"Yet the folk of VETO could have done so, too!"
"True," Fess admitted, "but a central administrative base is more in keeping with their pattern of thought. SPITE's anar-chists have the goal of destroying central coordination, so they are much more likely to manage without its physical symbol."
"Yet they must have a leader," Geoffrey insisted, "a commander! No action can be taken in concert without one!"
"It is theoretically possible," Fess demurred, "though it has never occurred."
"What manner of men are these," Cordelia said in disgust, "who embrace the very thing they abhor, in order to destroy it?"
Fess tactfully forebore to mention that she was not the first to have had that particular insight.
"An they have a commander," Geoffrey said stoutly, "we have someone to question. How can we find him, Fess?"
"That will be extremely difficult," Fess admitted. "In fact, if they adhere to their usual pattern, they will have several commanders, each of whom has all the data that the others have, and any one of whom is capable of coordinating the entire operation."
"They are nonetheless commanders," Geoffrey said staunchly.
"'Tis their pattern in all things," Fall said. "Fairies from other counties have told us of plowboys and shepherds who go to join the forces of bandits; and of giants and ogres, who have begun to wreak terror, but do not leash outlaws; of sorcerers who do seek to seize power, and counts who do battle one another, but never the bandits. Each county seems to have one of each of these, and a monster, too. If 'tis not a dragon, then 'tis a manticore or a cockatrice."
Geoffrey reddened with anger. "Commander or not, they have been well enough guided to unleash this chaos on our land in a day!"
"'Tis horrible," Cordelia stated, pale and trembling. "Oh! The poor peasant folk, who must suffer the woes these evil ones do inflict!"
Gregory clung to her waist, round-eyed with horror.
"And we can do nothing," Magnus breathed, "for this is beyond what four small children can do."
"Aye," Puck agreed. "That is work for thy mother and father, when they do return."
"But will they return?" Cordelia said in a very small voice.
"Oh, they shall!" Gregory looked up at her with total certainty. "They shall find their way home again. None can keep them from us."
Somehow, no one even thought of doubting him.
Then Magnus's face hardened, and he turned to his brothers and sister. "Yet in our own country, we need not allow so much misery! In Runnymede and in this southern tip of Tudor, we can hold sway! Not of our own doing, 'tis true —but by bringing the Wee Folk, and the other goodly creatures…" he nodded toward Cordelia's unicorn "… to act against these… these…"
"Nasty men!" Gregory cried, his little face screwed up in indignation.
Magnus froze, trying to look severe. Then Cordelia giggled, and Magnus grinned. "Aye, lad, these nasties! Yet we have brought Puck and Kelly and their folk to league 'gainst these 'nasties,' and we can do it again and again, till they are all rendered harmless! Runnymede at least can be kept safe, and the King shall have a sanctuary of peace into which to retire!"
"Aye!" Gregory shouted. "We shall seek out the nasties, and lock them in gaols!"
"And while we are about it," Geoffrey said grimly, "we can ask certain questions of them."
"Out upon them!" Cordelia cried. "With which shall we begin?"
They all fell silent, staring at each other in consternation.
"Who," Gregory asked, "is the greatest of nasties?"
Chapter 14
"'Tis well asked," Magnus admitted. "Who can be chief among them? Who can be leader of they who seek to eschew leadership?"
They were walking down a forest path in the general direction of the main road, trying to puzzle it out.
"They do not truly lack a leader," Geoffrey asserted, "though they claim to. I heard Papa speak of this, of a time; there's one whose word they heed."
Magnus frowned at him. "I have not heard of this. What name had he?"
"I do not know," Geoffrey confessed, "nor did Papa. Yet he seemed certain that there was such an one."
"Mayhap thou hast heard of this, Robin?" Cordelia asked.
"As much as Geoffrey hath," Puck said, "yet no more. Thy father seeks some philosopher, some writer of ill-formed ideas, whose thoughts these foes of governance do adhere to. He doth give no orders, seest thou, but doth suggest some actions."
"Yet Papa doth not know?" Gregory inferred. "He doth but guess?"
"Nay; 'tis something more than that," Puck said. "He's certain that this philosopher exists, but only doth think the others follow his words."
Geoffrey shook his head, frowning. "I misdoubt me of it. No band of men can take any action an they have no commander. Their deeds would lack coherence; each would do what the others have done. There would be only repetition of the same work, in many places."
Magnus nodded slowly. "Now that I bethink me of it, their actions may bespeak just that."
"Hold!" Puck stiffened. "Here comes one hot-foot!"
Summer and Fall popped up, wide-eyed. "An elf hath told us, and we have gone to see! His words are true!"
"What words are those?" Cordelia asked.
" 'Tis a band of peasants," Fall explained. "They do march along the King's High Way, bearing scythes and brandishing sickles—and a boy doth march before them!"
Cordelia was puzzled. "Before them? Doth not his mother keep him close?"
"Nay, nay!" Summer protested. "The lad doth lead!"
The children stared.
Then Geoffrey scowled. "Can this be true? That a whole band of grown folk would allow a mere boy to lead them?"
"Quite true," Fall assured him, "for the lad who leads them claims to be thyself."
The children stared, thunderstruck.
Then Magnus found his voice. "How can this be? Could a peasant lad have such audacity?"
"Nay!" Geoffrey cried, "for who would credit him? What proof could he offer?"
"The best, for one whose claim is false," Summer answered. "He is the spit and image of thyself."
Geoffrey stood rigid, the color draining from his face. Cordelia saw, and took a step backward before she realized what she was doing.
Then the boy erupted. "The louse and recreant! The vile bit of vermin! How durst he? How could this overweening rogue have the gall and bile to present himself as me? Nay, take me to him straightaway, that I may carve his gizzard for his tombstone!"
But the two fairies stepped backward, appalled by his wrath.
"Wilt thou not, then?" Geoffrey shouted. "Nay, I must…"
"Throttle thy wrath!" Magnus snapped, and Geoffrey whirled to face him, crouching for a leap; but his brother said, more calmly, "What warrior will confront another in hot blood?" and Geoffrey froze. He stared at Magnus for a moment, then answered, quite reasonably, "Why, he who shall lose."
Magnus nodded. '"'Tis even as our father hath said, and we've seen the truth of it in himself. Nay, then, brother, be mindful—a rogue who would claim to be thee must needs be competent at battle. Thou must needs have thy wits about thee when thou dost face him."
"Even so," Gregory breathed.
Geoffrey stood, gazing at him for a minute; then he nodded, and slowly straightened up, relaxing—but every muscle held a tension that still bespoke firmly-bridled anger. "I thank thee brother. I am myself again." He turned to Summer and Fall. "My apologies, sweet sprites, for such unseemly wrath."
"'Tis warranted." But Fall still stared at him, her eyes huge.