Anari, Harian, and Sister Woodra shook their heads at this optimism, but Manford raised his voice. “I’ve seen the worth of Mentat trainees. Alys Carroll and her comrades survived the seduction of technology, and now they are better for it … but the graduates must think properly. The Mentat academy must only teach appropriate lessons. No matter what happens, I’ll need to impose changes.”
“We’ll bring the whole population of Lampadas to besiege the school. That will make the Mentats quake behind their walls,” Anari said, and he had no doubt that she could do exactly that.
“No need for that yet. Such a huge group of followers setting up camp in the swamplands would be … unwieldy,” he said. “Bring your Swordmasters and five hundred Butlerian soldiers. That should be more than enough.”
“We’ll set out within a day,” Anari promised.
Manford realized that this crisis could be a pivotal point for his movement, and he had to mitigate the damage that had already been done. If weak spots appeared among the faithful, some of his followers would lose their resolve when VenHold kept dangling the so-called advantages of forbidden technology in front of their faces. Manford didn’t dare fail.
Gilbertus might have to serve as an example. A lesson.
“We’ll take over the school and salvage what we can,” he said. “We shall reprogram the errant human computers.”
Chapter 63 (In any major conflict, each side fights for its own cause)
In any major conflict, each side fights for its own cause — a belief system they consider worth dying for. Alas, there is not an objective, omnipotent arbiter who can simply decide the merits of each issue and put them to rest without bloodshed, thereby rendering armed conflict obsolete.
— GILBERTUS ALBANS, Conversations with Erasmus
The observant Mentat scouts gave Gilbertus Albans six hours’ advance warning of the approaching Butlerian force. He was not surprised to see the army on its way.
“I am always reassured when my Mentat projections prove to be accurate,” Gilbertus said to the robot’s memory core. “This time, though, I am saddened to be correct.”
Erasmus said, “The behavior of fanatics is extreme and irrational. Therefore, it is a paradox that they are so utterly predictable.”
Gilbertus could still retreat into his Memory Vault and identify the critical points where a different choice would have changed his fate, but that was a self-indulgent, time-wasting exercise. Perhaps he should have taken the robot’s advice and disappeared years ago. By establishing the Mentat School, he had cultivated a method of training that altered the very foundation of human thought — surely that was enough of an accomplishment for one person? It was too late now.…
Gilbertus donned his Headmaster robe and applied aging makeup to maintain appearances. “I am going to observe from the battlements. Stay safe here, and hidden.”
“I’ll be observing.” With his network of secret spy-eyes, Erasmus would see more than anyone else in the institution.
Preparing the defenses, the Mentat students had walled themselves into the compound, closed and secured the gates, drawn up the connector bridges, and checked all of the electronic systems, both aboveground and underwater. Thanks to their survival exercises, the trainees knew labyrinthine safe paths through the swamp, where any misstep would cause disaster. They were brave, wise, and imaginative — but not combat trained.
When Gilbertus stepped onto the decks that overlooked the surrounding marshlands, he saw that Manford had brought hundreds of armed followers. They came crowded on vehicles, rolling along the rugged road that became even more challenging when it reached the waterlogged ground. Most appeared to be mere footsoldiers, but he also spotted a number of elite Swordmaster fighters, including Anari Idaho.
The Butlerians thronged across the uncertain terrain. Some were piled aboard amphibious vehicles that could be used as attack boats on the marsh-lake side of the school, while other vehicles would approach the high walls around the entrance. Perhaps Manford Torondo would be cautious, perhaps he would be brash and confident. He often exhibited chaotic behavior.
As they stopped at the main gates, Swordmaster Anari Idaho placed Manford into his saddle on her shoulders and stepped forward, carrying him to the barrier. The legless leader shouted up to the closed gate, “Headmaster Albans! I understand you wish to have a philosophical discussion with me.”
From his high observation deck, Gilbertus looked down at his opponent. “You brought a great many people for a philosophical debate. Are they all trained in rhetoric?”
“They provide moral support.”
Gilbertus knew this was simply a dance of words and would accomplish nothing. Nevertheless, he played it out, gleaning small details, assessing the mood of the Butlerians, studying their behavior. “I’ve known you for years, Leader Torondo. You have enough intelligence to hold your own in a discussion. I will invite you and your Swordmaster inside so we can debate. These other spectators are not invited.”
Anari turned her head and said something quickly to Manford, but he rested a reassuring hand on the side of her face, tenderly stroking her close-cropped hair. He shouted back up to the wall, “Why aren’t my followers welcome in your school? If you won’t let them accompany me, then I suggest you come down here. Open the gates and talk with me, face-to-face.”
“If I come out alone, do you absolutely guarantee my safety?”
“God will guarantee your safety.”
“I prefer a more direct commitment from you,” Gilbertus said. “I’m not one who can demand guarantees from God.”
“We could destroy your school at any time,” Manford taunted, “just as we ransacked Baridge and burned down the old Suk School on Salusa Secundus. But the Emperor’s sister is with you, and Anna Corrino must be kept safe — in our custody.”
“She will be safe so long as your followers don’t ransack the school,” Gilbertus said. “And if you refuse to guarantee my safety when I come to speak with you, then you will have a long wait.”
Gilbertus knew that if he opened the secure gates, the Butlerians would surge forward, not caring how many students they sacrificed to get to him. He decided a siege was preferable to an invasion, or his personal surrender.
Realizing they were at an impasse, Manford withdrew, without any parting comment.
THE BUTLERIANS HAD brought a supply train with them and worked like drones to set up camp, laying down tarpaulins in the soft swamplands, erecting simple shelters, preparing food from cook wagons. They were ready to be here for days, weeks, months.
On the second night, Anari Idaho circled though the swamp with three of her fellow Swordmasters, scouting the imposing school. She had been trained as a Swordmaster on Ginaz, and had learned to fight in difficult environments, but even the rugged Ginaz islands were not such a festering set of dangers as this soggy, uncertain ground.
Alys Carroll and other faithful Mentat trainees had warned about the hazards and predators around the school, but Anari disregarded the worries of mere contemplators. She and her companions scouted for vulnerabilities in the darkness, looking for ways to break into the defiant Mentat School, all the while ready with their swords to fight any swamp predators that challenged them. Her group slipped around the tangled trees, weaving their way into the sangrove morass that was closest to the school. Wearing headbands with dim lights, they splashed through the shallow water, which rarely rose above their shins.
But Anari had underestimated the treacherous terrain. She was so alert for swamp dragons and spotted cats that she paid little attention to the glimmer of silver that flickered through the water channels. The voracious fish swept around their legs — and then bit. Razorjaws!