When in the Grand Duchy, Follow Its Laws
That day, from the highest vantage, Ferda watched a party racing toward the Grand Duchy of Baldrova.
Roughly twenty riders, every one of them mounted. Horses not raised in the Far East normally shied from a dragon’s presence on pure instinct. These animals, though bred in the central territories, showed none of that natural aversion.
They were horses trained to charge into the jaws of death itself—feet severed or lives spent—until the final stride. Only the empire’s absolute elite were permitted to ride such mounts.
Ferda knew exactly who they were.
“The Punitive Force.”
Ruri, standing beside him, answered at once.
“The Punitive Force—that’s the imperial organ that keeps watch over the lords, isn’t it?”
“Correct. Originally they were called the Imperial Audit Corps. They simply renamed themselves among themselves.”
The institution had been founded to monitor and restrain the corruption of provincial lords—an emperor’s ambitious bid to win the people’s hearts.
“They never showed their faces before, yet the moment Lord Ferda arrived they started sniffing around the Far East.”
Ruri spoke as though he were the root of every evil. She was not entirely wrong.
“Do you know why? Because there was nothing left to eat.”
“Nothing to eat?”
“They call themselves the Punitive Force, but in truth they’re a pack that shakes down the lords for coin.”
The emperor had established them with grand designs on the people’s affection, yet within months the purpose had withered and twisted. In the end they became state-sanctioned thugs who, under the banners of “oversight” and “purging corruption,” threatened lords and extorted money.
What had the Grand Duchy of Baldrova been before Ferda came? The castle itself stood neglected; the local lords merely clung to Baldrova’s back as a front line. The place looked too dangerous and too unprofitable even for travel expenses, so they simply left it alone.
“No different from wandering knights, then.”
“The only difference is whether the victim is a lord or a commoner.”
“If they come demanding money under the pretext of an audit… they’ll press you about Tessalos Wolcher, won’t they? Will that be all right?”
Killing a noble was a grave crime. The local lords who had witnessed it would certainly have carried the tale to imperial ears.
“They’ll wave the charge of noble-slaying about, yes—but only as one count among others.”
“Have you committed other crimes?”
“None. And yet many.”
Ferda had been raised in a knightly house. He knew the first word the Punitive Force always produced.
The word that made every lord’s heart race.
“They’ll come at me with ‘conspiracy and abetment of rebellion.’”
Conspiracy and abetment of rebellion. What phrase could set a heart pounding harder? Hang it on a nose and it becomes a nose-ring; hang it on an ear and it becomes an earring—and a single misstep could send a head rolling. They would manufacture a crime that did not exist and force their way in with it.
“Perhaps it would be better not to speak with them at all. Shall I drive them off?”
Ferda shook his head at Ruri’s question.
“No. Guests who have come all this way deserve a proper reception, don’t they?”
“A proper reception?”
“These are men from the very heart of the Arken Empire. How convenient it will be if we bring them over to our side in advance.”
“Hmm…”
What filled their heads was blind greed; the only thing they trusted was the rank insignia pinned to their chests. From birth they had been creatures riddled with openings.
“Those things lower than trash are going to enter our castle…”
Ruri muttered. She openly loathed knights. Her disgust had reached an all-time, unprecedented peak. It could hardly be otherwise: until recently she had suffered under their stench, and Baldrova herself had even remarked that she smelled of them.
“Lord Ferda.”
“What is it?”
“If those barbaric imbeciles wish to set foot in this castle, they will scrub themselves raw, will they not?”
They would. Her face said she was ready to start a rebellion of her own if they did not.
“Do as you please.”
“Thank you.”
Permission granted, Ruri hurried off to prepare the bathwater.
Karl Harvest.
Eldest son of the knightly House Harvest, he served as field audit captain of the Punitive Force. The title of captain carried little grandeur, yet Karl felt no dissatisfaction. It was one of the few posts that allowed a mere knight to crush provincial lords underfoot and play at being king.
A new piece of prey had recently appeared before them.
Ferda Baldrova.
The man who, on the verge of being cast out by House Rosnova, had claimed an engagement to the Grand Duke—and had actually swallowed the bait whole. At first everyone had laughed. A fool who abandoned nobility only to be torn apart by the Grand Duke, they said.
Yet he had not been torn apart. On the contrary, he was thriving. From the moment he set foot in the Grand Duchy, the long-stagnant East had begun to show signs of growth. For now it was only that Pascal Trading Company was opening a branch, but merchant traffic would steadily increase. That meant a great deal of money would begin to circulate through the East.
And so the Grand Duchy of Baldrova, once dismissed as empty husk, had suddenly looked like a delicious meal. The first to catch the scent had been the imperial organ known as the Punitive Force.
That the development would accelerate and climb an upward curve was a foregone conclusion. Yet they had thoroughly underestimated the achievement Ferda himself had wrought.
It simply means Baldrova’s treasures have piled high.
They never imagined the work had been possible because Ferda was competent. He was, after all, only the greenhorn cast out of House Rosnova.
The current regent is a knight by birth; he’ll know exactly what we’re about.
A man of a knightly house would understand the Punitive Force. He might even prove more reasonable than other lords. Hand over a suitable sum and send them on their way, and they would not harass him beyond a certain point—that was how the Punitive Force operated, and he would know it.
We have to squeeze hard while the money is still plentiful.
The Grand Duchy was dangerous, and even Baldrova’s wealth and treasures could not be infinite.
But we must not take it too lightly either.
Karl was no fool who believed everything would go according to plan. Give a man power beyond his station and he changes. If Ferda, having climbed into the regent’s seat, began to act arrogantly, they needed to be able to crush him. Karl had naturally prepared for that as well.
“Has the reply we sent last time arrived?”
For a final check Karl had dispatched a letter to Count Consiler. His adjutant answered after reviewing the contents.
“Yes, sir. He says he is already on his way to Baldrova Castle. We may speak with him first.”
“Excellent.”
Karl smiled broadly. An informant who had already briefed them on Ferda Baldrova, an ally who would solidify the Punitive Force’s footing, and a witness—now he held every card needed to pin Ferda Baldrova down. No matter how the man reacted, he would never escape the Force’s pressure.
At last they reached the gate of the inner citadel. With no servants in sight the place felt desolate. Most lords, for the sake of face and prestige alone, filled their halls with attendants for show. Yet all that met their eyes as they entered the inner bailey were a gray-haired man in uniform and a girl in a maid’s dress.
The man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking down at them as though he had been waiting.
So that’s him.
The third son cast out of House Rosnova. Tall as the rumors claimed, yet his frame was slender and delicate. He looked nothing like a man from a knightly house—fragile, even.
Those eyes, though… for a regent, they’re not ordinary.
Depth lay in them; his expression alone announced that he would not be an easy opponent. Ordinary men would have tensed, but Karl had seen such situations countless times. All surface polish and no substance. He had also watched them break.
In the end he’s just Baldrova’s pillar of a husband.
In Karl’s eyes the man looked like nothing more than a greenhorn with airs. Hiding his sneer behind his helm, Karl dismounted and removed it. As befit the eldest son of a knightly house, his face was all sharp angles.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lord Ferda Rosnova! I am Karl of House Harvest, eldest son, dispatched by the imperial Punitive Force to conduct an investigation!”
Karl placed a hand over his heart and bowed with perfect courtesy. Ferda returned the greeting with equal formality.
“A pleasure, Sir Karl Harvest. However, I cast off the name of House Rosnova long ago. I would prefer you call me Ferda Baldrova.”
“Ah—my apologies.”
It had not been a slip. He had meant only to remind the man that he was the third son of House Rosnova. The unspoken nuance was strong: We’re both from knightly houses; you understand, don’t you? Of course the little trick had no effect whatsoever on Ferda.
“What business brings the Punitive Force—protectors of the empire’s subjects—all the way here? In Baldrova Castle we do not yet even have subjects to protect.”
“This is hardly a conversation to hold standing about. Might we step inside and speak?”
“Step inside and speak…”
Ferda had greeted them at the very threshold of the inner citadel. He glanced behind him, met the eyes of the young maidservant, and gave a slight nod.
“It is possible—provided you abide by our castle’s rules. Will that be acceptable?”
“What rules might those be?”
“A new rule has recently been established here. Every knight must complete a thorough cleansing before entering.”
Karl’s brow furrowed. It sounded like a deliberate insult about their smell.
“Who decided such an outrageous rule?”
Ruri Silverwind, maid to the Red Dragon Baldrova.
“I did.”
Yet Ferda answered that he himself had set it. He simply wished to avoid any pointless back-and-forth. He jerked his chin toward the silver plate armor.
“Wearing that much sweat-soaked gear makes one prone to illness. Especially here in the Far East, where ill-omened energies lurk. Cleanliness must come first. That is why I instituted regular bathing.”
“Mm…”
Being made to bathe the moment one entered another’s domain sat poorly with him, yet the first principle was that one followed the rules of the territory one visited. Besides, he had felt the unclean aura of the East the entire journey.
“Understood. Since we have come to the Grand Duchy, we shall follow the Grand Duchy’s ways.”
“I am grateful.”
Ferda glanced toward Ruri, who had been waiting. She stepped forward as though she had been waiting for this very moment and offered the auditors a greeting.
“Welcome to Baldrova Castle. I am Ruri, and I shall attend you in the baths. This way, if you please.”
Karl’s eyes could not hide their disappointment. Ruri was a beauty with silver hair and silver eyes, yet her body was that of a girl without curves. The prospect of being bathed by a child who offered neither allure nor sensation instantly killed any anticipation.
I’ll just rinse off quickly and be done with it.
That, of course, was only Karl’s thought.
I will not leave a single speck of grime on them in this place.
Ruri had never been more earnest. In her hand she held a coarse scrubbing brush. The spirits she had summoned each waited in the bathhouse with identical brushes of their own. Fully prepared to scour away every last flake of filth that clung to the skin, they welcomed their guests.
Gyaaaaah!
Somebody help me!
Aagh! Aaaagh!
That day, screams rang out one after another through Baldrova Castle.
After the baths, Ferda and Karl faced each other in the reception room. Ferda discovered one surprising fact.
His skin really is that pale.
The difference was so stark one might have believed a layer of skin had been peeled away. Thoroughly “scrubbed raw,” Karl swallowed his curses.
“My… thanks for the hospitality.”
“Not at all. I myself never expected such thorough hospitality. Do have some tea.”
“Yes.”
Karl and Ferda each lifted a teacup. For the sake of smooth conversation Ferda cast the first topic.
“So then—what business brings the Punitive Force here?”
“As I stated, we have come to investigate. Are you aware of the charges against you, Lord Regent?”
“I am not. That is why I am asking.”
“I see.”
Playing ignorant, is he?
Karl produced the lines he had prepared.
“Lord Regent Ferda Baldrova, you are now under investigation on suspicion of conspiracy and abetment of rebellion against the empire. Do you understand?”
A charge that did not deviate an inch from Ferda’s prediction. Predictable, yet he decided to play along for the moment.
“I see. Have you come to pin a medal on me, then?”
“This is no atmosphere for jokes with an imperial audit captain.”
“Was it not a joke? When you said conspiracy and abetment of rebellion I assumed as much. The only crime I have committed is contributing to the development of the territory.”
“I am aware that the Lord Regent labors for the prosperity and peace of the empire. Yet once an accusation has been lodged, we have a duty to investigate.”
“And the accuser?”
“I cannot disclose that. It is confidential.”
Cannot disclose, indeed. You cannot disclose it because there is none.
“I have heard that you recently concluded a contract with Pascal Trading Company.”
“I did.”
“And that, through it, road improvements and the supply of scarce materials are being carried out with full funding from Pascal.”
“Not full funding. I am contributing a speck as well.”
Even a token share mattered, so Baldrova Castle was putting up roughly one percent. The suggestion had come from Stefan.
“All of this is a matter that can be investigated under the charge of conspiracy and abetment of rebellion against the empire.”