Chapter 11

“I-I didn’t know, m’lord! I’m no crook!”

A loose-jowled man with sweaty skin looked up at the dais with pleading eyes. Upon that dais, behind a well-worn oak table, sat Lord Torkel Völkchenheim and Lady Adelia Völkchenheim. Sanju stood behind a desk below and to the side. Several footmen attended the hall.

“I swear to the gods, m’lord!” The man’s plaintive voice echoed up and down the hall, “We’re good’n honest folk!”

From the shadows of the servants’ entrance, Ludmila and Nabe observed the proceedings.

“What’s this ‘we’?” Nabe sneered, “And only fools would defend themselves by claiming that they’re ‘good and honest.’”

“An attempt to curry sympathy,” Ludmila murmured back as she looked on with interest. “It’s not uncommon for people to speak like this.”

“This worm broke the law,” Nabe muttered. “There’s nothing left but to accept his deserved punishment. What point is there in having all of these gnats buzzing around the hall?”

The ‘gnats’ in question were the man’s wife, several of his friends, the master of the Baker’s Guild and the senior Priest of the local temple with two of his attendants. The man’s wife wrung her hands tearfully. His friends all held worried expressions. The guildmaster had a grim look. The delegation from the temple frowned in unison, occasionally shaking their heads.

“It’s all an attempt to curry sympathy,” Ludmila replied softly. “The baker admitted to his crime under the effects of Charm Person. All they can do is try and soften the blow.”

Before dawn that day, she and Nabe went out to observe the citizens as they started their daily routines. Her newly-rediscovered ability was as vague as she remembered it. There was no such thing as a person who was perfectly compliant with the order of the Sorcerous Kingdom and the will of the Sorcerer King. All she could do was try and figure out what fell in the range of everyday life and what was far enough out of line that she could justifiably suspect them for problematic behaviours.

As with her previous experiences employing the ability, an individual was never always uniformly the same. Small things nudged them back and forth in attitude and general outlook. As of yet, she had never encountered anything like a giant arrow pointing down at a person’s head blaring ‘CRIMINAL’ to her amongst the citizenry. Like the mercenaries fleeing Fassett County, however, past actions lingered on the impressions that she felt.

How recent these acts had to be for her to recognize them was unknown. In the town, however, there was no pressing need to chase anyone down. Once she identified them, her targets were easily tracked. The citizens she picked out went around unconcerned, unaware of the fact that they were quarry being stalked.

Ludmila’s first target – the baker currently standing trial before Count Völkchenheim – did not stand out in any overt way relative to the other denizens of Crosston. Nothing in how he carried himself, interacted with others or conducted his affairs suggested that he was a criminal or even a slightly suspicious person. If anything, his behaviour was as normal as normal could get, people got along with him, and he had no discernable issues as a functional member of society.

After about an hour of observation, Ludmila went from being a stalker to feeling like a crazy stalker. That Nabe seemed ever ready to snipe the baker through his storefront with a Lightning Bolt just made things that much worse. In the end, Ludmila decided to take the man out into the back alley and have him charmed.

The result left Ludmila somewhere between wanting her anticipation back and feeling bemused. With the man being about the worst of what Ludmila had detected in the town, she wondered how a truly malicious actor would register to her senses. Nabe, however, appeared unreasonably furious with the baker, despite the nature of his infractions.

Even in such a minor case, the web of social threads ensnared all parties with an interest in the matter. The wife worried over the future of their family. His friends were either genuinely worried for the man or wary over how their association might be perceived. The guildmaster had to consider the implications of one of his members being charged and what it meant to his organization. It was illegal for the temples to interfere with government functions, but there was a tiny space where they could appeal to one’s better nature, pleading for an opportunity for reform rather than corporal punishment.

As far as Ludmila knew, the last was unique to places where the Faith of the Four held sway over the population. The Faith of the Six did not hold any belief in the inherent ‘better nature’ of people, nor did mercy and sympathy hold any sway over justice. Humanity required guidance, and sometimes that guidance came in the form of actions exercised for the greater good. It did not mean that punishments were arbitrarily harsh, but no one thought to interfere in the delivery of a verdict and its associated penalties.

Lord Völkchenheim was a follower of The Four, however, and his people were largely the same. As such, Ludmila was curious how the proceedings would play out. The young nobleman was well-known for his conscientious and compassionate nature, and this nature was something that many might try and take advantage of.

“Ridiculous,” Nabe sniffed.

Ludmila’s lips turned up in amusement. The situation was indeed ridiculous – an amalgamation of several disparate elements that culminated in the trial on display before them.

“Mister Brioche,” Lord Völkchenheim visibly struggled to maintain a straight face, “you are overdramatizing your case. What precisely do you think is going to happen to you?”

“I-I don’t know m’lord? I guess it was like poaching? Oh, gods – poachers are hung! Or, or…” The baker’s voice grew more desperate with every panicked breath, “Please, m’lord, mercy! Mercy on my poor soul! I didn’t do nothing to deserve this – don’t send me off to be damned for eternity!”

Mournful voices rose from the court’s audience as the man fell onto his knees and started to weep. Heated indignation coursed through Ludmila. Lord Völkchenheim exchanged glances with his new wife, then turned his attention to the blubbering baker.

“Look,” he said, “all you have to do is provide restitution for what was stolen.”

“I’m not a thief, m’lord! I didn’t steal no one’s things!”

“Whether you realized it or not,” Lord Völkchenheim told him, “the fact that you committed theft still stands. Besides, paying it all back shouldn’t be such a dreadful matter these days, yes? As long as compensation is made according to an agreed-upon schedule, you will have nothing further to worry about.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

Mister Brioche stood up again on unsteady legs, then turned to embrace his wife. Their sobs of relief filled the hall. Their friends shed tears as well. The delegation from the temple smiled in unison with satisfied nods. The guildmaster was the only one that did not appear to share in their reception of the outcome, probably because the case carried a precedent that he would need to address with all of his members.

Lord Völkchenheim nodded to his footmen, and they ushered the group out. Except for the delegation from the temple. The next defendant was escorted in with a similar following and a similar look of dread on his face.

As Ludmila and Nabe continued with their observation, common threads appeared as the cases were each resolved. A combination of ignorance, illiteracy, common culture and unfamiliar practices that came with unfamiliar circumstances had inevitably given rise to a myriad of tiny inefficiencies in the way every defendant had carried out their responsibilities. From the administration’s standpoint, the term for such inefficiencies was corruption. Petty corruption, but corruption nonetheless.

It was nothing at all like the popular tales of evil nobles who abused their power in comical ways to gain stupendously unfair benefits. Instead, it was hundreds of citizens engaged in town industries who could not read, did not understand what was expected of them, and did not even realize what they were doing was wrong. Each was a tiny grain of sand in the vast mechanisms that drove the nation, and each affected the system by an equally tiny amount.

Yet these grains of sand added up. There were a quarter-million Human citizens directly involved in the industries of the Sorcerous Kingdom, and each had the potential to become one of those tiny grains of sand, be it intentional or not.

Nearly all of the cases involved the months before the summer harvest when the administration was providing for the welfare of the citizens in the aftermath of the annexation. Food and supplies were distributed to population centres with the expectation that they would in turn be distributed in the manner mandated by the government.

Barley, for instance, was distributed to flour mills. The flour from the mills would be sent to storehouses. Those storehouses would ration daily allotments to village families or bakeries in towns, as was with Mister Brioche’s case. Each transfer of goods was accompanied by an expectation of wastage from production processes and handling during transport. This figure was derived from existing numbers that incorporated these inefficiencies, effectively making the problem invisible when looking down from the top.

Taking an unaccounted-for portion for one’s own family; giving a particularly hungry-looking child another roll of bread; using the ingredients supplied to bake goods not mandated by the administration for variety or at the request of others. This was the ‘corruption’ seen in many of the cases: not born of malice or vile degrees of selfishness, but from ignorance and even charity. The government provided resources according to carefully calculated projections, but these resources were being used in an unintended manner by those responsible for distribution. It was an oversight by the central administration, which issued their directives under certain assumptions.

These oversights should have been identified by local leaders who would, in turn, rectify the issues at their level and bring the problem to the attention of the House of Lords and the Royal Court. In theory, at any rate. It was not an issue that Human nobles from any nation in the region could seriously consider pursuing without an army of administrative aides. In the Sorcerous Kingdom, this army came in the form of the Elder Liches, but simply having them did not remedy what was a cultural blind spot.

Like with the Undead labourers, the reception of the Elder Liches was mixed. Clara and Ludmila eagerly embraced the powerful new administrative capabilities that they represented. Others still baulked at their use. If Nonna’s correspondences with her peers were any indication, Count Völkchenheim was not the only noble that appeared to treat the directives issued by the administration as goals to achieve rather than the minimum acceptable standard.

Shortly after midday, the procession of defendants ran dry and Lord Völkchenheim called a recess for lunch. Ludmila and Nabe came out from the servants’ entrance, walking up to the Count who was slouching in his seat.

“I hope that all had something to do with what you came here to investigate, Miss Camilla.”

“Most likely not, Lord Völkchenheim,” Ludmila replied. “It was something that I noticed, so I thought I would bring it to your attention.”

“I’m not sure whether to thank you or resent you. Personally, I feel like some sort of evil magistrate now.”

“I believe your handling of each case was even-handed. It’s better to be thought of as fair rather than soft.”

“Hunh. I suppose that’s the sign I’ve been wearing around my neck recently. So, how many hundreds more have you lined up in front of the town hall?”

The rattle of several carts echoed out from the servants’ entrance. Lunch was brought in by a line of maids, and Lord Völkchenheim bid Ludmila and Nabe be seated. Ludmila eyed the meal as it was set out over the table. It was decidedly rural fare, featuring dishes prepared from wild game, fresh produce and brown bread.

“I think your awareness of these problems’ existence is enough to get you started, my lord,” Ludmila picked up their discussion. “Your guildmasters should be busy informing their members as well.”

“I thought it convenient that I only ever saw each of them once,” Lord Völkchenheim mused. “You did this on purpose to mitigate all those theatrics, I assume?”

“To help smooth things out in general, yes. We, as the ‘audience’, are aware of the situation each defendant is in. The ‘theatrics’ of the people brought forward today, however, were rooted in genuine fears.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I have to thank you for that. Provided that hundreds of people aren’t fleeing the city right now.”

A furrow crossed Ludmila’s brow as she tried to imagine what Lord Völkchenheim described.

“I don’t think the guildmasters would do that,” she smirked.

“Probably not,” he agreed. “A part of me very much wants to flee, however. Now that everything’s spilt out into the open, what will the Royal Court do?”

“I can’t speak for the Royal Court, but the central administration should be pleased with this development.”

“Indeed,” Sanju said from his desk, “this–”

Lord Völkchenheim started coughing mid-swallow. He covered his mouth with a napkin while Lady Adelia leaned over to gently stroke his back.

“Dammit, Sanju!” The Count croaked, “Where the hell did you come from?”

“I never left. At any rate, the cases so far – if extrapolated to the entire population – represent anywhere from a three to six per cent improvement in economic efficiency. It will, as you say, ‘please’ the central administration.”

The Elder Lich returned to its work. Despite its dispassionate tone, that it chose to interject at all showed just how excited it was. Lord Völkchenheim cast a somewhat suspicious look in Ludmila’s direction.

“You seem to get along famously with the Undead.”

Ludmila had to make an active effort not to bristle at his comment.

“How do you mean, my lord?” She asked.

“Things just feel smoother,” he answered. “Tell me – did you have this sort of problem in your own demesne? Like those represented by the cases this morning.”

“The problems in my demesne were of an entirely different nature,” Ludmila replied. “The Elder Liches were already performing regular audits of government-related activities by the time I had enough tenants for this to start becoming a problem. They’re even being invited to help with the private business of some of my subjects, now.”

Lord Völkchenheim raised an eyebrow as he worked on a mouthful of the main course. He washed it down with a sip of wine.

“Really…” he said. “Frontier folk sure are made differently.”

More differently than you know.

The corner of Ludmila’s lip tightened at his light tone. How many generations would it take for Warden’s Vale to raise new lines of hardy frontier folk? Was it even possible now, given the state of the Sorcerous Kingdom?

“The vast majority of them are migrants from the interior, my lord,” Ludmila replied. “Which brings me to something else I wanted to ask you about.”