Book 4: Chapter 14 – Realization [Part 1]
Book 4: Chapter 14 - Realization [Part 1]
Civilization is the progress toward a society of privacy. The savage's whole existence is public, ruled by the laws of his tribe. Civilization is the process of setting man free from men.
- Ayn Rand.
The road to Meridian, at least so far, had passed without incident, which in itself became cause for unease for the girl. So still was the journey, so tediously calm, that Seraphina often felt as though she traveled not through fields and hamlets, but beneath the poised blade of a headsman’s axe—its edge suspended by a single fraying thread. Fields rolled by in an endless parade of late autumn hues, broken only by patches of tame forest with the wild long bled from them.
She spent her time in the various inns along the way, hunched over parchment, feathered quill scrawling out the dull assignments that passed for education at the Academy. Her lady-in-waiting, Eloise, helped her, though Seraphina, stubborn as a mule, refused to yield to the temptation of simply copying the answers. If she were to build a base of knowledge, it would not be on the backs of borrowed words.
It was in the midst of one such mind-numbing exercise that her thoughts turned to the problem of information. Thoughts that turned to true whispers, secrets, the sort that could topple reputations and raise the grateful to a higher position. The really salacious stuff that would also make good fodder for her newspaper. Thus far, she had leaned heavily on the network spun by Lehman’s Bank. A reliable source, yes, but not her own. No, if she meant to wield secrets as a sword and shield, she would need her own whisperers. And that meant building a network from the ground up.
Her maid Miriam, as expected, had the imagination of a spoon and had little to say upon the subject when Seraphina had pressed her for ideas… Wait a moment, that’s it! she thought to herself as she reached a sort of epiphany.
“Milly!” Seraphina called.
A few heartbeats later, there came a knock on the inn room’s door. “Come in,” she commanded, already rising from her desk.
The door creaked open to reveal the maid, blinking blearily, clutching a shawl about her shoulders. She cast a furtive glance toward Eloise, who lay sprawled on the bed, snoring like a drowned boar.
“Milly,” Seraphina began, hands on her hips in that imperious way, like a queen before ordering a beheading, “we’re going to start a training program for the young and talented.”
“A… training program, milady?” Miriam echoed, already wary.
“For servants. Staff. Footmen, maids, valets, all of them. The finest in the land.” Seraphina’s voice carried the clipped certainty of command. “All my peers are forever wailing about the dearth of competent help. It’s time we give them what they want… at a premium.”
Miriam’s face twisted, the way a cook’s might when told to bake a pie from mud and vinegar. “But, milady, that would take—”
Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. “What did I say about starting a sentence with ‘but,’ Miriam?”
The maid’s mouth snapped shut. “Yes, milady,” she murmured, eyes downcast.
“Better. We’ll select the brightest of the lowborn, the ones with quick hands and quicker wits. A short course, brutal and thorough. Incentives will do the rest.”
“Incentives, milady?”
“Yes. The carrot and the stick,” Seraphina said, smiling faintly. “I leave the details to you. But I want graduates of this program to be coveted—to be whispered about in drawing rooms, praised in the halls of the lords and ladies of this land. Let the great Houses scramble to hire them.”
Miriam fidgeted with her spectacles. “It will take time, milady. Resources.”
“Throw money at it—lots of money. Give them the very best. Reward those who show the most promise. And, make it clear how to get those rewards, I find that usually helps. Consider that your carrot. A very big carrot.”
The maid bit her bottom lip. “And the stick?”
Seraphina gave a little shrug. “Oh, I imagine your kind can come up with something suitably horrid. As a suggestion, I find the best negative motivation comes from the fertile soil of the human imagination. Let their own fears drive them. Let the conditions for punishment, unlike the punishment itself, be very clear. Humans work best when presented with this binary.”
Miriam hesitated, then asked in a small voice, “May I ask, if it pleases you, what the purpose of all this is?”
Seraphina turned back toward her desk, fingers drumming against the worn, wooden surface. When she spoke, her voice was soft and deadly.
“Because, Milly, I intend to plant eyes and ears in every noble house in this kingdom… and in time, beyond. My people will serve them dinner and sweep their floors. And… take care of their wives, mothers, and… their children.”
She looked at her monstrous maid, and the firelight caught the curve of her mouth—a smile sharp as broken glass. “And once you have the very first batch of candidates ready, I will interview them personally.”
***
As they entered Meridian, Seraphina observed that the city at large had remained most untouched by the Dragon attack. No doubt, this was probably in no small part due to the ancient ground-to-air defenses that she had temporarily activated as the Administrator of the facility that had been hidden deep beneath the bones of the Academy.
The citizens had returned to their lives with commendable diligence; yet, if Seraphina’s imagination did not mislead her, there lingered upon many an air of guardedness which a brush with danger leaves behind, like the faint scent of smoke after a candle is snuffed. People, when they have lately contemplated their own fragility, step rather more carefully into the day.
Her carriage rattled over the bridge and into the Academy grounds. Here, order asserted itself with practised ease. The larger part of her escort, having fulfilled duty, would immediately return to the Sarien duchy; only her youthful personal Knights, who were ostensibly students, and Sir Frest were to remain. However, before they were to return, Seraphina made sure to make use of their strong arms to help her with things.
Proceeding to the dormitory—“my second home,” as she had schooled herself to say, for the comfort of an expression is sometimes the sole consolation for the fact it conceals—she was met by a large shipping crate upon the steps. From it, there issued the scent of flowers.
A servant, whose face was new to her, passed by. “You there! What is this?” Seraphina asked, in a tone that wavered between pique and surprise.
“I believe it is a package from Lady Yanmei de Laney for a Miss de Sariens,” said the servant, with a bob and an averted gaze.
“You may go,” Seraphina returned, dismissing with a light wave. The face of the servant looked vaguely familiar, but the young noblewoman had difficulty placing it.