Conquest of Avalon

Fernan IV: The Token Representative

If Fernan had felt out of place at the council table before, it was nothing compared to his position now. The Fox-King and Duchess hadn’t always agreed with what he’d had to say, but their gratitude for the trial was enough that they at least listened to some extent.

“Their obligation is to us, not the other way around.” Guy Valvert waved his hand, as if shooing away the injured himself. “I’ve already released them from service; what more do they want?”

“Once again, there was nothing to release anyone from. The Fox-King asked for volunteers to fend off Glaciel, and hundreds of people lost their lives for it. Countless more were injured, many to the point that they can no longer work. All I’m saying is that, since this happened in service to the Crown, it would make sense for us to provide for the families.”

Valvert wrinkled his nose. Following his lead, most of the rest of the councilors did the same.

With the Fox-King and the Duchess gone to Malin, the Count of Dorseille had brought several of his favorites from up north to aid him here, if ‘aid’ was the right word.

“Your first duty is to our own people. It is not an easy decision, but it is what Guerron needs.” Sire Louise de Monflanquin was his favorite, apparently blessed with long golden hair, not that Fernan could tell the difference, and she never passed up an opportunity for flattery.

“And might I commend your wisdom, my lord, for making the hard choices.” That came from Maréchal Augustin, a crumbling veteran of the Winter War here by virtue of his surname being Valvert.

“The injured I’m speaking about are not just peasants,” Fernan added, in the hopes that it would better suit this audience. “Take Dom Mesnil, for example. He lost his leg, and now he cannot sit ahorse. He’s a knight of good standing, doesn’t it make sense to ensure that his needs are met, and those like him?”

“No peer ought to need a hand-out, and the commoners, as you say, were volunteers. I’m sure everyone got plenty when they raided Glaciel’s castle, regardless. A spirit like that is bound to keep plenty of treasure around.”

“But the army never entered the castle proper! There was nothing to take. All I’m asking is—”

“And your request is noted,” Valvert said, not even bothering to look at him.

Honestly, Fernan gave it about two more meetings before he stopped being asked to return at all. There was a good chance he’d only made it this far because Guy hadn’t bothered to consciously exclude him.

“Now, if we could move on to my wedding. I want a strong show of prosperity, of unity. A rift has formed in Guerron, deepened by the feud between Aurelian and Leclaire, and this is a way to show that such time has passed, that we are stronger and more firmly tied together than ever. People have endured so much hardship under the darkness, and as their stewards, we need to show that the crisis is over. Duke Fouchand never hesitated to feast his people, and our brave Fox-King has followed in his footsteps, and in the path of King Romain. I shall be no different. Now that flames burn once again in our hearths, we can be sure that the new spirit has taken his seat in Torpierre. I have no doubt that my lovely lady of Bougitte will follow thereafter, and I want all of you to be ready. The sooner Guerron can celebrate, the better we can banish the darkness from everyone’s minds.”

A surprisingly good case for it. He sounds almost like Camille.

“And I want a thirty-foot tall statue of myself to preside over the ceremony. We don’t want the peasants close enough to stink it up for us, but they still should be able to see me, and this way they can be far away and still bask in awe. Then, forever after, it shall stand as a monument to our achievements in driving back the darkness.”

And there it is.“If I may, before we move on, I don’t believe we finished talking about the injured veterans and their families.”

“You believe incorrectly,” Sire Louise said, leaning back in her chair. “I’m surprised that even your soft peasant head struggles to follow such a simple conversation.”

“We’ve moved on, Montaigne. Try to keep up.” The Lord of Guerron glanced impatiently at the sundial on the table. “This is almost as bad as that boat from the Isle de la Lune you wouldn’t stop prattling on about.”

“The refugees?” Fernan blinked. “They braved a lot to escape the Avaline occupation, and if you ever want the island back for the Empire, I’d think it smart to show that you stand with its people.”

“Bah! I turned them away in Dorseille for good cause, and the churls thought to try their luck with my softer-hearted cousin. Even she wouldn’t have let them in though, I’m sure. We’ve just endured a crisis. It’s hard enough to take care of our own without adding more unproductive mouths to feed.”

Fernan felt his eyes burn brighter, and tried to tamp the fire down. “Then let’s take care of our own, and provide for the widows and widowers, the families of the injured. They gave so much in service to—”

“Aren’t you listening? My answer is no,” Valvert tutted. “Can we move this along? The Singer’s Lounge is throwing a fête in honor of my engagement, and it would hardly be lordly to be late. Félix, report.”

“I looked into your request, my lord Count,” Félix said, avoiding eye contact as he shuffled papers around the table. Barely over five feet tall, with what Valvert had once mentioned was dark curly hair, he was also of common birth, and seemed almost as out of place here as Fernan. But he’d worked for years in the Bureau of the Sea, directly under Duchess Annette, and had been chosen personally to take over her work in Guerron. Valvert knew he needed Félix to keep things running, unless he wanted to do all of the work himself. That lent the functionary a credibility that Fernan could never really get.

“And? Spit it out.”

Félix gulped. “We think we can recreate the designs in those plans your uncle purchased, though probably only after many prototypes. The airships themselves are described in simple language, and the translation doesn’t seem to have been an issue. That’s so far, but issues always crop up once you actually get into the thicket. I’d expect a workable prototype by the end of the year, assuming nothing goes wrong, which—something always does.”

“Finally, you tell me something I want to hear!” Valvert beamed, glowing brighter than Fernan had ever seen him at a council meeting. “Imagine Lucien’s face when I fly to Malin for a visit. Our army will be equipped better than ever before, all thanks to my wise stewardship.”

“But, my lord, there’s also—”

“I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth except for ‘Yes, my lord’. Am I understood?”

Félix opened his mouth, frowned, then closed it again. “Yes, my lord.”

“And the pistols?”

Staring intently at the ceiling, Félix sucked in air through his teeth. “As best as we can tell, all of the parts were made by separate machines, then assembled together afterwards. Each component is tiny, and requires its own casting. I’ve had our best metalworkers on it, but at best they’ll be able to make two more by the end of the month.”

“Two? Avalon has so many that they didn’t even notice five missing. I want us to be properly outfitted for war”

“They have an entire industrial process set up to make weapons. There’s a district of Cambria with over a dozen factories. We have one bureau workshop and a few metalworkers, who charge triple for their time as an Avaline factory worker. Honestly, it’s a miracle that the reverse-engineering is going even this well without schematics to work from. Those books from Malin made a big difference, but even then, we’ve been extraordinarily lucky. How Antoine thought to test saltpeter of all things for the powder package… Keeping up with Avalon on this is an impossible task. Verrou stole five, but they could have hundreds for all we know. ”

“And my cousin chose you to make the impossible happen.” Valvert clapped him on the back as he stood up. “You’ll make it work for me, don’t worry.”

“Wait, my lord, I wasn’t finished. The fuel is—”

“Yes you are.” Not bothering to push his chair in, Valvert practically flew out of the council chamber, followed closely by all the hangers-on he’d brought with him from Dorseille. In almost no time, Fernan and Félix were the only ones left.

“Do you mind telling me?” Fernan asked, not yet wanting to face the families he’d just failed. “Something about the fuel?”

“Might as well.” Félix sighed. “According to the schematics, the balloons of Avalon’s dirigeables are filled with a gas called dephlogisticated air. My top scientist, Antoine, told me he knows it can be synthesized from a reaction of zinc and spirits of salt, which in turn requires ammonia and vitriol in quantities that… I’m sorry, this is getting a bit deep into the thicket. The problem is that, for a single airship, we’d need enough salt to bankrupt Plagette. Even with all its riches, Avalon can’t be processing it the same way we are, or their fleet would be a tenth its size. But without knowing their method, we have no practical fuel for the balloons.”

Fernan blinked rapidly, trying to take in the rush of information. “That’s a lot. You’re a scientist?”

“Hardly. I’m just the bureaucrat in charge of wrangling them. When the Duchess promoted me, I thought I’d try something new by actually listening to what the people under me have to say, which meant learning enough to understand the decisions I’m making.” He stared past Fernan, as if witnessing something out the window. “Can I be honest with you, Sire Montaigne? I have no idea what I’m doing. Valvert can have his airship, but as it is now, it won’t get two feet off the ground.”

“Ah… I’m sorry.” Fernan started to hold out his hand, then thought better of it. “I’m in a similar position, honestly. I’m sure you’ve heard my background. If I’d headed home a few hours earlier one day, I’d still just be Fernan the scout.”

“And if the Maiden of Dawn hadn’t liberated Malin, I’d still be doing my old job: reading stacks of manifests to look for smuggling and fraud. Instead I’m sitting at the table with the High Priest of the Sun, doing the bidding of the Count of Dorseille.”

High Priest of the Sun… I guess that’s technically true now, strange as it sounds, but it’s not like I’m holding court at the Sun Temple the way Lord Lumière did. Most of the sages that had served there had either followed the Fox-King to Malin or returned to their homes, though Mom and Yves, who’d helped in the White Night, were still keeping track of things at the temple and looking after Aubaine when Fernan couldn’t.

Which is getting to be far too often. There was too much to do even without Guy Valvert; with him, it was a struggle just keeping the city from burning down. “I can see that it isn’t easy for you.”

Félix shrugged. “Lady Annette warned me about him. This is a flight of fancy, if you’ll pardon the pun. Soon enough he’ll be distracted by something else, and we can get to the real work under his nose. At least I’m not stuck as an advocate for a group he has no interest in helping.”

“Yeah.” Lucky you. “You know…” There’s no harm, right? All we’re doing is talking. Even if he doesn’t like the sound of it, I’m sure he’ll leave us alone. “I’m going to a little gathering tonight. Would you like to come with me?”

≋

“I must say, I’m surprised at how well you put this all together, Eleanor! I wouldn’t think someone with your background would be so adept at hosting a salon.”

Fernan frowned at the backhanded compliment, but his mother seemed to take it in stride. “It’s all in the venue, Sézanne. Hard to go wrong when you can look up at the stars.” She gestured up towards the roof of the Temple of the Sun, then placed a hand on Fernan’s shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, we should really talk to Michel before things get properly started.”

She led Fernan away, leaving the arrogant doctor to his wine. “This is about coming together to solve problems. Don’t let it start with a fight.”

“I’m worried it will end with one. If Guy knew we were using his dead best friend’s temple for—”

“For a friendly gathering? I’m given to understand that the sages of Soleil did it all the time.” Michel swept into view, arms pointed out in a way that was probably supposed to look amiable, but came off as faintly desperate. “Do you see any such sages here? It’s a temple of his no longer, nor Aurelian Lumière, nor did it ever belong to Count Guy Valvert of Dorseille.”

“And we’re just talking,” Mother added. “Nothing objectionable about that.”

Fernan bit his lip. You haven’t seen what Guy Valvert will object to. But that was the reason they were gathered here at all, there was no need to curse it by invoking his name aloud.

“You’ve done a spectacular job, Eleanor. I went inside this place a few months ago to work out a taxation dispute, and it didn’t look half so beautiful as it does right now. I especially love the floor. It really compliments the banners.”

Fernan couldn’t properly see either, but a symbol had been layered on both, a triangle missing its bottom line, with a circle behind it. On the floor, it was simply a thin sheet of cloth fixed in place with resin, easily removed after the event, while the banners backed the symbol with a stylized green fire, though in what style Fernan obviously couldn’t say. There would be no removing the symbol from the banners, but they themselves could be taken down.

I’ll see to that. If one of Valvert’s sycophants stumbles in, it would raise a host of questions we don’t want to answer. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”

“You don’t have to attend,” Mother assured him. “If your ties to the Château are too important to risk, I understand completely. Do what’s best for you.”

Not the point. “I’m not sure this is a good idea for us.”

Mother’s face hardened. “That may be, but it is the right idea, and not just for us, but for everyone suffering in this city. I stared down the Queen of Winter, Fernan. I fired a pistol at her myself. I’m not going to be afraid of a group of people just talking.” Seeing the look on his face, she winced. “Not that you need to feel the same way! I support your decision, whatever it may be. But this is my course. We need to look out for our own, because Guerron’s leadership will never see our needs as their first priority.”

They definitely never will if we make ourselves an enemy. The past half year had given ample evidence of how aristocrats treated their foes.

But something had to be done, and they’d all be in a better position to do it if they talked through their options and came to a decision together.

“Will Mara be joining us tonight?” Michel asked, walking towards a statue near the window. If Fernan remembered the layout correctly from when he could see them in the daytime, it’d be the one where Soleil held a nascent Lunette aloft. “Her brother Abel is here, but he isn’t yet terribly articulate in human speech, and it’s important that we include the geckos.”

“She’s coming. I just asked her to guide a guest over, to make sure he found his way.” That, and to make sure Félix didn’t balk at following Mara in, in which case he was no longer welcome in any case. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

“Very good. And how did it go with Valvert?”

Fernan grimaced. “It’s useless trying to talk to him. Either he can’t understand, or he does and he doesn’t care. Either way, no pensions for the wounded. Are you sure—?”

“We don’t have the money, Fernan. What little there is is all tied up in the ice trade we’ve been setting up. I know it’ll work, things were going great before darkness fell, but right now ice is the last thing anyone wants to buy.”

There wasn’t a formal ‘start’ to the salon; it was just a casual gathering, after all. But once Mara and Félix arrived, Mother seemed to take it as a cue to make some announcements. “Welcome friends, Montaignards, defenders of the people. Thank you all for gathering tonight. And thanks to my son, Fernan, for letting us use this temple as a venue.” She raised her glass, and the entire room followed. “Last time, we had a very productive debate on natural philosophy, and I, for one, was stunned to hear Michel’s beautiful singing voice. Why didn’t you ever tell us you could do that?”

“I thought it better to show you.” Michel nodded, stepping up to Mother’s side. “And I must commend my sparring partner of the evening, Georges Sézanne! I’d still maintain that it’s the brutality of nature which society elevates us from, rather than the inverse, but I must respect your rhetorical skills. And your confidence! None of us should be afraid to challenge ideas! That is the very purpose of our gathering. Any notions will only be stronger for surviving the debate.” The solicitor paused, facing Fernan.

Does he want me to speak, or is he daring me to stop him? Fernan inclined his head slightly, giving Michel permission if he was asking for it.

“I had hoped to speak on taxation, and the morality of who administers it, under what rights… But I’m afraid I cannot ignore the dire news that Fernan brought with him. Count Valvert is deaf to our pleas. He does not or will not understand everything we’ve sacrificed for the Crown in the White Night, or the plight of the two hundred and eighty seven souls who will never escape the darkness.” Michel held his shoulders back, sweeping his head across the crowd. “We have no say in our own taxation, nor the ends to which these spoils are turned. We are left to suffer while our Lord builds statues in his likeness. We bled in the White Night, the front lines of the Fox-King’s army, and now his emissary in this city would deny us the barest recompense. Guerron was given to him, but it is the people to whom it rightfully belongs, philosophically if not materially. Is not every soul within entitled to liberty? Is averting starvation not the most base of liberties, at the foundation of all the rest?”

Fernan held his breath, waiting for some dreadful consequence to erupt, but the room stayed silent. Even Félix seemed more intrigued than offended, as Fernan had hoped for when inviting him.

Mara, across the room, shot him a reassuring puff of smoke. “It is,” Fernan found himself saying, trying to keep things together. “And Valvert has been really difficult to work with. If the Fox-King could be persuaded to replace him—”

“With another aristocratic relative of his?” interrupted one of the Condorcet representatives, Citoyen Darce. “Do you expect that things will get any better?”

“They might,” replied his partner, Citoyen Courbet. “I’m sure we can kill them faster than they can send them.”

“No one’s killing anyone!” Fernan asserted, shooting Félix a guilty look. We should have never invited them. “Banish that thought from your heads right now. All we need to do is make him see reason, or have him removed from the role he was appointed to.”

“What, by asking nicely?” Courbet scoffed.

“It’s a better starting point than violence!” Please read how mortified I am from my face, Félix. Camille was more right about Condorcet than he’d thought. “We don’t want to say or do anything we can’t take back.”

“Our speech ought to be free, but in our deeds, Fernan is quite right. I understand that in Condorcet you have a certain way of doing things, and I don’t mean to devalue your experience or expertise, but we’re not looking to escalate so wildly,” Michel insisted, and fortunately the room seemed to back him up in that.

“Don’t mind Citoyen Courbet, she just can’t help but turn to killing as the answer,” Citoyen Darce assured the room. “Conversation and negotiation, compromise and collaboration, these are always the better way to get things done.”

“Cowardice, but that’s the way of moderates.” Courbet darkened, looking around the room for an ally, but none spoke in her defense. “Very well. I can see when my opinions aren’t valued. You’ll come crawling back to me when you realize I’m right.” She pushed her way to the door, leaving it ajar on her way out.

“Do we have anything to be worried about, there?” Mother asked hesitantly.

Darce shook his head. “She’s all talk. And she certainly won’t go blabbing to the Count.”

“Good.”

“But we have to do something,” a voice insisted, though Fernan wasn’t sure who. Another person said, “If Sire Montaigne pleading our case isn’t enough to convince him, what hope have we?”

“We do have the power to make our voices heard, if we all stand together in negotiation.” Michel waved his hand around the room. “There are far more of us than there are of them. We have the acolytes of the sun on our side. We were at the heart of victory in the White Night. The Count should acknowledge that, just as he recognizes the power of his vassals and the knights they command, and considers their wishes accordingly.”

“We already sent a Queen running,” Mother added. “Getting what we’re owed from a mere Count should be much easier.” Fernan heard chuckles around the room, though he couldn’t find it in himself to smile.

They did all that in the White Night, and I almost ruined it all because I couldn’t trust Florette to keep herself safe. Or anyone here. “But there’s no reason to make enemies if we can avoid it.” If I can convince Camille… Even as the thought entered his mind, Fernan felt himself losing hope. “I humbly request a month’s time before we take any firm action. I’m still in Valvert’s council, as is Félix here, who has worked closely with the Duchess. Her gratitude and the Fox-King’s is considerate, and it might be enough to get them to listen.” Especially if Camille primed them for it. “One month, and if we’re still stuck with Valvert, acting as he has…”

“We’ll make sure that we aren’t ignored anymore,” Mother said. “We can take to the street with demonstrations, if we have to. As Michel says, we do have influence, even if Count Valvert has yet to recognize it.”

Michel nodded. “He’ll be better tempered at his wedding than he is now. Perhaps that will make him more amenable. In the meantime, I see no reason we cannot discuss alternatives. Purely as hypotheticals, of course. I wish Fernan all the best in his diplomacy, but we cannot be left bereft if he is unable to succeed. Even you would agree with that, I’m sure. Right, Fernan?”

If there’s really no other way… If the Fox-King won’t listen, even after everything we did for him… “Right.”