If he were willing to stay because of the pleasure of the contest, wouldn’t the magistrates be willing, too?
Of course, his challenge was keeping them penned in. What other challenge could he find for them, other than the need to break out?
Learning. They all enjoyed learning, or had the drive to force themselves to it to gain their goal. He could spread a veritable forest of knowledge before them, and give each of them a hunting license.
First, though, he had to give them a reason to go hunting, a quarry to chase.
What could a band of bureaucrats want, that would make them willing, even eager, to buckle down to the work of learning facts they had never known existed?
The answer burst into his mind like a lamp flaring into brightness.
The merchant’s face was dark with anger as his wagon rolled into town. The driver was silent, eyeing the merchant beside him warily.
“Stop here!” the merchant commanded, and the driver drew up in front of the courthouse. People stopped and stared, and a guard came hurrying up. “Here now! Keep your load going! You can’t just stop in the middle of the road!”
“Stop where he tells you,” the merchant told the driver, then leaped down from the wagon and strode toward the courthouse, anger in every stride. Caught between two rule breakings, the guard dithered a minute, looking from one to the other. The driver gave him a sympathetic look, and the guard’s head snapped up in indignation. “Wait here!” he snapped, and turned to dash after the merchant. But it was too late, the man had already gone through the door, and by the time the guard caught up, was already telling the bailiff, “Tell the magistrate I wish to see him!”
“Indeed.” The bailiff gave him a bland nod and waved the guard away. “And who shall I say requires to see Magistrate Lovel with no word of warning?”
“Branstock, a merchant in cloths and notions! Be quick, man, or your chance may be gone and the trail grown cold.” The bailiff suddenly became much more attentive. “What trail?”
“The trail of the bandits who robbed me! If they hadn’t thought my anger amusing, they might well have taken my life, too, and that of my driver! Do you mean to laugh at such matters?”
“I assure you, sir, I do not. Ho, Breavis!” The bailiff waved to someone in the courtroom, and a man with ink-stained fingers came out. “This is Breavis Clark, clerk to Magistrate Lovel,” the bailiff said by way of explanation. “Clark, this merchant is Branstock, with a report for His Honor that I don’t think he’ll want to delay. Will you show him in?” Then, to Branstock, “Your pardon, merchant, but I must hurry away to set my men on the trail of these bandits. I shall speak to your driver while you speak to the magistrate. Good afternoon!” He nodded and turned, walking quickly.
“Well, that’s something, at least,” Branstock said, looking a little mollified.
“I assure you, sir, we don’t take banditry lightly in this township,” the clerk told him. “Follow me, please.” He led the way to the magistrate’s study. “Wait,” he advised, and the magistrate looked up through the open door, looked up in inquiry. “Your Honor, a merchant who wishes to lodge a complaint,” the clerk said. “He was robbed within your township. Bailiff Jacoby has gone to attend to it, but Branstock still wishes to speak with you.”
“Yes, certainly, come in at once.” The magistrate rose.
The clerk stepped aside to let Branstock in. “Thank you for seeing me, Your Honor,” he said, and Breavis frowned, for the man didn’t sound anywhere nearly as respectful as a merchant should when speaking to a magistrate. But his tone seemed not to matter to Magistrate Lovel—or if it did, it served as some sort of signal. His face went rigid at sight of the merchant, and he said, “Close the door, please, Breavis Clark.”
Clark did, but with misgivings. It wasn’t unheard of for the magistrate to go behind closed doors with a visitor, provided he were male, but never at first meeting. Unless …
His stomach sank. Could this very ordinary seeming merchant be an inspector-general?
It would explain the magistrate’s reaction to his tone, instead of the rebuke Clark had expected from official to merchant—but by what signal had Lovel recognized the secret inspector?
No doubt by one only magistrates learned. Whatever the case, there was one thing of which Breavis Clark was certain—he would never really know for sure.
The magistrate waited for the door to close, then threw his arms around the merchant. “Miles! Praise Heaven! At last someone I can truly talk to!”
Miles felt the trembling in the man’s arms, and knew all over again the fearful tension under which his agents lived. “Poor, brave soul, to live so much apart from your own kind! But your wife, Lovel—isn’t she, at least, a consolation to you?”
Lovel stepped back to hold him at arm’s length. “A mighty consolation to be sure, but not one with whom I can share the truth about my work. She is beginning to wonder why she hasn’t become pregnant, though.”
“Let her wonder,” Miles advised. “If you start to love her, our enemies will have enough of a hold over you—but if you had a baby, they would really be able to twist you by threatening the child.”
Lovel nodded. “And if we fail, she can always claim she was deceived, quite truthfully, and find another mate—but if she has a baby by an impostor, she’ll have a much harder time remarrying.”
“And the State, of course, won’t support the child of an impostor,” Miles nodded.
Lovel released him and gestured to a chair. “Sit down, sit down, and I shall ring for tea!”
“It would be pleasant,” Miles admitted, sitting, “but before you do, I had better tell you the details of the mythical bandits you’re sending your bailiff to track.”
“Yes indeed! What will he find when he reaches the place with all his men? And where is that place, by the way?”
“A mile outside the town, on the main road. They’ll find the tracks of a dozen horses—we had to unharness our beasts and ride them back and forth, and off into the woods, six times—and a few bits of cloth on the bushes. The tracks disappear into a river. When your men don’t find the bandits themselves, you can send to the magistrates all around you, and three of them will tell the same story…”
“Japheth, Orgoru, and Minello.” Lovel grinned, sitting behind his desk. “We have to stick together, don’t we?”
“We do indeed.” Miles smiled. “That should be enough. You can call for tea now.”
“Of course.” Lovel leaned back to pull on a rope. The door opened, and he said to the guard who looked in, “Tea, strong and dark! Quickly, tell her!”
The guard nodded and closed the door, with a frown to answer Miles’s glare—but afrown that gained a distinct look of foreboding before the panel shut to hide him.
“What of the others?” Lovel asked. “Tell me all the news!” Miles launched into a brief account of all the agents he had seen in the last month. “Etaoin’s bailiff and watchmen are all beginning to agitate with him for guarantees of safety for the peasants, and Lucia’s first child was born in October. Her husband is already seeing that women…”
The door opened, and the maid came in with the tea.
“…must be able to march through your township without worrying about assaults on their virtue,” Miles went on without missing a beat. “Even if you have the bandits in your gaol, can you guarantee the good behavior of your town’s young men?”
“Not guarantee, of course—no one ever can,” Lovel replied as the maid put down the tea tray, wide-eyed. “But we’ve only had two charges of assault since I’ve been here, and both those young men have been scourged and pilloried, so I doubt anyone else would be eager to imitate them.”
Miles nodded, back in character as Branstock. “Let’s hope not. Still, bandits daring to waylay travelers so close to the edge of your town aren’t the most encouraging sight.”