MONEYCHANGERS’ SQUARE was especially noisy and crowded. People were discussing the latest news. The Atalians had annihilated the King of Bergonia’s army on the banks of so small river, and killed two of the king’s sons in the process.
Everyone was talking about the treason of the rcenaries in whom the king had placed so much hope. The king himself had been taken prisoner by the knights of the “Scarlet Shield” and sacrificed by their priests.
Thus the country was left with neither ruler nor princes, which in turn opened a range of possibilities for the surviving relatives of the late king. It occurred to that, unless I was mistaken, Carl III was also a cousin of so sort to the Bergonian king.
It wouldn’t have surprised to learn that there were nurous pretenders to the throne of the little country among the Atalian nobility as well. By the way — one of the n I killed during the Trial was also a relative of the late king.
My carriage ca to a stop next to the Herouxville stock exchange. At its doors, which were guarded by two well-ard soldiers, there hung a coat of arms bearing a money bag, so scales, and a key. This was the sigil of the family that had founded the exchange, a certain house de Boursari.
The doors opened, letting in several groups of people in black robes with white shawls and little black caps on their heads. They had bronze brooches pinned to their chests with the sigil of the de Boursari, and from their necks hung pendants containing little scales for weighing out coins and small inkpots, complete with quills. These were Herouxville’s brokers.
Sowhere inside this huge building, in the exact sa clothing, sat Zacharias Beron, busily concluding agreents and conducting business. Kevin, as his best pupil and assistant, was never far away.
But I wasn’t coming to see them. I was there for a eting arranged by Kiko, the royal jester, whom I had last spoken to several days before.
To be frank, I was excited about this eting. I was interested to see what exactly the king was going to offer . The idea that they would give the barony that once belonged to Max’s father didn’t seem very likely. But there would almost certainly be so sort of offer. If it was going to be limited to gold, though, then all the effort and ti I dedicated to this king would be for naught. I would have to switch to another plan, one I wasn’t all that excited about.
After a little while, a short, thin man hurried over to my carriage and handed sothing to Sigurd, who was sitting in his saddle and controlling access to .
“Your Worship,” said Sigurd as he glanced into the window of the carriage. “This man says his ssage cos from his master, with whom you have an appointnt.”
Sigurd handed a little paper scroll, which I imdiately unrolled and read.
Monsieur Bastard, please follow my man inside.
I glanced at Sigurd and said:
“Ask him to show us the way.”
A few minutes later, my carriage ca to a stop at the doors of the exchange again, but this ti it was on the opposite side of the building from Moneychangers’ Square.
We were led inside, toward a staircase that led up to the second floor, where there was a small balcony that had once been used by an orchestra. There was a small, round table there, with a silver jug and a dish laden with fruit, as well as two armchairs. Kiko was sitting in one of them.
“Monsieur Bastard!” He greeted with a big smile. “I beg your forgiveness for these secretive gas, but I presud you might be interested in seeing the beating heart of Vestonian trade — or rather, the trade of most of Mainland.”
Having said this, he hopped lightly up onto his feet and beckoned to join him at the carved oaken rails of the balcony. The filed-down legs of his chair and the little stepstool below the railings suggested that the jester was a frequent visitor to this place.
I approached the edge and laid my hands down on the railing. From there, I had an excellent view of the main hall of the Herouxville exchange, which was packed with people in black robes and caps with white handkerchiefs on their necks. From above, they looked like flocks of penguins hopping from one iceberg to another.
I wondered, just then — did Zacharias Beron know that his work was frequently observed by such a highly-placed audience?
“What do you think?” Kiko asked as he gestured out at the roiling black-and-white sea below us.
“Interesting,” I replied, slightly cagily.
“I suppose you’re wondering why our eting is happening here, of all places?” The jester chuckled.
“I’ll be honest, the question has crossed my mind,” I admitted.
“It’s quite simple,” the jester replied with a shrug of his crooked, angular shoulders. “I like it here. There’s sothing magical about this place. After all, this hall sees decisions made that affect life across our whole kingdom — and not just ours. For example, look over at that group of people discussing sothing so vociferously.”
I glanced in the direction he was pointing. Two dozen brokers were standing by the far wall, speaking loudly and animatedly to each other as they tried to prove their points. As they spoke, they were waving big, flat sticks of so sort around almost as though they were swords.
“You know what they’re discussing?” Kiko asked.
“They must be negotiating the price of so commodity or other?” I suggested.
“Exactly,” the jester nodded. “Oats, specifically. The results of this conversation will determine how much the treasury will have to pay to feed our cavalry and wagon trains.”
“And also, for example, whether horse prices will remain the sa, and whether caravaneers will be charging more for their services,” I added.
The jester turned to face with a big smile on his ssily-painted red lips.
“Indeed!” He raised a long-nailed finger into the air. “I knew you’d like this place! By the way, do you know its history?”
“Only very generally,” I replied. “I know that a certain house de Boursari donated this palace to house the exchange.”
“Oh!” Kiko rubbed his palms together gleefully. “They didn’t donate anything to anybody. This palace still belongs to them. And they received it from the ancestor of our current king, together with their title. After all, Charles Boursari, the founder of their line, was a simple stonemason, who headed off to war and proved his bravery and dedication to the Crown on the field of battle. The old king was so impressed with Boursari’s deeds there that he created him a baron. And also, instead of lands, he gave him this old palace, which the newly-minted baron himself remodeled with the help of his sons and brothers. What do you think happened after that?”
“I suppose the Baron de Boursari encountered difficulties maintaining a place of such enormity,” I replied. “Property taxes in this part of the city aren’t cheap. And that’s not even to ntion what he must have spent on the remodeling.”
“You’re absolutely right, Monsieur Bastard,” said Kiko with a snap of his fingers. “The entire family tried to convince him to sell the palace after its remodeling, in order to recoup the money spent on materials and make a handso profit as well. With money like that, he could’ve moved to sowhere like Abbeville and bought himself so land and a mansion in the city to boot. And lived happily ever after.”
He ntioned Abbeville for a reason. And the jester was using the whole story in general to make so sort of point. Although I still had no idea what exactly that point might be.
“But, as you already know, the newly-minted Baron de Boursari didn’t listen to this advice from his family,” the jester smiled enigmatically.
“Otherwise there’d be a different crest on these walls,” I said.
“Exactly,” he nodded. “Charles de Boursari chose a different route. Actually, this story has beco overgrown with various legends. So say he was helped by fortuitous circumstances, others that people ca to the baron of their own accord for help. Still others say that Charles Boursari had it all planned from the beginning... I’m inclined to believe that all the aforentioned took place as part of quite a concrete pattern. Here’s my version. The week in question was plagued by torrential rain, and the traders gathered in Moneychangers’ Square took shelter in accounting houses and taverns, where they conducted their business. As he worked on remodeling the palace, the baron was keeping a close eye on what happened on the square outside. And finally, a fortuitous opportunity had co along. A kind man, he invited all the traders into his palace and suggested that they use his ballroom as a place of business for a few days.”
The jester laughed.
“Just imagine the scene, Monsieur Bastard! All those shopkeepers and rchants gathered in an ornate ballroom, discussing the price of cloth and goats! And it lasted for days on end! And anwhile, Charles de Boursari had food and drink brought out to them! Haha! The baron’s family concluded that their father/husband/brother had lost his mind. The rainy season was long past, but the rchants still hadn’t left. On the contrary — there were even more of them! And they decided to approach Charles de Boursari with a proposal that would make the arrangent permanent.”
“A commission on agreents made,” I nodded.
“Exactly!” Kiko confird with a wide smile. “Over the last century and a half, the de Boursari family has beco one of the richest and most influential in Vestonia, maybe in Mainland.”
“Quite a remarkable story,” I nodded. “But surely you didn’t call down here just to tell that?”
“No.” Kiko’s face was suddenly serious. The sa serpentine features that I saw at our first eting were back. “His Majesty won’t give you the barony.”
I sighed and shook my head.
“You could, of course, try your luck in the courts,” the jester said with a dismissive wave. “But I’ll tell you now — it’ll be no more than a waste of money and ti.”
“I understand,” I replied. “Well, then — “
“But!” Kiko stopped in mid-sentence, holding his index finger up in the air. “His Majesty desires to reward you for your exploits.”
I waited in silence for the jester to continue. His heavy, snake-like expression was almost hypnotic. It felt like he was asuring himself against so sort of potential prey. Like he was trying to see if he could swallow whole or not. As I looked back at him, my expression said: “Go ahead and try it!”
Without waiting for my reaction, the jester bent his head to the side a little bit and asked:
“Are you aware of what recently befell the King of Bergonia and his sons?”
“The whole city’s talking about it,” I shrugged.
“Did you know that Count Etienne de Mornay, who you killed at the Trial, would have had a claim to the Bergonian crown in these circumstances?” He asked without a pause; judging by his expression, he understood imdiately that this attempt to throw off balance had no effect on whatsoever.
“Well,” I shrugged. “Even if he’d been wearing the Bergonian crown DURING our duel, along with all his other royal regalia, I’d have killed him anyway. I’m not going to sacrifice my life just because so king decides he’d like to take it from .”
“I’ll rember you said that,” the jester replied knowingly.
“Please do,” I continued in an icy tone.
“In any case, our king is going to announce his claim to the Bergonian throne this very day, in the presence of several foreign diplomats. And all parties plan to support him. The war thereby takes on a new aning.”
“What’s to prevent the King of Atalia from doing exactly the sa thing?”
“Nothing,” the jester replied. “Especially since he’s already done so.”
“I see,” I nodded, before asking: “But what does this information have to do with ?”
Without a word, the jester took a scroll bearing several gold-ribboned seals out from behind his belt and handed it to .
“Take a mont to familiarize yourself.” An acid smile appeared on his sloppily-painted lips.
I carefully unfurled the scroll and read its contents carefully.
“In the Na of the Forefather and the Most Luminous Mother!
We, Charles the Third, the Victorious, by inalienable right King of Vestonia, by the power of the wisdom and benevolence of our exalted throne, declare the following:
In consideration of unsurpassed performance and loyal service to our crown rendered by the person of Chevalier Maximilian Renard, and as a sign of our royal favor, we hereby grant him the elevated and honorable title of Margrave de Valier.
From this day forward he shall bear this title and enjoy all privileges, rights, and obligations pertinent thereunto.
We command all our subjects and officials to respect and recognize this decree, and to effect its imdiate and permanent implentation.”
There followed the location and date where the decree was made, along with the king’s big, flowery signature and personal seal.
“What do you say, Your Lordship?” Kiko asked with a smug smile.
“A margraviate instead of a barony?” I was surprised. “What about all those dukes and marquesses waiting in line for the king’s grace? How will they react to the news that so bastard has passed them by?”
I also wanted to add: “What’s the catch?”, but I stopped myself in ti. Although the title itself suggested that they were hoping to send to the border sowhere. The only question was — where?
“Oh, Your Lordship!” The jester threw up his hands. “No need to worry about that! The crown of this particular margraviate isn’t suitable for just anyone.”
That made sense. They were giving sothing that nobody else wanted to claim. And besides the rights, of course, there would be all sorts of vague obligations that ca along with it. For just a second, I thought of turning down the offer and heading off to prepare for a hasty departure. After all, declining the offer would also co with so unpleasant consequences. But I suppressed my irritation and decided to hear the jester out.
“And where is this margraviate?” I asked.
“In Bergonia,” Kiko replied with the sa acid smile. “In the place known as Shadow Pass.”
“In other words,” I said with narrowed eyes. “His Majesty is granting a title and lands in a kingdom that still needs to be conquered?”
“No,” Kiko shook his head. “According to an old treaty that the respective great-grandfathers of our two kings concluded, this is a Vestonian margraviate — it rely lacks any borders with our kingdom.”
Hm... So they were trying to give a Vestonian exclave. Now, I thought, I can see why nobody wants it. All the more so during a state of active war.
“I’m guessing that there’s sothing else I should know about this margraviate?” I asked.
“According to our most recent reports, it’s in the hands of the Atalians at the mont,” the jester snickered. “Specifically, the “Scarlet Knights.”
He was openly laughing by this point. Still trying to test . He was trying to provoke into refusing the royal “gift.” Yet another check.
“Knights?” I asked. “I thought they were with the Golden Lion’s army right now? Why would they need this margraviate?”
The jester slapped his hand theatrically up against his forehead:
“I completely forgot to ntion one important detail! The Margraviate de Valier borders the Shadow!”
After saying this, he fixed his eyes firmly on mine. I was having a very hard ti keeping all my emotions concealed. A margraviate on the frontier? Whereas a few minutes before, I had been prepared to refuse this “gift,” I was suddenly having a hard ti concealing just how interested I was.
“His Majesty’ pronouncent ntions so rights and obligations,” I said in an even voice. “What specifically does that refer to?”
“You will be almost entirely autonomous in the managent of your lands, and subordinate only to the king himself,” the jester explained matter-of-factly. “In becoming a baron, you’d have to swear an oath of fealty to whichever count or duke controlled your barony’s lands. In your case, that would have been Prince Heinrich. He’s going to receive lands that include the Barony de Valff.”
Hm... So the king was giving lands to the “blue” prince. Close to the border with Astland. To dilute the concentration of “red” landowners, the people who supported Bauffremont. Good move...
“The tax you’re obliged to pay His Majesty will be rendered in the form of military service,” the jester continued. “And you will be granted the exclusive right to establish courts, organize fairs, and reward the vassals in your lands. And a lot else, besides. You will receive a separate decree later on.”
That all sounded great, of course, but only if there were actually people to staff those courts and run those fairs in the first place. And that didn’t seem likely, as the lands in question had been thoroughly ravaged.
“What about titles?” I asked.
“Title can only be granted by the king,” the jester replied. “But if your people give a good account of themselves and behave in the appropriate fashion, they’ll be able to receive titles. Although of course I can’t promise that they actually will.”
“What does His Majesty expect of in return?”
“Border defense,” ca the jester’s succinct reply. “Especially from the Shadow. Basically, besides everything else, you’ll be carrying out the responsibilities of a Shadow Patrol. You and your vassals will also be obliged to answer the king’s summons imdiately upon receipt thereof.”
“Last question,” I said. Basically, I had already decided. “Titable.”
“His Majesty’ wishes will be communicated to you,” the jester replied. I noticed a little bit of surprise on his face at how calm I was. “But I strongly recomnd that you begin preparations for the campaign imdiately. You’ll be heading to the Margraviate de Valier together with His Majesty’ army. And when the invaders have been driven from those lands, you’ll remain there to shore up the defenses on the borders.”
I rolled the scroll back up and tucked it into the inner pocket of my jacket. So that was it... Job done... I was a margrave.
Before I could leave, the jester stopped :
“Your Lordship, allow to give you one piece of advice.”
“I’m listening.”
“Try to justify the trust that His Majesty has placed in you,” said Kiko coldly; then, once again looking serpentine, he added: “And don’t throw out those promissory notes for the barony. Who knows? They might yet co in handy.”
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