Let's Play: Cataphrak's Dragoon Saga

[Rogue Attican]

[X] I vote against the Duke of Wulfram's budget.

The chamber fills with the sound of shuffling feet and rustling jackets when the ayes are called. For a moment, it seems as if the whole room has risen in a single moment. But no, you can see the wide swathes of bench where men stay seated by the dozen. More in individual enclaves surrounded by supporters of the Duke of Wulfram.

When the tally is made and they're ordered to sit, you take a deep breath. When the nays are called, you let it out and stand up.

Again, the whole chamber seems to rise, but this time, you know it is nothing but a trick of the eye. All around, you can pick out glimpses of those who have stayed seated, hidden by the multitudes who have stood to be counted.

And there are multitudes. For a moment, you don't even think you've been noticed amongst the standing crowd at all. No member of the King's party nods approval at your action. No supporter of the Duke of Wulfram looks askance. It's as if you're almost entirely anonymous, and only a brief moment of eye contact with the sergeant-at-arms as he tallies the votes seems to even come close to breaking that spell.

Then, at last, you too are ordered to sit, and the sergeant-at-arms steps to the foot of the throne to deliver the count into the King's hands.

The moment of truth is at hand.

The vote counts are read out, but the margins are narrow, so dreadfully narrow.

It takes you a moment to realise that the motion has failed once again.

The whole chamber bursts into a fury of shouting voices and flung papers. The Duke of Wulfram's supporters cry in outrage, whilst the King's crow in triumph. Whatever proceedings were meant to follow are quickly drowned out by the chaos. Some look to the throne to restore order, but the King is in no state to speak. He only sags in relief, sinking into the cushions of the throne and dabbing his sweat-slick brow with relief.

It is a victory, but you're in little mood for celebration.

Whatever setback this has given the Duke of Wulfram will only be a temporary one. Even as you exist the Cortes chamber, you can see him rallying his supporters in the foyer. He will be back next year, with the same bill. If you're fortunate, such a thing will do nothing save to prove the force of his campaign already spent, but you don't think either you or the King's party will be so lucky.

No, chances are, when Wulfram returns next year, he will do so with fresh reserves of energy and new allies to support him. Like Callum IV in the Wars of Unification, you don't think he'll simply take this narrow defeat and go home. No, he'll be back, and next time, he may have what it takes to win a majority to his side.

And what will happen then? The King will be forced to acquiesce. The war taxes will end, the army will be stripped down to its barest skeleton. Or perhaps he'll use his royal veto for the second time in his reign. No King of Tierra has ever used his veto twice.

No, you must hope that it doesn't come to that and wait to see what next year will bring…

-​

The closing sessions of the Cortes of 615 come almost as an anticlimax. Without an alternative, the Earl of Weathern's own budget passes almost as an afterthought, the King's supporters upholding it out of loyalty, the Duke of Wulfram's refusing to oppose it out of sheer exhaustion. Other bills pass too, although none which seem to capture the same kind of attention as Wulfram's proposal. Even weeks after the crucial vote, the city's broadsheets seem to be fixated upon litigating and re-litigating its points. Terrible amounts of ink are spilled in the cause of explaining why this lord voted for, or this one against. More than once, you find your own name mentioned, with those papers favouring the Duke of Wulfram criticising your supposed motives, whilst those favouring the King heaping approval upon your loyalty.

It is only two weeks after the dismissal of the Cortes in the last days of summer that the last lingering commentaries on Wulfram's budget are chased out by a new story, and one which might prove of no lesser relevance to the future of the realm.

The Kian Ambassador, it seems, has not spent the summer idle. While the rest of the city was waiting for the vote on the Duke of Wulfram's budget, the Count of Leannejouwe had evidently been in deep and confidential negotiations with the Foreign Office, negotiations which have evidently gone well enough to result in an agreement which may go some way towards alleviating the country's current crisis.

As far as you can tell, the proposed treaty is, at its heart, a trade agreement. In exchange for the right to trade certain goods without being subject to tariffs and the right to be notified, should the King's government consider any similar negotiations with Takara, the government of the Kian Emperor is willing to allow the Tierran Crown a certain level of control over the Kian grain trade.

It is a prospect with effects far greater than might be expected at first glance. The Unified Kingdom has never truly been able to feed itself, and thus grain is Tierra's greatest import. Ever since the war with Antar cut off supplies from that quarter, it has been the Kian doing the bulk of importing it. Naturally, the merchants involved saw fit to maximise their profits, in the knowledge that Tierra's only options were to buy at their inflated prices or starve. The Crown's response was to implement grain subsidies, spending millions of crown a year to stave off famine, subsidies which have done and still do much to deepen the Crown's fiscal crisis.

If the Kian were to offer the Crown the ability to set price controls on Kian importers, there would be no need for such subsidies. While the relief of such a burden on the King's finances wouldn't be sufficient to solve its woes, it would certainly help matters a great deal. If the Kian are dealing in good faith, then the current crisis might be much alleviated.

If.

[ ] [KIAN] If the Kian are willing to assist us, then that is only for the good.
[ ] [KIAN] Only time will tell if this is as generous an offer as it seems.
[ ] [KIAN] I suspect the Kian have some hidden motive. I do not trust them.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] If the Kian are willing to assist us, then that is only for the good.

Perhaps it's true that the Kian have their own reasons for tendering such an offer. No matter how well you might wish to think of them, you know that neither the Kian Grand Staff nor the Court of the Sun and Heavens are particularly inclined towards charity. There's no doubt some sense in which the Kian believe that they too might profit from such an arrangement.

Yet that doesn't mean that the Kian are acting entirely solely out of some mercantile sense of purchase and sale. They do, after all, tout themselves as the guardians of humanity. Perhaps it was the sight of a fellow human power facing such apparently dire straits which moved them to act thus? Or perhaps it was a simple matter of compassion, after their ambassador was able to bear full witness to the horrors of the past winter.

And it's not as if the Unified Kingdom is really in a position to refuse such an offer. Given the current situation, the Crown is likely to be eager to take any opportunity to alleviate its current crisis it can, regardless of what the offeror might demand in return, and from what you can discern, the price of the Kian offer is a low one indeed.

Of course, any serious discussion of the matter must wait for the next year's Cortes, for until such a treaty is read before the assembled Lords, it is little more than a private agreement. It will be up to the chamber to deliberate its merits and ratify the thing.

Or reject it.

​

In the meantime, you have more pressing matters.

Not long after the announcement of the Kian treaty proposal, a courier arrives from the country, carrying a parcel loaded with receipts, records, and letters from your estate manager.

According to his messages, his anxieties regarding the appearance of roadsmen were quite well-founded. If he is to be believed, they've proven themselves a considerable threat over the course of the summer, robbing and killing isolated travellers, preying upon merchants, and going so far as to blockade the roads out of your fief, evidently in some attempt to hold it for ransom.

Of course, if those unfortunate brigands had known that you left the management of your estates in the hands of a former Antari Church Hussar, you doubt they would have been quite so eager to make your lands the intended target of their depredations. Loch did not sit idle during the summer months, instead assembling and training a force of armed men from your tenants. No sooner had the roadsmen shown themselves by erecting their barricades did Loch attack with his makeshift force, killing some, capturing more, and scattering the rest in a brief but bloody engagement.

You're told that Loch himself led the charge. Though bereft of his warhorse, armour, and great Hussar lance, he evidently made do with a pair of pistols from your gun room and a spare sabre, exhorting his rag-tag force to follow as he personally cut down three of the brigands, one after the other. The exploit has made him almost something of a local hero. Even the most sceptical of your tenants overlook his Antari origins now, and you certainly have no intention of chastising him for the trespass of embodying your houseguard—something which, legally speaking, only the lord of the estate can do.

Despite the no-doubt severe long-term effects that the roadsmen's depredations will have on your fief, you cannot allow yourself to dwell solely upon how the situation was handled. For now, you must abjure the privilege of judging your estate manager's past actions from the safety of your Aetorian townhouse and turn yourself to the task of giving him directions for the seasons to come.

Roadsmen or no roadsmen, your fief must still be managed, and the man in charge of doing so will be of little use to you if he languishes through the winter for want of instruction.

You open up the reports which have been sent to you and read their contents:

Your estate manager, Karol of Loch, reports that the crisis with the roadsmen had all but closed the roads in or out of your fief. Whilst couriers mounted on fast horses could still pass with reasonable safety, travellers on foot dared not risk robbery or murder. As a result, no new tenants have come to your fief over the past months—and no disaffected ones have left.

Your estate manager also reports that your fief's relatively low rents allow your tenants some measure of surplus coin, which invariably offers some small increase to prosperity and contentment. He also reports he's had the worst parts of the roads within your fief repaired, a measure which is sure to please your tenants, and bring in the merchants and travellers which would have otherwise been dissuaded by the previously wretched state of the roads.

With the latest reports taken into account, your current financial situation is as follows:

Bi-Annual Revenues
Rents: 567 Crown
Personal Income: 180 Crown

Bi-Annual Expenditures
Estate Wages: 175 Crown
Food and Necessities: 75 Crown
Luxuries and Allowances: 150 Crown
Groundskeeping and Maintenance: 50 Crown
Townhouse Rent: 135 Crown
Townhouse Wages: 60 Crown
Interest Payments: 174 Crown
Special Expenses: 0 Crown

Total Net Income (Next Six Months): -72 Crown

New Loans: 0 Crown

Current Wealth: 2,443 Crown
Projected Wealth Next Half-Year: 2,371

What do you wish to do?

-​

[ ] [REPAY] I wish to pay off some of my family's debts. (Write in)
[ ] [REPAY] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.

[ ] [LOAN] I must try to renegotiate the interest on my loans.
[ ] [LOAN] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[ ] [LOAN] I mean to ask for a modest loan; 1000 crown, perhaps?
[ ] [LOAN] I am in need of a sizeable loan, 2500 crown or so.
[ ] [LOAN] I shall require a great deal of money; 5000 crown, at least.

[ ] [LOAN] I'll draw upon my connections to arrange a new loan on more favourable terms.
-[ ] I will see what friends in the capital are willing to assist me.
-[ ] Perhaps the Shipowners can offer me some assistance here.

-​

[X] I should send some money home, to help improve my fief.

Were you physically present at your estate, you would be able to order the construction of new additions and improvements directly. However, as you're in Aetoria, you shall have to rely upon the judgement and good offices of your estate manager to order what construction he sees fit.

Of course, your estate manager cannot order any construction at all unless he has the money to afford it, and as your manager has no substantial independent wealth of his own, the burden of payment falls upon you, as lord of the estate. Should you wish your estate improved in any way, you shall have to send him enough money to pay for it.

At the moment, you have 2,443 crown available to send to your estate manager. So far, you've sent a total of 2,000 crown to your estate in total. Judging by his current reports, your manager should have something like 0 crown currently available to him.

According to his report, your estate manager is currently planning on repairing your estate's stables and outbuildings.. To do this, he'll require an additional 1,000 crown.

How much will you send?

[ ] [LOCH] Let's give our horses and Loch's mule a nice new home. (-1,000 crown)
[ ] [LOCH] I'm not sending any money to Loch this time.
[ ] [LOCH] I'll write down a different amount to send home.

-​

You currently have 0 crown in investments.

You can afford to invest 2,443 crown. Do not forget that larger investments may boost overall confidence in the Exchange as a whole—and improve the opinion of other Shipowners' Club members.

How much do you intend to invest?

[ ] [INVEST] I would like to invest 1000 crown.
[ ] [INVEST] I mean to invest 2500 crown. (Requires loan)
[ ] [INVEST] I am investing 5000 crown. (Requires loan)
[ ] [INVEST] I must think upon the matter more.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [LOCH] I'm not sending any money to Loch this time.
[X] [REPAY] I wish to pay off some of my family's debts.
-[X] 500

Click to shrink...

You write up an appropriate letter to your bankers, authorising the transfer of the relevant funds. You imagine it will take some time to process, given travelling time and the general delays of even a private bureaucracy, but your instructions will almost certainly be put into action before the interest on your debt is due again.

Until then, there's little you can do save wait.

-​

The courier bearing your messages to your estate isn't the only figure on his way out of the city. The dissolution of the Cortes and the coming of the first autumn rains marks the end of Aetoria's social season. Thousands flow out through the city's roads and quays, much as they had surged in not a handful of months before. The throng in the streets seems to loosen and compress, as if the whole city were exhaling a deep breath. The crowds thin, then break apart into clusters and strands before disappearing altogether, leaving the streets exposed and naked to the sky for the first time in weeks.

Aetoria changes under the greying autumn sky. The warm sunlit hues of the city's buildings fade, as if washed away by the cold rains. The market stalls and open stands which had been set up for the summer season are packed away, their colourful awnings and fanciful frames shut away or brought under the refuge of dull canvas covers.

A quarter of a million people still live within the city, if not more. It only takes a look out the window or a quick visit to the club to remind you that you are far from the last man in Aetoria. Yet even so, when you're not in the salubrious and still-lively premises of the Shipowners Club, the world outside seems so very empty, so devoid of life, like a city of the dead.

And in one way, that is not so unsuitable a description.

There is every indication that the winter to come will be far less severe than the previous one, but you suppose that must be a shallow distinction for those who have no homes to shelter in and no hot food with which to warm themselves. In a clime such as Aetoria's, a mild winter can kill just as thoroughly as a harsh one, if one possesses no protection from its depredations.

For you, of course, the situation is entirely different. Possessed with an ever-available refuge in the shape of a warm and well-appointed townhouse, the prospect of a relatively mild winter is one which may serve you quite well. If the snowfall is kept to a tasteful minimum and the streets remain more or less clear of ice, then you won't be obliged to cloister yourself in your townhouse as you did last winter. Although most of those who would normally make up the social life of the city have since departed, that doesn't mean you will necessarily lack for ways to remain active. Your club will almost certainly remain open, and if you will it, you might even have the chance to aid the Orders of the Blue in taking a more proactive role in aiding those who have found themselves without homes or food, certainly a better use of your time than doing nothing as men and women freeze in the streets.

And there are surely other options, as well; less socially acceptable ones, perhaps, but ones which may be worth pursuing, should the club or charity work prove too…staid for the disposition of a man who was once a soldier…

[ ] [WINTER] The Club sounds like a good way to spend a winter.
[ ] [WINTER] I ought to spend my winter helping those who need it.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [WINTER] I ought to spend my winter helping those who need it.

Naturally, the Order of Saint Octavia is more than pleased to have you volunteer your services. Despite the Order's relatively high profile, it is not every day that a Lord of the Cortes stops by to offer a hand.

Of course, you're not assigned to ladle out soup or hand out blankets or anything like that. Such a thing would be far beneath the dignity of a gentleman of the blood, even if it were done for charitable purposes. No, you are temporarily assigned an office in the Order's sprawling Aetoria offices, across the street from its magnificent shrine. There, you and a small collection of Seekers are given the task of organising and arranging the arrival and dissemination of supplies to the Order's chapterhouses and charitable establishments throughout the city.

It is boring, tedious work, the sort of tallying and checking rather similar to the sort which you would be doing if you had been kept on as your old regiment's quartermaster officer. The Order's insistence upon un-cushioned ladder-back chairs doesn't help either, and you learn to your discomfort that there are some aches and pains which not even twelve years of war had introduced you to.

Still, it is good work, reputable work, something that is likely to make a difference to the city's poor and dispossessed should you do it well. You would have considered that alone recompense enough.

Yet some weeks after you begin, you find your name in the Gazette, praised unequivocally as one of a handful of Lords of the Cortes making some effort to alleviate the plight of the city's poor. It is certainly a pleasant surprise. Though your reputation is already quite illustrious, you certainly will not oppose a little extra burnishing.

​

The mildness of the winter season makes its end seem less a transformation than it had been the year before, but its character remains the same. The snow in the squares still melts, though there's less of it. The rains still reduce alleys and side roads into expanses of mud, though it's not anywhere near as heavy. The bodies of those who succumbed to the winter's cold are still dragged off the streets to be burned in their thousands, though likely not as many thousands as there was last year.

Spring brings also the first arrivals from the outside world: packet ships braving the last vestiges of the storm season, couriers in-bound on roads which are still half slush and half mud. The city rouses from its winter hibernation to receive them as they bring news from the country and abroad to the waiting populace—and more confidential parcels to their individual recipients.

One of those parcels finds its way into your hands: a fresh set of reports from your estate manager. You open them with some apprehension, wondering if your fief has managed to find itself in the grip of some fresh crisis, as it seems to be every time you open a new set of letters from your estate manager. To your surprise, you find no such dire tidings; the winter and the first weeks of spring have passed almost without incident. Though your tenants are still in a state of recovery from the depredations of the previous year, no fresh calamity has befallen them. For your lands, these past few months have actually proven to be a time of genuine peace.

Of course, that doesn't mean that they're not in want of your direction. Bundled with the letters are, as usual, a more sterile retelling of the last seasons, in terms of profits and losses. You look through them in preparation for issuing new commands of your own:

Your estate manager, Karol of Loch, reports that 11 new rent-paying households moved into your fief in the past few months. He also reports that 3 households have been driven away from your fief by their dissatisfaction with the way things are being run, and 2 households have left your fief in search of better opportunities elsewhere.

Your estate manager also reports that your fief's relatively low rents allow your tenants some measure of surplus coin, which invariably offers some small increase to prosperity and contentment.

In addition, your agent reports that your fief was graced not so long ago by a most curious visitor: a writer of some sort or other, touring the various regions of the Unified Kingdom with the intent of writing a travel narrative for the entertainment of his readers—a narrative which was just published by a rather respectable Aetorian printing house to moderate success.

Unfortunately, the author seems to have been less than impressed by your lands. If the reports are any indication, he writes rather unflatteringly and at length about what he considers to be the poverty of your tenants and the shabbiness of your barony.

You cannot know what sort of influence so blunt an appraisal will have upon the common view of the reputation of your fief, but you doubt it will be a positive one.

With the latest reports taken into account, your current financial situation is as follows:

Bi-Annual Revenues
Rents: 585 Crown
Personal Income: 180 Crown

Bi-Annual Expenditures
Estate Wages: 175 Crown
Food and Necessities: 75 Crown
Luxuries and Allowances: 150 Crown
Groundskeeping and Maintenance: 50 Crown
Townhouse Rent: 135 Crown
Townhouse Wages: 60 Crown
Interest Payments: 169 Crown
Special Expenses: 0 Crown

Total Net Income (Next Six Months): -49 Crown

New Loans: 0 Crown

Current Wealth: 1,894 Crown
Projected Wealth Next Half-Year: 1,845

What do you wish to do?

-​

[ ] [REPAY] I wish to pay off some of my family's debts. (Write in)
[ ] [REPAY] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.

[ ] [LOAN] I must try to renegotiate the interest on my loans.
[ ] [LOAN] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[ ] [LOAN] I mean to ask for a modest loan; 1000 crown, perhaps?
[ ] [LOAN] I am in need of a sizeable loan, 2500 crown or so.
[ ] [LOAN] I shall require a great deal of money; 5000 crown, at least.

[ ] [LOAN] I'll draw upon my connections to arrange a new loan on more favourable terms.
-[ ] I will see what friends in the capital are willing to assist me.
-[ ] Perhaps the Shipowners can offer me some assistance here.

-​

[X] I should send some money home, to help improve my fief.

Were you physically present at your estate, you would be able to order the construction of new additions and improvements directly. However, as you're in Aetoria, you shall have to rely upon the judgement and good offices of your estate manager to order what construction he sees fit.

Of course, your estate manager cannot order any construction at all unless he has the money to afford it, and as your manager has no substantial independent wealth of his own, the burden of payment falls upon you, as lord of the estate. Should you wish your estate improved in any way, you shall have to send him enough money to pay for it.

At the moment, you have 1,894 crown available to send to your estate manager. So far, you've sent a total of 2,000 crown to your estate in total. Judging by his current reports, your manager should have something like 0 crown currently available to him.

According to his report, your estate manager is currently planning on repairing your estate's stables and outbuildings. To do this, he'll require an additional 1,000 crown.

How much will you send?

[ ] [LOCH] Let's give our horses and Loch's mule a nice new home. (-1,000 crown)
[ ] [LOCH] I'm not sending any money to Loch this time.
[ ] [LOCH] I'll write down a different amount to send home.

-​

You currently have 0 crown in investments.

You can afford to invest 1,894 crown. Do not forget that larger investments may boost overall confidence in the Exchange as a whole—and improve the opinion of other Shipowners' Club members.

How much do you intend to invest?

[ ] [INVEST] I would like to invest 1000 crown.
[ ] [INVEST] I mean to invest 2500 crown. (Requires loan)
[ ] [INVEST] I am investing 5000 crown. (Requires loan)
[ ] [INVEST] I must think upon the matter more.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [LOCH] Send Loch 500 Crowns.

You draw up the appropriate papers authorising your estate manager to draw on your funds, then send them off. Now, you can only wait for the appropriate acknowledgements.

And hope that your estate manager uses the funds you've given him access to wisely.

-​

Spring also brings with it portents of the season to come.

Already, there is talk in the clubs and the cafes of the coming opening of the Cortes, and the tenor of every conversation seems to make it clear that if anything, the clashes of this year's session will be even more vicious than the last. Any hope which anyone might have had that the winter would cool the passions of the chamber must surely be considered false. Even now, all talk seems to revolve around the Duke of Wulfram's budget, the war taxes, and the Kian offer, as if creation itself consisted of nothing else.

A storm is brewing, and when it breaks, there's little doubt that you may find yourself drenched to the bone.

Already, those broadsheets owned by the Duke of Wulfram's supporters have picked you out as a target. The Duke himself may have declared himself above such matters, but such restrictions certainly don't seem to apply to the instruments of his allies. Daily you are slandered, your integrity questioned, your motives guessed at, your personal proclivities made the subject of the most odious speculation.

If you mean to remain in Aetoria as a supporter of the King's policy, you can only expect such attacks to grow more venomous still.

More than once, you think back to the placid fields of your fief, to the ramshackle house your ancestors built and which you restored; to the thought of long afternoons and quiet dinners without thought of the Cortes, to wake up every day without feeling as if the fate of the realm rests upon your shoulders. To the idea of a place where a crisis meant something you could understand, something you could get ahold of. A place where months could pass, and nothing of consequence would happen.

Perhaps that is what you need? Some time away from Aetoria, away from the Cortes and the King's party and the Duke of Wulfram. Away from Lady Katarina and her stiff-necked chaperone, perhaps to renew your suit once you have regrouped. Away from clubs and townhouses. Away from the roar of crowds, the eternal rattle of carriage wheels, and dreary winters which leave a thousand dead in their wake.

Yes, perhaps that is what you need.

To go home.

[ ] [NEXT] I must stay in Aetoria. I have obligations here I must fulfil.
[ ] [NEXT] Leaving Aetoria means leaving my power and influence behind. I'll not do it.
[ ] [NEXT] I'm not suited for the city. A simpler life would do me good.
[ ] [NEXT] When things get ugly, I would like to be anywhere but here.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [NEXT] I must stay in Aetoria. I have obligations here I must fulfil.

You must admit, there's some part of you that wants nothing more than to be quits of the city, and yet you resolve not to be governed by it. This isn't the first time your desires and your duty have driven you at cross purposes, but this time at least, you mean to stand by the latter. The responsibilities which your birth and your offices have thrust upon you are not always ones which you're much fond of, but that doesn't mean that they're not to be fulfilled.

And Aetoria is the only place in creation where you might fulfil them.

You will stay. Not necessarily because you wish to, but because you must.

-​

You spend the next few days in preparation for the season to come, ensuring that the lease on your townhouse is renewed, that your current complement of domestic servants are ready for whatever you might have planned, and that your cellars and pantry are all in good fettle for a time not far off now, when such things may bear no small effect upon your reputation in the city.

There are other preparations to be made too, internal ones. This year's Cortes is sure to be even more divided than the last, and the consequences for making a misstep are sure to be even more dire. Having committed yourself of your own free will to remaining an active lord in the chamber for the coming year, you have no excuse for being unprepared for what it might hold in store. So, you prepare yourself as best you can, and hope that it will be enough.

In your heart, you know that you're proceeding down a path of danger, that remaining in the arena of Cortes politics as it threatens to become a battleground is to choose to risk your fortune, your reputation, perhaps even your life, for a chance to play some part in righting the ship of state.

You can only pray that your choice proves the correct one.

 

[Rogue Attican]

Chapter V
Wherein the LORD OF THE CORTES is faced with the WORSENING political situation within the city of AETORIA.​

It is about an hour after breakfast when your valet enters the study of your townhouse in his customary, unobtrusive manner.

"I beg your pardon, my lord," he says quietly as he steps up to your desk. "You have a visitor."

You look up, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I wasn't expecting anyone today. Nobody's sent their card, have they?"

Your valet shakes his head. "No, my lord. However—"

Before your gentleman can finish, the door opens once again, and this time the newcomer is far from unobtrusive. He all but shoulders the door aside, as if he were half about to break it down.

"Ah! Castleton!" exclaims Lord Cassius vam Holt, his customary exuberant grin plastered across his face as he crosses the room with but a few long-legged strides. "There you are!"

"I must compliment you on the style of your residence, Castleton," Lord Cassius remarks as he admires the decor of your study with bright and curious eyes. "True, it doesn't stand up to a Takaran home, but I feel as if there's a certain appeal to it, a certain charm all its own."

You do not reply, at least not the way you might have. The Takaran is trying to be polite; or at least, you think he is.

"It isn't a very large place," the Takaran continues, seemingly oblivious to your own thoughts. "Though I suppose that is to be expected. I'm given to understand that you are rather junior in your Cortes, so I suppose it would only be fitting to have a residence befitting that status…"

Already, you can feel your patience wearing thin and your thoughts growing wary. What does Lord Cassius mean, coming to your townhouse unannounced like this? "Lord Cassius, this is a surprise."

"Is it?" Lord Cassius asks, in a tone which is almost surprise. "Yes, I suppose it is. You Tierrans, you are supposed to do the…" He waves his fingers in a loose circle, as if they were a flywheel meant to set his thoughts in motion. "Yes, the thing with the cards, yes?"

"Yes," you reply, more irritably than you might have liked. "They are meant to give advance warning. I could have been better prepared to receive you then."

The Takaran shakes his head. "No time, I'm afraid. I am in, I fear, something of a hurry."

"We don't have much time?" you repeat. "I'm not sure I understand. Have you some other appointment?"

Lord Cassius responds with a look that is half wry amusement and half deep sadness. "Yes, you could say something like that."

"If this is so important, then why not make time for it?" you ask. Surely he could have taken the effort to have this done properly. "Are you not in charge of your own appointments as Ambassador?"

The Takaran's frown deepens. "That is it precisely, you see," he replies, with something that is almost akin to hesitation. "I have received news this morning that I am no longer to be Ambassador to Tierra. I have been recalled. My replacement is already on his way."

It was bound to happen, you suppose. If the Takarans meant to take the Unified Kingdom seriously, they would have no doubt preferred someone more seasoned than a young dilettante running their embassy. Even so, the suddenness of it comes something of a shock.

"Recalled? Without warning or pretence?" you ask. "Did they at least give you a reason?"

"They did," the Takaran replies, all hint of exuberance gone from his expression. "I must return home to take up the responsibility of putting my family estates in order. My father is dead."

Select two of the following dialogue options.

Click to shrink...

[ ] [HOLT] "You have my deepest sympathies."
[ ] [HOLT] "Would it be forward of me to ask how?"
[ ] [HOLT] "Does this mean that you are Graav vam Holt now?"

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [HOLT] "You have my deepest sympathies."

"Your sympathies?" Lord Cassius says, his face heated with a sudden anger, his voice twisted with derision. "What good will your sympathies do me, hmm? Will they undo what has happened? Will they bring him back? No. And if they cannot do that, what good are they?"

"I apologise," you hastily reply, caught sharply off balance by the Takaran's anger. "I was under the impression that you were not so close to your father."

"I wasn't," Lord Cassius replies, his anger swiftly receding. "It is merely—" He shakes his head. "Never mind. It is not important."

He takes another breath, then lets it out in a long sigh. "Your sympathies are appreciated," he finally says. "Though I fear they cannot change the facts. My father is dead, and I must go home to succeed him."

[X] [HOLT] "Does this mean that you are Graav vam Holt now?"

"Yes, I—" He pauses for a moment, as if he just realised what he's saying. "Yes, I suppose I am."

Another pause, and a sigh. "Graav vam Holt. I thought it would be fifty or a hundred years before I would take his title. And now I have everything else, as well. His obligations, his responsibilities. It…" He shakes his head. "It is more of a weight than I thought."

"I was under the impression that Takaran noble titles did not come with lands or estates," you reply.

The Takaran shakes his head again. "It would be almost easier if it did. You have a house in the country, an income, land to be farmed and serfs to farm it. If you choose, you could drop everything here and go back to your country house and be forgotten by the world."

"Forgotten by the people here, perhaps," you reply. "Not by my tenants—who I would thank you not to compare to serfs. There are responsibilities in running an estate as well, in keeping it well ordered and looking after the affairs of its inhabitants and industries."

The Takaran's mouth draws taut. "I would rather that. Tree, I would so much rather that. My title brings with it no incomes or lands, but that doesn't mean it's empty. It is a name that comes with expectations, with assumptions. It is not just a dignity which my father has left me, but a reputation, and to uphold it means to spend the rest of my life fighting for causes, and against enemies which my family made before I was even born."

You're not sure what he means by that. Your name also came with its own burdens to carry, yet to hear Lord Cassius speak of it, the inheritance which has been bestowed upon him seems more death sentence than bequest.

"I was hoping I would have more time before this happened," the Takaran continues despondently. "A long time. We falkisch might live to three hundred if we're lucky. A day ago, I would have thought maybe eight, nine decades. Now, I would give anything for another week." He gives you a small, sad little smile. "But I suppose it's too late for that."

For a moment, the two of you stand in an awkward silence, as if there was nothing left to be said.

Lord Cassius glances to the side, at the clock mounted on the wall. "I should be going," he announces with a suddenness which almost shocks you. "My ship leaves in six hours, and I must make sure my personal effects are loaded aboard."

You incline your head politely. "Then I shall not keep you, my lord."

The Takaran takes a half-step forward, his mouth half open. "Castleton, I…" He takes a breath, tries again.

"You have been a great help these past few years, even though I know there are times when it would have been convenient for you not to be…" He begins again, his voice made sober and even, almost dignified. "We have shown, I think, that our peoples are not so different, even if we cannot always understand each other." He gives you a thin but genuine smile. "I thank you, on behalf of my country, but also on behalf of myself."

[ ] [HOLT] "You have been a good friend, and I should hope to see you again one day."
[ ] [HOLT] "Your thanks is most appreciated. I wish you safe journey."
[ ] [HOLT] "To tell the truth, you've been a pain in my backside."

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [HOLT] "You have been a good friend, and I should hope to see you again one day."

Lord Cassius smiles back. "Perhaps one day, you'll be able to visit me in Takara. The Holt is very pleasant in the springtime."

It is an invitation without weight, a pleasantry really. There's little chance that you will ever be able to take enough time away from your responsibilities here and on your estate to visit Lord Cassius' homeland. Even if there were, you know that Takara itself is not so welcome to visitors, unless they are there as diplomats, traders, or to labour as brute servants for the local citizenry. Even as a Lord of the Cortes, the process of arranging a visit would be difficult, if not impossible.

Yet even so, you cannot help but appreciate the sentiment all the same.

"Safe travels, and Saints go with you, my lord," you say, offering him your hand.

He takes it. "Thank you, and…" His voice falls away for a moment. "And remember me well, Castleton."

"I will," you promise.

But he is already gone.

-​

Soon, however, you find yourself compelled to see to more pressing matters.

With the opening of the Cortes, you had braced yourself for a repetition of last year's debate over the budget, the same arguments, the same rhetorical cut and thrust, the same endless grapple betwixt two sides, each unwilling to be shifted.

But somehow, it seems that you're wrong.

The ground has shifted over the winter. Now, instead of the familiar dispute between the King's budget and the Duke of Wulfram's, debate in the chamber has changed to what seems at first like an entirely different topic, and with such a speed and thoroughness that the discourses of the old dispute have been swept away entirely, like last season's gowns, to be replaced with the new fashion.

They call it 'the treaty,' almost as if it were the only such agreement in creation; or at least, the only one of significance. It has a formal name, of course, one of the long, rambling descriptions so beloved of the writers of cheap novels and diplomats, yet nobody seems inclined to remember it or to care. Names are, after all, meant only to represent the things that they are referring to.

And everyone in the city knows what the treaty is.

Officially, it is a simple trade: the Crown is to sign over certain trade monopolies to Kian shipping houses, particularly those pertaining to the import and sale of grain. In return, the government of the Kian Emperor has offered to regulate such trade in order to ensure that his merchants sell the grain which they now have sole right to ship at a fair and fixed price.

Of course, it is not entirely as simple as a matter of trade policy, something which is made plain to you when you receive a rather extraordinary letter from the hand of the Princess-Royal herself.

-​

My Lord Reddingfield,

When last we spoke, you impressed yourself upon me as a gentleman of some judgement, with a sense of the courses of action which would best serve the interests of Crown and Kingdom. In hindsight, I must say I am rather pleased with myself, for it appears to me that you have fulfilled such impressions exactly. In my estimation, and in the estimation of my brother, you have demonstrated yourself to be worthy of trust and confidence, and you may rest assured that once current affairs are settled, such actions will be repaid in kind.

However, now is not yet the time for the settling of debts, for now comes a crucial point, where the Crown is once again in need of your loyal services.

You are aware, of course, of the treaty now being negotiated betwixt the King and the Kian Emperor. The specifics are, of course, secret, but you may rest assured that my brother the King is well-advised in pursuing such a course, and that he sees it as a vital first step to both alleviating the suffering of the commons and ensuring the security of the realm in the long term. Whether the intransigence of those opposed to the treaty is founded in ignorance, self-interest, or some more sinister motive is immaterial. Such opposition serves only to work against our interests, and that is reason enough to see it contained.

I offer you no specific instructions on how this is to be done. I trust your own judgement and knowledge of your circumstances. Given how you have put such attributes to profitable use in the past, you may be assured that you may act with my complete confidence. Simply do as you have done before, and the whole of the Unified Kingdom shall owe you a debt for it.

Isobel, Princess-Royal

-​

It isn't so much a message as it is almost a command, as if the Princess-Royal were a staff officer passing on an order from high command.

But given the way which the chamber has changed in the past interval, you suspect that is not too unfitting a metaphor.

For generations, the Lords of the Cortes have voted as individuals, taking sides on each issue based on what they consider to be the best interests of the realm. Yet now, it seems all too clear that such a way of doing things is slowly becoming a thing of the past. In its place are two coalescing factions, each with their own shared and all-encompassing vision on how to rescue the realm from its current predicament, each demanding the support of their followers in the pursuit of that vision—and in the frustration of the plans of their opposition. The Kian treaty has not only become a test of policy, but one of loyalty, with one's vote on the matter intended to show which faction, which leader, and which vision of the future one is loyal to.

You've heard such politics are common in Takara, but never has such a thing been seen within the Tierran Cortes, at least not openly. There have been alliances in the chamber before, but not ones of such permanence and pervasiveness. Yet despite its novelty, it is a principle which quickly becomes understood: those for the King must vote for the treaty, those for Wulfram must vote against it, and damn-your-cowardice if you will stand with neither.

It is an attitude which takes hold quickly.

And one which does not contain itself within the Cortes chamber.

Even the common room of the Shipowners' Club offers no escape. Debate over the treaty has taken over here too, to the point that even mainstay topics like the expansion of the Wuframite iron mines and the possibility of a canal to cut across the Isthmus of Crittenden are pushed aside entirely, as if they'd never been relevant at all. Only the treaty seems to matter.

Of course, even under the dominance of this new topic, the meat of the conversation remains the same. Thus the halls of the Shipping Exchange do not ring with the same arguments that are heard in the Cortes, but ones pertaining to profits, to losses, and to how a treaty with the Kian might affect them.

Those opposed to the treaty can make their argument clearly enough: to surrender the whole of the grain trade to Kian houses, headquartered across the sea, would mean depriving Aetoria's ship captains of a lucrative trading route—and likewise deprive those who invest in such ship captains of a reliable source of income. The argument for the treaty is rather less certain, but tantalising in its own way: the promise of closer relations with the Kian and the hope that an improved opinion of the Unified Kingdom within the Court of Sun and Heavens may lead very well to the admittance of Tierran traders into those trading routes traditionally reserved for the use of friends of the Kian Emperor.

No, there's no debate about national honour or the fear of Kian overlordship here. Among the men of the Shipowners' Club, it is a question of mitigating losses against potential profit, that is all.

Or at least, so you think, until one morning when Mortimer Blanco pulls you aside into a private interview, his eyes bright with excitement and his reedy voice pitched even higher with the promise of "the potential for the most profitable enterprise in living memory."

-​

"So let me see if I have you correct," you reply a few minutes later, after Blanco has laid out his scheme before you. "You mean for me to sell shares in shipping ventures meant to import grain from Kian at the current going rate—shares which, I remind you, I do not currently own—and then ensure that the treaty with the Kian is passed. Given that said treaty would only allow the importation of grain by Kian shipping houses, the value of the securities which I have sold—but not bought—would drop precipitously, allowing me to purchase the shares which I have sold—but not yet purchased—at a fraction of the price I already sold them at, allowing me to pocket the remainder as profit."

Blanco nods. "Yes, I believe you have it, my lord."

"You do realise that the passage of time is linear, don't you?"

Your assistant frowns. "Well, it's not so much the shares themselves you're selling as it is the promise of them, much in the way a banknote represents the promise of payment in gold."

You nod, slowly, hesitantly. It is still quite confusing to you, but then again, if it wasn't confusing, you suppose every fellow with a crown to spare would be trying some scheme of the same sort by now. "How much do you think an enterprise like this could make?" you ask. "In terms of net profit, I mean."

Blanco gives you a curious look before sweeping his eyes about the tiny side office within which the two of you are speaking. Finally satisfied, he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen. He writes a figure on the paper, folds it, and carefully hands it over.

You unfold the little slip of paper and read it.

He cannot be serious. At that rate of return, you could—

"You are making sport of me," you say aloud, almost involuntarily. "This is a joke."

Blanco meets your gaze, his expression in deadly earnest.

"Has anyone done this sort of thing before?"

Blanco purses his lips in thought for a moment. "I am not quite sure, my lord. I've heard the other brokers speak of someone who tried something similar, but that was before the war, certainly before my time. Before that? I rightly could not say."

Your eyes narrow in suspicion. "Why not?" you ask. "If this sort of venture is as profitable as you seem to think it is, and there are no laws against it—there are no laws against it, are there?"

"I do not believe so, my lord," your broker replies. "At least, not ones which would apply to a gentleman of the blood or his agents."

"If that's the case, then why have there been so few past attempts at such a thing?"

Blanco frowns. "It is because such ventures are usually exceptionally uncertain," he explains. "In an enterprise such as this, the timing is essential. Even if one knows that the price of a given sort of security is about to drop, one usually doesn't know when and to what degree of severity. If one sells while the price is yet too low, or cannot buy at a low enough price, then there's no profit in such a venture." He shakes his head. "Under normal circumstances, it's the sort of risk which I would not countenance under any circumstance."

"Under normal circumstances," you observe. "I trust you mean to say that circumstances have changed?"

Your broker nods eagerly. "Exactly, my lord! We know more or less that the Kian treaty will be voted upon in the Cortes by the end of the summer, and we know that it is all but certain to affect the grain trade severely enough to turn a profit, if used to our advantage."

You nod back absently, quietly marvelling at the confluence of circumstances and events which have led you to this point. Were it not for the treaty, or your decision to take Blanco on as your broker, or any of a hundred other decisions, you may have never found yourself in reach of this opportunity. But now, the Saints have placed you here, a step short of a method to secure a vast fortune without a drop of sweat or blood expended.

If it succeeds. "How certain are you that this will succeed?"

Blanco's lips press together into a thin line. "Well, ah, it all depends on the treaty, my lord."

"The treaty?" you echo.

He nods. "Yes. Whether it passes or fails in the Cortes."

"If the treaty with the Kian fails in the Cortes, then the shares we must buy will retain their value," you reason, thinking aloud. "Any money which we might have made selling the shares would have to be used in buying them up. We would make no profit at all."

Your broker gives you a curious little look, like that of a servant about to inform his master that his home is on fire. "Well, ah…" He clears his throat nervously. "It is a bit worse than that, my lord. You see, the current price of shares in ventures that might be affected by the treaty is actually a bit lower than usual. Uncertainty, you see. Nobody knows whether the treaty is going to make those shares drop in value or not. If the treaty is defeated in the chamber, their prices will actually rise. We would not be breaking even, but facing a loss."

"How much?" you demand, growing a little nervous yourself.

Blanco gives you a grim look as he shakes his head. "I do not know," he replies faintly. "Quite truthfully, my lord, I'm not sure I want to."

"It seems…improper to profit like this. Are you sure it is quite right?"

"With respect, my lord," Blanco replies somewhat nervously, "my responsibility as your broker is to ensure the profitability of your investments. Any advice or counsel which I might offer is entirely within the bounds of those obligations. In that regard, I have seen an opportunity to turn the potential passage of the Kian treaty to your advantage, and I have duly informed you of it."

"I am a Lord of the Cortes, Master Blanco," you remind him. "My responsibility is to ensure that the King's policy is advised and moderated wisely for the purpose of safeguarding his interests and those of his subjects. My seat in the Cortes, the estate from which I draw my fortune, these are things which I have rights to for the purpose of fulfilling that responsibility."

Your broker nods hesitantly. "I think I understand, my lord."

"Do you?" you demand, perhaps more heatedly than you meant to. "If this treaty passes in the Cortes, it will cause great disruption. Those ships which rely upon the grain trade will be laid up, their captains and crews left without work. Yet if I am to engage in this venture, it becomes in the interests of my fortune and that of my house to marshal all the power at my disposal to ensure that this treaty is ratified." You feel your teeth grit together as you fix him with a hard look. "How might I justify being party to such an enterprise, if it should give me every encouragement to use the Cortes seat the King has bestowed upon me to work against what might be the best interests of his subjects?"

Blanco looks away. For a moment, there is only silence as you and your young broker sit facing each other but not looking eye to eye.

"I…" he finally begins, unsteadily. "I do not know, my lord." He tries again, his voice growing stronger but still quiet. "Perhaps the treaty will serve the realm as poorly as you believe. Perhaps it will lead to the greater profitability of the Kian trade, as some have predicted. My obligations are to your investments, my lord, and to those of this club as a whole. I do not have the blood of command in me, to tell you what is right and what is wrong."

He turns towards you and gives you a look just as firm as the one you gave him a minute ago. "I cannot do that, my lord. Only you can."

Blanco is proposing that we short-sell stock in Tierra's shipping industry the same way hedge funds like Melvin Capital bet against GameStop. Fortunately for us, r/wallstreebets doesn't exist in the Infinite Sea... If you're still confused, I'd be happy to dust off my business school hat to try and explain things without the Regency-era verbiage.

Click to shrink...

[ ] [SHORT] "Very well. Let us set our efforts to this scheme."
[ ] [SHORT] "This venture is too risky, and I cannot afford the cost of its failure."
[ ] [SHORT] "This scheme is wrong. I shall not countenance it."

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [SHORT] "Very well. Let us set our efforts to this scheme."

Blanco nods, excitement plain in his features. "Very well, my lord. I would advise that we start as quickly as possible and begin the process of selling shares slowly. If we sell too many at once, we may set off a panick and cause the price to drop prematurely."

"That sounds reasonable," you reply, grasping your broker's explanation immediately.

"There are a few things I would advise we sort out before we begin to sell," Blanco continues. "The amount of funds you should wish to invest into this venture, and so on."

You nod. "Of course."

"Before that, though, there's one thing we need to sort out."

"And what is that, Master Blanco?"

"Do you mean to tell any of the other investors about this?"

"The other investors?" you ask, somewhat confused. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken, Master Blanco, but if the others catch wind of this, they might involve themselves in this scheme as well."

"Yes," Blanco replies, nodding. "That is quite possible."

Your eyes narrow. "If others are selling the same sort of shares as we are at the same time we're selling them, won't we glut the exchange and drive prices down? Likewise, if we are then compelled to buy shares at the same time they're compelled to do the same, will that not drive prices up?" You frown. "From where I'm sitting, that would thin our margin of profit, not increase it."

"But it may well increase our chances of success, my lord!" Blanco replies immediately. "There are other investors who are Lords of the Cortes. If they are made aware of how the passage of the Kian treaty may benefit them, they will likely be convinced to vote for it as well. Besides that, there are few better ways to increase one's standing within the club itself than by offering the other investors intelligence regarding a potentially profitable enterprise. If you should share the knowledge of this venture with them…"

Your broker is right, of course. If you make the decision to tell the other club members about this, you may not make as much money, but it would not only increase your influence within the Shipowners' Club, but also increase the chances of the treaty passing.

Increase, but not ensure…

If the treaty is defeated in the Cortes chamber regardless, then having the rest of the Shipowners' Club involved in this scheme would only make things worse. The same factors which would have thinned your profits in the case of success would likewise deepen your losses in the case of failure.

And yet…

If you were to do the opposite…if you were to convince the other investors that the treaty was bound to fail on the Cortes floor, then you may well instigate the opposite effect. They would buy shares of the same type you mean to sell, driving up your earnings. Once the treaty passes, they would scramble to sell those same shares, thus driving down their price and your costs.

Such a move, if successful, would likely destroy any trust your fellow investors would have in you. It would also vastly increase your potential profits.

Perhaps it's worth a try?

[ ] [CLUB] "We must tell every investor who will listen."
[ ] [CLUB] "Tell only those with Cortes seats, to maximise the chance of success."
[ ] [CLUB] "No, I think it would be best if we kept this to ourselves."
[ ] [CLUB] "No, I think I shall tell them the treaty is bound to fail instead…"