Chapter 11
What Is
Do you not understand that the plans elaborated in a little chamber decide success over thousands of miles? -Liu Bei, Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Luo Guanzhong
"Open up!" shouted the voice at Kiormund's door.
The otter yawned as he hastily smoothed out his collar. The newcomer had appeared while Kiormund was getting dressed. "You can open the door from the outside."
"Oh. Right. I knew that. Of course I knew that." The beast outside the door mumbled a few curses before the door was flung open. "I need your help."
"Help with what?" The otter's eyes squinted. The squirrel was in a blue silk dress over a linen chemise, but Kiormund simply didn't recall meeting a female of her kind before - not one of note.
"I am Princess Jacoba of Southsward, daughter of Prince Alberik and granddaughter of King Willem, while you are just some otter locked away in the Northern Tower. Whenever I command you to leap, you shall ask how far, and proceed without trouble."
"You never asked where."
One of the squirrel's ears perked up, followed by the other. "Excuse me?"
"Why do you need the help of 'some otter locked away in the Northern Tower'? There are far better beasts to help you. You could write to your mother, or pay a visit to Lord Lamont."
"Not him." The squirrel glared straight at Kiormund. "I know you're out of touch with life at court, being a naive bumpkin and all, so I'm going to tell you this. You simply cannot kindly ask a problem to solve itself."
The otter pondered about the Floretian penchant for self-assured superiority before deciding to leave that for a nocturnal discussion with a certain deceased ferret. "Has he wronged you?"
The princess made her way to Kiormund's bed and sat down before he could voice an objection. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I do not dare wait until we find out."
The otter's rudder twitched. "Then what do we - what do I do?"
"Simple." Jacoba pointed to his bed and beckoned him to sit beside her, which he did. "There is going to be a council meeting today afternoon, and you will be invited to it."
"Why a council meeting? Surely there are better opportunities to accomplish-" Kiormund scratched the back of his head. "What you seek to accomplish, whatever that is."
"You may recall that Lamont brought you here. He lives under the illusion that you are his captive, his pawn. However, you belong to Southsward and its king. Our dearest Steward deserves a reminder, does he not?"
"So I am to sit there, try to look menacing and do nothing else?"
"Precisely." The squirrel stood up and made her way towards the door. "Almost precisely. You do not get a seat - space is always limited, and we do not have surplus seating."
Before Kiormund could ask another question, the door was closed and he was left alone in his tower room, almost.
"I have some words for that squirrelmaid," said Veil, whispering in the otter's ear once again. "None of them would be taken kindly."
"At least you didn't show yourself too early this time. Seasons Above, I'm still worried about Margane."
"Don't worry. I doubt she'll have anything important to say about the matter - or anything important to say in general." Veil chuckled. "I've been around for centuries, and I've seen my full share of airheads. The squirrel may carry herself with every bit of dignity a woodlander can muster, but I doubt there's anything solid in her head."
"What about Margane?"
"She's more clever than she looks, as martens tend to be. Stay away from her."
Kiormund smiled at the ghostly ferret. "As if I'm not doing that already."
It was after another hour of dialogue with Veil when Kiormund left his tower accommodations. Having spent centuries monitoring the behaviour of hordes, the ferret had informed him that the best thing to do in the presence of his captors was to stand at the side and say nothing.
He was trying to find his way to the chamber when he ran into a familiar face. "Good afternoon, Finnbarr."
"Kio! I didn't expect you to be here. Or now, for that matter."
"I received a council invitation." Kiormund lifted up the document Jacoba had procured. "Princess Jacoba gave me this."
Finnbarr carefully handled the paper. "The handwriting looks like hers, alright. And the wax seal at the bottom is genuine. Why would she do such a thing?"
"I don't have much of an idea," replied Kiormund. It wasn't a lie, but some part of him felt wrong saying that. He needed to change the subject. "Will Rab be coming too?"
"Yes. He's already in the council room, talking with Mother and Father about things I probably should remain blissfully ignorant about."
"I take it that I should stay out of this as well then."
The sound of pawsteps echoed down the hall. "Finnbarr!" shouted Daghild, Archivist of Castle Floret. She was not large even in her oversized white robes, but there was always something about her that made Kiormund give her a wide berth. "So your father finally allowed you to join another council meeting, hm?"
"I promised him to not fall asleep in the middle of one ever again, and he forgave me for last time."
"That's certainly good news." She turned to Kiormund. "And you! Have you been so bored up there that you've decided to join one of our gatherings? Because it's just as tedious there as well, I'm afraid."
"No, I received an invitation."
The Archivist was quick to take hold of the document. "Oh look, Princess Jacoba and her distinctive paw-writing style. I wish I could've taught her, as it appears that my uncle did a shoddy job. The first thing you need to know about-" The mole took a deep breath. "Oh dear, I'm talking like him again."
Before Kiormund could ask who 'him' was, the council chamber doors were thrown open by a somewhat dishevelled steward. "I heard your discussion from inside the room. Perhaps each of you would like to occupy a seat and enjoy some refreshments?"
Kiormund found himself nodding, as did Finnbarr, while Daghild simply smiled.
The council room was less spectacular than Kiormund had expected it to be. It was lit only by two windows and a few oddly pungent candles on the centre of a large table besides the usual maps and documents. No paintings or tapestries adorned the chamber's walls - in their place was only stone.
"Isn't this place a bit cramped for a meeting?" Kiormund blurted out.
"Not really," replied Daghild. "Royal councils have gathered here for centuries, since the days of the Bellmaker himself. It's a tradition that's almost sacred."
Lamont quickly poured the Archivist a cup of tea. "Besides, it's quite warm in the winter months, don't you think?" Kiormund nodded. "Here, take a seat."
"I thought I wasn't going to-"
"Oh, no. Make yourself comfortable. We've got more than enough seats."
Kiormund sat and stared at a grinning Lamont. The Steward had known he was going to be in attendance. But for how long? Minutes? Hours? Before Jacoba even spoke to him?
"It's awfully nice to have you around, Kiormund," said Lady Anezka, who was seated next to her husband. "Meetings can be quite boring around here."
"I am pleased to see you as well, dearest aunt."
Really? asked Veil.
No.
"So what would be today's business?" asked Finnbarr, rubbing his paws together. "I haven't been here for two months."
Anezka chuckled. "There is much to talk about, Finn. I helped your father with drafting all the documents - and there were a lot of documents."
"A great multitude of issues indeed!" added Lamont. "Such is the life of a Steward. If I do anything right the King gets all the glory, but if you botch things up the fault is mine." He took a long sip of tea. "Ah well, as long as Southsward is preserved."
"Attention, Southswarder subjects!" announced the herald, a scrawny mouse, and all present stood up. "His Highness, King Willem has arrived, together with his family! Bow before the sheer majesty of…"
Kiormund was too focused on the squirrels to pay attention to the announcer. The king was ancient, the otter could tell. Almost completely grey of fur, his heavy silk robes seemed to cause him more physical suffering than any sort of glory.
His granddaughter was by his side, her dress bearing the same sort of pattern as Willem - countless little bells etched on blue fabric. A burst of surprise leaped onto her face as she saw Kiormund seated between his cousins, but that was quickly replaced by a smile. A hollow one, the otter thought.
"We-we're ver-very glad to see all of you again," stuttered the voice of King Willem. "Our trusted counsellors, friends and-and guests." The aged squirrel gestured to his Steward, oblivious to Jacoba's simpering glare directed at him. "What is the ta-talk of today?"
"Remember my son Blerun? The lieutenant of Gystra?" asked Lamont, clutching a few scraps of paper a bit too tightly. His sovereign nodded. "He has written to us."
"What of it?" asked Jacoba. "Perhaps he finally found somebeast to marry, since you two have delayed too long for his liking. We all know he is a serious otter-"
"Who knows his duty." Lady Anezka blew over her tea. The princess looked towards her father and to Kiormund one after the other, but if she expected somebeast to punish Lamont's wife for the interruption she was to be disappointed. "He has decided to accompany the Emperor Kiordan and Erlend Streambattle to Floret, together with an entourage of…" The otter stepped up to Lamont to reread her son's letter.
"Five hundred beasts," said Lamont, who apparently had memorised it.
"Five hundred?" blurted Rab. "I thought there were only a thousand garrisoned in Gystra. Surely Blerun would not risk deploying half his beasts?"
Kiormund could see Lamont sigh while his wife responded. "Your father moved in another thousand from the nearby garrisons, remember? Six hundred from Hildrinn and-"
"The point is that we will have to host a few more crowned heads in Floret within days."
"Days?" The squirrelking yawned. "We were under the im-impression that it was a mat-matter of weeks at least."
Jacoba shook her head. "No, grandfather. Days. Still, I am very sure we can prepare for this. We could put on a pageant, or a play, or perhaps something else. What else did your son say?"
Daghild spoke next. "He broke up a fight between Lord Willem of Aventoft and some ferret named Arni, son of Skuli."
"I know him well!" said Kiormund. Realising that suddenly everybeast at the council was staring at him, the young otter felt his voice wither. "I meant the ferret."
"What is he like?" asked Finnbarr.
"Not the type to cause trouble, I can assure you," he replied, unearthing details from the depths of his mind. "He is very much unlike his father, and he would pledge himself to his duty, be it task or beast."
Shifting himself away from the table, Kiormund took a long look across it. Rab was knitting his claws together, and Daghild was recording proceedings, while Lamont appeared to be digesting some thought.
"Speaking of vermin," Lamont finally said, "how is the current situation in Mossflower?"
"Pardon?"
"Is it currently safe? No more vermin tyranny? No more sieges of Redwall?"
"Not at all. Tarvann is dead, his hordes have broken, and some of his beasts have settled down in a village a few days away from the Abbey. Mossflower is safer than it has ever been."
"That is certainly good news," mused Rab. "No need for more campaigning."
"Will the safety last?" Jacoba crossed her paws. "The Bellmaker's debt may have been paid three seasons ago, but surely the area could benefit from some more security."
Lamont's eyes narrowed, but before he could respond his wife put a paw on his shoulder. "What do you mean by that?" she asked. "I think the denizens of Mossflower can manage for themselves. Redwall has never been taken for long, and Salamandastron is downright impregnable.
"It just also happens to have the best troops throughout the known world," added Lamont, turning to the princess, "led by a badger of massive stature."
"Oh, I know that. Daghild taught me everything I needed to know about the lands up north. But one has to remember that Redwallers prefer keeping to themselves, and the might of Salamandastron does not reach far inland."
Rab just stared at the squirrel. "What are you suggesting we do then?"
"Send a few patrols north, perhaps? Our income is finally surpassing our expenditures, and we certainly have the funds to bolster our presence there. Roving vermin bands are no match for a proper army, I'd say, and we are sure to secure a few favours from abbey and fortress alike. Would they not come to our aid in our time of need, like we did for them?"
"A sound proposal," said Lamont. "Though I must admit that amicable relations with the leaders of Mossflower might be ruined by a sudden action."
An idea leapt into Kiormund's head, and he spoke without processing his thoughts. "Would it not benefit the realm more if you decided to lower taxes for a few seasons, instead of spending your coin on foreign ventures?"
Another silence ensued until Daghild finally put her quill down. "We shall see what His Highness has to say."
Everybeast turned to the old squirrel, who was slumped down in his chair, lulled into a slumber by the long and somewhat tedious discussion.
The winds howled particularly loudly that evening, as the rain fell and the thunder rumbled. This was but the first of many winter storms Floret would have to go through - winter had well and truly begun.
Sitting at his desk dealing with all his documents, Lamont still had time to beckon Kiormund into his solar, offering him a cup of warm tea and a cosy seat, both which he had himself. Apparently the Steward had been caught out in the rain, and had to get himself into clothing that was not drenched in water. The blue serpent of Gystra was etched onto his white mantle, which the Steward wore over a lime-green doublet.
"What have you called me up here for?"
"Just a summation of this council. It was awfully nice of our dearest lady to invite you to one, and you managed to refrain from doing anything particularly stupid in your first foray!" The elder otter chuckled as he cocked his head up, his gaze meeting Kiormund's. "In all seriousness, you did much better than I did in mine. And you're more than Erlend's equal by far."
"It didn't actually have any sort of effect on Southsward though. It had to be called off early because the King-"
"Dozed off, yes." Lamont rolled his eyes. "Rather common occurrence here. I don't know why we even have meetings anymore, but there's always tradition to keep in mind."
"What did I do right then?" asked Kiormund. "And what didn't I?"
"First of all, you were able to recognise that council meetings were serious affairs. I wish I knew that back then, but I was a foolish lad of twelve seasons. You did not know when not to speak, but that can be attributed to naivete rather than an active sort of disrespect."
"I'm sorry about that."
"Don't worry about it. But then, you have to be proactive. Don't just sit there listening to things being read to you."
"But Rab and Blerun are-"
"Not going to rule in their own right anytime soon. You, on the other paw, are going to be a leader because your father is a pain in the tail and doesn't care about either of us."
Kiormund nodded. "So it seems. He's as prickly as a hedgehog, and ten times nastier."
Lamont giggled for a few long moments before his usual expression resurfaced. "In any case, when you arrive at your new domain, take a really good look at your council. Some of them are probably going to be more competent than others, and you can't control that. Just try to keep everybeast from your predecessor's council busy, and then you'll see which ones you want to keep."
Kiormund nodded. "I understand."
"As for what to do to councillors who happen to be disloyal, try to get them out of the picture," Lamont added another chuckle when his nephew squinted. "No, not by killing them. Murder is never a first option - not that I would know. Just give them other stuff to do. Some task that you know will fail, or offer them a period of rest. Ensure that you know what they would want."
"Then?" asked Kiormund. "What next?"
"Hope for the best."
