Chapter 16

“I wonder what that blithering fool has prepared for us today.”

“Prepared?” Antonio Cohen snorted, “I doubt anything he brings up will possess any semblance of preparation. At best, it will be another ‘idea’ with little or no thought put into it.”

“Perhaps,” Martha replied, “but the ladies I’ve spoken with seem to expect something momentous…or at least their houses do.”

Antonio looked out of the window of his carriage as it slowly rolled through Earth Avenue on its way to the Prime Estates. That much was clear from all the retainers frantically going about trying to make preparations in light of the rumours.

They were simply rumours, however. Given Caspond’s history of Bunnia-brained idiocy, Antonio didn’t expect anything coherent or even relevant out of the general session. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Holy King had called everyone together for the express purpose of taste-testing the first batch of bread and olive oil produced from the north’s ongoing harvest.

“Speaking of those rumours,” Antonio said, “how has Eduardo reacted to them?”

“You’re far too protective of the boy,” his wife put on a gentle smile. “He hasn’t done anything, of course. We didn’t raise a fool that jumps at every sensational whisper and turn of court fashion.”

“Thank the gods for that. He’s far too influential with the scions. If Eduardo got himself hooked, half of the army would already be on the march.”

Every generation had its heroes, and House Cohen had been blessed with one of them. Upon recognising his potential, Antonio had spared no expense to ensure that he was given an upbringing suited to one of his future stature. Overall, he was proud of how Eduardo was turning out, but a father’s duty did not simply end when their children became adults.

“In that case,” Martha said, “what do you think Caspond has called us together for?”

“I won’t engage in pointless speculation,” Antonio replied. “We’ll hear it in person soon enough.”

“Assuming he hasn’t slept in again.”

An exasperated sigh escaped Antonio’s lips. The man was truly an embarrassment to the country. Every time he thought Caspond couldn’t make things worse, he did, and that was a foreboding trend in light of the coming general session.

Their carriage reached the Earth Gate, where the stationed armsmen waved it through. Annoyingly, the crowded conditions got much worse with all of the vehicles conveying their passengers to the palace. Antonio drummed his fingers on his armrest, staring at the hedge outside his door for a full five minutes before placing his hand on the latch.

“Dear, you’re not thinking about walking, are you?”

“Of course I am,” Antonio replied. “It’s less than two hundred metres to the palace gate. Less than that, if we cut through the gardens.”

“But…”

“You’ve probably gone shopping in the garden markets three times more often than I assume you have. You know, it’s reservations like this that make the commoners think we can’t even put food in our own mouths.”

He disembarked and strolled over to the carriage behind him while Martha did whatever women did to prepare themselves for walks. The tinted window of the carriage opened, revealing a familiar face.”

“Count Cohen,” Count Ovar nodded in greeting. “This is quite mad, isn’t it?”

“And I won’t partake in any of it,” Antonio replied. “We’ll be two hours late to the session, at this rate.”

“A quick excursion, then?”

“So long as our wives don’t stop to buy anything.”

He collected three more High Nobles before the others started following suit on their own. As with anything, swaying the consensus required leadership. When he returned to his carriage, he found Martha awaiting him under a pastel yellow parasol that matched her silken garb.

She didn’t take that long just to pull out that thing, did she?

“Shall we have the carriage await you at the palace, my lord?” One of his footmen asked.

“Of course not,” Antonio replied. “Park it in a lane close to the Earth Gate. I’d rather not be forced to experience this same hell on the way out like some poor, helpless peon.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Antonio awaited the other highlords beneath the broad arbour marking the entrance to the market gardens. A dozen felt like a suitable entourage, and he led them through the shaded lanes between the meticulously manicured grounds.

“You say that waiting in that traffic would make us two hours late,” Count Ovar said, “but I suspect we would in reality be an hour early.”

The trailing noblemen chuckled at the Count’s unabashed jibe. Indeed, it seemed that Caspond had long lost any and all respect from his vassals.

“Anyone care to make a wager on what this general session is about?” Another Noble asked, “It couldn’t possibly be about anything relevant to our current situation.”

“Caspond is so random that it’s a bet all of us are almost guaranteed to lose,” Antonio answered. “What’s important is we show solidarity in the face of whatever is brought up today.”

“What if it’s a matter of personal preference?”

“Then I won’t begrudge you for your preferences,” Antonio replied with a smirk. “One can only pray that today’s topic will be so mundane.”

After a leisurely stroll of ten minutes, they arrived in front of the palace gate. He smiled behind his dignified mask as the doors to the carriages awaiting their turn opened and his peers scrambled out to avoid looking like idiots. Everyone arranged themselves in order of precedence in front of the throne room entrance, with Antonio taking his place near the back. To his surprise, he found Duke Debonei standing there with Count Vigo.

“Count Cohen,” the Duke said. “I see that we weren’t the only ones fed up with waiting.”

“I never imagined that I’d see the leader of the conservatives embarking on such an unconventional course, Your Grace.”

“There’s nothing traditional about waiting in traffic, Lord Cohen. How many came with this latest wave?”

Antonio leaned to the side slightly, taking a quick count of the Nobles queued before the throne room doors.

“We’ll have about half of the expected attendees,” Antonio said. “Would Your Grace happen to know what your dear cousin has in store for the court?”

He imagined the Duke’s expression souring upon being associated with Caspond – and, honestly, Antonio couldn’t blame him if he did – but the older man didn’t react to his prodding.

“Regrettably,” Duke Debonei replied, “His Divine Grace keeps his own counsel. Not even the Holy King’s cabinet seems to have any idea what this is about. Isn’t it about time that you progressives gave up any hope of running a functional country under the current government?”

“I have no doubts about whether the country can remain functional under the current government,” Antonio replied. “In fact, I see our circumstances as the prime opportunity to pull the Holy Kingdom out of the past and into the present. Too long have we squandered our maritime advantage. The entire world lies at our doorstep, yet we shun it in favour of tradition and superstition.”

“If that’s the case, shouldn’t you have rallied under Prince Felipe’s banner?”

“Who is to say that we wouldn’t?”

That was one thing the Duke and his faction didn’t seem to understand, or at least pretended not to. The royalists’ economic dominance over the Holy Kingdom would have decisively proven to the Merchant Prince who was best suited to serve as the driving force in the Holy Kingdom’s government. Caspond’s escalating incompetence wasn’t a problem: all they had to do was replace him with Felipe.

Of course, Felipe was presumed dead, but that only meant they had to wait a year for the next trade fleet while propping up a new candidate for the throne. This would serve to give the royalists more time to consolidate their economic lead and further chip away at conservative power.

At precisely the appointed time, the doors to the high hall of Hoburns swung open and Antonio went to take his place in the line. The lords of the Holy Kingdom entered by order of precedence going from the lowest to highest ranks. First came the High Nobles, then the representatives of the Temples, and finally the members of the royal house, which included Duke Debonei. Everyone filed into the hall and arranged themselves in neat rows along the central aisle.

And, then, they waited three hours for the Holy King to appear. Even with the balcony windows thrown wide open, the air became so stifling that many of the women wearing their multilayered gowns had to excuse themselves from the hall.

There must be some limit to this absurdity.

Antonio felt like he was a character in one of the songs that third-rate Bards performed in nameless pubs to mock the imagined foolishness of the elite. A part of him mocked himself for being such a fool for putting up with yet another episode of Caspond’s buffoonery. He did his best not to glare at the man as he sauntered over to the throne with what appeared to be a roasted Lanca rib sticking out of his mouth.

“Hank hou for homing, mah lrds,” he spoke around the thing in his mouth, then pulled it out and tossed it over his shoulder. “It has occurred to Us that We have a problem.”

Oh, you don’t say?

He didn’t even know where to begin with a retort. The Holy King, however, ploughed ahead, oblivious to the disgust of his court.

“The Crown has no money,” he said. “And without money, We cannot function. Isn’t that right, Minister, erm…Royal Treasurer?”

“Our government doesn’t have a Royal Treasurer, Your Divine Grace,” the Minister of Finance replied.

“Oh, is that so?” Caspond donned a troubled expression, “We are beginning to understand how We have arrived in Our present predicament. Worry not, however! The gods have blessed Us with a solution.”

Since when do the gods give financial advice?

Antonio couldn’t help but frown at the Holy King’s beatific visage. It was apparent that they were not only dealing with a fool, but a madman as well.

Caspond continued smiling stupidly at the assembly, looking back and forth in open anticipation.

“What solution might that be, Your Divine Grace?” The Prime Minister asked.

“Taxes,” Caspond answered.

“…taxes?”

“Taxes!” Caspond beamed, “It’s obvious, in hindsight. If We do not have any money, then all We have to do is make some money.”

What in the name of all that is holy is wrong with this man?

Antonio’s unspoken sentiment was echoed by the silence greeting the idiot’s words. Once again, he was entirely oblivious to the court’s reaction, his mad grin widening all the more.

“Genius, We know,” he said, “but that is why We are the Holy King. Royal Treasurer – you are the Royal Treasurer now, by the way – how much will We need to restore the operations of the Royal Army by the winter?”

The Minister of Finance stole a look at the assembly, as if fearful they would strike him down for answering. Antonio, however, was far past the point of caring and he suspected it was the same for everyone else.

“In terms of materiel and provisions alone,” the Minister of Finance said reluctantly, “We would have to raise land taxes by over thirteen thousand per cent to accommodate Your Divine Grace’s proposal by the target date.”

Caspond’s smile slipped off his face.

“Thirteen thousand per cent?”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Yes, Your Divine Grace.”

“Well, that’s entirely unreasonable.”

The Minister of Finance audibly sighed in relief.

“We should be able to make ten thousand work,” Caspond said. “Isn’t that wondrous? A whole quarter of the increase, negated by Our divine brilliance! With that, Our full authority can be restored and everyone may return south with their retinues. They must miss their homes, yes?”

If one of the Paladins guarding the dais turned around and caved the lunatic’s head in, Antonio was certain that no one would hold it against them. In fact, it was probably the Paladins preventing a member of the court from running up and ending the madman himself.

“Y-Your Divine Grace,” the Minister of Finance said, “I’m afraid that even ten thousand per cent is also impossible.”

“With that negative attitude of yours, We suppose that it is. Why not think of the good of the Holy Kingdom?”

In front of Antonio, Duke Debonei looked over his shoulder with an unasked question on his face. Antonio held his gaze and nodded.

“Your Divine Grace,” Duke Debonei’s voice rang through the chamber. “I must regret to inform you that the entire House of Lords must reject your motion with the utmost disapproval.”

“My motion?” Caspond rose from his throne with a befuddled look, “My motion? This is not a motion, it is a decree! A royal edict.”

“This is not the Baharuth Empire,” the Duke told his cousin.

Even the Bloody Emperor needed the support of his allies to make any arbitrary decrees. What Caspond was attempting was unheard of in any country that Antonio knew of.

“I am no mere Emperor,” Caspond said. “I am the Holy King! The chosen representative of the Four Great Gods in this mortal coil! Do you dare defy the will of the gods?”

Duke Debonei stared at the Holy King for a good, long time. In the end, he reached up to straighten the lapels of his coat.

“We’re done here.”

With that, the Duke strode toward the exit.

“Good,” Caspond’s smile returned as he nodded. “I expect the payments to begin arriving by the end of the week!”

Is he so oblivious that he doesn’t even realise what happened?

Antonio joined the crowd of High Nobles making their way out of the throne room. He searched for his wife outside and took her by the hand.

“My lord husband,” Martha said, “what’s going on? We just saw the Duke storm out of the throne room, now all this–”

“The government has dissolved,” Antonio told her.

“Dissolved?” Martha gasped, “But that means civil wa–”

He slapped her across the face. His wife cradled her cheek, tears gathering in her shocked eyes.

“Calm yourself, Lady Cohen,” he said firmly. “Remember what I said before. We must show solidarity, no matter what is brought up in court today. If you panic, the other ladies of the court will panic and this thing will become far worse than it actually is.”

Antonio held her gaze until she nodded in understanding. She fixed her face into a resolute expression, which was summarily ruined when he wrapped her up in a brief hug.

“Good,” he said. “Now, let’s get out of here. I’ll explain what’s happening once we have some privacy.”

In all honesty, probably no one around them would care what they discussed. Behind them, however, was a deranged man who could not be rationally accounted for.

“At least let me know what we’re doing in the near term,” Martha said as they not-quite-rushed out of the palace grounds.

“We need to meet with Duke Debonei,” Antonio said. “I’ll send a footman to his manor to make arrangements.”

As expected, a snarl of traffic greeted them in front of the palace grounds as countless carriages tried to make their way out. Antonio shook his head at the short-sightedness on display. A set of his footmen met them just outside the gate.

“House Cohen is at your command, my lord,” the leading man said.

“Four things, for now,” Antonio said. “First, send a man to Debonei Manor to arrange a meeting with the Duke. Second, inform the Knights at the camp to lock it down. I want perfect order. Third, fish Eduardo out from wherever he is. Finally, where’s our carriage?”

“Very good, my lord. This way.”

The footmen split up to carry out their tasks. Thankfully, the carriage wasn’t a half block from Earth Gate. Antonio shed his coat and leaned back in his seat as they left the Prime Estates, absently gazing out the window as he gathered his thoughts.

“So,” Martha said, “what happened?”

“We have a mad king on our hands,” Antonio said. “He tried to levy a new tax to not only rectify the issues plaguing the Crown’s finances, but also to restore the full authority of the Crown by winter.”

“By winter? But that’s absolutely impossible!”

“His Finance Minister said as much, but reality has no hold on Caspond. I’ll spare you most of his insane drivel, but you should know that he believes that the gods speak directly through him. He doesn’t even realise that he has a civil war on his hands.”

Antonio felt a light touch as Martha leaned her head against his shoulder.

“That is the part that worries me the most,” she said.

“It shouldn’t,” he told her. “Caspond is a madman, but he’s a toothless madman. There’s no way he can hold onto power now that the court has turned against him.”

“But has the court turned against him? The Nobles I can see, but what about the Temples?”

“The Temples have barely anything in the north and the Vicar here in the capital is little more than our tool. While the Temples technically endorse the Holy King, they ultimately serve the people. We won’t have any issues with the Southern Patriarchate when they understand how far gone Caspond is.”

Their carriage stopped in a side lane not far outside Earth Gate. As far as he could tell, word of the disastrous general session hadn’t spread amongst the common folk at all.

Good. We can make this quick and painless.

Within an hour, the footman sent to speak to the Debonei Household appeared to tell him that the Duke would host him for dinner. Antonio then sent for several of the most prominent members of the royalist faction, and, one by one, they arrived to meet with the Duke. Several of the conservative leaders were present, including Count Vigo and a few other protégés of the late Old Purple.

They arranged themselves on opposite sides of the long dining table, and Duke Debonei addressed them after his butler filled their wine glasses with the famed golden vintage of his territories.

“Strange currents have brought us together, it seems, and there is little cause for us to celebrate.”

“A temporary disruption, nothing more,” Antonio said. “Caspond was doing little to lead us in the first place, but our little ship has hardly been rudderless.”

“Yet you were content to let him play at being King for months,” Count Vigo sneered. “A convenient figurehead to be just as conveniently disposed of. Don’t think we aren’t aware of how you’ve exploited the northern lands placed under your care.”

“If by exploited you mean prospered, then I don’t disagree. Never before has the north been so productive.”

“Hmph. It’s just like you progressives to pursue progress at any cost.”

“You conservatives just have no sense of urgency,” Antonio replied. “There’s a whole wide ocean out there and we are but krill by comparison. Eventually, our status as a barbaric backwater will change in the eyes of the expansionist powers abroad. When it does, I would rather our home not be considered an untapped frontier filled with free resources and slaves. Cowering in your cabins and ignoring the threat will avail us nothing when those tides come crashing onto our shores.”

“Enough,” Duke Debonei told them. “We have not gathered to bicker about the far future.”

And when will we ever?

Even with all the information the trade fleets brought home with them, the conservatives cared little beyond maintaining stability and steadily cultivating prosperity. A slightly wealthy Merchant from beyond the Koshey Belt could probably conquer the entire Holy Kingdom if they felt like it, and the only thing that kept them from doing so was the fact that trade continued to flow freely up and down the western coast of the continent.

There were other, greater powers that had motives beyond profit, however. He wouldn’t be at all surprised to wake up one day to find that they had been randomly colonised by Wild Elves or some other race that found Roble’s climes agreeable.

“There isn’t much for us to discuss,” Antonio said. “Caspond is mad. He must be removed. The only thing that was keeping him in power was, well, us.”

“What of his successor? Caspond is childless.”

“That is a problem for the royal house. Besides, it’s impossible to imagine that you could do any worse than the current seat warmer. You could put a Lanca on the throne and do far better.”

There were plenty of royal candidates, and none of them were especially remarkable. That meant that the Holy Kingdom would effectively be ruled by the aristocratic establishment for the foreseeable future. And, if the next Holy King managed to bring the Nobles to heel, it only meant the Holy Kingdom finally had a competent sovereign again. After suffering through Caspond’s escapades, this was hardly a cause for complaint.

“In that case,” the Duke said, “what about Princess Carlota?”

“Your granddaughter?”

“After some lengthy consideration,” Duke Debonei said, “I’m of the mind that a woman is better suited to serve as sovereign for the time being. They’re harmless, after all. My late niece did little more than encourage some cursory social reform and her popularity kept the population compliant.”

“Another young Holy Queen for the people to admire from afar, hm? Well, your reasoning does seem sound. We do reserve the right to question this selection should the Princess exhibit any problematic quirks, however. That aside, we hardly have the time right now for an official discourse over the matter.”

His tentative concession served its purpose of mollifying the Duke, and the old man moved on the the true business at hand.

“So,” he said, “how shall we handle the matter of Caspond?”

“He’s your nephew,” Antonio said. “Does the royal family have no contingencies for problematic members?”

“Not when that member is the Holy King,” Duke Debonei replied. “If he was still just a Prince, we would have just sent him to a remote estate with specialised security arrangements. The boy could have peacefully lived out the rest of his days in isolation had his…qualities been properly vetted before his ascension.”

Though the Duke had just admonished them for bickering over factional differences, his unspoken blame was clear. Had the royalists not supported Caspond’s sudden ascension, they wouldn’t have found themselves in their current predicament in the first place. Antonio sidestepped the accusation, as the royalist’s actions were indefensible in the eyes of the conservatives.

“So you’re saying he must be disposed of in a more decisive manner,” Antonio said. “And this dancing around the solution means that you do not wish to be labelled as both a kingslayer and a kinslayer.”

The Duke’s silence was answer enough. It was the classic conservative hesitation that had long become their hallmark.

“While you may have your reservations,” Antonio said, “I believe your new bedfellow has just the tool for the job. A certain ‘Smiling Demon’?”

“That’s merely an unfounded rumour,” Duke Debonei’s expression darkened. “No true subject of Roble would resort to employing such means.”

“It would be awfully convenient if Caspond was rumoured to be assassinated.”

Every face across the table twisted in disgust. Antonio held in a sigh. They understood what needed to be done, yet baulked at taking action. It was no wonder that the passing months saw the conservatives relegated to the western fringes of the north, unable to stand against the economic dominance of their rivals.

The evening’s discourse indecisively meandered until a footman in Cohen livery appeared at the entrance of the hall. He walked up behind Antonio, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“A group of Paladins has left the palace grounds, led by the Grandmaster. They’re coming this way.”

Antonio dabbed his mouth with his napkin before rising to his feet.

“It appears that our beloved Holy King is not as oblivious as he seems,” he said. “I strongly advise that we disperse for the night.”

He and Martha barely made it around the corner before the Paladins stopped in front of the Duke’s manor.

“Duke Debonei. You have been summoned by His Divine Grace, the Holy King Caspond Bessarez, for an audience.”

Even when making demands on behalf of the Crown, the Grandmaster’s tepid personality shone through. The back and forth between the Holy Order and House Debonei faded in the distance as Antonio made his way to his carriage. Fortunately, the Holy Order was so woefully understaffed that it was all they could do to isolate the Duke’s residence.

Upon returning to his camp east of Hoburns, Antonio found Eduardo waiting for him inside his tent. He frowned as he scrutinised his son’s appearance.

“What happened to you, boy?”

“A certain Paladin decided that my interpretation of law and order didn’t hold up to her scrutiny,” Eduardo replied.

Great. More Paladin problems.

“Explain.”

Antonio’s butler helped him out of his garb while he listened to his son describe a disturbing event in the capital’s northern quarter. In various ways, it was far more problematic than Caspond.

“And you, my lord?” Eduardo asked, “It looks like the general session took an unexpected turn.”

“Several unexpected turns,” Antonio answered with a nod. “The government of the Holy Kingdom is unofficially dissolved due to a…tax dispute. As a result, the establishment has united in common cause. Duke Debonei has been placed under arrest by Caspond as its ringleader.”

“…I should have insisted on coming to the session today instead of volunteering to help our allies with their domestic issues. It sounds like it was far more interesting.”

“It was nothing but infuriating,” Antonio told him. “What’s important now is that we unseat Caspond before he can rally any additional support.”

Eduardo nodded, relaxing slightly as he spoke.

“What remaining support does Caspond have?” He asked.

“The Holy Order and the Royal Guard.”

“And the Temples?”

“Salazar is our creature. They won’t bar our path. The main concern is that Caspond somehow rallies the capital’s citizens behind him. He must be silenced before he can make the attempt.”

Antonio was more than a bit surprised at how calm he felt. What was unthinkable not a year previous had simply become a matter of course. Despite the unprecedented control he had enjoyed over the affairs of the Holy Kingdom over the past few months, he had still underestimated what it truly meant for a kingdom to have a weak sovereign.

“I’ll call together the best men I know. I take it that both factions will cooperate with me?”

“That’s right. Rescuing the Duke should be justification enough. I trust you understand that failure isn’t an option?”

“Yes, Sir. Permission to don the House Regalia?”

“Granted. The future of the Holy Kingdom rests on your shoulders, son. Do us proud.”

Lines of worry creased the corners of Martha’s eyes as Eduardo left the tent without another word.

“Antonio,” she said, “Storming the palace to rescue the Duke means fighting the Royal Guard and the Holy Order. You’ve just sent our son to fight Remedios Custodio.”

“I know,” Antonio replied.