Distopia (Land of Dis) Page 17

  “Yes, well,” Wyngalf began. “Evena was actually the cause of all the trouble.” Evena shot a glare at him and he continued hurriedly, “That is, Verne sank that ship because she was on it. It wasn’t her fault. Er, maybe she should explain it.”

  Evena rolled her eyes at him and began, “We came from the land across the Sea of Dis. I’ve been trying to get home, but Verne is extorting money from my father by holding me hostage here.”

  “What do you mean, holding you hostage?” asked a woman in the audience. “You don’t want to be in Skaal City?” Murmurs of disapproval arose from the attendees.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” said Evena. “It’s a perfectly fine city, but I—”

  “What I think our beautiful young guest is trying to say,” Hendrick interrupted, “is that she thought she wanted to leave, but her confrontation with Verne made her realize that this is where she belongs.” He turned to Evena. “Right, dear?”

  Evena opened her mouth to object, but the nods and sounds of approval from the audience gave her pause. “Er, yes,” she said. “I… love it here. In Skaal City.”

  Polite applause and more approving murmurs.

  “As she was saying,” Hendrick went on, “Evena had been kidnapped by pirates and was being forced to leave Skaal City when Verne attacked the ship she was on. She dove into the bay to avoid being killed. She would have drowned if her friend Wyngalf hadn’t been nearby to rescue her. No sooner had they made it safely to shore than Verne accosted them. Tell us how you got him to leave you alone, Evena.”

  “Well,” Evena started uncertainly. “I sort of tricked him into flying across the sea,” she said. At this, the attendees burst into cheers and applause.

  “I told you they would be good allies to have,” said Hendrick. “That’s the kind of bold individual initiative we admire in this organization.”

  Evena shot a puzzled glance at Wyngalf, who shrugged. It wasn’t exactly clear what these people were cheering about, or why Hendrick felt the need to embellish Evena’s story, but they still seemed more reasonable than the SAURIANs.

  “As you can imagine,” Hendrick said, “When Verne returns, he’s not going to be very happy with our new friends. They’re going to need our help. I move that we vote on whether to extend official SMASH protection to Wyngalf and Evena.”

  Murmurs of approval arose from the crowd.

  “What about Tobalt?” asked Wyngalf.

  Hendrick frowned. Uncertain murmurs arose from the crowd. “I don’t believe our bylaws will permit us to extend protection to a goblin. He’s welcome to stay with you and benefit from the protection we provide you and Evena, but we can’t officially provide protection for him.”

  “I’m not sure I see the practical difference,” said Wyngalf.

  “What does this protection consist of, exactly?” asked Evena.

  “Ah,” said Hendrick with a smile. “I thought you might ask that.” He turned to a young man in the front row. “Colin, could you give our guests a demonstration?”

  The man nodded and walked to the back of the room, where he knelt in front of a large wooden chest. When he stood up, he was holding a longsword in each hand. He walked back to the front of the room and made several deft sweeps through the air, first with the sword in his right hand, and then the left.

  The room broke into polite applause, and Hendrick looked at Evena and Wyngalf expectantly. They traded confused glances and then looked to Tobalt, who seemed as puzzled as they were.

  “I don’t understand,” said Wyngalf. “You’re assigning Colin to protect us?”

  Chuckles arose from the crowd, and Colin stepped forward with a smile, holding out the two swords: one to Wyngalf and one to Evena.

  “You’re giving us swords,” said Evena.

  “Well, they’ll be paid for through your membership dues, but yes. All members of SMASH get them.”

  “To symbolize the protection we’re getting?” asked Wyngalf hopefully.

  The room burst into laughter. When it died down, Hendrick said, “Wyngalf, this is your protection. I mean, if another member of SMASH is nearby and you run into trouble, he’ll certainly help you out, but every member is ultimately responsible for his own protection. We believe every man and woman has a right to carry a sword to protect him- or herself.”

  “Okay,” said Wyngalf, “but you realize that we’re dealing with a dragon, right? His hide is practically impermeable, and he can kill twenty men in a second with his breath. I mean, I had a sword with me at the harbor, and it didn’t help me a bit. Please tell me you have some kind of plan other than just giving everybody swords.”

  “A plan for what exactly?” asked Hendrick.

  “To kill Verne!” cried Wyngalf. “Isn’t that what this is all about? I thought you people were the resistance!”

  Uncertain murmurs from the audience. Hendrick regarded Wyngalf dubiously. “Listen,” he said. “You have to understand that resistance to Verne’s encroachment on our freedoms is a long-term effort. It isn’t realistic to talk about killing him. What we’re aiming to do is to give the citizens a way of resisting him when he oversteps his bounds.”

  “But killing is the only resistance a dragon understands!” Evena exclaimed. “You either comply with his demands or you kill him. There aren’t any other options!”

  The mood of the audience was turning decidedly against them.

  “That’s dangerous talk,” said Hendrick quietly. “I suggest we drop the topic of killing Verne before things get ugly.”

  “Drop the topic?” cried Evena, who was near tears in frustration. “You’re as bad as the SAURIANS with their talk of ‘incendiary language.’ Look, it’s very simple. If we don’t kill Verne, he’s going to kill us. And eventually, he’ll kill all of you as well, if you persist in the idea that you’re part of some kind of resistance. If you’re going to be the resistance, then resist! Help us kill Verne!”

  “Listen,” said Hendrick sternly. “There will be no more talk of killing Verne. You’re newcomers here, so you aren’t aware of Skaal City’s precarious position in the land of Dis, but trust me when I tell you that we have many enemies. Goblins, for starters,” he said, glancing at Tobalt. “But also barbarian tribes and… others.” Ominous murmurs arose from the audience. “And while it may not be immediately apparent to you, Verne provides an invaluable service for us by protecting us from those enemies. Why, just the other day he razed a town that was harboring dangerous anti-Skaal extremists.”

  At this, Tobalt spoke up. “I beg your forgiveness for insinuating myself into your proceedings,” he said nervously, “but if you are referring to the town of Sybesma, I’m afraid I must offer a correction to your assessment. Based on my own admittedly incomplete analysis of Verne’s activity and my knowledge of that settlement, I’ve concluded that Verne razed the town as a means of intimidation, not to root out any particular undesirable element.”

  “Nonsense,” Hendrick growled. “Verne doesn’t kill indiscriminately. In fact, he made a public pronouncement the other day in which he very clearly outlined his reasons for destroying Sybesma.”

  “And Verne would never lie about such matters,” said Wyngalf sardonically. Hendrick glared at him.

  “You realize,” said Evena, “that this is the very same dragon who burned a dozen men alive in a completely unprovoked attack in the harbor less than two hours ago.”

  “That’s completely different,” said Hendrick. “Verne has no business interfering in Skaal’s internal affairs or our trade with other cities.”

  Wyngalf shook his head, dumfounded. “So,” Evena said, “if I’m understanding you correctly: when Verne is acting inside the confines of Skaal City, he’s a vicious tyrant, but when he is razing villages outside of Skaal City, he is to be trusted implicitly.”

  “Now you’re getting it!” cried Hendrick. “The goal of SMASH is not to kill Verne, but simply to make sure his efforts are channeled in the appropriate direction. By arming the citizens of Skaal, we prov
ide a disincentive for Verne to act against our citizens, which frees him up to raze towns elsewhere.” Hendrick beamed at them.

  “Wait,” said Wyngalf, aghast. “You want him to destroy towns?”

  “Of course not,” said Hendrick. “We abhor violence and look for peaceful solutions to our disagreements with other towns whenever possible. But outside of Skaal is a very dangerous, uncivilized land whose denizens do not value peace and freedom as we do, so we rely on Verne to murder or subjugate them as he sees fit. Don’t get me wrong; we’re well aware that Verne sometimes gets a little overly enthusiastic in the execution of his mission, but frankly we’d rather see a town like Sybesma destroyed than risk Sybesman extremists coming here and killing Skaalians.”

  “Are Sybesman extremists a big threat in Skaal City?” asked Wyngalf.

  “Oh, yes,” said Hendrick. “Ever since the flaming oxcart incident twelve years ago, we live in constant fear of anti-Skaal extremists, and Verne assured us that Sybesma was a hotbed of anti-Skaal extremism.”

  “And you don’t think Verne maybe is exaggerating the threat to keep you dependent on him?”

  “It’s possible, I suppose,” said Hendrick. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  “But you’re not safe!” Evena protested. “I thought that was the whole point of this organization. You told us that Verne was a threat to the citizens of Skaal. You can’t let Verne run rampant outside the city, razing towns and killing willy-nilly and then expect him to be well-behaved inside the city. And while I hate to burst your bubble, your swords aren’t going to make a damn bit of difference to him. He’s a fire-breathing dragon, for Grovlik’s sake. You think a few paunchy merchants waving swords around is going to frighten him into submission?”

  Hendrick frowned at this. “I hope you’re not questioning our right to carry swords,” he said.

  “What?” said Evena. “No. Carry all the swords you want. You can each carry six for all I care. But you’re not going to scare Verne by strolling around town with swords hanging off your belt. To be honest, I don’t think you people are any better than the SAURIANs with their petitions and burn-ins. You obsess about swords because you don’t really have any intention of doing anything about Verne.”

  “You’d obsess about swords too if people kept trying to take your swords!” cried a man in the back.

  “If anybody tries to take my sword,” yelled another man, “they’re going to get it. Blade first!” Whoops and cheers went up from the crowd.

  “That’s not what we’re talking about,” said Evena. “Nobody is trying to take your swords.”

  “Ha!” shouted a woman near the front. “Just last week, SAURIAN sent Verne a petition signed by eighty-seven Skaalians demanding that Verne confiscate any swords longer than thirty-two and a quarter inches.”

  “So that’s where that stupid rule started,” said Wyngalf. “Is there something magical about thirty-two and a quarter inches?”

  “Oh, don’t get me started on magical swords,” the woman said. Sympathetic murmurs arose from the crowd.

  “OK,” said Evena, “so some people are trying to take your swords. But my point is that—”

  “Verne will take my sword from my charred, smoking fingers!” yelled a voice somewhere in the middle of the group. Cheers from the crowd.

  “We’re getting off topic,” said Evena. “All I was trying to say is that while you’re arguing over sword lengths, Verne is—”

  Her words were cut off by a deafening crash, and all assembled turned to watch as the door to the room flew off its hinges and landed several feet inside the room. Armored men with very long swords poured into the room. One of them shouted, “City guard! We’ve heard reports that you’re hiding a cache of several thirty-two and three eighths inch-long swords. Put down your weapons and surrender!” Several more men filed into the room, followed by a woman they recognized: Glindeen. Her eyes alighted on Wyngalf and Evena. “I should have known you two would turn out to be SMASHers. And you, Hendrick! I knew you weren’t to be trusted.”

  “You’re the one who can’t be trusted,” declared Hendrick. “I transferred my loyalties to SMASH when I realized that SAURIAN has no interest in defending the freedoms of ordinary Skaalians.”

  “He’s right, Glindeen,” Havartis said, taking a step back as the swordsmen moved to encircle the group. “You’ve betrayed your principles. Don’t you see? You used to resist Verne, and now you’re doing his bidding!”

  “That’s fine talk coming from someone who gets thousands of gold pieces from Verne every month for having his spies on your payroll,” sneered Glindeen.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Havartis.

  “Oh,” replied Glindeen, “so Verne just happened to incinerate your biggest competitor’s ship today?”

  Gasps went up from the crowd. “Is that true, Havartis?” asked Hendrick. “Did your spies tip off Verne?”

  “That’s an absurd accusation!” Havartis cried. “Verne doesn’t need my help to find out when ships are leaving the harbor. And if my man in the shipping guild office happened to mention that there was a fugitive on board a certain ship, I can hardly be blamed for what Verne did with that information.”

  “It’s your fault all those people were killed!” Evena cried.

  “Nonsense,” Havartis snapped. “It was just politics. It’s no more my fault that Verne destroyed that ship than it’s Glindeen’s fault that Verne razed the town of Sybesma because the Sybesmans were undercutting her on textile prices.”

  More gasps from the crowd. “I wondered why you were suddenly so worried about anti-Skaal extremists in Sybesma,” said Hendrick.

  “How dare you bring that up, Havartis,” said Glindeen. “We had an agreement!”

  “You two are scheming behind my back?” exclaimed Hendrick.

  “Drop the hysterics, Hendrick,” Havartis snarled. “I know what you’ve been doing with Glindeen during your overnight ‘strategy sessions.’”

  “You bastard!” yelled another man near the front. “Glindeen is mine!” He launched himself toward Hendrick, drawing a short sword. He was intercepted by one of the swordsmen, who stabbed him right through his midsection. As the man screamed, two of the other SMASHers came to his defense, drawing their own blades. Soon the entire room had erupted in a fracas, with Glindeen and Havartis both shrieking incomprehensibly as they tried to regain control of the situation.

  Wyngalf and Evena drew back from the fray as it escalated, and after a moment Wyngalf realized that Tobalt was no longer with them. He caught sight of the goblin creeping along the wall of the room toward the doorway. Giving Evena a nudge, he followed. The three of them managed to slip outside the room without anyone stopping them. They made their way through the chandler’s shop to the street and then followed Tobalt through the shadows down an alley to another street.

  “I think we’re safe,” said Wyngalf. “They’re too busy fighting each other to worry about us.”

  “That was some world class skulking, Tobalt,” Evena said. “Nicely done.”

  Even in the dim moonlight, it was evident that Tobalt was blushing. “Many thanks for your kind words,” he said sheepishly. “’Twas in truth a rather amateurish exhibition of stealth by the standards of my race, but it sufficed under the circumstances. I hope that someday you’ll have the opportunity to witness a feat of skulking that better showcases the preternatural furtiveness that is the hallmark of my kind—or fail to witness it, rather.”

  “That would be very nice,” said Evena, with a polite smile.

  “There they are!” cried a voice from the shadows. The clanking of armor on cobblestones followed.

  “Curse my inadequate skulking!” Tobalt moaned. “Run!”

  They ran.

  Sixteen

  They’d only gone a few yards down the street when they heard clanking coming from the shadows in front of them as well.

  “They’ve got us surrounded!” cried Wyngalf. “Tobal
t, what do we do?”

  “Alas,” panted Tobalt, already out of breath from exertion, “my skulking abilities, paltry as they are, do not extend to extricating a group of individuals from a hot pursuit situation.”

  “We’re caught,” said Evena, slowing to a halt. “There’s no way out!”

  Wyngalf and Tobalt cast their eyes around desperately but could find nothing to belie her lament. All the shops on the street were closed. They could only go forward or back, and either way they would run into the city guard. Wyngalf drew his sword.

  “What are you doing?” Evena said. “You can’t fight off all those men!”

  “I have to try,” said Wyngalf. “If they catch us, we’ll be stuck in Skaal City. When Verne comes back, they’ll turn us over to him.”

  The three put their backs together, with Wyngalf facing the direction they had come, and Tobalt and Evena facing more or less the other way. Tobalt bared his fangs and did his best to look menacing. In both directions, armored men with swords emerged from the shadows.

  Something moved in the shadows just to Wyngalf’s left. “This way!” a man’s voice barked. He saw now that a door had opened, and someone was beckoning to him. A vision of yet another gathering of impotent, dithering plotters flashed into his mind, but he pushed it away. Whoever waited in the shadows, he was their only chance.

  “Follow me!” Wyngalf cried. He sheathed his sword and began running toward the voice, hoping that Tobalt and Evena were following.

  “Inside, hurry!” snapped the man, and Wyngalf slipped past him into a dark room. After advancing a few steps inside, he stopped and turned—and the svelte figure of Evena crashed into him, followed by Tobalt. Behind them, he caught a glimpse of the stranger framed in the moonlight pouring through the doorway, but the door slammed shut before he could make out the man’s features. Wyngalf heard a door latch and a heavy deadbolt slide into place. They were in total darkness.

  “Keep going!” barked the man, and Wyngalf turned and took a few uncertain steps in the dark. “Move to your left until you feel the wall,” the man’s voice said. “Then take six steps forward. Reach out with your right hand.” The man’s voice seemed vaguely familiar to Wyngalf, but he couldn’t place it.