The Book of the Blessed

“This is my friend, Pol,” Anson told a tall guard, as if he were an old friend too. “Find him a good seat to watch the proceedings.” And then, with a pinch on Pol’s elbow, Anson ascended the steps of the small throne and sat there as a man beside him called out, “The Prince Anson to receive the King’s Justice on this fifteenth day of the month.”

It was a great hall with a ceiling divided into three sections by which the sun shone through small stainglass bits of turquoise, garnet and golden topaz, and the hall was filled with the regular folk of the city who were here to discuss the matters of city governance.

“Your Grace, the first issue is the new plan for the central roads of the city.”

Anson frowned and said, “I thought the town council had established that already.”

“Well we have three town councils,” the Alderman Gates said, “And for reasons never explained the central town council is in charge of laying out the main roads.”

“Well, if it has not been explained,” Anson said, “then maybe you could explain it now.”

Alderman Gates turned to a woman with short grey hair who was Alderman Islena.

“Grace, Kingsboro is divided into the First Boro, that is all the surrounds of the palace, and it ends on the border of the main roads leading north and south. The whole of Everdeen, Wathold, Ambury and Sheffield run along that and north and south of it, and that is the Center Boro.”

Here Anson raised an eyebrow indicating he knew the bulk of what Islena was saying, and she sped up her explanation.

“After this comes the Western Boro. The city is divided into more districts and neighborhoods than that, but technically the city is three separate boros, and the Center Boro has control over the main roads even through those run through the Western Boro and the First Boro as well. It was made a law some time ago.”

“Yes,” Alderman Gates said, eyeing Islena, “and happy it makes the Aldermen… and women… of the Western Boro. However they do not even make their own people aware of their own plans let alone the rest of the city. Any day now they are about to set in the Street Ordinance.”

“Which is?” Anson tried.

“Which is, Grace,” Alderman Gates said, though Islena opened her mouth to speak first, “that the whole of the Eoga Road, the main Road into the city, will be repaved and reconstructed—”

“A good thing,” Anson said, “provided the money has been secured.”

“My Lord,” Alderman Gates said, “it is a fine thing to have the whole road repaved, I agree. To have the entire road reconstructed—and this is estimated to take up to half a year, to have some sections torn down so that intersections will become roundabouts, to overturn the flow of traffic and tear apart whole streets—”

“Really?” Anson began. “Why was the palace not informed?”

“Your Grace,” Alderman Islena said, “the palace did not have to be informed. The Council was informed. It is a project of the Council, not a declaration of war.”

“It is an expensive plan that will overturn transportation in the entire city and interfere with the locomotion of the nation’s capital for the better part of a year,” Gates protested.

“When is construction to begin?” Prince Anson asked, “and this time mind your tongue, Lady.”

Alderman Islena bowed her head in apology.

“Your Grace, the builders are coming into the city even now. It will be a great boon for the hostels throughout the city.”

“And the brothels as well, no doubt,” the Prince said, while, in a corner beside Ash, Pol covered his mouth.

The Prince sat up.

“The construction is halted at once,” Anson declared. “It will not go through until I oversee the plans. I want them Red Taped and brought to my offices before sundown today. We will reconvene this time, this day next week. You are dismissed.”

Alderman Gates seemed very pleased, and Alderman Islena, bowing, tried to hide her dissatisfaction, but could not, while the herald called, “Next enter an impresario and a courtesan from the Roon Theatre….”

“But how does it go?” Pol asked later on. “Do you handle all the cases of the city?”

“Three days a week the civil cases of individuals who have either petitioned for the King’s Justice or made appeals from the courts for decisions they found unfair. Two days appeals from the various city Councils. Decisions made in City Council meets which citizens found to be unfair, or which different boros disputed are brought here.”

“But what of the running of the nation?”

“For the most part that is the function of Parliament, saving ratification of laws which must be brought to the palace and overseen by the king… or his representative. Twice a month, also, when laws are about to be passed, the King must be present. These things, right now, are left in the charge of my brother Cedd, who will be king.”

“Ah, and there he is!” Pol exclaimed.

“My brother?”

“Oh, no,” Pol shook his head. “I wouldn’t know Prince Cedd up close.But Ash.”

Ash was coming down the hall, and now he went from looking serious to triumphant.

“I’ve found you.”

“Were we hard to find?”

The palace is large. Your father will not be coming down to supper tonight.”

Anson looked worried.

“That is a first.”

“Your Grace,” Pol said. Anson frowned on him.

“That is who you are, and that is what I will call you when we are here,” Pol insisted. “How long has he been ill?”

“Some time and a very long time,” Anson said. “He was not young when he became King, and he certainly wasn’t young when I was born. But he has made an appearance at supper every night. Not coming to supper—”

“Would imply that he is ill,” Pol said, “and that his power is gone. Yes,” Pol said when Anson nodded, “even I know about the appearance of power.”

“Put that from your mind,” Ash said. “You and Cedd are to preside over supper, and then when it is done you are immediately to go to him. Together.”

Anson nodded. “Should I see him now?”

“He had a coughing fit and I gave him a sleeping draught.”

When Ash saw the troubled look on Anson’s face, he reached up and touched the tall man’s shoulder.

“But we are awake,” Ash said, forcing a smile, “and I come here so seldom. You are the prince. Show us your city.”

Kingsboro Abbey,

The Purple Kirk

The high altar of the Cathedral was the size of a house, Abbot Merrill noted. The house where he had grown up was actually the size of this rounded space, the great marble bishop’s throne, the wooden stalls for attending acolytes, the lemon colored polished marble floor, the actual altar table over the tomb of Saint Silen, the gold candlesticks twinkling in the sunlight that came through the high dome. In this immense space one could hear even a pin drop.

Abbot Merrill could hear the footsteps of whoever had entered from the West Door, and now he rose to see a shadow which his bad eyesight could not identify. Eventually the tall figure came closer to the altar and the Abbot, was coming past the altar rail and down the steps into the great nave.

“Abbot Merrill?”

This was a messenger from the palace, the Abbot could tell by the wyvern badge on his cloak.

“Yes,”

“A word from the King.”

“Bless you.”

The Abbot received the letter and made a blessing over the messenger, not entirely sure if he’d wanted it or not.

The messenger genuflected and made the sign of blessing, and then turned to leave while the Abbot went to a chair before the altar and opened the letter himself.

He frowned while he read up and down.

Brother Bentham had emerged from the small sacristy door off the right of the altar, and now he crossed the yellow marble, passing the bishop’s throne, and sat on the steps beneath the Abbot in his little wooden chair.

“Well?” the young man said.

“A coronation… Must tell the Bishop.”

“The King is—”

“The King is alive.”

“Does he think he’s about to die?”

“Of course he does,” Abbot Merrill said. “We all know he is. But… this is not a ceremony for some time in the future. This is to take place tomorrow. The new king crowned while the old one lives. And the ceremony of the vows.”

Bentham looked at the older man uncertainly and then, finally, he said, “Does this mean something?”

Abbot Merrill looked at Brother Bentham with mild irritation, and then he said, “But how could you know?”

Then he said, “In the Book of Ceremonies, the Coronation Ritual is already set up. When a living king desires his heir crowned while he lives, and when he places alterations in the vows, it can only mean he is doing it to curb the powers of his heir.”

“He doesn’t trust Prince Cedd!” Bentham said.

“Whisper that, friend.”

“We are secure,” Brother Bentham looked about the high domes above them, the marble walls and long windows. “This is our house.”

“It is the house of God,” Abbot Merrill said. “And every house has walls, and all the walls have ears.”

Abbot Merrill put the letter into his robe.

“I doubt very much the Prince knows why his coronation is to take place, and as long as he does not know, everything should go according to the king’s plan.

“Do me a favor.”

Brother Bentham nodded.

“Go to the house of John Bolinbroke and his wife Nialla. He used to be tied to our house and she to the Blue Temple.Inform them of this, that they may inform Abbot Fero immediately. For now even the palace should know nothing of our communications with the Blue Order.”