been proposed and seconded that we begin debate upon the Act of Due Loyalty and Proper Regard for Our Glorious Nation of Altania.”
Rafferdy pitched his voice in a lower range than was natural for him, keeping his shoulders back and the muscles of his midsection taut. As a result, his voice sounded relaxed and unstrained, yet it carried easily throughout the Hall. It was a trick his friend Eldyn Garritt had showed him the last time they met at tavern, after Rafferdy mentioned that his voice had been getting hoarse from speaking loud enough to be heard at Assembly.
How Garritt himself had come to learn this trick, and why a clerk might have any need to project his voice, were questions that had only occurred to Rafferdy after the fact. Then again, he had gotten the impression from the fashionable coat Garritt wore that he was no longer working as a scrivener and had found other, more lucrative, business. Rafferdy would be sure to ask him about it when they next met, and to thank him for the advice.
Now, as he spoke, the noise in the Hall subsided, and magnates leaned forward on the benches. As Rafferdy had discovered, if you made men wait to hear you speak, they were more likely to listen when you finally did.
“It occurs to me,” he went on, “that there is no one better suited to tell us more about this act than the one who proposed we debate it. To that end, Lord Davarry, perhaps you would enlighten us regarding the particular benefits that would arise from this proposal were it made law.”
The subject of this address was just retaking his seat, having been as slow to depart the floor as Rafferdy was to take it. So addressed, Davarry had a right to speak on the issue, and he appeared more than eager to make his appeal on someone else’s time rather than his own. He rose at once from his seat among the other members of the Magisters party.
“Opening the matter for debate was merely a formality required by the protocols of the Hall, Lord Rafferdy. I should hardly think it requires any debate at all.”
Lord Davarry was neither very tall nor very handsome, two features which cast him in stark contrast to the prior leader of the Magisters. All the same, his blue eyes reflected a keen intelligence that Rafferdy had witnessed in effect more than once on the floorof the Hall of Magnates. An altercation with Lord Davarry was not something to be engaged in lightly.
And Rafferdy was about to provoke one.
“Yet to cast our votes in good conscience, we must hear both the arguments for and against an act.” Rafferdy spoke in a tone that implied this was the most obvious thing.
“Of course,” Davarry agreed, even as he made a slight motion with a gloved hand as if to cast the idea aside. “In this case, though, I believe no rational mind could possibly conceive of an argument against the act. That it should be considered a crime for anyone to make public speeches, or authorize words to be printed, that cast our nation in an ill light, and thus undermine the authority of our government, is self-evident.”
“It is?” Rafferdy said, raising an eyebrow.
“Indeed,” Davarry went on indulgently. “As I am sure all present are aware, our nation is beset by enemies all around. They seek constantly to find a chink in our walls, to discover a way to attack us from within, and there are no better weapons they can use to this end than words. A bullet can fell a man, but words might accomplish something far worse. That is, they might arouse his sympathies and turn his mind to traitorous thoughts. You might as well pick up a gun and go fight for those rebels in Torland, who seek to make a beachhead upon our shores for Huntley Morden, as make public criticisms of Altania’s government or sovereign Crown.”
Rafferdy affected a confounded look. “Forgive me, Lord Davarry, but I have become confused. You see, I thought it has long been the purpose of the Hall of Magnates to offer public criticisms of the Crown. And as for
Rafferdy pitched his voice in a lower range than was natural for him, keeping his shoulders back and the muscles of his midsection taut. As a result, his voice sounded relaxed and unstrained, yet it carried easily throughout the Hall. It was a trick his friend Eldyn Garritt had showed him the last time they met at tavern, after Rafferdy mentioned that his voice had been getting hoarse from speaking loud enough to be heard at Assembly.
How Garritt himself had come to learn this trick, and why a clerk might have any need to project his voice, were questions that had only occurred to Rafferdy after the fact. Then again, he had gotten the impression from the fashionable coat Garritt wore that he was no longer working as a scrivener and had found other, more lucrative, business. Rafferdy would be sure to ask him about it when they next met, and to thank him for the advice.
Now, as he spoke, the noise in the Hall subsided, and magnates leaned forward on the benches. As Rafferdy had discovered, if you made men wait to hear you speak, they were more likely to listen when you finally did.
“It occurs to me,” he went on, “that there is no one better suited to tell us more about this act than the one who proposed we debate it. To that end, Lord Davarry, perhaps you would enlighten us regarding the particular benefits that would arise from this proposal were it made law.”
The subject of this address was just retaking his seat, having been as slow to depart the floor as Rafferdy was to take it. So addressed, Davarry had a right to speak on the issue, and he appeared more than eager to make his appeal on someone else’s time rather than his own. He rose at once from his seat among the other members of the Magisters party.
“Opening the matter for debate was merely a formality required by the protocols of the Hall, Lord Rafferdy. I should hardly think it requires any debate at all.”
Lord Davarry was neither very tall nor very handsome, two features which cast him in stark contrast to the prior leader of the Magisters. All the same, his blue eyes reflected a keen intelligence that Rafferdy had witnessed in effect more than once on the floorof the Hall of Magnates. An altercation with Lord Davarry was not something to be engaged in lightly.
And Rafferdy was about to provoke one.
“Yet to cast our votes in good conscience, we must hear both the arguments for and against an act.” Rafferdy spoke in a tone that implied this was the most obvious thing.
“Of course,” Davarry agreed, even as he made a slight motion with a gloved hand as if to cast the idea aside. “In this case, though, I believe no rational mind could possibly conceive of an argument against the act. That it should be considered a crime for anyone to make public speeches, or authorize words to be printed, that cast our nation in an ill light, and thus undermine the authority of our government, is self-evident.”
“It is?” Rafferdy said, raising an eyebrow.
“Indeed,” Davarry went on indulgently. “As I am sure all present are aware, our nation is beset by enemies all around. They seek constantly to find a chink in our walls, to discover a way to attack us from within, and there are no better weapons they can use to this end than words. A bullet can fell a man, but words might accomplish something far worse. That is, they might arouse his sympathies and turn his mind to traitorous thoughts. You might as well pick up a gun and go fight for those rebels in Torland, who seek to make a beachhead upon our shores for Huntley Morden, as make public criticisms of Altania’s government or sovereign Crown.”
Rafferdy affected a confounded look. “Forgive me, Lord Davarry, but I have become confused. You see, I thought it has long been the purpose of the Hall of Magnates to offer public criticisms of the Crown. And as for
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