Ioth, City of Lights

by D P Woolliscroft

  He walked naked from the bathroom and into the great bedchamber of his apartment, the high ceilings decorated with murals of fornicating nymphs and satyrs complete with extended cocks and swollen tits. It was a hangover from the previous occupant, but Mareth had not had the time, nor the energy, to adorn it with something else as yet. He had reduced the rooms necessary for his needs though—where the King had a whole wing of the palace for the various bedrooms, sitting rooms, reception rooms, smoking rooms, game rooms, as well as rooms that seemed to have no other purpose than for the housing of large examples of taxidermy (and Mareth was sure that King Rudolph had never been involved in hunting any of the array of beasts), Mareth had taken just the one floor. He couldn’t adjust to the fact that this was his place to live; he still felt like a guest, constantly tip-toeing around.

  He gazed at Petra curled up in the sheets and blankets of the great bed. Mareth hated this moment every day.

  “Good morning, my love,” he whispered in her ear, really not wanting to wake her. He used to have such a good relationship with sleep, and even though they were barely on speaking terms now, he didn’t think it was fair to ever wake up someone else. Nonetheless, he gently laid a hand on her bare shoulder.

  She yawned and rolled over on to her back, her hands rubbing at her eyes. “Is it that time already?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s nearly dawn. How did you sleep?”

  “Good. But we need to get to the sleeping part earlier, else I’m going to end up with bags under my eyes like you.”

  “What? Really? Do I?” Mareth fought the instinct to go back into the bathroom and glare at the mirror.

  She nodded. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing that some good rest wouldn’t fix.” She sat up in the bed and looked at Mareth, reaching out to hold his hand. “I don’t want to do this, but maybe I should sleep in my own rooms for a few nights. You need the rest.” He attempted to protest but she shushed him with a kiss. “Maybe I’ll still come and tuck you in.” She laughed and sprang out of bed.

  Petra moved around the room, naked at first but so quickly did she gather up and put on her clothes that he hardly had time to admire her and get any ideas of how he would rather be spending his time. She fixed her hair in front of one of the long mirrors that adorned the walls, he watched as her usual frown furrowed her brow when she looked at her reflection. He wasn’t sure if the frown came when concentrating or just from seeing herself, but it was one of those things about her that he could sit and watch all day and night.

  “What do you have planned today?” he asked.

  “The bakers’ guild this morning. Some dispute about the flour coming from the mills up-island. Then I’ll check on the rebuilding work in the warehouse district this afternoon.”

  He smiled in admiration at this woman, nonchalantly discussing her role in keeping his city running, and realized he truly did love her. After the election he knew that Petra and Alana had to be involved, but on his first day he couldn’t identify any existing roles that they could take. Then it had struck him, like a bouncer at the Giant’s Toe. He couldn’t just do what had been done in the past. They had won with the help of the guilds and the citizens of Kingshold, and they needed representation in the new order. So Petra became envoy to the guilds, and Alana took on a similar role with the district supervisors.

  It pleased him that they both loved their jobs. In fact he was jealous of Petra’s ability to get out into the city, and he had to admit that her and her sister’s view of word on the cobbled street was invaluable.

  “There is a council meeting this morning too, don’t forget,” he reminded.

  She turned away from the mirror, her hair brushed smooth and swept into a tight bun on the top of her head, and fixed him with a haughty frown. “Of course I won’t forget.” She walked over and prodded him in his admittedly soft stomach with a single digit. She twirled her finger around the hairs that grew there, until they twisted together. He felt excitement building within him as he held her gaze. She tugged the hairs and he gave a little shriek in pain. “Ha. Don’t you forget, you’re going to sleep alone tonight. Surgeon’s orders.”

  Petra stood up on her tip toes and leaned forward to kiss him briefly on the lips. Then she was walking briskly out of the Lord Protector’s bed chamber and on to the rest of her day.

  Mareth, naked and alone, found himself waving, though she didn’t turn to see.

  When she left, he heard the sound of someone else in the sitting room next door.

  Shit! Perceval was already up. Mareth dashed back to the bathroom before his assistant would see that he wasn’t dressed.

  Privy council meetings. Mareth knew this was important stuff.

  It really was.

  But it was also kind of… dull.

  The updates on troop readiness, the up-island harvest, the lists of supposedly major crimes that had occurred in Kingshold over the past few days—all of which were important—lost something in their telling there in the dull, plain room where they met. He was a storyteller. He wanted to know about people, about their lives, their hopes and dreams, their struggles and strife. All of that was missing as his privy council brought things of importance for discussion.

  His privy council.

  Mareth knew that was supposed to be the case but it didn’t feel like it. Uthridge was still Lord Marshall, though Major Bream sat in his place today. Crews was Lord Admiral now, and while he supposed he had been the one to make the appointment after Ridgton’s accident, there had really been no choice but to put his second-in-command in the main chair. And now in Crews absence, Pyrfew fleet hunting with Neenahwi as his spotter, Second Admiral Dawnal had already given the report of how the new ship building was progressing. Apparently, building new ships took some time. Grimes was another member that wasn’t his; he’d been appointed Commander of the City Watch and the Palace Guard by Hoskin, the former Chancellor.

  Hoskin’s untimely suicide meant it was now Lady Grey who wore that title; Mareth conceded that he had been the one to appoint her. That had been the one bleak spot on the first few heady weeks after the election. Mareth had intended to keep Hoskin in his role—he’d been impressed by how forthright he had been in expressing his opinions to the nobility of Edland and Eden in particular, and he thought he would have been a strong adviser; not to mention providing much needed continuity while he was trying to figure out what the fuck he was supposed to be doing.

  But Grey had been an excellent appointment thus far; quickly keeping the apparatus running, retaining Hoskin’s assistant, Percival, who had proven to be an important source of continuity. Motega relied on her. He shouldn’t have been surprised by her capabilities, she had been behind much of their successful campaign for the election, and he would not be surprised if she was responsible for a good share of Hoxteth’s rise to prominence before his sudden demise. Still, it had hit him hard when he received the news that morning at the Royal Oak, after being up much of the night celebrating with his friends. Why would Hoskin have taken his own life? He’d rushed to the palace unkempt and unshaven. Hoskin lay there peacefully on his bed, the bottle of poison clutched in his hand, the book he was reading open on a nearby table. Percival was distraught, the poor boy being the one to find him that morning. There hadn’t been a note, but Percival said that Hoskin had talked about wanting to leave Kingshold, retiring to the peace and quiet.

  Well, Mareth hoped he had found his peace.

  And truly, he was thankful that Grey, someone he could trust, was there to step into the dead man’s shoes.

  But then all of the other members of the council had been Grey’s appointments. Dove, a man with an ever-present five o’clock shadow and pits of black for eyes, was the new spymaster. He doubted that Dove was his real name but he refused to give up any other moniker, so that is what he was called. Grey knew him from the merchant’s guild. Apparently, it was common business practice for the merchants of Kingshold to fund research into their overseas competition. Mareth was l
earning a lot about how the world really worked.

  Mister Arkel was the final appointment and the new Treasurer of the realm. An up-and-coming banker in the house of Wren & Postlethwaite, he had been coaxed to turn coat and leave the world of finance for this administrative job. Though his unassuming and frankly disgustingly-youthful facade would have you believe he didn’t have much in common with a tavern bouncer, he knew just where to apply the right amount of pressure to get his former employers to squeal.

  “And we have reduced the tariffs and harborage fees; receipts are beginning to stabilize as merchants are returning their businesses to Kingshold,” said Arkel. His voice had the multi-tonal quality of a prepubescent boy’s. He looked at his notes as he spoke. “I also have more good news to report. Negotiations with the Moneylender guild are ongoing, and though they still refuse to lend more coin until the status of the prior debt of the crown is resolved, I do believe I am making headway. I believe it is perfectly reasonable that I can convince them to rollover the existing debt while forgiving twenty-five percent and then provide new lending.”

  Mareth sighed. “Tell me again why we don’t just tell them to take a running jump into the harbor? Neenahwi said that is exactly what Jyuth would do.”

  “Neenahwi is not here, Lord Protector,” said Grey. Mareth bristled at the use of the formal title. He’d mentioned it to her but she refused to change how she addressed him, at least in public. “And neither is Jyuth. Let us not forget that he hardly helped the situation when the wizard stole the election deposits; many are still dealing with the impact of those who took out election loans and were unable to repay. Unfortunately, this city is built on trade, and it is the moneylenders who finance that trade. If we cancel the debt in its entirety, then the same moneylenders that underpin our economy will be bankrupt. Dead broke. And trade will disappear from Kingshold. Unfortunately, Ioth will be more than happy to take our place.”

  Mareth nodded forlornly. The limitations of this office had become apparent all too quickly.

  “If we are able to borrow again, will we be able to create more jobs in the city?” asked Alana. She wasn’t an official member of the council; she and Petra were both observers and advisers. Their involvement, and Neenahwi officially taking Jyuth’s old role, were two things that Mareth had insisted upon. They weren’t even officially allowed to sit at this garish table he had inherited from the king, but in recent weeks Alana had the altogether endearing habit of shuffling her chair forward during the session until she was almost squeezed in between Bream and Grimes—the Commander happily making room though the Major tried vehemently to retain her position. Alana listened intently in the meetings, taking notes throughout.

  Arkel looked at the Chancellor and then at Mareth. “Er, that is one option that will be available to us. Though if there is war…”

  “Hopefully we can all work to avoid that, Mister Arkel,” said Mareth. He felt strongly about this. He would consider it a failure on his part if Edland came into open war with Pyrfew. Uthridge and Crews disagreed with him, and even Neenahwi counseled that Emperor Llewdon was laying traps for them, step by step. But he would be damned if he had to send the ordinary people off to die for something that he didn’t understand.

  “I believe I am meeting today with envoys from other nations with a stake in this,” said Mareth. Grey nodded her affirmation and he continued. “We will obtain allies and together we will stop Pyrfew starting anything. We’ve had peace for years and I will not be the person to go down in history as being responsible for a war that takes in all of the Sapphire Sea.” There were nods from around the table and Mareth was relieved that no one challenged his intention—he wasn’t sure he had anything to back it up with other than hope. “Thank you, everyone. I will see you again in two days.”

  The privy council got to their feet in a chorus of chairs scratching against the stone floor, and purposefully filed out of the room in succession, eager to be about their business. Petra smiled at him as she left and he gave her a halfhearted attempt in reply. Chancellor Grey remained in her seat. Once everyone had left, she spoke.

  “Is there anything else, Mareth?”

  “Yes. These meetings with the envoys. Any advice?”

  “It’s quite simple. Reassure them that Edland wants to continue good relations,” said Grey. She continued, tentatively, “there has been some noise amongst certain circles overseas.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when people see rulers being beheaded and then replaced by someone supported by the commoners, they get nervous. Worried about contagion.”

  “It’s not the bloody pox, Tarrantha. It’s democracy.”

  “Well, some of them are still worried that in either case they’re going to get more than a nasty rash. Just reassure them that we have no intention of exporting our situation and get them to understand that they’re better off with us than with Pyrfew.”

  “Alright.” Mareth nodded in agreement, breathing deeply. He supposed it wasn’t appropriate to sing to his visitors on these occasions, though that would be easier to get the desired results.

  Grey got up and patted Mareth on the shoulder on the way out. “You’ll be fine,” she said, trying to be reassuring. “And remember, don’t mention Eden to the Pienzan delegation.”

  “The Duchess Arabelle of Amteth, my lord,” said Percival, opening the door for a woman of middling years, not unhandsome in the face, and surrounded by a thick aura of superiority. This was someone who knew she was better than Mareth, and he had to fight the instinct to believe it in himself. Mareth rose from his chair to greet her, lightly brushing his lips to her hand, and offered her a cushioned seat opposite him—their chairs identical in style and chosen to increase his guest’s comfort. Stroke the ego and cushion the buttocks.

  “Thank you for coming, your grace,” said Mareth. “Please, excuse my ignorance, but where in Pienza is Amteth?”

  “You are very welcome. And no apologies necessary. Amteth is inland from the coast; it shares the border with Wespar.”

  “Ahh, thank you. I have visited much of the Pienzan coast but have not had the opportunity to venture in land.” Mareth neglected to mention that most of his visits to that particular coastline was during his brief stint as a pirate.

  “You shall have to join us. We do have the most wonderful autumns, but summer is terribly hot though I’m afraid. Of course, I must congratulate you on your recent appointment.”

  “Thank you, your grace. It is an honor and a privilege to be chosen by the people of Edland for this task.” Mareth put on his most serious face. “These are troubling times. I trust your journey was unharried by any of the North Sea Corsairs?”

  “It was longer than usual, but it was safe enough. Since the cowardly attack on Kingshold I’m afraid the pirates have continued to be quite brazen.”

  Mareth nodded. “Yes, we shall have to do something about that. Perhaps an opportunity for our nations to cooperate?”

  “I’m sure that would be most pleasant.” Arabelle smiled as if Mareth had just invited her out for a pleasant afternoon’s picnic, instead of thinning the pirate herd that had taken refuge in the Shards. Was this going well? Mareth really wasn’t sure. This woman was so fake, he couldn’t read her face. He damn sure wouldn’t be inviting her to play spires; he’d likely end up losing the keys to the realm.

  “The pirate king is not our only worry,” said Mareth, diving into the meat of the issue.

  “Oh, really? Please do go on.”

  “Llewdon. The arms of Pyrfew are reaching out across the Green Desert and into the Sapphire Sea. A fleet built in Ioth sails there now. We must show a unified front or he will continue to be emboldened.”

  “That is a delicate subject,” she said, leaning forward to flick a spot of dirt from her shoe with a handkerchief. Mareth found himself looking down the cavernous recess of her cleavage. She sat back up, catching his eye with a satisfied smirk; he swore she did that on purpose. “I believe that Pyrfew
currently bears us no ill will. We have received envoys to reassure us of their intentions. They only wish to share in the bounties of the northern trade.”

  “Well, they would say that,” he blurted out. He took a moment to breathe, he couldn’t let her get to him. “I mean to say, that is a pretense. Once they are established, and have worked their way into our lands, how can we be sure, especially given their history, that their intentions will not change?”

  “I believe that Edland has a fleet in the Sapphire Sea. Does not Edland have representatives in every major trading city? Have you not even exported those vile assassins of the Hollow Syndicate? It seems to me that Pyrfew may simply be following your lead, my lord.”

  Mareth paused. He had to count to ten in his mind and let the anger at these games subside. “We have only ever had peaceful purposes. Trade. That is all.”

  “Well, at least for the last hundred years or so. Wasn’t that the last time our nations were at war?” Mareth grimaced. That was ancient history. Stupid history at that. A war fought over the Shards—close to uninhabitable rocky islands in the North Sea.

  “That was long before my time, your grace. I may not be a master of history but to me it seemed like a waste of people and treasure. And of course, were one of us still in control of the Shards then the Corsairs would not have their safe haven.”

  “Quite,” she said, with a little bow of the head.

  “I may not be able to convince you today, but I do hope that you will pass on my concerns to the Arch Duke and his court. Please remember that we remain a friend to Pienza, and I hope you will consider yourselves in a similar way to Edland.”

  “Of course. I shall deliver the message upon my return. It would also help if you were to make certain assurances about some of your potential future… exports?”