The Noble Prince (The Empire of the North)

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The Noble Prince (The Empire of the North) Page 16

by Brendan DuBois


  Randall blurted out, “You were in Quebec City with my father, plotting against Armand, grooming me, and now you’ve just made Armand crown prince? How can that be?”

  His father laughed while the Lord Chancellor sipped from his brandy. His father said, “Good lord, have you really learned so little at my side? Listen up, Randall, for there’s a world of difference between one’s public and private interest. For example, George’s public interest is to be a faithful servant of the Emperor, while George’s private interest is his confidential control of a number of dummy companies that have a deep investment in our servant class… an investment that’s in serious trouble, due to demographics.”

  “Demographics?” Randall asked.

  Another nasty laugh from his father. “Maybe a year or two more at the Service Academy will do you good.”

  “Lionel, you’re talking too much,” the Lord Chancellor said quietly.

  “Hah, if he’s going to do what we want him to do, then he’s got to know some of our deep dark secrets,” his father said. “Look, Randall, demographics. Population. Our empire is facing a serious, secret challenge… boiled down, our servant class aren’t doing their patriotic and reproductive duty. Each year, there are fewer and fewer babies from the servant class. Meanwhile more and more of their elder kinsmen get their brass rings cut off and run away from their responsibility. So the nobility and others, who rely on the free labor from our servant class, are facing a serious shortage that could lead to civil disorder. So with the help of some in the Imperial Army, we’re developing a solution. Care to guess what it is, Randall? See it as a test to see if you’re worthy to becoming crown prince.”

  Randall thought and thought, and it came to him. “The badlands. The places beyond our southern border.”

  His father’s smile grew wider. “Very good, Randall. Perhaps there’s hope for you yet. So yes, certain Imperial Army units, operating beyond their usual areas of responsibility, have been stirring up trouble beyond our southern border. Trouble that leads to punitive raids, conflicts, and prisoners. Lots and lots of prisoners. Remind me, George, what’s the common name for those badlands?”

  “Amerka,” the Lord Chancellor replied.

  “Ah, yes, thanks. So yes, Amerkan prisoners, Amerkan slaves, will be brought north to serve us, as they should. Since you’ve proven you can think like a crown prince, I’ll tell you that we’re pleased to know that over the past year or so, you’ve also proven you can act like a crown prince.”

  With that, his father reached into his dispatch case, and pulled out a newspaper clipping from the Toronto Star newsjournal, which he silently passed over to Randall. He glanced at the article, saw it was an old story about the star hockey player for the Toronto Imperials who had been crippled in a knife attack. Before he had a chance to digest that, his father dropped something on the table as well. A broken knife, the one he had brought to use against Armand at that birthday celebration so long ago for the now-dead crown prince.

  “But you’re thinking needs to improve, Randall,” his father said crossly. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that Munro was telling me everything that was going on? And that your other activities were being monitored?”

  Randall stared at the items on the table. “But why didn’t you bring me in earlier? Why wait so long?”

  His father finished off his brandy. “Because, impatient boy, we wanted to see how you acted over the months, as certain events played out, to see how much you wanted it. Despite your frustration and impatience, you kept your counsel. Very good. You certainly proved you want to be crown prince.”

  Randall felt something very unfamiliar: the sensation of being praised by his father, who went on. “At some point in the very near future, young Armand will fail, will stumble, will go down in history as a vain, incompetent crown prince. When that time comes, Randall, you --- serving under our guidance and direction, of course --- will step in, at a time when the people of our empire will demand competence, a strong hand, a decisive leader.”

  Randall tried to take it all in, the relief at knowing the chance of becoming crown prince was still not dead, but also mixed in with the anger that these old men thought they would control him. Who the hell did they think they were?

  Another knock on the door. His father said, “Ah, the third member of our group has arrived. Randall, be a good boy and open the door.”

  He turned around and did as he was told --- still furious that these men thought he would play by their rules --- and he was stunned as the woman walked into the room. He knew his mouth was open in shock.

  Armand’s mother, the Viscountess de la Cloutier.

  Randall’s father patted an open space on the couch. “Henrietta, darling, do join us.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” she said, sitting down, wearing a long dark blue skirt and short tan jacket. His father squeezed her hand. “M’dear, you’ll note that my boy seems shocked at learning you’re the third member of our little organization. Do put his mind at ease. Tell him what you hope will happen to your bastard son, the new crown prince of the Empire of the Nunavut.”

  As Armand’s mother made herself a drink, even in this basement, Randall could hear the church bells outside in Toronto, pealing with joy at the ascension of a new crown prince and heir to the throne. He cursed himself for not realizing that the third figure in that dank Quebec City basement back then was a woman, not a man.

  Armand’s mother took a long swallow, and said with satisfaction, “I want him to be ground into dust.”

  # # # #

  Afterward

  Thank you reader, for being a part of this three-novel series. I had so much fun outlining this future and bringing to life the story of the young people who are determined to change their Empire for the better.

  This will not conclude the story of Armand, Melinda and the citizens of the Empire of the North, and those citizens and soldiers in Amerka who are seeking freedom. Depending on readers’ interest and my future writing schedule, I intend to tell more of Armand’s story, which will cover his future years of success, triumph, and yet bitter defeats and setbacks.

  Thanks again for reading my works.

  # # # #

  Brendan DuBois of New Hampshire is the award-winning author of twelve novels and more than 120 short stories. His novel, "Resurrection Day," won the Sidewise Award for Best Alternative History Novel of the Year. He is also a one-time “Jeopardy!” game show champion.

  His short fiction has appeared in Playboy, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, and numerous other magazines and anthologies including “The Best American Mystery Stories of the Century,” published in 2000 by Houghton-Mifflin. Another one of his short stories appeared in "The Year's Best Science Fiction 22nd Annual Collection" (St. Martin's Griffin, 2005) edited by Gardner Dozois.

  His short stories have twice won him the Shamus Award from the Private Eye Writers of America, and have also earned him three Edgar Allan Poe Award nominations from the Mystery Writers of America. Visit his website at www.BrendanDuBois.com.

 

 

 


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