The Noble Warrior (The Empire of the North Book 1)

by Brendan DuBois

  Armand said, “They’re servants, that’s all. Not slaves. And yes, they work to pay off their family’s debt.”

  “Do you know of any servant family that’s been successful in paying off their debt?”

  “No,” Armand said, hating the feeling that he was losing an argument to this boy. “But I don’t make it a habit of inquiring about the payment plans for servants.”

  “Maybe you should,” Micah said, his voice with exaggerated politeness. “If someone works for you, and cannot leave without permission, and who can be sent somewhere else against their will, and have their families broken up… perhaps in your civilized and advanced empire, you can call them servants. Here, we call them slaves.”

  Irritated by Micah’s mocking tone, Armand turned away to look back up at the statue. Father Abram’s gaze… it seemed to be a look that brooked no lies, no deceit. And what had his own Father had said, over and over again, about the importance of truth-telling? Armand recalled the tired walk of Simpson Granny from last week, knowing that because of one spoiled girl’s whim, she would never see her granddaughter, ever again.

  Micah took a step and stood next to Armand, staring up at the statue as well his voice firm and quiet. “I know what you and others think of our ancients, of the empire that was here. We know of the troubles we were accused of doing, the hate and wars we supposedly started… all of the events that led to the War of the World. I don’t know the truth of that. It’s in the past. But what I do know is that this empire that was hated so, once produced a man like Father Abram, a man who freed the slaves. And any empire that can bring forth such a man… well, not enough of its true history is known.”

  Armand kept looking at Father Abram. Something about that steady gaze and knowing who he was, Armand felt small indeed.

  Micah said, “And perhaps, someday… another Father Abram will return to these lands. Come, sire, it’s getting late. We must leave. And if I spoke too frankly, my apologies.”

  Which is what they did, though Armand almost fell twice, walking down the broken steps, looking back up at that steady gaze.

  Chapter Four

  When they got back to the hotel, Micah was sweating, nearly out of breath, as he stood in the gathering twilight next to his pedicab. Armand looked at the boy he had hired, and thought, yes, hired. Not a servant. Not a slave. Armand shook his damp hand and before he could say anything, Micah said, “Sire… if I may be so bold, when you return to your empire, please remember your trip here. Talk about us, who we are… and of Father Abram… and… well, I want to show you this.”

  From his own pouch Micah took out a very small round coin or medallion, which he passed over to Armand. It was old, well-worn, but Armand held it close to his eyes and his chest tightened when he recognized what was there. On one side was the temple, and on the other side, there was a carving of Father Abram, in profile. Some numbers and letters were barely visible. Seeing that coin brought everything back to Armand, about standing before the temple, seeing that huge seated man, seeing the offerings left there by people desperate to be freed again.

  Armand held the medallion tight. “Micah… I must have this.”

  “Sire, please, it’s something I’ve had –-“

  Armand reached into his pouch with his free hand, took out a silver sovereign, and then a gold one, and pressed them into Micah’s hand. “I must have this, Micah. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Micah paused, and then bowed slightly. “As you wish, sire. It was… it was an honor to be your guide today, sire. Do have a safe trip home.”

  “I will.”

  Armand was surprised when Micah touched his shoulder. It was a familiar gesture that earlier in the day, Armand would have found offensive. But the brooding statue of Father Abram and the words of Micah by the temple… it was all now different. Not that Micah was his equal or superior, but something had changed, something Armand found it hard to put in words.

  “I hope you return someday,” Micah added. “So I can show you much, much more of my lands.”

  And then Micah got into his pedicab and pedaled off into the dusk, and Armand went into the hotel, past the guards, to return his sash, and to get to his room before Father arrived.

  Armand was stretched out on his bed, puzzling through a local newsjournal called The Post, when Father returned, sweaty, worn, and he grunted a hello at Armand as he went into the small bathroom and drew a bath. Armand had the wireless on and without being asked, turned the harsh music down. After Father came out of his bath, got dressed in casual slacks and a white shirt, they went downstairs to dinner in the hotel’s sole restaurant. Throughout dinner both of them were fairly quiet, Father no doubt because of his long work day, and Armand, for what he had seen, tasted and smelled out there in the ruins.

  They slept that night with the shutters open but the screens lowered, to keep the bugs away. All through the night, Armand smelled the scent of burnt cane. And thought of the slaves out there, and the servants --- the slaves! --- back home in his supposedly civilized empire.

  The next day, as the hotel’s servants were preparing their luggage, Father looked to a tired Armand, as he rummaged through his pouch. “Armand, what’s that coin you’re holding?”

  Armand passed the medallion over to him. Thinking quickly, he said, “I bought this from a local. It’s a medallion, to honor a great man who once ruled the old empire here.”

  Father took the medallion, examined it, and then laughed. Tossed it back to Armand, who caught it with one hand.

  “Armand… I’m sorry, I truly am, for you’ve been cheated. This is just an old coin from the days of the empire here… and even at the empire’s height, this coin was used everywhere. Millions of them must have been minted… and you can find them in almost any of the ruins, if you dig deep enough. You said you paid for this coin, Armand?”

  “Yes,” Armand said, his face warm with embarrassment, not liking the knowing and confident look from his father.

  Father kept on smiling as he buttoned his dark blue tunic. “Even when it was being used during the old empire here, it was often ignored or thrown away. That coin is without value, no value at all.”

  Armand looked at the coin, rubbed the edge and the faded face of Father Abram. Thought of the statue, thought of the temple, thought of the pride of Micah in his ancestors and this old man. Armand rubbed the coin even harder.

  Armand raised his eyes. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said quietly. “I disagree.”

  He still smiled but there was a shadow over his face. Armand knew his Father didn’t like being contradicted. This was definitely one of those times.

  “Interesting thought,” Father said. “And how long have you been in Potomick? A day or two? Your very first visit to Amerka, correct?”

  Armand felt a satisfaction in knowing Father was mistaken. True, this was his first official visit to the lands of Amerka, but last year, he and his best friend Henri Godin had gone there on a forbidden sailing voyage.

  Father pressed on, like he was trying to negotiate a contract on better terms. “And this is my seventh visit on behalf of the empire, each visit lasting several days. Don’t you think I know the people and the customs here better than you? Don’t you?”

  A stubborn streak that no doubt belonged to Mother rose up inside of Armand and he kept refusing to answer. Father’s face reddened and Armand wondered how much trouble he was getting into, but the hotel servants who were packing then stood in silence when their job was done.

  “It’s time, Armand,” Father said, adjusting his tunic’s collar, his face flushed. “Time to go home.”

  They left their room and went to the lobby, and officials from the cane growers and the Potomick government lined up to wish Father goodbye. Armand stood aside, letting his Father do his work. Armand remembered the tour from yesterday, what Micah had observed, and thought, someday, after Father is gone, that will be me standing there, smiling, shaking hands, pretending to be friends with these barbarians
. The thought should have pleased him. Instead, Armand felt slightly ill.

  With the handshaking complete, they made their way out to the glass doors, where the uniformed guards stood at attention. Armand glanced over to the tour guide table, but Micah wasn’t there. Out into the heat, Father was smiling, still shaking hands, but in an aside to Armand, he said, “That coin you showed me earlier. Get rid of it. Now.”

  In the oppressive heat, Armand’s discomfort grew. “Father…”

  Father turned and had his best Trade Minister look on his face. “Those types of coins… sometimes they are considered taboo. Not to be taken from their native land. I don’t believe in such trash, but others do. I want you to get rid of it. Now.”

  Armand felt a flush of humiliation, thinking that everyone out here by the hotel’s doors was watching him. He reached into his pouch, and when his hand came out, Armand flipped it behind him, hearing a coin clink on the ground. A crowd of beggars began fighting over it.

  He wiped at his face, and followed Father into their coach, and before Father got in, he paused for one more round of waves. Armand sat back on the leather cushion as the coach motored out to the road. Unlike the day before, this coach was powered by an electric motor, and there was a fan mechanism that gently blew cool air over their faces as they headed to the air station. Armand’s Father leaned back and said, “Oh, to be out of this heat, eh?”

  “I guess,” Armand said, his voice surly, not enjoying this last day in Potomick at all.

  “The places I’ve been for my position… if you think this was hot, there are islands further below this place, in the Caribbean Sea, which are even hotter. Be glad you didn’t come on one of those trips, Armand. There the formal dress is shorts, if you can believe it.”

  “I can believe it, Father,” Armand said, looking out the coach’s window, seeing them pass horses and trailers and other coaches.

  He gently slapped Armand’s leg. “Quite a trip, to finally see what your Father does when he leaves home, eh? Your mother thinks I’m out partying, drinking, or doing something even worse, but no… there’s meetings, followed by more meetings, and then going out to the cane fields to see things for yourself. Your mother can be a suspicious woman, sometimes not believing what I say, even when it is the truth. And the Emperor… there is no better servant for him than one who goes out and gets mud on his feet, tells him the truth. What he faces, day in and day out in Court… facts are a precious jewel.”

  Armand kept looking out the window. Once again, Father had talked about being a truth-teller. The truth, Armand thought… the truth of what really was going on out in the cane fields and in the counting houses and in their fine homes in Toronto…

  He turned away from the window. “Was the trip a success?”

  Father shrugged. “We’ll talk of that later, Armand.”

  The coach moved at a fair speed to the air station, and despite the sourness of how Armand felt, a sense of pride came to him, seeing the moored airship waiting to take them home. It was silver and bright and beautiful, the propellers on the side engines idle, the long cabin below with the clean windows, the golden fleur-de-lis bright on the tail. Armand felt the strong desire to go home and forget he had ever been here.

  A few hours later in the airship Kanut, they had lunch in the forward dining room. It was a nice pork dish with fried tomatoes, and Father splurged by getting them both a glass of wine –-- which was always for dinner, but rarely for luncheon –-- and when the white-coated stewards had cleared away the dishes, Father unbuttoned the top of his tunic and stretched out his legs, scratched at his big ears. There were windows set at the end of the cabin, floor to ceiling, and if one closed his or her eyes just a bit, it seemed like you were flying alone above the green forests. Most of the other diners had filed out after the luncheon hour was over, leaving them alone at this end. There was the steady drone of the airship’s motors and some light music being played through wireless speakers set up in the ceiling.

  Father said, “I didn’t mean to ignore you, back there in the motor coach.”

  Armand was taken aback. “What was that?”

  Father smiled, wiped his hands on a white napkin. “In the motor coach, you asked me how successful the trip had been, and said we would talk of it later. Do you know why?”

  Armand looked about the nearly-empty cabin, recalled their trip out to the airport. “You didn’t want the driver to overhear what you had said.”

  He nodded. “Very good, Armand. That’s right.”

  Father leaned back in the padded chair. “These rough neighbors of ours, they have funny ideas of business and honor. In Toronto, a contract is a contract, with pages and pages of sections and sub-sections. In Potomick and other places… all it takes is a simple handshake. Odd, isn’t it? But God helps those who go back on an agreement that’s made with a handshake. You know what happens if you were to do something like that, in Potomick?”

  “No, I don’t,” Armand said, thinking Father might have been a schoolteacher at his prep school if it weren’t for the Trade Ministry.

  He grinned. “If you’re the offending party, your rivals seize you, hold you down, and cut off a finger from the offending hand. A funny way of doing business, eh?”

  Armand swallowed. “Yes, quite funny.”

  He folded his hands over his plump belly, looked at Armand with his strong brown eyes. “Tell me Armand… what were you up to yesterday, when I was in my final negotiations?”

  Armand saw his father’s glaring eyes, thought of what he was asking, and he sensed something unusual. Armand had told plenty of fibs before, of cutting school and other childish things… but the tone of Father’s inquiries was different.

  He took a breath. “I left the hotel and went on a tour of the ruins.”

  Father’s face was like stone. “Even though I told you not to leave?”

  The airship was flying steady and smooth, but it felt like Armand’s seat was quivering. “Yes, even though you told me not to leave.”

  “Why did you do it, then?”

  “Because I couldn’t stand it,” Armand spoke quickly, letting it all out at once. “Couldn’t stand the thought of staying locked up in the room all day, just klicks away from the most impressive ruins in this part of the world. Couldn’t stand knowing that when we got home, all I could say to the other guys at school was that I saw the jungle, our hotel room and a reception hall.”

  “Don’t you know how dangerous it was, out there?”

  Armand said, “I had a protective sash that the lady at the front desk gave me before I left. She said that --–“

  Father leaned forward in his chair, eyes flashing. “And there are barbarians who live in that jungle, among the stones, who would gladly strangle you with that sash and cut off your fingers for your rings. Did the nice lady at the front desk tell you that?”

  “No, she didn’t, but I’m sure I was safe, because ---”

  “Because why? Because the barbarians here would run away from the sight of a nobleman from the empire of the north? Because of your skills with a polo mallet or sword?”

  Armand’s heart was racing and he wanted to look away from that angry face, but he couldn’t. He just sat there, pinned down by Father’s voice and look.

  And a surprise: Father started smiling. “All right, you were correct. You weren’t in any danger at all. But not because of what you were doing.”

  Now he felt like he was six years old. “You had me watched.”

  “Of course.”

  “Father, I… “

  He said, “What do you think? That I was going to bring you to this barbaric land and leave you alone while I was out on business? That I was going to let my family’s heir be exposed to such danger? I wasn’t going to let that happen, Armand.”

  Armand said, “Who followed me? Imperial Security?”

  He shook his head. “No. They have long memories and even deeper records. No, I hired an agency that’s done work before for the Ministry.
I didn’t want to have anything happening to you while you were in Potomick. My word, imagine what your mother would have done to me…”

  Armand kept quiet. Yesterday he had been so cocksure, arrogant at fooling Father by sneaking out from the hotel… and Father had been the sly one, the one fooling his son. His Father’s voice softened. “Armand, you’re a good boy, though rough about the edges. I’m proud you told the real story of what you did yesterday. Who you are and how you are regarded are worth more than any collection of sovereigns. One of these days, Armand, you’ll take over my office in the Ministry. Having a reputation of being a truth teller will carry you far.”

  Armand wiped his hands on his trouser legs. “Speaking of truth telling, Father… The workers who cut and process the cane, the ones working for the men you met… are they slaves?”

  His father frowned. “They are workers. They are paid for their services. No, they’re not slaves.”

  Armand shifted in his comfortable seat. “But Father… if they are working to pay off a debt that they or their children can never afford to pay off, then isn’t that the same as slavery?”

  A shake of his head. “No, it’s not. It’s a system of labor and debt and finance that has worked well in our society, and other societies as well. Other methods of ordering society have been tried, off and on over the centuries, and this one… this one works. You see, Armand, in a properly functioning society, there are classes… the merchants, the nobility, the military, the Emperor’s family… they all have a place, a role. Our servants are such a class, Armand. Everyone has a job, everyone does their duty, everyone is content.”

  Despite Father’s lecturing tone, Armand pressed on. “But the injustice of it, Father. That people are forced to work, and to serve, to fulfill a debt incurred generations ago, how does it --–“