Conquest of Avalon

Fernan I: The First Speaker

“You’ll forgive me, Sire Montaigne, if I find it difficult to take you at your word. Your city’s previous representative proved most unwilling to honor his contracts with our noble republic.” Bernard Aureaux, foreign minister for the Plagetine Senate, flickered in the flames.

Fernan straightened, his simulacrum of lakeshore sand doing the same miles to the south. “And who was this previous representative?” Because I have a feeling I know where you’re going with this.

“None other than the Count of Dorseille, Lord of Guerron in the Duchess’ stead and cousin to the Debray herself, the very man still rotting in your dungeons: Count Guy Valvert.”

Of course. Even after four years locked away in his chambers, Guy Valvert was still finding new ways to cause them problems. “Well, it shouldn’t be a mystery why he wasn’t able to honor the deal, then.”

The flames rippled as Aureaux raised an eyebrow. “The deal was with the City of Guerron. If the City of Guerron will not honor it, then surely it will understand how that calls its faithfulness into question.”

“We have a new government now! We’re not beholden to Valvert’s feckless decisions. You were once First Speaker yourself, Monsieur, and then the Senate voted in Marguerite Merlan. Surely, she did not honor your every commitment and policy, else why would she have replaced you at all?”

“The proper address is ‘my lord’, Sire Montaigne.” Aureaux ground his teeth, sparks flying from the simulacrum’s mouth.

“And, be that as it may, the agreements of Plagette stand. The Republic honors its commitments. Reputation is everything, Sire Montaigne, and not only for earthly contracts. If our patron spirits sense even the slightest inkling of connection to the betrayer—”

“Camille Lecaire has no involvement with the Guerron Commune,” Fernan insisted, tired of having to make this argument over and over again. “She and I signed the treaty of Charenton, and that was that.” Aside from working together to slay Levian, but connecting myself to her ‘treachery’ there would only hurt me in this negotiation. She, Maxime, and Jethro were the only humans aware of Fernan’s involvement in Levian’s death, and none of them had yet seen fit to reveal that fact, nor had the spirits, but Fernan knew better than to think it would stay concealed forever.

Aureaux, however, seemed skeptical. “And yet you ousted her most notable opponent in Duke Fouchand’s council, a staunch ally of her sworn enemy, Lord Lumière. You’re still imprisoning him, and his wife, and his sworn protector.”

Is ‘sworn protector’ what you call a mistress down in Plagette? “We offered to release Louise de Monflanquin, provided she swore never to take up arms against the Commune. She spat in our faces and declared that she’d never debase herself before a coal miner’s son.”

“Well, you can hardly blame her.” Aureaux blinked, as if realizing for the first time. “Was that truly your father’s profession? How is it that a peasant such as you entered the confidences of Leclaire at all?”

A comedy of errors, really. But above all, you can thank Florette. “Because I was and remain a sage of light, Monsieur le Ministre.” No self-respecting First Speaker of the Guerron Commune will ever address a mere man as ‘my lord’. “Then, I represented the Flame Under the Mountain. Today, it is the people of Guerron.”

“And tomorrow, perhaps, the face-stealer? You’re hardly the picture of a High Priest. By all accounts, the traitor of dawn was ready to lead a host against your little upstart of a city, until you converged with the Prince of Darkness, another ally of hers, and the next morning the Torrent of the Deep was dead. How am I meant to take that? What am I to make of a dog that’s bitten every master it ever served?”

Fernan’s eyes flared, spraying sand into Aureaux’s eyes. “The only master I serve is the will of the people. Only their enemies shall feel my bite.” He let the unspoken threat linger for an instant as Aureaux composed himself, then used the pause to strike a more conciliatory tone.

“I assure you, I have no love for Leclaire.” Even though the choice that all your contempt stems from, stopping Levian, was the best thing she ever did, and she couldn’t have done it without me. “Your spirits may rest easy knowing that you treat with the High Priest of the Sun. ” As nominal as that title might be in practice.

“After the mysterious death of the last.” Aureaux clicked his tongue. “Aurelian Lumière was an excellent customer, Sire Montaigne, and a stalwart ally to Plagette. Ever since you took over his temple, demand for our opium wine has fallen as if a star from the very sky.”

“Because we stopped burning people alive!” Fernan spat fire as he spoke the words. “Lumière bought opium wine by the wagon because he sacrificed people as easily as breathing. You are welcome to mourn your friend and business partner, but I’ll not stand here and listen to you valorize the man over his worst deeds.”

“No, of course,” Aureaux said, surprisingly backing off. Why concede the point? It’s not like Plagette ended the practice of sacrifice. Say what you will about Camille Leclaire—and Fernan had, on uncountable occasions—her Code Leclaire had at least managed that.

“Aurelian was a man of many flaws, to be sure,” Aureaux continued. “The only thing separating him from Leclaire is that he failed where she succeeded.” Not sure I agree with you on that one, but at least you’re not dwelling on it anymore. “But with his passing, we lost the Temple as a customer. With Valvert’s imprisonment, we lost his contract for more than eight hundred thousand florins worth of arms.” Khali’s curse, Valvert would have had to tax the city into the dust to pay for that. “When the Senate heard that Fernan Montaigne wished to negotiate, laughter filled the chamber for minutes on end. Commerce is the lifeblood of the Republic, and your usurpation was like unto a landslide above the road.”

And, of course, somehow it’s still all about your own enrichment. Fernan knew better than to be surprised anymore, but he wasn’t yet so hardened that he couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. “The fact remains that I have never broken faith with Gézarde as Leclaire did with Levian. We have a city full of people eager to purchase your country’s wares, and with no shortage of goods of our own to trade.”

“The gecko glass?” Aureaux scoffed. “A few expensive sculptures are hardly sufficient recompense, no matter the renown for their craftsmanship. Your ice, while similarly nice to have, is wildly insufficient to offset what we lost.”

Bluster all you want, but it took months to set this meeting up. The fact that your Senate bothered at all means that you aren’t as disinterested as you’re making yourself out to be. Or, at the very least, the Senate as a whole was not. Aureaux himself was either sincere or extremely adept at playing the role.

But either way, the Foreign Minister had an incentive to see this deal through. “Will you honor Valvert’s contract?”

And bankrupt the Commune just to fill it with weapons? “I’m afraid not.”

“Then I’m afraid—”

“But I will live up to my predecessor, at least in the one respect you seem to care so much about. The Temple’s stores of opium wine are deep, but they are not infinite.”

Aureaux scratched his chin, flames of his hand flickering through the impression of a beard. “You perform no sacrifices, and yet you deplete your sacrament fast enough to come begging us for more. Curious...”

I might not like it, but as long as Lyrion keeps throwing mandala at us for every bottle they get their hands on, I can’t put my distaste over the good of the Commune. Mentioning that, however, would be ill-advised. As soon as Plagette realized Guerron’s role as a middle-man between the spiritual nations of the continent and the Special Administrative Zone of Lyrion, they’d take any steps necessary to cut them out and profit from the difference.

Instead, Fernan played into his prejudices, affecting a tone of voice laden with shame. “With no nobility in our government, it wasn’t long before many of our people turned to it for comfort. I can assure you that our Assembly members are well-supplied for personal use, but many of the commoners are running out. A shortage would be survivable, but bothersome, and we’d sooner avoid it.”

Aureaux nodded ruefully, clearly satisfied at being ‘correct’. “There are some in the Senate who were flattered to see a great city of the Fox Empire flock to our republican values, while others feared the chaos of your... disruption. First Speaker Merlan will be pleased to hear that her hopes were not wholly in vain, though it seems that my predictions as to your moral decay proved more accurate still. I caution your mignon little polity to watch itself carefully. We’ll start small with one shipment, to ensure that you can be trusted. Send me twenty-thousand now, and another twenty upon delivery. If all goes smoothly, then we can discuss further shipments.”

“Very well,” Fernan agreed, though the price was steeper than he’d been expecting. Still less than half of what Lyrion will pay, though. “I’ll dispatch Citoyen Mesnil to see that it arrives safely. It was a pleasure speaking with you,” he lied.

“Mesnil... With the wooden leg?” Aureaux’s nose wrinkled.

“He was nobly born, knighted by the Fox-King himself. Your Senate will find no escort more trustworthy.” And when the Battle of White Night lost him his leg, he poured his entire life into helping the city’s wounded, from medicine to accommodations to social remedies, so I know I can trust him too. There were others in the Commune who’d been born aristocrats, some among them that Fernan would consider friends, like Charles des Agnettes, but their devotion to the Commune was hardly beyond question, at times smacking of insincere opportunism. Send the wrong person, and there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t return as a spy on Plagette’s payroll, or not at all.

Dom will welcome an excuse to travel, in any case. The younger Mesnil brother hadn’t even left the city since the White Night, and Fernan had caught him throwing a letter from his brother into the fire on four separate occasions, the latter of which was mere days ago. A bit of time away would help to clear his head, Fernan hoped.

“Then I shall await his arrival,” Aureaux closed, inclining his head slightly then abruptly stopping, as if suddenly realizing that Fernan wasn’t worthy of it. An instant later, the flickering flames dissipated, leaving Fernan alone in the glass Communication Chamber. In warmer months, he still preferred to do this outside—there was a lovely courtyard reserved for the purpose, away from any prying ears—but spring was coming slowly this year. There was a very real fear that frigid rain might splatter down over the Festival of the Sun, and they didn’t have nearly the supply of tents needed to compensate.

But that’s the least of our problems. Fernan checked his wristwatch—a remarkable gift from Luce to celebrate the anniversary of the Treaty of Charenton, its face glowing with a constant warmth that allowed him to read the time from it despite the limitations of his vision—and noted that he still had half an hour before the Assembly convened. Cut it closer than I’d like, but I should still be fine. If the First Speaker of all people were late, it would send entirely the wrong message, even though he had no doubt that they would wait for him. And it’d be amusing if I weren’t the one to speak first.

All the Assemblymembers were waiting for him, standing when he entered the chamber. As soon as he took his position in front of the Magistrate’s chair—kept ceremonially empty to be as unambiguous as possible that no man ruled Guerron alone—the Assembly sat back down, ready for Fernan to start.

“I, Citoyen Fernan Montaigne, First Speaker of the Guerron Commune, now call to order the one-hundred and eighteenth meeting of the Guerron Assembly. Every one of us stands here, chosen by the people, with the solemn responsibility to speak with their voice, to ensure that their concerns are heeded, and their needs attended to, all in service of freedom, equality, and prosperity.”

Ceremonial language concluded, Fernan moved on to the first item on the meeting’s agenda. “I just concluded a very successful negotiation with the Foreign Minister of Plagette, Bernard Aureaux.” All the more successful considering what a massive prick he was. Alas, mentioning that part for the official transcript would be ill-advised. “He has agreed to our proposal, conditional on a trial shipment provided for twenty-thousand florins. I move that Citoyen Dominic Mesnil oversee the transfer of funds and accompany this shipment home.”

“I second the motion,” said Citoyen Eleanor Montaigne, an influential figure in the center of the Commune’s Assembly who also happened to be Fernan’s mother. Outside this room, the importance of those two things is reversed, but with the Assembly in session, her first duty is to her constituents, as it should be.

When Fernan called a provisional roll, Edith Costeau, Gilbert Barnave, Gabriel de Gaume, and most of the right enthusiastically affirmed the decision, along with the other members at the center of the chamber—albeit less exuberantly.

With only a few exceptions, the ‘no’ votes all came from the left, with Séverin Marceau, Étienne Lantier, and Paul Armand in particular practically spitting the word out in disgust.

Fantastic... Bracing himself for severe unpleasantness, Fernan opened the topic up for discussion.

“Mesnil was knighted by Citoyen Renart himself!” Marceau cried. “His brother captains his guard! How are we to trust such a man with a mission of such great importance?”

“Importance?” Lantier spat back. “This Assembly has just voted to grease the streets with the blood of every Lyrion addict suckling at opium’s teat. I for one find it galling that our First Speaker is willing to enrich himself by peddling a substance that destroys lives and tears families apart.”

“Lyrionaise families,” countered Barnave. “And only those who willfully choose to plunge themselves into depravity. If anything, this strengthens our position relative to the League—why should we concern ourselves with the free decisions of a free people? Was that not the principle upon which our Commune was founded? If we don’t facilitate, another will simply take our place.”

“That doesn’t mean we need sully our own hands.” Those words, along with the sole ‘no’ vote from the right, came from Philippe Montrouge, the merchant whose unjust imprisonment had been the catalyst for the entire rebellion. “Our friends in Avalon have banned the substance for the dangers it poses, and for good reason: it rots the mind. We ought to ban its sale and transport entirely, along with pixie powder and marigold wine, rather than condemn ourselves to degeneracy.”

Fernan let them speak, barking back and forth long enough to wear themselves out, then took a roll call for the binding vote. After such a long discussion, exchanging so many arguments both silly and sound, the final vote tally was identical to the provisional vote from the beginning.

Fernan, as was his custom where his vote was not needed to decide the matter, abstained. Though I can’t help but wonder if Montrouge has a point. Banning marigold wine and naca extract, as the merchant had so frequently advocated, would be obvious folly; prohibiting pixie powder would probably cause the Commune to collapse within a week. But the long term effects of opium wine were poorly understood, since its use at the temple had largely been reserved for those imminently being burned alive. In such a position, any dulling of the pain had been considered a worthwhile trade, but the insatiable demand from Lyrion implied a rather different relationship with the substance.

“I move that a committee be formed to research opium wine and better understand its impacts, that we might make a more informed decision once Plagette is ready to increase their volume of trade,” Fernan offered, trying to reconcile the Assembly. In this, at least, all but a few of the crustiest on the right of the chamber agreed.

Appointments to said committee were the prerogative of the First Speaker, one of the few formal powers entrusted to the office, and Fernan wasted no time in appointing Montrouge and Lantier to leadership roles, but threw in Barnave and Costeau as counterpoints, lest the prohibitionists run away with the narrative unchallenged.

“Moving on to the next item, Citoyen Armand would like to address the Assembly.” Fernan waved him towards the podium, stepping back towards the Magister’s seat without sitting in it. “Your two minutes begin now.”

For the first few weeks, there hadn’t been a time limit, with the result that meetings had dragged on for hours upon hours. Once the rules about public comments had been ironed out, it had only been a small leap in logic to extend the limitations to the Assemblymembers as well, which had been greatly welcomed.

Armand was welcome to exercise his right to free speech on his own time, at a venue of his choosing, for however long he desired, to whomever cared to listen. Today, thankfully, two minutes was all that needed to be endured.

“Many of you know that I once served under Citoyen Debray in the Harbor Guard, an instrument of justice and injustice both, as so many of us who once served in the false Duchy government must grapple with.” According to Armand, he’d even been one of the guards that had dragged Fernan in front of Camille Leclaire back when he’d first entered Guerron. He trotted the anecdote out whenever it suited his argument, but as Fernan didn’t remember him, it was pretty much impossible to verify either way. “But, however unjust its ends, our utility to the Bureau of the Sea could not be denied.

“In the last month alone, we’ve had three break-ins in the Merchant Quartier, two City guards caught slipping luxuries to Citoyen Valvert in exchange for coin, and four engineers on the airship project signing confessions to taking bribes from Avalon!”

Fernan held his tongue, following the procedure, but he badly wanted to correct the record right away. The engineers had been playing dice with some of the visiting Avaline scientists, and they’d had a good night. That had only turned into ‘confessed bribery’ after Armand had gotten wind of the coin changing hands and decided to make a mountain out of it.

“It is long past the time that the Commune secures its defense by whatever means necessary. Our city is in chaos, and the enemies of the revolution thrive! Citoyen Montaigne, our respected First Speaker, I have come to you many times with my concerns, and at every turn you have delayed and prevaricated. The people can wait no longer! I call upon you now to form a special police force to take firm, decisive action against counterrevolutionary activity in all its forms. Thank you.”

Sickeningly, his speech received no small amount of applause.

With no small amount of dread, Fernan followed procedure and opened the matter for discussion.

“It seems sensible enough to me,” Barnave began, getting things off to a terrible start. Of all the things to unite the likes of him and Armand, it’s this? “The city guard was formed in the earliest days of our Commune, their regulations so slapdash that few of us feel safe without our own coterie of personal guards. Not to mention that their restrictions render them ill-suited for rooting out our enemies. This way, the city guard would be freed to focus on crimes better suited to its writ, grand theft chief amongst them. Would we not all feel safer, knowing that our Commune is protected from enemies within and without?”

“I wouldn’t,” Costeau countered, thankfully. “Imagine if Paul Armand were put in charge of this police force, Gilbert, as he so clearly is angling to do. Would you feel safer then?”

“Well, we needn’t—”

“No you would not,” she interrupted. “Because your head would no longer rest atop your neck. We’ve all heard his calls for executions; are we to expect that this proposal is any different?”

“We could compromise,” Lantier offered, despite the numerous occasions that he’d treated the very concept as a crime against the Commune. “This special force needn’t be imbued with the power of life and death. They could apprehend counterrevolutionaries, empowered to act decisively against enemies of the Commune, with trials in the Assembly to assess their guilt. Only after a majority vote might such an enemy be condemned to death.”

“Well...” Gabriel de Gaume wheezed, visibly straining to speak. “I don’t know... What...? Who...?” He collapsed into a fit of coughing before he could get to his point. It was disappointing, after his strong showing in the early years of the Commune. When calls had been loudest to execute Valvert, de Gaume had been a strong voice of restraint, a sensible leader that many on the right of the chamber looked to for guidance.

And now his health is so poor that he can’t even get a sentence out. In truth, he’d already begun to show signs before the last round of elections, but the people of the Northern Hills district had chosen him anyway, and so they were stuck with a representative barely able to raise his hand to vote in a roll call, let alone fiercely advocate for their interests.

“A most equitable proposition,” Armand agreed, ignoring de Gaume’s unmade point and earning a mix of smiles and reluctant nods from around the Assembly for doing it.

I have to do something fast. This was what Fernan saved his influence for, the most pivotal moments when more subtler means were either unavailable or insufficient. “I disagree.”

The room fell silent at his words, immediately clearing the way for him to continue speaking uninterrupted.

“The power of life and death belongs to Terramonde alone. Armand himself concedes that his harbor guards erred, and yet he thinks that a just cause alone will be sufficient to ensure that no one is ever executed unjustly. Such a thing is patently impossible, and allowing the risk would be a monstrous affront to the will of the people.” Nevermind that the loudest of those people are right there alongside Armand. “I would vote against any such proposal, with prejudice. All who believe in justice would do the same.”

That second sentence was obviously a lie, more blatant than most, but it served to hem their position in, forced to either publicly defy Fernan Montaigne’s wisdom or stand for injustice. Fernan didn’t like relying on his personal cachet, but it was all the stronger for his restraint.

Still, that alone would only serve to delay the issue until the next theft or bribery was discovered, upon which Armand or one of his ilk would raise the point again. And, then, Fernan’s word alone might not be enough to stop it.

“However,” Fernan continued, “it is clear that safety and security are of notable concern to the people and their representatives, and it would be unwise to ignore that. To that end, I move for the creation of a new committee whose sole focus is ensuring public safety.” That should quiet them down for a bit, and Armand can squawk as much as like without any power to hurt anyone.

“I second the motion,” Edith Costeau agreed immediately, and before long it was passed unanimously. That much was encouraging, even if they’d been only moments away from disaster.

Armand put himself forward to chair the committee, obviously, but Fernan didn’t much like the idea of validating him in that respect, so he left the leadership to Michel, with Mom and de Gaume to help balance out Lantier and Armand. The solicitor-turned-Assemblymember was away on a diplomatic mission in Lyrion at the moment, so the committee wouldn’t even be able to convene until he returned.

That should serve for now, but I fear it won’t be sufficient long-term.

“A moment of your time, my dear?” Edith Costeau approached him as soon as the meeting was concluded. “I was hoping we could discuss this patent law that Philippe is trying to push through. I’m given to understand that you don’t have any strong opinions one way or the other, and I believe that simple discussion of the facts will help to change your mind.”

Well, let’s see, on the one hand we have improved ties with Charenton and Avalon both, protecting the inventors of crucial technologies from being ripped off by thieves and scoundrels, and on the other hand we have the pulsebox magnate Edith Costeau, whose design was stolen from no less than the King of Avalon.

Still, she’d proven more than sensible today, and Fernan could afford to hear her out. “What did you have in mind?”

“You and Maxime should come over for dinner. I have a Rhanoir red too good not to share with a friend, and my husband’s been dying to meet you.” Oh, so that’s how you’re playing it? Harmless enough, Fernan supposed, even if he had no real desire to meet M. Costeau. “Tomorrow night?”

“Sure, that works.” I’ll have to make sure Mara can watch Aubaine, but that’s not usually a problem.

“Oh, one small detail, my dear, and I do hope you won’t take issue—my husband’s research assistant is staying with us for a few days, and it would be untoward to exclude a guest from our table.”

“That’s fine, it’s just dinner.” Honestly, you must not know me at all if you think I’d care. “What’s her name?”

“Countess Srin Sabine, of Mahabali Hall. Thomas took her under his wing at the College, and I’m given to understand that she’s proven invaluable to his research in the Giton Desert.”

Ugh, great, another aristocratic twit.