“I shall remember that spell.” Boncorro’s gaze was suddenly intent, totally concentrated as he sucked up Matt’s words to engrave them into his memory. “Is there more to it?”
“Yes, but it takes a long time to tell, and I know only a little of it. You seem to be ahead of me, anyway.”
“Perhaps,” Boncorro said guardedly. “My ideas have yet to prove themselves in fullness.”
“Especially since you have more changes to make,” Matt inferred. Rebozo stared in alarm. Boncorro’s lips pursed in amusement. “You are quite percepjve. Lord Wizard. I can see that you would be a dangerous enemy indeed.”
“Yes,” Matt said, choosing his words carefully, “but I could also be a doughty friend.”
“Aye, if we both served the same Power-but since I serve only my own interests, I doubt that we shall.”
Rebozo almost collapsed from sheer relief. Matt realized that the chancellor had been afraid he would try to convert Boncorro. It wasn’t just your father and grandfather you copied spells from, was it? You had other wizards show up to try to persuade you to serve God.“
Rebozo winced and glared hatred at him. “Yes, I did,” Boncorro said slowly, “though how you could have guessed that is beyond me. Still, a worthy effort deserves a worthy reward, Lord Wizard, so I shall tell you of it. I could scarcely go for a walk in Baron Garchi’s woods without a holy hermit popping out of the underbrush to show me wondrous spells as evidence of the power of God. I took their spells, but left their Faith.”
“It made sense, while you were still an impressionable young boy,” Matt said judiciously. ‘There was a chance they might have been able to convert you, and through you, when you came to power, the whole kingdom.“
“They were fools!” Boncorro’s eyes flashed. “They succeeded with my father, and what happened to him? A dagger in the back, an early death! Satan’s minions have too firm a hold on this land; they would never have permitted a saintly prince to become king!”
Rebozo relaxed and gave Matt a vindictive glare. “So,” Matt said slowly, “your grandfather was a Satanist who devoted himself to every sin he could think of, and made as many people miserable as he possibly could. That disgusted your father, so he rebelled by becoming holy and devout, dedicating himself to doing good works-and he tried to protect himself by learning as many Good-based spells as he could.”
“The more fool he! What profit did it give him?”
“Probably a lot, but not where you can see it.” Matt ignored Rebozo’s murderous glare and went on. “Be honest. You admired him, didn’t you? Even loved him, maybe-and decided you were going to be just like him.”
For a moment he thought he had gone too far, for the murderous rage in Rebozo’s eyes was echoed in Boncorro’s. Matt hastened to add, “But what does a little kid know, huh?‘
Boncorro must have missed the sarcasm, because he relaxed, and the mayhem faded from his face. “Even as you say-it was foolishness. I learned that from the point of the assassin’s knife that slew my father.”
“So you grew up rebelling against both Good and Evil-but you were smart enough not to let it show until Grandpa was dead Didn’t his death make you wonder about the power of Evil?‘
“No, but I think that my grandfather began to have second thoughts when Father was slain. Surely he must have realized that his wickedness had not brought him happiness!”
“No, Sire!” Rebozo protested in alarm. “What could make you think that?”
“Why, your own reports, Rebozo.” The king turned to his chancellor. “You told me that he was sunk in gloom for the last ten years of his life.”
“Nay, Majesty! The revels began again only a few weeks after Prince Casudo’s death, and were wilder and more intense than ever!”
“Almost desperate, you might say?” Boncorro smiled thinly. “As if he was striving mightily to gain pleasure, but found he could not, no matter how depraved his sporting?”
“I said no such thing!”
“You did not have to,” Boncorro said with a hard smile. “So the missionaries haven’t given up on you yet,” Matt said slowly. The chancellor’s head snapped up so sharply that Matt had a wild hope his neck might break. It held, worse luck, but he stared at Boncorro in total and absolute panic. “You see far more than most men, with very little evidence.” Boncorro frowned. “Still, it is even as you have guessed-ever and anon, as I am going through town or forest, an innocent-seeming beggar will pop up to trumpet the virtues of Faith to me. Will they never learn?‘
“Probably not, when your reign is such a huge improvement over your grandfather’s-though I do wonder if maybe your reforms haven’t produced just as many Hell-bound souls as his cruelty did.”
Boncorro looked very interested. “Why, how is that?‘
“I’ve seen it on my way south,” Matt said slowly. “The extra money and leisure have made people start itching to have Heaven on Earth. They’ve heard rumors of the high life here, and are flocking in to get their share of excitement. They’re holding a continual party on their way south, with drinking binges and free sex all around. Husbands are leaving their wives, wives are leaving their husbands, and young people are leaving their villages.”
“Why, herein is pleasure,” Boncorro said, “not misery!”
“Yes, but they’re sinning hand over foot-and ending up in misery when they get here. It’s almost as if they’re using up a lifetime’s worth of pleasure in a few months. They come into Venarra broke and exhausted, and find out that the king isn’t giving everybody a fortune on a silver platter, and that there aren’t even enough honest jobs to go around. They stagger back home to their villages drained and pale, or die on the way.”
“He lies, Sire!” Rebozo cried. “They parade in by the score, yes, but many of them stay in Venarra!”
“Yes-in the brothels and the jails. The girls get recruited by the pimps and procuresses, the boys get taken on as apprentice thieves. They make life more dangerous for your average citizens and steal wealth instead of making it.”
“They are not forced to it,” Boncorro countered, “though I see I must set up some sort of scheme to keep them from having to sell themselves or die.”
Rebozo gave Matt a glare that could have blistered his skin, if he had only been able to say aloud the spell that went with it. He couldn’t, of course-not with his king listening. “Perhaps work for the men, building more barracks to hold a larger army,” Boncorro mused, “or repairing all the bridges and halls and monuments that my grandfather let fall to ruin-”
“Nonsense,” Rebozo scoffed. “Where would we get the money?”
‘True.“ Boncorro nodded. ”We must find them work that will bring in its own revenue-that, in addition to public works.“
Matt interrupted before the man reinvented the whole New Deal. “How about the women?‘
“The very thing!” Boncorro snapped his fingers, turning to Matt. “Set them to weaving! Train them to the finest in needlework-most of them excel in it already, if Baron Garchi’s peasants are any guide. We would export carpets, tapestries, the finest in craftmanship!”
“But it is men who are weavers!” Rebozo was beginning to sweat.
“Not in their own homes,” Boncorro countered, “and not in other countries. No, let us build a new industry with some of these truant country lasses.”
“The crown cannot risk so much!”
“The crown is the only one who can.” There was steel under Boncorro’s tone now. “Naetheless, I would not have the crown own everything-”
Rebozo let out a bleat of agony. “Of course the crown owns everything! Your Majesty, if you must persist in this folly, at least ensure that all the revenues come to yourself!”
“No, I must manure my fields.” Boncorro looked off into space, a certain whimsical light coming into his eye. “We shall find some enterprising young merchant who wishes to work twenty hours a day for the next six years or so, and lend him the money to begin such an industry-no, five young merchants! Then, as they pay us back, we shall find other young merchants to begin similar works! What a marvelous idea!”