- Pronouns
- He
[X] [TRAIN] I'd better stop Castermaine before he scuttles the idea of standard officer training altogether.
Let's Play: Cataphrak's Dragoon Saga
- Thread starter Rogue Attican
- Start date
Lords 5.07
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [TRAIN] I'd better stop Castermaine before he scuttles the idea of standard officer training altogether.
When you stood to speak out against Castermaine's position, you were hoping to be listened to, for your arguments to be acknowledged and perhaps even taken into account.
But you certainly weren't expecting this.
Evidently, you greatly underestimated the influence you have among the Commission. You're not sure whether it's because of your reputation as a fighting officer or as an orator which does it, but when you stand and speak, the rest of the room almost seems to fall silent on command and listen.
They listen as you speak of how an army is ultimately held together by the quality of its officers, of how poor leadership at the wrong place might cost the King's Army a battle, an army, a war. They listen as you remind them of the times when such a thing had happened in the recent war in Antar. They listen when you ask them whether the cost of training the officers of the King's Army—regardless of whether they fight at the front or plan at the rear—is really so much greater than the cost in pride, discipline, and sacred honour that might be exacted by failures of command.
Perhaps stranger yet, they don't just listen that session, but the next, and the next, all the way through the three weeks of debate it takes before the matter is finally brought to a vote.
By then, the matter is already half-settled, much thanks to your efforts, and not in Castermaine's favour. The Commission is to recommend the standard training of officers, and after a close vote, Palliser and his proposal carry through.
The Army Reform Commission's report will recommend that junior officers receive regular training before they receive their commissions.
Some part of you is filled with relief simply to see the issue resolved after so long a period of argumentation. Yet some small voice in the back of your head warns you not to relax too quickly, or to too great of an extent.
Sure enough, when you return to Grenadier Square the next week, the resolution of the officer training issue is already long forgotten. Like a glutton being served a new dish, the fractious members of the Army Reform Commission have already latched themselves onto a new issue, taking sides and tearing at each other with a vigour and ferocity which they rarely seem to show when compelled to work in cooperation.
It is almost astounding to think that not four years ago, the vast majority of the men in this room were soldiers in the same army, fighting the same army, supporting and reinforcing and manoeuvring around each other like the well-oiled pieces of a master-crafted clockwork.
No more.
Such is life on the Army Reform Commission.
The Cortes, too, dances to familiar steps, though the music all seems to be from one composer. All debate is taken up by the treaty, always the treaty, nothing but the treaty.
And from what you can see, if the whole matter were to come to a vote tomorrow, then it would stand a very good chance of passing.
Not that the Duke of Wulfram and his party mean to allow such an outcome. Every day, they rail against the Kian treaty and those who defend it, and they do not do so alone. You may not be able to hear the distant mobs of commoners in the Old City over the shouts of their supposed betters, but their presence is on everyone's mind. Betwixt the two of them, they might yet defeat the treaty after all.
If you mean to see the treaty pass, then it would be best if you helped put a stop to that.
Some part of you would rather do anything but. With whatever dignity the Cortes might have possessed before reduced to a pit of shouting voices and furious bombast, so loud that you cannot even hear yourself think, so contentious that it's a genuine wonder every time anyone manages to take the floor for five seconds without being interrupted by howls of "Shame! Shame!" Even the King seems wholly sick of the whole affair, leaving his seat at the head of the Chamber empty after the first few sessions. Unfortunately, his absence—and that of Colonel Lefebvre—removes the last restraint on your fellow Lords. Now they harangue and argue with a heretofore unseen viciousness.
You almost wish that you could simply follow the royal example and walk out the door, or simply not even show up to the sessions in the first place. There's nothing physically stopping you, no law that demands attendance, no penalty for avoiding it. The only thing stopping you is your own stubborn willingness to subject yourself to the whole ordeal.
And your sense of duty, of course.
After all, that's why you have a seat in the chamber in the first place, isn't it? As a Lord of the Cortes, it is your obligation to stay, to listen to the good arguments and the poor ones, and to see your own opinions subject to the scorn and anger of your rivals. You swore an oath to offer the King wise counsel, and even if the royal personage is absent, you cannot fulfil that duty unless you and your peers can decide what wise counsel in this case actually entails. It is your duty to endure this farce, no matter how much of a burden it may be. It is your duty to speak out against that which you know to be wrong, and stand in favour of that which you know to be good, no matter the abuse that is heaped upon you for it. This is the office you were born to, and fulfil it you must.
Right?
[ ] [TREATY] It is my duty to speak in support of the Kian treaty.
[ ] [TREATY] I must speak against the Kian treaty.
[ ] [TREATY] I mean to stay on neutral ground, no matter how difficult it may be.
When you stood to speak out against Castermaine's position, you were hoping to be listened to, for your arguments to be acknowledged and perhaps even taken into account.
But you certainly weren't expecting this.
Evidently, you greatly underestimated the influence you have among the Commission. You're not sure whether it's because of your reputation as a fighting officer or as an orator which does it, but when you stand and speak, the rest of the room almost seems to fall silent on command and listen.
They listen as you speak of how an army is ultimately held together by the quality of its officers, of how poor leadership at the wrong place might cost the King's Army a battle, an army, a war. They listen as you remind them of the times when such a thing had happened in the recent war in Antar. They listen when you ask them whether the cost of training the officers of the King's Army—regardless of whether they fight at the front or plan at the rear—is really so much greater than the cost in pride, discipline, and sacred honour that might be exacted by failures of command.
Perhaps stranger yet, they don't just listen that session, but the next, and the next, all the way through the three weeks of debate it takes before the matter is finally brought to a vote.
By then, the matter is already half-settled, much thanks to your efforts, and not in Castermaine's favour. The Commission is to recommend the standard training of officers, and after a close vote, Palliser and his proposal carry through.
The Army Reform Commission's report will recommend that junior officers receive regular training before they receive their commissions.
Some part of you is filled with relief simply to see the issue resolved after so long a period of argumentation. Yet some small voice in the back of your head warns you not to relax too quickly, or to too great of an extent.
Sure enough, when you return to Grenadier Square the next week, the resolution of the officer training issue is already long forgotten. Like a glutton being served a new dish, the fractious members of the Army Reform Commission have already latched themselves onto a new issue, taking sides and tearing at each other with a vigour and ferocity which they rarely seem to show when compelled to work in cooperation.
It is almost astounding to think that not four years ago, the vast majority of the men in this room were soldiers in the same army, fighting the same army, supporting and reinforcing and manoeuvring around each other like the well-oiled pieces of a master-crafted clockwork.
No more.
Such is life on the Army Reform Commission.
-
The Cortes, too, dances to familiar steps, though the music all seems to be from one composer. All debate is taken up by the treaty, always the treaty, nothing but the treaty.
And from what you can see, if the whole matter were to come to a vote tomorrow, then it would stand a very good chance of passing.
Not that the Duke of Wulfram and his party mean to allow such an outcome. Every day, they rail against the Kian treaty and those who defend it, and they do not do so alone. You may not be able to hear the distant mobs of commoners in the Old City over the shouts of their supposed betters, but their presence is on everyone's mind. Betwixt the two of them, they might yet defeat the treaty after all.
If you mean to see the treaty pass, then it would be best if you helped put a stop to that.
Some part of you would rather do anything but. With whatever dignity the Cortes might have possessed before reduced to a pit of shouting voices and furious bombast, so loud that you cannot even hear yourself think, so contentious that it's a genuine wonder every time anyone manages to take the floor for five seconds without being interrupted by howls of "Shame! Shame!" Even the King seems wholly sick of the whole affair, leaving his seat at the head of the Chamber empty after the first few sessions. Unfortunately, his absence—and that of Colonel Lefebvre—removes the last restraint on your fellow Lords. Now they harangue and argue with a heretofore unseen viciousness.
You almost wish that you could simply follow the royal example and walk out the door, or simply not even show up to the sessions in the first place. There's nothing physically stopping you, no law that demands attendance, no penalty for avoiding it. The only thing stopping you is your own stubborn willingness to subject yourself to the whole ordeal.
And your sense of duty, of course.
After all, that's why you have a seat in the chamber in the first place, isn't it? As a Lord of the Cortes, it is your obligation to stay, to listen to the good arguments and the poor ones, and to see your own opinions subject to the scorn and anger of your rivals. You swore an oath to offer the King wise counsel, and even if the royal personage is absent, you cannot fulfil that duty unless you and your peers can decide what wise counsel in this case actually entails. It is your duty to endure this farce, no matter how much of a burden it may be. It is your duty to speak out against that which you know to be wrong, and stand in favour of that which you know to be good, no matter the abuse that is heaped upon you for it. This is the office you were born to, and fulfil it you must.
Right?
[ ] [TREATY] It is my duty to speak in support of the Kian treaty.
[ ] [TREATY] I must speak against the Kian treaty.
[ ] [TREATY] I mean to stay on neutral ground, no matter how difficult it may be.
- Pronouns
- He
[X] [TREATY] It is my duty to speak in support of the Kian treaty.
Boy, so many good choices here, it's a real pain to only be limited to one. I sure hope I'm making the right choice here.
Boy, so many good choices here, it's a real pain to only be limited to one. I sure hope I'm making the right choice here.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [TREATY] It is my duty to speak in support of the Kian treaty.
Also there's all the money we'll lose if it fails...
Also there's all the money we'll lose if it fails...
[X] [TREATY] It is my duty to speak in support of the Kian treaty.
Lords 5.08
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [TREATY] It is my duty to speak in support of the Kian treaty.
It is with a dry throat and a pounding heart that you stand up to declare your support for the Kian treaty, and some part of you is immediately made to regret it. True, you're not the only one to come out in favour of the treaty, but you are the most recent, and for some of the Duke of Wulfram's partisans, that makes you a prime target.
Needless to say, the remainder of that day's session proves long and unpleasant, but you exit the chamber with your head held high, knowing that you stood up for the right thing.
Then again, speaking out in favour of the Kian treaty hardly makes you an iconoclast. Indeed, given that almost every Lord in the Shipowners Club seems to share your opinion, you could almost argue that you've taken the path of least resistance, at least when it comes to your immediate social circle.
Of course, your fellows within the Shipowners wouldn't put it that way. When you show your face at the club that evening, you are roundly cheered. Evidently, word has spread quickly, and your standing within the membership improves greatly as a result.
It is during the next day's session that you begin to hit your stride.
This time, when your foes launch their attacks, the rest of the Cortes seems to rally around you, even some of those whom you know to be against the treaty. "Let him speak!" they cry, Royalist and Wulframite alike, united only by what you suppose must be respect for your reputation.
You do, and for the first time in what seems like an eternity, almost the whole of the chamber is in silence whilst you speak.
Over the next few weeks, as the summer reaches its peak and finally begins the long descent into autumn, you make yourself a reputation as one of the Kian treaty's finest advocates. Before long, you find yourself kept in careful reserve, only brought out to speak when the opposition renders some particularly resistant argument, like the great breaching batteries of a siege train, kept ready to demolish any enemy strongpoint in its way.
Your mighty efforts gain you not only constant praise from your fellows in support of the treaty, but the esteem of some of the treaty's architects as well. Even the Kian ambassador seems to have noticed, if the letter of thanks and jade Quie set he has delivered to you are any indication.
Every day, you can feel the forces of the Cortes shift around you. Every time you finish speaking, the shouts of support seem louder, the cries in opposition fewer and quieter. Perhaps your efforts genuinely are making a difference, perhaps it may even be your support which ultimately ensures the passage of the treaty.
You suppose you shall soon see for yourself. Summer is almost at an end. The King has returned to the Cortes. A final vote cannot be far off now…
Yet when the day of the vote finally comes in the last days of the year's Cortes, it is in the shape of what could only be considered an immense bombshell.
The King doesn't intend for the Kian treaty to be voted on as a separate motion. Instead, he means to include it as an item in the year's budget.
Even you must admit that it is a very clever bit of legislative manoeuvring, even if you cannot approve of the stink of low cunning which hangs about it all.
By making the treaty and the budget one item, the King has ensured that those who support the Kian treaty must necessarily vote to support the budget as well, even if they would otherwise vote against it. Any who had meant to vote for the King with the treaty and with Wulfram for the budget must now choose: support the budget as well as the treaty, or reject both and risk being reviled as a faithless weathervane by those still in favour of the treaty, along with those Wulframites whom they had abandoned to support the treaty earlier.
It is a perfectly legal action, as far as you understand it. The Kian treaty would necessarily affect the budget, in the sense that it would lower the cost of the grain subsidy and therefore the burden on the Crown's finances. Yet what is legal is not necessarily the same as what is acceptable. The Wulframite party rises in uproar. The Royalists rise to oppose them. The chamber descends once more into a furious disorder which lasts through the afternoon, the evening, and the night. The budget must be read out before it can be voted on, but not even the King himself seems able to call out more than two or three words at a time before he is shouted down.
It is only in the early hours of the morning that matters can proceed further. Visibly exhausted, the frustration plain on his face, the King finally calls out the proceedings to put the matter to a vote.
Here it is at last. After so many hours, after so many weeks of argument and upset, it has come to this moment, this instant…
…and you must still choose which part you are to play.
[ ] [TREATY] I vote in favour of the treaty and the King's budget.
[ ] [TREATY] I vote against the treaty and the King's budget.
[ ] [TREATY] I remain in my seat: I abstain.
It is with a dry throat and a pounding heart that you stand up to declare your support for the Kian treaty, and some part of you is immediately made to regret it. True, you're not the only one to come out in favour of the treaty, but you are the most recent, and for some of the Duke of Wulfram's partisans, that makes you a prime target.
Needless to say, the remainder of that day's session proves long and unpleasant, but you exit the chamber with your head held high, knowing that you stood up for the right thing.
Then again, speaking out in favour of the Kian treaty hardly makes you an iconoclast. Indeed, given that almost every Lord in the Shipowners Club seems to share your opinion, you could almost argue that you've taken the path of least resistance, at least when it comes to your immediate social circle.
Of course, your fellows within the Shipowners wouldn't put it that way. When you show your face at the club that evening, you are roundly cheered. Evidently, word has spread quickly, and your standing within the membership improves greatly as a result.
-
It is during the next day's session that you begin to hit your stride.
This time, when your foes launch their attacks, the rest of the Cortes seems to rally around you, even some of those whom you know to be against the treaty. "Let him speak!" they cry, Royalist and Wulframite alike, united only by what you suppose must be respect for your reputation.
You do, and for the first time in what seems like an eternity, almost the whole of the chamber is in silence whilst you speak.
Over the next few weeks, as the summer reaches its peak and finally begins the long descent into autumn, you make yourself a reputation as one of the Kian treaty's finest advocates. Before long, you find yourself kept in careful reserve, only brought out to speak when the opposition renders some particularly resistant argument, like the great breaching batteries of a siege train, kept ready to demolish any enemy strongpoint in its way.
Your mighty efforts gain you not only constant praise from your fellows in support of the treaty, but the esteem of some of the treaty's architects as well. Even the Kian ambassador seems to have noticed, if the letter of thanks and jade Quie set he has delivered to you are any indication.
Every day, you can feel the forces of the Cortes shift around you. Every time you finish speaking, the shouts of support seem louder, the cries in opposition fewer and quieter. Perhaps your efforts genuinely are making a difference, perhaps it may even be your support which ultimately ensures the passage of the treaty.
You suppose you shall soon see for yourself. Summer is almost at an end. The King has returned to the Cortes. A final vote cannot be far off now…
-
Yet when the day of the vote finally comes in the last days of the year's Cortes, it is in the shape of what could only be considered an immense bombshell.
The King doesn't intend for the Kian treaty to be voted on as a separate motion. Instead, he means to include it as an item in the year's budget.
Even you must admit that it is a very clever bit of legislative manoeuvring, even if you cannot approve of the stink of low cunning which hangs about it all.
By making the treaty and the budget one item, the King has ensured that those who support the Kian treaty must necessarily vote to support the budget as well, even if they would otherwise vote against it. Any who had meant to vote for the King with the treaty and with Wulfram for the budget must now choose: support the budget as well as the treaty, or reject both and risk being reviled as a faithless weathervane by those still in favour of the treaty, along with those Wulframites whom they had abandoned to support the treaty earlier.
It is a perfectly legal action, as far as you understand it. The Kian treaty would necessarily affect the budget, in the sense that it would lower the cost of the grain subsidy and therefore the burden on the Crown's finances. Yet what is legal is not necessarily the same as what is acceptable. The Wulframite party rises in uproar. The Royalists rise to oppose them. The chamber descends once more into a furious disorder which lasts through the afternoon, the evening, and the night. The budget must be read out before it can be voted on, but not even the King himself seems able to call out more than two or three words at a time before he is shouted down.
It is only in the early hours of the morning that matters can proceed further. Visibly exhausted, the frustration plain on his face, the King finally calls out the proceedings to put the matter to a vote.
Here it is at last. After so many hours, after so many weeks of argument and upset, it has come to this moment, this instant…
…and you must still choose which part you are to play.
[ ] [TREATY] I vote in favour of the treaty and the King's budget.
[ ] [TREATY] I vote against the treaty and the King's budget.
[ ] [TREATY] I remain in my seat: I abstain.
[X] [TREATY] I vote in favour of the treaty and the King's budget.
- Pronouns
- He
[X] [TREATY] I vote in favour of the treaty and the King's budget.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [TREATY] I vote in favour of the treaty and the King's budget.
Lords 5.09
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [TREATY] I vote in favour of the treaty and the King's budget.
When the 'ayes' are called, you stand with them. After so much tumult, it comes almost as an anticlimax. A few Royalists nod approvingly in your direction, just as a few Wulframites fix you with most unpleasant looks, but no more. There would be no point to it. All that could be done to influence the result has been, and now you are only one figure among many others, reduced to the single vote which your birth entitles you to.
As the votes are counted, a strange feeling falls over the Cortes chamber, one which none have experienced within its walls in what almost seems like an eternity.
Silence.
Then, it is done. The tally is complete. The treaty has passed, and the budget too, just as so many expected.
And just as so many feared.
Once again, the chamber explodes into accusations and recriminations.
Yet what follows is more squall than hurricane. This new storm of protest may open with the same fury, but it does not last. With the treaty passed by vote, only the Kian Emperor himself could stop the ratification of the agreement now, and that seems far from likely. You're all too exhausted to argue for or against. In the end, the session blows itself out, dispersing from sheer exhaustion.
In the corner of your eye, you see the King slump in his chair, whether in relief or sheer weariness, you cannot know.
You file out of the Cortes chamber in no less a complete funk than those around you, all of you insensible to naught but your own exhaustion. You stumble out into the courtyard with the others to be greeted by the first rays of sunrise. You've been awake for almost a whole day. Not since your time in Antar have you felt so utterly weary.
By the time your coach finally pulls up, you would like nothing better than to go home, climb into bed, and not climb out again.
But you can't do that. Not yet.
Now that the Kian treaty has passed, your scheme within the Shipowners' Club has come to fruition, and you cannot waste a moment if you mean to maximise your profits. You order your coachman to make best speed for the Shipping Exchange.
You have a fortune to make.
Your co-conspirators are already at the Shipowners' Club. Being Lords of the Cortes themselves, they had possession of the news just as quickly as you did. Only by virtue of their faster coaches were they able to outpace your own arrival to bring the news to the Shipping Exchange first.
And they haven't used their head-start unwisely.
Already, they are buying up the securities which they sold weeks ago—securities which are now worth very little indeed, thanks to the passage of the Kian treaty. You quickly join them, passing hours in a haze of coffee and exhaustion and tabac as you and Blanco try to do your level best to buy up all the securities you have promised before your fellow lords can drive up the price doing the same. In the end, the side effects of their own efforts make barely a dent in your profits, and you walk away with 3000 crown in all.
You suppose you might have made more had you kept Blanco's scheme to yourself, but then your fellow lords might not have supported the treaty in the first place. They would have certainly shared in the resentment of the rest of the Club, once they realised how you managed to amass such a profit so quickly.
But as it is, they have benefited just as much as you, and such profit has bought you their good opinion, even if it has bought nobody else's. That, you suppose, is consolation enough.
You are beyond exhaustion by the time you climb back into your coach. It's a struggle even to keep awake on the trip back to your townhouse.
Yet by the time you arrive, you find yourself fully conscious and filled with a rising dread. When you step through the door, your household staff greet you with anxious looks, as pale as Takarans. It doesn't take long to learn why.
It seems that the news of the Kian treaty's passage has not only reached the Shipping Exchange, but the rest of Aetoria as well.
Including the Old City.
The Old City mob reacted exactly as one ought to expect they would. After all, the marches they have attended and the slogans they have chanted over the past months were not just demonstrations of protest, but also a promise, a warning of the force which would be unleashed, should the Cortes not adhere to what its speakers must surely consider the voice of the people.
And now that promise has been fulfilled.
And the Old City is ablaze.
You understand, of course, that it's more than that. The treaty is just a symbol to them, the representation of a royal government too absorbed in furthering its own interests to alleviate the suffering of its people, of an aristocracy which insists upon playing the part of a rising power whilst the poor are taxed out of their homes to starve and freeze and die in the streets.
To those without work, without housing, without hope, it must seem like the ultimate insult, that the King's government should be more absorbed with selling rights to Tierran trade to a foreign power than offering some relief to the destitute on the very streets of its capital. You cannot say if the rumours are true, that the Duke of Wulfram stoked opposition to the treaty specifically seeking this result. What you do know is that not even Wulfram could have created what you see now. The anger now manifesting was already there, stacked like dry tinder through three years of privation, suffering, and royal neglect.
The Kian treaty only provided the spark.
Now the Old City burns under the result.
That is the dread you felt, not the ephemeral premonition of doom of a faerie-story but the faintest similarity to the sensation of a very real memory. It is the smell, the same smell that you felt in the air during the fall of Kharangia, and for days after, even as the rains tried their damnedest best to wash it away.
The smell of burning wood, burning houses.
A burning city.
You can see the rising smoke from your window, reaching upwards in thick columns. When you listen closely, you can even hear the sound of smashing glass over the dull roar of fifty thousand furious, indistinct voices. As you watch, some part of the distant skyline crumbles, a building falling apart only to be replaced by the fresh, ruddy glow of rising flame to join half a hundred others already blazing under the darkening sky.
Suddenly, there's a new sound, not from the Old City but from the opposite direction; faint, rising, and very familiar.
The sound of hobnailed boots on cobblestones. The sound of infantry on the march.
You even see them pass by. Not Intendancy men now, but Grenadiers, in their burnt-orange coats and bearskin caps. Their muskets are shouldered, their bayonets fixed. On the street below, some bystanders point and gawk at the marvel of Tierran soldiery marching by companies down the streets of a Tierran city. Some turn to each other and mutter with worried expressions, wondering where such hard-looking, grim-faced men are bound and what they mean to do when they get there.
You do not need to wonder. You know. You're close enough to see the looks in their eyes as they pass under your window, and it's a look you have seen far too many times before.
So, you stand by the window, all thoughts of sleep forgotten as the sky darkens and the blood-red sun sets under the smoke-filled horizon…
…as the sounds of destruction and chaos and tumult are joined by the distant, percussive rattle of a regiment of the King's Army opening fire on their own countrymen.
When the 'ayes' are called, you stand with them. After so much tumult, it comes almost as an anticlimax. A few Royalists nod approvingly in your direction, just as a few Wulframites fix you with most unpleasant looks, but no more. There would be no point to it. All that could be done to influence the result has been, and now you are only one figure among many others, reduced to the single vote which your birth entitles you to.
As the votes are counted, a strange feeling falls over the Cortes chamber, one which none have experienced within its walls in what almost seems like an eternity.
Silence.
Then, it is done. The tally is complete. The treaty has passed, and the budget too, just as so many expected.
And just as so many feared.
Once again, the chamber explodes into accusations and recriminations.
Yet what follows is more squall than hurricane. This new storm of protest may open with the same fury, but it does not last. With the treaty passed by vote, only the Kian Emperor himself could stop the ratification of the agreement now, and that seems far from likely. You're all too exhausted to argue for or against. In the end, the session blows itself out, dispersing from sheer exhaustion.
In the corner of your eye, you see the King slump in his chair, whether in relief or sheer weariness, you cannot know.
You file out of the Cortes chamber in no less a complete funk than those around you, all of you insensible to naught but your own exhaustion. You stumble out into the courtyard with the others to be greeted by the first rays of sunrise. You've been awake for almost a whole day. Not since your time in Antar have you felt so utterly weary.
By the time your coach finally pulls up, you would like nothing better than to go home, climb into bed, and not climb out again.
But you can't do that. Not yet.
Now that the Kian treaty has passed, your scheme within the Shipowners' Club has come to fruition, and you cannot waste a moment if you mean to maximise your profits. You order your coachman to make best speed for the Shipping Exchange.
You have a fortune to make.
-
Your co-conspirators are already at the Shipowners' Club. Being Lords of the Cortes themselves, they had possession of the news just as quickly as you did. Only by virtue of their faster coaches were they able to outpace your own arrival to bring the news to the Shipping Exchange first.
And they haven't used their head-start unwisely.
Already, they are buying up the securities which they sold weeks ago—securities which are now worth very little indeed, thanks to the passage of the Kian treaty. You quickly join them, passing hours in a haze of coffee and exhaustion and tabac as you and Blanco try to do your level best to buy up all the securities you have promised before your fellow lords can drive up the price doing the same. In the end, the side effects of their own efforts make barely a dent in your profits, and you walk away with 3000 crown in all.
You suppose you might have made more had you kept Blanco's scheme to yourself, but then your fellow lords might not have supported the treaty in the first place. They would have certainly shared in the resentment of the rest of the Club, once they realised how you managed to amass such a profit so quickly.
But as it is, they have benefited just as much as you, and such profit has bought you their good opinion, even if it has bought nobody else's. That, you suppose, is consolation enough.
You are beyond exhaustion by the time you climb back into your coach. It's a struggle even to keep awake on the trip back to your townhouse.
Yet by the time you arrive, you find yourself fully conscious and filled with a rising dread. When you step through the door, your household staff greet you with anxious looks, as pale as Takarans. It doesn't take long to learn why.
It seems that the news of the Kian treaty's passage has not only reached the Shipping Exchange, but the rest of Aetoria as well.
Including the Old City.
-
The Old City mob reacted exactly as one ought to expect they would. After all, the marches they have attended and the slogans they have chanted over the past months were not just demonstrations of protest, but also a promise, a warning of the force which would be unleashed, should the Cortes not adhere to what its speakers must surely consider the voice of the people.
And now that promise has been fulfilled.
And the Old City is ablaze.
You understand, of course, that it's more than that. The treaty is just a symbol to them, the representation of a royal government too absorbed in furthering its own interests to alleviate the suffering of its people, of an aristocracy which insists upon playing the part of a rising power whilst the poor are taxed out of their homes to starve and freeze and die in the streets.
To those without work, without housing, without hope, it must seem like the ultimate insult, that the King's government should be more absorbed with selling rights to Tierran trade to a foreign power than offering some relief to the destitute on the very streets of its capital. You cannot say if the rumours are true, that the Duke of Wulfram stoked opposition to the treaty specifically seeking this result. What you do know is that not even Wulfram could have created what you see now. The anger now manifesting was already there, stacked like dry tinder through three years of privation, suffering, and royal neglect.
The Kian treaty only provided the spark.
Now the Old City burns under the result.
That is the dread you felt, not the ephemeral premonition of doom of a faerie-story but the faintest similarity to the sensation of a very real memory. It is the smell, the same smell that you felt in the air during the fall of Kharangia, and for days after, even as the rains tried their damnedest best to wash it away.
The smell of burning wood, burning houses.
A burning city.
You can see the rising smoke from your window, reaching upwards in thick columns. When you listen closely, you can even hear the sound of smashing glass over the dull roar of fifty thousand furious, indistinct voices. As you watch, some part of the distant skyline crumbles, a building falling apart only to be replaced by the fresh, ruddy glow of rising flame to join half a hundred others already blazing under the darkening sky.
Suddenly, there's a new sound, not from the Old City but from the opposite direction; faint, rising, and very familiar.
The sound of hobnailed boots on cobblestones. The sound of infantry on the march.
You even see them pass by. Not Intendancy men now, but Grenadiers, in their burnt-orange coats and bearskin caps. Their muskets are shouldered, their bayonets fixed. On the street below, some bystanders point and gawk at the marvel of Tierran soldiery marching by companies down the streets of a Tierran city. Some turn to each other and mutter with worried expressions, wondering where such hard-looking, grim-faced men are bound and what they mean to do when they get there.
You do not need to wonder. You know. You're close enough to see the looks in their eyes as they pass under your window, and it's a look you have seen far too many times before.
So, you stand by the window, all thoughts of sleep forgotten as the sky darkens and the blood-red sun sets under the smoke-filled horizon…
…as the sounds of destruction and chaos and tumult are joined by the distant, percussive rattle of a regiment of the King's Army opening fire on their own countrymen.
Lords 6.01
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CHAPTER VI
In which the LORD OF THE CORTES is made to RECKON with the AFTERMATH of the RIOTS in the OLD CITY.
In which the LORD OF THE CORTES is made to RECKON with the AFTERMATH of the RIOTS in the OLD CITY.
My Lord,
When last I described to you the situation in Aetoria, I attempted to impress upon you without euphemism or circumspection the seriousness of the situation here. Perhaps you had thought me to be exaggerating when I did so, that I was attempting some flourish of rhetoric for the sake of persuading you that matters were more dire than in reality.
Now, you have seen with your own eyes that I was speaking entirely in earnest.
Whatever hope you might have possessed that Wulfram and his inner circle might be somehow made to see reason must be discarded. In inciting violence on the streets of the capital, he has shown himself and his interests to be a threat to the stability of the realm and the very legitimacy of the Crown. No more may we bind our hands in the hopes that our adversaries might be made to recognise their own faults. Now we must see to the security of the Unified Kingdom and its people through any means necessary.
I have known you long enough to trust your devotion to our common interests. I would advise you to follow that devotion now, without giving way to any thought of restraint or fair play. If we fail, if Wulfram has his way, we shall see the result in the bloodletting which has scourged the Old City, multiplied a hundred-fold.
We mustn't let that happen. Should worst come to worst, I hope that I may be able to depend upon you to ensure that our realm, our interests, and our sovereign endure, whatever the cost.
Saints guard the King.
Lady Katarina d'al Cazarosta
-
The bodies are still hanging in Castle Square when your coach passes by.
There's little left of them now, of course. They've been hanging from the gibbet for a full week now, and after the souvenir hunters and the carrion birds, all that remains are a few skeletal remnants held together by the barest scraps of tendon and flesh. Even the stench is mostly gone.
There are a dozen of them, hanging up there in the open, the ringleaders of the riots in the Old City, or so the claim went. You suppose it must have taken a prodigious effort to hunt them down, given the circumstances. The guilty would have certainly had plenty of chances to escape. They had plenty of opportunity to do so, after all. It took the Grenadiers three days to put down the riots, and it's said that there were scenes of slaughter in the narrow streets of the Old City which had rivalled the worst battlefields of Antar, that the streets had run with blood, and that even now, there were piles of bodies yet unburned.
An exaggeration, you suspect, but the whole city still smells of smoke. The rioters were not well-organised or well-disciplined, but there had been a lot of them. The Intendancy have claimed twenty thousand, some you've heard claim double that. They hadn't moved without purpose, either. Some went to the docks, to burn the warehouses storing goods known to belong to Kian merchants. Some marched up to the Upper City, it is said, so that they might burn the Kian merchants themselves.
That, as the story goes, was when the Grenadiers were called in. That's why the rioters were put down so swiftly and brutally.
And that's why the bodies of its purported ringleaders were hanged here, in Castle Square, not fifty paces away from the front windows of the Kian Embassy, so that the Count of Leannejouwe might witness and tell his dread master the Kian Emperor that the King of Tierra was still his friend, even if some of his people thought otherwise.
[ ] [OPINION] Good, the King cannot tolerate rebellion and must make examples of those who engage in it.
[ ] [OPINION] We need the friendship of the Kian; if this is what it took, then so be it.
[ ] [OPINION] Perhaps the hangings were necessary, but this grisly display isn't.
[ ] [OPINION] I cannot help but be disgusted at such a sight.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [OPINION] Perhaps the hangings were necessary, but this grisly display isn't.
[X] [OPINION] I cannot help but be disgusted at such a sight.
Seems fitting for an 88% Merciful character.
Seems fitting for an 88% Merciful character.
- Pronouns
- He
[X] [OPINION] I cannot help but be disgusted at such a sight.
Lords 6.02
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[X] [OPINION] I cannot help but be disgusted at such a sight.
They say that a quarter of the city had been there to watch the condemned men hang, that some wailed piteously as they were led up the scaffold, whilst others met their fate with a quiet dignity. You heard that the crowd had jeered as each man was brought up, and that they cheered when he dropped down.
You cannot know for sure. You weren't there. You've seen more than your share of suffering and death. Even now, you cannot help but be repelled by the sight of the dead men, even in a state reduced to bare skeletons by the crows and the black, soot-stained rain.
But you're not here to see the gibbet or its skeletal occupants. Already, your coach is rolling past, and the scaffold is shrinking away behind you.
No, in truth, you wouldn't have come out of doors at all if it were up to you. The rains of autumn have come in full force now, the sky weeping drops black with soot, and the filthy weather has done little to wash away the ugly mood that hangs over the city like a miasma—the residue of a bloody week, and perhaps the promise of worse to come.
No, you would still be indoors if you had a choice, but you don't—not really.
After all, one doesn't lightly refuse an invitation from the Northern Keep.
A footman is waiting for you as you exit your coach from the Lord's Court of the Northern Keep. You follow him up the now-familiar steps into the foyer of the Cortes chamber. But here, where you would normally proceed straight through the heavy doors into the chamber itself, your escort takes you left, through a door cleverly concealed into the oak panels of the wall. Down a series of side passages you go, until another doorway sees the two of you emerging into another great corridor, this time decorated in distantly familiar pastels.
These are the Princess-Royal's apartments.
The lady herself is not far off, examining some massive canvas set up on a scaffold in a small, windowless side room. She turns before you can be announced, with a look of perfect collectedness, as if she knew you were coming.
"My Lord Reddingfield."
You make a courtier's leg, as you did the last time you were brought before Princess Isobel's presence. "Your Highness."
Her features resolve into a thin, cold smile. "I have been following your actions within the Army Reform Commission closely, and with great interest," she declares. "It pleases me well to know that you have rewarded our trust in you."
"I have only done what I thought best for Crown and Kingdom, Highness," you reply humbly and perhaps truthfully. "I have done no more than that."
For an instant, the Princess-Royal's sharp gaze softens, but only for an instant. "If that is the case, my lord, then I may only declare that it is very good that your idea of the Crown's best interests and His Majesty's are very much in coincidence. Take especial care to make sure that they do not diverge."
You suppose that's a word of thanks, in her own prickly way, though you cannot help but notice that it's also a warning. "I shall bear that in mind, Highness."
For a moment, you await the Princess-Royal's reply. But none comes. Instead, she only nods silently.
What is she getting at?
The Princess doesn't seem to be inclined to answer your questions, even now that you've answered hers. Instead, she turns silently back to the painting. For a moment, you wonder if you're to be dismissed after only so peremptory an interview. Then, with one slim finger, she beckons you closer.
"Come take a look at this painting, my lord," she says in a tone which couldn't be described as anything but a command. "Tell me what you see."
The canvas is a massive piece, easily three times your own height. It's a battle scene from the Antari war, made in detail so minute that you can even see the light glittering off the steel of distant bayonets and the individual pine needles on the trees, all rendered in delicate, careful brush strokes. Yet even so, there's a vagueness to the scene. It depicts no battle you can remember, and though the men fighting it are dressed in the burnt orange of Tierran line infantry, they are of no regiment you can recognise.
But you do recognise the three men on horseback who dominate the centre of the piece, each painted in massive proportion, far larger than life. The one on the left shares the auburn hair of the royal siblings. The one on the right has that instantly distinctive and dreadfully unfashionable full beard which you've seen so many times before. The man in the centre, the eldest of all, wears a powdered wig, now nearly half a century out of date.
The Duke of Havenport, the Duke of Cunaris, and the old Duke of Wulfram—father to the current holder of that title.
"It is called 'The Fighting Dukes,'" the Princess-Royal explains. "Warburton commissioned it from Montalban, I suspect as something of a joke. I am thinking of having it displayed in the Cortes foyer, over the doors. What do you think?"
What you think is that such a display would be a calculated insult.
Old Wulfram died at Blogia, leading the King's Army. Though from your understanding, he was no fonder of the King than his son, he still acted as a loyal servant of the Crown. To have a reminder of that hanging where the current Duke of Wulfram and all of his supporters might see it would be nothing less than an open questioning of his loyalties.
The Princess-Royal must know that. You've seen her intellect on display before, and it is a formidable implement. The idea that she would miss the meaning of what she proposes to do is utterly absurd…
Which must mean she intends to do it deliberately.
[ ] [OPINION] "I do not see why it ought not be done."
[ ] [OPINION] "To place such a piece in the Cortes foyer may be…unwise."
[ ] [OPINION] "I would recommend against it, Highness."
[ ] [OPINION] "It is not my place to comment upon the decoration of the Northern Keep."
They say that a quarter of the city had been there to watch the condemned men hang, that some wailed piteously as they were led up the scaffold, whilst others met their fate with a quiet dignity. You heard that the crowd had jeered as each man was brought up, and that they cheered when he dropped down.
You cannot know for sure. You weren't there. You've seen more than your share of suffering and death. Even now, you cannot help but be repelled by the sight of the dead men, even in a state reduced to bare skeletons by the crows and the black, soot-stained rain.
But you're not here to see the gibbet or its skeletal occupants. Already, your coach is rolling past, and the scaffold is shrinking away behind you.
No, in truth, you wouldn't have come out of doors at all if it were up to you. The rains of autumn have come in full force now, the sky weeping drops black with soot, and the filthy weather has done little to wash away the ugly mood that hangs over the city like a miasma—the residue of a bloody week, and perhaps the promise of worse to come.
No, you would still be indoors if you had a choice, but you don't—not really.
After all, one doesn't lightly refuse an invitation from the Northern Keep.
-
A footman is waiting for you as you exit your coach from the Lord's Court of the Northern Keep. You follow him up the now-familiar steps into the foyer of the Cortes chamber. But here, where you would normally proceed straight through the heavy doors into the chamber itself, your escort takes you left, through a door cleverly concealed into the oak panels of the wall. Down a series of side passages you go, until another doorway sees the two of you emerging into another great corridor, this time decorated in distantly familiar pastels.
These are the Princess-Royal's apartments.
The lady herself is not far off, examining some massive canvas set up on a scaffold in a small, windowless side room. She turns before you can be announced, with a look of perfect collectedness, as if she knew you were coming.
"My Lord Reddingfield."
You make a courtier's leg, as you did the last time you were brought before Princess Isobel's presence. "Your Highness."
Her features resolve into a thin, cold smile. "I have been following your actions within the Army Reform Commission closely, and with great interest," she declares. "It pleases me well to know that you have rewarded our trust in you."
"I have only done what I thought best for Crown and Kingdom, Highness," you reply humbly and perhaps truthfully. "I have done no more than that."
For an instant, the Princess-Royal's sharp gaze softens, but only for an instant. "If that is the case, my lord, then I may only declare that it is very good that your idea of the Crown's best interests and His Majesty's are very much in coincidence. Take especial care to make sure that they do not diverge."
You suppose that's a word of thanks, in her own prickly way, though you cannot help but notice that it's also a warning. "I shall bear that in mind, Highness."
For a moment, you await the Princess-Royal's reply. But none comes. Instead, she only nods silently.
What is she getting at?
The Princess doesn't seem to be inclined to answer your questions, even now that you've answered hers. Instead, she turns silently back to the painting. For a moment, you wonder if you're to be dismissed after only so peremptory an interview. Then, with one slim finger, she beckons you closer.
"Come take a look at this painting, my lord," she says in a tone which couldn't be described as anything but a command. "Tell me what you see."
The canvas is a massive piece, easily three times your own height. It's a battle scene from the Antari war, made in detail so minute that you can even see the light glittering off the steel of distant bayonets and the individual pine needles on the trees, all rendered in delicate, careful brush strokes. Yet even so, there's a vagueness to the scene. It depicts no battle you can remember, and though the men fighting it are dressed in the burnt orange of Tierran line infantry, they are of no regiment you can recognise.
But you do recognise the three men on horseback who dominate the centre of the piece, each painted in massive proportion, far larger than life. The one on the left shares the auburn hair of the royal siblings. The one on the right has that instantly distinctive and dreadfully unfashionable full beard which you've seen so many times before. The man in the centre, the eldest of all, wears a powdered wig, now nearly half a century out of date.
The Duke of Havenport, the Duke of Cunaris, and the old Duke of Wulfram—father to the current holder of that title.
"It is called 'The Fighting Dukes,'" the Princess-Royal explains. "Warburton commissioned it from Montalban, I suspect as something of a joke. I am thinking of having it displayed in the Cortes foyer, over the doors. What do you think?"
What you think is that such a display would be a calculated insult.
Old Wulfram died at Blogia, leading the King's Army. Though from your understanding, he was no fonder of the King than his son, he still acted as a loyal servant of the Crown. To have a reminder of that hanging where the current Duke of Wulfram and all of his supporters might see it would be nothing less than an open questioning of his loyalties.
The Princess-Royal must know that. You've seen her intellect on display before, and it is a formidable implement. The idea that she would miss the meaning of what she proposes to do is utterly absurd…
Which must mean she intends to do it deliberately.
[ ] [OPINION] "I do not see why it ought not be done."
[ ] [OPINION] "To place such a piece in the Cortes foyer may be…unwise."
[ ] [OPINION] "I would recommend against it, Highness."
[ ] [OPINION] "It is not my place to comment upon the decoration of the Northern Keep."
IamtooSleepy
I came here to be an ant
"If those rioters do not wish to be brutally put down like a pigs they are, then they should not have fucking riot and challenge government authority in the first place" - A far too common sentiment I found IRL
[x] [OPINION] "To place such a piece in the Cortes foyer may be…unwise."
[X] [OPINION] "I would recommend against it, Highness."
Lords 6.03
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The Princess-Royal's eyebrow raises. "Unwise?"
"It may…" You take a moment to find the right words. "It may give undue offence."
She smiles, a cold, bitter thing. "Offence it may well give, but undue?" She shakes her head. "No, I think the party in question is well-deserving of far worse than an oblique snub in a painting."
"The Duke of Wulfram, you mean?"
"Could I mean anyone else?" The Princess-Royal's expression takes on almost the cast of a scowl. "Who else has done Crown and Kingdom so great an injury as he?"
"The riots, you mean."
She nods. "They were instigated intentionally, an attempt to turn the people of the city against the Crown. Wulfram was the culprit. I am all but certain of it."
[ ] [OPINION] "If that is so, then it is good that they were dealt with so harshly."
[ ] [OPINION] "The people of the Old City had legitimate grievances, they needed no instigation."
[ ] [OPINION] "The riots could have been resolved peacefully, had the King not ordered in troops."
[ ] [OPINION] "If Your Highness is so certain, then why not seek a warrant for his arrest?"
- Pronouns
- He
[X] [OPINION] "If Your Highness is so certain, then why not seek a warrant for his arrest?"
- Pronouns
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[X] [OPINION] "If Your Highness is so certain, then why not seek a warrant for his arrest?"
[X] [OPINION] "The riots could have been resolved peacefully, had the King not ordered in troops."
Lords 6.04
- Pronouns
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[X] [OPINION] "If Your Highness is so certain, then why not seek a warrant for his arrest?"
"You would advise arresting a Duke of the Unified Kingdom and bringing him to trial before the Cortes?" the Princess replies, her voice tinged with the faintest hint of something you suspect is either amusement or incredulity. "I cannot quite determine whether you're calling for such a course in earnest and are merely reckless, or doing so as some bizarre attempt at subversion."
You shake your head. "Hundreds are dead in the streets, and if there is evidence that the Duke of Wulfram played a major part in their deaths, would it not be right to hold him responsible for it?"
"And how would you propose to do that, my lord?" Yes, it is definitely incredulity now. "Suppose one was able to get the Duke of Wulfram to stand trial before the Cortes. His own party would vote to acquit him out of faction, and half of those normally for the King would vote to acquit him out of sheer principle. Such a trial would serve no purpose but to humiliate the Crown and strengthen its enemies."
She shakes her head. "No, this matter is ended. We can only clean up its residue and place our hopes in the Kian treaty, and its secret articles."
Secret articles? You haven't heard anything about secret articles in the Kian treaty.
You make some hasty, half-hearted attempt to hide your surprise, but the Princess-Royal certainly notices it. "While the publick text of the Kian treaty was being negotiated here by my brother and the Count of Leannejouwe, a second set of negotiations was taking place betwixt one of the Kian Ambassador's deputies and the Earl of Leoniscourt, on Leoniscourt itself," she explains. "This was done to keep the proceedings away from the eyes of those who might have been compelled to unwelcome acts of interference, had they known."
Your eyes narrow. "If these negotiations were confidential, then might I be so bold as to suggest that the only reason you are telling me of them now was because this second set of talks was successfully concluded?"
The Princess nods. "You may, my lord. Leoniscourt secured several guarantees from the Kian, ones which would improve our position greatly. He was to arrive in Aetoria to make this known a week before the vote was to be held."
Yes, you suppose that makes sense. That would explain why the King tried to delay the vote as long as he did. Had the Earl of Leoniscourt arrived with news of these secret articles, then perhaps the argument for the treaty would have been strengthened considerably, perhaps enough to even render its passage a foregone conclusion and assuage some of the anxieties which Wulfram had stirred up in the Old City.
Of course, there had only been one problem. "Leoniscourt never arrived in Aetoria," you observe. "Not before the vote, and not since."
"No, he did not," the Princess-Royal replies grimly. "That is because the Earl of Leoniscourt is dead."
Leoniscourt? Dead?
"It happened last month, we received word by courier sloop three days ago. The timing is suspicious, but we believe it to be coincidental," the Princess continues. "Leoniscourt had been in poor health for a number of years, and his physician has informed us that he found no traces of poison in his body."
You nod, but that isn't where your thoughts immediately go.
If the Earl of Leoniscourt is dead, then your friend Cazarosta has lost the greatest and perhaps the last of his benefactors. Whatever allowance he might have received from his adopted father will no doubt be stopped, and whatever protection he might have possessed, as well. It's no secret that Cunaris wants him out of the Dragoons, and you suspect it will only be a matter of time now before he's placed on half-pay at best, cashiered over some flimsy pretext at worst.
And Katarina. Lady Katarina is Countess of Leoniscourt now, in name if not in substance. Any who could win her hand in marriage would not only win Leoniscourt, but the immensely lucrative tolls which would come with it. Almost every unmarried Lord of the Cortes from ambitious barons to the Duke of Warburton will be after her now.
If you still mean to court her, then you shall need to find a way to move quickly and decisively when she returns from her father's funeral, before you find yourself outmanoeuvred by some better-born and wealthier suitor.
If the Princess catches any sign of your thoughts, she doesn't show it. No, she's already halfway moved on.
"The Earl of Leoniscourt's death has left the Crown in a most precarious position," she continues, her voice grim indeed. "With our chief diplomat dead, the particulars of the secret articles cannot be verified and approved, save by the King's own hand…and announcing the secret articles without first ensuring they are finalised would be like trying to bake bread out of un-threshed wheat." She shakes her head. "Until then, we are saddled with an unsatisfactory treaty and an opposition which has shown that it will not stop short of inciting violent insurrection to pursue its goals."
"So what happens now?"
"The Kian treaty has passed the Cortes, yet the Kian Emperor will never approve of it if he is of the belief that the Unified Kingdom is teetering upon the brink of collapse," the Princess-Royal explains. "Our chiefest priority now is to assure him that Tierra still stands firm, and that the riots of the last few days were an unfortunate accident and not the sign of some fundamental instability."
You suspect that would be a daunting task, especially after the chaos of the last few days.
"What is to be done?" you ask.
"My brother is handling the greatest part of the matter personally," she explains. "He is sailing for Leoniscourt aboard HMS Rendower the day after tomorrow. There he will finalise the arrangements for the Kian treaty's secret articles. Then he will go to Aemeilliana and Havenport."
To Warburton? And then to Kentaur? You cannot credit that, not while the Cortes is still theoretically in session. "Should he not return to Aetoria as soon as the treaty arrangements are settled?"
The Princess shakes her head. "When news of the riots in the Old City reaches the rest of the country, it will shake the people's faith in the stability of the government. My brother must put an end to such doubts. He means to show himself to every corner of the realm, to show them that he is still King, and that they still owe him their loyalty. If that is not done, then rumour and speculation over the events of the past few days may well lead to riot and rebellion in the country and the Ducal cities. Only when such a risk is well and truly forestalled may he return to finish the work of the Cortes."
"And what will we Lords of the Cortes do in the meantime?" you ask. "The Chamber will be all but paralysed without the King's presence. Are we simply to wait for his return? Without the dismissal of the Cortes?
The Princess-Royal's expression pulls taut. "There is little choice, sir. The King's sleight-of-hand in the chamber means that the year's budget relies entirely upon the Kian emperor's willingness to ratify our treaty with him, something he will not do if he believes the realm on the brink of collapse. Riot in the city cannot be allowed to spark rebellion in the countryside. Were it otherwise, I would have never invited you here."
Ah, there it is. It all snaps together in your mind now. "You mean to ask for my support. So that the situation in the Cortes does not grow uncontrollable in His Majesty's absence."
She nods. "Your assistance, among that of others. If the King retains the support of the Cortes upon his return, the Crown shall possess a stronger position than it has had in quite some time. The Kian Emperor will approve the treaty, and we shall finally have a chance of remedying the realm's troubles in earnest. But if the Duke of Wulfram and his party are allowed to upend the current balance of power or rouse the common people to renewed disorder, then we may lose our one chance to set the country to rights."
She fixes you with a look of complete and total conviction, of the purest, coldest certainty. "That cannot come to pass, not under any circumstances. And I would ask for your aid in ensuring that it doesn't."
It's clear enough what Princess Isobel is asking of you. If you agree to help her, you will, in effect, be her agent, not just within the Army Reform Commission as you were before, but within the Cortes as well. Agree to this, and you will not only be bound to the King's Party by the rather informal affiliation you have managed so far, but by real bonds of obligation. You will be obligated to come to their aid in matters political. You will likely be forced to give up any initiatives seen as too closely aligned with the Duke of Wulfram—like your support for Hunter of Wolfswood's bid for sainthood. Certainly, much odium will accrue to you if you refuse to do so. Commit yourself to this and you will only be able to extricate yourself with the utmost greatest difficulty, and likely only at the cost of your reputation, your fortune, or both.
True, the Princess-Royal would be a powerful friend, but to openly act in her interests would make you powerful enemies as well, and unlike her, the Duke of Wulfram and his own party have the ability to attack you within the Cortes chamber, as well as out of it.
Beside you, the Princess-Royal stands in silence, her eyes once again fixed upon the canvas, but you know she's waiting most intently for your reply…
"What would be required of me?"
"Lend your support to the Crown," the Princess-Royal replies flatly. "Speak in defence of it and its policy. Stand willing and able to refute the arguments of those who would do the Crown injury, and go to the aid of any of our party who finds himself in need of it, should circumstances allow."
"Forgive me, Highness, but that sounds a great deal like what I have already been doing," you observe.
"That is not all," the Princess continues. "There is like to be little progress within the Cortes itself, not with the King absent. Thus, I suspect that the Duke of Wulfram and his party will seek to rouse some further mischief outside of the chamber, in the same vein as that which they instigated last week. I shall expect you to watch for any sign of such a plot."
A worrying prospect indeed, but you suspect a probable one. With the King absent and much of the governance of the country still in confusion, there's no doubt Wulfram—or at least some of his supporters—will grow bolder in action. "Do you suspect they will rouse the Old City again?"
The Princess-Royal shakes her head. "Not in Aetoria. The Duke of Wulfram's support among the city's commons is on the wane. The Crown's partisans among the poor will put an end to any further attempt to stir up discontent. No, I fear that Wulfram's party will spread their own discontent to their estates, and perhaps even embody their Houseguards and march them to the capital to ensure such sentiments are heard."
You can all but feel your chest tighten at the words. To use the anger of the common folk as a political tool, that is bad enough. But to assemble private armies to march upon the capital and impose one's will at the points of bayonets? That would mean—
"That would mean civil war!" you all but exclaim. "Have circumstances grown so dire that we must contemplate such a prospect as likely?"
"Likely? No, but possible," she replies coldly, as if she were speaking of little more than the odds of a dice roll. "It is a scenario in the worst case, but it is one which must be considered. Creation does not move based on the orbits in which we might wish it to follow."
You shake your head, still somewhat numb. Civil war. Tierran armies looting Tierran towns, burning Tierran farms, facing their countrymen on the open field. Battalions of burnt orange volleying musketry, not at some foreign enemy but at each other. What a terrible thought.
"If such an eventuality presents itself, it must be prevented, quickly." the Princess-Royal concludes grimly. "Too much Tierran blood has already been shed. If there is a chance that one might stop the shedding of more, would one not take it?"
"Why should I agree to court the enmity of Wulfram and his party so openly?"
"Because it serves the interests of the realm," the Princess-Royal replies icily. "Because it is what you have sworn to do, and because, by all the Saints, the House of Rendower still sits the Gryphon Throne."
"And if I were to ask the Duke of Wulfram this same question," you ask her, "would he not be likely to give an answer which is much the same?"
She considers that for a moment, but no longer. "Yes, I do believe he would," she answers. "For all his faults, Wulfram is neither unfeeling nor incompetent. I suspect he has identified a great many of the problems which the realm faces and believes he has the solution to them. In some cases, he might even be right to think so."
"If that is the case," you ask, "then are not the scales evenly balanced? With respect, if by her Highness' own admission, some of Wulfram's policy has merit, what reason do I have for not seeking him out and offering my aid to him instead?"
"Because Wulfram is not King. My brother is," the Princess-Royal replies, her voice sharp. "If Wulfram is to have his way, then he must subvert or destroy the authority of the Crown to prevent it from being used to obstruct him, for so long as my brother sits upon the throne, he shall be seen as a rival. To see his policy realised, Wulfram would have to strip the army and the navy and the Intendancy to its bones to pay for it. To retain his support in the Cortes, he shall have to repudiate the Kian treaty. If Wulfram does all of those things, then perhaps he will be in a position to implement the policy he wishes to, but he will have made Tierra divided, defenceless, and friendless to do so."
She fixes you with a grim look. "You have seen for yourself, sir, how the League of Antar has fared in such a state. Consider how much worse Tierra would do, with a tenth the population and a twentieth the farmland." She shakes her head. "If Tierra is to survive, then the authority of the Crown must survive. That is why Wulfram cannot be allowed to reduce it."
"Very well, I've made my decision."
"Is that so?" The Princess-Royal's eyebrow raises in interest, but the rest of her expression remains as composed as it almost always seems to be. If she harbours any sense of anxiety over your reply, she doesn't show it. "Then I would hear it, my lord: are you to be an agent of the Crown, or its enemy?"
[ ] [ALLEGIANCE] "The Crown has my support, Your Highness."
[ ] [ALLEGIANCE] "I will not make myself agent to the Crown, but nor would I be its enemy."
[ ] [ALLEGIANCE] "If those are the only choices allowed, I must regretfully declare myself the Crown's enemy."
"You would advise arresting a Duke of the Unified Kingdom and bringing him to trial before the Cortes?" the Princess replies, her voice tinged with the faintest hint of something you suspect is either amusement or incredulity. "I cannot quite determine whether you're calling for such a course in earnest and are merely reckless, or doing so as some bizarre attempt at subversion."
You shake your head. "Hundreds are dead in the streets, and if there is evidence that the Duke of Wulfram played a major part in their deaths, would it not be right to hold him responsible for it?"
"And how would you propose to do that, my lord?" Yes, it is definitely incredulity now. "Suppose one was able to get the Duke of Wulfram to stand trial before the Cortes. His own party would vote to acquit him out of faction, and half of those normally for the King would vote to acquit him out of sheer principle. Such a trial would serve no purpose but to humiliate the Crown and strengthen its enemies."
She shakes her head. "No, this matter is ended. We can only clean up its residue and place our hopes in the Kian treaty, and its secret articles."
Secret articles? You haven't heard anything about secret articles in the Kian treaty.
You make some hasty, half-hearted attempt to hide your surprise, but the Princess-Royal certainly notices it. "While the publick text of the Kian treaty was being negotiated here by my brother and the Count of Leannejouwe, a second set of negotiations was taking place betwixt one of the Kian Ambassador's deputies and the Earl of Leoniscourt, on Leoniscourt itself," she explains. "This was done to keep the proceedings away from the eyes of those who might have been compelled to unwelcome acts of interference, had they known."
Your eyes narrow. "If these negotiations were confidential, then might I be so bold as to suggest that the only reason you are telling me of them now was because this second set of talks was successfully concluded?"
The Princess nods. "You may, my lord. Leoniscourt secured several guarantees from the Kian, ones which would improve our position greatly. He was to arrive in Aetoria to make this known a week before the vote was to be held."
Yes, you suppose that makes sense. That would explain why the King tried to delay the vote as long as he did. Had the Earl of Leoniscourt arrived with news of these secret articles, then perhaps the argument for the treaty would have been strengthened considerably, perhaps enough to even render its passage a foregone conclusion and assuage some of the anxieties which Wulfram had stirred up in the Old City.
Of course, there had only been one problem. "Leoniscourt never arrived in Aetoria," you observe. "Not before the vote, and not since."
"No, he did not," the Princess-Royal replies grimly. "That is because the Earl of Leoniscourt is dead."
Leoniscourt? Dead?
"It happened last month, we received word by courier sloop three days ago. The timing is suspicious, but we believe it to be coincidental," the Princess continues. "Leoniscourt had been in poor health for a number of years, and his physician has informed us that he found no traces of poison in his body."
You nod, but that isn't where your thoughts immediately go.
If the Earl of Leoniscourt is dead, then your friend Cazarosta has lost the greatest and perhaps the last of his benefactors. Whatever allowance he might have received from his adopted father will no doubt be stopped, and whatever protection he might have possessed, as well. It's no secret that Cunaris wants him out of the Dragoons, and you suspect it will only be a matter of time now before he's placed on half-pay at best, cashiered over some flimsy pretext at worst.
And Katarina. Lady Katarina is Countess of Leoniscourt now, in name if not in substance. Any who could win her hand in marriage would not only win Leoniscourt, but the immensely lucrative tolls which would come with it. Almost every unmarried Lord of the Cortes from ambitious barons to the Duke of Warburton will be after her now.
If you still mean to court her, then you shall need to find a way to move quickly and decisively when she returns from her father's funeral, before you find yourself outmanoeuvred by some better-born and wealthier suitor.
If the Princess catches any sign of your thoughts, she doesn't show it. No, she's already halfway moved on.
"The Earl of Leoniscourt's death has left the Crown in a most precarious position," she continues, her voice grim indeed. "With our chief diplomat dead, the particulars of the secret articles cannot be verified and approved, save by the King's own hand…and announcing the secret articles without first ensuring they are finalised would be like trying to bake bread out of un-threshed wheat." She shakes her head. "Until then, we are saddled with an unsatisfactory treaty and an opposition which has shown that it will not stop short of inciting violent insurrection to pursue its goals."
"So what happens now?"
"The Kian treaty has passed the Cortes, yet the Kian Emperor will never approve of it if he is of the belief that the Unified Kingdom is teetering upon the brink of collapse," the Princess-Royal explains. "Our chiefest priority now is to assure him that Tierra still stands firm, and that the riots of the last few days were an unfortunate accident and not the sign of some fundamental instability."
You suspect that would be a daunting task, especially after the chaos of the last few days.
"What is to be done?" you ask.
"My brother is handling the greatest part of the matter personally," she explains. "He is sailing for Leoniscourt aboard HMS Rendower the day after tomorrow. There he will finalise the arrangements for the Kian treaty's secret articles. Then he will go to Aemeilliana and Havenport."
To Warburton? And then to Kentaur? You cannot credit that, not while the Cortes is still theoretically in session. "Should he not return to Aetoria as soon as the treaty arrangements are settled?"
The Princess shakes her head. "When news of the riots in the Old City reaches the rest of the country, it will shake the people's faith in the stability of the government. My brother must put an end to such doubts. He means to show himself to every corner of the realm, to show them that he is still King, and that they still owe him their loyalty. If that is not done, then rumour and speculation over the events of the past few days may well lead to riot and rebellion in the country and the Ducal cities. Only when such a risk is well and truly forestalled may he return to finish the work of the Cortes."
"And what will we Lords of the Cortes do in the meantime?" you ask. "The Chamber will be all but paralysed without the King's presence. Are we simply to wait for his return? Without the dismissal of the Cortes?
The Princess-Royal's expression pulls taut. "There is little choice, sir. The King's sleight-of-hand in the chamber means that the year's budget relies entirely upon the Kian emperor's willingness to ratify our treaty with him, something he will not do if he believes the realm on the brink of collapse. Riot in the city cannot be allowed to spark rebellion in the countryside. Were it otherwise, I would have never invited you here."
Ah, there it is. It all snaps together in your mind now. "You mean to ask for my support. So that the situation in the Cortes does not grow uncontrollable in His Majesty's absence."
She nods. "Your assistance, among that of others. If the King retains the support of the Cortes upon his return, the Crown shall possess a stronger position than it has had in quite some time. The Kian Emperor will approve the treaty, and we shall finally have a chance of remedying the realm's troubles in earnest. But if the Duke of Wulfram and his party are allowed to upend the current balance of power or rouse the common people to renewed disorder, then we may lose our one chance to set the country to rights."
She fixes you with a look of complete and total conviction, of the purest, coldest certainty. "That cannot come to pass, not under any circumstances. And I would ask for your aid in ensuring that it doesn't."
It's clear enough what Princess Isobel is asking of you. If you agree to help her, you will, in effect, be her agent, not just within the Army Reform Commission as you were before, but within the Cortes as well. Agree to this, and you will not only be bound to the King's Party by the rather informal affiliation you have managed so far, but by real bonds of obligation. You will be obligated to come to their aid in matters political. You will likely be forced to give up any initiatives seen as too closely aligned with the Duke of Wulfram—like your support for Hunter of Wolfswood's bid for sainthood. Certainly, much odium will accrue to you if you refuse to do so. Commit yourself to this and you will only be able to extricate yourself with the utmost greatest difficulty, and likely only at the cost of your reputation, your fortune, or both.
True, the Princess-Royal would be a powerful friend, but to openly act in her interests would make you powerful enemies as well, and unlike her, the Duke of Wulfram and his own party have the ability to attack you within the Cortes chamber, as well as out of it.
Beside you, the Princess-Royal stands in silence, her eyes once again fixed upon the canvas, but you know she's waiting most intently for your reply…
"What would be required of me?"
"Lend your support to the Crown," the Princess-Royal replies flatly. "Speak in defence of it and its policy. Stand willing and able to refute the arguments of those who would do the Crown injury, and go to the aid of any of our party who finds himself in need of it, should circumstances allow."
"Forgive me, Highness, but that sounds a great deal like what I have already been doing," you observe.
"That is not all," the Princess continues. "There is like to be little progress within the Cortes itself, not with the King absent. Thus, I suspect that the Duke of Wulfram and his party will seek to rouse some further mischief outside of the chamber, in the same vein as that which they instigated last week. I shall expect you to watch for any sign of such a plot."
A worrying prospect indeed, but you suspect a probable one. With the King absent and much of the governance of the country still in confusion, there's no doubt Wulfram—or at least some of his supporters—will grow bolder in action. "Do you suspect they will rouse the Old City again?"
The Princess-Royal shakes her head. "Not in Aetoria. The Duke of Wulfram's support among the city's commons is on the wane. The Crown's partisans among the poor will put an end to any further attempt to stir up discontent. No, I fear that Wulfram's party will spread their own discontent to their estates, and perhaps even embody their Houseguards and march them to the capital to ensure such sentiments are heard."
You can all but feel your chest tighten at the words. To use the anger of the common folk as a political tool, that is bad enough. But to assemble private armies to march upon the capital and impose one's will at the points of bayonets? That would mean—
"That would mean civil war!" you all but exclaim. "Have circumstances grown so dire that we must contemplate such a prospect as likely?"
"Likely? No, but possible," she replies coldly, as if she were speaking of little more than the odds of a dice roll. "It is a scenario in the worst case, but it is one which must be considered. Creation does not move based on the orbits in which we might wish it to follow."
You shake your head, still somewhat numb. Civil war. Tierran armies looting Tierran towns, burning Tierran farms, facing their countrymen on the open field. Battalions of burnt orange volleying musketry, not at some foreign enemy but at each other. What a terrible thought.
"If such an eventuality presents itself, it must be prevented, quickly." the Princess-Royal concludes grimly. "Too much Tierran blood has already been shed. If there is a chance that one might stop the shedding of more, would one not take it?"
"Why should I agree to court the enmity of Wulfram and his party so openly?"
"Because it serves the interests of the realm," the Princess-Royal replies icily. "Because it is what you have sworn to do, and because, by all the Saints, the House of Rendower still sits the Gryphon Throne."
"And if I were to ask the Duke of Wulfram this same question," you ask her, "would he not be likely to give an answer which is much the same?"
She considers that for a moment, but no longer. "Yes, I do believe he would," she answers. "For all his faults, Wulfram is neither unfeeling nor incompetent. I suspect he has identified a great many of the problems which the realm faces and believes he has the solution to them. In some cases, he might even be right to think so."
"If that is the case," you ask, "then are not the scales evenly balanced? With respect, if by her Highness' own admission, some of Wulfram's policy has merit, what reason do I have for not seeking him out and offering my aid to him instead?"
"Because Wulfram is not King. My brother is," the Princess-Royal replies, her voice sharp. "If Wulfram is to have his way, then he must subvert or destroy the authority of the Crown to prevent it from being used to obstruct him, for so long as my brother sits upon the throne, he shall be seen as a rival. To see his policy realised, Wulfram would have to strip the army and the navy and the Intendancy to its bones to pay for it. To retain his support in the Cortes, he shall have to repudiate the Kian treaty. If Wulfram does all of those things, then perhaps he will be in a position to implement the policy he wishes to, but he will have made Tierra divided, defenceless, and friendless to do so."
She fixes you with a grim look. "You have seen for yourself, sir, how the League of Antar has fared in such a state. Consider how much worse Tierra would do, with a tenth the population and a twentieth the farmland." She shakes her head. "If Tierra is to survive, then the authority of the Crown must survive. That is why Wulfram cannot be allowed to reduce it."
"Very well, I've made my decision."
"Is that so?" The Princess-Royal's eyebrow raises in interest, but the rest of her expression remains as composed as it almost always seems to be. If she harbours any sense of anxiety over your reply, she doesn't show it. "Then I would hear it, my lord: are you to be an agent of the Crown, or its enemy?"
[ ] [ALLEGIANCE] "The Crown has my support, Your Highness."
[ ] [ALLEGIANCE] "I will not make myself agent to the Crown, but nor would I be its enemy."
[ ] [ALLEGIANCE] "If those are the only choices allowed, I must regretfully declare myself the Crown's enemy."
[X] [ALLEGIANCE] "The Crown has my support, Your Highness."
We've been firmly Royalist so far, so we might as well make it official.
We've been firmly Royalist so far, so we might as well make it official.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [ALLEGIANCE] "The Crown has my support, Your Highness."