Darkness Descending

He was right about that. Bembo had long since got sick and tired of the army-style stick he’d been issued for this assignment. Carrying it made his hand tired and his shoulder ache. Carrying it also worried him. If his superiors didn’t think a short, stubby constabulary stick would be enough to keep him safe in Oyngestun, how much trouble was he liable to find there?

Pesaro, who had been slumping like suet on a hot summer day as the constables neared the village, rallied just before they got into it. “Straighten up, there,” he barked at his men. “We’re not going to let these yokels catch us looking like something the cat dragged in. Show some spunk, or you’ll be sorry.”

Bembo was already sorry, from the feet up. Nevertheless, he and his comrades did their best to enter Oyngestun with proper Algarvian swagger, shoulders back, heads up, faces arrogant. If they weren’t the masters of all they surveyed, they acted as if they were. As with any magic, appearance could easily be made into reality.

Oyngestun’s Forthwegians did their best to pretend the newly arrived constables did not exist. Most of the village’s Kaunians stayed behind closed doors. That would not do. Pesaro shouted for whatever Algarvian constables were already in Oyngestun. All three of them tumbled out. Pesaro handed the most senior one a scroll with his orders inscribed on it. After the fellow had read it and nodded, Pesaro said, “Turn out the Kaunians--all of ‘em--in the village square. We’ll help.”

“Aye,” the constable quartered in Oyngestun said. As he handed Pesaro’s orders back to him, he added, “I see what you’re doing, but I don’t see why.”

“You want to know the truth, I don’t see why, either,” Pesaro answered. “But they pay me on account of what I do, not on account of why I do it. Come on, let’s get moving. The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can get out of this place and leave it to you and the cobwebs.”

“Heh,” the senior-most constable in Oyngestun said. He couldn’t very well quarrel with Pesaro, who outranked him and was following orders to boot. Instead, he yelled at his own men while Pesaro instructed the squad who’d come with him from Gromheort.

The instructions were simple. They went through Oyngestun, especially the Kaunian section on the west side of the village, shouting, “Kaunians, come forth!” in classical Kaunian, in Forthwegian, and in Algarvian, depending on what they knew. “Come forth to the village square!”

And some Kaunians did come forth. Some doors, though, remained closed. Bembo and Oraste had picked up a stout length of timber and were about to break down one of those doors when a local constable called, “Don’t bother. I know those buggers went out first thing this morning with a basket. They’re even madder for nasty mushrooms than most folk round these parts.”

“Whoever wrote our orders had his head up his backside,” Bembo said. “How are we supposed to round up the stinking Kaunians if they’re all running through the woods with baskets?”

“Powers below eat me if I can tell you,” Oraste said. “Maybe they’ll cook up some bad mushrooms and keel over dead, the way King What’s-his-name in the story did when he ate bad fish.”

“Serve ‘em right if they did, sure enough,” Bembo agreed. He walked to the next house, pounded on the door, and shouted, “Kaunians, come forth!” in what he thought was Kaunian. He was about to pound again when the door opened. His eyebrows shot upwards. Behind him, Oraste let out a couple of short, emphatic coughs. “Hello, sweetheart!” Bembo said. The girl standing in the doorway was about eighteen and very pretty.

She looked at him and Oraste as if they’d crawled off a dungheap. An older man appeared behind her--a much older man, his hair thinning and gone from gold to silver. Oraste laughed coarsely. “Why, the dog!” he said. He looked the girl up and down. “Aye, a young wife with an old husband can have a baby, as long as there’s a handsome young fellow next door.” He laughed again, and Bembo with him this time.

Then the old Kaunian startled them both by speaking slow but very precise Algarvian: “My granddaughter does not understand when you insult us, but I do. I do not know if this matters to you, of course. Now, what do you want with us?”

Bembo and Oraste looked at each other. Bembo tried not to offend except on purpose. Roughly, he said, “Get along to the village square, the both of you. Just do as you’re told, and everything will be fine.” The old man spoke in Kaunian to his granddaughter. She said something in the same language; Bembo couldn’t make out what. Then they headed in the direction of the square.

On to the next house. “Kaunians, come forth!” This time, Oraste did the shouting.