David Drake: Tyrant

All considerations given, the event went quite smoothly. Things were helped along immensely by the fact that King Prelotta and every single one of his chiefs — barons, rather; in the new "northern province" they held that title — showed up at the feast fresh from the baths.

They were helped even more, however, by the unexpected cordiality — even, one might say, friendship — displayed by the Paramount's daughter Helga toward the new King. The young lady's prestige among the Reedbottoms was doubled by virtue of her marriage to the man who was not only Governor of the Emeralds but also, as it happens, was not at the feast — since he was standing outside the city alongside the siege guns. (With, according to rumor, a lit match in his hand — a rumor which Prelotta's spies later reported was quite false. Yes, the match was lit, and smoldering in its tub. But his spies assured the King that Adrian Gellert had spent the entire evening in casual conversation with his gunners. At least five feet away.)

* * *

Arsule was at the feast also. Demansk having tried, but failed, to keep her away on the grounds of her own safety.

"Give it a rest! You're just afraid I'll annoy the Reedbottoms with my prattle. Ha. Much time you've spent in the company of barbarians. I speak from experience, Verice. Nothing savages enjoy more than a good conversation."

Whether she was right or not would never be determined. Other than exchanging a few pleasantries with Prelotta and his top barons, Arsule spent the entire evening in close company with Franness' small number of priests devoted to the cult of Jassine. Much to Demansk's relief at the time.

And distress the next day. Arsule badgered him for hours.

"— just terrible! And no way to fix it in Franness itself. Place is hopeless now, with those savages running it. Verice, I insist that you fund a new temple in this new city you're determined to found on the isthmus. And don't try to fool me with that 'keep an eye on the new border,' nonsense, either! I know perfectly well you're scheming to build a new capital for the Confederacy. Which is probably a good idea, I admit, since Vanbert's become such a boorish place. Yes, yes, it was a splendid notion to kill off half the noblemen and ruin their families in the process — for you, the scheming politician. But for me, a patron of the arts, it was a disaster. Only thing for it now is to start all over again someplace new. The isthmus will suit me fine. What with that great canal you're planning to build—"

Can I keep any secrets from this cursed woman? Demansk asked himself sourly.

"— also a good idea, since it'll bring trade from the islands somewhere other than into the hands of those damned rapacious Emeralds, who are the greediest folk in the world as well as probably the smartest — but, what's more to the point, will also bring Islander artists too. A whole new territory for me to conquer. As it were. So. To get to the point—"

Please!

"— new temple for Jassine is essential. Furthermore—"

"I agree, Arsule, I agree!" The smug look on her face alerted him. "Ah. . exactly how big a temple are we—"

"Well, that's just the point. If you hadn't interrupted! Since this will be the temple in the new capital , well — naturally! — it'll have to be of a size and splendor to match. Be a terrible stain on your reputation if it weren't." Sweetly: "Which you can hardly afford now, dearest, seeing as how the only legitimacy you have is based on intestines. Yours and your enemies. In rather different ways, if you see what I mean. Nothing could enhance your reputation more than founding such a magnificent—"

"Enough! I agree!" Gloomily: "I suppose you'll want me to pay for the priests also. Fine. As long as they don't get extravagant."

"Priests of Jassine? Don't be ridiculous, Verice. The most abstemious bunch imaginable." She paused for a moment. Demansk began to heave a sigh of relief.

Short, truncated sigh.

"Of course, while their own needs are modest, they will need help in their charitable works. Quite a bit, too, seeing as how you've bankrupted and ruined half the population. Yes, yes, all in a good cause — no doubt. Still, facts are facts, and the fact is that you could walk from here to Vanbert on the corpses of emaciated children."

That was an exaggeration — rather a gross one, in fact — but. .

There was enough truth in it to make him wince. Demansk sighed, not with relief, and resigned himself to a long day. Arsule, clearly enough, was just getting started.

* * *

Adrian enjoyed the next day, himself — and several thereafter. Helga was in very good spirits. So was he, for that matter. Since they had no particular duties to distract them until the Paramount decided to return to the capital, they spent much of their time in bed.

When they finally did leave Franness, almost a week later, Adrian was in a better mood than he'd been. . in a very long time. And he was pleased — though he was not foolish enough to say so — that Helga had chosen not to wear her sword while she rode alongside him.

He was not entirely pleased by the gaggle of barbarians who were plodding along behind their wagon. But Helga explained that it was a favor she had agreed to do for Prelotta which, since it was a small thing, she'd seen no reason to decline.

Before Adrian could ask exactly who they were, Helga drove on to another subject.

"This notion you have — heh; or should I say Center and Raj? — Father was telling me about it. Dissolving the Assembly entirely and replacing it with local, what did he say you'd called them?"

"Speakers' Houses."

"Yes, that. Interesting idea. Father thinks you're probably crazy, but then he admitted he always think that when he first hears your ideas so maybe you're not. But I don't understand it."

"The Assembly's nothing but a source of trouble, Helga. Might have made sense, back when Vanbert was a small nation. But today? There's simply no way that the commoners can have their voice heard in a single 'popular assembly' in the capital. Even if they're literate, which most of them aren't, they can't afford to make the trip. So, in the real world, the Assembly's just become a place where ambitious politicians can bring mob pressure to bear. Capital loafers, to boot, not farmers."

Helga waved her hand impatiently. "I understand all that! Don't disagree, either — nor does Father. It's the other business. Why the new 'Speakers' Houses'?" Her eyes widened. "And why — especially — this bizarre idea of giving them, rather than the Council, the exclusive right to approve new taxes. That's crazy, Adrian! If you let—"

By now, Adrian was well into the spirit of the argument. "Don't be silly," he growled. "The Council's always going to draw the central powers of the nation into it. Bound to happen. If, in addition, you let them decide on taxes — much less administer the collection! — you'll be right back into the soup. The same crap will happen all over again. I think of it — okay, okay, Raj and Center call it—'separation of powers.' "

The argument went on for most of the day. By the end, Helga was not convinced of the merits of the idea. But she was willing to allow that it would probably, if nothing else, keep her father sane.

"Not him I'm worried about," Adrian said quietly. "Verice Demansk will remain sane, whatever else. So, in all likelihood, will his successor. But after that? The third Paramount — much less fourth, fifth and sixth?"

He shook his head. "A tyrant is one thing, Helga. The world can survive that — even prosper from it. A state of tyranny is something else again. So, anything we can do now, however modest, which starts undermining the logic of what your Father's done — and I helped him do it, mind you, and don't regret it — is all to the good. Will this idea of mine work? Who knows? But it's worth a try."