“So the government is a dictatorship,” Gar said, “only the dictator is called the Protector.”
“Shades of Oliver Cromwell,” Dirk muttered.
“His shade certainly seems to be alive and well here. He has the country people intimidated well enough—but there might still be rebels in the cities.”
“Oh, I think city people can be scared as thoroughly as country folk,” Dirk replied. “Pardon my skepticism, but these ‘disappearances’ Miles told us about smack of a secret police. They might not go by that name, of course… Miles, what do they call watchmen who work in secret, so secret that nobody knows who they are?”
“Protector’s spies, sir.”
“Well, that’s clear and plain enough! I’ll bet they arrest dissidents before they worry about anybody else.”
“Still, they might not be entirely successful,” Gar pointed out. “If the watchmen and foresters actually did manage to catch every bandit sooner or later, the peasants wouldn’t have rumors about outlaws and highwaymen.”
“Big forests are notoriously hard to police,” Dirk sighed, “and I take your point—so are the warrens of alleys in a big city.”
“Big city, yes.” Gar looked back at Miles. “How big is the capitol, Miles?”
“Capitol, sir?” Miles frowned.
“The Protector’s town,” Dirk explained. “Oh! Milton?”
Dirk and Gar exchanged a glance. “Cromwell’s secretary,” Dirk said.
“Old Olly’s ghost is alive and well.” Gar turned back to Miles. “Yes, how big is Milton?”
“Oh, so very big, sir! Why, I’ve heard it holds fifty thousand people!”
“Yes, immense,” Gar sighed. “I hope they don’t all work for the government… Well, let’s see what the Badlands look like.”
“Bound to be an improvement over Milton,” Dirk said. Miles could only hold on and stare, scandalized.
CHAPTER 5
They went under the canopy of leaves, Ciletha and Orgoru, amazed that it could be so far overhead. “Thirty feet and more above our heads!” Orgoru marveled. “Why are there no leaves closer down?”
“Because the sunlight can’t reach them,” a hard voice said, amused.
Orgoru’s gaze snapped down to the leathery face before him, and the bow the man held casually at his side, arrow nocked and ready. Ciletha gasped and clasped Orgoru tightly, trying to edge behind him for protection. The half-dozen younger men behind the leathery man eyed her lasciviously, chuckling deep in their throats. Ciletha stared in sheer surprise—no boy had ever looked at her with lust before—then began to tremble when she realized what sort of courtship they had in mind.
They wore an assortment of ragged, threadbare clothing, but what chilled Orgoru to the marrow was that two of them wore the livery of watchmen, two more the livery of reeve’s guards, and the last two the livery of foresters. The leathery man wore a bailiff’s breeches and short robe, though not his chain of office. He saw the horror come into his victims’ eyes and gave them a gloating smile. “Yes, they had to be dead before we took their uniforms, these Protector’s men. Well, we have protected ourselves against the Protector, and ask no man’s leave to come or go, to wed…” His eyes flicked over Ciletha, and his voice grew husky. “…or not to wed.” He nodded to one of his henchmen, who advanced, hand outstretched. “We don’t see women very often,” Leatherface explained. “It gets so a she-bear looks pretty.”
Ciletha cried out in indignation, but the outlaw’s hand touched her arm, and she shrank away behind Orgoru with a gasp that was half a sob.
The sound galvanized Orgoru. He shoved his fear into the back of his mind and held up a palm, looking down his nose at the man and proclaiming, “Stop! I forbid you to touch her!”
“Oh, you do, do you?” the young outlaw snarled, and shook a fist right under Orgoru’s nose. “Who do you think you are, to forbid me anything?”
Terror shrieked through him, but Orgoru held his ground, only pulling away from the fist with a look of disgust, as though it stank. In his most haughty manner, he commanded, “Don’t dare to come near my exalted person! Know that I am the Prince of Paradime, and that one so lowly as you may not touch me!”
“Lowly, am I?’ the outlaw cried. ”Well, touch you I will, fellow, and very hard, too.“ The fist lashed out and cracked into Orgoru’s face. He fell back with a cry of outrage and fear.
Ciletha cried out with him and dropped to her knees, cradling his head to her. The young outlaw snarled in jealousy and lifted his fist again, but Leatherface stopped him with an upraised palm. “Let them be,” he said in disgust. “Don’t even bother with her, for he’s another one of them, and what he is, she likely is, too.”
Disgust showed on all the other outlaws’ faces, but the one who had hit Orgoru snapped, “So what if she is? We’re talking bodies here!”
“It might be catching,” one of the other outlaws muttered, and the disgust flooded the young one’s face too. “Aye, leave them alone indeed!” He turned away.
“When will we get one with some wits?” another outlaw grumbled as he turned away, too.
“If a woman had wits, would she come this far into the wood?” Leatherface retorted, as he led his band back into the trees. They stepped in among the trunks, strode a step or two—and were gone.
“Oh, thank you!” Ciletha gasped with a catch in her voice. “However did you scare them away, Orgoru?”
But Orgoru was glaring after the outlaws, quivering with anger. “How dared they call me ‘another one’!” He scrambled to his feet, storming, “I, the Prince of Paradime! How dare they…” Then his voice trailed off and his eyes widened as realization struck. “They recognized my quality! They knew me for my kind!”
“What … what do you mean?” Ciletha stammered.
“ ‘Another one,’ they said!” Orgoru spun to face her. “They must have been speaking of other noblemen and princes whom they dared not touch! They have seen them, they know of them!”
Ciletha’s eyes widened as she realized what he was saying. “We must be near them, then!”
“Yes, near the lords and ladies and their Lost City!” Orgoru caught her hand and turned, hurrying deeper into the forest. “They must be here, they must be near! Only a few more hours, Ciletha! Then, surely, we’ll find them!”
Miles couldn’t understand why, when they took the first of their brief rests, Gar took out paper and ink and spent a fair amount of time carefully drawing. Miles glanced over his shoulder and saw no picture, only lines of odd shapes that he knew were letters. He couldn’t read them, though, so he shrugged and left his new friend to his amusements. But half an hour later, when two reeve’s guards hailed them and flagged them down, Miles was amazed to discover what Gar had done.
“Greetings, fellow guardsmen!” the first guard cried. “What brings you here?”
“Greetings,” Gar replied with a smile. “We’re being sent to Milton Town, friend.”
Miles stared, and fear gibbered flailing up within him.
The reeve’s man stared, somewhat taken aback, then said carefully, “Your pardon, but you know our duty. We must see your travel permits, friends.”
“Of course.” Dirk took out one of Gar’s papers and held it out. Gar held out two.
The guard took them and studied, frowning. “These don’t have the look I’m used to.”
“No,” Gar agreed. “Our reeve was rather cross at having two men taken from him, and told us that our orders would have to do for travel permits.”