Distopia (Land of Dis) Page 16

  Glindeen regarded Tobalt as if he had just vomited a hairball onto the carpet. She turned to Wyngalf. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Could you tell me what your goblin is babbling on about?”

  Wyngalf answered, “He’s asking why you bother with the secrecy if Verne knows all about the petition process.”

  “Oh!” said Glindeen. “We thought it would be nice if it were a surprise.”

  “It will have more punch if he doesn’t see it coming,” Dwalen explained. “He’ll be all like, ‘Wow, where did that come from?’”

  “When he sees how serious we are,” Hendrick added, “we’re confident he’ll adopt some changes in his methods.”

  Evena was still speechless. Tobalt simply shook his head. “And if he doesn’t?” asked Wyngalf.

  “Well,” said Glindeen, trading glances with Hendrick and Dwalen. “We were hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but some of us have been talking about organizing another burn-in. Dwalen is part of a musical theater troupe, and he can get us some makeup.”

  “We’re dead,” murmured Evena. “Verne is going to torture us to death.”

  “Don’t be silly, dear,” said Glindeen. “Verne doesn’t torture people. The absolute worst he’ll do to you is slowly burn you to death, one layer of flesh at a time.”

  “That’s a fairly subtle distinction,” said Tobalt. Glindeen ignored him.

  “This is insane,” said Wyngalf. “You understand that Verne is a murdering psychopath, right? He’s not going to stop his reign of terror because you hand him a sheet of paper! When you invited us here, we assumed you had some plan for stopping Verne. A way to kill him, or—”

  Gasps of shock arose from the group.

  “Kill Verne!” Glindeen exclaimed. “My goodness, now you sound like that lunatic Orbrecht. I’m sorry if you’ve misunderstood our purpose here, but that isn’t the sort of group we’re running. We believe in working for change within the system.”

  “The system that Verne set up,” said Evena.

  “Listen to me, dear,” said Glindeen, the amicable tone in her voice having turned harsh. “We’ve been in Skaal City a lot longer than you three. We’ve seen the terrible things Verne has done. But we’ve also seen the good that he does. Sure, he incinerates a ship once in a while, but ninety-nine times out of a hundred, ships depart from that port without incident. And frankly, If you hadn’t gone aboard without proper documentation—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Evena. “I was fleeing for my life.”

  “Because you antagonized Verne,” said Glindeen. “Don’t get me wrong; I admire the way you stood up to him. But that resistance has to be directed through the proper channels. It’s pointless to try to confront Verne directly. And have you thought of what would happen if you succeeded? Let’s suppose we all go home, get our hands on whatever weapons we can find, and all confront Verne at once. Let’s further suppose that by some miracle Verne is actually cowed by our demonstration of solidarity, and he flees to his lair in the Kovac Mountains, never to be seen again. Then what?”

  “I don’t understand the question,” said Evena.

  “Well, have you thought about what Skaal City would look like after Verne is no longer in control? He’s been the ultimate authority in this region for as long as anybody can remember. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if he were just to disappear?”

  “I suppose there might be some disorder in the short term,” said Evena, “but eventually the people would sort things out.”

  “You have a much higher opinion of ordinary townsfolk than I do,” said Glindeen. “People need order in their lives.”

  “Of course,” Wyngalf interjected. “But there’s no rule that says that order has to be enforced by a fire-breathing dragon!”

  “Actually,” said Dwalen, “there is.” He took the binder from Glindeen, opened it, and pulled another document from under the petition. He held it out for Wyngalf and Evena to see. A heading at the top read:

  RULES FOR SKAAL CITY

  Below this was an enumerated list of twenty-six rules. Dwalen tapped his finger on number eight, which read:

  Order is to be enforced by a fire-breathing dragon.

  “Well,” said Wyngalf, “he’s got you there.”

  “I suppose Verne wrote this as well,” said Evena.

  “Of course,” replied Glindeen. “Look at number twelve, regarding the petitioning of grievances. It’s actually a very well-thought-out system.”

  “I’m sure,” said Evena. “Devised by Verne, with a mind to maximize Verne’s wealth and power.”

  “Not at all,” said Glindeen. “Many of the rules were actually written to provide for the welfare of Skaal City’s residents. For example, number twenty-three: once a year, Verne is required to fly over the city’s slums and drop gold pieces in the streets for the poor. For a lot of those people, that’s the majority of their income for the year. Would you really sentence those people to die just so that you can get rid of Verne?”

  “Okay,” said Wyngalf, “but the amount of gold he gives to the poor of Skaal City has to be a tiny fraction of his total horde—not to mention that the gold he’s distributing was extorted from other citizens in the first place.”

  Hendrick frowned at this. “Can we agree not to use emotionally charged words like ‘extorted?’” he asked.

  Glindeen and Dwalen nodded, and several others murmured their agreement. “Yes,” said Glindeen. “I don’t see the point of such incendiary language.”

  “Incendiary language!” shouted Evena. “We’re talking about an actual fire-breathing dragon who is threatening to burn us alive, and you’re worried about incendiary language?”

  “I’m not sure I like your tone,” said Glindeen.

  “Let’s all try to remain calm,” said Wyngalf. “There has to be a better way to address these problems. What if we went to the mayor and demanded that he stand up to Verne?”

  “Feel free,” said Glindeen, glancing at Dwalen, who smiled sheepishly.

  “You’re the mayor?” asked Wyngalf.

  “That I am,” said Dwalen, “and I have to say, you’re quite right about Verne. I’ve see his uncouth behavior firsthand, and I’m as disappointed as anyone in the current government’s response.”

  “You are the current government!” Evena cried.

  “Yes,” replied Dwalen, “which is why I’m spearheading this petition drive. Well, Glindeen is spearheading it, but I support her spearheading it one hundred percent. I’m sort of an honorary silent co-spearheader.”

  “A coward, in other words,” said Evena.

  “Would a coward personally deliver the petition to Verne?” Dwalen demanded.

  “You’re going to hand the petition to Verne?”

  “Not exactly,” said Dwalen. “I was going to just leave it somewhere he could find it.”

  “But you’re signing it.”

  “It was decided that it would be better if no sitting government officials were directly connected to the petition,” Dwalen explained. “But I support the goals of the petition unreservedly, albeit in an unofficial and behind-the-scenes manner. Please don’t quote me on that.”

  “I think we’re done here,” said Evena.

  She turned and headed toward the door. Wyngalf went after her, followed by Tobalt.

  “So you’re not going to sign the petition?” asked Glindeen.

  Evena and Wyngalf kept walking, but Tobalt stopped and turned to face her. “I’ll sign it,” he said. “If you don’t mind the primitive scribblings of a subhumanoid defacing your petition.”

  “Of course,” said Glindeen. “The petition is open to all our members, regardless of race or other handicap.”

  Tobalt smiled and took the quill from the young woman who was still standing next to Glindeen. Glindeen opened the binder and held it up nervously for Tobalt. He dipped the quill in the ink, and wrote, in a graceful and confident hand:

  Tobalt the Goblin

  “Why, Tobal
t,” gasped Glindeen. “That’s beautiful! You should be so proud of yourself.”

  “Very kind of you to say so,” said Tobalt. “Mastering the skill of calligraphy required me to exert a great deal of effort to overcome the brutish simple-mindedness that is endemic to my race.” Then, after handing the quill back to the woman, he stuck his thumb into the jar of ink and made a giant smudge on the paper next to his name. “Perhaps,” he said, “it is not yet too late for you to do the same.” He turned to follow his friends out the door.

  Fifteen

  “What a joke,” said Evena, as they walked down the street away from the tavern. “Those people have no intention of doing anything about Verne’s reign of terror.”

  “It would appear not,” said Tobalt from behind her. It was unlikely that any of the residents hurrying home in the gathering gloom would notice or care that a goblin was wandering the streets, but Tobalt kept close behind his human companions just in case. Exhausted from the day’s misadventures, the three had decided to return to the Battered Goblin and then get up before sunrise in an attempt to sneak out of the city without alerting any of Verne’s spies. How they were going to manage this was unclear; Wyngalf could only hope that an idea would occur to him in the morning when he had his full wits about him. Leaving by the gate they had arrived through was probably a bad idea, as the city guards were undoubtedly agents of Verne. In fact, Wyngalf realized that was probably the only reason Tobalt had been allowed in the city in the first place: Verne had warned the guards they were coming. It would be much easier to keep track of them if they were inside the walls of Skaal City, where Verne had plenty of spies, rather than wandering around in the wilderness of Dis. Hopefully they could find a place where they could slip over the wall unseen, and then make their way as far north as they could before Verne returned from across the sea.

  They had only made it a few dozen paces from the Alewives Tavern, though, when a man’s voice called to them from behind. They spun around, shuffling Tobalt behind them as quickly as they could. The last thing they needed now was some goblin-hating hooligan to pick a fight with them. But they needn’t have been concerned: the source of the voice was Hendrick, the man who had patted Tobalt’s head at the meeting.

  “I say, hold up!” the man cried, hurrying toward them. The three of them stood and watched as the man approached.

  “If you don’t mind,” said Evena tiredly, “We have a long day of fleeing ahead of us, and we’re not in a mood to listen to any more rubbish from the Society of Saurian Bootlickers.”

  “Seconded,” said Wyngalf. “Peddle your petitions elsewhere, Hendrick.”

  Hendrick halted a few feet from them. “I don’t blame you one bit for your disappointment with SAURIAN,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “In fact, that’s why I came after you.”

  “Explain yourself,” Evena said. “Make it quick.”

  “I’m a spy,” said Hendrick, and Wyngalf’s hand went to his sword. Evena took a step back, and Tobalt bared his pointy teeth. “You misunderstand me!” Hendrick cried. “I’m not a spy for Verne. I secretly work for the true resistance against Verne. An organization called Skaal Merchants Against Saurian Hegemony.”

  The three of them stood for a moment, working out the acronym. “SMASH?” said Wyngalf.

  “Because we want to smash Verne’s grip on Skaal City,” said Hendrick, pounding his right fist into his left palm. “We’re forming an armed resistance to repel Verne’s aggressions against the citizens of this city. I’m on my way to a meeting right now, and I’d love to have you accompany me.”

  Wyngalf and Evena traded glances.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Hendrick. “But our meetings aren’t like SAURIAN’s. We don’t screw around with petitions and pointless demonstrations. We’re serious about fighting Verne. Come with me and you’ll see.”

  Wyngalf regarded him skeptically. “So you’re not just a toothless organization, trying to fight Verne while abiding by rules that Verne himself wrote?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Hendrick. “We believe in a higher law. Human beings were not meant to be subjugated by dragons. We resist Verne not with petitions but with the sword.”

  “We’re not merchants,” said Evena.

  “Oh, that name is a bit of a holdover from our initial membership,” said Hendrick. “Lately we’ve been trying to broaden our appeal beyond the merchant class. Your social status is no barrier to entry, I assure you.”

  “Well,” said Wyngalf, “SMASH certainly sounds better than the other group. But I think we’ve decided we’re better off just getting out of the city as quickly as possible.”

  “SMASH has considerable resources,” said Hendrick, “but if you leave the city we can’t protect you. SMASH is a Skaal-based organization devoted to advancing Skaalian interests. You can’t get away from Verne by fleeing the city. If he wants to find you, he will. Your best bet is to stay here with us.” Seeing that they remained dubious, he added, “Listen, just come with me to this meeting. If you don’t want to join us, you can still leave in the morning. We won’t keep you long.”

  Evena sighed heavily. “I suppose we can spare a few minutes,” she said.

  “I assume that our goblin…” Wyngalf began. “That is, I assume that our friend Tobalt is welcome?”

  Hendrick bit his lip. “I’ll be honest with you. SMASH’s membership includes several veterans of the Frontier Wars, and many of them aren’t keen on goblins. That said, I think that if I tell them how you stood up to Verne in the harbor, they’ll overlook the fact that Tobalt is of an inferior race.”

  “Much obliged for your candidness and consideration,” said Tobalt, with a slight bow. Hendrick smiled and looked for a moment like he was going to pat Tobalt on the head again, but a glare from Tobalt made him reconsider.

  “Would you give us a moment to confer privately?” asked Wyngalf.

  “Of course,” said Hendrick. “But don’t take long. We’re already late.”

  Wyngalf nodded and the three of them huddled together while Hendrick stepped away.

  “Speaking only for myself,” said Tobalt, “I find the unabashed bigotry that evidently characterizes the membership of this coterie to be somewhat refreshing, particularly in light of our distasteful encounter with its rival organization.”

  “I agree,” said Evena. “Hendrick is being much more up front with us about SMASH than Glindeen was about SAURIAN. Maybe these people really can help us. And he’s right, we don’t have much of a chance on our own. Even if we get outside the city without being seen and travel all day tomorrow, Verne will probably find us by sundown.”

  “All right,” said Wyngalf, nodding. “We’ll give them a chance.”

  They informed Hendrick of their decision, and he guided them down the street to a chandler’s shop. Taking a key from behind a loose brick, Hendrick unlocked the door and let them inside. They followed him through the dark store to another door, which opened into a back room where perhaps a score of men and women stood in a room dimly light by lanterns on the walls. This group had a decidedly different feel from the SAURIANs. The attendees were well dressed and neatly coifed, and the meeting itself seemed like a much more ordered affair. Many of the men wore medals and ribbons that identified them as military veterans; the others appeared to be mostly upper class merchants and petty noblemen. Several members of all three contingents turned to glare disapprovingly at Tobalt as the three entered.

  A small, short-haired woman with cold eyes and a terse mouth had been speaking when the door opened, but she stopped and addressed Hendrick. “You’re late, Hendrick,” she said. “And I see you’ve brought some… guests with you.” The way she said the word, it didn’t sound like she ever had guests if she could help it.

  “Apologies for my tardiness, Havartis,” said Hendrick. “And for the surprise guests. But I think you’ll be very interested to hear from them when I tell you who they are.”

  “All right, then,” said the woman, evi
dently named Havartis. “Let’s hear it. You have the floor, Hendrick.”

  Hendrick moved to the head of the room, beckoning for the three companions to follow him. “Hello,” he said to the group, who watched in stern silence. Several of them continued to stare menacingly at Tobalt. “As I think you all know, I was tasked with infiltrating the meetings of our rival group, known as SAURIAN.” Hendrick paused a moment as well-practiced boos and hisses went up from the crowd. “Yes, yes,” he said. “A cowardly and villainous lot, to be sure. I attended their most recent meeting just before arriving here, and as expected, they’re up to their usual tricks. Petitions and demonstrations and whatnot. But there was one interesting development: Glindeen introduced the three individuals you see before you, and attempted to get them to join SAURIAN.” More boos and hisses. “Yes, quite right. Scoundrels, all of them. You’ll be happy to learn, however, that our three friends saw right through Glindeen’s sales pitch, rightly concluding that her organization does little more than grant a veneer of respectability to Verne’s tyranny.”

  “What were they doing at a SAURIAN meeting in the first place?” shouted a man in the back.

  “Order, please!” Havartis snapped.

  “It’s quite all right,” said Hendrick. “I don’t blame you for being suspicious. Evidently, Glindeen witnessed them engaging in a rather bold confrontation with Verne himself at the harbor today. She mistakenly thought they would be sympathetic to the SAURIAN cause, but clearly they have a more realistic notion of the threat we face than she does. When they rebuffed Glindeen’s offer, I went after them and invited them to this meeting. I think they would be excellent allies in our struggle against Verne.”

  Inconclusive murmurs arose from the audience.

  “But perhaps I should let them speak for themselves,” Hendrick said. “Everyone, this is Wyngalf, Evena, and their, uh, servant, Tobalt.” Tobalt scowled slightly at this, but remained silent. “Wyngalf, would you be willing to say a few words? Perhaps explain to us exactly what happened at the harbor today?”