the rest of him was studiously relaxed. If one knew cats, one would recognize that such a well-practiced calm meant mayhem would strike at any moment.

The last stage was setting up the object itself. It was portable, though not small. Zebrawood casing held arrays of crystals adjusted by brass rods at the front, with similar controls for sound on the other side of its “eye.” Brass plates labeled what each rod did, though few laymen could have understood them. When it was time, the front cover was merely flipped back (carefully!), and its mirrored surface showed whatever was in front of it. Once the lights inside warmed up enough, it wasn’t very long before the telcast would begin. Its center looked not unlike one of the black bowls used for scrying. As usual, he had to pull Sydney out of it. The bowl was always warm, and Sydney liked to sleep in it. Occasionally, since it was old, the thing would come on by itself for a moment using whatever residual magic was nearby, and the entire camp would get a fine view of Sydney licking his balls until someone noticed and shut the telcaster off.

In this case, Sydney had seen what Kordas was up to, and had placed himself in the eventual focus of attention. Now, removed from it, the cat realized he needed very much to be over there very quickly, for some reason, and darted away.

Jonaton’s cats—the mage had somehow brought all of them—had made themselves citizens of the entire camp, with over half attaching themselves to families, and the rest roaming boat to boat. They avoided the shore for the most part, probably because of the smell of the livestock and trenches. Thanks to lake effect, those were seldom upwind from the boats.

While Kordas set the telcaster up and tuned it, Isla, the children, Delia, and anyone nearby who wanted to see the actual Baron making the speech rather than watching the illusion settled down on blankets in front of him.

He took a deep breath, composed himself, and began.

“Folk of the Valdemar Expedition,” he said, trying to project both strength and warmth. “I’m sure by now you all have heard about today’s incident. I need to speak with you about that—and so much more.”

Delia cast her eyes over the barges nearest her. The sun had nearly set below the tree line, which signaled that the telcast was soon to begin. The temperature had already dropped, and people were bundled up, their dinner ready, their pets safely with them. They mostly sat on their barges, eyes fastened on the lake, waiting for the Baron’s speech.

Nobody missed one of Kordas’s addresses, and not just because they needed to know what he had to say. It was that Kordas was entertaining and reassuring, too. His speeches had revealed a highly charismatic man that most of the folk responded to as the voice of a guiding commander. Delia didn’t recall him being as compelling a speaker back when they had been home, but then, she hadn’t often seen him acting in the official role of Duke. She found herself hanging on his words like everyone else was, and there was none of the restlessness and muttering she often heard when news was being spread or when some of the entertainment was going on. Even the occasional breeze with ice in its teeth didn’t dissuade people from sitting out here along the lake to listen to him.

Beltran adjusted the brass hoops and arms of the telcaster, twisting one to increase its brightness. Out on the water, visible to everyone on either side of the shoreline, the blue of the background came into existence, only a glowing blue ovoid right now. As Beltran altered the angle of several arms, the wrinkles in the backdrop were distinguishable in the lake image, and the white splotch in the lower quarter resolved into text. “Evening News,” it read, followed by “Variety Show” and “Night Music.” A few seconds’ time with a pen, and a new card replaced it, reading “SUNDOWN—BARON’S ADDRESS TO ALL—HEAR AND WITNESS.” It was a phrase born in Valdemar, in fact, known to everyone from schoolchild to elder. It was a polite way of saying, “Technically this is not mandatory, but you’d regret missing it.”

Delia watched Kordas with more attention than her work actually called for, as he took command of everyone’s attention. Whether he was telling mundane facts or describing a disaster, Kordas gave the impression that he was right there, to handle it personally. Maybe more importantly, that he was supposed to be there. People respond to confident speakers, even if their messages are bunk, she thought, and he doesn’t tolerate bunk. When the Baron of Valdemar spoke, even if the news was bad, he was someone to be counted on.

Someone might fall in love with Kordas for that alone, she thought, and smiled.

The telcaster’s arms were locked in place, and the glow in the bowl was matched by a glow from the lake. A flickering red light on the telcaster’s face gradually became a steady one. It was time.

Herald Beltran placed a last card in the cradle, which read “BARON’S INTRODUCTION,” and stepped in front of the backdrop. “Hear all, see all, Official Pronouncements of Law and Profundity will be spoken tonight. Welcome now your leader, your head of state, architect of your prosperity, Kordas, Baron of the Expedition.”

The applause that followed was riddled with hull-stamping, whistling, barking, and whoops of enthusiasm. Only the cats failed to comment.

Kordas stepped into the telcaster’s view on the shore, and on the Lake, a towering, brightly glowing version of him did the same. He wore his circlet, and nothing especially ornamental except for a triple-chained clasp for his mantle, bearing a gleaming enameled Valdemar family crest. It sent the subtle hint that this was not only an address by the Baron, it was something personal to him. He raised his hands, and spoke when the cheers had died down.

“Valdemarans. Friends. Allies, Guests, and Wards. We all understand that as we brave the challenges of this journey, anyone may become annoyed or angry to some degree, and that can be handled. Today, I judged a man called Donat Benin guilty of a serious crime. The crime today, however, was no simple venting of stress or armed conflict. It was a despicable act: a near-lethal assault by someone who, by my judgment, had studied the Dolls around him and, knowing they could think and feel, chose to engage one in violent torture past the point a human would have been murdered.”

The implication there being that if he’d do that to Dolls, he’d do it to humans too—if he hadn’t already, Delia thought. Kordas is coming out swinging. This obviously means more to him than just a speech. Beltran stood beside the telcaster’s table. His hands moved impossibly quickly, transcribing Kordas’s words onto cards, then dropping them in place on the telcaster’s bookstand-turned-card-rack before the ink was anywhere near dry. Not everyone on the expedition had perfect hearing, after all, and this way anyone could read the words below the Baron’s image.

“The criminal was seized, charged, and sentenced before there could be any more victims. I’ll repeat now what I’ve declared in the past: Dolls are to be treated as you would treat your neighbor. They are not property, servants, or slaves. They are not the same as you, but their lives are equal to yours, and of equal value. That someone in our situation would willfully cause such savage harm to a Doll is reprehensible. We should be better than that—we all should be better than that.”

Murmurs of assent, and nodding to each other, probably told Kordas what this small audience thought as he spoke, allowing him ease to work the much larger crowd facing the lake.