The watchman frowned. “This man accuses you of turning his vegetables bad.”
“And he did!” the peasant cried. “Would I have set out from Latruria with a cartful of vegetables that were not sound? What could I hope to get for them?”
The same as any con man hopes for, Matt thought, but aloud he said, “There! See? You’ve heard it yourself! His vegetables are sound!”
“Were sound!” the peasant brayed. “Were sound, until you came to finger each one and bewitch it!”
“That’s nonsense!” Matt grabbed a turnip, muttering,
It wasn’t much of a verse, but improvisation had never been Matt’s strong point. He had started it with a folk song, though, so it should have some effect. And it did-the bad spot on the side of the turnip diminished and disappeared even as he thrust it under the watchman’s nose. “There! See? No rot! And this one!” He put the turnip back and pulled out a dingy parsnip. As soon as he touched it, the root began to look distinctly healthier, and by the time it reached the watchman, it was positively glowing with vitamins. “Not a spot of decay! Try a carrot!” Matt turned back to the booth and noticed that the Vegetable Revivification Project was spreading out in a circular wave, just as he had ordered. He grabbed a limp carrot for show and held it up. “Fresh and crisp as if it had just been pulled.” And sure enough, it was. “It would seem that is not the only thing being pulled.” The watchman shouldered past him, glaring at the vendor. “We’ve too much to do to have you wasting our time on pranks, peasant!”
“I beg your worships’ pardon.“ The peasant bowed, trying to restrain a gleeful smile. ”I must have been mistaken; no doubt it was just the one turnip he was fingering that was bad.“
“Another false alarm, and we will be fingering you” the watchman promised, and turned away to join his mates, grumbling. Matt chose the course of prudence and followed them away from the booth before the peasant could try to blackmail him as a sorcerer-because the whole load of vegetables had been about as bad as you could get and still be marginally edible. Not that Matt had anything to fear, of course-he just couldn’t retaliate without blowing his cover. So he followed the Watch, seething, because the man who had made trouble for him was going to make a lot more money than he would have if he hadn’t gone picking on Matt. The Lord Wizard hated to see vice rewarded. No, be honest-he hated to lose. For a moment, he was tempted to recite another quick verse and turn all the peasant’s produce to mold and mildew, but he resisted the temptation-petty revenge wasn’t worth it. Besides, using magic for hurt, rather than benefit, was the first step on the road toward black magic, and Matt didn’t dare go that route. The Devil had too many grudges to settle with him. It was just lucky for him that magic in Merovence worked by verse. How else could an English major have made a living? Matt had been looking forward to a quiet, inoffensive, and unrewarding existence as an impoverished graduate student, about to graduate to an impoverished instructorship, when Saint Moncaire of Merovence had plucked him off his college campus and into an alternate universe where he was needed to help unseat a usurper and put the rightful queen back on the throne. It helped that he had fallen in love with that rightful queen and, after proving to her that marrying him was the best policy for her country, managed to take her to the altar. But it had been two years since the wedding, and they still didn’t have any children. Matt couldn’t help feeling that he must be doing something wrong-and in Merovence, doing something wrong could have very serious consequences. Consequences such as going to the fair and being accused of witchcraft, for all the wrong reasons. Matt finally managed a smile as he saw the irony in getting out of a charge of black magic by working white magic-all magic in this universe worked by the power of Good, or the power of Evil. Somehow, Matt had a notion the peasant could appreciate the humor of it, too. He wondered how he had gotten himself into such a fix. Of course, he hadn’t, exactly-Queen Alisande had helped a lot. She had received reports of discontent along the border between Merovence and its neighbor to the south, Latruria-discontent that seemed to have its roots in rumors of fine living in a country that had, only five years before, been mired in poverty. Matt remembered his frustration at trying to find something more substantial in the way of information. “Isn’t there anything a little more specific?” he asked Alisande. “A boost in the gross national product, maybe? An increase in capital investment? Subsidies and price supports, maybe?”
Alisande made an impatient gesture. “Speak clearly, Matthew. Terms such as these are only for wizards.”
Matt was tempted to agree with her, but he tried to translate anyway. “Are Latruria’s farmers having better harvests all of a sudden? Are her craftsmen making more carts and wagons? Are they building more new hovels?”
“I do not know,” Alisande said, “nor do my informants. They speak only of rumors of better living - aye, even better than here in Merovence.”
Matt frowned. “Thought you had done pretty well at boosting the standard of living, and in less than ten years, too.”
“I had hoped so,” Alisande admitted, “but these rumors do make me wonder. How have they come into Merovence? Has this new King Boncorro sent agents to spread discontent among my people?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past a sorcerer-king. Of course,” Matt amended, “we don’t know that he is a sorcerer-but his grandfather was, and his father died from too much goodness, if your spies had the story right. So it would make sense for Boncorro to be a sorcerer, too.”
“Certainly we have had no word that he is saintly,” Alisande agreed, “and until we have such, we must assume he is a pawn of Hell, as was his grandfather before him. Certainly the fruits of these rumors are such as would please the Devil-our serfs are growing quarrelsome and fractious, and more indolent in their farming.”
“Which makes for a smaller harvest, and that makes them grumble all the harder,” Matt said dryly. “How is the nobility taking it?”
“The elders are only concerned, as of yet-but they are concerned even more about their children.”
“The younger generation is getting rebellious, huh?”
Alisande frowned. “An odd notion-and no, I would not say they challenge their parents, though I hear they do become surly and contentious.”
“How about ‘insolent’ and ‘impertinent’?“
“Then you have heard these reports!”
“No, but I’ve worked with kids.” For a moment, Matt felt a very irrational urge to go back to teaching college. Maybe if he founded the first University of Merovence… NO! Temptations were to be resisted! “I take it the young noblemen are becoming moody and defiant?”
“Aye, and the young noblewomen, too.”
“Why not?”Matt reflected that discontent was very egalitarian-it was no respecter of rank or sex. “Any particular reason?”
“Nay.” Alisande frowned, gazing out the high, narrow windows of her solar at the gardens below. “The only clear issue seems to be that they are cozening and wheedling and demanding that their parents send them to my court.”