The Invisible Hand

by Chris Northern

  "Ulsan Epshannat, Patron. You wanted to see me..."

  "Yes," I did. I gestured that he take a seat and he did. "On the census you list your profession as miner, is that right? Good, I have a proposition for you."

  He was the first significant investment of the day. There would be others. I needed to invest as much money here as I could and ensure that I got a good income out of the place after I left. Digging wealth out of the ground was the best place to start.

  #

  "You plan to auction our land!"

  I winced at Anista's loud and sudden protest. I had taken a break and was in the bed chamber, looking out of the window. In the distance I could hear axes biting into wood. Closer, soldiers and others were working on the new barracks and walls. Work had begun on the road south; it would be a long time in the making. In the town itself there was activity, but still far too many people milling aimlessly; though I noticed that the majority of these were women and children. The town was starting to come alive, but slowly. I had spent over an hour interrogating the potential witnesses to last night’s killing. They knew nothing; had seen and heard nothing. I had released them to get on with their lives, though I had taken names and descriptions just in case I learned something more at a later date. There could be liars among them, but I had no way of knowing that.

  I turned in the window and sat on the sill, crossed my arms and looked Anista in the eye. Once again I had that impression that she was in motion even though she stood still just a couple of paces away, her eyes flashing and her face flushed. I smiled. She really was quite pretty.

  "Don't sit there smiling at me!" She took a fast step closer and for a second I thought she might either slap me or try and push me out of the window.

  I let the smile drop away. "The land can't sit idle," I said, "and the men who would work it are dead."

  "Then their wives and sons and daughters inherit the land grant."

  "And where they are working the land they will be left to do so if they so choose, but there are buyers and if they want to sell they are free to do so." I shrugged. "I don't see the problem, Anista."

  "What will they do? How will they live?"

  "They will do whatever they choose to do and live how they choose to live. They will have money, having been paid by the buyer and I expect they will use it wisely," I said.

  "You are loaning the buyers the money!" She seemed outraged by the idea.

  "And I expect to get a return on the investment, over time. It's a lease of land, not a purchase; they will pay a rent."

  She gritted her teeth and visibly controlled herself. "You are using other people’s money to loan to men who are buying land already granted to others who will then no longer have a livelihood and taking a rent from the buyer who you loaned the money to in the first place." she trailed off.

  I nodded. "Exactly. There are no victims here, Anista. Listen, imagine you are a young woman with two small children to feed. You have a bit of land, maybe some seed grain, maybe a few animals. Could you really look after two small children and also work your land effectively? Could you feed yourself and your children, let alone make a surplus to sell?"

  "That's just an extreme example," she dismissed it with a wave of her hand.

  "Is it? Let's go look."

  "What?"

  "I'm ready for some time out of here," I gestured to the office through the open door. I'd spent over an hour explaining tax and accounting to Orasin. He'd had a hell of a time understanding that if you add something to one column you have to take it away from somewhere else. It doesn't just appear; it has to come from somewhere. Elendas, my new young scribe, had grasped the concept faster and more completely. I'd not long since given Orasin the keys to the treasury and passed him on to Yahret for further instruction. I'd sent Elendas with him to assist. I had a suspicion that the boy had already grasped that a good measure of power resided in the bureaucracy; whenever a law is enacted or an order issued, a bureaucrat interprets it before it is actioned, and in that interpretation lies a surprising amount of power. I was tired of thinking; tired of organising things. "Order a couple of horses saddled and we will go see for ourselves."

  "You are trying to distract me."

  "Is it working?"

  Her lips twitched as she repressed a smile. "Perhaps a little."

  "Good. Go organize the horses and then you can shout at me some more. I need to go speak to Caliran." I pushed away from the sill, patted her bum in passing and headed for the door.

  "You are going to release him?"

  "No. I'm going to find out what he knows about Battling Plain." And why he is paranoid enough to bar his quarters with magic at night.

  #

  "When I am awake the library is protected by my presence," Caliran said, "and when I sleep I set spirits to protect it. A thief might come in the night and steal that which I value."

  As he spoke, he barely glanced over his shoulder from the shelf where he was arranging books to his satisfaction. He had greeted me civilly enough, but did not more than pause in his task to answer my question.

  "The library is guarded," I pointed out. "My men are at the doors."

  "They are not my guards." He placed a book and picked up another, examining the cover. "For what did you come here in the night?"

  I gave a little wintery smile, knowing he couldn't see it. "Knowledge."

  "Exactly. I sleep deeply and am difficult to wake. If you had failed to waken me would you have sought out what you wanted and then left with it, no bargain struck?"

  I shrugged. "Probably."

  "And if you take something without consent and without giving something in return, is that not the very definition of theft?"

  "You and the library are mine," I pointed out.

  He turned and pointed one slim finger at me. "Not so. I could destroy the library with a word. He who has the power to destroy a thing owns it more surely than any other." He turned back to the shelf, placed the book he held in his hands and picked up another. "Knowledge is power. Can you blame me for taking steps to protect what little power I have?"

  In all honesty, no, I could not blame him for that. The simplest answer would be to kill him but to kill someone for your own convenience is murder. Not something I felt comfortable with. "What happens if there is a fire while you sleep deeply and are difficult to wake?"

  "The library is protected from fire. And before you inquire, should I die the library dies with me unless I first grant it custody to another."

  "And if you leave?"

  He turned and smiled at me, though there was no humour in it. "Then I have a decision to make, but I do not need to make it yet."

  "Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

  He cocked his head to one side and regarded me, appraisingly. "You are a cityman; I assumed we could make a bargain. And we did; you permitted me to stay here and I gave you something of value in return. But now you sought to take something without giving something in return. Now you need to know."

  "If I were to take knowledge it would still exist," I argued. "If I read a book and return it, nothing is lost."

  "Mere sophistry, and you know it. I have invested my life in this work of gathering and restoring the written word, and to take some of that without payment is to steal a portion of my life. Without recompense that is little better than slavery."

  He could have been quoting from the constitution. Not that it applied to him; he wasn't a citizen and had no rights under our laws. Still, the principles we live by should be upheld in any interaction. How else could we promote them? If I wanted information from him I was going to have to pay for it. The problem was, I knew nothing of his loyalties and could guess that what he would want was more freedom to enact his will, whatever it might be. I didn't want to add his influence to the melting pot that was Darklake, not until things had had time to settle down and become more stable. I knew there were people here who could be considered his followers; I would be adding a faction to the mix
with no clear way to predict that faction’s actions, aims or ambitions.

  "Is that not so?" He prompted.

  It was. We think that every interaction should be a transaction. To try and get something from someone while giving nothing in return was the essence of slavery. Even our slaves gain something in return for their labours; food and shelter and protection, to begin with; and the prize at the end of it was citizenship for themselves and their children. The food dole was not a gift in my eyes but the discharging of a debt I owed.

  "How many works do you have that relate to Battling Plain?"

  He crossed the room and indicated a dozen or so volumes on one shelf. "These few. The observations of travellers, for the most part."

  "And what would you want for access to them?"

  He tilted his head to one side, regarding me with his unnatural eyes while seeming to consider the matter. "The written works found at Duprane's Keep? Does that sound fair?"

  It did; after I'd picked over them, of course. "I do not even know if there were any; I haven't made inquiries."

  "That should not take long, surely?"

  "Probably not." There was a moment’s silence. Then another. "I'll take those volumes now." Another long moment passed before he turned and began to remove volumes from the shelf, making a small stack of them. I made no move to close the distance between us and after another long moment he picked them up and carried them to me.

  "A debt," he said as he passed them into my hands.

  "I'll discharge it at my earliest convenience," I said, and left with what I had come for.

  A few moments later, I stood in the courtyard with an armful of books that needed to be read now, looking at two horses that were saddled and ready. Anista was already mounted and ready to go, also now. Across the courtyard, two soldiers were preparing two more horses, and conspicuously paying no attention to me at all. Sometimes a poor memory is a blessing. I'd half meant to order my seemingly spontaneous bodyguard to be discontinued, but things had changed before I had remembered to do it and now I had no such intention. There were people here who wanted me dead. The bodyguard could stay. True, being a target came with the job, but there was no sense being a damn fool about it. And they could serve other purposes, I thought, as I approached them. Both men looked up as I came close.

  "Get these books to Meran at once," I said, pressing them into the arms of the nearest solider.

  Unable to salute, he inclined his head. "At once, Patron."

  The art of delegation.

  #

  The baker was busy and the mill was turning. Close to the hall there were people working at their crafts and others moving with purpose. The animal pens were empty, apart from a handful of milk-cows that might or might not become a permanent fixture, depending on exactly how far away the nearest pasture was and how well the cows could be fed. We passed a woman working at a butter churn, making butter for her family’s bread and maybe a surplus to sell. Darklake was beginning to come alive. Not everywhere and not all at once, but the heart of the economy had started to beat and the life-blood of money was starting to circulate. I heard laughter and saw the occasional smile, noticed earnest conversations and deals being struck. By the time we reached the gates behind Darklake I was confident that inside a year the town would be everything I needed it to be. I turned to Anista with every intention of saying something like 'See? I told you so,' but saw that she was frowning and not looking at me. I followed her gaze to try and pick out what she was seeing. As near as I could tell she was looking at the same things I saw and not finding them to her liking. I shrugged and left it alone, supposing it the difference between a pessimist and an optimist.

  The west gate was open but no one was using it but us. The sun was high and dawn and dusk would be the times of heavy traffic. Just beyond, at the foot of the slope behind Darklake, the second soldier joined us and rode close to my side.

  "Commander Meran bids me inform you that there are riders coming from the north, Patron."

  Now what? I gritted my teeth and gave a nod. "Understood. Take your place, soldier."

  With a cursory salute he dropped back and I urged the horse to walk on up the slope, following the well-worn trail and maintaining a slight forward lean to keep the horse moving. It wasn't long before Anista gave up on waiting and spoke her mind.

  "You aren't going to send your men to meet them? Ask how many and with what intent they approach? Issue any orders?"

  "None of the above," I agreed. I gestured to the slope ahead. "When we reach the top, I'll take a look, maybe."

  She frowned at me in open disapproval. "You should do something."

  "Why me?" I rode on alone for a few seconds. She had dropped the hand holding the reins and slumped back in the saddle. I'd managed to stop smiling by the time she regained control of herself and her horse, coming swiftly back to my side.

  "You are the... you rule here. You can't let a subordinate usurp your authority or they will think he rules; and worse than that, so will he. You must do something."

  "Half of good government is resisting the urge to do something. If I stuck my nose into every single problem every single person has I'd never get any sleep and the problems still wouldn't all be solved, or the solution would make more problems." I shrugged. "If I'm needed, someone will let me know but if someone else can deal with it, and has the authority to deal with it, let them."

  She was silent for a while and for a moment I hoped she was thinking about it, but she wasn't.

  "My father used to say that he was the father of his people and it was his job to protect them."

  I was trying to think. "Mine used to say learn to wipe your own arse, boy."

  Anista stiffened in the saddle and faced forward, expression rigid with disapproval. I left her to it, gaze wondering and mind working furiously. The stream that ran through Darklake pushed out of the side of the hill close by, a strong natural spring and probably one of many. I find the sound of running water soothing, and I needed to be soothed. My memory was failing me - ever since Learneth and that bastard Dannat. Meran would deal with the situation but that is not what I had intended. Just as Orasin was to be the magistrate with responsibility for taxation and the treasury, I had had another in mind for foreign relations; a man to act as ambassador. I had thought to issue an order that he be found and join me to meet with whoever was coming out of the north. The only problem was, I couldn't remember his name. I had met him twice, at least; shared a meal, spoken of my plans. Not Mielkan, the refugee; I had other plans for him. Not Orasin, of course. One of the other two, both men of Learneth, and I could remember the name of neither of them. Until I did, I couldn't do a damn thing but let Meran deal with it.

  The sound of moving water faded as I reach the top of the slope and looked briefly over into a two-mile long valley that dropped slowly away from here; it was a view with mixed prospects. Some viable, arable land was under cultivation and fenced in, surrounded by mixed scrub where goats and sheep roamed; there was little pasture but where it existed there were cattle grazing. There were dwellings, small and tucked close to the cultivated land; here and there I picked out people at work. I didn't spare it much more than a glance before I turned back to look over Darklake. Anista passed me by, shooting me a glare that I ignored. She'd either get over it or she wouldn't and right then I didn't care. I scanned the area north of the town and picked out two dozen riders moving in deliberate procession. It didn't tell me much but two dozen was no threat worth the name. Whoever they were, they could wait. So let them wait. What was the bastard’s name? Sel-something. Selat? Selbar? Selcen? My men passed me and reined in close by. Orasin, Mielkan, Vendetta or something similar, and Seldan, no Seldas!

  I turned to my men. "Go find Seldas and have him meet me in the hall as soon as he is able. You know the man I mean?"

  The guards exchanged a glance and one of them gave a brief nod. "Yes, Patron. I know the man. I'll find you here when I'm done?"

  I turned to look pa
st Anista, who wasn't waiting but wasn't hurrying either; I noticed her stiff back and rigid posture as I gestured into the valley. "Somewhere there," I shrugged. "You'll see us, I'd guess."

  He gave another thoughtful nod and walked his horse back the way we had just travelled. I watched him go for a moment, and then scanned the scene. Darklake, fairly active, the lake beyond, still and black, beyond it the trading post of Lendrin Treleth as active as an ants’ nest; to the south the ringing sounds of axe on wood and men with mules dragging felled trees out for the sparse woodland. The tentative and fragile beginnings of normality. I wondered if the men coming now intended to damage it; hoped they were not. There were problems enough and right now I had to make sure that Anista didn't become one of them. I urged my mount to follow her and it moved off at a walk; turning my face up to feel the warm sun, I took a deep breath and held it before letting it out in a long sigh. Why couldn't this woman be more like Jocasta? Talking to Jocasta had been easy; I just said what I thought and it was always all right. With Anista, every conversation was an argument.

  Thank fate she didn't talk much in bed.

  #

  "You should help her."

  It was the first thing Anista had said in several minutes, and predictably enough, it was a demand that I do something. Kathan was right; his sister didn't listen to what she didn't want to hear. It was becoming a problem. We had ridden slowly through the valley, following the narrow paths that wound where the lie of the land was easiest and least fertile. Farming of any kind is a fairly labour-intensive business and there were not as many people active on the land as I knew there should be. Crops were growing, but so were weeds. There were women and children in fair numbers, tending herds and channelling water and weeding crops; but there was hardly a man in sight. The heavy work went undone, or was attempted but not achieved; like the porker that had managed to get itself into a hollow but couldn't get back out. It stood in the mud, forelegs up on the muddy ground and struggling to get purchase with its hind legs, squealing and grunting as it wriggled in the narrow channel. A woman and a boy stood by, watching, mud-splattered; she worried and thoughtful, the boy wary and dejected. I guessed they'd tried to lift the animal out. He'd tried his strength against the task and found it beyond him.