“They’re already beyond my borders,” King Randor said. “And some of your other ideas have spread too. Stirrups, for example. They have spread to the other kingdoms already.”
Emily nodded. Imaiqah’s father had told her as much, in one of his letters. Stirrups were simply too obvious an idea, once someone actually made the breakthrough. They too would have spread, no matter what King Randor had done to try to keep them a state secret. One person taking a look would probably be able to guess the basic idea.
“I’m informed that there are other ideas taking shape in the workshops,” the king added. “These…steam engines. I am told that one of them should be ready for testing any day now. New kinds of metal. And knowledge. Knowledge is spreading faster now. What will that mean for us?”
“A better world,” Emily said. “One where more people achieve their potential.”
For some reason, people tended to take knowledge more seriously if it was written in books. One particular leaflet had talked about basic hygiene, starting with the concept of always boiling water–which was widely-known–and going on to discuss basic cleanliness as the key to good health. Emily was no doctor, but even she knew the importance of good hygiene.
This world didn’t know it. Outside of the very wealthy or well-connected, very few people could afford a healer to attend them when they were ill. Or giving birth; Emily had listened to an account of a childbirth in Dragon’s Den and had felt utterly disgusted. Didn’t they know that a dirty bed was almost certain to infect either the mother or her child? A clean delivery room, clean tools to cut the cord, boiled water to wash the mother and child…such little things could make all the difference between life or death. As the knowledge spread, most midwives–there was a midwives guild, the only one that was exclusively made up of women–would either adapt or start losing business. Emily found it hard to care about their feelings.
But she knew she should. The midwives would have to spread the innovations to women who couldn’t read.
“But also one where your innovations will put new stresses on society,” King Randor said. He might have had a point. If health levels grew better, Zangaria would have a population explosion during his or Alassa’s reign. Eventually, it would reach the limits of the kingdom’s ability to feed it and collapse, but it would take years to reach a new balance. “What will it do to us?”
“Make a better…”
“And what else?” King Randor demanded, suddenly angry. “Do you know how many nobles have come to me and demanded that I ban the printing press?”
His eyes narrowed. “Or, for that matter, that I banish the people responsible for introducing your innovations,” he added. “But what would that do to my kingdom?”
“There is a legend about a man who found a goose that laid golden eggs,” Emily said, feeling her heartbeat starting to race. King Randor could banish Imaiqah and her family, or simply kill them and destroy the new workshops. “Every day, the goose would lay an egg and the man would spend the money, enjoying whatever he bought with it. Until the day he decided to kill the goose and see what was inside it.”
His eyes bored into her as she continued, forcing her to fight to meet his gaze. “He found nothing, but…but whatever one normally finds inside a goose,” she continued, waving her hand in the air. “And because the goose was dead, there were no more golden eggs for him and he died a pauper.”
There was a long uncomfortable pause.
“My daughter will inherit a kingdom shaped by the decisions I take,” King Randor said, coldly. “I do not know where these innovations will lead. Why should I allow them?”
“They will build up the wealth of the kingdom,” Emily said, quietly. “If you are wise enough to keep the tax levels low, you will still have a flood of golden eggs from the merchants and craftsmen to come. The more ideas are shared, the more innovations there will be. The more innovations, the wealthier your kingdom–and the more you can claim in tax. Eventually, you will become far wealthier than any of your barons.”
“And a class of merchants who will demand a greater say in government,” King Randor said. He’d spotted the sting in the tail, all right. The Assembly would eventually grow to the point where it would want a say in political affairs, as well as wealthy commoners marrying into poor, yet haughty noble families. “Who knows where that will lead?”
Parliamentary democracy, Emily thought. But it wasn’t a concept she could explain, not without having to tell him where it came from. And that was only the best possible outcome; the middle class managed to gain the levels of power and co-opt the upper classes, effectively replacing them. In much of Europe, the upper class managed to co-opt the middle class, creating poorly-managed states that eventually went fascist. And in Russia and China, revolution from below eventually led to communist states.
“I would like to make use of your innovations,” King Randor said, “but I fear where they will lead us.”
“They will make your kingdom far more powerful compared to states that don’t embrace them,” Emily offered.
“Yes,” King Randor said. “You do realize that you’ve already lost control?”
“I never really had it,” Emily admitted. The moment she’d sent the letters to Imaiqah’s father, the matter had been out of her hands. They were already designing printing presses and steam engines that were–so far–only theoretically possible. Materials science had barely even entered infancy. “But too much control can be a bad thing.”
“So can too little control,” King Randor said, softly. “But that was my mistake with Alassa. I gave her too much freedom because I resented my father directing my every waking moment. Does she have time to rebuild her reputation before she takes the throne?”
He shook his head. “We will talk about that later,” he added. “For now, I believe that Lady Barb is waiting to see to you.”
Emily couldn’t help a shiver.
Chapter Twenty
YOU APPEAR TO HAVE SURVIVED,” LADY Barb said. “The king was quite pleased with you.”
Emily flushed, feeling unsure of her own emotions. The king hadn’t sounded pleased with her–and if she hadn’t saved Alassa’s life and soul, she had the feeling that the king would have wanted her dead. Maybe he did want her dead, but the complex network of obligations that underwrote a monarchy insisted that he should keep her alive. Failing to reward someone who helped him would not have encouraged others to do the same.
“Pleased,” she repeated. “I don’t think I want to see his displeasure.”
Lady Barb snorted. “They will see his displeasure,” she said, nodding towards the princes at the far end of the hall. “Just look at them.”
Emily concealed her amusement. While they’d been traveling, the princes had worn traveling outfits that weren’t too dissimilar; indeed, they’d looked almost identical. Now they were in Zangaria, they were able to wear whatever they wanted, just to show off their powerful bodies. Prince Hildebrand wore a golden tunic that was tight in all the right places, Prince Slark wore a suit of silver armor–Emily was surprised it didn’t push the limits of the permissible–and Prince Athol wore a set of green robes, cut like the robes students wore at Whitehall. The only prince who didn’t seem to be interested in showing off was Prince Hedrick, who wore a simple black suit.
They hadn’t just concentrated on their clothes either. Their hair had been styled in different patterns, with several of the princes actually opting to dye their hair purple or green. Emily couldn’t help thinking of them as more than a little effeminate, although social customs from back home didn’t always apply in Zangaria. But they still looked a little absurd to her eye.
“Peacocks,” she said. “What happens if none of them win her?”
“They go back home,” Lady Barb said, simply. “And besides, even if one of them did get to marry her, the marriage wouldn’t take place at once.”
But they would exchange binding vows, Emily thought. Historically, royal engagements had been made
and broken with the greatest of ease. Here, though, both parties would swear formal oaths, enforced by magic. If Alassa refused to marry the prince later in life, the results might be disastrous. King Randor was probably working hard to ensure that all kinds of weasel words were worked into the contract, just to allow his daughter to break it without suffering for it.
Lady Barb rose to her feet. “The princes will spend the day entertaining the court,” she added. “They won’t be seeing the princess again until tonight.”
Emily blinked. “Entertaining the court?”
“They will be calling upon powerful nobles and seeking their support for their suit,” Lady Barb explained. “If they manage to convince some of the nobles to support them, the king will take it into consideration when he makes his final choice.”
Emily scowled. She’d had a vision of the princes playing football or something to show off in front of the court, although it was a silly thought. Or maybe not. There were enough princes to make up two football teams and it would give them a chance to show off in front of Alassa. But mere skill at football–or fighting–wouldn’t be enough to win her hand.
Lady Barb led her down the corridor and into a small suite of rooms. They had to be hers, Emily realized as she looked around; they were almost uncomfortably bare, even though they were in a royal castle. A handful of weapons hung on one wall, including a metal object she didn’t recognize; a set of books lay on a large wooden table that looked to have been hand-carved from a tree trunk. The walls were bare stone, utterly unmarked.
“Take a seat,” Lady Barb ordered. “We have a great deal to talk about.”
Emily frowned. There were no seats in the room. She opened her mouth to ask, then realized that she was meant to sit on the stone floor. It felt uncomfortable under the dress as she knelt, unsure if Lady Barb was trying to irritate her or if it was merely the way she always acted. The sergeants had disdained luxuries too. But a simple wooden chair wouldn’t have been too much of a luxury, surely.
Lady Barb sat cross-legged, facing her. “There will be another dance this evening,” she said, rather dryly. “Nightingale will no doubt wish to ensure that you meet some of the younger noblemen in the court.”
“Why?” Emily asked. She hesitated, then asked the question that had been bothering her since the fourth castle they’d visited. “Why are there so many dances?”
“They’re intended to prove that the dancers are physically healthy,” Lady Barb said. “There is no way that the happy couple”–her lips twitched into a very brief sneer–“will be able to inspect one another naked prior to the ceremony. Dancing…is a way of proving it–and not just to the prince and his family. And besides, it allows Alassa to meet them in controlled circumstances.”
That made sense, Emily decided. Most customs made sense, at least in context. It was when people kept them after the original purpose was no longer required–or forgotten–that cultures and nations tended to run into trouble. Alassa’s own impressions of the princes would be important, even if she wouldn’t have the final say on who she married–and she’d want to see how they behaved in the castle. Prince Slark had already put himself out of the running, thanks to his behavior. And, as he had a younger brother, there wouldn’t be any diplomatic repercussions from a blunt refusal.
Lady Barb cleared her throat. “How much do you know about cockatrices?”
“Very little,” Emily admitted. The one she’d captured had been the first one she’d seen. “I know that they were created by the Faerie, but little else.”
“We’re not sure how they breed, or even if they do breed,” Lady Barb said. “Roosters might not last very long, but dragons are effectively immortal. But we do know that they prefer to stay away from humans. They know that we can kill them.”
“We didn’t kill the one we encountered,” Emily pointed out. If she hadn’t had the idea of distracting the beast with its own reflection, then putting it in the chest, who knew what would have happened? The most likely answer was that the cockatrice would have eaten them all and destroyed the carriages–or she would have had to use the disintegration spell. “How many magicians does it take to kill one?”
“At least ten, working in unison,” Lady Barb said, grimly. “But they normally stay away from all humans, unless someone does something incredibly stupid, like walking into one of their lairs. This one shouldn’t have been anywhere near the mountain pass.”
Emily saw the implication at once. “Someone pointed it at us,” she said. “Just like they used the maid.”
“Indeed,” Lady Barb said. “Which brings us back to the original questions; who did it and what were they really trying to achieve?”
“I have a different question,” Emily said. “What does it take to control a cockatrice?”
“A great deal of magic or an uncanny relationship with animals,” Lady Barb told her. “But most magicians with a strong connection to the animal kingdom are unlikely to get themselves involved in political struggles. A necromancer, on the other hand…”
Emily shivered. Shadye had raised an army of monsters to attack Whitehall, controlling them through his magic–but he’d been trying to lay siege to the most heavily defended building in the world. A necromancer wouldn’t have needed the cockatrice to wipe out the entire procession; he could just have swooped down, blasted the carriages with raw magic and killed everyone before they even realized that they were under attack. But then, the necromancer would have had to come far into the Allied Lands, where hundreds of magicians could be rallied to fight him.
If Lady Barb was right–and the cockatrice had been pointed at them deliberately, just like the murderous maid–it suggested that their enemy was afraid to confront them directly. And that implied…what?
And who was the real target?
“The cockatrice could have easily killed everyone,” she pointed out, finally. “If they needed Alassa alive, their entire plan could have failed spectacularly.”
“Unless the beast had orders merely to kill you, then leave,” Lady Barb countered. She rubbed her forehead. “Or unless there are actually two separate parties trying to get at us.”
She ticked off points on her fingertips. “The necromancers want you dead–and if Alassa dies too, there will be chaos in Zangaria. That’s something they’d want, because it might lead to a general war that will weaken the Allied Lands. And you have other enemies who also want you dead, but who wouldn’t want to kill Alassa as the chaos might sweep over their countries.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And then, you have been a good influence on Alassa–and you are responsible for many of the changes sweeping the Allied Lands. There are some among our own nobility who would want you dead for that alone.”
Emily shivered. She still wasn’t used to the idea of strangers wanting to kill her.
Then get used to it, she told herself. It isn’t going to go away.
“But it is possible that our neighbor kingdoms are actually hoping that Zangaria will fall into civil war, so they can pick up the pieces afterwards,” Lady Barb continued. “And the power balance might be altered if Alassa married the wrong person. They’d have a motive to kill her, even though the chaos might spread over their borders and into their kingdoms. It would also be an act of war.”
She looked up at Emily. “If that is the motive behind the assassination attempt, Alassa was the target,” she concluded. “But they just had to destroy the girl’s mind. We don’t know what she was thinking.”
Emily nodded. “Could King Jorlem have ordered the girl to assassinate Alassa–or me–himself?”
“It would have been a complete disaster if it had gotten out,” Lady Barb said. “You will have noticed that Alassa traveled with only a handful of servants, none of whom were personal attendants? The whole protocol for such visits states that the host kingdom will provide those services, just to show off how they can pamper royal guests. Just by one of the maids being controlled by an outside party, King Jorlem lost a great deal of c
redibility in front of his fellow monarchs. It would have been far worse if she’d actually died while under his care.”
Emily hadn’t noticed–and cursed herself for the oversight. Of course Alassa would have had servants accompanying her at all times; certainly, the old Alassa would have insisted on it. But Emily hadn’t been raised to have servants and she hadn’t really noticed their absence; besides, Alassa had made a big issue of being able to dress herself. She hadn’t realized that Alassa had been preparing for royal visits where the servants would be strangers, strangers who would almost inevitably report on her to their masters.
“But that raises another problem,” she said, finally. “What if the whole idea was to embarrass King Jorlem? Or to precipitate a war with Zangaria?”
“Too many possibilities,” Lady Barb said. She stood up and started to pace around the room, finally stopping in front of the small collection of weapons. “All we can do is work hard to keep Alassa safe.”
Emily worked the problem, trying to recall everything she’d read about assassins who had killed–or tried to kill–monarchs. Killing Alassa would be dangerous, simply because of the risk of civil war, but what about taking control of the kingdom through her? A powerful nobleman might just be able to get himself appointed regent if King Randor died, allowing him to be king in all but name. But Alassa was seventeen, not seven. How long would such a plan last?
On the other hand, it might not have to last very long. Whoever married Alassa would have a claim to the throne–and if someone happened to hold most of the physical power, they might be able to force Alassa into marriage. And if they did have the power, the other nobles might grit their teeth and go along with it, particularly if the largess was distributed with an open hand. If…
“The barons are not supposed to have more than two hundred personal guardsmen,” Lady Barb said, once Emily had outlined her reasoning. “The Royal Army outnumbers them all twenty to one.”
That wasn’t reassuring. The sergeants had pointed out that countries with large armies had been defeated by smaller armies in the past, armies that had known what they were doing. It wasn’t just manpower that determined the winner, but having that manpower where it was needed at the right time. Emily wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that most of the Royal Army troops were positioned along the borders, several days march from Alexis. A quick strike at the city might allow the mastermind to present the Royal Army with a done deal.
Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) Page 19
