Weapon of Fear (6 page)

Arbuckle
strode into the Great Hall, his blademasters in tight formation around him, and
stopped short.  The cavernous chamber seemed to have shrunk, so filled was it
with imperial guards, knights, and squires, all clad in gleaming armor and
weapons.  The herald announced his entrance, and the entire room bowed as one. 
A flutter of apprehension mixed with pride filled him.  These men and women
were sworn to him, and with them he would banish his vile father’s shadow.

Struggling
to maintain a composed mien, Arbuckle announced, “It’s time, Captain Otar.” 

“Milord
Prince.”  Otar stepped forward and lowered his voice.  “This is unwise.  You
put yourself in peril needlessly.  Your father would never have—”

“I
am
not
my father, Captain.  The sooner you accept that, the better we
will get along.  Besides,”  Arbuckle tugged at the hem of his dress doublet, a
bit snug now that he wore a fine chainmail shirt beneath it, “with all of you
around me, I’m well protected.”

“Heralds
could just as easily announce the emperor’s death, milord,” Otar argued.

“No,
Captain, they couldn’t.  Heralds and posters are impersonal.  I must
show
the populace that things will change.”  Arbuckle smiled to the captain.  “But
thank you for pointing out that my father would never do this.  Now I’m certain
it’s the right thing to do.”

“If
you say so, Milord Prince, but I’d have my objection to this foray noted.”  Otar
nodded to the imperial scribe hovering just outside Arbuckle’s cordon of
blademasters.  The man’s pen was busy as always, recording every word.

“So
noted, Captain.  Now, I’ll say a few words before we leave.”  Arbuckle stepped
up onto the gilded dais at the head of the room and scanned the assembled
crowd.  “Ladies and gentlemen.”  Every eye snapped to him, and Arbuckle felt a
twinge of apprehension.  He was unused to making speeches.

Just
tell them the truth.

“This
the start of a new era.  For more than forty years, Tsing has been ruled with
an iron fist.  That reign of tyranny is over.  I am
not
my father, and
things are going to change. We will maintain order, but we will institute
justice as well.  Every citizen of Tsing deserves the same rights.  With your
help, I intend to give them those rights.”

Armor
rustled as they shifted.  He saw surprise on some faces, resolve on others.

“Change
will not come easily, but is necessary.  History tells us that oppression leads
to rebellion and the death of empires.  We—you and I—must show the common
people that there is no need for rebellion.  Today we bring them hope.”

Several
in the crowd nodded, though a few frowned.  Arbuckle hoped that was simple
worry, not rebellion.

“I
expect that they will welcome the news.  They may even get rambunctious,
but
,”
Arbuckle lowered his voice, aiming for a stern but unthreatening tone, “your
mission is to protect me, nothing more.  There is to be no offensive action. 
The constabulary will deal with any unrest.  Any questions?”

A
single cricket would have seemed loud in the ensuing silence.  Surprise
wreathed every face, guard and knight alike.  Their reactions brought a smile
to Arbuckle.  They were used to being ordered to action, with no questions
allowed.  They were learning that he was not his father.

“Very
good.”  He gestured to the towering doors that led to the palace foyer and the
courtyard beyond.  “Let us proceed.”

The
clatter of metal echoed through the Great Hall as the troops parted to allow
the crown prince passage, then followed him outside.  Arbuckle boarded his
carriage and settled into the soft seat, his scribe tucking into the opposite
corner.  The carriage shifted as his blademasters leapt into place with the
driver, atop, and on the rear.  Within minutes all were ready, and the carriage
lurched into motion.

Arbuckle
peered out the window, but could see little beyond steel and horseflesh.  A
cordon of knights and squires rode around his carriage, and the Imperial Guard
marched behind.  Arbuckle had envisioned a more discreet contingent.

It’s
like an invading army
…

Arbuckle
slouched into his seat, disgruntled at the thought.  He despised his father’s
brutal policies, and had tried to dissociate himself from them whenever he
could.  As crown prince, he had stood beside Tynean Tsing II during audiences
and attended social functions he couldn’t get out of, though he refused at
every opportunity.  The emperor had long ago stopped trying to instruct his
only son and heir in governance and statecraft.  Arbuckle had tried instead to
learn his duty from books, gleaning what he could from historical successes and
failures.  But reading was no substitute for experience, and he felt
ill-prepared to rule the vast empire.

I
thought I’d have more time…

After
what seemed an interminable duration, but was probably less than an hour, the
procession halted, and Arbuckle’s mood brightened.  It was time for the people
to meet their future emperor, time for them to learn that he was not his
father.  A buzz rose over the clatter of hooves and armor, the voices of the commoners
gathered in the plaza.

“We’ve
reached the Imperial Plaza, Milord Prince!”  Captain Otar opened the carriage
door.  “There’s quite a crowd.  I’ll say again that I don’t think this is a
wise thing to do.”

“Then
I’ll go down in history as Arbuckle the Unwise, Captain.  This plaza epitomizes
my father’s injustice.  This is where I need to be.”  He swallowed hard and
stepped from the carriage, pausing a moment in the door.

The
Imperial Plaza was as horrific as he remembered. Rows of pillories and whipping
posts surrounded a cluster of gallows, an appalling number of them occupied. 
Above it all, the imperial flags snapped in the breeze.  The deep-blue crested
banner fluttered upside-down, proclaiming a death within the imperial family.  Constables
and mounted lancers girded the perimeter punishment area in a solid wall of
steel.

The
buzz of voices rose as the crowd caught sight of Arbuckle.  Commoners by the
thousands craned their necks to see him.  Though notice of the gathering had
been last minute, it seemed as if half of the city’s population had attended.

“Milord
Prince!”  Chief Constable Dreyfus approached with a squad of constables, grim
men and women in tarnished mail with hands on swords.  He waited until Arbuckle’s
blademasters allowed him through their protective cordon.  Bowing, Dreyfus got
right to the point.  “This is a dangerous place.  This rabble could go off at
any moment!”

“This
rabble
, as you call them, Chief Constable, look fairly calm to me.”

“For
the moment, yes, Milord Prince, but so does a tinderbox before it goes up in
flames.” He looked around, obviously nervous.  “Trust me.  They’re like curs. 
Toss them a morsel and they’ll turn around and bite the hand that feeds them.”

“A
dog that has been beaten for forty years has good reason to bite, Chief
Constable!”  Arbuckle forced down his temper.  Dreyfus and his constables dealt
with the dregs of society every day.  No wonder they were jaded.  “I respect
your opinion, but please refrain from disparaging the people you are sworn to
protect!”

Dreyfus
looked stunned, but recovered quickly.  “All I’m saying, milord, is that I
can’t guarantee your safety.”

“That’s
not your concern, Chief Constable.  The Imperial Guard will see to my safety. 
Your job is to maintain order.  Protect the city and the populace from harm.  I
want no brutality here!”

“As
you wish, milord.”  Dreyfus bowed and retreated to command his constables.

“Good. 
Now, where…”  Arbuckle scanned the field of punishment and saw what he needed. 
“There.”  He pointed to one of the gallows.  The platform was high enough that
he would be visible to the entire crowd.  “There!  I’m going there.”

“But
to expose yourself—”

“Captain
Otar, how can I address the people if they can’t
see
me?”  He glared at
the man and pointed again to the gallows.  “We’re going
there
!”

“Yes,
milord.”  The captain clenched his jaw and shouted orders.

The
Imperial Guard formed a double row from the carriage to the gallows, shields
facing outward.  Arbuckle proceeded down the passage between lines of guards,
his blademasters tightly knotted around him. 

Good
Gods of Light
!  Beneath
the gallows dangled the body of a woman, a rope cinched tight around her neck. 
I can’t change my mind now
.  He mounted the steps of the gibbet, his
footsteps hollow on the well-trodden wood.  A breeze fluttered his robe,
wafting the scent of blood, infection, and death through the air.  Arbuckle
struggled not to gag as he gazed out across the sea of people.

“People
of Tsing!” he shouted, hoping his words would reach to the edge of the crowd. 
“I am Crown Prince Arbuckle, heir to the throne of Tsing.  The emperor, my
father, is dead!”

Surprisingly,
the people remained silent.  Arbuckle had expected cries, maybe catcalls,
perhaps some cheers, but not a sound reached him beyond the shuffling of feet
and the clatter of armor and hooves on stone.  He examined the crowd, looking
from face to face.  A few glanced sidelong at the squads of constables, but not
a single eye met his.

Fear
…  Ice water trickled down his
spine with the realization. 
They’re terrified
.

A
lone shout of, “Good riddance!” rang out from the crowd, and a squad of constables
surged forward.

“Stop
right there!” Arbuckle bellowed.  “I’m here to speak to the people.  If they
choose to speak back to me, they have the right.  No one here will be punished
for speaking out.  There will be justice under my reign!”

“What
justice?” A man surged forward to the cordon of constables, his accusative hand
thrusting between the shields to point.  “How dare you speak of justice
standing above my wife’s
corpse
!  There ain’t no justice for common
folk.  Only for you nobles!”

A
murmur swept through the crowd, and Arbuckle could hear the rage in it.  He
looked back at the rope trailing down through the trap door in the gallows, and
realized that the man was right.

What
a hypocrite I look
.

“There
will
be justice!” He raised his hands.  “I pledge to you, there will be
the same justice for all, noble and commoner alike.”

The
murmurs grew louder and the crowd shifted, a few more catcalls and epithets
ringing out.  The constables fidgeted, but remained in place.  Arbuckle had to
demonstrate his sincerity, but how? 
Show them you’re not your
father
.
 

Turning
to his nearest bodyguard, he held out a hand.  “Give me a dagger.”

The
blademaster immediately handed over the dagger from his belt.

“Captain
Otar!  I’m going to cut down this poor woman.  Have your men catch her.  They
are to treat the body with
respect
, do you hear me?”

“Milord
Prince!  Why?”  The captain stared up at him with wide, questioning eyes.

Otar’s
surprise made Arbuckle realize that he had misinterpreted the captain’s mindset. 
He hadn’t been upset to learn that his former master was a sadist and disagreed
with the notion that commoners deserved any consideration whatsoever, let alone
respect. 
Time to educate him
, Arbuckle resolved

“Because
it is her due!  Now do as I say or I’ll have you removed from your post,
Captain!”

“Yes,
Milord Prince.”  Otar’s voice was sullen, but he gave the requisite orders.

Arbuckle
leaned out over the open trap door and gripped the rope, sawing the keen blade
through the strands.  The prince realized his mistake as the rope parted and
the rough hemp ripped through his blistered palm.  A hand grasped his shoulder,
and another snatched the rope beneath his fist.  One of his blademasters had
saved him from dropping the body, and maybe tumbling after it.

“Thank
you.  Lower her gently.”  Arbuckle released his grasp, his hand bloody.

Another
murmur swept the crowd as the blademaster lowered the body into the arms of two
imperial guards waiting below.  Easing the woman to the ground, one removed the
noose while the other unclasped his own cloak and wrapped the forlorn figure in
a makeshift shroud.

“Very
good!”  Arbuckle returned the dagger to his bodyguard, then called down to Otar
again.  “Captain!  Have your people take her to her husband.  Release the rest
of the prisoners to their families.  Use your cloaks to wrap the dead.”

“Milord,
this sets a bad precedent.”

“Carry
out my orders, Captain!”  Arbuckle warned. 

Otar
shook his head.  “I cannot countenance this action.  It’s foolhardy and
dangerous!”

Arbuckle
bristled.  If he couldn’t control his own Imperial Guard, how could he hope to
govern an empire? 

“Very
well, Captain.”  The man relaxed for a moment before Arbuckle bellowed,
“Commander Ithross, relieve Captain Otar of command and place him under
arrest!  You are acting captain of the Imperial Guard as of this moment.”

Ithross
moved forward with a squad of guardsmen.

“What? 
You can’t—”

“I
can and I have, Master Otar.  You’re under arrest.  Hand over your weapons, or
you’ll be taken by force.”  To Arbuckle’s immense relief, the captain unclipped
his sword belt and handed it over to Ithross, though his face darkened with
rage.  Unclasping his cloak of office, he flung it to the ground and allowed
himself to be led away.

A
cheer rang out from the commoners in the fore of the crowd.

“Commander
Ithross, did you hear my orders to your former captain?”

“I
did, Milord Prince.”  Ithross saluted smartly.