“Do you think Tabaea knows?”
“She couldn’t—she wouldn’t wear it if she knew.”
“Maybe someone’s played a trick on her?”
“That’s one very risky trick to play on a known murderer and self-proclaimed empress!”
The speakers had no way of knowing that Tabaea, with her stolen abilities, could hear every word they said. She flushed angrily, but continued her procession, up onto the dais. With each step she considered what, if anything, she should do to Jandin; the wardrobe mistress had not suggested the dress, but she had not said anything against it when Tabaea had pulled it out, either. And she had put it in the trunk in the first place, hadn’t she?
But on the other hand, Tabaea realized that this incident might well determine the whole tenor of her reign, whether she was seen as a ruthless tyrant or a merciful and generous benefactor. She had heard those courtiers call her a “known murderer,” and she didn’t like it. That was not the image she wanted.
Therefore, when she reached the dais, she turned and announced, “Welcome, my people!”
No one answered; no one knew what reply was expected.
“The brutal reign of the heirs of Anaran is ended!” Tabaea announced. “Today we begin a new era of justice and mercy! I hereby decree an end to slavery in this city; all slaves in Ethshar of the Sands are to be freed immediately! I decree forgiveness for those who have been driven to crime by the cruelty of my predecessors; all prisoners in the dungeons are likewise to be freed immediately! I decree that the brutal oppression of innocents by the city guard is to cease immediately; all guardsmen are to surrender their swords and are hereby charged with finding food and lodging for all those who have been forced to take shelter in the Wall Street Field! I decree that those who serve me shall be paid according to their true worth, and that for the present, that shall be assumed to be twice whatever my foul predecessor, the so-called overlord, saw fit to pay them!” “She’s mad,” a courtier muttered, “completely mad!” “No!” Tabaea shouted. “I am not mad!” She leaped from the dais and marched across the room, a pointing finger thrust out before her.
The courtiers parted, and she confronted the man who had dared to speak.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
The man bowed. “Lord Sancha, Minister of the Port,” he said. “At Your Majesty’s service.” “Minister of the Port?” Tabaea asked. “I have that honor, Your Majesty.” “Not anymore,” Tabaea said. She laughed. “Sancha is no name for a portmaster, in any case. You’re now Sancha the Fool, and your job is to entertain me with your foolishness.” She had heard of such things in old tales about the Small Kingdoms; she had no idea whether Ethshar had ever had a court jester before, and she didn’t much care. It had one now.
“As Your Majesty wills,” Sancha said, bowing more deeply— much more deeply, an exaggerated, absurd bow.
Tabaea smiled. He was taking to his new post already. She reached out and grabbed his nose, then turned and led him to the dais. Those watching assumed that Lord Sancha was playing along as he followed, struggling wildly to keep his nose from injury; they had no idea just how strong Tabaea actually was. She was, in fact, hauling Sancha against his will, and the process was quite painful. She pushed him to the floor beside the throne, then sat down.
“It seems we need a new Minister of the Port,” she said, “and undoubtedly there are other posts to be filled, as well, as I understand many of the officials of the city chose to depart with old Ederd. Fortunately, I brought some people to fill these vacated positions.” She waved at the motley group that had followed her from Grandgate; some were still in their own ragged clothing, while others had plundered the palace and put on newer, cleaner, and better domes. Some were dressed splendidly, others ineptly; the result was a far more mixed group than the original rags had produced, and a far more mixed group than the more uniform and sedate crowd left from the overlord’s court.
“Now, if you’ll come forward, one at a time, and tell me who you are,” Tabaea said, “we’ll see if we can’t put together a better government than this city has ever seen before!”
CHAPTER 29
At first glance, Harbor Street appeared unchanged—but upon a closer look, Sarai noticed differences. Windows were broken, buildings blackened by smoke, and walls chipped by blades and flying debris. Dark stains could still be seen in the dirt. And several businesses, perhaps the majority, were closed, although it was full daylight.
At least there weren’t any bodies or other remains; someone had cleaned up after the fighting, clearing away the dead and wounded, dropped weapons, broken glass, and the rest.
Even so, the journey impressed upon Sarai that Tabaea had done real damage to Ethshar of the Sands. She arrived at the Guildhouse in a very somber and thoughtful mood indeed.
Someone she didn’t know opened the door to her knock, and showed the three of them, Sarai and Kelder and Alorria, into the parlor. Alorria inquired after Tobas, and was promptly led away; Kelder and Sarai waited in uncomfortable silence for a second or two before Mereth, rumpled and worried, came to welcome them.
“How many died?” Sarai asked Mereth, after only the most perfunctory greetings.
“I don’t know,” Mereth said. “I don’t think anyone’s counted. At least, no one here; I suppose Lord Torrut knows.”
“Where is Lord Torrut, then?”
Mereth shrugged. “I don’t know, Lady Sarai. In hiding somewhere, probably—or perhaps he’s holed up in the barracks towers; so far, almost all of the city guard has remained loyal to him.”
Lady Sarai looked around at the parlor, which had continued undisturbed by Serem’s murder, by the house’s usurpation by the Wizards’ Guild, by the overthrow of the city government. The animated plant still fanned the air endlessly.
She shooed away a spriggan and then settled slowly onto a divan embroidered with pink and green flowers.
“Is that wise?” she asked.
Mereth blinked, puzzled. “Is what wise?”
“I take it that Lord Torrut is still resisting,” Sarai said, “even though Tabaea’s in the palace and the overlord has fled.”
“Well, he isn’t actually fighting anymore,” Mereth said, seating herself in a nearby armchair, “but I’m sure he isn’t taking orders from her.”
“And I wonder if that’s wise,” Sarai said. “Maybe we should just let her govern and not damage the city further.”
“But she’s a murderer!” Mereth protested, “and a thief, a burglar! And she’s... wizards aren’t allowed in government.”
“Is she a wizard?” Sarai asked. “She’s not a member of the Guild.”
“She’s a magician, and she’s something like a wizard, and the Guild doesn’t want any magicians interfering in politics. It’s dangerous. It’s a bad precedent.”
“Then perhaps it’s the job of the Wizards’ Guild to remove her,” Lady Sarai said. “I don’t see any reason to throw away more lives trying to depose her. And whether we like it or not, at the moment she is the ruler of Ethshar of the Sands, and she can’t rule without the city guard—the guard is what gives the government authority, and no one can run the city without it. I think perhaps Lord Torrut should reconsider.”
“I don’t,” Mereth said. “Maybe if she finds out that she can’t run the city she’ll pack up and leave.”
“Somehow, I doubt she’ll do that,” Sarai replied. “And who’s to say that she can’t be a good ruler? It’s not as if Ederd was chosen by the gods, or worked his way up to be overlord; he just happened to be born right.”