The Tale Of Jon Handshaker Chapter 43

Click here to read from Chapter One. Here is the beginning of The Tale Of Jon Handshaker.

Chapter Forty Three

An Element Of Danger

Shan Shen stared out over the city, barely visible through the heavy haze of wood-smoke. Rebels had burned the factory that produced the clean-burning coal oil, and now the city was reduced to cooking over primitive wood fires, like any farm village.

There was a small element of danger, standing here exposed. There were guns loose in the city, Mother Earth alone knew where they had come from. Shan suspected the petty Blood had emptied out their cellars and attics for family relics, and were using them to stir up trouble against the Kings.

He considered again the possibility that King Loren or King Pater was playing a double game, but rejected it. Their position was too weak even with the three united. If one were to fall, the other two would follow shortly.

The danger didn't bother Shan. Life without danger wasn't a true King's life. He faced more every time he rode out with his men, collecting vegetables and grain to keep the city fed. The villagers were becoming less easy to overawe, more truculent with each week that passed.

The summer had gone smoothly enough. His men had proved sufficient for the job of enforcing the law, and the local Blood had supplied enough experienced Bounders who knew the people and the land so that food supplies had flowed just sufficiently to avoid more than temporary shortages.

The morning sun peeped through banks of haze. Shan turned and went down the stairs. Time to go to work.

***

Ninety-seven men rode into the West Gate, tired, bloody and triumphant. One hundred had ridden out. Behind them strung a long column of wagons, pulled by an odd collection of horses, oxen and peasant men drafted out of the countryside for the job.

Shan Shen smiled and waved at the cheering, welcoming crowd. Inside, he snarled. Three men dead, a dozen wounded. We'll all be dead, this time next year.

A thin young woman held up a baby, and he raised his hand in a gesture of blessing. The crowd thickened, and the cheering increased in volume. For a few day's, at most, of bread, the people cheer.

The countryside was stripped bare for a hundred miles around the city. He and his men were riding farther every time they went out, and finding less. Something new would have to be done, or the city would starve before fall harvests came in. He had plans.

Men moved up beside him now, appearing casual but alert for assassins amongst the cheers. Shan felt no fear, but kept his eyes moving, waving and smiling cheerfully as he scanned the crowd for traitors.

A short, slim young man, blond and blue-eyed in a baker's white smock, caught his eye. Clearly crewman blood, with that coloring and beaked nose. Shan nodded slightly, and two of his men peeled off to speak with him. The man looked frightened, terrified, and Shan sneered inside, but waved at the man in a friendly manner. Tomorrow he would be in livery, the envy of his friends and pride of his family.

***

"Something new has to be done," said Pater Saopaulo, King of the City.

Shan didn't like the title, but it split their duties along logical lines. Pater was useless in the field, fat, old and slow, lethargic. He sat in his chair and gave judgments, ate and drank and screwed girls. Shan didn't like it, but didn't let it worry him. The people respected Pater, but didn't love him. He didn't bring in the food.

King Loren was away, as usual, treating with the Blood, lesser and greater, smelling out treason, binding contracts. He brought in as much or more food as Shan, but the people didn't see it.

Shan rode out in a blare of trumpets, and returned with laden wagons. The people loved him. He was their savior. He shed his blood for them. It gave him an odd feeling. He was their master, could order any man killed, had so ordered. But his blood flowed, had, more than once. Common citizens bought and traded blood-soaked rags, said to be his.

"Yes, I agree. What we need is a good war." He enjoyed Pater's startle. "A good war," he repeated. He knew Pater had something different in mind, and moved to take the initiative.

"The Island Kings are no threat, without a Maximilian to unite them again. And they are still sending their ships upriver anyway, and aren't likely to stop. As weak as we are, they know they can't fight us without unity. The thing they have never achieved but once."

Pater leaned back, tapping a single finger on the arm of his chair. Shan knew that for a sign of thought. He had long since memorized all of Pater's ticks and cues. He had expected the raised eyebrow of doubt, or the more subtle, thumbs stroking fingertips indicating veiled anger.

"What do you propose? Are we strong enough for a war? Against whom?"

Shan showed teeth. "Who has food but doesn't send it? Who is weaker than we, as disunited as the Island Kings, vulnerable to our main strength, our river navy?" It was Shan's turn to lean back.

Pater sat in thought, a frown occasionally fleeting across his face. Impatient with Pater's sloth, but willing this time to accommodate it, Shan waited in silence. Ten minutes passed before Pater leaned forward.

Shan knew he had won. He would be leading an expeditionary force up the River Siris, into the richest farmland in the Middle Kingdom. The Blood there were individually wealthy, but on smaller estates, disunited and constantly feuding.

That they were disloyal, withholding their taxes, was now an advantage. The hungry people would happily follow a King who led them towards food.

Chapter 44: Memory, Like  A Little Crystal

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Click here to read from Chapter One. Here is the beginning of The Tale Of Jon Handshaker.