Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

“I’m not doing it for you, Mrs. Cypher; I’m helping a friend I value who is worth helping.”

“Nicci. My name is Nicci.”

“I’m Mr. Cascella,” he growled as he started away.

Mr. Cascella tossed four gold coins on the table in front of People’s Protector Muksin. He had told Nicci and Ishaq that he wanted to hold something in reserve so they could “pump the bellows” if they “needed more heat.”

The blacksmith towered over the man behind the table. Several officers put their noses to their work. The guards around the room all watched.

“Richard Cypher. You have him. We’re here to pay the fine.”

Protector Muksin blinked at the coins like a fat carp that was too full to eat a worm.

“We don’t assess fines until tomorrow night. Come back then, and if this man, Cypher, has not confessed to involvement in anything more serious, you can pay then.”

“I work out at the new palace,” Mr. Cascella said. “Brother Narev keeps me busy. I’m here now, so couldn’t we just take care of this matter while we’re all here? It would make Brother Narev happy if his head blacksmith didn’t have to come all the way over here again tomorrow, when I’m here now.”

Protector Muksin’s dark eyes turned from side to side, traversing the crowded room of wailing people. His chair chattered as he scooted it closer to the table. He folded his stubby fingers atop a pile of tattered papers.

“I would not wish to inconvenience Brother Narev.”

The blacksmith smiled. “I thought not.”

“However, Brother Narev would not want me to overlook my duty to the people.”

“Of course not!” Ishaq put it. He swiped his red hat off his head when the dark eyes turned his way. “Such was not implied, of course. We are trusting in you to do your duty.”

“Who are you?” the Protector asked Nicci.

“I am the wife of Richard Cypher, Protector Muksin. I was here before. I paid a fee to see him. You explained the fine to me.”

He nodded. “I see so many.”

“Look,” Mr. Cascella said, “we have a lot of money for the fine. If we could pay it now and get Richard Cypher out today, that is. Some of it is money other people might not be willing to contribute tomorrow.”

The blacksmith slid four more gold marks across the table. The Protector’s dark eyes looked unimpressed.

“The money all belongs to the people. There is great need.”

Nicci suspected that the great need was in his pocket, and that he was holding out for more. As if to answer the charge, Protector Muksin slid the eight gold coins—a fortune by any standard of measure—back across the table.

“The money would not be paid here. We have no use for it. We are humble servants of the Order. The amount of the fine would be noted in the ledger, but you would have to deliver it to a citizen committee for distribution to those in need.”

Nicci was surprised that she had been wrong about the man. He was indeed an honest official. This changed the nature of the whole business. Her hopes brightened. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so difficult to get Richard released, after all.

Behind her, on the other side of the short wall, women were wailing, children were crying, and people were praying. Nicci could hardly breathe in the stinking sweltering room. She hoped that the official would be moved to hurry the case so he could get to attending the matter of the small crowd of guards who waited off in the side halls for papers and orders.

“But you make a mistake,” the Protector added, “if you think money can buy this man’s release. The Order is not concerned with the life of one man, for no man’s life is of any real importance. I’m inclined to tell you to keep your money—until we can look into why anyone would have such a large sum. I think this man must be disruptive to civil order if he stirs up this much support. No one man is any better than another. That he can bring so much money to bribe him out of his just punishment proves my suspicion that he has something to confess.”

His chair creaked as he leaned back to peer up at them. “It appears you three would think otherwise—think that he is better than any other man.”

“No,” the blacksmith said in an offhanded manner, “it’s just that he is our friend.”

“The Order is your friend. Those in need are your concern. You have no business caring for one man over another. Such unseemly behaviour is blasphemy.”

The three of them before the desk stood mute. Behind them, the weeping, the wailing, the panicked praying for those in the darkness far below, went on without pause. Everything they said only seemed to turn the man more against them.

“If he had a skill, then it might be different. There is great need for contributions to the Order by those with ability. There are many who hold back when they should be doing their best to contribute. It is the duty of those with ability to—”

It all came clear to Nicci in one blinding instant.

“But he does have a skill,” she blurted out.

“What skill?” the Protector asked, not pleased at being interrupted.

Nicci stepped closer. “He is the greatest—”

“Greatness is a delusion of the wicked. All men are the same. All men are evil by nature. All men must struggle to overcome their baser nature by devoting their lives selflessly to the cause of helping their fellow man. Only selfless acts will enable a man to gain his reward in the afterlife.”

Mr. Cascella’s fists tightened. He started to lean in. If he argued, now, it would render the matter irredeemable. Nicci gave him a stealthy kick with the side of her foot, hoping to convince him to be quiet and let her do the talking before it was too late. Nicci bowed her head as she retreated a step, forcing the blacksmith aside without making it look obvious.

“You are wise, Protector Muksin. We could all learn valuable lessons from you. Please forgive the inept words of a poor wife. I am a simple woman, humbled and discomposed in the presence of such a wise representative of the Fellowship of Order.”

Startled, the Protector said nothing. Nicci had traded in such words for over a hundred years, and knew their value. She had given the man, but a petty official, a standing in the core of the Order—in the fellowship itself—that he could never attain. This sort of man would aspire to wear the mantle of social merit. To a man like this, to be thought to hold such intellectual status was as good as earning it; perception was reality to such men. The perception was what counted, not the actual accomplishment.

“What is this man’s skill?”

Nicci bowed her head again. “Richard Cypher is an undistinguished stone carver, Protector Muksin.”

The men to either side of her stared in disbelief.

“A stone carver?” the Protector asked, lingering in thought over the words.

“A faceless artisan, his only hope in life that he could one day work in stone to show man’s wickedness, so that he might h

elp others see the need to sacrifice to their fellow man and the Order and in this way hope to earn his reward in the afterlife.”

The blacksmith quickly recovered and added to her words. “As you may know, many of the carvers at the Retreat were traitors—thank the Creator they were discovered—and so there is much carving to be done for the glory of the Order. Brother Narev can confirm this for you, Protector Muksin.”

The Protector’s dark eyes shifted among the three. “How much money do you have?”

“Twenty-two gold marks,” Nicci said.

He scowled his condemnation as he pulled a ledger book close and dipped his pen in a chipped ink bottle. The Protector bent forward and wrote the fine in his book. He next wrote an order on a piece of paper and handed it up to the blacksmith.

“Take this to the workers’ hall at the docks”—he gestured with his pen off behind them—“down that street. I will release the prisoner after you bring me a workers’ group seal to prove that the fine was paid to the men who deserve it most—those in need. Richard Cypher must be stripped of his ill-gotten gains.”

Richard deserved it most, Nicci thought bitterly. He had earned it, not those other men. Nicci thought about all the nights he’d worked without sleep, without food. She remembered him wincing as he lay down to sleep, his back aching from his labor. Richard had earned that money—she knew that, now. Those men who would get it had done nothing for it but to desire it, thus proclaiming their right to it.

“Yes, Protector Muksin,” Nicci said as she bowed. “Thank you for your wise justice.”

Mr. Cascella let out a quiet sigh. Nicci leaned confidentially toward the Protector.

“We will carry out your equitable instructions immediately.” She smiled deferentially. “Since you have treated us so fairly in this matter, might I ask one further consideration?” It was a lot of gold that would be credited to his effort on behalf of the Order; she knew he would likely be in a generous mood at that moment. “It’s more a matter of curiosity, really.”