Peter & Max - Bill Willingham [76]
“Who was it you wished to see?” Grubel respectfully asked the piper.
Max stopped playing then and lowered Fire once more to his side. “The top man,” he said. “Whoever’s actually in charge. I’ve no patience for clawing my way up through the usual layers of underlings.”
“Then do please follow me, sir,” Grubel said. He snapped to attention, executed a perfect military about-face, and began marching off into the city. He marched proudly, happy to be of service in any possible way to this wise and wondrous man, determined to see that nothing stood in the way of whatever the pied piper desired.
Max followed, after politely acknowledging smart salutes from the two guards.
“MERE QUARTERS WON’T DO,” Max said, “no matter how lavishly appointed. I want an entire house, all to myself, and make it a fine one — the best that the town can provide. I’ll expect servants, including butlers and valets, maids and housekeepers, and coachmen of course to operate the expensive coach you’ll also provide. And what else? Oh yes, I’ll require only the best cooks, exclusive to my needs.” He could of course continue to magically summon the most exquisite food for each meal, but that seemed a waste of Fire’s many abilities. Each time he drew power from Fire’s deep well, it wearied him, often for hours afterwards. Better that he learn to save Fire’s miracles for more important tasks.
“Excuse me,” Lord Diederick interrupted, when it looked as if the oddly dressed stranger seated in his office was about to continue listing his incredible demands. “Why would I even consider providing any of these things to you? I’m still not sure why anyone even agreed to show you in here.”
This was the same Sir Diederick that was one of the three knights of the road, so many years past. But, as well as being a knight of the Twenty-Third Horde, he was also a Baron now, and in charge of the city’s civil administration. He wore a fine suit of imported green silk, which had his nobleman’s crest of vines sewn on its breast. In addition to Max, fat old Wenzel, the town’s civilian mayor, sat in the room. The Empire liked to leave cooperative local officials in charge, whenever they could, to preserve the illusion of local autonomy. Mayor Wenzel turned out to be so completely cooperative with the invaders that he was allowed to sit in on important meetings and even administer some civic duties on his own.
“You’ll provide me with all of these things and more,” Max said, “because I’m a powerful sorcerer. I can do many things of benefit to you and your empire, and should be rewarded in kind.” Without consulting the Black Forest Witch, Max had decided to defer her vengeance, for a year or two, so that he could first sample the various luxuries that only a fine city like Hamelin could provide. She’d made such a point about hardly noticing the passage of time, he thought, that she wouldn’t mind waiting a little while longer.
“But then you’ll have to wait all the longer to have your own reckoning with Peter,” is what Frost Taker would have whispered to him. But Max had elected to leave the blade behind, in the witch’s care, thinking that Fire, being so much more powerful, would be all the weapon he’d ever need from now on.
“The Empire already has sorcerers aplenty,” Diederick said. “Every horde has a company of them, to enchant hardness into our blades and armor, courage into our troops, and true flight into our arrows.”
“And can any one of them also make an opposing army surrender en masse,” Max said, “or cause them to simply die in the field, without a single blow being struck, or an arrow fired?”
“Of course not. No one can.”
“Except me,” Max said.
“Nonsense! I’ll hear no more of this!” Diederick was ready by then to have Max thrown into the streets — or better yet, the city dungeons — along with whoever played a part in allowing him to get this far. But something in Max’s eyes made Diederick pause. Mayor Wenzel seemed to sense it too, because he spoke up for