“Stop,” said the magistrate, after an hour of silence.
 
Runt hauled on the donkey’s bridle.  The beast continued to walk a couple of steps, Runt’s heels dragging along the packed earth, then stopped.
 
“Time for you to earn your keep.”  The magistrate nodded towards the bend in the road.  "Uphampton lies ahead, about an hour by donkey.  Half an hour for a fit young lad like you.  You ever been there?”
 
Runt shook his head.  “Never been this far.”
 
“Oh, you’ve missed a treat.  There’s at least three horses in this town.  Three!  Can you imagine it?  That’s where my next court is.  Our court, I mean.”
 
“Okay.”  Runt knew he was being patronised in some way, but he held his tongue.
 
“You’re going to run on ahead and announce my arrival.  You will secure rooms for us in the Mucky Duck.  Not the Emperor’s Head, that place is a shithole.  The Mucky Duck, you understand?”
 
“It’s got two inns?”
 
“I know, right?  But let me educate you, boy.  As soon as you get three people together, two of them will take a dislike to the other.  Uphampton is an insignificant little stain on this great empire’s bedspread, but it’s ten times the size of the little collection of hovels you call home.  Yes, it has two inns, otherwise there’d be riots every night.  The Emperor’s Head is the first place you come to, and the last place you want to sleep in.  Go past that to the Mucky Duck.  It’s in the square.  You can’t miss it.  Tell the landlord I’m coming, that I need his courtyard tomorrow for hearings, and I’ll want a room and dinner.  And a room for you.  A servant’s room will do.  When I arrive, I’ll want to slide my sore arse off this animal and straight onto a bed with clean sheets.  Clean, mind.  You understand?”
 
“I guess so.”
 
“No!”  Runt started at the force and anger in the magistrate’s voice.  “Guessing so is not enough.  You will do it, with all the authority of the Emperor Himself.  You are the Magistrate’s Clerk!  Stand up straight!
 
Runt squared his shoulders.
 
“No, stand like you’re knee-deep in shit and you want your nose as far away from it as possible.  Better.  That’s how you stand, and that’s how you walk, all the time you’re seen, understand?  And the people you talk to, they’re neck deep in shit, so you talk to them the same way.  You don’t ask for rooms, understand?  You tell him he will give us rooms, as though we’re doing him a favour.  Because that’s what we’re going to be doing.  You take no shit from these inbred yokels.  You represent the authority of the Emperor Himself, and by the gods they will act accordingly, understand?”
 
“I’m not sure I –“
 
“Yes, you are!  You’re sure!  You’re confident!  You know that everything you say is gospel!  Your farts smell like rosemary and their beer tastes like piss.  You are the law and the judgement and they will respect you or they will suffer the consequences.  Understand?”
 
“Yes, sir.”
 
The magistrate leant back.  “What are you going to say to the landlord?”
 
“Um –“
 
“No!  No ums.  Ums are for snotty little bastards from some arse-wipe of a hamlet.  What does a magistrate’s clerk say?”
 
Runt took a deep breath.  “I want a room for a magistrate.”
 
“No.  No one give a tinker’s cuss what you want.  You don’t ask.  Asking is like begging.  You tell him what’s going to happen.  So?  What do you want, Runt?”
 
“The magistrate’s coming?  He wants a room.”
 
“The magistrate’s coming!  It’s not a question.  You tell him.  And I don’t want a room.  I’m not going to beg.  Tell him.  The magistrate will have a room.  Understand?”
 
“The magistrate will have a room.”
 
“Yes, he bloody will, but not unless you tell him like you’ve seen it already.  The magistrate will have a room.”
 
“Yes, he will.”
 
“And a decent one at that.  I don’t give a fart what sort of dump he gives you, but mine will have windows and clean sheets, because a magistrate in a foul mood will find all sorts of faults in a business if he wakes up with bug bites.  You understand, Runt?”
 
Runt stared up at the magistrate and swallowed in a dry throat.
 
“What did you call me?” he said.
 
“What?”
 
“I am the clerk to the magistrate!” shouted Runt.  “You will address me with respect, you piece of dog shit.  You got a room, or do I go down the Emperor’s Head?  I heard his beer has less water in it.”
 
For a long moment the magistrate stared at Runt, then he threw his head back and laughed.
 
“That’ll do, Mister Clerk, that’ll do.  Though you want to go easy on the shouting.  You can put much more menace into a quiet voice.  But that’ll do.  I’m going to finish the last of the bread and cheese, maybe have a smoke or two.  An hour, maybe a bit more, and I’ll ride into town.  By then most of them will be soiling their pants at the news.  And I’ll expect a room.  Trust me, I will take a rod to you, in the public square too, if you screw up.”  He looked Runt in the eye.  “But you’ll do, Mister Clerk, you’ll do.  Well?”  He shooed Runt with his hand.  “Jog on.  Till you got eyes on you, then remember.  Knee-deep.  Nose up.  They owe you.”