Armor rustled as they shifted. He saw surprise on some faces, resolve on others.
“Change will not come easily, but is necessary. History tells us that oppression leads to rebellion and the death of empires. We—you and I—must show the common people that there is no need for rebellion. Today we bring them hope.”
Several in the crowd nodded, though a few frowned. Arbuckle hoped that was simple worry, not rebellion.
“I expect that they will welcome the news. They may even get rambunctious, but,” Arbuckle lowered his voice, aiming for a stern but unthreatening tone, “your mission is to protect me, nothing more. There is to be no offensive action. The constabulary will deal with any unrest. Any questions?”
A single cricket would have seemed loud in the ensuing silence. Surprise wreathed every face, guard and knight alike. Their reactions brought a smile to Arbuckle. They were used to being ordered to action, with no questions allowed. They were learning that he was not his father.
“Very good.” He gestured to the towering doors that led to the palace foyer and the courtyard beyond. “Let us proceed.”
The clatter of metal echoed through the Great Hall as the troops parted to allow the crown prince passage, then followed him outside. Arbuckle boarded his carriage and settled into the soft seat, his scribe tucking into the opposite corner. The carriage shifted as his blademasters leapt into place with the driver, atop, and on the rear. Within minutes all were ready, and the carriage lurched into motion.
Arbuckle peered out the window, but could see little beyond steel and horseflesh. A cordon of knights and squires rode around his carriage, and the Imperial Guard marched behind. Arbuckle had envisioned a more discreet contingent.
It’s like an invading army…
Arbuckle slouched into his seat, disgruntled at the thought. He despised his father’s brutal policies, and had tried to dissociate himself from them whenever he could. As crown prince, he had stood beside Tynean Tsing II during audiences and attended social functions he couldn’t get out of, though he refused at every opportunity. The emperor had long ago stopped trying to instruct his only son and heir in governance and statecraft. Arbuckle had tried instead to learn his duty from books, gleaning what he could from historical successes and failures. But reading was no substitute for experience, and he felt ill-prepared to rule the vast empire.
I thought I’d have more time…
After what seemed an interminable duration, but was probably less than an hour, the procession halted, and Arbuckle’s mood brightened. It was time for the people to meet their future emperor, time for them to learn that he was not his father. A buzz rose over the clatter of hooves and armor, the voices of the commoners gathered in the plaza.
“We’ve reached the Imperial Plaza, Milord Prince!” Captain Otar opened the carriage door. “There’s quite a crowd. I’ll say again that I don’t think this is a wise thing to do.”
“Then I’ll go down in history as Arbuckle the Unwise, Captain. This plaza epitomizes my father’s injustice. This is where I need to be.” He swallowed hard and stepped from the carriage, pausing a moment in the door.
The Imperial Plaza was as horrific as he remembered. Rows of pillories and whipping posts surrounded a cluster of gallows, an appalling number of them occupied. Above it all, the imperial flags snapped in the breeze. The deep-blue crested banner fluttered upside-down, proclaiming a death within the imperial family. Constables and mounted lancers girded the perimeter punishment area in a solid wall of steel.
The buzz of voices rose as the crowd caught sight of Arbuckle. Commoners by the thousands craned their necks to see him. Though notice of the gathering had been last minute, it seemed as if half of the city’s population had attended.
“Milord Prince!” Chief Constable Dreyfus approached with a squad of constables, grim men and women in tarnished mail with hands on swords. He waited until Arbuckle’s blademasters allowed him through their protective cordon. Bowing, Dreyfus got right to the point. “This is a dangerous place. This rabble could go off at any moment!”
“This rabble, as you call them, Chief Constable, look fairly calm to me.”
“For the moment, yes, Milord Prince, but so does a tinderbox before it goes up in flames.” He looked around, obviously nervous. “Trust me. They’re like curs. Toss them a morsel and they’ll turn around and bite the hand that feeds them.”
“A dog that has been beaten for forty years has good reason to bite, Chief Constable!” Arbuckle forced down his temper. Dreyfus and his constables dealt with the dregs of society every day. No wonder they were jaded. “I respect your opinion, but please refrain from disparaging the people you are sworn to protect!”
Dreyfus looked stunned, but recovered quickly. “All I’m saying, milord, is that I can’t guarantee your safety.”
“That’s not your concern, Chief Constable. The Imperial Guard will see to my safety. Your job is to maintain order. Protect the city and the populace from harm. I want no brutality here!”
“As you wish, milord.” Dreyfus bowed and retreated to command his constables.
“Good. Now, where…” Arbuckle scanned the field of punishment and saw what he needed. “There.” He pointed to one of the gallows. The platform was high enough that he would be visible to the entire crowd. “There! I’m going there.”
“But to expose yourself—”
“Captain Otar, how can I address the people if they can’t see me?” He glared at the man and pointed again to the gallows. “We’re going there!”
“Yes, milord.” The captain clenched his jaw and shouted orders.
The Imperial Guard formed a double row from the carriage to the gallows, shields facing outward. Arbuckle proceeded down the passage between lines of guards, his blademasters tightly knotted around him.
Good Gods of Light! Beneath the gallows dangled the body of a woman, a rope cinched tight around her neck. I can’t change my mind now. He mounted the steps of the gibbet, his footsteps hollow on the well-trodden wood. A breeze fluttered his robe, wafting the scent of blood, infection, and death through the air. Arbuckle struggled not to gag as he gazed out across the sea of people.
“People of Tsing!” he shouted, hoping his words would reach to the edge of the crowd. “I am Crown Prince Arbuckle, heir to the throne of Tsing. The emperor, my father, is dead!”
Surprisingly, the people remained silent. Arbuckle had expected cries, maybe catcalls, perhaps some cheers, but not a sound reached him beyond the shuffling of feet and the clatter of armor and hooves on stone. He examined the crowd, looking from face to face. A few glanced sidelong at the squads of constables, but not a single eye met his.
Fear… Ice water trickled down his spine with the realization. They’re terrified.
A lone shout of, “Good riddance!” rang out from the crowd, and a squad of constables surged forward.
“Stop right there!” Arbuckle bellowed. “I’m here to speak to the people. If they choose to speak back to me, they have the right. No one here will be punished for speaking out. There will be justice under my reign!”
“What justice?” A man surged forward to the cordon of constables, his accusative hand thrusting between the shields to point. “How dare you speak of justice standing above my wife’s corpse! There ain’t no justice for common folk. Only for you nobles!”
A murmur swept through the crowd, and Arbuckle could hear the rage in it. He looked back at the rope trailing down through the trap door in the gallows, and realized that the man was right.
What a hypocrite I look.
“There will be justice!” He raised his hands. “I pledge to you, there will be the same justice for all, noble and commoner alike.”
The murmurs grew louder and the crowd shifted, a few more catcalls and epithets ringing out. The constables fidgeted, but remained in place. Arbuckle had to demonstrate his sincerity, but how? Show them you’re not your father.
Turning to his nearest bodyguard, he held out a hand. “Give
me a dagger.”
The blademaster immediately handed over the dagger from his belt.
“Captain Otar! I’m going to cut down this poor woman. Have your men catch her. They are to treat the body with respect, do you hear me?”
“Milord Prince! Why?” The captain stared up at him with wide, questioning eyes.
Otar’s surprise made Arbuckle realize that he had misinterpreted the captain’s mindset. He hadn’t been upset to learn that his former master was a sadist and disagreed with the notion that commoners deserved any consideration whatsoever, let alone respect. Time to educate him, Arbuckle resolved
“Because it is her due! Now do as I say or I’ll have you removed from your post, Captain!”
“Yes, Milord Prince.” Otar’s voice was sullen, but he gave the requisite orders.
Arbuckle leaned out over the open trap door and gripped the rope, sawing the keen blade through the strands. The prince realized his mistake as the rope parted and the rough hemp ripped through his blistered palm. A hand grasped his shoulder, and another snatched the rope beneath his fist. One of his blademasters had saved him from dropping the body, and maybe tumbling after it.
“Thank you. Lower her gently.” Arbuckle released his grasp, his hand bloody.
Another murmur swept the crowd as the blademaster lowered the body into the arms of two imperial guards waiting below. Easing the woman to the ground, one removed the noose while the other unclasped his own cloak and wrapped the forlorn figure in a makeshift shroud.
“Very good!” Arbuckle returned the dagger to his bodyguard, then called down to Otar again. “Captain! Have your people take her to her husband. Release the rest of the prisoners to their families. Use your cloaks to wrap the dead.”
“Milord, this sets a bad precedent.”
“Carry out my orders, Captain!” Arbuckle warned.
Otar shook his head. “I cannot countenance this action. It’s foolhardy and dangerous!”
Arbuckle bristled. If he couldn’t control his own Imperial Guard, how could he hope to govern an empire?
“Very well, Captain.” The man relaxed for a moment before Arbuckle bellowed, “Commander Ithross, relieve Captain Otar of command and place him under arrest! You are acting captain of the Imperial Guard as of this moment.”
Ithross moved forward with a squad of guardsmen.
“What? You can’t—”
“I can and I have, Master Otar. You’re under arrest. Hand over your weapons, or you’ll be taken by force.” To Arbuckle’s immense relief, the captain unclipped his sword belt and handed it over to Ithross, though his face darkened with rage. Unclasping his cloak of office, he flung it to the ground and allowed himself to be led away.
A cheer rang out from the commoners in the fore of the crowd.
“Commander Ithross, did you hear my orders to your former captain?”
“I did, Milord Prince.” Ithross saluted smartly.
“Carry them out at once.” He looked around. “Sir Fineal!”
The knight rode his charger forward. “Milord Prince.”
“I want the knights to assist in the release of the prisoners.”
“At once, Milord Prince!” Fineal snapped orders, and soon the knights and their squires dismounted to join the Imperial Guard.
Sparks flew as steel cleaved chains and struck locks from stocks, but the soldiers took the greatest care with the prisoners, helping them to the waiting arms of their grateful families. The effect on the crowd was gradual but profound. Murmurs of disbelief swelled to shouts of elation and cheers. Those receiving bodies wailed, but many more wept tears of joy.
Arbuckle raised his hands. “People of Tsing!”
Silence fell. Arbuckle’s heart raced at the sight of their upturned faces, no longer fearful and despairing, but hopeful. A new eagerness and spirit shone in their eyes.
“I know you have suffered long under my father’s rule, but I’m here to tell you that I will not perpetuate his policies. As a pledge upon my word, I grant full pardons to all those who were being punished here in the plaza, and vow to personally review the case of every prisoner currently being held in this city. Those cases found unjust by me will be dismissed.”
A murmur of disbelief swept through the crowd, and a voice called out, “What of our dead?”
“I can’t make up for your losses, but every family who brings to the palace the cloak we have wrapped your dead in will receive compensation.”
“Blood money!” someone cried, and a dangerous murmur began.
“No!” Arbuckle shook his head. “This is not blood money, but compensation for wrongs perpetrated by your emperor. Gold can’t bring back the dead or pay for your sorrow, but it can feed your children.”
“How do we know we can trust you?”
Arbuckle almost smiled at the question. Already they were more emboldened than they had been in years. Trust is earned… But how to convince them? He clenched his fists, and the pain from the torn blisters on his palms ignited his memory of that morning, of the satisfaction at destroying his father’s implements of torture. Of course!
“Commander Ithross, get me an axe!”
Within moments, Ithross hurried up the gallows steps, a battle axe in hand, and the hint of a grin on his face. “I’m afraid it’s not quite a woodsman’s tool, milord.”
“It’ll do, Commander.” He nodded at the tall square frame of the gallows. “Care to join me in an encore of our morning’s work in the interrogation room, Commander?”
“With pleasure!”
Arbuckle hefted the battle axe in his aching palms. It felt good despite the pain. Hauling back, he swung with all his might, and the blade bit deep into the soft pine. A cheer went up from the crowd. Wrenching the blade free, he swung again while Ithross attacked the other support. Blood dripped from his torn palm. After several more strokes, the gallows framework lurched.
“Ware below!” called Ithross, and the nearby guards backed away. With one final blow, Arbuckle smashed through the remaining support and the frame crashed down onto the cobblestones.
Another ragged cheer rose from the crowd.
Arbuckle turned to Ithross. “Commander, have your guardsmen tear down every single post, pillory, and gallows. Pile it all right here!” He pointed down to the space beneath the gallows.
“Yes, Milord Prince!” Ithross fired off orders, and the Imperial Guard hurried to comply.
For nearly an hour they toiled, and the crowd watched in amazement. An enormous mound of broken timber rose beneath the platform upon which Arbuckle stood. He called for a skin of oil, and emptied it down through the trap door, then raised his hands for silence.
“Today is a new beginning!” he bellowed. “Today we begin to right the wrongs! Today I show you my commitment to bring justice to this empire! One justice for all people, rich and poor, noble and commoner alike!”
The cheers echoed off the buildings around the plaza, so loud that they reverberated against Arbuckle’s chest. He held high the torch that Ithross had fetched. “You, the common people of Tsing, are the life and blood of this empire. This realm was built by your hands, your sweat, your labor! With this flame, I ignite a fire to burn away the injustice of the past and temper a pledge for justice in the future.”
Arbuckle dropped the torch down through the hatch in the platform. Fames immediately flickered amidst the well-oiled wood, and the fire quickly spread. The crown prince descended the platform’s steps amidst a flurry of sparks and raucous cheers from the crowd. By the time he reached his carriage, the bonfire raged, flames soaring into the sky. The crowd cheered, and he even saw some delighted folks dancing and clapping. Many Imperial Guard and knights grinned, while several of the younger squires hooted with relish.
“Chief Constable Dreyfus, pull your constables back. Protect the surrounding buildings and keep order, but let the people gather to enjoy the bonfire. It’ll do them good.”
“Yes, Milord Prince.” Dreyfus didn’t look happy, but immedi
ately began relaying Arbuckle’s orders.
“Commander Ithross, back to the palace!”
Arbuckle climbed into his carriage and fell against the cushions with a hearty sigh. “A good afternoon’s work, if I may say so myself.”
“Yes, Milord Prince.”
Arbuckle started at the voice. The imperial scribe sat tucked once again into his corner. Suddenly the crown prince realized that the man had been nearby throughout the entire foray, constantly scratching on his ledger, as quiet and unobtrusive as a shadow. In fact, as far as he could remember, this was the first time Arbuckle had ever heard him speak.
“Do you know, I don’t believe I’ve ever learned your name.”
“It’s Verul, Milord Prince.”
“Well, Verul, how did you like my little speech?”
The scribe looked sheepish. “I…I don’t know, Milord Prince. I’m so busy writing the words that I don’t have time to listen.”
“I know what you mean. I was so busy speaking, I don’t remember exactly what I said. May I re-live it by reading?” He gestured to the thick book in the man’s lap.
“I’m afraid it’s not legible yet, milord.” Verul turned the volume around to show a page full of incomprehensible markings. “It’s just shorthand now. It’s transcribed every night by the archivists.”
“I wondered how you wrote so quickly to get it all down. Would you bring the archive to me once it’s been transcribed?”
“Of course, Milord Prince.”
Arbuckle leaned his head back and closed his eyes, tired but happy. His first action had been a resounding success. He hoped it was good portent of his upcoming reign.
Mya watched the imperial carriage pull away, Crown Prince Arbuckle tucked safely inside. The spectacle had fairly dumbfounded her. This was Tynean Tsing’s son?
The Grandmaster had considered his heir inept and unfit to rule his empire. He was right. But then, Arbuckle didn’t intend to rule this empire, but one of his own making. Lad would like that.
As the constables’ line dissolved into squads, the crowd surged forward. She allowed herself to be taken with them until she felt the heat of the bonfire on her cheek. She felt a trickle of sweat on her neck, not due to the sweltering temperature—her enchanted wrappings kept perfectly comfortable, regardless of heat or cold—but the crowd was getting overly rambunctious for her comfort.
Weapon of Fear (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy II Book 1) Page 6