Captain (8 page)

14

It was one thing to make an accusation of treason in private. It was another entirely to do so in public, where nasty little complications such as being required to substantiate one's charges rapidly come into play. On the surface the House of Wilkes was nothing less than fully supportive of His Majesty. They paid their taxes on time and bowed and scraped in all the right places just like everyone else. The fact that they wanted to end the war meant nothing— there was plenty of precedent for
that
. Our kingdom had ended lots of wars while we were losing. In fact, it was practically standard practice to end the fighting after losing a handful of worlds. This current conflict had already gone on far longer than any other in the series; indeed, we'd already been at hammers and tongs with the Empire for almost twice as long as average. The economy was growing distorted, we'd been at it so long. Luxuries were running short, and investments were doing unpredictable and unprecedented things. It was high time for an intermission, in other words, from a certain point of view. Past time, even. The fact that Wilkes and the other allied Houses gave voice to the matter was, well… Hardly unpatriotic, by past standards.

And yet…

One of the traditional social obligations of an incoming Commandant of the Academy was to dine individually with each and every professor, so that they could make their wants and needs known in an informal setting. While I hadn't yet taken charge officially, I considered it proper to go ahead and get the process started right away. Though I admit that perhaps I might not've been so eager except for the fact that my old friend Professor Lambert, who'd instructed me in basic strategy back when I'd been a snotty myself, could be placed first on my list. Since I hadn't moved into the Commandant's quarters yet, I had to entertain him out at my estate. This was hardly a problem, however; he seemed delighted when I gave him the grand tour.

"This is wonderful, David!" he gushed, looking around at all the flowers and greenery and neat, well-maintained little houses. "Simply wonderful! And you say that the entire staff is made up of Rabbits?"

I smiled back and explained about how I'd been unable to hire a human to oversee things. "We still can't find a willing human; my chief-of-staff Nestor is in terrible need of an assistant and we haven't a single qualified applicant. But as you can see, it's mostly worked out well so far. With all the Zombie Station and
Richard
bunnies building their own places and having families, well… It's turning into a little Rabbit Town, just like back home on Marcus Prime. Plus we're accepting any other manumitted Rabbits who can get here, at least until things start getting crowded." The Professor was an avid abolitionist, I'd been unsurprised to learn after graduating, and since instructing me he'd taken an active interest in the difficulties of introducing Rabbits into society as equals. Every Tuesday and Thursday he ran an off-campus literacy class for the various slave-species.

He shook his head. "It's very nice, David—I'll certainly grant you that. Nor can I imagine how you could've accomplished anything more under the circumstances. Certainly it's better than anything you Rabbits ever had before. But it's still essentially a ghetto, no matter how pleasant. Not true integration."

"One step at a time, Professor," I replied. "That's all anyone can take. One step at a time."

It was also inevitable that the subject of His Majesty's health would come up during the Professor's visit; had it not I'd have made it a point to raise the matter. King Alfred had been an avid reader of my former instructor's books on strategy; indeed, he'd been fond of quoting them at the slightest provocation. "Have you been to his bedside yet?" I asked, after we'd discussed the latest dismal update on his health.

"No," the Professor replied. "They won't allow me in."

I shook my head. It was, we both knew, because he was a commoner. Which His Majesty would've hated. "I'll fix that first thing tomorrow," I promised. "If it's the last thing I do. I know a Herald that I'm sure will see things our way."

"Thank you," he replied, with a slight bow. "It'd mean a lot to me, David."

I nodded and chewed on my lima beans for moment before replying. "Did you ever write each other?" I asked.

His face lit up. "Oh, yes! We corresponded extensively on every single book I ever wrote. Though he had to go back and search out the earlier ones. His observations were very acute. In fact, a lot of them tended to find their way into the next book." He sighed and shook his head. "He'd have made a fine general."

I nodded. "So, you were in regular contact?"

"Fairly," he answered. Then he shifted awkwardly in his seat. "David… Some of our correspondence was of a classified nature. I know that you're a serving officer, but I've sworn to discuss it with no one in detail."

My head tilted. His Majesty had often angered the military professionals, I knew, by ignoring their advice and doing things his own way. My own fencibles were an example of throne-driven defense policy, launched against official opposition. I'd have considered His Highness's behavior in these matters to be both irresponsible and egocentric, save for the indisputable fact that we'd finally started winning wars about the same time he'd grown so notoriously bull-headed. "What was the first book of yours he read?" I finally asked.

He blushed. "
No Holds Barred
—
A Comprehensive Guide to Hitting Your Enemy Where it Hurts
. It's still my best-seller."

I blinked. "That was published about fifteen years ago, wasn't it?" Just about the time His Majesty had begun rebelling against his advisors, I didn't say aloud. And the professor's appointment to the Academy to infect future officers with his own version of strategic insight… That'd been accomplished via Royal 'meddling' as well, hadn't it?

"About," he agreed with a smile. "His Majesty particularly enjoyed that one. More than any of the others, I suspect."

My smile faded as I suddenly came to understand many, many things. "You've always felt that fighting brief wars against the Imperials was foolish, haven't you?"

"Always," he confirmed. "Their whole setup is geared for a series of short, high-intensity conflicts—it's reflected in their military planning, their economic structure, their internal administrative policies… Even their warships are designed to such high performance levels that they require refits after a relatively brief period of service. We insist on fighting by their rulebook, so it's not difficult to understand why we keep losing. Over and over again, we match our weaknesses to their strengths. In all honesty, David, so far your personal exploits are the only real exception to the rule in that regard. We're still ultimately the stronger in a thousand different ways, if we'd but bite the bullet and fully mobilize our resources. But we never get the chance because peace keeps breaking out before we're ready begin fighting in earnest. Just about the time, in fact, that the Empire is showing signs of severe internal stress."

"So," I asked. "Why does peace keep breaking out?"

"Because the Noble Houses fear losing their power and influence," he replied. "Or most of them, at least. Full mobilization for war of the sort I'm advocating requires doing things they absolutely
hate
, you see. Like empowering a strong central government to make tough decisions and redirect resources in a manner that might not benefit the current power-holders, for example. Full mobilization would require a draft as well, and that's especially problematic."

"Why?" I asked. I'd long wondered why we hadn't implemented conscription; while the fencibles had attracted plenty of recruits, I knew it wasn't nearly such a simple matter for the regular armed forces. 

"Because drafts mainly draw from the lower classes," he explained. "That's where the numbers are, you see. You can't get enough conscripts to matter otherwise. And putting people under arms always empowers them eventually, by one means or another. They have to be taught pride and self-discipline, for example, or they can't function as combat troops. And that's just the
beginning
." He smiled gently. "In today's society, Rabbits mostly make up the bottom rungs. So in our situation enacting a draft means radical social change." His smile faded. "Given the alternative, perhaps from where most of the House-Lords sit eventual assimilation into the Empire doesn't look so bad after all." 

15

I'd given the Professor my word that I'd get him permission to visit His Majesty's sickbed first thing in the morning, and I did literally that. Before I'd so much as touched a brush to myself or swabbed my ears I was on the phone, demanding to speak to a Herald. I didn't have to wait long; in seconds a familiar voice was on the line. "Yes, David?"

It was Martijn, whom I'd gotten to know a little during my own first visit to the Royal Sickbed. Suddenly I felt a little guilty. "It's not the end of the world, sir," I explained. "Perhaps I was too strident. But someone who I know for fact was close to His Majesty's heart has been denied access to visit, and I'm trying to make things right. I'm speaking of Professor Lambert, sir. One of His Highness's favorite authors. And a frequent correspondent."

"That's odd," Martijn replied. "I put him on the list myself. Because you're quite correct, you see; His Majesty did indeed hold Dr. Lambert's books in the highest of esteem." There was a long pause. "Apparently some sort of error has been made."

"Perhaps an error rooted in petty jealousies?" I demanded. "By someone who resented the Professor's influence?"

There was a long pause. "As much as I'd like to claim otherwise," he finally said, "you're probably right." He sighed. "A monarch is all-powerful while he lives and rules. But once he's dead or infirm, his influence fades almost immediately to nothing. Even within his own household, it would appear. Where he should be most beloved of all." There was a long pause. "I'm putting Dr. Lambert's name down again, this time with my personal seal affixed alongside it. If that doesn't do the trick, David, I fear that I don't know what will."

Suddenly all the anger melted away inside of me. Martijn was doing his best to cope with an impossible situation, it was clear. "Thank you, my friend."

"No worries," he answered. There was a pause during which I overheard papers shuffling, then the stamp of a ring-seal. "Things are getting crazier and crazier every day here, David. It's almost as if there's no king at all. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it, but… Some of the palace fixtures are vanishing."

"You mean that… that… that…" I stammered, unable to find words. "I mean…"

"Oh, yes!" he replied, his voice flat and cold. "Bit by bit the Royal Palace is being pillaged. The lion has lost his bite, you see, so the jackals come out in full daylight." He sighed again. "David, my line is secure. Is yours?"

"Yes," I replied. All House lines were always secure. Uncle Robert was a fanatic on the subject, and with good reason. "What is it, Martijn?"

"Perhaps I'm a jackal too, because I'm not supposed to be giving advice or taking sides. But… You and your uncle had best move quickly, if you're going to move at all. Because at the rate things are going, I fear that the Royal Final Testament isn't going to be worth the paper it's written on by the time it's finally read."

***

"A source," was all I could say to Uncle Robert when we met later that day in his apartment. "A most excellent and well-placed source indeed told me that. But I can't tell you who. It'd be dishonorable."

My uncle looked out his window at the distant outer wall of the palace. "If things really
are
that bad over there," he muttered, "then..." But he never finished the sentence. Instead he lapsed off into silence.

"Can they disregard the Royal Testament?" I asked. "I mean, is it even
possible
?"

"Of course!" he replied. "It'd be totally against tradition and all the rules. But then, so was the founding of the Empire. And so far
that
little project seems to have come along rather well." He turned to face me. "Don't let your military background blind you, David. In the mind of a legislator, laws are for everyone else. From his point of view, they're mutable things that can be and usually are altered as a matter of convenience, not rock-solid statements of morality." Then he turned back to the window. "For the first time, I begin to seriously wonder if you're right about them attempting to crown one of the cousins."

I clenched my fists, feeling totally powerless. "What would we do if they did?" I demanded. "The House, I mean?"

"I haven't even begun to think that through," he replied. Then he began to pace slowly. "And of course it'd be James's decision, ultimately."

I closed my eyes and sighed. "But what would you advise?"

"As I said, David. I'd have to think it through. However, there's obviously only two approaches. Well, three really. But the last one isn't a viable option, so I'll toss it aside up front." He crossed his arms behind his back, which somehow made his Lordly robes appear even more dignified. "The first is to accept the inevitable and cut the best deal we can. I mean, it's clear now that we're unlikely to ever get enough votes to crown James. So we
could
accept the cousin with a smile and play the long game as is our tradition. I can tell you right now that this is what Wilkes and Hashimoto will expect of us. Indeed, they'd see anything else as utter madness." He smiled, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "And what a fine deal we could make, I assure you! If we play ball there'll be trade concessions, cash payments, desirable slots in the government... James would very likely even emerge as foremost amongst the House-Lords, like his father before him. After all, once we acquiesced on the key issue there'd be little left to squabble about. All the interests of the Houses would be aligned once more, and it'd be back to business as usual."