David Drake - Tyrant

Rather more than that, actually. It seemed to be a veritable hive of activity. As they drew nearer, she could see that two ships were moored at the pier. One of them she even recognized — the same demibireme which had carried her to Marange earlier in the year.

"There's an army camp not far away, too," said Adrian, pointing. His own hopes had raised, seeing Helga's face. "There, you see? A bit off, next to the woods."

* * *

Trae himself was there, with not less than a battalion of Demansk's regulars. Fresh from their triumphs in the islands, and not the least bit intimidated by rampaging slaves or lynch-minded villagers or rumors of Southron hordes.

Especially not by rampaging slaves. Of which, as it turned out, there had been none.

Eddo J'kot, the former majordomo of the mansion — a slave himself, technically speaking — was most apologetic about the whole thing.

"Couldn't be helped, missy!" he practically wailed. "Th'master himself give me the instructions. 'Make sure it's burned, Eddo! And no saving the furniture.' "

The stoop-shouldered, elderly slave wiped his nose with a sleeve. A rather fine fabric it was, too. "Y'father's the odd one, sometimes, though I shouldna say it. But those were his orders. He made me repeat them to him. Twice."

J'kot glared at a nearby slave. A burly fellow whose name Helga couldn't remember, although she recognized his face. One of the estate's slave underbosses.

" 'Twas him did the deed. Led the rascal in himself, he did, a torch in's hand."

The burly one grinned. "Master gave me my own set of orders. Made me repeat them twice, too. 'Make sure it's burnt proper,' he said. And what are you complaining about, old man? I did let you get out all the mementos first."

Helga couldn't keep herself from bursting into laughter. "You mean it was all a fake?"

The underboss frowned. Worried, as much as disapproving. "Fake?" he demanded, waving a thick hand at what was left of the mansion across the river. " 'Tis burnt to the ground, right 'n proper! Don' you be telling your father I slacked off, now, missy! T'would be a falsehood and a lie! You'll get me in trouble deep. 'E's a goodly master, Verice Demansk is, but he's not one to tolerate disobedience."

That just made her laugh harder. When she finally finished, she seemed in good cheer for the first time in weeks. Adrian sighed with relief.

Trae was grinning himself. "It's just a building, sister. The people on the estate are fine. The villagers up north have been promised there won't be any slaves trespassing, and the slaves themselves will get the lands. Father promised it to them. So they've kept everything up. Even drove off three bands of foreign slaves themselves, not calling out the villages."

He nodded toward the burnt shell that had once been one of the finest edifices in the Confederation. "Father lost the symbol, which he'll use as he needs. For the rest, this area will be as good as ever, next year. Better, most like."

He gave the underboss a sly smile. "Though Trippa here might not be so happy, soon enough, when he realizes he's out of a job. The sla — ah, freedmen — are working the fields harder than ever, now, and I dare say they'll not take kindly to any more 'bossing.' "

That didn't seem to fret Trippa any. "I'll get two and a half shares of the land myself. Master promised."

A whimsical thought came from Raj . I dare say even Center will admit something in the universe is new. We may be witnessing the only episode in history of feudalism come and gone before it can settle in.

not entirely new. something not too different happened on—Here the computer wandered into the details of an episode which had apparently occurred on some planet Adrian had never heard of, but he paid little attention. He was too busy admiring Helga's cheeks. The dimples were back.

— but, crudely, you are correct. given the rapidity with which Demansk will get an industrial revolution under way, this smug underboss here will be lucky if he enjoys a decade of pseudo-nobility. though, if he's energetic and capable, he might well leverage his way into a new rising gentry class.

Adrian understood the logic, well enough; but, again, didn't really care. Not at the moment, for certainty. The dimples were facing his way.

"So what next, O great master schemer?" Yes! There was even a lilt in her voice.

Trae answered for him. "You — everyone, including all the camp followers — take ship to Solinga. You and Adrian and his gunsmiths, immediately. The others can follow in later ships. Father's there already. He wants to drive on to the capital as soon as possible, but he wants Adrian with him to oversee the siege guns. I'm really the only other one could do it, and I've got to get back to Chalice."

He gave Adrian a look that was half apologetic. "My brother Olver's the governor of Emerald province and that won't change right away. But we need to get you installed in his place as soon as possible."

Adrian's mind seemed blank. What in the name of the gods was he talking about?

"The new proclamation," Trae explained. Then, seeing the confusion still on Adrian's face, found it necessary to explain the explanation. "The newest, I should say. Father's being making a lot of them. The proclamation that extends the rights of the core provinces to the rest of the Confederation. Everyone's a citizen now. A full citizen, with all the rights, not this half-and-half business. Even the members of the auxiliary nations, if they choose. As soon as they make a public sacrifice at the nearest temple of the All-Father, and get it officially recorded by the temple scribe. And, um, goes without saying, take an oath to support the lawful Triumvirate."

Adrian was still trying to catch up. The running commentary from his inner ghosts was more confusing than a help.

— brilliant move. He'll have the Emeralds and the Islands welded to him solid. The Ropers and the Haggen, too, as soon as they realize—

— on hrapti also. here, with this quality of leadership, the probability is even higher. 84 %, ± 3. and—

— core of the new industrial base. Who cares about the capital? Just a mob and a pack of bureaucrats, let 'em fester in their own juices. Within a year—

— key now are the eastern provinces. if demansk—

— gaining twice what they lose—

— probability lower, but still 74 %, ± 6—

"Shut up, " he hissed. "Sorry, Trae. I was, ah, talking to myself and didn't want to hear it."

Helga seemed to choke down a laugh. Trae just looked puzzled.

Adrian took a slow breath. "Start from the beginning. Are you saying you — your Father, rather — wants me to become the new governor of the Emeralds?"

Trae bobbed his head, like a schoolmaster encouraging a none-too-bright schoolboy reciting his lessons.

"That's insane! There's a price on my head in the Confederacy!"

Trae managed to looked mildly embarrassed. "Well. Not any longer. Turns out the whole thing was a mistake on the part of the Justiciar who was in charge at the time of the investigation into the Redvers rebellion. Turns out — amazing, really — the Justiciar himself was in league with the traitors and cast the blame elsewhere to protect himself. That was Albrecht's man Jacreb Quain, in case you'd forgotten. When Father found out — did I mention that he's got the most amazingly capable man running his own new police force? — he was purely furious."

Trae was leading them toward the workshop, Helga's arm in one hand and Adrian's in the other.

"The police chief's an Islander, believe it or not. In fact, he was supposed to have been one of the chief conspirators leading the rebellion on Preble. Man by the name of Enry Sharbonow. Thicelt recommended him to Father, and once Father discovered that Enry — like you, of course — had been one of the loyalists playing a double game to undermine the traitors, he had the records corrected. Um. Actually, I believe he had them expunged altogether. Anyway—"