A New Council for a New Year

[Glenn]

Governor Cinnabar Calomel was a letter writer. Meetings with him in person, while not rare, were stilted affairs of protocol and courtesy. He acted in a civil matter, as he observed others to act, though he never really understood the process. It was neither natural nor organic to him and it showed.

Newly Minted Vice-Governor Glenn Burnie was a constant dynamo of motion. In the days since the official missive arrived from Razasan, it had been letters for his allies and employees, and personal visits, five personal visits, to every corner of Myrken. While it was not the once-mapmaker's personal choice, there was a plan in place for this sort of eventuality, and upon Agniezska's spirited return a month or so back, the plan was refined. Therefore, its activation was a thing of efficiency and even simplicity.

Chewdry wanted an election? Fine. A vote was taken. Positively democratic. One suggested two. Two gave way to four. Four chose one, unanimously. All within three days' time.

Were there regrets? Of course. A chance to humiliate Bromn had been lost. The prime choice for Defense was impossible, and the second choice, the tall, brooding elf, could not be reached. It left an unfortunate hole. It was a shame Quincy Randall wasn't around to stick a mustache upon and pass off as male. (Quincy and not Ariane of course. One had to be reasonable about these things). Most of all, Glenn never wanted this.

In the end, though, it was a very necessary success. Three days and the posters started to appear all around Myrken.
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APPOINTMENTS to the JUDICIARY COUNCIL OF MYRKEN WOOD
BE IT KNOWN that the Following Officers of the Judiciary Council are Hereby Declared:

Cllr. VANIDOR GOLDENHAIR
for Forestry and Agriculture

Interim Cllr. NIKOLAS ROMANOVA
for Trade, Commerce, and Industry

Cllr. ALOISIUS TREADWELL
for Revenue and Finance

Cllr. STEFAN BERDINI
for Culture and the Arts

The positon of Cllr. of Defense is to remain vacant until a suitable candidate is found. In the interim, an advisitory committee of experienced experts has been formed to help inform such decisions

Furthermore, Be it Known that in its first act of Governance, and in light of the prolonged personal sabbatical of Former Governor Cinnabar Calomel, and with the Former Governor's agreement and support, The Judiaciary Council Hereby Appoints Vice-Governor Glenn Burnie as GOVERNOR OF MYRKEN WOOD

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It was a rather hastily put together missive, not the sort of detailed thing of flourishes and official language that came out of Calomel's office and his coup, but then Burnie had the support of the Council and he had not (thus the term coup). There was further word circulated around town that a speech would be forthcoming the following day.

[channe]

There are men on horses in brown, nondescript cloaks in town today; men with gold-and-garnet rings around their fingers. The leader, a man in his mid-forties with greying dark hair and a stately, scarred visage, dismounts and walks towards the sign. He looks at it, and smiles.

"Azden," he says, squaring his shoulders and snapping his fingers. One of the men moves himself and his horse closer to the older man.

"Sir," Azden says.

"Go ahead to Kelsaen House," the leader says calmly. "Have them prepare for the arrival of the new Governor. Mitchell, go to the Meetinghouse, and inform Governor Burnie that he will meet me for tea this afternoon. I have a... stop to make."

"My lord," he says.

The other men take off in a different direction than the messenger. They head straight for a bar, of all places, and disappear inside for twenty-five minutes. When they emerge, they are somber; the leader gets back on his horse, and they take off towards Kelsaen House.

[Glenn]

A summons. How.. royal and irritating. They force his hand and then they want to invite him to tea so he can hear them gripe and moan at him for how he didn't follow their rules. It was bad enough that he had been backed into a corner and ended up Governor. Still, there was no point in THAT sacrifice being all in vain. Best to go humor them... to an extent.

It was a nice enough day in Myrken. Sunny. Brisk. The snow from a week or so ago had mostly melted, more so in some parts of town than others. Kelsaen House received a nice amount of sun for reasons one might well suspect. It had something to do with those surviving Myrkenborn flowers, perhaps.

It really was in a prime location at the end of its street, just out of the way enough that a disruption directly outside its gates wouldn't cause much problems to everyday Myrken traffic. So it was that shortly before the time requested for tea, a carriage rode up, and then another, and a third. Workers started to ply a strange trade indeed, beginning to assemble a compartmentalized gazebo of sorts right outside the house. Walls went up quickly. It was spacious enough. Room for seven or eight people, with a controlled and covered fire pit at either corner for warmth. The new governor was many things but a talented and efficient engineer/architect was not one of them. Myrken ingenuity was a backwards, gnarled, and upside-down creature, and this was a tremendous example of it.

Still, the message was sent to Kostoma clearly. Burnie had come. Now the king's man could choose to meet him half way.

[channe]

At the corner of Kelsaen House, a dark figure watches the gazebo being built behind a sumptuous maroon-and-gold curtain. He has to bite his tongue, really, as the men behind him ask what they should do; after some thought, he turns to the housemaids with the tea service, tells them to pack it up, take it outside to the gazebo, and make sure the tea is warm.

"Sir," says his man Azden, "doesn't this send the wrong message on our part?"

Kostroma's smile is half-bright and quite knowing, as he slips on his gloves and the butler finds his coat. "He seems quite clever. Also, a bit rude. That's not necessarily a bad thing, especially if he opposes the traitor. And, come now, man, you're the King's Own; you don't stand on ceremony like a larded lord, you get the damned job done in any way you can. There are more than a few ways to skin a cat. Come."

And with that, Kostroma exits Kelsaen House with a retinue -- two serving-maids, a butler and two guards -- and heads towards the structure.

[Glenn]

"The third wagon," and wasn't that a greeting from the exceptionally well dressed man sitting at one head of the small table in the gazebo, "in case you were curious;" there was a smile upon his face but it wasn't an unnatural one. Amused, patient. Only slightly fatigued. "contains a mattress. I was fully prepared to lay siege upon you, at least for the night, but I overjoyed it did not come to that." Then, finally, Burnie would rise, polite to an extent, when he needed to be. If they bothered to look his way, he would meet the eyes of each servant, with a smile.. perhaps a wink for one maid but not the other.

"Lord Kostoma, I presume. You have something of ours." The makeshift gazebo was ornate enough on the inside given the obvious limitations. It was well lit and the firepits, while oh, a tiny bit smoky, were keeping the thing warm. Clever in thought, perhaps less so in execution. "And I must admit that you've made things quite difficult for me over the last few days, but then, Myrken endures. And anyway, you were but the messenger, and if we were to hang the messenger for bad news here in Myrken, we would have long run out of messengers. Welcome, then." And a hand would be extended. Whether or not, they had met briefly previously was very much beside the point. This was a more official meeting by far.

[channe]

"Come, now, Governor," says Kostroma smoothly, crossing the gazebo to take the other man's hand and shake it tightly. "You are now more than a mapmaker; you are an honored lord in the service of the King, and I am the King's Own; there is no need to..." and his eyes flicker around the hastily-built gazebo -- "... debase yourself so."

But now, of course, he'll sit in one of the provided chairs. His shoulders and back, squared and straight, speak of time spent in a royal court.

"I suppose I must apologize for... making things difficult for you," he says, just as smoothly, as the staff begins the tea service. This is a real Razasan tea-time, even more formal than that found in the downtown teahouse; imported tea, poured just so, ritually right -- can Burnie keep up with a man who's been drinking tea Razasan-style for his entire life? Oh, his manners are impeccable!" But I would imagine that if you honestly wished for things to be... easier, you would have dropped out of the race yourself. Only there wasn't a race, mm? Just as there wasn't a race for the past three or four Governors. I can't possibly blame you, a foreigner, for thinking this is the way things are done, but we do need to chat, you know."

Kostroma shakes his head, picks up the teacup and reaches for the sugar bowl, and heads straight on. His voice is actually quite apologetic. "As for me having something of yours, as far as I know, your taxes are quite paid up in full for this quarter, and came in on time. Splendidly done, really."

[Glenn]

"For my people, I make sacrifices, no matter my title." As if that answered everything. Governor. He was still getting used to that. And an honored lord. He had seen repeatedly in his study of history. Warlords or clever bureaucrats who took power and then sold out to a higher authority in exchange for a pension, a title, and land for their supporters. Unfortunately, Burnie wasn't particularly interested in any of that. His blood was noble enough but the entire concept was artificial to him, gave him an upset stomach. The bullshit Kostoma was spewing now had absolutely nothing to do with day to day life in Myrken.

"Here, in the wilderness, with death constantly snatching at our ankles, there is never a race, only ever a need." A need and a man willing to fill it. Burnie is able to hold his own at a formal tea such as this. He is well read and has had tea with Elves and Drow, teahouse matrons and high ladies. So he was able. Was he willing?

Perhaps not. "The landowners voted for the current Council. The Council chose to replenish its numbers due to a need. And the resultant body selected me, a royally recognized vice-Governor." One suggested two. Two chose four. Four elected one. "I find it a sight better than my predecessors. And in less time, with no bloodshed, no instability, and no excuse for any idle hawks to come cawing. Nice and neat." He sipped at his tea with some abandon. It was unpleasant but done as well as it could be.

"As for the taxes, Councilor Treadwell is something of a force of nature and a paradox all at once. A very honest man and both province and crown benefit from his honesty and our constant vigilance." Still, a smile at the man's words. "Thank you for such an acknowledgment though. It is no little effort, even in good times. That is, however, not what I meant. The something that you have is far harder to put a price upon. The very idea of it is maddening, actually."

[channe]

"Let me be frank and honest with you, Governor," says Kostroma, his voice changing a little from friendly to cutting. He's apparently done with the pleasantries. Perhaps that's refreshing for the new governor. Perhaps not.

"My lord the King allows Myrken Wood self-governance because that is the only thing that works here. You, no doubt, think it is because Razasan does not care. Imagine some hereditary lord, some Burel or Renaud; with the province's issues it would be an utter disaster. Here, self-rule provides ingenuity as well as a continuance of rule by the smart, not by the idiot blooded. Let's call this what it is; a coup. A coup like the one before that, and the one before that. Obviously, self-rule is not working as well as it once did."

He sips his tea easily, lifting his other hand to forestall argument. "Before you go on, my lord the King has heard quite a bit about you, and he understands the need for stable government in this area of the kingdom right now after so much tumult. The last few governors have been ineffective at best. So. He has sent me to give his regards to you in person as the rightful Governor of Myrken Wood, even though the way you came to the office is a little... unorthodox." Probably not what Burnie was expecting.

But Kostroma eyes him, now, and is very serious. "However, there is a price. If you screw this up, Burnie," he says, "if at any moment you stumble, if you do not deliver a prosperous and safe country, if at any moment you betray your rightful King, if you misuse your power or exceed your Gubernatorial power -- the King's Own will know, and you will fall so hard Haberdasher's Row will look like a Maypole dance. Do you understand?"

A pause. He picks up a cucumber sandwich.

"Now. To your matter, whatever it is. Explain, please."

[Glenn]

Formal tea, that Burnie could do. Keeping a straight face as Kostoma went on like that? It took a bit more of a challenge. The end result was a slight and pleasant smile, even as he let the king's man speak. He hadn't interrupted Burnie. Burnie wouldn't interrupt him. Fair was fair, even if protocol was highly overrated.

Finally. "You don't care. There is a difference between self-rule and self-sufficiency in the midst of paying taxes and tribute. Fealty is supposed to run both ways.. but no, you leave us to live and to die. We pay you taxes and in return you do not help us maintain our roads. You do not protect us from our enemies. You do not provide succor to our sick. I doubt you even take the time to pray for us, except, perhaps, for a kind and merciful end. You don't even provide us with information of what's going on down there.

"I hardly blame you. It's a lovely racket. We send money your way. You get to ignore us and we manage to fight off most of the worst of the northern nasties before they reach you and yours, and with none of the tremendous resources that you could bring to bear. Now we even get to act as a buffer to Burel. If he marched in here today, we'd bloody more than his nose while buying you time necessary to get organized." It was not far different from what Thessaline said, but he said it without the accusatory tone, without the disdain. It was just the way of things and he was a realist. "The thing is, we're fine with that. It's worth what we pay to keep your nose out of our affairs. However, I would hope to think that with our splendidly complete taxes, we also purchased the simple courtesy that you do not sit here in front of me and threaten and belittle our hardship and my efforts just because the wind has temporarily changed and some far off bullying might help even the score of some insipid game at Court."

No reaching for sandwiches. No drinking tea. In some ways, he was no better than Calomel at all. "When I screw this up," when and not if. Glenn had never wanted this, for good reason. "It will be my head. It will be the heads of a great many of my people. If I stumble, everyone pays. You need not tell me that. I know full well what it means to be Governor of Myrken Wood, better than you, better than anyone but a handful of scarred madmen who have survived the post." Treadwell, Bromn, Helstone, Calomel. A rogue's gallery of madmen and sociopaths, even the last on the list, who only ever truly pretended to be human.

"Foreigner or no, this is my home. These are my people.. and what you have of ours is nothing less than the precious and treasured soul, the unnaturally preserved life and will of our truest daughter."

[channe]

Kostroma watches Glenn when it's his turn to go on about this and that, with alert eyes and a bit of a smirk on his face, and at the end, he claps and laughs almost raucously, and when he fixes his gaze back on the mapmaker, it's with a bucketload of amusement.

"Oh, Mister Burnie. You're a card, that's for true, and you'll be good for Myrken, I have no doubt. That mouth and that loyalty of yours will serve you true in your new position. But a good relationship goes both ways, and you may have forgotten that for hundreds of years Myrken governors have asked us explicitly to stay out of their business. And if I were to tell you that the platoons being posted to your borders are permanent, what would you say, then? You would not thank your King; you would moan and whine about how Razasan is interfering in your business and your damned self-sufficiency. You see where the issue lies. If you want help with roads, if you want medicine, if you want military help, you have to stop being so damned stubborn."

Another cucumber sandwich is taken up; although Burnie doesn't participate, Kostroma seems to be enjoying the tea immensely.

And then Burnie says something very, very interesting, and Kostroma stops smiling.

"I see. After all she has spoken of you, you would prefer she had died two years ago, mm?"

[Glenn]

Laughter was a good response to his words. A good response, and instead of seeming offended and put off, Glenn simply sipped his tea and ate one of those sandwiches. What was it with these people and cucumbers? Regardless, there was some symbolism in him partaking now when he had refused just a moment ago. There was no right answer, of course. Not yet, at least, perhaps later. For now, it was to more personal matters.

"Yes. And so would she." And so would Ariane. And so would her family. So was Myrken. "That Agnieszka Kaczmarek lives only on the terms that she be enslaved, no matter how benign the process, no matter how beloved and even respected a slave she may be... for one with a spirit such as hers, death would be preferable, and if you do not understand my feelings, then you do not understand the true selflessness of friendship." Then, however, a pause and a wry look. Another sip of tea. "Of course, freedom would be preferable to death."

[channe]

And the sandwiches -- oh, they would have made Helstone drool. Cucumbers, dill, out-of-season oranges, fruits and vegetables Glenn may never have seen before in his life. And there's enough for a small army, all laid out before the two men.

Kostroma allows the change of conversation; in many ways, the personal is the political with Myrken Wood, and the Razasani lord is not going anywhere, soon -- that's the purpose of the house, of the display, to let everyone know this is not just a temporary camp, but a permanent presence. There will be plenty of time to get what he wants from Governor Glenn Burnie. Plenty of time. Especially when he screws up.

"I can't expect you to understand what it's like to be King's Own," he says, quietly, tilting his head. "It is not slavery; it is honor, the best kind of honor there is, that you have given and given even more for virtue and the Bright. I do understand your feelings, but they are wrong." He pauses. And smiles.

[Glenn]

On some level Glenn would love that. Of course he'd screw up one way or another and it would be poetic if Kostoma took over. With his attitude they'd have him lynched in a week. Glenn would be laughing from the grave. For now, though, it was all fruit-eating and pointed stares. "Good, yes. It's a sort of magical slavery where you also get to feel magical based euphoria. Tremendous. It sounds just like those whorehouses where they provide plenty of opium for the girls. It really is an honor to be high-priced and so well looked after."

He did feel strongly, didn't he? Now why was that? Oh yes... "I've seen her eyes. I've looked her dead in the eyes and spoke straight to her heart. And what I saw was not honor. It was neither virtuous nor Bright. It was dark and it was cold and it was full of fear and pain and death." Then almost as if an aside. "And no whipping Agony for me saying so. I just know her spirit better than you. Trust me, I wouldn't whip Aggie, even if she was doing something I didn't like. It's no way to keep a horse." There was a very long, very pained silence, before he looked to one of the serving-maids. "I named my horse Aggie."

[channe]

He's still quite amused. "You are an incredibly funny little man," he says, having one of the serving-maids refill his tea. "No matter what I say, you will just keep on believing what you want to believe. How Myrken of you." He pauses again. "Interesting. At any rate, Captain Kaczmarek has a contract with the King's Own, and nothing can be done about it."

[Glenn]

"I trust my eyes more than your voice." Simply put. "Of course, you can't even begin to think that a simple backwoods Myrkenite might know more than you about the human heart. Still, I am a learned man, one that appreciates knowledge in all forms. Elucidate this for me. Humor me. Could she not fulfill her contract even with her free will and.. spirit, shall we say, fully returned to her. Or must she be a magically bound slave for that. If it is the latter, you see my confusion on the matter, no? To me, it would be far more of an honor to CHOOSE to give for the bright, to choose to live up to your vows with each decision, not to simply choose to be a puppet for it. That's an easy choice. You choose to give up choice itself."