Chapter Nine: An Incident in Verdenlecht

If you had a decent horse, you could make the ride from Wayfair into Aurilicht in about two hours. In two more hours, you could be in the duchy's capital at Verdenlecht. If you took the night caravan, though, you could expect to take about twice that long. Still, it was a lot faster than hoofing it with heavy packs, not to mention a lot safer.

The caravan consisted of eight pairs of bull aurochs, each pulling two ten-person wagons. There was one head driver and one assistant, taking the first and seventh wagon pairs, Mr. and Mrs. Murelein, who might have been siblings, spouses, or cousins. Val wasn't entirely clear, and from the way they bickered, disagreeing about who was actually the head driver and who was the assistant, she couldn't make heads or tails of them.

"Obviously, the head driver is the one in the front, since she has to know where they're going," Mrs. Murelein observed.

"Obviously, the head driver is the one in the rear, since that's where the most room for error is," Mr. Murelein replied. It was very much an open debate.

The aurochs seemed to be used to their nattering, as did the regular customers. The aurochs just stared straight ahead with their dumb eyes and followed the wagons in front of them (or, in the case of the head aurochs, in whatever direction Mrs. Murelein's gentle goading required). The passengers were much the same, most of them staring out into the night but some of them reading newspapers or biblical tracts to lantern-light.

It was unseasonably warm, so Val climbed to the top of the wagon and set herself down amidst the bulkier luggage. She felt a bit silly, as she was the oldest person up there by a year or two… but she looked young for her age, so chances were good that nobody noticed. She wasn't interested in playing silly games anyhow. She leaned back and forth to let the younger kids play their catch-and-go game, hopping from wagon to wagon like little mountain goats.

The moons were out and Val took in the scenery - mostly farmland interspersed with scrubby copses, but there was a decent stretch where the road abutted an oceanside cliff and Val could see the glimmering moonlit waves for miles and miles. It was funny - she'd lived in Wayfair, a maritime city, for all of her life that she could remember, and yet she could count on one hand the number of times she'd got a good look at the ocean. From what she remembered, it was smellier and less beautifully moonlit, with the ever-present sludge and muck from the portside fisheries making visits to the ocean an altogether unpleasant experience.

"Are you here with your ma and pa?" A little dark-haired girl asked Val. She couldn't have been older than eight.

"Yup," Val said. She assumed that was the story they were going with.

"Do you want to play catch-and-go with us?"

"Nope." Part of her did, but she would have felt silly about it.

They got to the border close to midnight, at which point customs inspectors from Aurilicht inspected the night caravan's cargo and stamped papers from all of the passengers. Ginn told them that Val was only ten and, therefore, didn't need papers yet. Val wasn't sure whether to be offended or relieved when the inspectors let that explanation slide without comment. Afterward, they stopped at the check station for fifteen minutes so the passengers could relieve themselves or snack.

Val managed to do both, scampering off behind the bushes since the regular facilities were fully booked and then returning to Ginn, who offered her two-ounce chunks of honeycomb and sharp cheese, but only after she washed her hands. She ran them under the copper-smelling water of a rusted old spigot, wiped them on her jacket, and wasn't in the least convinced that they were any cleaner. It was good enough for Ginn. Then she had to wash her hands all over again after getting them sticky with honey. Her fingers still smelled faintly of honey and copper thirty minutes later when she drifted off to sleep with her head against Ginn's shoulder.

+++++

Verdenlecht wasn't nearly as large as Wayfair - perhaps half the size in terms of footprint but a lot less dense. The city proper stretched for about a mile in any direction from the ducal palace, which was built right atop the River Imber. Val had never been there, though she and her mother had lived somewhere near the border between Aurilicht and Boleares, which Wayfair was part of, when she was young. Almost too young to remember.

Then something had happened… she wasn't privy to it, being only five years old at the time, but they'd had to leave on account of some sort of change of land. Her mother and her aunt, who was a few years younger than her mother, had gone to Mayfair to find better lives. Her mother had died less than a year later in a dirty alleyway, stabbed as Val looked on… and, she was starting to suspect, the killers had been after her.

What had happened to Val's aunt? That was a good question. For all Val knew, she'd been killed just like her mother, shanked in the chest. Or maybe she'd just gone off on her own, not considering Val to be her responsibility. She didn't want to think that's what had happened, but Val had heard a hundred orphan stories and some of them made you question the mettle of the human race. Part of her was glad she didn't know the finer details of her own story.

In any case, she'd wound up in Wayfair and she'd stayed there. It was the only city she knew, and what she saw of Verdenlecht suggested it would be a bit different. For one thing, there was writing everywhere and it was in a script that she wasn't quite used to. It wasn't exactly unintelligible but she had to make some inferences about which letters stood for which sounds.

"Now, Val," Ginn said. "We're going to have to pretend you're mute, at least at first, because they speak a different tongue here. If anybody asks you questions, I'll squeeze your hand when you should nod and tap your hand when you should shake your head 'no', do you understand?"

That earned her a rare frown from Val. "I'm an orphan, not uneducated. I speak Arleng well enough."

"You… you do?"

She nodded. "It's what my ma used to speak to me, so yeah. And later, me and Pudge… Pudge and I would speak in it most of the time so nobody overheard the choice jobs we knew about. Reading it might take some getting used to."

"Well," Ette said. "That simplifies things a good bit. I'm glad I have such a smart assistant."

Val nodded, because she was a smart assistant. An assistant at what? That was a good question, because she wasn't sure what Ette was now that he'd left his bonds and security shop behind in Wayfair with the door busted wide open. She figured they'd wing it as they went, which was very much in her wheelhouse. Val was practically a professional at winging it already.

"We're known to some in these parts and you don't exactly look like either of us," Ette said. "I figure you'll be our niece for the time being."

"Whose niece?" Val asked.

Ette scratched at his stubble. "Mine, from my mother's side of the family," he said eventually. "That'll be easier if we need to get paperwork drafted."

"Your sister Alizia," Val said.

"That's right. Hell's bells have you got a memory, girl!"

"That's what I tell everybody and nobody believes me," Val said. It was one of the many downsides of being mistaken for a younger kid. The fact that she didn't need to have her papers yet was only a small consolation.

It was still two hours before dawn when they left the white-paved roundabout that served as the night caravan's terminus. Everything around was clean, white marble, which was a nice change. Of course, there were also parts of Wayfair that were very clean and very posh - it's just that orphans weren't often welcome in those parts.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Of course, she could probably go into those parts now. Val tugged at the hem of her velveteen jacket, relishing at the feel of its softness beneath her fingertips. Ginn had thought to pack her favorite outfit, and she'd changed as soon as she had a chance, throwing all of her old outfit away…

Except for the shoes, obviously, because they were still pretty nice. And the jacket, dirty as it was, was pretty sturdy and warm. Probably better than her old canvas jacket with the resin and blood stains. Val was pretty sure Ginn had burned the old gal for good riddance. So Val wore her favorite outfit with the other jacket draped around her like a cloak. Looking as they did, she and the Vinzennos were a perfectly respectable middle-class family and not a trio of bondspeople hiding from religious persecution and/or bloody murder.

Beyond the circle, Val could see all the way down the avenue, the pavement pale and sparkling in the moonslight, all the way to the ducal palace, all pinnacles and spires built atop the huge, rotund base of an ancient fortress that spanned the whole river with three squat pillars each the width of the Vinzenno's house. Val threw her dirty jacket over her nice one for the added warmth and followed after the Vinzennos as they headed westward from the circle.

"Do you think Sabine will be up?" Ginn asked. They'd switched to Arleng

Etto shrugged. "Knowing her, probably. But I'm not going to bother her… not this early. I say we wait until the first breakfast pub opens, have ourselves a nice sit and some hot café, and then get to Sabine when we know she won't be bothered by it."

Ginn tapped her foot. "The first decent breakfast pub."

"Anything for my princesses," Ette said.

"I ain't a princess," Val said.

"Not with grammar like that you're not," Ginn chuckled.

+++++

Fortunately, the first breakfast place opened pretty early - just before dawn - because the first working stiffs in Verdenlecht shuffled off to their shops, workshops, and offices not too long after that and some of them wanted café along with some of the little crisp strips the Aureline tried to pass off as bacon and the finger-thick pastries the Aureline tried to pass off as crepes. Which, even though it was all very strange to Val, was nonetheless delicious. She found herself licking her fingers and wondering if she ought to ask for seconds.

"Fingers, Val," Ginn hissed.

With a blush, Val realized that a few people had noticed and were now watching, with morbid curiosity, the primly-dressed young lady with the manners of a street orphan. Which, honestly, Val didn't usually have, and she'd improved even more during her time in the Vinzenno household. But she'd been very hungry and it had awoken some primal orphan instinct that she'd have to work harder to contain.

"Sorry, auntie," Val said demurely, and she blotted her mouth with her napkin.

Being called 'auntie' chuffed Ginn enough that she got off Val's back. She might have wanted a daughter, but being a maternal auntie would suit her just fine for the time being. For the rest of the meal, Val imagined how a princess - which she was not - would present herself and tried to act accordingly. She decided that a princess would ask for seconds if she was still hungry.

After an hour in the pub, the street outside was markedly changed. It had gone from dark and virtually dead to a bustling place with workers and customers alike walking with purpose, blue and white carriages trundling passengers down the avenue, and laborers congregating in teams to get projects started. The big difference between Verdenlecht and Wayfair was that, beyond being slightly cleaner, there seemed to be a lot of new construction. The Aureline preferred to tear buildings down to build newer and better ones in their stead, though the ducal palace was an obvious exception. In Wayfair, they refurbished buildings upon the old bones of previous structures.

They passed a big, open stable - in Wayfair, they had multi-level stables, which never quite worked out, but it sure saved on space. But in Verdenlicht, they had space to spare.

The foot traffic grew denser… much denser. At first, Val thought it was just a very busy street until she noted the great knot of a crowd up ahead. Nobody from Wayfair was unfamiliar with crowds - you made sure your valuables were secure and forged ahead. For Val, this meant clutching her pack to her chest, fists clamping the flap closed, since anybody with half a knack could undo he snaps and take things out if she kept it on her back.

"I wonder what's going on here," Ette said.

Something was going on in front of the big white temple recessed from the main avenue. It was a grand structure in sparkling white marble with gilt angels and onyx gargoyles - it looked practically brand new. Without checking for Ette and Ginn, Val climbed up the base of a nearby statue, a great bronze angel upholding a big, gleaming, pale circle. She nudged some smaller kids aside to secure her perch and get a good look.

Her eyes scanned up the steps of the temple, where a long line of guards with bolt-casters were keeping the crowd at bay, to a great ceremonial dais where a group of men dressed in the finery of nobility and upper clergy milled about, speaking amongst themselves. What started out as a hush in the crowd became a steady murmur. Val realized they were chanting.

"Free! Him! Free! Him! Free! Him!" the crowd chanted.

A group of women in acolyte's robes wended their way through the crowd, singing the Hymn of Liberation:

Oh I've been down in Josah's land,

wandered down in the valley,

felt the scorn of nations lost,

had fortune turn so badly,

and though enslaved and beaten sore,

the King of Dawn will surely see

that, even broken, I am pure,

Oh mighty King, come lib'rate me!

Val had heard the hymn before, of course - the Sisters of Resonant Grace had liked the tune and insisted it built an orphan's character for some reason.

From her spot on the statue base, she could see who the people were demanding be freed, for she'd caught a good glimpse of him through the carriage window what felt like a lifetime ago. Shackled and looking downright ordinary in his roughspun tunic was a scrawny little man… the Bishop of West Wayfair. The very man that Ette had nabbed to start the events rolling that had got her fleeing the city and perched next to a dozen other kids at the base of a statue in Verdenlecht.

"Free! Him! Free! Him!" the crowd chanted. The women kept up with their hymn.

A dark-haired young man among the nobles on the dais raised his hands and took a few steps toward the crowd. He looked ever so slightly finer than the others and was the youngest there by at least a decade, probably only four or five years older than Val. He wore a sparkling circlet upon his head and a long lacquered scabbard sparkling with silver. Even from way back on her roost, Val could tell he had a sparkling white smile, too. He was like a charming prince in the sorts of storybooks she didn't care for.

The crowd hushed.

"Dear people, please know that this man, Hermanzo of Bolzili, Bishop of West Wayfair, has been fairly tried and convicted in a Trial of Nobles. His sentence is most severe - a lifetime of labor at the very quarry that helped build this fine temple." The duke held his hands in the sign of the pale circle. Despite his youth, his voice was rich and deep. "But I am not heartless. I am open to clemency or even commutation… as your justly coronated ruler, I must temper justice with mercy. So I ask those of you with an interest in this matter: does this man deserve mercy?"

"Yes!", "Almighty save the bishop!", and "Mercy, lord!" were among the shouts that Val made out from the crowd.

But she'd heard what the man had done and couldn't possibly agree. Every orphan, if she hadn't had a man of the cloth do something terrible to her, knew of a boy or girl who had. Val had her own story that still bothered her - the reason she'd escaped from the Sisters of Resonant Grace two and a half years ago - though it wasn't half as traumatic as most she'd heard. At least she'd escaped. And here, of all people, was a bishop, tried and convicted, and this crowd of stupid fanatics was going to get him set free? That was the opposite of justice.

The duke raised his hands again. "Thank you… thank you for your input, but I am not addressing you." He turned to face the statue… it felt like he was looking right into Val. "I am speaking to the children, for it was children who were wronged by Bishop Hermanzo, is it not? Forty-three children… many of them scarred for life… six of them crippled, three of them dead. Children entrusted to this man's care right here in Verdenlecht, and when his superiors learned of it, what did they do? They sent him to Wayfair beyond our reach… or so they thought. Our reach is as long as the arm of justice. Our reach is armored in righteousness. Tell me, children of Verdenlecht, would you have me free this man? Would you have me turn him loose to do as he will to another generation of children?"

For an awkward second, the crowd was hushed and the children upon the podium glanced at one another. If they weren't going to say anything, then Val would. She stood on her tiptoes for a few extra inches and shouted: "No! Hang the bastard!"

The children surrounding her thought this was just about the funniest, most exciting thing ever, and they started shouting it, too. "Hang him! Hang the bastard!" they shouted.

The crowd started booing and some of the rotten vegetables that had been occasionally launched toward the dais made their way toward Val's spot on the statue, though nothing but a few sour bits managed to hit her. The guards pounded their pikes against the ground and took a step forward, hushing the crowd again.

"Dear subjects… my people of Verdenlecht… the children have spoken, and they have spoken clearly. Yet… I am a merciful man. I will not hang the bishop - not today, not ever. Bishop Hermanzo, I, Ansibald, eighth Duke of Aurilicht, grant you clemency. You are hereby relieved of all your Earthly debts. May you be judged as mercifully in the hereafter."

With that, the young duke unsheathed his sword and stabbed the bishop right through the heart. He did it with a practiced speed that rivaled what Val had seen Ette do, and Ette was probably the fastest fighter that Val had ever seen. The bishop had exactly enough time to clutch his shackled hands to his chest, and then he dropped dead.

The crowd erupted into pandemonium.