Foundation

Mags nibbled thoughtfully on a bit of crust for a moment, then slowly began to tell Soren just what it was like to work for Cole Pieters. Without the murders; he was relatively certain that the Heralds would not want him telling about those.

And Soren had a very interesting reaction to it all. He didn’t get angry, as Jakyr had, nor did he act as if it didn’t matter because it hadn’t happened to him. Instead, an expression of grave sorrow slowly moved over his face, and the more he heard, the sadder he became.

Finally, he sighed. “I wish there was a way that all this could be made up to you, and your fellows, Mags. That man stole so much from you—years of your lives that you will never get back.” He shook his head mournfully.

Mags could only shrug. “

“’Tis what it is,” he replied.

“But I never dreamed there could be something like that going on in Valdemar. It ... offends me.” He paused, and Mags wondered if he should say something. Then Soren nodded his head as if deciding something. “Now that I know that they do ... Mags, what would be a good way of keeping youngsters from falling into such places?”

Why is he asking me? Mags wondered, feeling stunned. He opened his mouth to ask that very question, but what came out was not that at all. “Mebbe you c’d do somethin’ with the law,” he heard himself saying. “Make it bad t’ put kiddies to work or som’thin.”

“It would have to be the ‘or something,’ Soren mused aloud. “We don’t want to penalize farm folk who rely on their children and extra hands. But, yes, I see your point, and I think that would be a good start.” He straightened up again, and nodded decisively. “Well, my young friend, is there anything more I can do to thank you?”

Mags shook his head, blushing. “Ye went well over, feedin’ me. All I did was wut I should do, aye? Bein’ a Trainee an’ all.”

“Well, I don’t need to ask you why you are still here with Midwinter Festival upon us, so ... let me do this. If you haven’t anything better to do, you are welcome to join our ongoing festivities.” Soren smiled at him, but not in any kind of patronizing fashion. “We don’t hold parties as such; we keep an open house, and if people are inclined and like-minded, they more-or-less form parties. Here—” He took a small card out of a pouch at his belt, borrowed a pen and ink from the taverner, and wrote out some directions in a careful hand. “Here you are,” he said, handing it to Mags. “You can simply arrive, and feel free to bring a friend or friends. The only part of our celebration that is set in stone is the Midwinter Day Feast, and a Midwinter Eve ceremony. All the rest is freeform.”

Mags waved the card to be sure that it was dry, and tucked it safely away. “I ‘spect I’ll have to get permission,” he said, feeling a great interest in seeing this “open house.”

Soren nodded. “And I expect that will be no difficulty for you. All right, Trainee Mags,” he said, standing up and offering his hand. “It has been a very great pleasure to be in your company, and thank you for the timely intervention—”

“Jes’ a moment, Master Soren,” he interrupted, suddenly thinking of something. “Kin I see th’ ring again?”

With an odd glance, Soren obliged him. Using a ray of sunlight that the windows were inadvertently concentrating, he turned the stone this way and that, peering at the flaw. Finally, he turned the ring upside down and looked at it from the back.

“Ha!” he exclaimed. “Lookit yon. She looks like a bird, flyin’. That there makes it more satisfyin’, eh? Still a flaw, but now turns into an asset kind of flaw.”

“A bird?” Soren leaned closer, peering at the stone. “By the Havens, it does! You have helped me out twice today, my young friend, and now I am truly in your debt!”

Mags blushed again, a deeper crimson than before, and handed back the ring. “Ye won’t say that if I c’n come to yer party, Master Soren,” he replied with a laugh. “’Cause I c’n eat a lot!”

______________________

Herald Caelen looked at the small piece of stiff paper with a look of absolute astonishment on his face. “Mags ... do you know whose address is on this card?”

Mags shrugged. “Master Soren—”

“Who is the head of the Builder’s Guild, which is in charge of everything to do with the construction of buildings, and who is one of His Majesty’s advisors about matters of commerce!” Herald Caelen spluttered.

Mags blinked at him. A few fortnights ago, he would have had no idea what that meant. But now? Oh, he knew all right.

“But ... he was just wanderin’ in the Midwinter Market, lookin’ fer ...” He tried to think what a flawed stone would be, to one of the people who lived in those enormous houses near the Palace. “... a trinket. He was a-goin’t’ get cheated, an’ I warned ’im.”

Herald Caelen nodded. “He’s the sort of man that would appreciate that. As soon as he heard you speak, he must have known that there was no way you would recognize him or his name, so there was no way that you would have done anything out of what is the ‘ordinary’ for you.”

“Aye,” Mags agreed. “I’d save anybody from bein’ cheated.”

“This could not be better for you and your friends from the mine.” Caelen didn’t rub his hands together in glee, but he came close. “Now Soren will look into your case, since he has heard about it firsthand. He’ll discover that not only did you not exaggerate the conditions, you actually didn’t tell everything. You said he looked sad?”

Mags nodded.

“He abhors injustice. This will jump your case to the front of the queue. Or rather—” Caelen amended, “—the case of Master Pieters and his abuses. You are fairly well out of it right now. I doubt you will even be called as a witness. He might not ever have had an interest in this; it could have gone to one of the ordinary Justiciars. Now, it won’t. Cole Pieters and his sons might very well find themselves working as laborers—at a fair wage—in what used to be their own mine.”