The Call (The Magnificent 12 1)

The man made a deep, grumbly sound that might have been a sort of restaurant review. Then he said, “You’re a stranger, as am I. Do you come to join up?”

“Join up?”

“The Army of Light,” the man said. “They’re hiring. If you have the right stuff.”

“We have two cows,” Grimluk said. “And this spoon.” He showed the spoon.

The man laughed, a sound that seemed totally out of place in a room where people were mostly whispering and glancing nervously over their shoulders.

“We have no need of spoons! Spoons will not defeat the Pale Queen!”

The whispering came to a very sudden stop. The man winced, clearly embarrassed, as if he’d farted or used an offensive word. (Soap was one such offensive word.)

“Sorry. I meant to say, ‘the Dread Foe.’”

The people in the room went back to their slurred whispers.

“This Army of Light,” Gelidberry said, “do they pay well?”

“Hey, I’m not looking for a job,” Grimluk protested.

“You have a family to feed,” Gelidberry snapped. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you’re not doing very well at that.” She pointed at her ribs. “I can count these clear through my clothing.”

“All right, all r

ight,” Grimluk said. He pointedly turned back to the man, ignoring Gelidberry’s reproachful gaze. “I used to be horse leader to the baron. Now I’m a fleer.”

“Everyone’s a fleer nowadays,” the man snorted. Then he held out a fat-fingered hand. Grimluk shook it.

“My name is Grimluk.”

“Wick,” the man said. “I came to join the Army of Light as a pikeman. I could get you in to see the pike captain.”

“I have no experience with a pike.”

Wick shrugged. “Eh. There’s not much to it. It’s a big, long spear. You hold the pointy end toward the enemy. I’m not saying there’s not some skill involved, but you seem sharp enough.”

It took Grimluk a few seconds to think about that. “Sharp enough? Was that a pun?”

Wick chewed at his lip. “I’m not sure. All I know is, they’re hiring pikemen. It pays two loaves of bread and a small hatful of cheese curds per week, and they supply the pike.”

“I used to earn a large basket of chickpeas and a plump rat per week, and one pair of sandals a year,” Grimluk said.

Wick guffawed. “Ha! You won’t find that kind of riches carrying a pike, that’s for sure. A plump rat? A pair of sandals? That’s Magnifica money.”

“Magnifica?”

The use of that word had the opposite effect on the room from what the words Pale Queen had caused. Instead of stunned silence and fearful glances, Grimluk saw drunken eyes open wide and fill with tears of hope.

“He can do that,” Gelidberry said quickly.

Wick shook his head sadly. “Oh, my lady, your confidence does your husband proud, but to be a Magnifica, a man must be no more than twelve years of age.”

“He’s twelve,” Gelidberry said.

“And he must possess the enlightened puissance.”

That shut Gelidberry up pretty effectively. Because she had no idea what enlightened puissance might be. But by this point Grimluk was feeling a little disrespected, both by Gelidberry and by Wick’s casual dismissal of the idea that he might possess puissance.