‘Being X did this.’ I thought as I entered the hospital ward. Like most public hospitals, this one was very poor, frankly it was dirty. Walking through it with Visha behind me, I went not to the area where the wounded lay, but instead to the director. I had two armed guards behind me in addition to Visha.

And it’s at times like this that the human character disgusted me the absolute most. It wasn’t the inefficiency of not looking after your labor class and depriving people of the basics of free will that let markets thrive. No, what really disgusted me was how easy it was to convince people of things they wished were true.

“Why is your hospital such a mess?!” I demanded. “Even walking through the hall on the way here I saw no fewer than three rats!”

“It’s a public hospital, I…” At least he understood who he was talking to. Between my dress and the royal guards, even if he hadn’t been there or seen my photo, he must have figured it out.

“I don’t want excuses! You are in charge, aren’t you? Then that means it is your responsibility to ensure your hospital is clean, serviceable, and has everything it needs!” I snapped.

The administrator’s face was stressed, drawn, sweating and wrinkled, his mustache was neat at least. “Your Majesty, I… I would have it up to the standards you expect, but,” he spread his hands, “I have no more money to hire staff here. We can’t keep the bugs and rodents at bay if we can’t afford people to clean up. We don’t have enough nurses, or doctors. Most of them were taken for the war effort! I requested more funding, I request more funding all the time, but nothing comes of it!”

“I see.” I answered and narrowed my eyes, Visha, a credit to her status and experience, quickly moved up behind me and already had her notepad and pen ready. “Visha, take a note. All public hospitals will need to be audited for their financial expenditures. In addition, every administrator who has not requested additional funding we should arrange to have replaced ‘if’ they have not requested funds, or not used funds wisely. In addition,” I met the sweating administrator’s eyes, “every head administrator will put, in writing, that the wartime expenditures are the reason for their understaffing.”

“I’ll write it out right now!” He squeaked and yanked a watermarked piece of stationary from his desk and immediately began to write.

“In the meantime, after my visit with the wounded, you are to personally arrange for the transport of all the wounded to whatever private facility is responsible for caring for the House of Lords and affiliated persons, without regard for who they are. They were injured coming to see me crowned, I won’t leave them behind with rats for company.” This was why I wanted to laugh, this was what disgusted me.

I got to sound all noble and goodhearted and showed how much I cared… and it cost me absolutely nothing. I gained easy political points, an argument for ending the war since I can shove the cost of it at home into the faces of the general public, and I’d wager good money that the private hospitals didn’t have to give up their doctors for the war effort in such numbers.

“My Queen what about-” I cut him off with a sharp chopping motion of my hand.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“I’ll consider your words. If what you say is true, your job is secure, you might even get promoted, you can’t be expected to do adequate work with inadequate supply. But if you’re the best of a sorry situation, perhaps you can make the whole thing better.” I suggested the tentative possibility, the relief on his face and the sight of him nearly collapsing into his chair was proof enough that he at least believed he was good at his job.

Whether he actually was or not, that was another matter.

Visha took the written statement after he signed it, folded it, and put it in the bag she had slung over her shoulder.

“My Confederates and I… we want what is best for this country. I want peace, it’s better for long lives and good health.” It wasn’t really a joke, but it did seem to intensify his relief as he bowed at the waist.

“God save the Queen.” He said, and I made my way back the way I’d come. A special wing was set aside for the injured in the attack, and it was every bit as bad as the halls. There were no screams, but there were groans of pain aplenty. My guard opened the door and allowed me through, and there they were. A long, long line of beds on both sides of the wall, cheap white curtains hung loose from metal rings for a semblance of privacy.

“Her Majesty, Queen Tanya Albert Degurechaff!” The guard’s shout when I entered was probably needless.

They could have easily heard that booming voice when I came in. A few tried to sit up and look at me, others were unconscious, and others were able to sit up easily. Some were missing limbs and had bandaged stumps where arms and legs once were.

Thankfully, there were no photographers yet, there were bound to be some cynics who would think it was just a photo opportunity for publicity. It was, but this would allay those concerns. My power of cynicism was far greater than their own, I knew very well that if I put on a nice act before the cameras arrived, I’d sell it even better, so when they ‘did’ take photos, the behavior of the injured would be even more ‘real’, more ‘genuine’ because they would be exactly that.

‘Never try to out cynic this cynic.’ I thought as I went from bed to bed. “How are you holding up?” I asked and held out my hand. I barely came up to bed height, and I had to rise up to my tiptoes to hold out my hand until Visha, reliable Visha, rushed a footstool over for me to stand on so I could see and be seen easier.

“The food’s awful… it’s filthy… and…gah, my foot… it hurts…” A middle aged man groaned, he was missing that foot. He was one of the lucky ones. Phantom pain, where somebody feels pain in a limb that isn’t there. I’d heard of it before, it does no good to tell them the part is missing.

“It must be a morphine shortage, they’ve been sending it all to the front.” Visha said when I looked back over my shoulder at her. She knew just what to say to drive home my point about the high cost of war. You don’t have to go into the fighting, to suffer because of it.

“I see. Well if it helps, the food will be better at, what is it called?” I asked one of my guards.

“Le Hospitale le Royale.” The guard answered, that made sense. The nobility here was also descended from the French, so any hospital established for their use probably still had the old French names.

“Yes. I’ll have you all transferred there where you can get better care. You came to see me, it’s the least I can do to make sure you’re treated properly.” My words sent a buzz amidst the injured.

By the time the press caught up, the wounded were all very much ‘God save the Queen’ types in sincerity.

It made for some truly marvelous photos. And dropping the name of the political party the Prime Minister suggested, certainly helped.

I would dare say that I found some of my first and most loyal members.

All things considered, that made it a very good day.