Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  Gavan saluted and strode off, shouting orders at the groups of soldiers standing around watching.

  Jorqel smiled and returned to the farm. Now he could actually do something rather than sitting here on his behind getting bored all winter. He began to write.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The winter coated the buildings of Kastan in a shroud of white. The streets became slippery with ice and one had to walk with care. Snow and ice was piled up on the sides on top of last summer’s refuse and left there as there was nobody to clear them. They would melt in time once the winter was done, but in the meantime the people had to vie with carriages and wagons and take their chances as they went from their homes to buy goods, or go to work, or visit friends or go on any one of a number of errands.

  Vosgaris normally left it until the late afternoon to go out. The mornings were taken up with the daily meetings in the council chamber and then he had his paperwork to do. On this particular day, the air was sharp and cold but the sky clear, for once. Since the arrest of Sereth the number of arrests of illegal trading had been largely constant, but of late they had died away as the criminal element either had been driven out or had become more cautious and were lying low. Probably a combination of the two, Vosgaris surmised.

  Frendicus was happy; his tax collectors had been merciless on the arrested and many of these people had been stripped of their possessions and thrown into prison. The treasury was healthier than it had been for many years, but expenses were rising as more and more projects that had been suspended were now revived. Roads had to be maintained, ports repaired, public buildings kept clean and functioning, and men and women paid for their employment.

  One prickly subject had been avoided for the moment, and that was the matter of the size of the army. This always cost plenty of money and in times gone by the empire had needed plenty of men to defend its huge borders, but now it had shrunk the need for a large army had passed. Frendicus had argued against enlarging the army, citing the need to improve the public buildings and facilities in the five provinces first. Vosgaris was ambivalent in this matter; although technically a military man, he served the public offices and so had a foot in both camps. Pepil was a courtier and was anti-army while Isbel had to negotiate a tricky path between following her husband’s martial wishes, running an efficient bureaucracy and rebuild the infrastructure of the empire.

  Far-off Zipria was told to maintain its small garrison of two companies. What money it requested must go on new public projects, and they had asked for land worker wages and equipment in order to clear the farming land of growth, since a decade of neglect had caused a shortage of food on the island. The province of Pelponia had been given funds to improve the roads, and now a request had come for the port facilities to be made good. The garrison in Kornith was of three units and they had been told this would have to do for the time being. Thankfully the unrest that had been reported shortly after the Koros had come to power had died down and now people there appeared fairly content with matters.

  This left the three provinces closer to the core of the empire. Frasia was busy having all its roads paved which was a long term project. The city of Kastan had new militia forces to patrol the streets and suburbs. The Koros had to be visible, if only to remind people they were being protected by an emperor who actually cared about them. Makenia with its provincial capital, Turslenka, had a few spear companies and the governor, Thetos Olskan, had received money to repair the port in the province. He also had to watch the borders to the south and east, so there were extra funds needed there.

  Evas Extonos in Niake had been efficient with the road repairs and now was asking for treasury funds to enable him to build a grain exchange, both in order to store food better and to keep a better eye on merchants who would use such a building. Licences could be issued there, similar to those in Kastan. Isbel and the council had discussed it and agreed on the funding. Evas appeared to be running things pretty smoothly there.

  But Vosgaris was acutely aware that the empire was vulnerable and open to anyone who cared to invade. They had little in the way of defences and few men to defend them anyway. What armies they did have were busy fighting rebellions and wouldn’t be able to come to the help of the empire should an invasion come.

  And what if there was another revolt somewhere else? This was Vosgaris’ main worry, and any whisper of unrest caught his attention. Which was why he was making his way that afternoon through the streets towards the city square with two bodyguards. He had learned of a move to burn down the city hall that stood on the west side of the square, and that ‘evidence’ would be left there that implicated the Koros as being behind the attack. The city hall was not being used at present, the lack of funding from the imperial treasury and the fact the councillors were all nobles who had decided to concentrate on other means to gain income has resulted in the council dissolving four years ago. This of course meant that petitions had to go directly to the palace but as most of these were ignored and money dried up, the people had despaired of ever getting a council back.

  Vosgaris knew Isbel had the resumption of the council as one of her plans but it was a case of ensuring loyal and dedicated people sat on it rather than those noble families who opposed the rule of the Koros, who would look to suck the life out of it for their own gain. Her intention was a radical one; to allow non-nobles to sit on the council. So far this had been resisted by the palace council but the time was coming when the city council would have to be restored no matter what. Isbel was making plans to control the city council with a restricted level of funding designed to make them compliant, but whether this would work was another matter. No matter what form it would take, the council would have to resume soon for works needed in Kastan were becoming urgent and the palace couldn’t handle all the requests and paperwork needed. Also the increase in work now meant that some of the people that had been laid off or sacked would now be asked to return, paid out of the taxes collected by Frendicus and his clerks.

  The square was busy as usual, even in winter, and people stood talking or trying to sell goods, or doing deals or whatever. Vosgaris and his two guards stepped carefully along the swept but still icy paving towards the wide stone steps of the hall. It was an ornate building, constructed many years ago, and had a high front held up by pillars. It dominated one side of the square.

  Vosgaris had the key to the front door, which had been given to him by Pepil before he’d set out, and now he used it to gain access to the cavernous building. Their footsteps echoed around the chilly interior and an air of neglect pressed down on them. “Go search the ground floor,” he said to his two men. “Anything suspicious, come fetch me. I’ll be up there,” he pointed up the staircase to the first floor.

  Alone, he climbed the marble staircase, reflecting on the times when it had been built. Surely a much happier and more affluent time, so different to now. He slowly reached the top, ears pricked, and made his way along one of the three long corridors that led from it. Doors along the corridor lay open, either wide or half closed, and he took time in peering in at each, marvelling at the furnishing and décor, and surprised that nobody had ransacked it. Maybe respect for the place was the reason? There again, the chairs and desks were functional rather than ornate and no nobleman would think of having them in his home.

  The windows at the rear that overlooked the housing district beyond were grimy and ice encrusted, and although he peered through one and rubbed hard at removing the ice, he could see little.

  A shout brought him round and be broke into a run, dragging his sword out of his scabbard. He ran to the hallway and leaned over the balcony. “What is it?” he bellowed.

  “Down here, sir!” one of his men shouted back.

  Vosgaris came bounding down the stairs, nearly losing his balance, but he managed to stop himself falling, then he clattered across the floor and along to the rear of the building underneath where he had just been. The large room off to one side at the back was occupied, one of h
is men was sat nursing a bloodied forehead while the other was standing over another man, his sword at the stranger’s throat. Beyond him, one of the windows lay open and it had clearly been broken for shards of glass lay on the floor below it.

  “Report,” Vosgaris snapped, eyeing the stranger.

  “Sir. We entered this room hearing a noise and found this individual and another bringing in those packages,” and the unhurt guard waved at a number of small boxes lying on the floor close to the windows, “and when we challenged them this man struck my colleague here and the other man made his escape through the open window, although he did cut himself. This man I arrested.”

  “Good work,” Vosgaris said and looked at the hurt guard. “You alright?”

  “Yes, sir, a cut forehead that’s all.”

  “Very good.” He stood over the apprehended man. He was of indeterminate age, dark haired, unshaven for a few days and wore rough cheap clothing. “Your name?”

  The man glared at him but said nothing. The guard cuffed him round the head. “Talk, you vagrant!”

  The man winced. “Dregas.”

  “Dregas, eh?” Vosgaris said. He’d never heard of him before. “Who do you work for and what were you doing here?”

  Dregas said nothing. That elicited another cuff but this time he still said nothing. Vosgaris sauntered over to the boxes and peered inside. There were cloths that smelt of oil. Clearly there to start a fire. He returned to the man. “Burning down public buildings your speciality, eh, you slave?”

  Dregas sullenly refused to rise to the insults.

  “Very well. You’ll be sent before the public order committee to determine your sentence. The evidence is fairly clear to me. I expect you’ll be sent to the sulphur mines of Turslenka.”

  Dregas shuddered. Those mines were notorious around the empire. There had been two but the ones in Kaprenia province had recently been lost. Sulphur was dug out of the ground by gangs of slaves or prisoners and their life expectancy was low, mainly due to the choking sulphur that clogged their lungs. Many died within five years, suffocating from illnesses that stopped their breathing. Over the past few years the mines had become incredibly unsafe due to a lack of upkeep but the mining went on. Being sentenced to the sulphur mines was akin to a death sentence.

  “The Kanzet paid me to burn this place down,” he said reluctantly. “They said I should leave one of the Koros family crests on the front steps and then spread the rumour they had done it.”

  “Where is this crest you speak of?” Vosgaris asked, angry at the duplicity of one of the more ancient families.

  Dregas pulled out from his tunic a small crumpled length of cloth. When Vosgaris opened it he found it to be a napkin with the Koros crest, an avian’s wings on either side of an upright sword, probably stolen from one of their houses. Vosgaris slapped Dragas hard across the face. “Traitor! Working against the emperor is treason, do you know that?”

  “I needed the money!” Dragas whined. “The Kanzet paid well, and said I would be rewarded with a job when they took over the empire.”

  Vosgaris snarled. “The only job you’ll have now is to dig for the empire. Take this creature away to the garrison.” The two guards took Dragas off, protesting, leaving Vosgaris to drag the boxes out of the room and along the corridor to the steps outside. He relocked the doors and made his way back to the palace, sending a squad over to the city hall to tidy up and guard the place until he had arranged for a glazier to repair the broken window.

  Then he decided to check up on the known activities and premises owned by the Kanzet family.

  ____

  Argan was excited. His birthday had come and he was sitting at the table with a pile of presents in front of him. All were wrapped neatly in parchment with red ribbon around them. His mother sat close by supervising and Istan was safely wrapped in Rousa’s arms so that he couldn’t get to them and rip the wrapping off himself. He was making it clear he was unhappy and would not shut up.

  Argan ignored his younger brother’s tantrum. He was used to them anyway. It was more a matter of note when he was quiet. Argan was only sad that his father, Jorqel and Amne were not there to wish him happy birthday, but there were other people there to sing to him and clap when the cake was brought in – not by a servant as he had expected, but by Vosgaris the guard captain, dressed in his smartest uniform.

  The cake was placed before him with five candles upon it, one for each year. Argan clapped, his face shining with delight. “Can I blow them out, mother?”

  “After we’ve sung to you, dear.” The chorus, sung by ten people, was terribly off key and harmonised, if one could describe it as such, by Istan’s high pitched screams of outrage.

  Argan looked at Isbel who nodded, and he blew ferociously at the candles. Four went out but one stubbornly resisted, and it took two more blows to extinguish it, and Argan was feeling dizzy by the time it had surrendered. “You can open your presents, now,” Isbel said.

  The fact she had wrapped them up the night before meant she knew what all of them were, but most of those who had sent the gifts were not there, or they were, like Mr Sen and Vosgaris, men who were incapable of wrapping presents neatly. It always looked like two felines had been fighting by the time men had finished trying to wrap presents.

  Argan went for the biggest one first. It was a large square size, almost as big as he was, and his eyes bulged as he tore off the paper to reveal a box. It was gaily coloured with stripes, and there was a lid that Isbel pointed out. Standing on his chair, Argan flipped the lid open and peered inside, standing on his tiptoes. He squealed in delight as he saw what was inside. “A castle! With soldiers!”

  Mr Sen smiled magnanimously at his student’s pleasure. Isbel mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him. She looked over her son’s shoulder. “Oh, look Argan, a card there to say who it’s from.”

  Argan picked up the card, almost falling in, and fumbled it open. He stumbled over the words. “’Happy b…..’”

  “Birthday,” Isbel encouraged.

  “’Birthday, from Murrrrr Sen.’”

  “Mr Sen,” Isbel said, laughter in her voice.

  “Mr Sen,” Argan corrected himself. “Mr Sen! You gave me this?”

  “I did. Happy birthday, Argan.”

  “Oh, thank you!” the boy gushed, staring in wonder at the battlements, towers, drawbridge, buildings and figures all resting within the box. The others waited patiently for the next unveiling, except Istan who was now complaining that he was not getting anything and why not? The next was a long slim package, and the paper was ripped off to reveal a wooden sword. Argan wielded it experimentally, causing Isbel to step back hastily. “Careful, Argan!”

  “Oh, sorry,” he said. “This is great! Who’s this from?”

  “Me,” Vosgaris smiled. “Happy birthday, Argan.”

  “Oh, thank you, Fos.” Argan still hadn’t mastered the captain’s full name, but nobody minded. “Now I can be a proper guard!”

  “Well, you’ll have to follow orders, Argan,” Vosgaris said.

  “Istan couldn’t be a guard,” Argan replied, “he never does as he’s told.”

  “Oh, Argan, he’s only a baby,” Isbel scolded him good naturedly.

  Other presents followed. Some were not as exciting, being new clothes and boots, but the cards contained drawings of soldiers which he loved, and there were even ones from his father, Jorqel and Amne which he clutched to his chest and said would stand by his bed. He even said the drawing of the soldier inside his father’s card was his father. Isbel almost cried at that but bit her lip and kept her composure. She pointed out presents from Amne and his father that they had left before they had gone off on their respective missions, or in the case of Jorqel he’d sent money for Isbel to buy what he’d suggested.

  A helmet, mini suit of armour and book on the animals of Kastania came from them. After he had finished he had servants take them all up to his room where they would be placed on the big shelf that had been put up rece
ntly. He wanted to go up and play with them right away, but his mother said he could do it once he’d spent the morning with Mr Sen. He would be let off the afternoon as it was his birthday. Before they all went their separate ways, the cake was cut and a piece passed to all, including the outraged Istan.

  The sound of eating replaced Istan’s howling and they all gratefully spent a few moments savouring the cake, a particularly flavoursome creation made by the palace cooks. It had lots of icing and sugar and butter in it, as well as a soft sponge, with jam layered in the middle. Argan finished his and looked round to see Istan sitting bemused in his high chair with cake all over him and Rousa trying to wipe it off, much to Istan’s annoyance who felt the cake should be left there for later when he was hungry again.

  Even the adults enjoyed their slice of cake, and all patted their mouths and wiped their lips on napkins as they finished. Argan used his too, vigorously sweeping the crumbs from his mouth, trying to copy the adults. He was now five so he felt he ought to be more grown up. Mr Sen led Argan to the classroom and sat him down. “I saw a book on animals given to you today, Argan,” he began. “That was a nice present. Let me teach you about some of the animals that we have here and you can then later see if you can find them in your book, hmmm?”

  “Oh, yes,” Argan said. He was still excited about getting so many lovely presents.

  “Let me see – first we have canines. They are both wild and trained. The wild ones live in forests where they hunt in packs, while trained ones live in people’s homes.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen one,” Argan said, “being walked with a lead outside!”

  “That’s right. All canines must be on leads in cities and towns.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because they can sometimes be dangerous and bite people. They are hunting animals and sometimes they forget they’re not supposed to hunt and think some people are to be bitten.”

  “Oh, would they think I’m to be bitten?”