The Lost War by Karl Gallagher (novel24 .txt) 📗

“I didn’t do it!”

Constable recovered faster than the royal guards. “It’s all right, son. I apologize. I wanted to test you. You have a strong gift. You just need to learn to use it on purpose instead of in a panic.”

Sparrow stared at him in confusion. “What gift?”

“You brought the lightning, lad. Shocked me. And them. You can be gentle with it, that’s why your gadget has power. Go home. Think about it. Test what you can do. Go.”

A by-stander handed the boy his iPod. He vanished among the tents.

“Lightning?” asked Lady Burnout in a skeptical tone.

“Electricity,” answered Constable. “Felt just like the taser hit I took in training.”

“Damn fool thing to do with the shape your heart is in.”

With her help he stood up. “Weren’t you wishing for a defibrillator? I found you one. He’ll just need to train up.”

She snorted. “That’s what, the third one now?”

“The third we’ve noticed, aye. More useful than the girl who makes birds fly in little circles.”

Three Weeks After Arrival

Shellbutton passed out bits of baked vineroot as the members of House Applesmile dressed. No matter how hungry they were at dinner they’d learned to save some for morning so they wouldn’t have to work on an empty belly.

“Mandatory populace meeting! All subjects report to court at once! Mandatory populace meeting!” The bellower continued as he walked down the lane, barely audible through the tent wall.

Pinecone asked, “What the hell?”

“I don’t know,” answered Sweetbread. “Get your shoes on so we can go find out.”

Newman hefted his bow. “Should I leave this here? I want to head out for a hunt when this thing is over.”

“Bring it. There’ll be plenty of swords there.”

House Applesmile found themselves stuck behind the Wolfheads. The fighters weren’t marching in step but they walked in formation, making it clear they were a unit.

Wolfhead Alpha drifted back until he walked next to Master Sweetbread. “Did you talk to him?”

“Yes. Found him quite sane and sensible for a heavy fighter.”

“What did he say about how the Court’s acting?”

“Not much. But he’s unhappy about it. Being a guest here limits what he can say.”

“Guest, hell,” muttered Alpha. “We’re all permanent residents.”

“If we have wide support he’ll back us, I’m sure of it. I’ll talk to more household heads tonight. Can you sound out the knights? Two or three would be enough.”

“Yes.” Wolfhead Alpha would have said more but they’d arrived.

The lawn in front of the Court pavilion was packed with people. A few were trickling in, urged on by a royal guard. One man was rubbing his arm.

A herald boomed, “Court shall commence when all are in attendance.”

There was thrashing and bumping going on behind them. A man shouted, “Dammit, I was on watch all night, I deserve some sleep! Ow!”

He staggered out of his tent, followed by two royal guards. He joined the crowd without further fuss.

More noise made it clear the royal guards were searching every tent. They found two more night workers and a woman who couldn’t walk unassisted. She was carried to Court in a chair.

The monarchs took their seats. Newman noticed the visiting monarchs, Ironhelm and Dahlia, had been shifted to the edge of the pavilion. The space around the ruling monarchs King Estoc and Queen Camellia was filled with gaudy courtiers and half-armored knights.

There was none of the usual ceremony. Autocrat Sharpquill stood forward and reeled off six names to present themselves. Only Thistle the food thief stood.

“I recognize them,” said Pernach. “It’s all the guys on the shit-hauling detail.”

“Thistle! Where are your co-workers?” demanded the Autocrat.

“I don’t know. They don’t talk to me.”

Sharpquill’s sternest glare didn’t elicit more. He waved Thistle back down. “Does anyone know where Cockleburr is?”

A young woman, plain of face and garb, timidly raised her hand.

“Speak, lass,” ordered the Autocrat.

She stood. “I don’t know about Cockleburr. But last night Sharpaxe told me he and some friends were going off to start a camp of their own. He invited me along but I’m afraid of the woods.”

“I’m surprised it took so long,” muttered Pernach. Pinecone nodded.

Under pressure from the Autocrat others confessed to seeing the five ‘sanitation workers’ leave. When the night shift gate guards confirmed seeing the departure the Autocrat snarled, “And you let them?”

“Nobody said not to,” said one guard, a Wolfhead named Whippet.

“I thought we were there to keep dangerous stuff out,” protested the other.

Some people in the crowd laughed.

Master Sharpquill pivoted to face the center of the crowd. “Anybody who thinks this is funny best stop using the privies. Keeping them clean and empty is the only thing between us and a dysentery epidemic. If that happens we’re likely finished. We’re still partly living off food we brought with us. If half our people are down sick and the rest tending them we’ll starve.”

The crowd was silent now.

“Sanitation duty is important. Workers have been evading it by transferring to other jobs. I’m switching them back.” The Autocrat pulled a rolled-up paper from his sleeve.

Pernach and Pinecone were the first names called.

Master Forge popped to his feet. “My lord Autocrat, I cannot work steel by burning wood. I need charcoal. Those two are the only two making it.”

“Very well.” The next two names Sharpquill read produced an explanation from Master Chisel of how the stakes and fittings carved by them were essential for freeing up metal ones for Master Forge to turn into the tools they needed.

So it went with the rest of the Autocrat’s list. Every man escaping the privy detail had found a noble protector.

“Dammit, somebody has to do the work,” said the exasperated Autocrat.

A voice from the crowd called, “Put the fighters to work. All that