"Sir." A man with a black coat enveloping his shoulders announced his presence. He tipped his bowler hat to the side and straightened his coat.
Jan nodded his head, and he stepped into his office. The wooden boards creaked with every step and he stopped in front of Jan's desk. Putting some papers onto his desk, he explained.
"I have compiled a list of concerning matters that you might want to take into account."
He stood there, waiting for his superior's words, looking around the plain office.
That man is Russell Corbyn, a rare Englishman who took up the Great Trek to escape the influence of the Cape Colony. The lone survivor of an attack by elven tribes during the trek, he made his way over to the Natal Republic and find work. As few needed English speakers, he had to work on the farm and fields harvesting crops. Naturally, he took up the opportunity in Port Mpande, and worked as a bureaucrat, as they were looking for English speakers.
Jan took the papers and shuffled through them.
Things of Concern:
* Boer-Zulu relations are tense. Another incident like the assault on the Zulu warrior might spark racial riots. (Notes: Top priority, and would require decades to be resolved)
*
* Subsistence farms are hogging up valuable land used in the districts. Shift them further away from the sea. (Notes: During that transition, many would need work. Perhaps a construction project or two might help smoothen the transition.)
*
* Lack of unity within the population. There is nothing uniting anyone here. Nothing common is shared between the residents. Thus, they stay in their enclaves, rarely intermingling with the other groups. (Notes: Hard one to solve, I'll be honest.)
"Well, that last point is not exactly true. Everyone's here to seek a better life. There's something at least," Jan commented, and Russell nodded in acknowledgement.
* Multiple Religious schools teaching multiple languages have popped up. This will further reduce unity and reduce economic opportunities for those graduating from a school that instructs in a discriminated language. (Notes: Choose one or let it be.)
*
"What language would that be? English? Elfrikaans? Dutch?" Jan looked up at the bureaucrat and asked.
"My native language is English. This might be a little biased, but preferably English. The United Kingdom is the world's leading Great Power. Most commerce is facilitated using English. Whether it be a Frenchman, German or a Russian trader, they will eventually be forced to interact with English."
"And that would be a problem for the Elfrikaans or Dutch speakers here."
"We are opening a trade port here. We are also economically dependent on English goods. No matter what, we will have to interact with the English. The agricultural produce of the Boers is mainly sold to the English," Russell pointed to a window whether Boers were walking the streets. In another district, he could see Elves walking the streets. All types of merchants were hawking goods, but the notable presence of English could be seen.
"So, what you're saying is that eventually Elfrikaans or Dutch or any other language would become an economically discriminated language, as English speakers would be able to pick up the best jobs offered by the English. So even if I don't do anything, that would be the eventual outcome. And so, there is little I could do to even change this outcome."
"It's how the world works. Money talks," Russell shrugged.
"Since it's like that, there is not much I could do for number 4," Jan crossed out line number 4, before continuing, "I could work on number 2. Could you get the Veldkornet Nokuthula to discuss it? Better to nip it in the bud."
"Very well."
The English bureaucrat left and Jan shuffled through the enormous amount of problems on the list. Naturally, Russell would compare the current standards to Great Britain's standards, which is incomparable in the first place. Half of the problems will never be solved. For example, infrastructure. How was he going to get the talent to build trains and railroads?
"I refuse," Nokuthula brusquely replied upon hearing Jan's explanation.
"Why? The port is expected to expand. And we will need more land to accommodate the expansion. We will need to shift all those farms further out."
"That is a Boer problem. Where are the newcomers settling? Boer districts. But what about the Zulu? Barely any newcomers settle in the Zulu districts."
Nokuthula frowned and scoffed, thinking that he called her to waste her time.
Jan could already foresee what was going to happen if he let her be. He could already imagine the poor elves working in the factories as the Boers sat up on the second floor, barking out orders to the elves.
"I do not wish for the Boers to only benefit from such an expansion. Since this project is a collaboration between both Boer and Zulu, then naturally it should equally benefit both. Newcomers will eventually settle in those lands since they'll be cheap. And businessmen would save money. Sure, it will take some time for them to come. But they will come. And you'll have to deal with this problem as well."
Nokthula sighed, "We have put a lot of effort into constructing and planning most of it. And now you come to us and said to throw all of our plans away."
Jan shook his head, "You will not be the only one suffering from such a transition. I'll have to make those farms shift as well. You have authority as a chieftess, but I have little."
The elf snorted derisively, "Just do what all other Boers do, point your guns at the problem and they'll move. You're the Commando, you have the most guns."
"This won't be easy. We have tried to convince the Bakkers with many things and offered concession after concession." Russell remarked as Jan and his entourage of bureaucrats strolled by the Boer outskirts. There were faces of different colours and astonishingly of different genders. If this was the history of his old world, then they would all be male. But due to the corruption of fantasy, the only females were elves, and the humans were all males as in old world history.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"What do they say?" Jan asked.
"Over their dead bodies that their farm will move."
"Did you threaten them with any artillery barrage or something?"
"Not exactly, I just said that we would use any means necessary," Russell sighed, and from what Jan could glean from his eyes, he could see that he thought of them as some dumb countryfolk.
A simple farm spread before the group. The establishment of a fence was being constructed on the land's outskirts, and a man was hammering wood into the soil. He had a musket sling around his shoulder. Jan reached for his gun and felt it touching his back before going ahead.
That man spotted the group and barked in Elfrikaans "I said fuck off!"
He reached for his gun and the rest of them of the bureaucrats also reached for the guns.
"No need for showmanship, you know you won't win."
Jan quickly unslung his musket and pointed it right at that man. Looks like practice paid off as he pulled out the gun faster than that man.
Looking fearfully at the gun pointed right at him, he stopped reaching his gun and asked meekly," Put away such a vulgar thing. what do you want?"
"I am Commando Jan Boddewijk. And I am here to discuss the relocation of your farm."
The male Bakker blinked upon hearing the young man's words, and he looked at the man from head to toe. His expression held confusion as he compared the man before him that looked like a scholar with the ideal Commando he thought of.
"That's the problem if you don't have a currency to mint your face on. We should get our monetary system in place." Russell whispered into his ear.
"Then won't I need to get some gold to back such a currency in the first place!" Jan whispered back at him.
His brain went on autopilot, translating whatever Mr Bakker said. He was in a power pose, keeping his back straight and constantly looking at his eyes. Jan was not intimidated and felt like a crime boss as his gang of bureaucrats surrounded Mr Bakker if he tried to pull anything funny.
"Why should I move? As you can see, I have begun erecting a fence. I will have to do that again! All that time and effort! As well as the crops, I have recently planted them." Mr Bakker growled.
"As my subordinates have discussed, you will be aptly recompensated for your losses. New land would be districted out to your family."
"But what about the time and labour to set things up? I will also need compensation for that!"
Jan took in a deep breath and exhaled. Mr Bakker was not wrong, and he could understand his frustration. Imagine setting everything up and someone else came over to tell him to destroy whatever he was doing and do it again in another place. To put it simply, he would be pissed. But it was not as if money was unlimited, and that he could simply recompensate everyone.
"I can get some men to work for you for free. I am the Commando after all. I can easily conscript your new neighbours to help construct all of this for you. Of course, your neighbours will have to construct theirs as well, so you are expected to help them out if you choose to participate in this."
Mr Bakker's mouth hung open. The bureaucrats' mouths hung open at his suggestion. Such an action would be stepping out of his line. Jan was not some feudal lord; he was a Commando. He can only conscript the men during wartime.
"If your farm needs to be constructed quickly, I don't mind overstepping my boundaries. I'll make sure to let everyone know why I must do so," Jan curled up his lips as he unleashed his thinly veiled threat.
Mr Bakker began slouching in contemplation. The easy way route would be to say yes, but then everyone will know who got them all conscripted. And naturally, he would be absorbing all the aggro from everyone. His smooth-sailing life was over.
"Very well, sir. I will relocate with my family's resources. There is no need for your assistance," Mr Bakker grumbled.
"Where are you going to get all the funds to recompensate those farmers? Plus, I don't agree with your idea of funding their subsistence farming! It's bloody inefficient!" Russell complained.
"These lands are going to be sold to fund the funds. And sometime in the future, perhaps someone will buy up all their farmland and consolidate it. There is no need for our intervention."
Jan felt cold as Russell's words reminded him of someone. If he failed to keep this man reined in, sometime in the future, he was going to create Five-Year Plans. Someone better kept those kinds of books from him.
And so, Jan and his entourage of bureaucrats made their way back to carry out the endless amount of work they had to do.
"Jan."
"Port Natal?"
Praetorius shook his head. At long last, after a few months of travel back and forth, Prime Minister Praetorius made his way back. There was a certain coldness between the two. Jan blinked his eyes and the scene during the Xhosa ambush replayed in the darkness.
Praetorius scanned the surroundings of the port watching the few ships passing by. He turned to see the foot traffic in the Boer districts, filled with traders moving their goods. He then turned to see the Elven districts that had little life in them, a few adventurous traders who were willing to accept cattle and maize as payment hawked their goods. Then he turned to face the Commando in charge of this project, especially the missionary beside him.
"Bonjour." The French missionary bowed, and the cross around his neck shook.
"Just as I was about to take a break… Now I have another problem to solve." Praetorius grumbled.
"This is a French missionary hailing from the French mission to Basutoland. Casalis has set up a meeting with a Xhosa representative."
"This is the way you have thought of to end the raids on trekkers?"
"Better than sending a war party to shoot them until they stop."
"Give me a week or two. The men need some time to rest before they are willing to trek again."
"The Boers have constructed a port!" An English trader stormed into the town council meeting and declared.
The other council members frowned at this intrusion and stared at the English trader.
"Those farmers constructed a port? Are you hallucinating again Bill? Perhaps you didn't drink enough water and hallucinated of Port Natal."
Bill glared at the councilmember but went into his prepared speech, "I don't know how exactly they have done it but they got a port up. What was a mere patch of land in St Lucia Bay became a bustling town! This is disastrous for St Lucia! Who's going to move here when they can move into Port Mpande."
"Mpanda?"
"Mpande!" Bill hollered, before adding on, "Some Zulu word or something. I don't know. But I do know that the Zulus and the Boers are collaborating."
"Bill! Does that even make sense? Would you befriend someone who stole your land and murdered thousands of your people?"
"I'm serious about this, Tom. I don't know why, but maybe you should check it out. A day or two's journey and you should be able to see the sights yourself," Bill shook his head before leaving the hall.
"That's Bill, always getting drunk and storming into council meetings. Thinking he's councilmember." A council member remarked and they laughed.
"Strange, I didn't smell the scent of whiskey of him…" The member nearest to Bill mumbled.
"Just saying… what if he was right? Then what do we do?" Tom Simon asked, remembering the previous instance when a Boer came over and introduced himself.
"You think those Boers would launch an attack on us? They only bully the weak. Those elves can't fight back with their spears. But they have guns. We also have guns. Just let them be, I don't see how they would cause any harm."
"That's not the problem. The problem is the question of this town's existence. If you had a choice between the Boer town or this, which would you rather pick?" Tom asked.
"St Lucia of course! Why would I want to live in a town run by farmers? It would smell like shit everywhere."
"Let's say Bill is right. And they have built a port. And with that, comes lots of jobs offered that are linked to the port. Would you rather live in St Lucia or the Boer town where you will be able to get a better standard of living, as well as better access to goods?"
The council member stammered, unsure of what to answer to that.
"That brings the question of the reason for St Lucia's existence. Why should this town still exist?"
"Because it's run by Englishmen, for Englishmen!" An Englishman declared.
"Not all would think like you. And if a sizeable enclave of Englishman settles in the Boer town? Then what then? You can live in an Englishtown run by Englishman."
The room fell silent as members pondered Tom's words.
"Perhaps we should take a look for ourselves before panicking over nothing." A council member proposed, and they all sided with him, chiding Tom for fearmongering like that.