The Firefarer

Part Five / Chapter Three: Da Capo

Wait!" Carin's voice rang out over the laughter and jeers of the crowd.

Looking up sharply, the burgher scowled. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have pressing business to attend to and I have no intention of wasting more time on these Ruach vermin than I already have done."

"At least hear me speak, Sir." Carin pushed her way through the throngs of townsfolk, many of whom glared at her, hissing or muttering their irritation. Ignoring them, she sprang up onto the platform and turned to address the crowd.

A warm wave of pride washed over Moran. Carin was not without her faults ˗ she loved and hated with equal passion, spoke without tact, succumbed easily to prejudice. And yet she was at the same time courageous, breathtakingly loyal, and capable of fierce compassion for those she cared for. And here she now was, Moran realised, prepared to risk discovery in order to save the wretched Ruach who stared at her, hope renewed in their eyes.

"What will it benefit your town to kill these people, Sir?" She addressed the burgher directly.

"Not people. Ruach. And it is our duty, as his worthiness Ol Terenzo has insisted it must be, to maintain the purity of the Pagi. The Ruach have polluted our people for too long with their primitive magic and their filthy, undisciplined ways." Several people screamed out their agreement, others clapped and cheered.

"Yes. You are right." Fury mounted in Carin's voice. Moran prayed she would restrain it. "Ol Terenzo did order us to root out this canker and destroy it. But did he not declare that where possible, the Ruach might serve us as our slaves? That in this way, we will preserve our right to rule over them, and they at the same time may serve our ends? In this way we may civilise them."

"It is true," the burgher conceded. "But what good did these low born specimens ever serve, hiding in cellars like the rats they are? I say we hang them."

"Hang them! Hang them!" Cries and catcalls rippled through the crowd. A few leered at Moran, laughing when she flinched.

"And I say your town would benefit more from trade than death." Carin waved their stolen pouch of coins before the burgher's nose. "My name is Master Borso. I am a merchant in my own way, seeking out fresh ventures. I put Ruach to work on my vineyards and in my orchards, and in this way I am rich. That girl you see standing there," she pointed to Moran. "She too was due a hanging. But I insisted that she serve me as my slave. And now she is all deference and willingness to work. Isn't that true, Moran?"

Moran nodded, peering down at the cobbles as if duly conscious of her own low status.

"You see, Sir? Take my money and free these Ruach. I will put them to good use, depend upon it."

Moran looked up, relieved that the crowd had turned their attention back to Carin and her little charade. Upon witnessing the bag of coins, the burgher's determination appeared to waver. He stared at the small sack as she dangled it before him, swinging it like a pendulum.

"I am sure, Sir, that as a loyal official of this town, you can put this coinage to good use ˗ perhaps funding some public games or theatre which all your people can enjoy? Perhaps to offer them free beer or wine?"

The crowd's mood altered. They grew quiet, gazing up in expectation at the burgher, who mopped at his brow with a lace bordered handkerchief.

"Sell them, Master Ardello!" A man yelled out. "Let him take them and we'll drink to him."

"Aye! What do you burghers ever do but drink our taxes anyway?"

Moran repressed a smile. Knowingly or not, Carin had wormed out a source of resentment. Ardello's haughty features soured and he flapped his hands frantically, urging peace. "Gentlemen! Please!" He cast a desperate glance at the sea of straining, indignant faces. "This is what you wish for, gentlemen? A night of revelry in exchange for true justice?"