Harvest (41 page)

They backed off but it was a sign of things awry. It would not have happened in the Duck even weeks before.

Blut’s response later was a surprise.

‘Before I meet Festoon and your other leaders I would like to walk a little through Brum, to get a tenor of the people here and see if that incident is typical. It bodes ill, very ill, for
a city on the brink of attack. You don’t defeat the Fyrd by turning on each other.’

‘You won’t find out much by walking about anonymously,’ said Jack.

A glint came to Blut’s eye.

‘Anonymity is just the point,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, I need to do it. The needs of the city of Brum and the citizens of the Empire, whatever and whoever they may be, take
precedence over a mere Emperor. What is my office without its subjects? What am I worth if I cannot hear their voices? Show me your city, Jack, let me listen and learn. Take me to where its heart
beats loudest. Then take me to the Lord Festoon and Igor Brunte and we shall see what we shall see!’

Of that night’s tour of Brum’s greatest parts and its underbelly, and of Blut’s tireless questioning in the company of Jack and Backhaus, no record was kept. But by morning,
Blut was the only one still going, the others exhausted by his energy.

‘Now,’ he declared, after a hearty breakfast of fried eel and shattered spuddikin in a rough eatery off the Bullring, where Arthur and Barklice joined them and folk began to think
there was more to their party than met the eye, ‘I am ready for the fray. Take me to the High Ealdor of Brum!’

When they arrived at Lord Festoon’s Residence in the Main Square of Brum, everyone but Blut was surprised to see an angry crowd gathering outside.

‘What do you expect?’ he said grimly.

The normally relaxed citizens of Brum, already in a state of growing panic about the likely invasion of the city, were not getting the reassurances and action they felt they needed from their
High Ealdor.

No doubt that explained why, in addition to what they had learnt in the course of Blut’s private tour, they had seen some families already packed up and leaving the city in precisely the
disorderly way which Jack had heard about and which Festoon and Brunte had been hoping to avoid.

They gave Blut a false name and hurried him past the stavermen guarding the door. They were now even more fearful that if someone realized who he really was he might be attacked. The crowd was
looking for someone to blame and who better than the Emperor of the Hyddenworld himself?

It was as well no one yet knew what he looked like.

Nor did they reveal the truth when they got inside and stood about waiting for an audience with Festoon. His officials were usually the model of courtesy and calm, as he was himself. But the
collective panic inside the building was as bad as that outside.

Officials and clerks ran hither and thither without any clear purpose; there were untidy piles of paper where none would have been seen before. They heard raised voices behind closed doors and
huddles of angry department heads surrounded by unhappy clerks at the far ends of corridors. People ran upstairs and down as if their life depended on it, stopping halfway and turning about because
they had forgotten what mission they were on.

As for Lord Festoon, when he finally appeared, he was perspiring, pale and breathless.

‘My dear Jack . . . Arthur! . . . my friends . . . of course it is good to see you all safe and sound, but . . . this is no time for niceties . . . which will have to wait . . . I am
expecting Marshal Brunte any moment and we have much to discuss and organize, so if you don’t mind . . .’

It was in vain that Jack and then Arthur hinted at the importance and potential value of the nondescript stranger they had with them.

‘Of course,’ said Festoon, pausing for a moment to shake Blut’s hand as he was introduced under his assumed name, in an attempt to be civil but brushing their attempt at a
proper introduction aside, ‘it is always good to make new acquaintances but just now is not the right moment. Eh? You can see that, can’t you?’

He might have dashed off then and there had not, to Jack’s astonishment, Blut himself taken the initiative.

They were standing in the central foyer of the Residence, the front door on one side, a grand staircase opposite and various doors to various rooms and corridors to either side and behind.

‘My Lord Festoon,’ said Blut in a sharp and commanding way, ‘I would suggest . . .’

The voice alone stopped Festoon in his tracks, as it did several officials nearby who heard it.

‘. . . that it might be a good idea to . . .’

Blut took Festoon’s arm with ease and confidence and led the startled High Ealdor towards the stairs.

‘. . . stem the tide of this unhelpful disorder in your Residence, which I understand is the very heart of the city’s administration and therefore . . .’

He mounted three or four steps and turned Festoon round to face the foyer, continuing in quieter voice, ‘. . . is a place that should be an exemplar of how things should be seen to be
done. Disorder breeds panic. Order, calm.
Therefore
. . .’

Festoon began to realize that the stranger had brought him to a situation and place where he had no particular wish to be and began to look at once irritated and puzzled.

Jack and Arthur had followed them up the stairs and the sight of this little knot of notables, perhaps particularly Jack, who was carrying the Stavemeister’s stave of office, had the
effect of stilling and quietening the whole area.

‘. . . therefore,’ continued Blut with a curiously persuasive persistence, his spectacles flashing about the place, ‘I suggest that you tell your people to stay calm, that
there is no immediate danger and that in a short while, after a further meeting, you will have an important new plan to announce.’

Blut stepped back, raised his hands and clapped to indicate that Festoon was about to speak and then looked expectantly towards him.

‘I . . . um . . . gentlemen and ladies . . .’ began the nonplussed Festoon.

Blut’s calm resolution had spread to those nearby and to his credit Festoon was always, on public occasions, measured and impressive. This quality kicked in now and, faced by his own
executive officers and clerks, he spoke just those calming words which Blut had suggested he should, and a few more too by way of welcoming Jack’s return with Arthur and of course . . . of
course . . .

He eyed the inscrutable Blut, hoping in some way to be told his name which, naturally, he did not yet know nor even guess.

‘And of course . . . that welcome extends to their friend who . . . I believe . . .’

Festoon searched for something to say and finding the right sentiment and turn of phrase, now that Blut had calmed him down, said, ‘. . . accompanied our Stavemeister and Professor Foale,
in a manner of speaking, er . . . back again, with, I am sure, that same fortitude and courage which any citizen of Brum would show – and will show – when faced by challenges near and
far!’

It verged on the nonsensical but was very well said and the mood began to change.

‘Therefore, my dear friends,’ concluded Festoon, gaining strength from the sudden calm about him, ‘pray go about your business as our citizens expect you to! When the hour of
action comes, which it will, I know you will each play your part and be a credit to yourselves, your families, this Office and this great city!’

The cheering was loud and prolonged, the mood now better still.

‘Now,’ said Blut, who had assumed a position at Festoon’s right hand, as he often had before so expertly with Slaeke Sinistral, ‘I would advise my Lord to go and stand on
the steps down to the Square, and address the anxious crowd in a similarly suitable way . . . and then . . .’

‘Then?’ murmured Festoon as if in a hypnotic trance.

‘Then we shall talk in private and see what we may do about the grim situation this great city faces.’

‘We shall indeed,’ cried Festoon, and his friends and colleagues could not but agree.

H
alf an hour later Jack and some others, including Blut, convened in a private conference chamber with Lord Festoon.

A fuller meeting of the War Council had been scheduled for the afternoon but he had exercised his authority and sent out notices that he wanted it to start earlier.

Festoon now looked considerably happier than he had for several days, colour having returned to his cheeks and the breathlessness all gone. Officials waited on him as calmly as they had always
done until recent days, setting out water, tumblers, pads and stylos, and certain papers, dossiers and city plans. Jack had been privy to earlier meetings and now suggested these be ready for
perusal.

The table was oval and Festoon sat at one end of it. He had accepted Blut without question as a friend of Jack’s, such was the ability of the Emperor to instil confidence, even without
being recognized. Now Blut took a seat in the centre of one side of the table, Jack and Arthur on the other. Backhaus had appeared with Meyor Feld as well as Barklice, who had a gift for being in
the right place at the right time.

Jack had sent Bratfire off to fetch Stort.

Of the others who had been summoned, the main one still missing was Igor Brunte. Jack particularly wished him to be there before the truth about Blut was revealed.

After a reasonable wait, Festoon felt he should begin.

‘Well then, gentlemen,’ said Festoon turning amiably to Blut, ‘I think it’s time . . .’

No doubt he was going to say it was time that someone explained who the stranger was and what he was doing there and, come to think of it, why he should assume with such confidence the role of
adviser to the High Ealdor, if that was the role he had taken. Of which Festoon was not quite sure.

But he had not even begun to say any of that before Blut cut across him in the compelling way he had and said, ‘It’s time we brought order to this chaos. Time we made sure our right
hand knows what the left is doing. Time to . . .’

It was at this moment that Blut himself was cut short by the arrival of Igor Brunte.

He looked at his most formidable: head thrust forward, stance determined, black eyes ranging round the room from the door he had unceremoniously pushed open, the smile lines round his eyes and
mouth re-forming into a belligerent scowl.

He had several other aides in uniform at his side, and Feld and Backhaus, who were seated at the table, stood up. In addition were some senior civilians and the city’s Sub-Quentor or law
enforcement officer.

Brunte had heard before his arrival and now saw with his own eyes that an unknown hydden appeared to be hijacking the meeting. He eyed Blut unpleasantly and moved at once to freeze him out.

‘And who the hell are you?’ he said, advancing to the far end of the table from Festoon and signalling to those with him to take their places.

Before Blut could reply, Brunte sat down, scowling all the more, and ignoring him, addressing his next remark to the High Ealdor.

‘There’d better be a good reason for calling this meeting early, Festoon!’

‘There is,’ said Blut, cutting in quietly, his face impassive, his grey eyes shining, ‘a
very
good reason, er, Marshal Brunte.’

An uneasy silence fell, which Brunte let hang among them for a moment or two.

‘I’ll ask my question again,’ he said and still speaking to Lord Festoon. ‘Who the hell is this?’

Only Arthur made to speak, rising slightly, his mouth opening to protest and perhaps explain, but Blut stilled him with a firm hand on his arm.

‘I . . . I . . .’ began Festoon, the odd befuddlement into which Blut had put him still having its hold, even as he realized for the first time the absurdity of the fact that he had
no idea who this stranger was.

Brunte laughed briefly, but his eyes stayed cold and were now menacing. He glanced fleetingly to his side, nodding to one of the two guards who had stationed themselves behind him, both armed
and formidable.

The meeting had taken a dangerous and potentially violent turn.

Jack too was on his guard, reaching down discreetly to take up his stave of office, alert and ready to stop anything extreme. Yet even then he sensed Blut’s extraordinary control and
fearlessness.

Brunte stared at him.

‘Get out,’ he said, ‘now.’

He nodded to his guards who, as one, began moving round the table towards Blut.

He simply smiled and shook his head slightly.

‘Who am I?’ he asked rhetorically, eyeing the guards with such composure that they hesitated, uneasy before his calm assurance and looking back at Brunte for clearer instruction.

‘Who
am
I?’ repeated Blut, the emphasis filled with seeming surprise that Brunte did not know, implying that the others did, which was not yet true.

‘I will tell you who I am, Marshal,’ he said, pausing for emphasis before adding quietly: ‘I am the best ally that you have in your hour of crisis and need. The only ally
probably. Certainly the only hydden who can get you out of the potential mess and chaos into which you all seem to have got yourselves.’

He paused, the guards did not move, they all stared transfixed. Festoon and Brunte certainly had a charisma of their own, and the power to lead, but this was something none of them had ever
experienced or been witness to.

It was quiet, it felt benign, and it was utterly masterful.

Only then as Blut spoke again did one of them, apart from those who already knew his identity, realize who he might be. That was Feld, who had been at Jack’s side during their brief and
violent visit to the Imperial Headquarters in Bochum in the summer to wrest back the gems of Spring and Summer. Blut had been there too, at Sinistral’s side.

But before Feld could alert Brunte, Blut turned to the two guards whose looming presence so near him added greatly to the unease in the chamber.

‘Before you move to arrest and eject me,’ he said coolly, ‘I must formally warn you against laying hands upon my person or in any way threatening me. It is against Article
Fifty-three, Clause Seventeen, of the Imperial Code. I should know. I drafted it. The penalty is death.’