10 - Facts on the Ground

 Elestrine learns that the situation is more complex that she anticipated. 

Transcript

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It became harder and harder to tell what was real. And then one day, nothing was. This is reality's end. Facts on the ground. Ilestrine As I've already parceled out most of the plum posts in this country to various lords and ladies of not entirely despicable character, my morning is dominated by sycophants and hangers-on scrambling for whatever is left. I am just about to recess to check up on Mr. Oakes' hunger strike when a knight comes before me, practically dragging a pink-skinned human child, a girl, unless I've missed my guess, behind him. The knight bows his head. I am Olaith Vijz Zuver, your Excellency, he announces in Zorbin inflected Everglacy. Ah, yes, I say, sitting up, Hodan's placeholder, whilst he's in Everglaze. I set my sights on the girl who stands frozen in panic. And who might this be? A serious problem, Excellency, Olaith replies. My patrols caught her outside one of the human shelters and gateno Excellency, she was making apples. I try not to register my alarm, instead granting the girl my warmest smile. Vous avez creum? The girl looks about uncertainly. Then she nods. Ut lisant le Miji We she mutters. Oh quelle filnieuse, I enthuse. Vous pouvez Merprochet Wolath dutifully releases her hand, and I feel a swell of concern that she will flee, but she proves cleverer than that and cautiously walks toward me. Despite my genial manner, she is practically shaking as she reaches my throne. I reassure her. The promise not to hurt her seems to mollify her somewhat. She nods, mafianuse she hesitates. Lisette I lean to the girl's eye level. Et moi, Lisette. Common Vri Lamagi Vulapri Anna, she whispers. An homme Com Capitanolet She shakes her head. An you meant Is it Hom, I say, suspecting I already know her teacher. A tile non chuck. You summoned me, Excellency, Awirel asks as she enters my room. Indeed I did. Is that a ferret in your lap? I pretend to notice the animal. Oh yes, Awirel meet Lisette. I begin stroking the creature's fur. Lisette posed something of a conundrum, you see. I'd promise not to hurt her, and yet, well, I could hardly let her return to her shelter knowing what she did. Awyrell takes a moment to parse this. She used to be human. Yes, I say, lifting the ferret up to look into its face. A very clever girl. Captain O'Laith brought her in. Do you know what she did? Awyrell says nothing. She'd somehow learned to make food, I explain. And do you care to guess who taught her? Awyrell looks down. Was it Mr Oakes? It was, I say, honeying my words in mock surprise. He is very talented, Excellency. Yes, I agree. But it does seem a remarkable coincidence, does it not, that of the million or so human souls inhabiting the city, it would just so happen to be the one I appoint Prime Minister. Dear me, the very one who has been encamped on our lawn for two days, who should be the first to master this trick. Excellency, she begins, flushing gold. I cut her off. I am only going to ask you this once, dear girl, and I hold you in great regard, so I expect an honest answer. Did you teach him I she stops. Yes, Excellency. Ah I drum the fingers of one hand rhythmically upon the arm of my throne as I stroke the ferret with the other. Awyrell simply kneels in ashamed silence. Do you sympathize with the humans? I ask at last. Do you empathize with them? Excellency, I she swallows her pride. It's true that I didn't want to see Mr. Oak starve himself to death, as I suspect you do not either, and I would be lying if I said that I didn't have some lingering regard for for humanity, but neither empathy nor sympathy motivated my actions. Then what, may I ask, did? Awyrell fixes me with an abashed gaze. I did it for you, Excellency. Explain yourself. Your Excellency she pauses, presumably reconsidering the wisdom of her words. Your Excellency, I am aware that you regard your mission here as being of paramount importance, not just to Everclays, but to the entire fairy race. With good reason. I do not dispute that. Awyrell looks away. I also am aware that Her Majesty, your mother, has imposed a certain course of action with respect to humanity on you. She wants to marginalize them, to thin their numbers through starvation and transformation, until only a few stragglers remain, bolstering our power with their fear and respect. And what is the problem with that? It won't work, Excellency, she blurts, then with a split second of hindsight she amends. Or I don't think so. Perhaps I should reprimand her for speaking out of place. Instead I simply stroke the ferret. Speak your peace. The Winter Queen is wise, Wyrell defers, but she has never been to this country, nor shown any particular interest in the facts on the ground. She has a limited understanding of humanity, and that's unfortunate because it's humanity upon whom we depend here. I would hardly say that we depend on them. But their continued existence is necessary, Awyrell insists, or at least convenient. Is that not why we accepted their surrender? I do not dispute her interpretation of events, and yet we mustn't err on the other side either, I retort. There are some thirty-eight million humans in this country, each with their own will and demented value system, each blissfully unmoored from the bonds of very honour. Imagine such people running amuck. Imagine them with magic, no less. Certainly an undesirable outcome, she acknowledges. But Her Majesty's plan, forgive me, may bring us something worse. At best, this country will be blighted with human resentment for millennia. At worst, we will have to do away with them altogether, leaving us with the very chaos we are trying to avoid. She looks at me meaningfully. Right now the humans fear us, and that gives us power, but if that fear turns to hatred, our position will become untenable. And so you took it upon yourself to sabotage the plan. Awyrell stares fixedly at the floor. I wouldn't say sabotage, Excellency. I just wanted to push it, in a more humane direction. I rise warily from my throne, sending Lisette scampering off. There is, I must admit, a certain logic to what Awyrel says, and yet you should have brought your concerns to me, I pronounce. You should have asked my permission. You would have been honor bound to refuse, she replies, not looking up. Given your mother's designs, given your oath. But if you could plausibly argue that her order was impossible, then I would no longer be bound to obey it. Yes, Excellency. I regard her for a moment. This was not your judgment to make. Though a Wirrel still gazes at the floor, I can see her dark eyes moisten with tears. I know I move slowly toward her, producing a kerchief. So what now? I ask. How shall we recover from this? It her voice cracks. She tries again. It will take time, Excellency. For this skill to diffuse through the human population. If you act now it can still be contained. I pause. And supposing I do not Excellency? Suppose I do nothing to contain this knowledge, I say. Suppose even that I agree with your assessment. What should I do instead? A Wyrell seems to consider before answering. A few days ago you asked me whether the humans would consider you good or evil. Excellency, be good. Make them love you. I laugh once and without humor. Then I reach out and dry the girl's eyes. Do you remember who you are? I ask her gently. She looks at me, her expression passionate. I am a Wirrel, Excellency, as you yourself have named me. I am your confidant and loyal servant. And nothing more. That is not entirely true. Excellency? You are my friend, I tell her flatly. Indeed, I dare say you are my only friend in this backwards country, and so I must be able to depend upon your loyalty. Fresh tears appear at Awyrel's eyes, rather undoing my work with the kerchief. This time I simply embrace her. You will atone for your transgression, I whisper. But I shall take your words under advisement. Awyrel, maddening the adorable girl that she is, looks up at me and nods. Thank you, Excellency. I pull myself back from her and straighten up. Now, we have another matter to discuss, have we not? I reassume my throne. Have you devised an escape from this lamentable marriage to Odin? Awyrel manages to recompose herself. Ah, yes, Excellency, she says, assuming a businesslike tone. I've consulted Canadian law, and found that the only practical way to make yourself unmarriageable is if you're already married. Already married? I breathe, appalled at the idea. To whom? To anyone, Excellency. The law's unspecific. You mean to say that I could simply grab some poor fool off the street and marry him? For her, Owyrell notes, it's not limited by gender. And this will make it impossible to marry Odin. Illegal, at any rate, she replies, under Canadian law. And this is perpetually binding. Until such a time as your divorce or your spouse dies, Excellency. Oh, I exclaim, that's hardly a way out at all. My mother, discovering that I have already wed, will simply order me to divorce the poor wretch, or even dispose of him personally, and order me to wed Odin. This is terribly dispiriting, I say, falling back onto my throne. Are you certain you could not find a more concrete strategy? I've been over the law thoroughly, she replies. The Canadians have little in the way of clauses to forbid a marriage. She shakes her head sadly. I can only say that I've tried my suddenly her face seems to light up. I have known her long enough to recognize when inspiration has struck. I sit upright. You have an idea? I might, Excellency, she replies tepidly. Well, do tell me what it is. Odin returns tomorrow. Well, she says, tracing out an arc with her foot as she speaks. Why is her Majesty so intent upon you marrying Odin in the first place? Of course, because she's concerned about the threat posed by Odin's tribesmen in Zorba, and imagines she can neutralize it by incorporating him into the line of succession. Surely that much is clear. Yes, Owyrel agrees. At base it's a matter of political convenience. Her Majesty wants Odin in the family because she thinks he'd be a smaller threat on the inside than on the outside. Now, she says, pacing gracefully around the room, if you were to, as I originally suggested, grab some random fool off the street and force them to marry you, that would be a matter of political inconvenience, would it not? Neither Her Majesty nor the realm would gain anything by it, nor lose anything were it dissolved. Yes, I say, hence why I rejected the plan. Charming as you are when you're being clever, I do wish you would get to the point. Apologies, Excellency. But my point is, what if you selected a spouse not at random, but as a matter of political advantage? Surely your dand isn't the only person with whom Her Majesty might consider an alliance to be worthwhile. There are any number of alliances to be had, I complain, but if my mother weighted any of them as highly as that with the general, I would surely not be in this position. A thought suddenly occurs to me. From her face I see that it has already dawned on a viral. But, I continue, it doesn't really matter whether the alliance is worth more than that with a Dan on its own merits. All that really matters is how costly it would be to break once it has been established. If ordering you to divorce costs the realm more than would be gained by marrying a Dan, then Her Majesty will have to go along with it. At once another thought comes to me, this one less welcome. But how could I marry such a person without my mother's permission? You don't need it, Excellency, says Owyral. Not under Canadian law. Really? I exclaim, to think that my salvation should rest upon such silly little laws. Then it's just a matter of finding a suitable candidate. A thought occurs to me, Excellency. Delightful. Let us hear it. Well, she begins, would it not make sense to marry someone selflessly loyal, someone whom you yourself have elevated to a position of title and influence? You might then avoid the risk of marrying another boar or schemer in your haste to avoid wedding Odin. An excellent point, I say. Indeed, it might be best if you were to elevate someone who already loves you deeply, and indeed whom you regard with some fondness as well. A marriage built around love, I think out loud. Is that a human ideal? Yes, Excellency, she replies. Though they're not very good at it in practice. Those words could very well be humanity's epitaph, I murmur. Of course, I would need to raise this individual to a fair degree of genuine power if I am to have what is the human term, plausible deniability when defending the alliance to my mother. You could, for example, appoint her to be the lieutenant governor of one of the provinces, Ontario, for example, being a major one from whom you must demand loyalty. Surely your mother will understand the necessity of such a union, or at least accept that it would be disastrous to break up. An interesting suggestion, and yet it will never work, I sigh. The lieutenant governors have to swear allegiance to the winter queen. If I marry one, my mother will at best think me a fool, at worst think I'm plotting against her, and in any case have the marriage annulled. Some other position, then, perhaps suddenly, like a lightning strike to my mind, an idea comes to me. It is so clear, so obvious, that I scarcely understand why I failed to think of it sooner. I laugh out loud at the force of its impact. Excellency? Oh, but it's so perverse. And yet I turn back toward the girl. Thank you for your counsel, O'Byrell. As ever, your wisdom does you credit, but I believe that I've resolved this conundrum on my own. I seat myself back on the throne and cross my legs leisurely. A great weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and my mother will soon learn a lesson for trying to sell me to a brute like Odin. Indeed, I may very well have just solved two problems simultaneously. Life is good. You have been listening to a serialized audio adaptation of the novel Reality's End, A Theory of Magic Book 1, by JP Babb as narrated by JP Babb. The novel is available from Author and Osrey Press and can be purchased in print paperback on Amazon or as an electronic copy wherever ebooks are sold. The podcast, Reality's End, a Theory of Magic Book 1, is licensed under copyright by JP Babb. Special thanks to Electron for composing our theme music, an epic arrangement of the Quebec Waff folk song La Le Bon Bon, Sarah Clark for her services as a sensitivity reader, and Busurka design for the cover. You can support me on Patreon at patreon.com slash JP Bab for early access to new episodes, bonus commentary, and material from the unpublished sequel.