Chapter LXXXVIII : Inauguration

  Lateday of Tertius, Second Day of Duskmoon

  Hans Unruh prepared for what, he believed, was the most consequential speech of his life. Until now, the captain-turned-politician had not addressed the people of Rungholt. He was an unknown figure, a military man who ascended the throne only out of dire necessity. The Brandt family had ruled for more than two hundred years, and their rich history of accomplishments was known to every Kitezhian man and woman. Hans had a lot to prove before his name meant as much as his predecessor’s. But he had an idea how to start.

  Due to hearsay and rumor, word of the counterstrike had already spread throughout the city. Many feared what might happen, if Angkor survived the assault and returned to enact devastating vengeance. Hans believed he could allay these fears and convince the people that there was hope. He decided to implement a town assembly. Henrich was famous for these during The War, and Hans believed he could do better.

  He had already met with the heads of the Ministry a few days earlier to request a compelling venue, build a stage, and set up sufficient security. The Royal Construction Guild rose to the challenge on short notice and completed quite a feat, considering a third of their members had perished during Angkor’s initial attack. The structure was unstained, but it stood sturdy. It overlooked one of Rungholt’s famous parks at the intersection of two historic streets. Hans believed it would be a poignant reminder of past crises and serve as proof that Kitezh had survived difficult ordeals before.

  People soon gathered in large numbers, crowding the park and streets around the stage. The calm, clear sky drew families from their homes, while a band played the national anthem. The gentle hymn lifted doubtful spirits, and Hans hoped the setting sun would fit his theme of ending one era to usher in another.

  Earlier that morn, the Ministry had demanded a preview of the speech. After neglecting many of their requests over several days, Hans felt some political pressure to accommodate. So he sent a draft before highsun and offered to meet them an hour before going on stage. He was quite proud of the speech and the tone and vision it set.

  He called it, “Post-Brandt: the Inauguration of a New Age.” In it, he argued the country had stagnated and fallen behind the global arena. And he reasoned that a series of policy improvements could change that.

  His proposals planned to bolster the economy by taxing imports and using the revenues to expand domestic production. He intended to fund growth in the military to combat piracy, so the Glacial Ocean was safer for trade. He also wanted to expand defensive capabilities, so that his proud nation would never again be the target of bullying neighbors.

  He believed he could restore Kitezh to a world superpower, and he hoped his speech would persuade those still yearning for a member of the Brandt family to have faith in him as an alternative. He believed his vision would lead to better times—great times, in fact. But in terms of praises, he received far less than expected.

  The Ministry’s feedback was lukewarm, and some members were downright negative. He expected many would be risk-averse to policy change, but he hoped to sway them over time. Instead, they wanted to wait for the true heir to weigh in. Józef’s ship was five days late, but they still expected an imminent return. Some of the staunchest Brandt allies actually demanded sending ships to investigate. If only they knew.

  By now, the heir was on his way to a secret prison in the northern regions of the Glacial Ocean. Hans was behind the illegal abduction, but he pretended to be concerned. He didn’t like diverting precious resources toward a fruitless and unnecessary search—much less given the urgency of the counterattack—but playing along was necessary to give the illusion of innocence.

  He wondered how long it would take before people moved on. Surely, they remembered the times the Brandt-child shirked his duties and left for trips around the world. And when Henrich sent ships full of paid nannies to go after his own son, they had to have felt embarrassed. Hans was personally assigned to some of these missions, and each time he was furious over the atrocious waste of resources. Nations ought to choose their leaders among the strongest contenders. Not be beholden to rule by inheritance. Especially to a petulant and inexperienced boy who didn’t want to rule in the first place.

  As for Hans’ speech, the Ministry handed him an entirely new draft that removed all of the policy changes. It included an introduction on the topic of national unity, a short update on the state of city reconstruction, and an announcement on new public services, previously rendered unavailable since the attack. Their thinking was to show the Kitezhian people that their government was working for them and making solid progress. But when it came to policy, they wanted to stay the course.

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  Hans felt betrayed. His short-sighted, incompetent Ministry had no intention of providing feedback on what he had written. They just went ahead and wrote their own speech. The presumptuousness. The audacity! To the Burning Pits with them!

  Hans rejected their draft and left, fuming on his way out. Besides, it was too late for changes. The attack on Angkor was scheduled for later that night, and he wanted the Kitezhian people to know the direction their king would take them. He took a deep breath, refusing to let it dampen his mood.

  Dusk was settling. His speech was only minutes away, and later he would join Lady Azul in her scrying room and watch his mortal enemy receive their first real wound. He eagerly awaited the flames as his ships bombarded Angkor’s capital city. He dreamt of the pathetic look on Cromwell’s face as his palace burned to the ground. He rubbed his hands in anticipation.

  With the bit of time he had remaining, he reviewed his notes and rehearsed a few lines. He didn’t make it very far until he was startled by a man clearing his throat behind him.

  He whipped around, angry and ready to deliver a scathing attack. But he bit his tongue, recognizing his loyal informant, the man with the crooked nose. Hopefully, equipped with the report he had awaited since midday.

  His whisper came out like a hiss. “I told you never to meet me in a public setting. There are nearly forty-thousands Kitezhians out there, waiting beyond that curtain!” He pointed for emphasis.

  “They’ll never know I was here, Sire.” Crooknose was matter of fact, as always. “The guards at the door are our own men. They won’t let anyone inside without my permission. Besides, I’m quite sure you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

  Hans didn’t appreciate having his rebuke brushed aside so casually. “I don’t care if the stage itself is on fire! In five minutes, that curtain will rise, and you aren’t supposed to exist!”

  The man lowered his eyes, but remained calm. “It’s regarding the heir, Sire.”

  Hans opened his mouth and paused. Thinking twice, he urged the man to continue by rolling his hand.

  “Quickly!”

  The man’s cold, blue eyes were unflinching. “This morn, our pigeons arrived with a letter from an unknown source. Our experts have already analyzed its contents. It’s not clear how our plan failed, but we know the boy is no longer in our company.”

  Hans felt an ache slowly develop behind his eyes and ears.

  “Go on ….”

  “In short, the note demanded a ransom for the boy’s safe return. Should we fail to comply, it threatened a quick death.”

  Hans was intrigued. “Who exactly are these captors? And what happened to our men?”

  Crooknose responded levelly. “Yesterday, we received word that they changed course on account of a potential pirate sighting. However, we’ve received no updates since. It’s too early to know for sure, but we presume they were attacked, and the heir was the only survivor.”

  Hans’ stomach knotted. “How can we even be sure the boy’s in their possession?”

  The man remained stone cold. “The letter contained a strip of clothing with the family crest. It was stained with blood, and our sorcerers confirmed it belongs to the Brandt family.”

  Hans felt his fingertips go numb. The powerful words of his speech still hung on his lips, but now they tasted bitter.

  He considered his options. A rescue was out of the question. No one could know the heir was in trouble. If he ever reached Kitezh, he would link Hans to the original kidnapping. He’d be brought up on charges, and even risk losing his head.

  Even if he paid the ransom and sent his own men, there was still a huge risk of dealing with pirates. He couldn’t trust that they’d honor their side of the deal. If they knew how much the prince was truly worth, they wouldn’t barter with his life, but rather with the knowledge of his capture. The true worry was how much they’d extort Kitezh by capitalizing on the right leverage.

  There was one other option. If he were to let the pirates carry out their threat, it would destroy any connection Hans had to the original kidnapping. Even if knowledge leaked later that pirates had killed Kitezh’s only heir, it would give Hans the authority to declare war on them. They could claim their ransom was refused, but it wouldn’t matter if their word and credibility meant nothing.

  It was the nastiest option, for certain. Hans never intended for blood to be spilled. He was a patriot, and even a sniveling brat member of the Brandt family was still precious to the Kitezhian people. But it seemed to be the only option that would free him from culpability.

  “I want you to do nothing.”

  Crooknose raised his brows. “Nothing, my Lord—?”

  “Ignore all future correspondence from the unknown source. Instead, find others to replace our fallen comrades. We can’t afford to be shorthanded.”

  The man’s eyes went wide, the first time Hans ever saw him emote. “My Lord. I take it you’re aware of the consequences? We have every reason to believe the ones who wrote this letter will follow through with their threat.”

  “Let me deal with that,” Hans insisted. “Question not my methods, and trust that I have Kitezh’s best interests at heart.”

  The man breathed in deeply and bowed. “Yes, Sire. I’ll take my leave. Shall I contact you tomorrow?”

  “Only if there’s news. And only if it’s urgent.”

  Crooknose paused a moment before exiting from the rear of the platform. Moments later, the Communications Minister entered through the main entrance.

  “Your Majesty, we’re about to begin. Please approach the podium when ready.”

  Hans drew a breath and slowly exhaled as he placed himself in the right frame of mind. Soon, Henrich’s brat would cease to be a diversion. He’d have to live with his decision, but in war, there were casualties. It was time he gave his country the full attention it deserved.

  The curtain rose. He adjusted his regal vestments and approached the stage.