The bronze doors were quite good at isolating sound, as he, from outside, had not heard the chattering abound inside the stone room.
All ministers sat in luxurious seats —surrounded by their attendants—, though in front of a large and austere stone table, which appeared to have been carved up and out of the ground itself, as if melded into the plain stone floor. Rough human shapes and unintelligible scenes decorated it. Dossiers, dipping pens, ink, plain paper, among other implements, lay strewn about a top of it, accompanying the minister’s elbows and speculating hands.
The room —large, but not overbearing so—, was built in the same stone motif, and carved with similarly indistinct scenes and forms. However, as an act of propriety, aesthetics and proper decoration, its simple stone skin had been covered in paintings; portraits of important ministers at one side, kings on the other, among luxurious aromatic wood tables, with trinkets and symbolic objets de vertu, which, surely, held some historic significance to Royal Affairs.
Surprisingly, the strange room was not lit by lanterns or candles, but by dimmed sunlight, which dripped into the space via some… windows? Rectangular panes of opaque and frosted opal-like glass, which made it impossible to see the scenery outside. He thought for a second, but was unable to figure out how the room was kept ventilated.
It was, in short, a strange place. An eerie fog covered by the sensibilities of the dying century. And, as they entered, the chattering died down, ceasing the half a second long reprieve he had felt from the dull tinnitus, still accosting him.
When he looked inside, he noticed, immediately, as among all ministers was one —smoke bellowing from a pipe rested between his lips—, who sat alone, with no attendant by his side. A pensive look creasing his brows, and rosy skin coloring his round face. Recognition immediately flashed in his mind; this was Otto Alle Bassáth. However, his wasn’t the only face he recognized —Alphonse had partially briefed him on some of the ministers. Not all, however, as he insisted on Roderin learning in exposure to Royal Affairs, and not by word of mouth. The old First Minister, Alistair Lanthym, was the second most recognizable of faces around the table. Because of his near lifelong tenure as first minister, serving under four kings —only two, really— and being known for his competency, craftiness and loyalty to the kingdom, the name was commonplace among discussions of the crown’s politics, its innerworkings and the like. Known to be respected by most quarters of public opinion and hated the least out of the king’s circle by radicals, Roderin discerned the man after Bassáth. Although he had not known of his appearance —perhaps he had seen him in some public event as a child?— his eyeing of the ministers during the Fylassein Fatae made the man’s features somewhat clear, compounded with the fact he was the only grey headed minister among Affairs, his nervous eyes had darted to him after Bassáth. There was also a youthful visage, which made itself shine among the sedate middle-aged ministers and the veteran Alistair, a recent addition, ushered in only a couple of years ago: Aurèle Andre Hulme, Minister of Finance, a graduate of Vanus, as was he himself.
‘From the department of Mathematics, was he? Or Mercantile Sciences and Chrematistics…?’ He had thought when conversing with Alphonse; and, was sure, he swore, had seen Hulme in Vanus’ corridors years ago; a tad clearer than the foggy memory of one of Alistair’s —perhaps fictitious— public appearances. As for the others…
A balding man with a disinterested glare, dressed as if adorning himself for the king’s court were an unbearable punishment. Black hair —and oddity this far north in the continent— was his most distinctive feature.
Another, trimmed impeccably in all aspects, and dressed in evidently expensive couture —although not gaudy, but in extremely good taste— grazed the first years of forty with dignity. Auburn locks and emerald green eyes perfectly adorned his handsome face.
Opposite to him sat a stern and bearded officer —if the uniform were to be believed. Mindlessly occupying his hands with a pen as he fixated on the chamber’s ceiling; perhaps enamored by some ornate pattern?
And, finally, a wide-eyed and intellectual type, looked at his king appearing, suddenly, with a newcomer in tow, attempting to puzzle out in his mind what the surprise entailed.
Roderin could only unfreeze his steps as he crossed the room’s threshold. Sight lightly grazing all those present. He stood behind Alphonse as his friend strode in —clear hauteur in his walk—, calmly addressing the ministers.
“Gentlement.”
A chorus of Your Majesty’s reached the King as Affairs stood respectfully.
A strand of confusion was made clear on Bassáth’s brow as he greeted Alphonse, and recognized his attendant, Musnier, trailing obediently behind… the academic? What was his name… Rodric? Robin? Roland…? An utterly stupefied expression must have registered on his face as he…
The dots connected and everything was made clear… The Fylassein Fatae, the unknown, random Baronet walking by “His Majesty’s” side, Musnier arriving late…
Had it been obvious to all those present? The realization… His face went chromatic, blinking and flashing between a wave of differing emotions, condensed in a palette of expressions, flowering in the span of a breath.
He attempted to center himself, cease the evident outpouring of disbelief and irritation. How dare they plot against him in this manner?
His countenance had shifted into something else… similar to smoldering anger and resignation, so as to not dig a deeper pit. And, as he fell into this muted outrage, Alphonse’s voice addressed him.
“Huh? Viscount Bassath…”
“Yes, your Majesty?” He responded, managing to make the words heard between grinding teeth.
“Why are…You must have… not received the decree…? Hah…” Alphonse showed great regret, shaking his head as he held his brows. “First Minister Lanthym, did you inform Viscount Bassáth’s household?”
“Yes, your Majesty. Although I did not carry out the enrollment or registry in person, the decree was made evident to the Bassáth Household, of that I am certain.” The old minister assured, adjusting his pince-nez. “I did not wish to breach propriety and question the Viscount on his appearance for today’s convening of Affairs… His behavior was most vexing… arriving at the cathedral… I now see…”
‘Did not desire to breach propriety? Bullshit! This old fuck was in on it… He just so happened to know this nameless Baronet? Hah! And what about the cathedral servants, and the rats and doorkeepers? Not one could be deigned to inform me or block my path?’ The now snuffed pipe creaked in his clenched hand, as ash scattered onto his palm, although the pain did not register.
“Oh dear… How regrettable.” The King tapped an outstretched thumb on his forehead, as if to emphasize the cumbersome nature of his thoughts.
“I ask for your pardon, gentlemen, I was not aware of my… deposition… as it were…”
The ministers warmly muttered this or the other, halfheartedly attempting to alleviate some of the tension. The attendants remained silent.
One, the handsome green-eye took a tone most curious, a mix of empathy and assurance, almost undetectably hollow.
“Worry not, Viscount Bassáth. As unfortunate as it is… mixups of this nature do happen. It is not something of importance.” The beau ended his spiel with a slight smile.
Bassáth adjusted his collar and walked forward, as if the mans’s words and the minister’s reassurance were smoke, vapor which flowed right through him and disappeared, as if he were not really there. The initial moment-long outrage had settled, now, with indifference as his shield, he simmered his emotions. Although his political career was most likely over, the Bassáth household would manage, he knew—
“Ah, yes! Viscount Bassáth, it would be most improper to ask you to return unaccompanied. Allow attendant Musnier to follow behind…” Alphonse suggested, although under the present circumstances it was more than anything a heavily masked order.
“If his Majesty recommends so…”
‘Does he intend to humiliate me further? Parade me around with Musnier? As to say “Look! A dog by the leash that was once his own?’”
Bassáth’s teeth clenched imperceptibly, even if his molars could burst from the pressure.
Musnier bowed, opting for silence, tailing Bassáth as they left the chamber.
As the attendant posed himself to close the doors, Alphonse opted to remind the former minister.
“Viscount, remember to carefully read the decree once back at your state.”
The last thing Bassáth saw was the King’s radiant smile, as all was obscured behind the bronze doors.
Then, inside, as he clapped to take back the chamber´s attention, Alphonse emboldened his tone, now jovial.
“Well then, gentlemen…”
*
“Was such petty display necessary? I believed it would be uncomfortable, yes… but so… juvenile a top of it?”
“Ha!” Alphonse laughed, lips unfurling from a cigarillo sent to rest in his finger’s grasp. “Juvenile, definitively. It was, however, very much necessary.”
“Really? I’ve already lectured you on the “act’s” shortsightedness. I will not behave as if I were your father and numb you with another sermon.” Roderin sat on a smooth ivory-like stone, sighing as he rested, draping his coat even tighter around his body, wishing to escape from the encroaching autumn winds. “I trust you, so I will say no more. I’ve no desire to ache over it.”
It was Alphonse idea, to converse after convening Royal Affairs, and to do so in one of the cathedral’s secluded gardens; coves of greenery and stone, as courtyards hidden from the main Asphodeli.
“Although… why must we talk outside. This wind is horrid.”
“You’re just accustomed to the heat of other continents…” Alphonse absentmindedly retorted. “Nevermind that, first, speak a little on… your thoughts, what was Affairs like? In your eyes.”
“That first stunt was rather pathetic, and nerve wracking. All else was quite appropriate for the Kingdom’s heart, none of the airs of a boarding school’s student corps… Perhaps because the magnanimous king allowed his ministers free reign…?” Roderin added with a smile.
“Are you accusing me of besmirching the seriousness of Royal Affairs? Acting as some callow idiot?” Alphonse asked with a smile of his own. “Why do you suppose I acted as I did? As juvenile and incomprehensible as it was…” The king allowed himself a final drag of the tobacco, after flicking its dying ashes onto the garden.
“Incomprehensible? No…You were unhappy with Bassáth as minister… unnerved about the Kingdoms future, and wanted my presence in Affairs…? You said so yourself.” Roderin questioned. “And figured, in some manner foreign to me, that ousting the viscount as you did was the way in which to proceed.” Roderin enunciated, slight gestures from his hands marking the words.
“Let this be a lesson… I was not mindless in acting as I did, nor in communicating near nothingness to you, nor in my behavior months prior to this little act.”
“I spare you a lecture and now you’ll sermon me?”
“Hah!” Alphonse shook his head. “Think of it as education… You types like that, learning, no?”
Roderin merely laughed.
“You took my words as they were, partly because we are close, and you trust me. Having a good idea of my temperament and, seeing this recklessness —which so comfortably adjusted to the idea of me you have in mind—, you though to search no further, merely pester me for answers half in jest.”
Lamartine straightened lightly, noting Alphonse’s tone, tinged in seriousness.
“If you are so vain in matters relating to your closest friend, how wrong could you be when… musing about the motivations of others? total strangers or cunning politicians… even the impulsions of a simpleton would evade you.”
“Vain? Do you really believe this tirade is necessary?” Roderin asked, genuinely vexed by his friend´s change in demeanor.
“It is, because I’m trying to impart a lesson. Please, don’t think me overbearing.” Alphonse gesticulated with a swing of his hands. “First, what friend, and what king, would I be if I threw a naïve and hapless, green minister into the jaws of the kingdom´s aristocracy, forget the continent’s…”
“Then…?”
“I wished to install you onto Affairs since we came back from the Suritine. It was not because you are some mastermind silver tongue, but because of trust. Not that you are some incompetent either…” The king ran his fingers through his hair. “You are no idiot Roderin, just because you have, had, no reason to seriously deliberate about whatever happens in the heads of others does not mean you cannot become apt at it.”
“Well…”
“Now, let’s cut to it. Why do you really think I acted in the manner I did?”
“I… I don’t know…” Lamartine accepted his friend’s explanation, attempting to figure out the riddle. “I don’t have enough information.”
Alphonse smiled.
“You know next to nothing. You had only vague promises and a knowledge of king Alphonse XVI’s personality outside of his role as king.” As his lecturer tilted forward, he asked. “And what about the others? Bassáth, Alistair…”
“The… papers? I had never met them in person. They are notable figures for the kingdom but, other than that…” A small glimmer of realization shone in Roderin’s eyes.
“Yes, yes. You are a complete outsider, to all mechanics and motivations running about in Affairs, you barely knew of the minister’s faces, much less how they truly are. And, is this not the common position of the diplomat? You are my friend and yet were a complete outsider to my behavior and reasons in this trivial plot, completely disengaged with the delicate web of this Kingdom’s politics —beside that which gets blabbered about behind a cup of coffee and a copy of that day’s paper.” The king smiled as if bringing together the ends of a beautiful story. “And yet, did you not agonize about this and that? “Alphonse, what would the Aristocrats think? their asset kicked off Affairs in such an idiotic way. What about the merchants? the noble’s political power…?” this and that and blah blah blah.” Alphonse laughed, causing Roderin to tense a smile.
“Oi…”
“Sorry, sorry.” His friend stifled his laughs. “You advised me for so long, and I appreciate the sentiment, on something you had no idea about.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The archeologist took on a serious face.
“Okay, okay.”
“Think of this as a bit of vengeance, for all those times you insisted on talking politics.” Alphonse waved his hand. “Well, the crucial, the key, is this… Bassáth was embezzling funds and involving himself in, underhanded deals, so as to improve the station of his household.”
Lamartine’s eyes widened in surprise.
“So…”
“See? a completely different outlook now that you have information. Although my way of handling it may still seem childish and improper.” The king pulled out another cigarillo from his coat, lighting it as he spoke. “The information came to me via an… incumbent investigation, from an expedited and secretive sovereign chamber, in direct collaboration with the chancellor and Hiéron. That is the story, at least…. In truth, it was mentioned to me by the chancellor himself, as he asked me to collaborate in deposing Bassáth.” Alphonse took advantage of this silence to inhale another lungful of smoke.
“Is that…?” The image of the handsome, green eyed minister —Camille Charles d’Ruissaumbe, as he now knew— flashed in his mind. Particularly the imperceptibly goading tone his voice took when “comforting” Bassáth. “I was completely wrong then…”
“That you were…” The king smiled as he ashed the cigarillo, returning to his lesson. “As you know, the Nobility has two assets in Affairs, well, had… Bassáth and…” He pointed to his friend with the smouldering tobacco.
“d’Ruissaumbe… But... yes, that is the case… However, even if corrupt why would Camille play Bassáth, getting him booted off the council? Embezzler or not he is still of benefit to his camp… Unless…” Roderin became instantly aware, as he pronounced those last words, of what would motivate d’Ruissaumbe, as representative of the nobility, to plot with Alphonse to remove Bassáth.
“Yes, unless his dealings had started to encroach on the nobility, and, acting as a… wild agent, he stopped being their mindless pawn.” Another puff of smoke punctuated his words. “Now, you must ask…”
“You had not, yet, punished, or… persecuted Bassáth for embezzling, so, if d’Ruissaumbe told you that he had, in interest, the deposition of the Viscount, wouldn’t you just use this to pull him to your camp? Informing him that the noblesse had abandoned him?”
“Now, go back to thinking as you did for a moment... If I gained a loyalist in Bassáth.” Alphonse could not hold in his laugh at the prospect. “The balance in Affairs would be… destroyed.” He paused. “The noblesse’s intent was not simply to eject Bassáth off the council, but to maintain the status quo. As you may know, or not, I hold two seats firmly in my grasp, the Hiéron and the army, both occupied by loyalists.”
The gloomy black-haired man, dully dressed: Raoul de La Rosa —and the stern officer, Adalwin Hessiah et Visurgis, now filled the space in his mind, beside Bassáth and d’Ruissaumbe, firmly seated in Alphonse’s corner. This revelation had borne in him another question, which he kept close as the king’s lecture continued.
“Ignoring the fact that Bassáth had demonstrated to hold no strong allegiances, and that he had irritated, insulted, even, both camps with his corruption, I could have persuaded him, however, then the noblesse would have truly lost an asset. Their hold on Affairs would weaken, and I could reign free, except…”
Roderin interjected.
“The kingdom is not Affairs.”
“Correct. Don’t grow blindsided, focusing too much on petty things like Affairs.” Another cloud of aromatic smoke blew into the autumn wind. “The noblesse can make my life hell outside of the council, they’re no mere figureheads. It is better for both —them and I— if we remain at a balance of impasses. If both camps are adequately represented. We are no enemies, either way, for us to so boldly antagonize each other… The unimpeded Maximalism of my great-grandfather’s reign, the access of newer families into nobility, the… rearing of Neue Noblesse, loyal only to the king, into positions of power… It has made them uneasy, greatly uneasy, led them to plot over trivial matters, as these… However, the crown and the nobility are allies, now and always.” The king grew silent, contemplation drowning his eyes.
Another strange inconsistency arose in him, a quandary, which added onto the previous enigma, led him to ask, taking the sudden silence as an opportunity.
“You say Affairs is in balance, but is there not another loyalist occupying a seat? Lanthym. He’s known for being…” Roderin interrupted himself. “Well, he’s known, in the papers, in public opinion, for being a grand loyalist, a royalist. How is the situation, really? And how would the noblesse allow you to seat an ally of your own, one so close to you as myself, in Bassáth’s seat if they simply desire a return to a stalemate… To… play with a pawn? As you said.”
“Good, that is what you should ask yourself…” Once again, a cigarillo met its end, turned to ashes, poured off onto the garden’s greenery. “Lanthym has been in Affairs the longest out of anyone, and in his time has had the ability to build up a certain image. A servant of the kingdom, not of the king… see? From the perspective of the masses, Lanthym is exemplary, and a royalist… he has, however, played the part of the kingdom’s servant, opposing both the noblesse and the reb-blooded, juvenile, warmongering king —when necessary—, behind the doors of Royal Affairs. He has cultivated this superior, grandeur of political virtue, making him a neutral player… which is why, inexplicably so to the ignorant eyes of public opinion, the nobility tolerates a majority loyalist Affairs… When I plotted with d’Ruissaumbe —well, to call it a plot… we really just agreed to depose Bassáth… When I conversed with d’Ruissaumbe, the matter of Bassáth´s successor was a priority; which is why we decided to consult the ever-neutral Lanthym, who proposed you as a candidate…”
Roderin made his surprise clear, disbelief bloomed in his lips.
“What…?”
“I’ve given you enough hints, unravel the rest. First, answer this: why didn’t we actually summon Bassáth to a tribunal?”
The archeologist creased his brows, thinking profusely, for a moment.
“It would injure the noblesse’s interests… It would make them look corrupt. And… I assume, a judicial process against a nobleman, even if one as middle-of-the-road as Bassáth, is a complicated matter… one you would rather avoid.”
“Almost. Tsk, tsk.” The king adjusted his coat and leaned back. “It would leave no room for reconciliation. The Bassáth household would resent, with nothing to lose atop of it, both the noblesse and the crown. An excluded, jaded, vengeful, affluent element, ready to betray the regime…Viscounts only, yes, however…” The king shrugged. “it also makes Affairs, and the crown, look… bad.”
Turning his eyes to Roderin, he assented.
“Continue…” He pointed his hand, outstretched, toward his friend.
“God… Why did Lanthym recommend me…?” He held his chin as he thought. Realization suddenly marked his gaze. “Wait… You said that he played the part of the mediator… right?”
Alphonse smiled.
“Yes…”
“Is he just pretending to be a servant of the kingdom? While being loyal to you… But how would I pass off as a neutral actor…? Why wouldn’t the noblesse just install one of their own…? Why ask Lanthym? Ahhhh! How bothersome…” Roderin exclaimed, half growling, holding his head.
“This will be your station from now on… It is at least not boring, no? Hah!” The king laughed.
“Yes, yes, laugh…” The new minister rubbed his head, annoyed.
“Well? Want a hint?”
“Very well.” He sighed.
“d’Ruissaumbe is an oddity, a strange man. Being a duke, his political influence is unlike Bassáth’s —a mere viscount, from a declining household— for all his faults the man knows how to look good…”
Roderin’s eyebrow raised.
“Huh?”
“In a political sense.” Alphonse laughed. “He’s measured, temperate —at least in matters of state—, and has a genuine desire in representing the noblesse’s interests. In short, he’s the perfect player for the nobility in Affairs. But he isn’t a pawn, he needs no handler, so…”
“He’s exceptional, is what I gather? I suppose the noblesse would find it difficult to replicate a similar… uh, player? as d’Ruissaumbe.”
“Correct, but, missing just a smidge… Just like Lanthym, d’Ruissaumbe has built a certain prestige: an ideal player in Affairs, flawlessly representing the noblesse. Although self-interested, he does not allow his, temperament to obstruct the nobility’s benefits… Why? Who knows, perhaps he understands the worth of such a niche, whereas other nobles like Bassáth…”
“They don’t trust each other to be as “selfless” as d’Ruissaumbe… They fear whoever is chosen, or elected, will end up as Bassáth… corrupt and infringing on their power, yes?”
“Yes! Correct.” Alphonse half-jumped in his seat. “Then, why where you, “recommended” by Lanthym?”
“Wait, but, how did d’Ruissaumbe even end up in Affairs then?”
“Scheming, although he “shed” the image of a schemer as soon as he started magnanimously representing the noblesse.” The king waved his hand. “Never mind that, come on…”
“I suppose… they can´t choose among themselves, since they’ll either be biased, or corrupt, pushing for individual gains instead of general benefits… You choosing is absurd, so, they ask a neutral party… Lanthym, who, even if acting the part of the measured, virtuous mediator, is loyal to you…”
“The royal family… not me, specifically. Important detail. He understood, I gander, early on in his career, that acting as detached from the king’s interest would be best for the crown, allowing royal interest to dominate Affairs in a… surreptitious way, even if, superficially, it appears to be balanced between noblesse and crown.”
“Okay… so you used Lanthym to propose me as minister…” Roderin scratched his head. “I still don’t understand how they believed me to not be… corruptible, as Bassáth, or how they even agreed for a close friend of yours to inherit the post… How would I represent them?” The minister muttered. “Absurd…”
The king patted his coat. One hand in, he searched for something that wasn’t there.
“I’m out…” He absentmindedly sighed, then returned his sight to Roderin. “Ah, yes… Well ask yourself, who really knows? Did the ministers know you before the Fylassein?”
“Ah… I’m out of the continent most of times, and not really entrenched in politics. But, after the Surinite, and all else… and constantly visiting you… Am I really that unknown?” Roderin scratched the back of his head, laughing slightly.
“Airing the king’s life to the plebe is in bad taste… And the noblesse, the court? Ha! Really think, which nobles have seen you? have interacted with you? —outside of today, of course… Marenisse? Me?”
“My, uh… Parents? My grandfather?”
Alphonse laughed.
“Hah! There, you see? And as far as visiting me… Do you think your king so incompetent that he would allow himself, or his visitors, surveilled? Especially when I have the Hiéron under me? Remember, also, you have visited me, always, in private spaces… Although your friendship with me is no secret, and my, trusted household knows of you, I would not be so unstrategic as to subject you to the martyrdom that is being the king’s friend publicly… nor to reveal my cards too soon, or ever. Also, I am, simply, a private person.” The king smiled. “As for the Suritine business… it is a… secret, what really happened… is privy, only confided to trusted officers… So, your involvement has been prettied up, a tad, and skewed so as to obfuscate your closeness to me.”
“You mean… this has to do with how I got accepted by the noblesse?”
“Why gives you such an idea?”
“You said, “prettied up”… for whom? Who would need to see some pretty, fictitious past of mine?”
“Ahhh, there… see, it is not so hard.” Alphonse adjusted in his seat, then stood to straighten himself, and stretch. “Those small words, the details, glimmers of truth… hold onto them and derive from there… Well, it will not be as easy as now, as I’m actively trying to get you to notice… But, yes.” Sitting down, once again, the king continued. “First, to be a minister you need, beyond any scheme or political power, competence… to be competent, you, are, ah… umh… almost there… I would not call it a lack of competence, rather, a lack of interest, necessity… You have, even, experience… you learn quickly as well…”
“So you turned the Suritine ordeal into my credentials…?”
“That and your work at Vanus, and the East-Mariannic… You are prolific, at least in academics and so on… Unknown in politics, however.”
“And that means, what? That I’m in over my head, and so easily used as a pawn, but, competent enough to be useful?” Roderin felt slightly irritated, not because of some meaningless sense of pride, but rather because of the vortex he, unknowingly, found himself in, in great part because of his friend.
“You are, in their eyes, a sacrifice of sorts… Nominally nobility, however, completely powerless. Apt for the position, and yet, easily handled… Easily brought into the fold —as well—, generally uninterested and, just recently, politically initiated.”
“And they believe, so readily, that I would do as they wish, and agreed? Why? Because of the words of an old politician?” Roderin asked, genuinely lost as to the noblesse’s intentions.
“Once again, you act as an outsider. Perhaps you felt it, during the council, perhaps you did not… Lanthym may be playing the mediator, even so, he is, still, the oldest, most veteran minister. With time he has built airs of competence, experience, foresightedness... If his recommendation were a plot —which it is—, they, the noblesse, believe that it would not incur in heavy losses for their interests or benefits, and would maintain the delicate balance in Affairs… As I said, we may squabble about petty minutia, as this, however, all in the council are allies… that has become a truth, ever evident, as time eats away at this kingdom…” The King once again leaned back, closing over his coat. “So, when this same minister Lanthym recommends —no, declares—, a minor baronet, involved in the world of academics but otherwise uninterested in politics, and competent enough for the post, tested in the Suritine ordeal, for the position, the noblesse will go accord, betting it is in their best interests…”
“Still, why would I act as the noblesse orders me, and not as the King, who inducted me into the council, commands?”
“Gods… I know the perception of nobles is… not that of high-principled and Illustré imperials, but, do you truly believe they’ll force you? Even a beast strikes out against a brutal master… You will not be forced, rather, coaxed, persuaded, tempted, charmed into their camp, and it would happen so because, according to what was arranged with d’Ruissaumbe during our little talk, I would not intervene, ceding control over this new piece to the noblesse… It would not occur to you that you are being made to dance to another’s tune, and think it is merely your own principles leading you to represent the social class your new relations, your new friends, and you yourself belong to; much in the same manner one champions their own family… In fact, such an act might eventually turn to reality, as, certainly, Roderin de Lamartine would be greatly benefited, both in status and wealth, to associate with them…” Alphonse then fell silent so as to widely grin. “That is… if you were not an agent of mine.”
“An agent? Ha!” Roderin laughed back, then sighed. “Yes, yes, what impressive planning… it is still a grand headache nonetheless…”
“Not boring, not boring…”
Both men looked at each other, and chuckled, the tenuous tension dissipating.
The new minister then grew curious.
“Wait, then, wouldn’t the Fylassein Fatae contradict your agreement with d’Ruissaumbe? I know it was my suggestion, but…”
“No, Ha! In fact, it helped. It was an unexpected… boon? Well… It would not fit my temperament if I did not, at least, try to stake a minim of influence over the new minister.”
“Allowing me to name your child…? I would not call that a minim…”
Cross armed, the king waved his hand.
“Suspicious… it would be suspicious if I did nothing, merely sat back and allowed the noblesse free reign, even if that was what we agreed.” Alphonse smile widened. “Men are fickle, schemers like d’Ruissaumbe know this… Having named my child —if you were completely unrelated to me—, would be a grand, immense, spectacular honor; you would become a royalist…”
“It still is.” Roderin coughed.
“Nonetheless, immersed in the world of the aristocracy for the first time, with no political knowledge to speak of, and presented some idyllic idea of Affairs by both the crown, the nobles... Roderin de Lamartine would be promptly blinded from intrigue between the king and the noblesse, thinking the latter as subjects as loyal as he is; even if, before entering Affairs, he was suspicious, or critical of the nobility… From there on, with honeyed words and charm, the new minister would be no more than an unwitting pawn, especially if the king deigns not intervene… See it thus: The “royalist” Lamartine would be no obstacle for the noblesse’s goals… would he even see himself as a piece to play against the crown in such a balancing act?”
“I see…” Another heavy sigh marked Roderin’s words.
“In fact, wouldn’t me hosting that Fylassein be more proof that you and I are not connected…? It is common for me, I am told, to rope in unwitting peons with such an “honor”… Well, be it what it may…” The king shivered slightly, and after sustaining a brief silence, spoke. “It has gotten rather chilly hasn’t it.”
“Yes…” The archeologist turned his sight to the dying sun, hanging in the last quarter of its arc. The breeze, now almost frigid, forced his coat closed. “It was an interesting lesson… You’d be quite the lecturer at Vanus…”
“Hah!”
“What would you call it…? scheming and court politics? Sounds like quite the cathedra.”
“Hmm… I’d call it acting, or theater…” The king said while smiling, closing his coat as well.
“How burdensome…” Roderin muttered as he stood.
“Well let’s leave then, shall we?”
“Yes…”
As both men walked away from the garden, enveloped by the grand cathedral’s marble, the king asked.
“Answer me one last thing…”
“Hm.” He nodded his head.
“What do you gleam from Bassáth?”
“Huh… Bassáth?” He was once again surprised. “Well, he’s a corrupt noble… I would think him an incompetent, since that’s what you had called him… Now, however… I do not really know.”
“Hah… I ask because he’ll work under you, for now… As in, he’ll be assigned a lesser post in the colonial office, or… maybe, the ministry?”
“What? You’re giving a corrupt… what did you call him… a wild agent, another post?”
Once inside, the cold diffused, trapped behind the cathedral walls, as they walked through the vespertine halls.
“It is a matter of reconciliation…” The king rubbed his hands together, wishing the cold away. “I am glad you maintain a healthy uncertainty about him… Otherwise this lecture would have been meaningless…”
“I suppose…”
“No man is two dimensional… so superficial as to be made or unmade in a single adjective… Even if I did call him… what was it? a fat incompetent?”
“Those are two adjectives…”
The king snorted.
“Wouldn’t the noblesse…?” Roderin wondered.
The king waved.
“What can they do…? Now that he is out of Affairs, and knows the noblesse abandoned him… If I give him an out, what can they do?
Their steps echoed in the immense halls.
“Hey, you never did tell me why you… humiliated him?” Roderin wondered what word could correctly apply to his friend’s behavior.
Alphonse laughed.
“If the king is willing to make a minister the victim of such a… juvenile stunt, it means the noble has lost all good graces. Worse even if the noblesse allows the crown to humiliate one of their representatives… It was so as to ruin Bassáth, politically. Petty enough to anger him, but not result in an unsolvable grudge… In fact, knowing Bassáth I would say he was angered, not because of how I mocked him, but rather, because of the effects the little play will have on his reputation…” Then he chortled. “Also, it was fun… Bassáth did deserve to be the buffoon for a bit…”
The new minister sighed. Then, a question glimmered in his eyes.
“Ah… Where are we going exactly? It’s the first time I’ve gotten here through a tunnel…”
“There’s an entrance for a way that leads to the villa. Spend the night there… my invitation.”
“Very well…” Then, Lamartine stopped. “Wait, then… could I have simply come here with you, through the villa?”
The king smiled.
“Yes, but, I wanted you to suffer through a bit of suspense…”
Alphonse started laughing, finding Roderin’s incredulous face most humorous.
“Unbelievable…”
The new minister resumed his walk after a mutter.
The men’s voices and steps echoed out, drowning and disappearing, as they vanished deeper and deeper into the cathedral.