10. N #6
and does exactly what she pleases. I want that. For me, and for my ladywife, and for my sons. Beyond the king’s writ. Beyond anyone’s writ.”
Haldeen opened his mouth to reply when Pelias put his hand up.
The carriage slowed. “That’s me. I’ll leave you now. As far as I am concerned we’re sworn. Oh, and officially, I’m warning you about the assessments. It’s to go up by another ten percent, effective with this eight-day’s assessment.”
He opened the carriage door and departed, leaving Haldeen in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
The carriage pulled away, and he slowly pulled the tangled mess into order.
I wonder if he knows the king told me to deliver up Triana?
The last part of the carriage ride, which meandered into the wealthier suburbs before reaching his estate, gave him time to try and unpick the ball of problems that Pelias had left him with.
The translator who was spying for the Military Committee, and thus to the king.
He needed to dam the information stream that flowed from his estate and to the King’s Tower.
He needed a way to do that that would be plausible.
Giving her the sack would only put her on the street with no ration and an ax to grind, but he couldn’t very well continue giving her access to Triana.
And Triana was too accessible, too easy to see, and too easy to be spoken to.
He needed to get her out of sight, and to put off transferring her as long as he could.
Time with her would be of the essence now, and there were things he needed to know.
Perhaps it was the end of nice chats, and more the stern interrogations.
He thought back to his disordered desk, and his feelings of trespass. Well past time for being nice to her!
Pelias’s “agreement” seemed the easiest, at least for now.
Haldeen hadn’t actually agreed to anything, and could remain vague about progress …
essentially the same policy he followed with King Alliard.
The Lord Provision had promised to … well, provision …
though, and Haldeen could see where that would be useful.
He reluctantly put that aside … any acceptance of money or resources from Pileas would establish a debt between.
Still, he had a problem. His ration makers were already stretched to the limit. Where was he going to get an additional ten percent?
He pondered both of those as he rode home, brooding on his problems
Haldeen bent a grave look on Nora. “I am sure you are wondering why I asked you for this meeting,” he said, and held up a hand to prevent her from saying anything. “This is not common knowledge—yet—but it is only a matter of time. Citrine has fallen.”
Her swift intake of breath told him that she understood all of the implications of that statement.
“And all of us have been asked to supply an additional ten percent of rations. Right now my staff is stretched to the very limit. I could put in a night shift—if I had more people.” He leveled his gaze at her and waited to see if she was as sharp as he thought.
“You—are asking me to volunteer,” she stated.
Yes she is. Dangerously sharp.
“Fundamentally your job with the outsider is done. We can understand each other quite well now, and the flow of useful information has slowed to a trickle.”
He knew the last part wasn’t even remotely true.
He watched her reaction. As he had hoped, her face reflected panic for a moment, because although she did have a guaranteed contract, after that—there was likely nothing.
“I am going to be selecting nonessential workers from among my upper staff for the night shift. When our meeting is over, I will be holding another to inform them. I would like you to head that night shift, act as the supervisor as well as producing rations.
I will keep your pay and your quarters the same. You will, of course, be drawing your ration from the bars you produce, so I expect they will be superior to the common store. In addition, I believe there is some … charity work you undertake?”
He saw the shock on her face as she realized how much he knew about her.
“You may draw one bar a week for that charity, as a gift from me,” he said smoothly. If that bait isn’t irresistible ….
“I’ll take it,” she said instantly, as he had thought she would.
“Good. Please join me for the meeting.” He rose and headed for the door. She followed behind, compliant, obedient, and without a doubt mind whirling, trying to figure out how to turn this to her best advantage.
When they stood before the upper servants he had decided could be spared—which, to his malicious enjoyment, included his wife’s personal dresser and handmaiden as well as his own valet—she stood at his side, but a little behind, deferentially.
“Citrine has fallen,” he said, bluntly. The reactions were mixed.
Some looked indifferent. Some looked shocked.
Some looked as if they were wondering what on earth this had to do with them.
“As a result, the king has ordered we produce an additional ten percent rations. I am sure you are all aware we are at maximum production now. This is why I am assigning all of you to a night shift.”
Universal shock and the beginning of resentment.
“You will retain your current pay and quarters,” he continued smoothly.
“In addition, you will each be allotted two planting pots and a choice of herb or vegetable seeds. You won’t suffer by this. I am, in fact, protecting you from the Royal conscription of nonessential workers that is going to come. If you are already working on ration production,
there will be no need to conscript you, but you can be sure that if you fall to the Royal conscription, you will be sent to barracks and reduced to a normal worker’s stipend. The king is … very efficient.”
There we go. Ration bar and stick.
“This lady will be your supervisor,” he concluded. “You may be sure she will treat you with the respect your current ranks allow you. Now, are there any of you who are not inclined to accept my generous offer?”
There was absolute silence.
“I welcome your loyalty and wisdom,” he said. “Please follow this lady to speak with the Overseer, and make all the arrangements necessary for your change in duties. You will find your planters already in your quarters, and the Overseer will supply you with the seeds of your choice.”
He watched with repressed glee and unrepressed satisfaction as they all filed out.
Translator neutralized—she’s not stupid; if she’s conscripted, she won’t have access to anyone important to spill my secrets to.
Valet disposed of … no one to be spying on my comings and goings now.
And the handmaiden … that will annoy my wife so much she’ll shun my company for weeks.
Maybe forever. And I’ll be able to make that damned quota.
He chuckled quietly to himself. Now to make a call to the king and suggest he start the worker conscription. That should distract him for a little.
I swear. I am a genius.