“I had meant to announce myself and demand to be let in,” Orgoru said, “but there are no gates to keep me out, and no one to bar me.”
“You may go in whenever you please,” Ciletha whispered. She felt a trembling within. “Oh, Orgoru, I’m afraid to!” Orgoru took her hand and stroked it gently, reassuring her. “I’d have to go alone anyway, Ciletha—it’s me who’s their kind, not you. Wait for me, though. I want to come back and tell you how wonderful it all is.”
“Of course I’ll wait,” Ciletha assured him, tears in her voice. She hesitated a moment, then lunged up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Go now, and good luck!”
Somewhat dazed, Orgoru turned toward the gate. Then, heart pounding with excitement, he went in.
They stopped for lunch, and for a few minutes every two hours to stretch their legs, but other than that, Miles rode with Gar and Dirk all day, his legs aching worse and worse with every hour. How could soldiers stand it?
In mid-afternoon, they were challenged a second time, and this guard didn’t even comment on the “permit” not being on a standard form. He only looked at it and said, “Gar Pike? That really your name?”
Gar stared in surprise, then recovered quickly and said, “My parents tried to be funny now and then.”
“The rest of it looks good enough,” the guard said, “though I wish this ‘Jonathan Esque, Clerk’ would have said who he was writing for.”
“You can read!” Dirk blurted.
“Can’t I just, though,” the guard said bitterly. “My parents scrimped and saved to send me to school. Much good it did me, though.”
“They must have been well-off,” Gar said.
“Only peasants, friend, same as you and I—but the magistrate thought I had promise, so the whole village went without and scraped up enough to send me to the school at the reeve’s town—and what came of it? I failed the examination! They’ve forgiven me, though—I think.”
“Failed?” Gar frowned. “Odd, when you had the talent and so many years’ schooling. What happened?”
Miles stared at him in surprise. Surely he had to know he was asking about something painful! He was startled that Gar should be so rude.
But the guard didn’t seem to mind talking about it, though his mouth twisted with bitterness. “Oh, I knew the law well enough, had high marks on that day—but the second day was essays, and though I did well enough explaining why we need a civil service, and why peasants mustn’t have weapons, my explanation of why we need a Protector didn’t satisfy the judges. Odd, because I only said what the books did, with just one idea of my own to show I could think.”
Gar, frowning, said, “That’s odd. What was your reasoning?”
“Why,” said the reeve’s man, “that we needed a Protector to protect us from kings and noblemen, who might too easily grow weak and corrupt, because they inherited their titles and power instead of earning them, so didn’t know their true value.”
“Good as far as you went,” Gar said judiciously, “but you ignored the reason why there must be a head of state in the first place.”
“Oh?” The guard frowned dangerously. “Why is that?”
“Why, because without a head of state, the reeves and magistrates would keep things running along, but their superiors would wrangle and debate and never decide anything. After a while, they’d grow so frustrated that they’d order their armies to take the field against each other, and as their men killed one another off, they’d conscript peasants out of the field, then more peasants, and more, until there was no one left to raise crops—and famine would stalk the land. Then the few peasants who were left would charge the armies, crazy with hunger, and die fighting—and the whole commonwealth would collapse and dissolve.”
The guard shuddered. “You paint a horrifying picture, sir, but you may well be right. What you’re saying, though, is that a government without a head is no government at all.”
Miles looked up, alert—the guard had called Gar “sir.”
“You can make a good case for it, yes,” Gar said. “I’d hate to try it in practice just to find out, though.”
“Wouldn’t we all! But why are you and your bailiff disguised as reeve’s soldiers, sir, and your clerk as a peasant? For you must be a magistrate yourself, to have such knowledge!”
“Not yet,” Gar assured him. “I’ve been studying during my free hours, and haven’t taken the examinations. I was about to, I’ll admit, and my reeve encouraged me—but this order came a week before I was set to go.”
The guard turned away, his mouth working, and swallowed hard—to keep curses in, Miles guessed, and felt sorry for the man; those curses would fester, and ruin his health. When he turned back, his face was grim. “You must have been sorely disappointed, sir.”
“Not altogether.” Gar smiled easily. “There are examination stations in Milton, after all.”
The guard stared, then burst into laughter. As it eased, he nodded, wiping his eyes. “Oh, yes, there are, many examination stations indeed! What a surprise you’ll hand them, on your first leave!” He sobered suddenly. “You don’t suppose your reeve reported your training to the minister, and he ordered you to Milton so you’d be handy for assignment when you passed your examinations?”
“That would be pleasant,” Gar said, straight-faced, “but surely it would be too much to hope for. Still, friend, if I’ve done it, you can, too—and do it again and again until you finally pass.”
“Yes, they can’t keep me from taking the examinations, can they?” The guard’s voice grew hard. “An inspector-general might come by in disguise, talk to the townsfolk, then demand to see the examiners’ records, and if he found a man had come to take the examinations and been turned away, he’d report it to the Protector himself—and the Protector would fly into a rage if he heard of it. Yes, thank you, sir. There is still hope, isn’t there?”
“A great deal,” Gar said. “Back to the books with you! Go study!”
“That I will! Pass, sir, and good luck to you!”
“And to you,” Gar returned, and rode on.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Miles let out a very long breath.
“It wasn’t that hard to fake this time, Miles,” Gar told him, “not once he told me about the examinations, and thought I was a magistrate because I knew enough to pass them.”
“You surely do!” Miles exclaimed. “You mean that was all guesswork? You sounded as though you knew!”
“I didn’t actually lie about anything except my imaginary reeve—and the rest wasn’t hard to guess. Besides, I’ve given him hope.”
“Hope that will be dashed, sir,” Miles said bitterly. “Unless you’re really brilliant, there’s no chance that the magistrates will let you pass the examinations and do one of their own sons out of a place.”
Dirk looked up, surprised. “Is that a fact?” Miles shrugged. “Everybody knows it, sir.”
“It could be just a rumor,” Gar said slowly, “started by a few failures making excuses.”
“Or it could be true,” Dirk countered. “Nepotism will out. It wouldn’t be the first time civil-service officials have made sure that only their own sons would succeed them.”
“The human drive to protect and foster their children is a very good thing, within limits,” Gar protested. “It’s just that it goes beyond those limits very easily.” He turned to Miles. “So you’re governed by a Protector who makes all the laws and orders his ministers to enforce them—and each minister gives orders to his own set of reeves, who each commands a few hundred magistrates.”