Soul of the Fire (88 page)

Lady Chanboor huffed irritably. “But it will come to no good end when Lord Rahl gets the people to vote to join with him.”

Bertrand chortled. “You must be joking. That, my dear, is the simplest part of the whole thing.”

She folded her arms as if to demand to know how.

Dalton, too, was worried about that much of it. “So then, you have no intention of actually allowing the vote to take place?”

Bertrand looked from one to the other.

“
Don’t you see? We will easily win such a vote.”

“
Perhaps with the Anders,” she said, “but the Hakens? You have placed our fate in the hands of the Hakens? Who outnumber us many times over? They will choose freedom.”

“
Hardly. The Hakens are kept ignorant. They don’t have the capacity to comprehend the issues. They believe the only way they can attain anything, from work to food—even to joining the army—is by our benevolent hand. They believe what freedoms they have, or hope to have, can only be granted them by Anders. With freedom comes responsibility—not the easy path they would prefer.”

His wife looked unmoved. “How can you be so sure?”

“
We will have speakers go before the people, wringing their hands, shedding tears, expressing deep fear for what will become of the people at the mercy of the cruel D’Haran Empire, in the uncaring hands of a Lord Rahl who doesn’t know the first thing about their needs as Hakens and only cares about his own dark magic. The Haken people will be so terrified of losing what crumbs we grant them they will shrink from the loaf before them—if we simply make them believe the loaf is poison.”

Dalton’s mind was already spinning with thoughts of how they might accomplish the Minister’s plan. The true possibilities it presented were only just dawning on him.

“
We must consider how to frame it properly,” Dalton said. “It would be best if we remained completely out of it.”

“
My thought, exactly.”

“
Yes …” Hildemara drawled as she imagined, now caught up in the scheme. “We must appear as if we’re looking to the people for direction, rather than the other way around.”

“
Others will speak the words we craft,” Bertrand said as he nodded to her. “We must at all cost remain above it—look as if our hands are bound by a noble adherence to fairness, with our fate in the hands of the wisdom of the people, as if we put that principle and their wishes above all else.”

“
I have men who would be good at expressing the proper tone.” Dalton stroked a finger beneath his lower lip. “Wherever Lord Rahl goes, those who speak for us must go behind, and deliver the message we fashion.”

“
That’s right,” Bertrand said. “A message more powerful, more cutting, more frightening.”

Deep in thought, trying to envision all requisite elements of the strategy, Dalton waggled a finger.

“
Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor will bring swift and unpleasant action, should they suspect such a thing. In fact, it would be best if they never even knew of the things the people are told—at least in the beginning. Our messages must be delivered only after they have gone on to the next place.

“
Let them offer hope. We will come behind and portray the hope of freedom they offer as lies—frighten people out of such thoughts.”

Dalton knew how easily the minds of the people could be manipulated with the right words, especially if people were distracted by other matters and confused with contradictions.

“
If done well, the people will resoundingly approve of us as we at the same time betray them.” Dalton smiled at last. “When I get through with them, they will cheer us on to the task.”

Bertrand took another swig of rum. “Now you’re thinking like the man I hired.”

“
But when the people reject his offer,” Hildemara said, “Lord Rahl will no doubt react badly to losing; he will turn to force.”

“
Possibly.” Bertrand set down the goblet. “But by then the Order will have captured the Dominie Dirtch, and it will be too late for Lord Rahl to do anything about it. He and the Mother Confessor will be isolated, without hope of reinforcements.”

“
Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor will be trapped in Anderith …” She smiled at last, closing her clawed fingers into a fist. “And Jagang will have them.”

Bertrand grinned. “And reward us.” He turned to Dalton. “Where are the D’Haran troops billeted?”

“
Between here and Fairfield.”

“
Good. Let Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor have anything they want. Let them do whatever they wish. We must appear to be most accommodating.”

Dalton nodded. “They said they wanted to see the library.”

Bertrand swept up his goblet again. “Fine. Let them have the run of it—see what they wish. There is nothing in the library that could be of any help to them.”

Richard turned to the ruckus.

“
Shoo!” Vedetta Firkin yelled. The old woman cast her arms forward, adding physical threat to the verbal one she had already delivered. “Shoo, you thief!”

The raven out on the board attached to the windowsill leaped about, flapping its wings, loudly expressing its displeasure with her. She looked around and then snatched a stick up from where it leaned against the wall, ready to hand for propping the next window open. Wielding the stick like a sword, she leaned out the open window and swiped at the raven. Wings outstretched, neck plumage ruffed, feathers on its head lifted like horns, it hopped back and screeched at her.

Again she slashed at the big black bird. This time the raven made a strategic withdrawal to a nearby branch. From a position of safety, it delivered a boisterous lecture. She slammed the window shut.

Vedetta Firkin turned and, after setting down the stick, triumphantly brushed clean her hands. She lifted her nose as she returned to people business.

Richard and Kahlan had spoken with her when they came into the library in order to put her mind at ease. Richard wanted to insure her cooperation rather than have her perhaps get the notion that it was somehow her duty to hide books from them. She had responded brightly to their casual and friendly manner with her.

“
Sorry,” she whispered in low voice, as if to compensate for the yelling. She scurried closer to Richard and Kahlan. “I tacked that board to the sill, and I put seeds on it for the birds, but those vile ravens come and steal the seeds.”

“
Ravens are birds, too,” Richard said.

The woman straightened, a little befuddled. “Yes, but … they’re ravens. Nuisance birds, they are. They steal all the seeds and then the lovely little songbirds don’t come by. I so love the song birds.”

“
I see,” Richard said with a smile before he turned back to his book.

“
Anyway, Lord Rahl, Mother Confessor, sorry for the disturbance. I just didn’t want those noisy ravens bothering you like they’re apt to do. Best to just get rid of them right off. I will try to keep it quiet for you from now on.”

Kahlan smiled up at the woman. “Thank you, Mistress Firkin.”

She paused before turning away. “Excuse me for saying so, Lord Rahl, but you have a delightful smile. It reminds me very much of the smile of a friend of mine.”

“
Really? Who would that be?” Richard asked, absently.

“
Ruben—” Her face reddened. “He’s a gentleman friend.”

Richard showed her the smile she liked. “I’m sure you give him reason to smile, Mistress Firkin.”

“
Ruben,” Kahlan muttered as the woman started to leave. “Reminds me of Zedd. He used to sometimes use the name Ruben.”

Richard sighed with longing for his missing grandfather. “I wish that old man was here, now,” he whispered to Kahlan.

“
If you need anything,” Vedetta Firkin said over her shoulder as she shuffled away, “please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m quite knowledgeable about the culture of Anderith—about our history.”

“
Yes, thank you,” Richard called after the woman, using the opportunity while her back was turned to give Kahlan’s leg an intimate squeeze under the table.

“
Richard,” Kahlan said in a rising tone, “keep your mind on your work.”

Richard patted her thigh in acquiescence. It would be easier to keep his mind on what he was reading without the sweet warmth of her so near. He flipped the book closed and pulled another close. He opened the old book of town records and scanned for anything that looked remotely useful.

They had not found a wealth of information, but he had managed to find enough to piece together facts that might be useful. Without doubt, the library was proving worth his time, as he was beginning to get a sense of the place that had been missing before. It truly was a library of culture. Because of their attitudes and professed beliefs, Richard doubted that many people had the vaguest idea of the obscure history right under their noses, hiding in plain sight.

He was coming to the realization that much of ancient Anderith, before the Hakens, had benefited from direction that eclipsed the development of the people at the time. A benevolent hand had protected them.

By the ancient songs and prayers he had found set down, and the later accounts of the way homage was paid to this shepherding protector, Richard suspected it to be the hand of Joseph Ander. Such adoration would suit the man, as Kolo described him. Richard recognized much of the miraculous guidance as possibly being the work of a wizard. Without this figure after he was gone, the people were like orphans, lost without the succor of idols they worshiped but which no longer answered them. They were bewildered and at the mercy of forces they didn’t understand.

Richard leaned back and stretched as he yawned. The old books infused the library with a musty aroma. Rather intriguing, in a long-hidden-mystery sort of way, but the smell was not altogether pleasant, either. He was beginning to long for the fresh sunny air on the other side of the windows as much as he longed for the end of the long-hidden mystery.

Du Chaillu sat nearby, stroking a loving hand over her unborn baby as she studied a book with intricate illuminations on many of its pages. There were drawings of small animals: ferrets, weasels, voles, foxes, and such. She couldn’t read, but the book full of drawings had her in a constant grin. She’d never seen anything like it. Richard had never seen her dark eyes sparkle so. She was as delighted as a child.

Jiaan lounged nearby. At least, the blade master did a good imitation of lounging. Richard knew he was simply making himself unobtrusive so he could watch everything. A half-dozen D’Haran soldiers strolled the room. There were Ander guards, too, at the doors.

Some of the other people had immediately left the library, fearing they might disturb the Mother Confessor and Lord Rahl. A few remained. Spies, Kahlan had suggested to him, sent to watch them. He had already formed that opinion.

He didn’t trust the Minister any more than Kahlan did. From the first time the subject of Anderith had come up, her obvious distaste for the place had colored his view of it. The Minister of Culture had done nothing to alter his impression, and had lent weight to Kahlan’s warnings about the man.

“
Here,” Richard said, tapping the page. “Here it is again.”

Kahlan leaned close and looked. She made a sound deep in her throat at seeing the name: Westbrook.

“
What this is saying here confirms what we’ve found before,” Richard said.

“
I know the place. It’s a little town. Not much there, from what I recall.”

Richard lifted his arm and signaled for the attention of the old woman. She came scurrying back at once.

“
Yes, Lord Rahl? May I be of assistance?”

“
Mistress Firkin, you said you know a lot about the history of Anderith.”

“
Oh, yes, I do. It’s my favorite subject.”

“
Well, I’ve now found several places where it mentions a place called Westbrook. It says Joseph Ander once lived there.”

“
Yes, that’s true. It’s up in the foothills of the mountains. Up above the Nareef Valley.”

Kahlan had already told him that much, but it was good to know the woman wasn’t trying to mislead them, or conceal information.

“
And is there anything left there of him? Anything that belonged to him?”

She smiled her enthusiasm, pleased he wanted to know about Joseph Ander, the namesake of her land. “Why, yes, there is a small shrine to Joseph Ander there. People may go and see the chair he once used, and a few other small items.