The roar of the crowd became such a pounding wave of noise that the thick stone building trembled. Salvador tried to be heard, rushing forward, but he seemed small compared to the towering Swordmaster. “I did not authorize a rampage festival!” His words were lost in the noise.
Each month, the symbolic destruction of a few token machine remnants was a carefully planned spectacle, with safeguards so the crowds did not get out of hand. But Manford Torondo had just unleashed the mob.
“Wait!” Salvador shouted.
Anari raised her sword high, and as she brought it down, the crowd flowed like a flash flood into the side streets and the commercial sector, pushing aside soldiers and guards who tried to maintain order.
Roderick came forward, red-faced. “For a rampage festival, there must be preparations first, added security—”
Manford gave the Corrino brothers a maddening smile. “They are keyed up and angry — it is important to let them release some pressure. Don’t worry, it’s all harmless.”
Salvador glared at Manford, gasping, “Harmless? Look at the frenzy building out there. They’re going to ransack, burn, wreck—”
“Then you can rebuild. The whole of humanity has had to rebuild since the end of the Jihad.”
The crowd moved as if it were one organism on a rabid scavenger hunt. Even those who were not Butlerians were swept along or trampled underfoot.
Salvador watched in dismay, then turned to Roderick, but his brother also looked appalled and helpless. From the balcony, they heard breaking glass and shouts of triumph out in the plaza, and the screams of the citizens being crushed in the melee. Most terrifying of all, Salvador knew the mob could turn against him on a moment’s notice, if Manford ever told them to do so.
Chapter 21 (There is strength in numbers)
There is strength in numbers, a raw and primal power. But as a crowd grows and grows, its ability to reason diminishes.
— GILBERTUS ALBANS, Mentat School records
The rampage festival swelled out of hand through the evening, and fires burned in three parts of the city. In the midst of it all, Manford Torondo and his Swordmaster seemed complacent, as if they bore no responsibility for what was happening.
Roderick was dismayed to see that Imperial troops were completely ineffective at quelling the chaotic energy. Though numerous, the soldiers and the Zimia security force had no capable leadership, and the swift rush of violence took them by surprise; when they hesitated to fire upon the crowd, they were either shoved aside or trampled. The turbulence of a mob that had no coordinated goal dispersed the stationed troops.
Even the military officers did not know how to react to the unexpected storm of feral energy. Roderick had told his brother repeatedly that the Imperial Armed Forces needed better leaders and better organization; now, upon seeing how poorly the troops performed, he felt determined to crack down. First, though, this mindless vandalism had to be brought under control.
And this was a celebration, not even a mob driven by anger.
Roderick worried about his wife and children, who could be out there if they had come to watch the victory procession. But he could do nothing about it except to send messages for guards to find them. He knew his priority was to protect the Emperor. As the violence intensified, Roderick arranged for his brother to go into hiding in a private underground network of tunnels constructed centuries ago, during a time of frequent cymek raids. Empress Tabrina was taken to a different hiding place, because Salvador had no desire to be sealed up with her.
While mayhem continued in the city above, Roderick and a contingent of elite guards led Salvador through the puzzle box of combinations and security systems that allowed access to the secret tunnels. “They’re burning my city, Roderick!”
Roderick tried to keep his brother calm. “I have dispatched troops to protect important buildings and summoned soldiers from our orbiting battleships to impose order.” He knew, though, that the guards were in chaos, many of them unresponsive; he wouldn’t be surprised if some of them had been killed. Quite a few had certainly abandoned their posts. “It’s hard to strategize against a mob that has no logical plan.”
The Emperor paused at the steel sliding wall as a thought occurred to him. “And your family, Roderick? Have them brought down here where they’ll be protected.”
“I sent word, but they haven’t been found yet.” Roderick fought against the knot in his stomach, remembering how his children always loved the spectacle of a good parade. “As soon as I’m sure that you’re safe, I’ll get back out there and find them myself, if I have to.”
At first, Salvador didn’t want his brother to leave, but he steeled himself and gave a brave nod. “I’ll be fine. Go now — I am counting on you to save Zimia!”
Leaving the Emperor with guards in the deep tunnels, Roderick hurried back to an emergency command post in the palace. When he reached his secondary office, he was surprised to find Headmaster Albans there, offering to help. Roderick paused, suspecting a trick. Wasn’t Albans a known ally of Leader Torondo? But the Headmaster, normally a cool and logical man, looked shaken by the Butlerian violence. Seeing the expression on the bespectacled Mentat’s face, Roderick ushered him into the private room and closed the door.
They could hear the crowd noises from outside. By the light of distant fires visible through the office windows, he glimpsed a crude clay sculpture on his desk — he thought it was supposed to be a puppy — that Nantha had made for him. Roderick felt a new pang of fear and hoped that Haditha and their children were safely clear of the uproar by now.
He turned to the Mentat, barely controlling his anger at the unnecessary destruction. “You offered to help, Headmaster? If you know of a way to stop this violence, I am eager to hear it. Tell Leader Torondo to command them to stop, or has he gone into protective hiding?”
The Mentat frowned. “He is among his people — that makes him safe. But he will not tell them to stop … because I believe he fears they won’t listen.” He removed his round eyeglasses, cleaned them with a handkerchief, and put them back on. “Prince Roderick, I believe you are a man of honor, or I would not be here. If I suggest how you might end this rampage, you must promise never to reveal who offered the solution, not even to the Emperor — and especially not to Manford Torondo.”
“Why not?”
“Manford is demonstrating the power he can unleash. He’s doing it to frighten the Emperor, and I suspect it won’t be long before he makes even more extreme demands.” He lowered his voice. “If he learns I worked with you to quell the violence, he would kill me, and his followers would raze my school on Lampadas.”
Roderick narrowed his gaze, not understanding the Mentat’s motivations. This man had just performed before the court, defeating a combat mek in a game to stroke Butlerian pride. And Manford had commanded the festival — wasn’t this what Gilbertus wanted? But Roderick’s primary responsibility was to restore peace and stability in Zimia. “I will hold your advice in confidence, Mentat. How do we extinguish this mob?”
“The violence will die down in the night as people return to their homes, but some Butlerians plan to incite another rampage early tomorrow morning.”
Roderick felt a flush of new anger. “Which followers, and where are they? We need to arrest them.”