The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [52]
“Get your gear…” Isolde, now wearing solid black and looking grim, was talking to Sammel, but I didn’t need a personal reminder. At her belt was a sword, also black-hilted, and a long knife.
In the short time it took me to go down the ladder and claim cloak, pack, and staff, the Eidolon was jockeying up to the pier, where a handful of figures waited.
“Tax guards…” muttered Myrten. For whatever reason, he stood nearly next to me at the railing.
“Tax guards?”
“The duke wants his cut first.”
“Of everything?”
“Everything. Isolde will have to shell out a gold penny for each of us.”
“We have to pay to come here?”
“Hell, isn’t it?” Myrten smirked.
I hadn’t thought about that. Would we have to pay entry taxes in other provinces? My stock of coins was looking less and less adequate.
“Dangergelders!” called Isolde.
I turned to see her motioning and followed her gestures. Someone wanted us off the Eidolon as soon as possible. The gangplank was barely in place as we lined up and walked down. A pair of seamen were still tying lines to the bollards on the pier.
A round-faced official with gold braid on both shoulders and a silver breastplate waited at the bottom of the plank. Behind him stood ten soldiers, each wearing a sword but carrying a club ready to use. Their breastplates were cold iron. Behind them lurked a shadowy presence, a woman in white, with the same sense of disorder I had felt once before, in the blade the trader had tried to sell Krystal.
In the dampness I wanted to shiver, but tightened my grip on my staff. Strangely, it felt even warmer now than on a sunlit day.
“Dangergelders?” rasped the round-faced man. His eyes looked beyond Isolde, avoided looking at any of us.
“Seven,” noted the woman in black.
“That will be seven golds.”
“You have a receipt?”
The round-faced man looked to his right, where a thin youngster scribbled on a tablet, then handed the single sheet to the tax agent.
Isolde offered the coins and took the receipt.
“Weapons?”
“Nothing except the normal—staves, swords, knives, and a few pistols. All for personal use.”
“Magicians?”
Isolde hesitated briefly, so briefly I doubt the official caught it, before answering. “No magicians. Two blackstaffs.”
“That’s another four golds.”
“Since when?” Isolde fixed full concentration on the official.
The round-faced man said nothing, but his forehead was damp.
“Since…since…”
“This afternoon, perhaps?”
“Magistra…it has not been a good year…”
“Additional duties are not in the Agreement.”
The round-faced man swallowed. His forehead was clearly wet now, and not from the dampness of the afternoon. He swallowed again.
A soldier, his iron breastplate bearing a four-pointed star on the upper left, eased forward from the armed group.
Isolde shifted her weight ever so slightly, and I imagined she was smiling, although I could not see her face, wedged as I was into the narrow space just at the foot of the plank. Myrten was in front of me, breathing noisily. Krystal’s hand was on the hilt of her blade.
“The duke has insisted, has he?” prompted Isolde. “With your head on the line?”
A few drops of rain splattered on my face, and the wind from the hills overlooking the city seemed ever cooler. I glanced back toward the Eidolon. The weathered captain and two officers stood at the top of the plank, watching. All three carried halberds I hadn’t even seen during our passage.
Clearly, we weren’t expected back aboard.
“No…Magistra…but the needs of the duchy…”
“Then I demand the right of instant trial.” Isolde took a step forward, and the tax official squirmed backward.
Myrten looked at me. I looked back. Right of instant trial? Our lectures hadn’t covered that.
“But…” protested the official.
“You wish to repudiate your own laws?” asked Isolde