He had a name, of course, but it was never spoken. He was just “The Commoner,” the liaison between the Council of MageLords and the Commons. Chosen by lottery every four years, he had given up his personal identity for the duration. It was he who passed on the decisions of the MageLords to the Commons, and he who brought petitions from the Commons to the MageLords.
The Commons had its own Council, a group of twelve men and women chosen, again by magic-guided lottery, from an approved slate of candidates drawn up by the Prime Adviser’s office. The Commons Council had limited powers but was permitted to deal with matters of land ownership, roads and sewer systems, and the like. Anything outside its purview it sent to the MageLords via the Commoner.
Although the Commoner attended all Council meetings, he was magically prevented from saying anything about what he heard in the Council Chamber outside its walls. Within the chamber, he could only speak at specific times, or when asked a question. He was not permitted to take part in any discussion, or to express an opinion, without being invited, and he was seldom invited.
Karl had given him a sympathetic smile when he first sat down on his throne. He rather thought he knew how the Commoner felt. The Commoner had very slightly bowed his head, but made no other response.
At the end of his term, the Commoner would be greatly rewarded. If he failed to serve out his term, he would receive nothing. It gave him great incentive to behave himself precisely as the MageLords expected him to behave.
As well, at the end of his term, the Commoner’s memory of the meetings he had attended would be magically removed. As a discussion of which of two Commoner firms should have the snow-clearing contract for a bridge over the North Evrenfels River in Berriton dragged on, Karl rather wished he had that option.
The meeting was well into its fourth hour, and Karl feared he would never walk again, when Lord Athol finally said, “I therefore declare us adjourned. We will reconvene in three days, at which time Lord Falk will tell us of the preliminary results of his investigation into the attempt on Prince Karl’s life.” He smiled. “In the meantime, I expect I will see many of you tonight at Davydd Verdsmitt’s play.” There was a murmur of assent, then the Councillors began to get to their feet. Athol hurried to catch up to the King’s Purse. “Lady Estra, a word…”
Lord Athol and Lady Estra exited together, talking in low voices. Tagaza nodded to Karl as he gathered up his notes and trailed along. The Commoner remained where he was, reading over papers, as did Lady Vin, who was still studying the final report the Council had received. Karl stood and stretched, and Lady Vin raised her head. “Will you be at Verdsmitt’s play, Your Highness?”
“The first new play by Verdsmitt in three years, Lady Vin? You’d have to tie me up to keep me away.” Or assassinate me, he thought, and grinned a little sourly, wondering if Falk had considered that unlikely motive for the attack. He glanced up as Teran, relegated to the hallway outside during the Council meeting, came in to see what was taking him so long. “You will sit behind me, won’t you?” he said to his bodyguard, who stood a head taller than he did. “If you sit in front of me I won’t be able to see a thing.”
A grin flicked over Teran’s face. “I could slouch. But no, I won’t be sitting in front of you.”
“Nor in front of me, I trust,” Lady Vin said lightly. She stood and gathered her papers, then hesitated. “I… was alarmed when I heard of the attack on you, Your Highness,” she said, her voice warmed by concern, though whether real or feigned, Karl couldn’t tell. “It would be a tragedy if the Kingdom were to lose you.”
“Well, I certainly agree with you,” Karl said, keeping his own voice light. “But Falk has taken every precautionary measure. I’m reasonably confident that no attacks on my august person will disrupt tonight’s performance… or if they do, I promise to step outside and die quietly in the hall so as not to disturb the rest of the audience.”
Lady Vin laughed. “Your solicitude is appreciated, Your Highness. Fare well until this evening.” She swept out, leaving Karl alone with Teran and the Commoner.
Karl strode over to him, and he scrambled to his feet and bowed respectfully. “Please, sit down,” Karl said. The Commoner bowed again, and resumed his place behind the table. Karl glanced down at the papers there. “What are you reading?”
“More about the bridge contract, Your Highness,” said the Commoner. “I have some… concerns.”
Karl cocked his head. “You don’t think the Council made the right decision?”
The Commoner lowered his head. “As you know, Your Highness, it is not my place to say.”
“It is if the Prince asks you for your opinion,” Karl said softly. “And I’m asking.”
The Commoner’s head came up again, slowly. “Then, Your Highness. .. no, I do not think the Council made the right decision.”
Karl sighed. “As it happens, neither do I. The contractor was chosen because Lady Vin conducts non-government business with him. He gives her a very good price on that work, and in exchange she arranges for him to snare overpriced government contracts.”
The Commoner’s face went blank. “If you say so, Your Highness.”
“I’m not trying to trap you,” Karl said tiredly. “It’s obvious, and everyone knows it. But nobody cares.”
The Commoner raised his left eyebrow. “But you do, Your Highness?” he said softly.
“Yes,” Karl said. “I do. But I’m still only the Heir. When I’m King…” He spread his hands. “I don’t know what I can do then, either, to tell the truth. But I hope to do better than our current King. And I hope to craft a Council that does better as well.”
The Commoner’s right eyebrow went up as well. “I would… welcome that, Your Highness.”
“Well… I’ll let you get back to work,” said Karl, and headed for the big oak doors, Teran close behind.
In the Great Hall, Teran said, “That was an interesting conversation.”
Karl glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t think I should talk to the Commoner that way?”
Teran smiled. “Hardly. I think that’s exactly the way you should talk to him. But not many Mageborn would, and no MageLords. It’s particularly interesting considering Falk seems to think the Commoners were behind the attack on you.”
Karl shrugged. “All the more reason to try to make the point with any Commoner who will listen that I hope to be a different kind of King than they’re used to, isn’t it? Not that the MageLords will make it easy.” He reached back and rubbed his rear end with both hands; it was tingling now that blood flow had been restored to it. “Damn, I hate that chair.”
Teran laughed. “Not very Prince-like, Your Highness.”
“Even Princes get sore butts, Teran.”
As they strode through the corridors leading to Karl’s quarters, they passed the Royal Theater, a grandly named but rather small auditorium that held no more than a hundred audience members. The doors stood open, and Karl, glancing in, saw workmen on the stage, hammering away at set pieces lying facedown on the black-painted wood. He felt a thrill of anticipation. A new Verdsmitt play! He could hardly wait.
Falk had never shown any interest in plays of any kind, by Verdsmitt or anyone else, as far as Karl knew. He wondered why the Minister of Public Safety was making a special effort to be back for the performance.
He snorted to himself as they moved on down the hall, the sound of hammering following them. Of course, with a moment’s thought, he knew why. Verdsmitt was widely whispered to be sympathetic to the Common Cause, though how much of that was truth and how much merely a smear campaign by his less-known (and less-talented) rivals Karl did not know. Nevertheless, if Karl had heard those rumors, surely Lord Falk had, as well.
So why hasn’t he canceled the performance? Karl wondered. If he hadn’t, he had good reason for it. Falk did not simply overlook things.