The noble Bar Khoba met with his allies, the rich Sea Trader and the Servant.

 

“Tell me, my friends, how our work proceeds.”

 

The Sea Trader spoke first. “All is ready. I have the salt routes from Thaal in my hands. My factor has concluded alliance with the tribesmen. They will do as we require. The trade will be closed when the time comes. The capital will be ruined.”

 

Then the servant spoke for the first time, his voice quiet.

 

“And you?”

 

“I will travel to the mining settlement and ensure that the gates are open to the tribes. Then I will bring fire to the fortress. It will be as we agreed. The tribes will have the mines and the settlement. The fires will have the fortress.

 

“They will grow to consume the Commonwealth.”

 

The Servant repeated his question, his voice harsh.

 

“And you?”

 

The Sea Trader hesitated, swallowed hard.  “I will not escape the fortress. It will be as we agreed.”

 

The Servant spoke again. “Your sacrifice will be remembered. Your name will echo through the ages. The memory of your act will shine brightly for generations.”

 

The Servant, for it was clear that he was the leader here, dismissed the Sea Trader. He turned to the noble Bar Khoba.

 

“The time approaches. Is all ready?”

 

“All is ready. It shall be as we agreed.”

 

“It will not be as we agreed, Bar Khoba. You are called to make greater sacrifice. The act must happen tonight. You’re fate will be the same as that of the Trader.”

 

Bar Khoba was still. He nodded his agreement. The Servant retreated into the shadows.

 

“And so the logic of my decision comes to its conclusion. I have opposed the Commonwealth from the shadows. Now I must do so in the light.” He paused to consider this. “It is well. My name will also echo through the years, in glory if we succeed, in infamy if we do not. It is well.”

 

The scene changes.

 

Elias, the Convenor of the Commonwealth, welcomed the noble Bar Khoba into his presence, his guards and attendants a faceless presence in the background.

 

“My friend, it is well that you are here. Come, for news has arrived of our greatest triumph.”

 

Bar Khoba moved closer to his great friend.

 

“We have succeeded in our task. The messenger has arrived from the far territories. The treaty is concluded, as you advised me it would.”

 

Bar Khoba’s voice was a whisper.

 

“This is joyous news, Convenor.”

 

“I should not have doubted that the gamble was worth the risk. As always, your counsel has proved the most true. My father chose well when he made you my mentor. History will remember you, Bar Khoba, as one who brought greatness to the Commonwealth.”

 

“I desire that, Elias,” Bar Khoba’s whisper had assumed a hard edge, “I will be remembered.”

 

Elias face showed a stunned lack of comprehension as the knife that had appeared in Bar Khoba’s hand slid between the Convenor’s ribs. He died with that look of surprise across his features, life passing from him before he could make sense of what had happened.

 

Bar Khoba cried out as the guards fell upon him. It was a cry of triumph.

 

 

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Erle had been completely engrossed in the performance. The Plays in the Margin were different, they said. Nobody had said that they were anything like this. The rendition of the old story of the Betrayal had drawn him in, involved him and left him feeling oddly moved. A look around at the hushed audience confirmed that they had been similarly affected, was not a feeling restricted to those who were seeing this version of the story for the first time.

 

The woman next to him gave him a smile that said she knew exactly how he felt. She was a small woman, her features youthful despite the grey strands amongst her chestnut hair. Rosanna had introduced her as Hester Woodbridge and explained that she ran the schoolhouse here in Cassel. Erle had been interested to learn that the school had been founded by the Corporation and was open to all the children of the town. Rosanna helped out at the school, when her uncle didn’t need her at the Inn, as did her friend Hana Cleef, the petite, blonde-haired girl who Rosanna was standing alongside next to Hester.

 

“Do they perform the Harvest Plays where you come from, Mister Baziotes?” asked Hester.

 

“They do not, Miss Woodbridge, but I have seen them performed in places I have visited. And, of course, in Sharn while I have been working for my uncle. They were a mere shadow of this, however. You said that the first play was performed by the Mercer’s Guild? I have seen professional actors who could not give performances of such power.”

 

“The honour of performing the plays is jealously guarded, Mister Baziotes. Those Guilds on whom such honour has been bestowed are anxious to do the story justice. They will have been practicing for months.” She gave a small smile, “Certainly their wives see little enough of them in the weeks before Harvest. Of course, some mind that more than others.” Her smile widened, then her face resumed the solemn air with which she had watched the performance. “Of course, it is the story itself that bestows power to the occasion, rather than the performance of the players.”

 

Erle thought about that. Certainly the portrayal of the characters had been more nuanced than in the version of the Plays he was familiar with. There, the figures were stereotypes. Bar Khoba would be depicted as a sinister figure in a great red cloak and wearing a horrific mask. Here, he was a noble, dignified figure. In the north, Elias was a regal figure. Here, he was quite pathetic. In the north, Bar Khoba’s allies were faceless conspirators lurking in the dark while here, they had identities.

 

But Hester was right to say that it wasn’t just the figures, it was the story. The Margin’s Play contained details that other versions did not. Those other cycles employed much stylistic hyperbole around occasional incident. The first of the Margin’s Plays had introduced the business about the salt mines in Thaal, which he had never heard of, and the character of the Servant who gave Bar Khoba the order to kill the Convenor, the act that became known as the Betrayal.

 

He explained this to Hester and asked her if the details in the Margin’s Play were made up to give the story greater power. They moral of the Sea Trader’s story had been clear enough. He had been promised that his name would be revered yet in the one place they even remembered his existence, his character had no name.

 

“I cannot say for sure that they are the truth. But I can tell you that what you have seen is the same story that has been told here every year since the Protectorate was founded. There is an account of that first performance in the library at the Watch. I have seen it with my own eyes.” As she spoke, her eyes had noted something past Erle’s shoulder, or rather someone for she signalled with a beckoning motion. Erle looked around to see a balding, middle aged man in the green robes of the Boundary Guild approaching. When he arrived, he greeted Hester, Rosanna and Hana as friends.

 

“Mister Baziotes,” said Rosanna, “this is Guide Tinker Foxe. Tinker, this is Erle Baziotes. He’s a trader from Sharn. He’s staying at uncle Felix’s Inn.”

 

“Ah, yes. The visitor with the sword!” His grin told Erle that he did not have to expect another lecture about the propriety of swords. “Cris Magill can barely stop talking about it, no matter how much Felix repeats his assurance that the visitor is trustworthy. Luckily for you, Mister Baziotes, Felix Beebe’s judgement is well respected hereabouts.” The Boundaryman’s jovial manner was not what Erle expected from a member of that Guild who, in his experience, were either sternly intense or pompous and self-important. He took Tinker’s teasing in the spirit in which it was obviously meant, returning the smile.

 

“My sword is safely stashed with my belongings behind the locked door to my room, Guide Foxe. I am delighted to find that there is little use for such things in your town.”

 

Tinker’s benevolent gaze took in the women, “No wonder Mister Beebe is convinced, the young man seems to have a gift for saying the right thing. Perhaps that is how he comes to be in the company of no fewer than three women!” Hester laughed and rolled her eyes while Hana blushed and Rosanna looked stern. Tinker took no notice of the younger women’s reactions, turning back to Erle, “The peace of our town is something we are proud of, Mister Baziotes.”

 

Hester touched Felix familiarly on the forearm, “Mister Baziotes was asking about the veracity of some of the details of our Plays that are unfamiliar to him.”

 

“Ah, well, Hester, that is understandable. You have not seen the versions of the story that are enacted in the north where the moral is just about preserved but the detail lost amidst the bluster. Would you agree, Mister Baziotes?”

 

“I was thinking the very same thing, Guide Foxe. This Play used half the words of the version I watched in Sharn last year but it was a thousand times more affecting.”

 

Tinker glanced at the women, “You see? A definite talent for saying the right thing! You say he’s a merchant? I pity the customer, for surely he must be helpless before such flattery?”

 

“Now it is you who are flattering me, Guide Foxe,” returned Erle. He liked this man. “And I cannot believe that anyone who sees your version of the story could feel differently from I.”

 

“Then you would be surprised, Mister Baziotes, for there are those who would cast aspersions on our Plays.” His jocularity had disappeared abrubtly, replaced by sadness. Hester put her hand on his arm again.

 

“Hush, Tinker. He doesn’t want to hear of such things now.”

 

“No, but he will hear of it eventually. For there are some, Mister Baziotes, who ignore the archaic nature of the Margin’s Play Cycle and whisper that it is instead the product of the New Ideas. That allegation is almost the exact opposite of the truth but you should be warned. You will be perfectly safe in expressing your admiration of our Plays while you are here in Cassel town, but should you repeat the sentiment where the wrong ears can hear you, there are some who would look on you with suspicion.”

 

The younger women greeted Tinker’s warning with some shock. Rosanna protested, “Tinker, why are you saying such things? Why would anyone think ill of Mister Baziotes for liking the Plays?”

 

“Rosanna, as I have hinted, nobody here in Cassel town would. But Mister Baziotes will be returning to Sharn and from there, who knows? Not everybody thinks as we do.”

 

Erle knew what he meant. There had been trouble in the Boundary Guild. There had been controversy some fifteen years ago when a Boundaryman called Jacob Bauthumly had begun to argue publicly that the Guild was acting in the wrong way. He wanted many of the Guild’s secrets to be made public. Others argued that those secrets were warded by the guild because they were dangerous. The ensuing scandal had been so great that even a ten year old boy like Erle had been aware that the argument was going on. The excitement had died down but Erle was aware that Bauthumly and his followers continued to argue for change from within the Guild and others continued to oppose them.

 

The conflict within the Guild had occasionally spilled into public, scandalizing the Protectorate. Erle’s first assignment in the Conveyors had been to accompany a military force which had been dispatched to suppress the Boundary Guild in Ges which fallen come under the control of a group of zealots who had reacted to the New Ideas by promoting a peculiarly strict interpretation of the Boundaries, flogging and even killing those who fell short of their standards. They had been dubbed the Reaction. Their leader, Abarbanel Bazaine, had claimed that the New Ideas posed such a danger to the Protectorate that any lapse in observing the boundaries had to be opposed with all necessary force. Erle was still haunted by the terrorised faces he had seen in the city, and by the absolute lack of remorse amongst the Boundarymen.

 

Since Ges, the Boundary Guild had treaded a careful line between opposing the New Ideas while avoiding the excesses of the Reaction as both were viewed with considerable suspicion by many. The Boundaries were not, in most people’s view, something to be tinkered with. They had largely relied on argument against the New Ideas, though since the new Protector had taken office there had been more serious moves against their proponents. Though far short of the Reaction in Ges, the general atmosphere had become more poisonous. Being associated with the New Ideas was not something he wanted to be. Not if he hoped to be taken back into the Protector’s service.  

 

Rosanna seemed ready to continue her protest. Erle spoke before she could. “Thank you, Guide Foxe. I shall take the warning to heart.”

 

Tinker nodded solemnly. “I hope you will not be ill-disposed towards the other Plays for knowing that they may cause you trouble in the future. There is much truth in them.” He was indicating towards the stage where the players were gathering to present the second Play.