by David Weber
.II.
Imperial Court, City of Yu-kwau, Kyznetzov Province, Empire of Harchong.
“I want every member of their families here in the South arrested!” Emperor Zhyou-Zhwo snarled. “Every one of them, do you hear?!”
“Of course, Your Supreme Majesty!” Grand Duke North Wind Blowing said quickly, bending his head in desperate, disgusted obsequiousness. This was what came of an emperor trying to exercise direct rule, he thought furiously. Policies as stupid as Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s “collective security”! They might work—against some of the families involved—but most of them would have seen this possibility coming from the beginning and taken whatever steps they could against it. As anyone but a fool should have realized from the start. Not that he didn’t understand the basis for Zhyou-Zhwo’s rage perfectly. But if the emperor had simply been willing to let the professionals do their jobs—!
“Your pardon, Your Supreme Majesty,” Duke Summer Flowers said, “but what do you wish us to do with them after they’re taken into custody?”
A very good question, North Wind Blowing thought. And another sign of the southern duke’s growing stature on the Imperial Council that he dared to ask it. The first councilor tried to feel more grateful that someone had asked than resentful that the someone involved was Summer Flowers.
It was difficult.
“An excellent question, My Lord Duke,” Zhyou-Zhwo said. He’d hesitated a moment or two before responding, and he offered no immediate expansion when he did. North Wind Blowing hid his sour amusement behind an attentive expression. Of course he hadn’t thought it through before he issued his demand!
“If I might suggest, Your Supreme Majesty,” Summer Flowers murmured into the awkward pause, “none of these people have themselves personally offended against your prerogatives or authority. Nonetheless, their relatives in these ‘United Provinces’ most certainly have. I would suggest they be treated as prisoners of state and confined in reasonable comfort—for now, at least—as a pointed reminder to those treachery-minded relatives of theirs that your patience is not unlimited. Your Supreme Majesty need not enumerate any specific charges against them in order for them to be held indefinitely at your pleasure. None of their families could miss your message, but your forbearance in not charging them at this time may inspire those treachery-minded relatives to recognize your mercy and patience and forsake their treason.”
“An excellent formulation of what I had in mind, My Lord,” Zhyou-Zhwo said warmly. “In fact, I believe it would be appropriate, since you’ve understood me so well, for you to assume responsibility for seeing that it’s done in Our name.”
“You honor me with the responsibility, Your Supreme Majesty,” Summer Flowers said, inclining his head in a gracious bow, and North Wind Blowing masked a silent curse behind an approving smile.
The emperor smiled, as well. But then he allowed his smile to fade and his face hardened once again.
“We wish Our Council in general to consider this matter in depth now that we have confirmation of this ‘Ahrmahk Plan,’” he said, and his tone made the last two words an obscenity. “We are well aware that this … this bribe will make it exceedingly difficult for even Our loyal subjects to resist Cayleb’s foul blandishments. We fear we will be unable to prevent those less loyal to Us from swilling at the trough Cayleb and his harlot have spread before them. We believe, however, that it is essential to expose this ‘generosity’ for what it truly is—a bait offered in the name and service of Shan-wei!”
North Wind Blowing’s heart sank. The last thing they needed was to re-inflame the Jihad in the midst of such widespread insurrection. Especially since the serfs had always regarded Mother Church as their landlords’ handmaid, as complicit in all the things for which they blamed the aristocracy as the aristocracy itself! If they—
“Truer words were never spoken, Your Supreme Majesty,” another voice said strongly, and North Wind Blowing bit his tongue as he turned his gaze to the youngest—and one of the newest—members of the Imperial Council.
Bishop Kangsya Tung-zhi, the former Bishop of Mai-kau, Chiang-wu Province’s largest and richest bishopric, had been elevated to replace Baudang Zhynchi as the Archbishop of Boisseau at the emperor’s personal insistence. In many ways it didn’t matter, since Tung-zhi could be only the archbishop-in-exile until the authority of Crown and Church were restored in the restive provinces. For that matter, he’d been a bishop-in-exile since Mai-kau was overrun shortly after the fall of Shang-mi! But North Wind Blowing didn’t trust the ambitious hardliner as far as he could spit.
Tung-zhi, who was less than half Zhynchi’s age, was a cousin of the former Archbishop of Chiang-wu, Wyllym Rayno. He was also a member of the Order of Schueler who’d vehemently rejected the official story of how Rayno had died as a Charisian lie which Rhobair Duchairn had embraced as part of his campaign to destroy Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s authority as Grand Inquisitor. The first councilor had never been able to prove it, but his agents’ reports strongly suggested that Tung-zhi had kept the Inquisition’s full repressive rigor clandestinely alive in his former bishopric with secret tribunals whose sentences had been carried out in equal secrecy.
And, of course, the young idiot was totally blind to how his own policies might have contributed to the current disaster. North Wind Blowing would shed no tears for illiterate serfs or the opportunists who now sought to profit from their rage, but at least he understood it was rage … and that it had come from somewhere.
“This poison must be stamped out, Your Supreme Majesty,” Tung-zhi continued. “There can be no compromise with it. Indeed, our current circumstances—the state of Your Supreme Majesty’s realm—are directly attributable to those … ill-advised Church leaders who did just that and sought compromise with Shan-wei’s servants in the world. Surely all of us can now see where that sort of accommodation must inevitably lead!”
North Wind Blowing’s heart sank still farther as the emperor nodded in grave agreement.
“As a son of Mother Church, I thank you for those words of wisdom, Your Eminence,” he said to the man whose predecessor he’d had assassinated. “And as Emperor, We intend to act upon it. The proof of your wise counsel is there for all to see in Our northern provinces, and this further confirms Us in Our determination to see to it that Our southern provinces are no longer similarly contaminated. Cayleb and Sharleyan have donned the mask of private charity in the West, but does anyone seated around this council chamber truly believe that?”
In fact, all of North Wind Blowing’s agents suggested that was precisely what Cayleb and Sharleyan had done, and he experienced a moment of pure and bitter envy as he considered the reportedly bottomless gold and silver mines they’d discovered on Silverlode Island to make that possible. The thought of anyone having that much money in their private purses was enough to make him nauseous, but all the evidence suggested this was, indeed, the act of private charity the two of them had proclaimed, without any formal obligations to the Charisian Crown on the part of its recipients.
That didn’t mean there weren’t any, of course. North Wind Blowing doubted anyone would miss the Charisian hook hidden inside that generous gift. Which made the gift no less generous … or less politically explosive.
“No, Your Supreme Majesty,” he said. “Obviously their true plans run far deeper than that.”
It was the only answer he could have given.
“Then now is the time to purge the South of at least one of the poisons consuming the North,�
�� the emperor said. “It is Our will that all of these pernicious commercial agreements between Our subjects and any Charisian entity be immediately dissolved. We decree the seizure of all Charisian assets and property anywhere situate within Our Realm. And We wish for this to be accomplished within the next five-day and without alerting Our enemies to Our intent before it is accomplished.”
North Wind Blowing’s stomach tied itself into a knot as Emperor Zhyou-Zhwo looked around his council chamber with cold, steely eyes.
“We trust We have been sufficiently clear about this,” he said.
.III.
Protector’s Palace, Siddar City, Old Province, Republic of Siddarmark.
“You know this isn’t going to help our situation, don’t you, My Lord?” Henrai Maidyn said sourly. “Not one little bit. I’m already hearing a lot of unhappy comments about it, even from those who understand why we need the Bank.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Greyghor Stohnar turned away from the chancellor of the exchequer, folding his arms across his chest as he looked out into the snowy dawn. The fresh snow covering the roofs of Siddar City was already streaked with chimney soot, and the cold radiating through the glass seemed to sink to his bones. The tremor in his hands was more pronounced these days, too. He would have liked to blame that on the cold, but he couldn’t. Which was one reason he spent so much time with his arms folded this way to hide it, he reflected.
“I’m assuming their unhappiness stems from more than just pique?” he said.
“In too many cases, it stems from something more like desperation,” Maidyn replied. He came to stand at the lord protector’s shoulder, looking out the window with him. “And it’s hard to blame them. We don’t have all the details yet on exactly how Cayleb and Sharleyan are handling this, but what we do know suggests they’re practically giving money away. And they’re doing it, not the Empire.”
“It’s their money,” Stohnar said mildly, although even his personal friendship for the Ahrmahks had been tested when he’d first heard about the “Ahrmahk Plan.” He didn’t like admitting that to himself, but it was true. “They can loan it—or give it away—to anyone they want, and we’re not really in the best position to complain about that.” He turned his head and looked down at the shorter Maidyn. “If they hadn’t been exactly that generous when the Sword of Schueler hit us, God knows how many more of our people would have starved to death.”
“I understand that, My Lord. I truly do.” Maidyn returned his gaze levelly, then looked back out the window. “But as the Holy Bédard observed, ‘Gratitude is a garment that chafes.’ I’m afraid quite a few of our financial interests are doing a lot of chafing right now. They know what kind of trouble we’re in, but instead of bailing us out, Cayleb and Sharleyan are pouring millions into Harchong. The way a lot of our people see it, that’s almost economic treason!”
“Almost?” Stohnar arched a sardonic eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt the people who feel that way are attaching any qualifiers.”
“No, they aren’t,” Maidyn conceded. “And there are times I find it difficult to disagree with them. Unfortunately, I also understand what Cayleb and Sharleyan are doing … and why they can’t do it for us as well.”
“Really?” Stohnar turned his back to the window and cocked his head. “I wonder if we’re seeing the same reasons?”
“I can think of at least four right off the top of my head,” Maidyn replied.
“First, the situation in West Harchong is a hell of a lot worse than anything we’re looking at here, and as you say, we both know how Cayleb and Sharleyan react to starvation and atrocities. But their tools to do anything about it are limited, to say the least. They can’t intervene militarily because they don’t have as many troops to commit as Rainbow Waters has in the East. Even if they did, the minute they landed more than the handful of Marines they’ve got in Boisseau and Cheshire—or the ‘civilian volunteers’ helping Staynair and the Grand Vicar maintain order in those coastal enclaves in southern Tiegelkamp and Stene—everyone would scream about ‘Charisian invasions.’ For that matter, despite the good job Rainbow Waters is doing in the East, he doesn’t have enough manpower to pacify anything further west than Maddox, either. So if they want to keep West Harchong from descending into the sort of chaos and anarchy that’s turning Central Harchong into a wasteland, they have to find a different tool. That’s what the ‘Ahrmahk Plan’ is.
“Second, though, not even Cayleb and Sharleyan have a bottomless purse. Frankly, I’m astounded they’re dipping as deeply into it as they are, and I’m not at all sure how long they can keep it up before people start speculating about the soundness of the Charisian mark. But if they have limited resources—and they do—they have to commit them where the need is worst. Fortunately, that’s not us. Yet, at least.
“Third, it sounds as though these United Provinces are enacting across-the-board reforms on the Charisian model. Reforms a lot more sweeping than anything we’re contemplating, really. That’s probably because the Harchongians’ situation is so much more dire that they don’t have any choice, but it’s still true. And when they’re finished, those provinces will be tied directly into the Charisian economic system. I don’t know if we could adopt that level of reform even if all our people were willing to try, frankly. For that matter, some of the people who are willing to try—some of our strongest supporters in the Chamber—would be afraid the ‘Ahrmahk Plan’ would turn us into—or, in their eyes, keep us as—another Charisian appendage rather than allowing us to grow our own manufactories and control our own economy. I’m not sure that wouldn’t happen myself; the difference is that I’m fairly sure that would be better in the end than where we’re headed ‘going it alone.’ But whatever I may think, the fact is that we’re still a long way short of the United Provinces’ situation. As much trouble as we’re in, we have an existing infrastructure we can’t just torch and burn to the ground. We can probably make substantial strides in the direction of those reforms once the Central Bank’s up and running, but until then—?” He shrugged. “Not so much.
“And, finally, as generous as we both know they are, they aren’t doing this solely out of philanthropic motives.” He waved one hand. “I’m not saying they don’t have those motives, because you and I both know them and we’ve seen that they do. But they were always frank with us about the political—and military—upside for them in helping to feed our people, too. It helped prop us up, kept the Army in the field, and provided them with the Mainland ally they needed so desperately. And it bought them one hell of a lot of goodwill, too. No one as smart as the two of them could fail to see the opportunity to do the same thing in West Harchong. If the Ahrmahk Plan succeeds, the United Provinces will be so fully integrated into the Charisian system that Charis will be not simply their natural trading partner, but their inevitable trading partner. Assuming they do manage to prevent a complete collapse—and I think they have a good chance of that, the way things sound—Charisians will make money hand over fist once the United Provinces’ internal economy really takes off. I’m not saying that’s the only—or even the main—reason Cayleb and Sharleyan are doing this, mind you, but they can’t be blind to that outcome. I’m sure they’ll lose at least some of the loans they’re making. In fact, I won’t be surprised if they have to write off as many as fifteen or even twenty percent of them in the end. But if they’ve got the money to spend, and it looks like they do, there couldn’t be a better long-term investment anywhere in the world.”
“Succinct,” Stohnar said with a slight, tired smile. “The question is how we make ourselves equally attractive to them.”
“I know I sound like a stuck echo, but the way we do that is to get the Bank in place and our own financial house in order. I do know—we do know—Cayleb and Sharleyan Ahrmahk. For that matter, we both know Ehdwyrd Howsmyn! They’d love to invest in our success, but they’re not about to pour even more money into an economy that’s already … overheated, chaotic, and out
-of-control. They can’t without making it even worse! If we can manage to get all those factors under some kind of control, then I know some of that Ahrmahk Plan money will start flowing our way. Whether or not even they have deep enough pockets to make a difference in something the size of the Republic—after all, we’ve got ten or eleven times the United Provinces’ population—may be another question, but if we can just straighten out our mess, the two of them will sure as Shan-wei try!”
.IV.
Desnair the City, Empire of Desnair.
“Bastards,” Symyn Gahrnet growled, tossing the report back onto the Duke of Harless’ desk. “The frigging bastards.”
Harless smiled crookedly at his younger brother and leaned back in his chair.
“Approximately what Sir Hyrmyn said, in rather more diplomatic language,” he said, and Symyn snorted. Sir Hyrmyn Khaldwyl wasn’t particularly wellborn, but he wasn’t exactly a commoner, either, and he was a senior-level career diplomat. Officially, he was one more of Harless’ advisers; in fact, he was the duke’s primary tutor, with a tendency to ask “teaching questions.”
“Really?” Symyn asked now, and Harless shrugged.
“Brilliant move on their part, really, assuming they’ve actually got the gold and silver. How often does the possibility to buy half a continent come someone’s way? And who else could do it?”
The second question came out more than a little bitterly, and with good reason, Symyn thought sourly. For as long as anyone could remember, the “bottomless gold mines of Desnair” had been one of the Empire’s most effective political and diplomatic tools. They hadn’t really been bottomless, of course, but they’d provided a succession of emperors the leverage to buy the support of the Church and other realms when it was most needed.
The fact that it seemed Cayleb and Sharleyan Ahrmahk’s gold mines—their personally owned gold mines—actually were bottomless was a particularly bitter gall for the man responsible for Desnair’s current diplomacy.
