The Last Green Tree

by Jim Grimsley

Genres: Cyberpunk; Space Exploration

Synopsis

Jim Grimsley's previous science fiction novel, The Ordinary, was named one of the Top Ten science fiction books of the year by Booklist and won the Lambda Literary Award. His novels and short stories have been favorably compared to those of Ursula K. Le Guin, Jack Vance, and Samuel R. Delany. Now Grimsley returns to the richly complex milieu of The Ordinary with a gripping tale of magic, science, and an epic clash between godlike forces.

Three hundred years have passed since the Conquest, and the Great Mage rules over all of humanity, even as cybernetic links connect the varied worlds of the empire. Vast Gates allow travel from one planet to another, across unimaginable distances. Choirs of chanting priests maintain order, their songs subtly shaping reality, while the armies of the empire have known nothing but total victory for centuries.

But on the planet Aramen, where sentient trees keep human symbionts as slaves, a power has arisen that may rival that of the Great Mage himself. Hordes of unnatural creatures rampage across the planet, leaving death and destruction in their wake. An inhuman intelligence, cruel and implacable, meets the priests' sung magic with a strange new music of its own. The Anilyn Gate is shut down, cutting off Aramen from the rest of humanity. The long era of peace is over.

Now a handful of traumatized survivors must venture deep into a hostile wilderness on a desperate mission to uncover the source of the enemy's powers. And the future of the universe may depend on the untested abilities of one damaged child. . . .

The Last Green Tree is a worthy successor to The Ordinary and a compelling saga in its own right.

At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.

Release date: November 28, 2006

Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

Print pages: 400

Sample

THE LAST GREEN TREE (Chapter One)The Poorhouse
1.

From his bedroom at the top of the world, Keely could look one way to the endless spires and towers of the city and the other to the middle of the ocean. Both the city and the ocean had names and people had told him the names but he never really wanted to remember them. There was only one city, only one ocean, only one of everything; it was much simpler to think of things like that. When he sat at his bedroom window, he felt as if he were floating along the bottoms of the clouds; the building where he lived reached so high that clouds sometimes wrapped the summit in fleecy white, and Uncle Figg lived at the very top. This was because he was rich and owned practically everything in the world. That is, Uncle Figg was very rich until suddenly one day he wasn't anymore; Keely heard him talking to some of his grown-up friends, and later at breakfast with Nerva, Uncle Figg was complaining about being poor.

"What does the Mage think she's doing?" Uncle Figg asked.

Keely was watching a line of aircraft in the distance; the breakfast room was surrounded on three sides by glass, so he could see nearly the whole sky from his seat at the end of the table. When Uncle Figg said "the Mage," Keely started to pay attention. Keely had a Mage doll, a half dozen Mage games for playing in his head-space, graphic novels about the Mage, a fully illustrated head-world called Iraen, after the country from which the Mage had come; he had a Mage costume, Mage sheets on his bed, a poster of the Mage and her consort, Jedda Jump-up, on his wall. "She's doing magic, Uncle Figg," Keely said, touching the back of Uncle Figg's hand.

"Yes, I know, Keely. She's made all my money disappear."

The moment caused a knot of upset to form in Keely's stomach. Nerva was watching, but she was using her good face and her good voice, which was always the case when Uncle Figg was around. This meant that Keely could feel fairly safe; only when he was alone with Nerva did she make him afraid. The upset at the moment did not come from Nerva, but from something in what Uncle Figg was saying. "All of your money is gone?"

"Ridiculously large amounts of it, yes."

"Excuse me, sir, but the child looks a bit frightened."

"He should be. We'll end up on the street, no better than paupers."

"Really, sir--"

"You think I'm exaggerating? Why, I won't even be allowed to keep the Marmigon."

Nerva was trying hard to look interested in what Uncle Figg was saying, but, behind the pretense, she wanted to figure something else out altogether. Keely was used to seeing through Nerva to what she was really doing; he had to be good at this, because Nerva ruled so much of his life. So he could tell she really felt no sympathy for Uncle Figg whatsoever. "You'll have to sell the place?"

He snorted. "No. I don't sell it. The Mage says I already have too much money, my whole clan and I. So we have to give up the Marmigon, and, in fact, if I want to go on living here I have to buy my apartment. Buy it! When my mother-clan has owned this building since it was built, Ama only knows how long ago."

Whenever Uncle Figg mentioned the name of a Hormling god or goddess, as he sometimes did when swearing, Nerva touched her thumbnail to her brow. She said it was out of respect to her own goddess, who was the only real goddess anybody knew about. Unlike the Hormling, the people of Iraen insisted on seeing their deity every now and again, to make sure she was still paying attention. Whereas, according to Nerva, the Hormling were perfectly willing to worship a god for however long a time without the slightest proof that he or she existed. Nerva came from Iraen and liked to remind people of the fact. This morning, after touching her thumbnail to her forehead when Uncle Figg mentioned Ama, she sipped her morning tea, which to Keely smelled like the flowers on the patio.

"I realize I'll get no sympathy from the likes of you."

"I beg your pardon. What are the likes of me?"

"These new laws don't affect you or your family, do they?"

She gave a decided sniff and looked studiously out the window at a distant helicopter riding close under the shield of clouds. "Nothing is being taken from me personally, no. I haven't checked with the rest of the paupers in my clan."

"I hear your tone. I know I'm being overbearing. But I can't help myself."

"We agree on that much, at least."

Uncle Figg's brown skin got hints of red in it when he was embarrassed or mad. Which was he now? He was staring at the helicopter in the distant sky, fixedly, as if it were very important. Keely's stomach was turning over now that he understood what Uncle Figg was talking about. He knew "Marmigon" was the name for the building he lived in; and so, when he heard that Uncle Figg would lose it, too, he began to picture himself losing all the nice toys in his room, and his room, with the window on the city and the window on the ocean. "Will we have to go back to the Reeks?" he asked, his voice very small, watching the plastic Mage action figure he brought with him to the table, feeling suddenly as if he ought to hide it, if the Mage really were taking away everything from Uncle Figg.

"What?" Uncle Figg snorted. "No!" He gave Keely a serious look. When his expression softened and he leaned with his big hand on Keely's shoulder, Keely flushed with a feeling of safety. "No, son, I'm exaggerating. The Mage isn't taking all my money, just a lot of it. We'll be able to afford to live very well on what's left, I promise you."

"Why is the Mage taking your money?"

"She's taking everybody's money. Over a certain amount. And she's taking property, and she's making it so that a mother can't leave her money to her children anymore. She has to give it up when she dies."

"But why?" Though Keely was asking the question only because he felt Uncle Figg expected it; Keely had hardly understood much of Uncle Figg's careful explanation.

"Because she thinks we have too much money, people like us. While the people who live in the Reeks don't have any. So she wants to take our money to help them."

Keely sighed. "Then that's okay." He looked at the plastic Mage in his hand, twisted her head.

Uncle Figg and Nerva were looking at each other in that adult way, sending messages to each other, probably. Adults could read each other's minds; children never had a chance. "Having him here does put things in perspective a bit," Uncle Figg said, in an adult tone that meant he was talking to Nerva. "I might not mind losing so much if I were sure it would really help people like Keely's family."

Nerva sniffed. "I wouldn't call that riffraff a family. You can't help people. Even Malin will figure that out sooner or later. All the money on Senal won't get rid of the Reeks. You mark my words."

"Now you sound like my matriarch," Uncle Figg said.

Nerva sniffed again.

"What's a matriarch?" Keely asked.

"She's the female head of my family. She's not very happy right now."

"She's not?" Keely asked, but he could feel that Uncle Figg was paying no attention.

Nerva said, "I can't blame her. This is a blow aimed at all the Orminy Houses, anyone can see that."

"We certainly have the most to lose," Uncle Figg agreed. "I expect most of my people will take whatever they have left and emigrate. Maybe I ought to think about doing the same."

Keely only understood part of what Uncle Figg was saying and tried to look hopeful, usually a good choice when he wasn't sure what else to look like.

"You wouldn't mind leaving Senal, would you, Keely? Maybe it would be a good idea to take you somewhere else. You'd like to live away from the city, wouldn't you?"

This was not a real question, and Keely pretended he was watching the helicopter, closer now, but still the size of a toy, suspended between the gray of the clouds and the gray-blue of the waves far below. He felt a sinking in his stomach. Something was about to happen that would change everything again.

2.

Uncle Figg started to talk about living on a farm, what a nice change it would be, and did Keely think he would want a pet like a dog or a cat? Not the enhanced kind but just plain animals, like in the reading lessons about Mike the Kite who lives on Mr. Mukerjhee's farm. Did Keely know Uncle Figg owned a farm?

"I thought we were poor now," Keely said, the edge of a color stylus in his mouth.

"Get that out of your mouth, Keely," Nerva called from the couch. They were in Keely's playroom, the toys neatly lined against the wall the way Nerva liked them; Nerva spoke to Keely without raising her eyes from her book, as if she could see everything without looking. "You're too old to eat your toys."

"I am not too old."

"Yes, you are. Don't wipe your hands on your pants like that, you just put them on."

"I'm trying to talk about the farm," Uncle Figg said.

"I hear that you are." When Nerva was cross, nobody liked to be around her; Uncle Figg was still sitting with Keely, though, a breakfast tray beside him with a bowl of uneaten fruit and bread. "I don't know why you can't bring yourself simply to tell him."

"You don't?"

"It's a simple message. You own a farm on Aramen and we're going to live there."

"Are we?" Keely asked.

"Yes," she said, looking at him with those sharp eyes, the ones that made his stomach turn. He became very quiet and sank into the couch. It was morning, though, which made it all right for some reason. It was morning and nothing else would happen except that the look in her eyes would change to something else and the bad feeling in Keely would go away.

"You seem to forget that ours is a contractual relationship and not a marriage, madam."

She gave him a hard look, set her jaw, made the muscles on the side of her face move like she was grinding something between her teeth. She spoke in a cool voice. "Yes, master Figg. I apologize. I should let you handle the child in your own way."

"This is the only home he's known."

"When are we moving to the farm?" Keely asked.

Uncle Figg blinked. He had a nice face, smooth, skin the color of morning tea and cream. His hair always looked exactly the same, as if it never moved, short on the sides and longer on the top, even the curls in the same place. Uncle Figg had a spider in his hair, a big one, but it was hard to see when it nestled into the hair. "You sound as if you'd like to live there."

"I would. Because of all the animals."

"I don't know how many animals there really are," Uncle Figg said, after a moment.

Keely lay his hand on Uncle Figg's wrist, looked at him earnestly. If Uncle Figg wasn't sure what a farm was, maybe Keely could explain. "Uncle Figg, if it's a farm, there's a lot of animals, and all of them can talk."

Uncle Figg smiled, sipped his tea, and ate a piece of the yellow fruit that tasted sour to Keely.

"Aramen is a very nice place. There are a lot of my people living in the north there, because of the forest."

"My farm is a few hours south of the preserve," Uncle Figg said.

"What's the preserve?"

"Where the trees live," Uncle Figg explained, looking directly into Keely's eyes, the way he liked to do when he talked. "The talking trees, remember? You saw them in the Surround."

"Can I talk to them?"

"Maybe."

"I don't know how anyone can know that a tree is sentient," Nerva said, irritation creeping back into her voice.

"Ask your Mage. She's the one who said so first."

"She's not my Mage."

"Well. She's from your golden country and all."

Nerva sniffed loudly. She was reading some kind of book that made her move her lips. "As if you could look at a tree and figure out what it's thinking."

"We don't have to do that. We have those things we make that talk to them for us."

"What things?" Keely asked.

Sometimes the adults forgot he was part of the conversation and looked at him when he asked a question as if he had just appeared out of nowhere.

"Tree people," Uncle Figg said. "They live with the trees and talk to them."

"Elves, for goodness sake." Nerva shook her head. "Fairy tales."

"They're quite expensive to make, actually. They're called symbionts, not elves. My family used to own a piece of the business."

"Can I be a tree people?"

"No, you may not. In fact, it's time for you to start your learning program." Nerva put down her book and busied herself with a frame that appeared in front of her; a smaller version of the frame soon appeared in front of Keely. Uncle Figg brushed off his jumpsuit and stood, running fingers absently in Keely's hair.

"Do good for Uncle Figg," he said.

"When do we move to the farm?"

"Pretty soon," Uncle Figg said. "We have to travel in a spaceship to get there."

Keely screamed with delight and jumped up from the frame, running to the window as if he could see the ship already. "I want to go now!"

"You've spoiled his learning mindframe for a good twenty minutes, he'll talk about nothing except the spaceship." Nerva threw up her hands and leaned back against the sofa. She looked like someone on a vid, as if a lot of people were watching her. Uncle Figg regarded her calmly from the door.

"Twenty minutes here, twenty minutes there, pretty soon it all adds up to a life," Uncle Figg said, and he disappeared.

For a moment Keely felt a cool hand in his middle, fear, and stood at the window watching Nerva. She had her eyes closed, lips moving, and Keely sat down at the window and tried to become very small. He had no idea what made him afraid at moments like this, any more than he understood why he was so certain that he would be all right, that nothing would happen, that the bad Nerva would stay away, because it was daytime.

3.

Even the thought of the spaceship could not guard him from the fear that closed around his middle when Nerva came to get him ready for bed.

When she closed the door, she turned to him with a look of quiet satisfaction and said, "Mode seven."

He had no idea what the words meant, but when she said the phrase a shudder passed through him and suddenly his head flooded with memories, things that he could never recall unless he was in this room at night alone with her.

Her eyes sharpened. "Are you here?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're a very childish boy, Keely. All day I've wanted to bring you in here and punish you for your wicked ways, but I forced myself to wait for night. Forced myself to put off the burden of your punishment until now."

"What did I do?" His heart was pounding.

She approached him slowly with that look of murmuring that caused Keely to feel cool fear through his middle, that caused a sickness of fear to sweep over him, so that he drew back against the wall.

"Look at yourself in the mirror. Look what a big boy you are. You're nearly ten years old."

The door to the privacy room had a mirror setting so Keely stood there, palms wet, looking at himself. He was himself, though there was something odd about him; he was bigger than his picture of himself during the day. His heart was still beating hard and he looked at Nerva's reflection in the mirror. She was slowly walking toward him.

"A boy of ten regressed to the age of five, and why? Because you're weak, that's why. Because you can't remember your sister without crying like a child."

"My sister?" He felt something crumbling in himself. He felt older. Terrible memories flooded him and he began to tremble, thin arms laced around his chest as if he were trying to pull himself upright; he remembered Sherry, his sister, and a place where there were a lot of people, someone who yelled at him and made him crawl into narrow, dark spaces looking for garbage, for something people might have dropped.... Remembered being afraid of people's hands, the way the hands flew down at him.... He remembered a whole life that had belonged to him before he came to live with Uncle Figg, and he saw himself for the ten-year-old boy that he actually was.

"If you were getting better I could leave you alone at night, but you're not getting better, you're getting worse. Every time I mention your sister's death, you break down like this."

He was sitting on the floor now, embracing himself. He was seeing Sherry's face, dead, knowing she was gone, and feeling a long tearing begin in his middle, a jagged feeling that raced through him, made him sag onto his arms and breathe in a sob.

"You see?" She was standing over him now, looking down at the top of his head. "You're a mess, Keely. You'll never get better."

"You're not supposed to do this," he said, and his voice sounded older now, sounded like itself. "You're not supposed to make me remember."

"Don't tell me what I'm supposed to do," she whispered, and suddenly he was knotted with pain, his throat closed so that he could hardly make a sound. He felt as if his bones were breaking, as if Nerva's fingers were tearing at his flesh, sharp as hooks. "What does it matter anyway? I can say what I like to you, in here. I'm going to make you forget it all anyway."

He could hear her voice but only in a distant way. She was lifting the math box out of her ample skirt. He tried to shake his head but the pain grew worse; he lost control of his legs, of his bladder, pissed himself and lay prone on the carpet.

"You'll lie in your piss till you're done," Nerva said. "I've turned off the smart carpet; you'll just have to lie there in your own filth."

"Please," he said.

"Such a big boy, acting like such baby all day. And then acting like a different kind of baby every night. If you weren't so good at wearing this box, I'd throw you out the window into the ocean."

"Please," he managed, biting his own tongue, hard enough to hurt but not to break the skin. For some reason a pain he caused himself distracted him from whatever it was Nerva did to wrack his body with that feeling of agony.

"If you weren't so good with this box, you'd never see that spaceship you want to ride on," she said, and fixed the headset over his head.

In the midst of the pain that washed over him began that other tearing that affected only his head, the feeling that the math box was reaching into him, writing something onto the cells of his brain; gradually even the pain subsided and the world of the box engulfed him. He was surrounded in a stream of numbers that swam into each other, relationships that somehow became concrete; he was learning numbers of all kinds, in all relations, and after a while they filled him, and he was aware of nothing else.

How long that lasted he was never certain, but at some point he found himself in bed, the math box taken away from him. He dreamed of a sphere that floated near him, that unwrapped wires from itself and inserted their needle-sharp tips into him, coiled metal arms around his throat.

Sometimes in the dream Father was there, different from the father Sherry had described, the one who was in prison in the Reeks for killing their mother and some other people; this was a father bright and new, kind and good, vague in the face but warm in presence. Keely dreamed of him after using the math box.

Tonight Father was helping Keely play with a new Disturber toy with a complex shape. "You like to play with shapes," said Father. "You're talented."

"That means I do them well," Keely said, feeling the glow of the light around him.

"I choose children who do things well," Father said. "I'm a good judge of character."

Keely was changing the shape of the toy now, seeing new kinds of curves and twists.

"Do you want me to choose you?" Father asked.

The thought made Keely feel warm inside. He tried to keep from saying anything, he even tried to keep from nodding, but the question made him feel so special it showed, even in the dream, even though he knew he was sleeping.

"The music in your head is like the math in the box," said Father. "Do you like it?"

He allowed himself to nod the smallest possible nod. He was afraid he would wake up and find out he could not return to the dream. He liked the Father dream when it came, but it only came sometimes. "I hear the number-shapes all the time in the background," Keely said.

"That's good," said Father. "That means you're adapting."

"Is adapting like this?" Keely asked, and he reshaped the curves in the toy again, to make it into a fortress.

"Sometimes."

"I adapt," said Keely.

"When you're afraid of Nerva, Keely, remember that one day you'll be much, much stronger than she is."

The thought made him very quiet. Father had never said anything like this before.

"When she hurts you, remember that one day you'll be as strong as I am, you'll have me inside you, and you'll be able to hurt her."

He put part of the toy in his mouth, started to chew it. He could taste the plastic, feel the texture against his gums.

"Do you think you'll like that?" Father asked.

"Yes," Keely said, and he felt warm all through.

A feeling that he was younger, that he was small again settled over him. By morning it was as if he had always been that way, with no memory of either the math box or the dream.

4.

When the day came to move to the farm on Aramen, Uncle Figg booked passage for them all on the Anilyn Shuttle. They waited out the processing of their emigration papers in Skygard after the long ascent on the pulleypod. Keely watched Senal recede beneath him, the curve of the planet emerging as the car rose over everything he could see. He was glued to the window, quiet with wonder at the vision, feeling small.

By then Keely had turned eleven and sometimes felt very old. Furthermore, he was still shy of Uncle Figg at moments, when he was in certain moods, and this was one.

"Don't press your nose against the glass," Uncle Figg said, "it might not be clean."

"Come and sit with me," said Nerva, a shawl spread over her lap and peel from an orange dropping onto the yarn. She was using the good voice and Keely had only the faintest memory of the other.

"I'm all right." Keely, careful to keep his nose away from the glass, turned sidelong to look at her. She was hired to look after him. She was an old lady with a big bosom and a wide lap, and she came from a long way to work for Uncle Figg.

"I'll give you a piece of orange," she said.

"Is it a good idea to bribe him with food?" Figg asked.

Nerva gave him a warning look. "I'm not bribing him, I'm offering him a piece of orange."

"I'm not hungry." Keely sat on his rump for a moment and looked around the compartment. He was sitting on the side with Figg and Nerva was sitting on the other side, taking up most of the room. She wore a wide, long garment of a fabric that smelled like the park on a sunny day, pale blue, with darker patterns in it that were a kind of plant. Keely forgot the names of things but Nerva would remember. Keely held out his hand for a piece of the orange after a moment.

"I thought you weren't hungry."

"I'm thirsty," he said.

She nodded that this would do and gave him a bit of orange while Uncle Figg handed him a bottle of water. "Drink out of your own straw," he said. "We have to share that."

So he sipped out of the blue straw and chewed the slice of orange slowly afterward. The pod was rising far above the clouds that looked like streaks of fishbone, into a zone of violet blue, and beyond it, the fierce points of light that were called stars and planets and worlds and moons and galaxies and black holes. He had seen them all before on episodes of Sky Captain of the 35,000th Century and the other Sky Captain serials.

"Fasten your seatbelt tight," Uncle Figg said. "You're floating off your chair."

On Skygard, after the pulleypod ride, Uncle Figg's spider crawled out of his hair and nestled on his arm, and Keely floated out the arrival commons into the central cylinder of the station. He had never been weightless before, but Nerva had him tethered to her hip, the requirement with children in free fall, and made him keep hold of the guy ropes and pull himself along like a good boy. They were treating him like a kid, as usual, and he didn't feel altogether himself, for some reason. He would have liked to push himself off from the wall to see how it felt to fly to the other side, but he followed hand over hand behind Zhengzhou, the bodyguard.

They were all supposed to be flying on a shuttle from Skygard, and Keely kept looking for it everywhere. When Nerva told him it would be outside, not inside, he started looking through all the windows. They came to the part of the station where Keely had weight again and Nerva helped him take the last step off the transfer point. His stomach did a flip-flop and he looked at Nerva as if he was going to throw up.

"Use the bag I gave you if you're going to lose that piece of orange you ate."

"I think I'm all right now," he said, holding his stomach dramatically.

"That's right, now we're on the part that's spinning. That's how they make gravity."

Keely's knees were wobbly but he looked at her with scorn, since he knew perfectly well that gravity didn't come from spinning, centrifugal force did, and that was what they were feeling. He had a lot of information in his head now that he was learning; Uncle Figg said his head might burst if he learned too much and that would be that for him. This was also not true but made Keely laugh anyway. He liked the thought of someone's head blowing up, like in the cartoons from the Surround.

In the shuttle lobby he finally saw the spaceship, the Glory Bee, another name that made Keely giggle. He stood in the window and watched it. There was nothing nice about it, there was no needle shape like Sky Captain of Glindy had in the Verti Viniga. The ship had no visible cannons or missiles or fighter bay doors. It looked a great lump of metal with boxy stuff all over it and a billion antennae sprouting from it. He was terribly disappointed and sat down. "It doesn't look like a spaceship," he said, looking down at the toy box ring on his finger.

"Do you want some goo?" Nerva asked. "It's all right for you to play in here."

"I said it doesn't look like a spaceship."

"Well, it is one. Do you want some goo for your ring?"

"Yes, please."

She rummaged in her bag and found the container, scooped him out a good heap, and he touched the ring to it and the toy matrix downloaded and the goo assembled itself into a slinky, which he tossed back and forth in his hand.

"Don't get that tangled in anything like your hair," Uncle Figg said.

"Don't be ridiculous," Keely said, a phrase he had been using whenever he could because it was on Corny Cornberg on the Surround.

Uncle Figg was talking to a priest wearing the whole outfit, hood and all. Keely studied the priest for a while. Uncle Figg was talking about Keely as if he weren't there, the way adults often did. "He's the one," Uncle Figg said. "But we don't talk about what happened to Sherry right now. He doesn't even remember her. We've had him regressed a few years in age, for therapy."

"He did seem a bit big for his speech," the holy man said.

"Are you a holy man?" Keely asked.

"Yes," Nerva said, "he's very holy, so holy you mustn't talk to him. Play with your tinky."

"Slinky," he said, and rolled his eyes. He was beginning to think she mispronounced the word on purpose, which was corny like an adult.

"He'll remember her later, when we get rid of some of his therapy issues. He grew up in the Reeks; he had a rough time."

"I know," said the priest, "I saw the vid special about him."

Uncle Figg frowned. "My attorney tried to prevent that. But that was about the time the new laws kicked in and I lost my money."

An awkward moment passed; Keely could feel it, and it troubled him. He concentrated on the slinky but held it still.

"I know that a lot of your people are upset with the Mage about that."

"It's a bit of an understatement, that, don't you think?"

"Maybe."

"My family lost more money than a lot of factions ever see. Along with the property."

"I understand." The priest made a gesture, and Keely copied it. The gesture said, who knew? "Most of my Hormling friends are furious. I wonder if even the Mage will ride it out."

"That's the bitching problem," Uncle Figg said, and he glanced at Keely and then at Nerva, who was frowning with her wrinkly forehead. "Sorry."

Keely was not understanding much of the talk but he understood the bad word and knew he should not laugh at it, especially in public, where Nerva would be most likely to scold him, since it was for show. A scolding in front of other people was always for show, but sometimes that was only a small help.

"That's the problem," Uncle Figg continued, "the Prin will pull it off. They always do. And the Mage has Hanson in her pocket. Hanson is the whole inside of the machine at this point--if he takes away your money it's gone and if he takes away your stocks they're gone and if he says you don't own your property anymore you don't. So the Mage will take care of the ministries and any rebellion, and Hanson will take care of anything else."

"The same thing happened in Iraen," said the priest, and Keely's ears pricked up, since fairies lived in Iraen, and so did witches, and other monsters.

"And?"

The priest shrugged. He drew down his hood. He was about the same age as Uncle Figg and had a funny long nose and thin dark hair. He was like an old man in a cartoon. His skin was the color of chocolate. "People complained. Rich people complained, I mean. Poor people didn't mind the redistribution."

"All the same laws? The abolition of inheritance?"

"Yes. He wanted to get rid of money altogether but couldn't figure out how to do it without the danger of people reinventing it right away. So he had to compromise."

"He?