NABC The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 1, Chapter 7
The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 1, Chapter 7
The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 1, Chapter 7
Chapter 7
“Three sheaves of golden grain on black and white squares.”
“Restelo,” Carla replied. “A county on the southern coast. Fifty kilometres east of Debonei.”
“If they have grain in their heraldry,” Liam asked, “does that mean they’re known for their crops?”
“Yes,” the Maid nodded. “Their title straddles the coast where a few rivers join the sea, and it’s known for its fertile farmlands. They’re one of the major producers of grain in the south.”
After wandering around the capital for most of the day to get a feel for things, Liam returned to the Custodio manor to ask about what he had seen. There, he found Remedios already returned from her shift, performing drills in the courtyard. Upon noticing his return, she charged right up to him, longsword in hand. For a brief moment, Liam thought he was dead, but she only stopped and closely inspected him as if she had expected him to return covered in stab wounds.
Once Remedios was satisfied that he wasn’t hurt or in some sort of trouble, they went to the manor’s drawing room to review his activities for the day.
“That means the shipment was legitimate, doesn’t it?” Remedios said, “I don’t like that they’re raising the prices, that’s not something that the Holy Order can do anything about.”
“Not necessarily, Miss Custodio,” Carla replied. “I’m not saying that this is the case, but the fact that House Restelo is well-known for its grain exports makes them the best route to avoid notice when moving that type of commodity.”
“But why would other Nobles do that instead of shipping it themselves?”
The Maid pressed a finger to her cheek as she tilted her head.
“I can think of a few reasons,” she said. “The obvious one to most commoners would be to avoid public anger. No one would be happy about their necessities suddenly doubling in price. House Restelo is powerful enough that they would pay such things no mind.”
“What are the not-so-obvious reasons?” Liam asked.
“The not-so-obvious as well as the most likely reason is that House Restelo has access to ships. Nearly the entire navy, as well as most of the regional trade fleet, was destroyed during the war. The owners of the remaining vessels have a stranglehold on logistics until new ships are made available.”
Her mention of ships brought to mind something else Liam had heard several times throughout the day.
“What’s this ‘fleet’ that people are talking about?” He asked, “The one that’s supposed to come in soon?”
“They must mean this year’s trade fleet,” Carla answered. “I’m certain that everyone is resting their hopes on it.”
“I still don’t know what it is...”
“It would be easier if I had a navigational chart on hand,” Carla said, “but it’s exactly as it sounds. A fleet that we sorely need for their cargo capacity and ability to trade with nearby countries. Roble has three trade fleets, each composed of over a hundred Merchant vessels with armed escorts from the Royal Navy. They sail the Great Western Gyre, which takes them down and up the western coast of the continent. They journey south all the way to the Crusader States that border the frozen Dreadlands and then come back up to Argland before returning to the Holy Kingdom. The entire route takes three years to sail.”
“So one fleet arrives each year.”
“Before the autumn gale carries them back down the coast again, yes. Jaldabaoth’s invasion was rather unfortunately timed. If his Demihuman army had invaded while the fleet was still in port, the war would have gone very differently.”
“I don’t doubt he did that on purpose,” Remedios muttered.
“Indeed,” Carla said. “Jaldabaoth was very purposeful when it came to how he initiated the war. Most of the country didn’t even realise that all of our generals and their officers had been eliminated in his opening moves until halfway through the conflict. Everyone in the north that might have been considered a Commander was gone within weeks.”
“What will the fleet say when they finally arrive?” Liam asked.
Remedios and Carla exchanged a long look. The Maid’s lip twitched, though it wasn’t out of amusement.
“They’ll be shocked,” Carla said. “Angry. I think that much is plain. A holiday is usually declared when the fleet comes in to thank the gods of wind and water for their safe return, but I can only imagine that our mariners will only be demanding an explanation as to why their home is half in ruins. To make things worse, the Holy King’s brother is the Admiral of the next incoming fleet. He’ll be furious about Caspond’s ascension.”
It sounded like yet another problem was on its way to complicate Liam’s job. He hoped that he could sort everything out before it happened.
A footman arrived to inform them that dinner would soon be served. They moved over to the dining room to continue their conversation.
“Um...next,” Liam said after swallowing a slice of sausage. “There’s a salt shortage. Er, maybe that’s not right? People are moving salt out of the city.”
“Is there any particular house responsible for this?” Carla asked from where she stood at Remedios’ shoulder.
“There was more than one,” Liam said. “But they didn’t go past the city gates. They handed their wagons off to some men on horses with crossbows and spears.”
“Could you describe these men?”
“They looked like Farmers, I guess.”
“Los Ganaderos,” Carla said.
Remedios frowned, looking over her shoulder at the Maid.
“Why would ranchers need spears?”
“I believe the answer should be self-evident, considering the circumstances. The Royal Army was insufficient to police the towns and cities, never mind the rural regions. Los Ganaderos is not only becoming influential economically and politically, but militarily, as well. They consider themselves the new generation of the Holy Kingdom’s Knights and Nobles.”
“How do you feel about that?” Liam asked.
“I think it’s admirable,” Carla said.
“...you do?”
“I am uncertain why you would think otherwise...”
“Because you’re a Noble,” Liam said. “I thought Nobles didn’t like it when people acted in ways that were above their station.”
In the dim candlelight, the Maid’s eyes twinkled in amusement.
“That may be true in certain cases,” she replied. “But not in this one. How do you think the Holy Kingdom’s Nobles came to be in the first place? Intrepid men stepped up to lead their people and defend their lands. It would be hypocritical to look down on those who bravely follow in our ancestors’ footsteps.”
“I don’t see what’s so brave about it,” Remedios said as she sawed apart her roast. “Back then, they had Demihumans everywhere.”
“The country’s rural situation has degraded to the point where banditry has become a very real concern,” Carla said. “That aside, singular acts of heroism certainly draw the most attention, but they are far from the most difficult part of a Noble’s duty.”
“We haven’t gotten any reports about bandits.”
“Given your review of the daily summary this morning,” the Maid replied, “I suspect that the Holy Order does not receive reports about a great many things these days, Miss Custodio.”
At the mention of the Temples, Remedios shifted in her seat with an uncomfortable look. The Holy Order was officially a separate organisation from the Temples of the Four, but they were still affiliated. It was a different sort of arrangement from Re-Estize or the Sorcerous Kingdom, which kept the Temples out of government affairs, so Liam had no clue what was going through Remedios’ head.
“I’m going out again,” Liam said. “There has to be something better than all this stuff that people can make excuses for.”
He wasn’t sure how Remedios felt about his lack of results so far, but at least she didn’t try to stop him from leaving. After checking around the manor for snoops – it didn’t feel right calling them spies – Liam left the Prime Estates out of its western gates. On a whim, he decided to leave Hoburns entirely to see what was going on in the camps outside of its walls.
Slipping in alongside the wagons lined up to leave the city, Liam watched what happened as people and cargo moved out onto the highway to Rimun. Twilight had already fallen, so he imagined that they wouldn’t go far.
The first thing that caught his attention was the wooden club that smacked him in the side of the head.
“Back!” The man wielding the weapon roared, “I said back, you vermin!”
Liam sent an angry look in the man’s direction. The man wasn’t paying any attention to him at all, swinging his cudgel as if he was warding off flies. His tone intensified in volume and aggression whenever anyone strayed too close to the side of the wagon he was escorting. Others who received his ire only whimpered and slunk away, so Liam retreated to a more comfortable distance after passing through the gatehouse.
He wasn’t the only one with that idea. Hundreds of people waited in the shadows, watching each wagon as it left the gate. When a line of wagons guarded by men in the now-familiar colours of House Restelo appeared, the entire crowd shifted to shadow their route. Liam glanced at a boy that seemed to be using him as cover as they made their way through the city of tents.
“You think we’ll have any luck?” Liam asked the boy.
“I-I don’t know,” the boy glanced at him. “You should be okay. They only pick the biggest.”
The biggest?
I took him a moment to realise his mistake. He wasn’t exactly big, but he also wasn’t starving. That was enough to make him look imposing to the desperate people around the city. After seeing where the wagons were stopping, Liam located a dark and secluded spot between the tents nearby.
“「Disguise Self」.”
Disguise Self was a First-tier Illusion-school spell that allowed the caster to alter their appearance in a limited way. It couldn’t make one look like a Troll, change the sound of their voice, or even fool someone that physically interacted with the illusion. The spell was something like a hollow shell, at best. Despite its limitations, everyone in Ijaniya agreed that it was the most useful spell that novice Assassins could easily pick up, aiding immeasurably with their infiltration techniques.
Liam used the spell to make his clothes look dirtier and more ragged. He made himself seem older and thinner and gave his skin a less healthy tone. His hands, arms, and feet were left alone, as they were the parts of the illusion that would most likely come into contact with others. In short, he disguised himself as another version of himself, making the spell especially difficult to see through. It was the best way to use the magic, according to his trainers.
So long as he didn’t use his mana on anything else, even a novice like himself could maintain the illusion indefinitely. This wasn’t a problem at all since it was the only spell that he managed to learn as an Assassin.
After testing the limits of his new disguise, Liam returned to the crowd around the wagons. Labourers were moving sacks of flour to a makeshift bakery nearby while the escort continued keeping everyone else from getting too close. A handful of them inspected a line of non-uniformed men. Each of those men wore serious expressions and made attempts to appear taller or sturdier. Liam joined the line as a bored voice droned on ahead of him.
“Yes. No. No. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. No. Yes. No. No. No. No.”
A tall man in chain mail armour and surcoat emblazoned with the heraldry of House Restelo declared each candidate’s suitability with an emotionless expression. Those who received a ‘yes’ were allowed to cross into the secured perimeter. Everyone else was turned away. ‘Failures’ that didn’t move quickly enough received a swift kick to speed them along.
The tall man narrowed his eyes as he stopped to scrutinise Liam. Liam looked back up at him. He was nothing like the stupid, lazy men that so many stories made a Noble’s thugs out to be. A powerful build filled out his armour and shrewd intelligence lit his gaze. Liam did not doubt that he was well-practised with the mace clipped to his belt. The man represented the type of trouble that Liam needed to avoid causing for himself.
As the seconds passed, a few of the man’s companions casually moved to rest their palms on the pommels of their sidearms.
“What’s your name, boy?” The tall man asked.
“Liam.”
“Liam?”
“Liam, as in Guillermo.”
There was a snort, followed by a jerk of the tall man’s head. Liam crossed in front of him, heading past the line of torches that marked the perimeter.
“Not that way,” a voice called out to him. “You are Guillermo, yes? I am Jorge. Follow me.”
Liam looked around for the owner of the voice, eventually spotting one of the tall man’s companions. He went over to follow the skinny, brown-haired man down a different route.
“What about all the people that went the other way?” Liam asked.
“They’re nobodies,” Jorge replied. “Sir Luis has an eye for talent, you see – a sharper one than most.”
“That tall guy is a Knight?”
“...you’re not from around here, are you?”
“I came from around Kalinsha,” Liam replied. “There were suddenly soldiers everywhere, so...”
His guide chuckled.
“I know the feeling. You made the right choice, coming to the capital. Big things are happening that you’ll be glad you didn’t miss. Sir Luis is the overseer of this labour camp. Everyone who works and lives here belongs to House Restelo, as you’ve probably noticed.”
Liam examined the surroundings as they made their way deeper into the camp. Unlike the chaotic mess that the wagons had passed through outside the gate, things were kept neat and organised and grew more luxurious – relatively speaking – the further they went. He wasn’t familiar with how the Holy Kingdom’s nobility organised their retainers, but he could still tell that he had stepped into what amounted to a barracks for House Restelo’s professional retinue.
“I never expected anything like this,” Liam said. “I was just looking for work.”
“And so you have found it,” Jorge shrugged.
“Isn’t this a bit fast?”
“That is the way of things in Hoburns, now,” Jorge told him. “Everything is growing. To keep up, everyone is scrambling for resources and talent. Take too long pondering your choices, and those choices are snatched away. Do not worry overmuch: you will be put through your paces on the job.”
They entered a huge pavilion guarded by pairs of armed men at each entrance. Inside were stockpiles of supplies, including bedrolls, tarps, and uniforms. Jorge rummaged through them, placing various items on a table nearby.
“Your tent and your bedding,” he said. “By your look, I do not think you will receive a uniform. Do you have a girl?”
Liam shook his head.
“Family?”
He shook his head again.
“You should find a girl,” Jorge told him. “Your starting portion will be enough to support at least one other. Now is the time when any number of pretty girls will gladly keep your bed warm and your tent clean if only to keep their bellies full...though their bellies may become full in another way, eh?”
A suggestive grin filled Jorge’s face as he finished speaking. Liam made a nominal show of appreciating the man’s crass humour. He had a good idea of his situation, now.
“When do I start?” He asked.
“As soon as you pitch your tent,” Jorge answered, “come to the platform with the red canvas near the middle of the camp. Sir Luis will be expecting you. Oh, and don’t take too long – our good overseer is anything if not strict.”