by Jeff Wheeler
He started pacing, his brow furrowing as he debated the prudence of which authority to please—the father or the daughter. He gave her a measured look, puffing out his cheeks and submitting to what he clearly felt was an indignity.
“Very well, if it please you. But we must quickly return to the topic at hand. You are already well behind where most of my students are—”
“Thank you, Master Eakett,” Sera interrupted. “I appreciate your indulgence.”
“. . . and I really don’t see how studying deeds is going to expand your knowledge. In your lifetime, it is unlikely that you will ever have to personally engage in the practice. It is not a recent custom by any standard. It began at least a century ago when the Ministry of Law was in power.” He was always determined to make his points.
“But it interests me, Master Eakett. I thought the practice dated back much further. Proceed.”
“A hundred years isn’t recent. They were a solution to a problem regarding rights and ownership. A deed is the right to control the destiny of someone or something. Take a sky ship, for example. One can acquire the right to use it to travel from one city to the next. It can be kept in a hove for months at a time or used daily to soar over the treetops. The one who holds the deed controls the use.”
“I don’t care about sky ships,” Sera said with unconcern. “I never get to ride them. But people are connected in such a way, too. The right to control them.”
“Precisely. Say, for example, a man owes a debt. It might be from gambling or from a failed business endeavor. It might take him, under normal circumstances, twenty years to repay the debt. Let’s say he is forty-five years old—”
“That’s very old,” Sera said.
Master Eakett’s brow furrowed more. “That’s my age, ma’am.”
“I’m very sorry,” she apologized. Hugilde gave Sera a disapproving look and quickly turned away, covering her mouth.
“Let’s say he is fifty-five years old, then. As his age increases, he is more susceptible to sickness and disease. The crushing weight of a financial obligation has been known to send even younger men to an early grave. But this man has a son who is twelve years old. That’s very young.” He gave her a pointed look, showing that he was trying to get his revenge on her. “The younger man’s capacity to pay off the debt is higher because he has more years left to him. Yet,” he added, wagging his finger, “because he is young, he is also unskilled. A deed is arranged, and the boy is committed to service the debt holder for twenty-four years. Four to cover his training and twenty to resolve the issue. The debt is now transferred to the boy of twelve, and the father avoids going to prison.”
“But that’s not fair,” Sera said with anger. “It wasn’t the boy’s fault that the father incurred the debt.”
“Alas, that is true,” Master Eakett said. “But while that is an extreme example, youngsters are traded every day in the world below. Many of them have deeds assigned to them. If the lad tries to escape, he can be pressed back into service, and time might be added to the deed for his misbehavior.”
“How awful,” Sera said, her heart twisting with anguish.
“It is the way of life,” Master Eakett said with a shrug. “Nearly every servant in your own household, ma’am, has a deed of service. But most consider it a luxurious privilege to be serving someone of your station rather than cleaning gutters down below. You won’t find anyone complaining about working in Lockhaven.”
Sera found herself thinking of Will Russell, who would be leaving shortly to attend to his schooling. What kind of service would he be compelled to do afterward? How many years of his life would be spent meeting the obligation? It struck her forcibly that she knew so, so little about the lives of other people . . . about the very empire that she was in line to serve.
“And any parent can make a deed for their child?” she asked, her cheeks flushing with heat. “The child has no choice?”
“None whatsoever, ma’am,” he replied with a shrug. “You cannot trust a child to act in its own best interests. Look at your own case, ma’am. If you were left to yourself, would you be studying the Mysteries of Law at all? Probably not, given your limited powers of concentration. But your father could, legally, assign a deed for you. And you would have no say in it, even after reaching the age of majority.”
The thought filled her with dread. Not that Father would do it to her—he was too conscious of his reputation for that, and, besides, he loved her—but because he could.
“What’s the difference between a deed and an adoption?” she asked next.
“I think I have answered your question, and we should get back to the principle of delegation of authority, which is much more relevant to your life.”
“Yes, but I want to know.”
He looked up to the ceiling, as if supplicating a higher power. “Is this about that little girl from the Fells? The one Fitzroy is trying to adopt?”
“Of course not,” Sera lied, shaking her head.
“Because I’ve been given express instructions from the prince regent not to discuss that case with you.”
“I would never ask you to disobey Father,” Sera said. “I was just curious because my tutor of the Mysteries of War has a young man with a deed. I was wondering if adoption breaks the terms of it.”
Sera didn’t know if he believed her ruse, but he answered her nonetheless. “Ah, I see. Well, as I explained, a deed is signed for a specific term to cover a specific obligation. That young man, the one you speak of, may have an obligation to serve in the military. It would be for a fixed period of time. Were someone to adopt him, the terms of the original agreement would still need to be met in some way. It usually involves a lump-sum payment.”
“What does that mean?” Sera asked.
“It means the payment of the entire debt plus interest. The deed may have been written to exonerate a debt of ten thousand, for example. With interest, it becomes twenty thousand. So it would cost someone a minimum of twenty thousand to clear the deed and adopt the young man. It is much more practical to transfer the deed from one person to the other. For example, and I’m just using this as an example, that little girl from the Fells had a deed. Lord Fitzroy has assumed it, and so she lives at his estate now and must do whatever he tells her to do. In order for him to adopt her, they must find the original document that set the terms of her service. Given that she’s an orphan and lived in the Fells all her life, it is not likely the terms of the deed are very long—she wouldn’t have been expected to survive the fulfilling of them. Still, Fitzroy’s advocate must hunt down the original document. What if it was burned in a fire? What if it was destroyed by water?”
Sera leaned forward, very interested.
Master Eakett flushed, realizing he’d done exactly what he’d initially refused to do. “Ahem, it’s time we returned to the topic at hand. Delegation of authority.”
Sera was not pleased. But she knew it would be a mistake to push Master Eakett to learn more. He would likely balk from discussing the subject altogether.
“Just to be clear, Master Eakett,” Sera said, “in your estimation, how many children born in the empire are signed away into deeds at a young age?”
“The majority, I should think,” he replied. “Even the wealthy are always at risk of losing their rank. Of course, a young man or woman who is educated would naturally have a shorter term of service. Maybe only ten years. Or five, depending on the training. A young man with the aptitude to become a surgeon, for example, may incur a deed to pay for schooling and then owe a period of service healing others before practicing his trade with a richer clientele in a higher estate. The young man you spoke of, in the Ministry of War, might have an obligation to serve as part of the crew of a hurricane. Now, if we can get back to the matter at hand . . .”
Sera had persuaded Hugilde to talk to Commander Falking before their afternoon lesson. She’d feigned an interest in a certain battle, and her governess had promised to ask him to come prepared t
he following afternoon. It provided Sera with exactly the opportunity she had hoped for—a chance for her to whisper with Will.
“I learned about deeds today,” she said, leaning toward him so that he’d hear her better. She kept her eyes focused on Falking to ensure he wouldn’t notice her indiscretion. “How long must you serve the Ministry of War?”
Will didn’t answer right away. A quick glance revealed his discomfort.
“Would you tell me?” she pleaded. “I want to help you if I can.”
He picked up his pencil and began fidgeting with it. “I’ll get in trouble if I talk to you too much,” he whispered, one hand shielding his mouth. His eyes were fixed on Falking.
Sera was undeterred. “I have an idea,” she said. “Write it down while you are taking notes. And then leave the letter with me before you go. I’ll read it later. Will you do that for me?”
“You want me to write you notes?” he asked, his voice sounding very doubtful.
“Yes. Yes, I do. And since I’m a Fitzempress, you won’t get in trouble. I’m ordering you to do it.”
She watched as his lips pressed into a firm line. He started tapping the desk softly with the pencil, and, for a moment, she was certain he would say no.
“What do you want to know?” he finally whispered.
A thrill of victory. She’d give Hugilde a big kiss for innocently helping her. “Everything. Tell me about your deed. How many brothers and sisters you have. Where you’re from.”
He looked even more uncomfortable. He was taking a serious risk if he heeded her. If Falking found out, he’d be rebuked. Or not invited back. Sera could only hope he’d be willing to take a chance. He’d be gone soon, and she wanted to know more about his background and his deed—and not just because Will intrigued her. She had been denied the chance to meet Cettie of the Fells; this was the only way she could learn anything real about her people. Her teachers didn’t want to give her the knowledge she wanted to hear, only the crusty knowledge they thought someone of her class should have.
“Yes, Miss Fitzempress,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Russell.”
Commander Falking strode over to them, and Sera felt a twinge of guilt for her small act of rebellion. But as she tasted the guilt, she found it sweet. Being naughty was always a little thrilling. She looked forward to reading his note and asking him questions in return.
Falking cleared his throat. “I’m pleased to hear, ma’am, that you’ve taken such an interest in the Battle of Skyfell. Many a good man died that day. I hope you will not become queasy about the carnage. It may be your privilege, in the future, to order such conflicts. War is a terrible thing. It is great but terrible.”
“Have the people ever revolted against the emperor?” Sera asked, noticing that Will had started to write some notes surreptitiously. She wished to keep Falking’s attention on her.
“Oh yes,” Falking replied with confidence. “Once the populace even tried building a tower to reach our lofty heights. That ended with much confusion. I shall tell you the story.”
Sera smiled in pleasure. That sounded like a story that would actually interest her. She was anxious to hear it, but even more anxious to read Will’s note.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BELOW
Miss Fitzempress,
As it may become my future duty to obey your commands, I have undertaken to fulfill your request. My father, Blain Russell, was a successful merchant in the City. His father had been a carpenter by trade and was called upon to build cabinets for those living in Lockhaven. My father inherited his business and prospered. As a child, I would often join him on his journeys up to various manors aboard sky ships, which must have started my fascination with the military. My father’s success in designing and building cabinetry led to many associations beneficial to my family and my future education. When I reached the age of ten, my father had already put aside sufficient funds to pay for my schooling and a commission to the rank of lieutenant, assuming that I earned my merits.
Unfortunately, my father was called on to do business with a man I will not name for fear of future retaliation. He engaged my father on false pretenses, and after my father completed the work, which was extensive, he utterly refused to pay his debt. I can only guess as to his motivations, but there are rumors that a speculation had gone bad. Perhaps he could no longer afford to pay the agreed-upon amount. When my father tried acquiring an advocate to plead his case, he was shunned from Lockhaven, and his business plummeted. As did my prospects.
I accepted the rank of midshipman, and my father took out a deed on me to prevent further disaster and possible homelessness. The deed against me is for thirty years, the life of a soldier. I do not condemn him for his choice. As for my own choices, I have none. The Ministry of War may ship me to the farthest reaches of the empire. I have no say in my destiny, except to declare that I would prefer this fate to constructing cabinets. I hope that if I serve the empire, and you, to my utmost ability, I may earn a sufficient reward to liberate myself from the deed. It will not be easy.
It could also be much worse. An officer who has studied the Mysteries of War cannot, I am told, be shot down by an enemy. I do not know by what powers this is realized, but I will eagerly await learning this Mystery, even if it results in a departure from you and your considerable kindness to me. I am grateful for my patron and for the opportunity it has given me to make your acquaintance.
Yours devotedly,
William Russell
Sera read the letter at least six times, and each time it made her burn with more indignation on William’s behalf. Had it been within her power, she would have forgiven the debt herself and made him a free man once again. She would have forgiven the debts of all the children who’d been essentially sold. This explained why he was so reserved, why he brooded while he studied with her. It was certainly a pity that—
“What is that?” Hugilde said in a worried voice, snatching the letter from her hands.
“Give it back to me,” Sera demanded, her cheeks turning hot. Normally she was more careful, but she’d been so immersed in thought she’d forgotten the letter was still in her hand.
“I came here to brush your hair before bed, Sera, and I find you in your nightdress, the buttons still undone, and here you are staring out the window, completely insensible. What is this?”
Hugilde began to open it, and Sera rushed off the window seat and tried to grab it back. “That is mine, Hugilde! You may not read it.”
“I most certainly will, young lady,” said her governess archly. She was taller than Sera. Much taller. That drove Sera to a frenzy.
“I order you to give it back!” Sera said, tears of rage beginning to stream down her cheeks. Another grab for it proved futile.
“Sit down,” Hugilde snapped back. “You are behaving like an animal, Princess. Where did you get this? Who gave it to you?”
“Please, Hugilde!” Sera begged. “You are the only person who truly loves me. You will break my heart if you read it. Please, give it back to me.”
Hugilde was wavering. The letter was half-open, and she was warring with herself. “I am your governess. I am responsible for your moral character, and I will be held accountable for your misdeeds. You are still very young. Before I choose whether to read the letter, you must answer my questions. If you refuse, I will take this note to your father immediately.”
Hugilde may well have dunked Sera’s head in a frozen bath. It sobered her quickly, and she began wringing her hands. She cursed herself for her constant daydreaming.
“It’s from William Russell,” Sera said in a subdued voice. She watched closely for Hugilde’s reaction.
The governess closed her eyes as if a death sentence had been passed on her. “By the Mysteries, that boy is too bold!”
“It’s not his fault, Hugilde! It’s mine. I . . . I made him write it.”
Hugilde’s eyes flew open with incredulity.
“It’s true, it’s true. Dearest
Hugilde. Sweet governess.” She began to pace, trying to think of what to say to stave off disaster. “It’s not what you think. It’s not a love note. He would never do that. After Master Eakett explained about deeds, I asked Will about his—”
“Will?” Hugilde said in dismay.
Sera winced at her indiscretion. “I m-meant William. Please, Hugilde, don’t be angry with me. I have lived my entire life surrounded by adults. I’m not allowed to see my cousins except on rare occasions, and even then, I’m chaperoned. I adore you, Hugilde, but this is the first opportunity I’ve had to know someone my own age and someone who has lived in the world below us. I just wanted to know about his deed, that’s all. He’s not from the tenements. No, not that low. But his life has been very different from mine. I need to learn about life outside of this manor, Hugilde. How else am I to do it?”
Hugilde puffed out her cheeks and sighed. “So this is not a love note? The boy is handsome enough. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Sera bit her lip. “You think he’s handsome, too?”
“I have eyes, don’t I? I may be thrice his age, but there’s no doubt he’ll make a striking officer. And you are Seraphin Fitzempress and could do him a bit of good someday, as I’m sure he is very well aware.” She fanned her face with the letter.
“Are you going to tell Father?” Sera asked meekly.
“I should tell him,” Hugilde said with a snort. “But if I did, Mr. Russell would be punished for your sin.”
Sera stamped her bare foot. “It’s not a sin to write a letter, Hugilde. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re only twelve, Sera. It starts like this, innocent flirting. But there’s a certain intimacy involved in correspondence.” She pursed her lips. “While I trust you would not lie to me, Sera, if I am to keep this secret for you, then I need to know what is in this letter. May I have your permission to read it and judge for myself whether I should tell your parents?”
