“I can’t have a highly trained agent stopped by a feeble old magistrate, can I?” Orgoru returned the smile.
“No, and you can’t stop, either,” Dirk told him. “Up into the carriage with you.”
As Orgoru climbed, Nathan came running up the southern road from his sentry post. “Horses! The Greenthorpe party must have gotten impatient!”
“Or can’t see their milestones,” Dirk said dryly. “You ride escort, Nathan. I’d better keep His Nibs here, until you boys get back.” He reached up to clasp Orgoru’s hand. “Good luck!”
“Thank you,” Orgoru said fervently; then sat back, his heart pounding, as Miles started the horses.
They came to the trio from Greenthorpe in only a few hundred yards. The Greenthorpers reined in, and Miles drew the carriage to a halt. Orgoru, his heart in his mouth, gave them a smile that he hoped had just the right degree of condescension. “Are you the men from Greenthorpe?”
“Aye, Your Honor,” one of the watchmen saluted.
“I am Magistrate Flound. Will you escort me to my new post?”
“We’ll be delighted, Your Honor!”
Ryan climbed down off the box and came around to the side of the carriage. “Farewell, Magistrate. You’ve been a good master to me.”
They reenacted the scene they had just watched the real Flound play out, then turned their mounts, Miles on the spare horse, and rode away.
“Onward, goodmen,” Orgoru said with a genial smile, and leaned back as his new coachman drove him off to the biggest sham of his life.
The carriage stopped in front of the courthouse, and the coachman hopped to open the door. Orgoru climbed down, smiling his thanks, and followed the man to the doorway, where a portly man in a bailiff’s short robe waited.
“Bailiff Tundro, may I present Magistrate Flound.”
“Greetings, Your Honor.” The bailiff gave him a little bow. “Welcome to Greenthorpe.”
Something within Orgoru thrilled to that. “Greetings, bailiff, and thank you for your welcome. Please introduce me to the rest of the staff.”
Tundro looked slightly surprised, probably at the word “please,” but led Orgoru inside and introduced him to the servants, who insisted on laying out a light supper, then drawing his bath.
Bathed, fed, and thoroughly scared, Orgoru locked himself in the library, hauled down the first volume in the Code of Laws, and started speed-reading frantically.
CHAPTER 16
Thus Orgoru was the first to become a magistrate, and stalled during the day while he read law books frantically at night, to learn the updates for the last few hundred years. When he was sure of procedure, he started catching up on business and getting to know the people. He was aware that he only had six months to find a wife and marry. But the people seemed to accept him, and though his clerk gave him a raised eyebrow on occasion and had to fix his mistakes fairly frequently, the staff seemed to accept him as genuine, and after the first few weeks, he began to calm down. Still, a terrible homesickness overwhelmed him every night, homesickness for Voyagend and the other cured inmates who had become his friends in reality as well as delusion.
After the first month, though, he had a very pleasant surprise. At the end of the court session, the bailiff told him, “There are two people newly come to Greenthorpe, Your Honor, a merchant and his sister. They wish to file a complaint against a neighbor, for their father died a month ago, and the neighbor laid claim to half the goods in their warehouse.” Orgoru sighed; he hadn’t really learned much about business, and would have to trust to common sense. Besides, he’d already found out that if you just asked enough questions, people frequently answered their own while answering yours. “Very well. I’ll meet them in the study. Please tell Varjis to bring tea.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Orgoru went into the library, threw himself down in a leather-covered chair, and sighed: He hadn’t realized that being a magistrate involved so much work. Then the door opened, and he looked up—to see Jules, the erstwhile King Longar, and Gilda!
He couldn’t help himself; he stared, and surely Bailiff Tundro must have noticed it before he said, “Merchant Ruhle and his sister Gilda.”
Orgoru recovered and forced a bland smile. “Sit down, won’t you? Thank you, Tundro.”
“Of course, Your Honor.”
Orgoru was sure Tundro’s sharp eyes hadn’t missed anything, but for the moment, he didn’t care. He bolted from his chair and caught Gilda in a bear hug. “Oh, thank you, thank you, my friends! It’s so good to see you, so good!” He let her go and turned to pump Jules’s hand. “Thank you a thousand times!”
“We couldn’t let you languish by yourself any longer,” Gilda said, “so we trumped up an excuse to visit.”
“Sit down, sit down!” Orgoru suited the action to the word, gesturing at chairs. “Be comfortable! Tell me, what news from home?” His eyes widened as he heard himself call Voyagend “home,” but it really was, far more than the village in which he’d grown up.
“All goes well,” Jules told him, “though very busily. The minstrels are sending back lists of which magistrates will be transferred when, and Gar has driven Miles crazy by setting him to keep records of each of them, then choosing which man to send to replace which magistrate. Every week we send out two more men to become officials, and three or four women to find ways to marry genuine magistrates, or to take positions as nurses that will help them subvert soldiers.” He grinned. “It’s quite a hive of activity, I can tell you.”
“And the magistrates they send back, the real ones?” Orgoru asked, with a bit of guilt.
“They’re furious, which means they’re well in every other way,” Gilda told him. “Gar has sent them all to live in that great long block of a building that is all living apartments, and appointed Bade—you remember, the former Duke of Despres?”
“Of course.” Orgoru nodded vigorously. “Surely Bade isn’t going to be head jailer, not with his hatred of officials!”
“He has more reason to dislike them than most of us,” Jules admitted, “considering what they did to his family. But the Guardian wouldn’t let him mistreat them even if he planned to, and his hatred will keep him vigilant to make sure none escape.”
The door opened, and the maid came in with a tea cart.
“I really don’t think the man has reason enough to hate you,” Orgoru said. “Can’t he understand healthy competition between businessmen?”
They gave him blank stares, then realized he had switched topics to the official reason for their being there. “He seems to be one of those who has to win at all costs,” Jules said, “and takes any competition as a personal attack.”
“Yes, that will do nicely, thank you,” Orgoru said to the maid, who curtsied and left, closing the door behind her.
Gilda caught her breath. “You do that so well! Just like a real magistrate!”
“I am a real magistrate,” Orgoru said, “or at least, I have to think that way, or I’ll fail completely.”
Jules frowned, concerned. “Be careful, Orgoru.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t fall back into delusion.” Orgoru looked about him and grimaced. “Believe me, if I were going to, I wouldn’t choose this!”
“Being a lord was so much more pleasing.” Gilda handed him a filled cup.
Orgoru stared at it in surprise. “Forgive me! I should have poured.”
“There’s certainly no need.” She handed a cup to Jules, then poured one for herself, set down the pot, then looked up past Orgoru’s shoulder. “Oh! What a lovely garden!”