There was sufficient outrage that virtually the entire village did follow him. The machine, left behind, noted that its first mission had been a success and trundled itself off to the next village on the list.
In Havenor, Gardagger and Alicia, Duke and Duchess of Merdune, were at late supper with a number of guests—among them Prince Thumsort and the Prince’s son, Edoard—when they heard a great clamor outside. It was not the orderly sound of an Aresian clamor, which regardless of purpose always included a thunderous tramp, tramp, tramp plus an uproar of drums, a bray of trumpets, or at the very least a loudly shouted marching song. The current clamor sounded, Gardagger thought, like a bunch of peasants in a fury, and he stalked wrathfully out onto the terrace to put an immediate end to the insolence.
Curious as to the cause of the event, Prince Thumsort and Edoard followed, though other guests remained at the table. Among them, the Duchess Alicia sat quite still for a long moment, her eyes wide as she experienced what was almost a vision for the first time in her life.
The peasantry had climbed the fence and assembled at the foot of the terrace, well armed with implements and torches, but the Duke Merdune felt no terror as he raised his hands and demanded silence, which he received. The quiet was immediately broken by the voice of the very large red-faced man who came to the front of the mob and shouted:
“Gardagger, Duke Merdune, we require you to answer for the deaths of our wives and daughters and your own! You, Gardagger, gave women to the Shah of Mahahm to be sacrificed on the sands of Mahahm, and in return you were granted extension of life by the Lord Paramount. You, Gardagger, are now one hundred thirty years old. Deny or affirm.”
Gardagger, very red in the face, shouted, “I deny . . .”
The large man scarcely paused: “Morion, the daughter of Hesbet, the baker, had her throat slit on your behalf.”
Hesbet and his colleagues screamed for Gardagger’s blood.
“I am the son of Morion. When she was killed, your name was spoken aloud as the man who would profit from her blood, and this was overheard by those who rescued me as a baby from death on the sands of Mahahm.
“Forty years ago, she died, and you have had five other women killed since then, including Sybil, daughter of your wife, Alicia Bellser-Bar . . .
Gardagger, ashen-faced, raised his hands, patting them outward as though to push away the crowd assembled below him, but the threat came from behind him as Alicia lunged wild-eyed onto the terrace, a carving knife from the table glittering in her hand.
“Gardagger,” she screamed, “you said no. You said not. You said she died in childbirth . . .” And she flung herself at him while Prince Thumsort vainly tried to stop her.
The Prince would have been better advised to look to his own safety, for the horde waited no longer. It poured up onto the terrace to make a short and bloody work of Duke Merdune and then flowed away again, leaving Thumsort and Edoard bruised and battered behind them.
The trumpet-voiced man turned as he departed. “Prince Thumsort, Duke Edoard, the people from Sealands will be seeking you. They know which of the women of Sealands you have used. We leave the exacting of justice to those to whom justice is due. . . .”
The crowd went cheering into the night, waving their torches and leaving behind Gardagger’s body, bleeding onto the marble as Alicia kicked at it, over and over, first with one foot then the other. Only when her shoes were sodden with his blood did she turn screaming toward the house.
Behind her, Prince Thumsort and the Duke Edoard, much bruised, crawled toward one another in terror.
“Father . . .” Edoard cried.
“They can’t prove it. There’s no proof . . .” Thumsort looked around for someone to confirm this fact, one he had always been assured of, one he had always believed.
“They’ll find proof,” cried his son. “They do say who, out on the sands, when the throats are slit. They do say who the blood is for. When I was a ritual master, I heard them! If someone was listening, if they found out about Gardagger, they’ll find out about you. You’ve had dozens. You had my first and second wives, and both their daughters, and some of those you used had sons, and if the sons lived . . . why, I didn’t know they ever lived. No one told us any of them lived! And the maids from our place in Tansay that you took . . . And the women I got you from those raids into Dania, and . . .”