The First Cycle: Three Crowns Collected Editions, #1

By David Heyman

 

The First Cycle is the collected edition of the first three books in the Three Crowns saga -

 

'A Donkey, A Stablehand & An Empire'
'Rebirth Of The Mage'
'The Spear Of Irinden'

Dive into the world of Caer Innar, a land full of magic and mayhem!

From A Donkey, A Stablehand & An Empire:

 

Will civilisation collapse with a donkey on the throne?

 

Carson Barker certainly doesn't think so, and quickly appoints himself into the unenviable role of imperial translator.

 

However, it isn't going to be an easy ride. With assassins, blood-thirsty fishmongers and furious homemakers around every corner, each seeking to be the first to kill the new regent and seize the throne themselves, Carson finds himself squarely in the firing line by association.

 

Little do they know this is no ordinary donkey, and the future of the Empire, possibly even the world, rests on Carson's ability to keep this extraordinary animal alive.

Will he manage to save his ass? Find out in the witty and action-packed book one of the Three Crowns series.

From Rebirth of the Mage:

Getting assassinated in his sleep certainly wasn't on the top of Eric's to do list, but apparently these things happen when you are set to inherit a crime syndicate.

Fortunately, for Eric at least, a previously unknown power is keeping him alive and well, despite numerous attempts, and successes, to stab, maim and dismember him.

Armed with his suspicions, and aided by a Captain just the wrong side of drunk, Victor Claye seeks to bring Eric to the legendary last enclave of mages living in Caer Innar, hoping that they can help the boy understand his new gifts. Together, this odd crew will embark on a journey that will take them far away from the Empire.

What is Mr Claye hoping to gain from these introductions? If these mages even still exist, will they be willing to help?

From The Spear of Irinden:

The risk of dying from a goldfish attack is low, but it isn't zero.

The sole survivor of a hunt gone horribly wrong, Yeveka is forced to ally with Maran. While potentially a deranged mystic, he claims to have knowledge of a weapon lost to history - her first glimmer of hope for getting the revenge she so desperately desires.

After setting off on a wild journey through space and time, she is left with a few pressing questions; Has Maran eaten one too many 'special' mushrooms? Does the spear really exist? Will the magical homicidal goldfish finish what it started?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Synthetic Minds Press
• Release date: May 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223889311

David Heyman

David Heyman David Heyman is a writer based in Shizuoka, Japan. Originally from London, he moved to Japan to teach English after living in Wales for fifteen years. When not educating others about the glorious (read as confusing) English language he finds time to write. While in Japan he met his wonderful and supportive wife and now spends most of his free time with her either gardening or generally being geeky together. For more information about future books from Synthetic Minds Press, author interviews and exclusive short stories, you can sign up to our monthly mailing list at https://www.getrevue.co/profile/minds_press

Book preview

Book 1 - A Donkey, A Stablehand And An Empire

Chapter 1 - Living the Dream

The Old Empire was a vast, sprawling thing that covered the known world for much of its existence. Over decades of conquest it had engulfed culture after culture, enriching its own with their diversity at the cost of erasing the natives through what was lost. A price, unsurprisingly, that the Empire was all too eager to pay.

P. Trencher ‘The Cost of Conques

Go to Ostera, they said. You could do anything you wanted there, they promised. It's the capital of the Empire, you'll meet the famous and rich and then they will help you become famous and wealthy too. They hadn't said that last bit directly, but it had been heavily insinuated.

Carson had been walking for nearly three passes now. He had been unable to either find or afford any kind of transportation from the little town of Krable into Ostera. It was the last stretch of a journey that had taken him from his home; an utterly unremarkable village on the far weir coast of the Empire. Most maps didn't even bother marking it down and even the occasional local had forgotten where they lived.

He kept telling himself it was just a little further, and he could now finally see the grand, cream stone walls of the city. Despite this, it would still take him the best part of the current pass to reach the gate, and he had been saying it was close for the last two passes while trying to convince his legs to keep moving.

As the sun started to set behind him, he had, at last, joined the queue of people waiting to gain entry to the city. Weapons were confiscated and cargo thoroughly checked as people moved through the open gates. It wasn't that weapons were illegal in the city, they just wanted people to have to buy new ones from the traders inside. 

Another avum or two passed slowly by, and it was fully after-pass by the time Carson was checked.

Purpose of visit? asked a guard.

Improving myself and my life, expanding my horizons and seeking gainful employment, Carson replied.

Right. I'll just put you down for business then. Got any luggage or valuables on you?

Er, just a change of clothes, some three pass old bread and a few coins.

Oh. Alright. The guard eyed him over, just to be sure, though his general poverty was quite clear to see. His rough brown hair had the appearance of being chewed short, rather than cut. In you go, I guess. the guard mumbled, waving Carson through.

Could you point me in the direction of where I can find a job, and somewhere to stay? Carson asked, hopefully.

The guard continued to gesture for him to head inside and sighed when he realised Carson wasn't going to take the hint.

Workhouse is on Milburn Street, most of the inns around here have lodgings of some description, now please move along.

Carson thanked him for his help before taking his first steps into the capital. 

There were surprisingly few people on the streets at this time. Compared to Krable, where the street parties never seemed to end, it was positively deserted. Only a few guards and the people entering or leaving the city were present, and the latter were quickly moving off to wherever they were going. He wondered if it was the same everywhere in the city, but before he could go exploring he really needed to find somewhere to stay. His tired feet heartily agreed with that decision and Carson knew he would have better odds finding work in the sunup after a good rest. 

His search for an inn took him into an area signposted as the traders quarter, drawn to it by the initially faint sounds of music echoing down the streets. Carson noted, from the wooden board swinging in the gentle breeze above the doorway, that it was an establishment named 'The Three Bards'. It was a lively place, with customers stumbling out of the building with great big smiles plastered across their faces. There was one large, well-dressed man posted outside the doorway who occasionally assisted the patrons with their exits and frowned discouragingly at them when they tried to go back in. Tentatively Carson approached the doorman.

Good sunfall to you sir.

The doorman acknowledged his existence with the slightest nod of his head.

I was wondering if your fine establishment had accommodation for the after-pass?

You'll want George. He's the blond one behind the bar, the doorman quickly replied, his attention clearly elsewhere. 

Carson thanked the man and quickly stepped into the significantly warmer and louder red bricked building. Inside he finally saw the source of most of the noise; a five-piece brass band blaring away from the other side of the inn. In competition with the sound, the patrons were mostly shouting at each other while drinking, leading to several misunderstandings. Within a avi of Carson stepping into the inn, a fight had already broken out. 

Oh. Oh, dear, Carson said, so quietly he could barely hear himself speak, and he raised a hand to his mouth in shock.

The doorman came in at the sound of a man crashing through a table, less than a spith away from the door and Carson, who quickly tried to get out of the way. Both the man in the table and the woman responsible for putting him there were roughly picked up and 'escorted' out by the doorman. Both vocally expressed their displeasure at the event but it did little to stop their inevitable ejection.

There was silence for the duration before the band quickly picked up where they had left off, and the chaos of sound began again.

Carson pushed his way towards the bar, apologising to everyone on the way. Somehow, by the time he made it there, he had already been bought a drink and was being introduced to George by a man he had never met before.

Now. George, hear me out. This chap. This one right here, the man said while gesturing towards Carson. He's a good egg, you know. Right. So. He leaned slightly across the bar, imagining Carson was no longer within listening distance. So I think you can give him my tab.

George, the bartender, pointedly ignored the man, much to Carson's relief. The stranger shrugged, then wandered off before Carson could add his objections for it even being suggested in the first place.

Don't mind him, lad. Does that every after-pass at least once, yelled George over the music. So what can I get you?

I'm looking for somewhere to stay, do you have a room? Carson answered.

Yeah, it's sixpence for the after-pass, half a crown if you want full board with that. 

Oh, that sounds perfect, thank you. Just the room for this after-pass please.

Payment now, if you don't mind, said George, holding out his hand.

He waited while Carson checked through a number of small pouches and pockets that lined his grubby grey flax overcoat. Eventually he found a small bronze coin and handed it over.

In return, Carson was given a large steel key. Just up the stairs, you're in the furthest on the right. Feel free to come and go as you please, we're never closed here!

Carson gave a nod of thanks, though a little concerned about how much sleep he would be getting. He then managed to slowly fight his way back through the crowd and over to the small wooden staircase. The second floor of the inn had significantly lower headroom than the first due to it also being the loft. Carson had to duck at points to avoid collisions with the lamps overhead, the issue exacerbated by him being a little taller than the average Innarian.

The room was easy enough to find, and while Carson had to once again duck under the doorway, the room itself wasn't too bad for the price. There was a small bed, big enough for his needs even if his legs would stick out a bit, and a lockable trunk in one corner, easily large enough for his remaining provisions. After placing his travel pack and the rest of his money inside it, he took off his jacket and boots before lying down on the bed, which wasn't as hard as he expected it to be. It was a little cool, so he pulled the rough woollen blanket over as much of himself as possible and generally tried to get comfortable. It had been three passes since he last slept inside and even with the noise from downstairs he quickly slipped into sleep. 

The next pass when Carson woke, it was to almost complete darkness; the lamp having burned out in the after-pass. Only the cracks in the roof let in any light at all. All together unaware of the current time, he gathered his things together, changed into his second set of clothes; a white cotton tunic and a pair of rough woollen trousers, and threw his jacket on over the top. After dressing, he found a small mirror next to a couple of buckets, one filled with water and the other empty. While he could probably do with a shave, his beard helped a little to draw attention away from his roundish nose and pointed chin, so he decided to keep it. After giving the water a quick safety sniff, he splashed some on his face and went back downstairs.

A lady was now attending to the bar, though a few people lying unconscious on tables looked familiar from the after-pass before. She was only a little taller than the bar itself, with long black hair and a cheeky grin on her face as she joked with one of the more upright patrons. Carson headed over to the bar before trying to hand the woman his key.

Alright, steady on love. Don't even know your name, she said with a wink.

I, oh. Sorry. I thought you worked here.

Calm down, just playing with you.

Ah. Right. Thanks. Carson stumbled over his words. Actually, you wouldn't happen to know of anywhere that's hiring. I've just arrived in the city and could rather do with a job.

The woman looked thoughtful for a bit and made a humming noise while cleaning a glass at the same time.

How desperate are you for the money? she asked.

Um, I don't really know how to answer that question.

Well, what I mean is, if you really, really need the money and don't care about the work you could always head down to the docks. Always looking for new folk around there.

To be honest, I've just come from the ocean. I don't really want to end up on a boat, Carson remarked.

In that case, the palace might be your best bet. A lot of people around here work there.

How would I get a job in the palace? Carson couldn't even begin to imagine a person like him stepping foot in such a building. After all, he would probably need at least a third set of clothes for something like that.

Just head round to the servants quarters. My cousin works in the stables, ask for Milton and tell them Audrey sent you. Won't get you the job mind, but he'll talk to you at least.

Oh. That's very kind of you. Thank you! 

Don't mention it. Just don't forget to spend all your palace money here when you're earning. She gave him another friendly wink and picked up a new glass to clean.

Well, I can't spend all of it here, sorry. I need somewhere to live, and of course, food...

She cut him off before he could continue to list the things he would need money for. Again, just playing with you.

Oh. I see. Well, thank you again.

Carson headed back out into the traders quarter. Even at this early avum of the pass, it was packed with people moving cargo that had gone through the docks and was now on its way to be sold at various stalls and markets in the city. Not entirely sure where the palace was, he had to once again wander around and hope for the best. In the process he encountered more strange sights and sounds in that time than in his whole life. Children ran through the streets, often chased by an adult yelling obscenities after them, while other adults shouted out about their services and goods. He went by a number of small groups of people playing some sort of card game, though they soon stopped what they were doing and looked up. They were always nervous at first, but soon became angry at him when he approached to get a closer look, and Carson soon hurried off, none the wiser to the rules of their games. 

After an avum or two of walking he found a signpost that helpfully suggested the direction of the palace. In the sunlight, it was startlingly apparent to Carson where the divide between the rich and poor lay. For one, the smell of the city instantly changed from that of generally unwashed dog to rose garden delights as he passed from quarter to quarter. The housing districts were some of the worst offenders, and Carson desperately hoped that there would be other options for him to choose from.

The palace gates were large, jet black metal sheets, framed by the contrasting white cream stone blocks of the walls. He was immediately stopped by several heavily armed guards.

Just where do you think you are going? challenged a man, at least Carson assumed it was a man. He could only see tufts of beard poking out from under the helmet. The man's hand was already on the hilt of his sword.

I was told I might be able to get a job at the palace.

Right, but not this way you ain't. You want the servants' gate. Follow the wall around, twice to the left, the man barked out the directions.

Carson thanked him while backing away. Now knowing where he was going, getting there proved to be a lot easier. He soon arrived at a much smaller set of metal gates, somewhat dwarfed by the white brickwork that continued around the perimeter. There were still guards here, of course, but they seemed a lot less suspicious of him as he approached.

How can we help you this pass? one of the guards asked.

Taken aback by the change of tone, Carson almost forgot to answer. When his words finally caught up to him, he blurted out everything together.

I'm looking for a job if there is one going I was told to ask for Milton in the stables his cousin suggested I come here.

No problem there. Just wait here, and we will send word.

The man nodded over behind him and another guard rang a small bell. This was soon answered by a boy, who by Carson's guessing couldn't have been a pass over six. The boy was then given Carson's message and quickly ran off to deliver it.

New to the city, are you? the first guard asked.

As a matter of fact, yes. How did you know?

You don't seem cripplingly depressed, was the flat reply.

Oh. Things don't seem that bad, really, said Carson, trying to keep the small talk going.

Huh, first pass is it?

Er, yes. 

Makes sense.

Before Carson could ask why that made sense, the boy had returned to the gate with a man following slightly behind.

He was skinny, though clearly strong, tall and staring at Carson in a way a farmer might evaluate cattle before a purchase.

He seems alright, best let him in, the man eventually said to the guards.

The gate softly swung open, and Carson was allowed to enter onto the palace grounds.

Ma cousin sent you over, did she? Told you it was a stables job, right?

Carson nodded.

Good. Don't want to waste our time. What's your name then?

Carson. Carson Barker.

The two men walked along a small garden path lined with little flowers as they talked.

Got any experience with animals have ya Carson?

A little, my aunt is a goat herd.

Better than nothing. What did you do before coming here?

Well, I used to scrape down the fishing boats when they came back to my village.

The man's face positively lit up when he heard this. When they turned the next corner, Carson got his first look at the stables. It was a simple cobbled square and some animal pens had been marked off with wooden fencing. At a glance, Carson spotted several horses, deer and some giant green fluffy thing he had never seen before.

Sounds like I might have just the job for you then.

You do? Carson couldn't believe his luck.

Oh, yes. We were given some donkeys recently. Absolutely the most stubborn bastards I've ever laid eyes on, and we need someone to look after them since they were a gift from the Duke of Abergorth.

Why would that be a good job for me? Carson enquired.

The man grinned. Well fishing boats are a right pain to scrub down, and so are this lot. They need mucking out twice a pass and grooming after that. Pay is a royal a turn, and you can eat in the kitchens on break. How about it?

Hardly believing his luck Carson cheerfully asked, when can I start?

Chapter 2 - In The Here And Now

It has been generally agreed by most historians that any system of succession built upon the constant betrayal and assassination of your peers is doomed to fail. Of course it works out rather well in the short term for those who wouldn't normally have a shot at such positions, so I guess here we are...

R. Eddington ‘The Rise and Fall of Empires'

A cycle had passed since Carson had uttered those fateful words. It was once again a beautiful Pyris sunup in Ostera, and the birds were singing in the pass. In the far erin of the palace, at the window on the highest point of the old keep where the current Regent had decided to make his bedroom, the man was having a terrible sunup. He had taken residence there believing that should he need to jump from the window in an emergency then the piles of hay from the stables outside would make for a better landing point than most.

This convenience did, however, come with the drawback of animals. The Regent had been learning over the last turn that these tend to make quite a lot of noise, sometimes for no particular reason and at any avum of the pass or after-pass. This sunup, one donkey in particular had taken to braying as loudly as it possibly could, perhaps in competition with the nearby cockerels. 

Will someone please shut that animal up! screeched the Regent from his bedroom.

A few footmen began to busy themselves with other tasks while others headed towards the stables; none of them wanting to appear lazy, but also not wishing to be the first to arrive on the scene. Carson was already attempting to calm the creature with gentle, hushing sounds. In turn, the donkey was making as much noise as he possibly could while thrashing about wildly, slowly tearing away at the supporting beam to which he was tied. When the footmen eventually arrived and joined the fiasco, they managed to achieve little more than adding to the overall noise levels.

Staring down at the scene, the Regent held up his arms in despair, and headed to the door, gesturing for a garrison of servants to follow. After picking their way through the maze-like layout of the palace and finding an exit, they eventually appeared outside. The Regent himself emerged from a far grander entrance than his entourage, who took a whole five avi to file out of the small side door. When they had finally again assembled as a group, the Regent marched towards the chaos with a graceful stride. The silk of his garment flowed around and behind his slender frame as he moved. He had spent much of the previous pass practising, and to be fair, it was paying off.

Why have you failed to silence this beast? the Regent asked of everyone in general with a sharp, icy voice.

The stablehand, Carson, attempted to look apologetic as he glanced up from the task in hand.

He's just a little agitated sir, I'm very sorry sir.

The Regent peered down at the man who dared to talk to him, a sneer of disgust on his face. Can you not simply remove the thing? It is annoying me.

The stablehand shook his head, choosing to keep silent rather than anger the Regent further.

Well then, just kill the wretched thing, give the men some variation in their diets. The Regent beamed with contentment at his decision, a sign that his servants should also be pleased. Seeing this, they all started to applaud and make sounds of general approval.

Carson was desperate to stop this from happening. Much of his job was still centred around caring for the palace donkeys and at present this was the only one; the other five having been killed in similar situations over the last few passes. Carson dropped to his knees to beg.

Please sir, you don't have to kill him, he'll stop soon.

Sadly the plea was too late, and at the wave of the Regent's hand one of the nearby guards drew their sword and strode towards the donkey. Still tugging furiously at the tether, the donkey finally managed to break free, dragging part of the roof of the stable with him as he charged full tilt towards the Regent. At the last moment the donkey spun, aligning its rear legs and kicked out. The Regent's reaction was to point and then scream as a pair of angry hoofs connected with his incredibly unprotected body. The result of this, as the Regent soared several spiths backwards, would have been an excellent opportunity for the few scientists of the Empire to study the Doppler effect until the screaming and pointing was abruptly ended when the Regent met with the palace wall at a velocity and angle one would not typically call preferable.

The panicked flock of servants moved to his broken body; a few looked like they were trying to decide whether the Regent had always made a wheezing noise while bleeding from the head. However, it would have been evident to anyone but a moron that the Regent would not require his after-pass tea.

The donkey looked somewhat satisfied with himself and moved back to the remains of the stable after glaring at the man who had been poised to kill him. Underneath the ruins, he found the remains of his food and continued eating.

From the huddle around the Regent, one of the more free-thinking servants broke off and entered the palace. A few moments went by before he appeared again with the Prime Minister behind him. Rather than the typical dress of his office; an elegant silk suit and a medallion stating his position, the Prime Minister greeted the sunup in a white after-pass robe and his ministerial hat. Upon seeing the Regent lying broken on the floor, he stared in disbelief at the donkey, then at the servant who had summoned him. The servant shrugged as if in apology.

You're quite sure it was him? queried the Prime Minister.

It would be hard to be mistaken, sir, confirmed the servant.

With one last quick glance at the donkey, the Prime Minister extended himself to his full height and attempted to look as regal as he could while still only being half-dressed.

It has come to my attention that, per our laws, under amendment thirty-two, paragraph B, line seven, and I quote 'good, the bastard's finally dead, now it's my turn' as given to us by our good Emperor Roger 'the Twitchy', I am, err, pleased... yes, pleased to present to you Regent Donkey the First. Keeper of these lands through 'right of conquest' until another takes his place.

Carson’s mouth dropped slightly open, shocked by this turn of events. He glanced around, however, and saw that no one else was so much as batting an eyelid.

As a relatively new member of staff to the palace, he was the only one who had not at some point or another seen at least one Regent killed before. Besides, this was certainly not the most bizarre occasion in living memory since one Regent had choked to death when a bird flew into his mouth. While the creature was stunned by the ordeal, it had then been killed by a cat, which in turn had been shot by the man who then became Regent. In respect to the line of ascension, the Prime Minister had been required to separately proclaim their Regency and deaths.

Due to this, all present bar Carson fully expected the creature to be dead within the pass. Carson, though, ignorant of such information, was struck by inspiration and decided that he should speak out immediately or risk losing the opportunity forever. He quickly approached the Prime Minister, brushing past the servants in his way before bowing his head.

If I could be so bold as to suggest that in order to allow the Regent to freely communicate with his people I might be reassigned from being his stablehand and instead take on the role of his official translator?

There was a moment of silence all around him as the crowd waited in anticipation of the outcome. Before the Prime Minister could reject Carson, the Regent made a strange grunting noise in between chewing upon mouthfuls of oats. 

The Regent is happy to accept me upon his staff, proclaimed Carson.

With that said, and before any objections could be made, he led the new Regent into the palace, riding on this rare moment of confidence. Carson was beaming with excitement, and for the first time in his life he felt as though things just might become a little less dull.

If only he had known how terrible interesting things could be.

Chapter 3 - Feasts, Fish and Murder

Since it was a continental Empire, it was not unusual for Emperors to demand specialities from the four corners of their land. These demands were never more outrageous than when it came to food. One such infamous dish was the 'Boom Boom Pork' from the region now known as Rholios. The dish acquired its name from the combination of spices used along with a special fermentation process to give it a rather unique taste. Now, as you probably know, Rholios is not all that close to the heart of the old Empire. During the transportation of the dish, it is now speculated that there was some additional fermentation. Long story short, as soon as one of the servants cut into the pig, the sudden release of gases caused the whole thing to explode. 

A. Cuddlebury 'Food from the Empire'

The Ceremony of Succession, a simple event marking the start of the turn of the Regency before the official coronation as Emperor, went smoothly enough. This gave the impression to the select few who knew about such things that it should be an exciting turn indeed. The only real stain on the event was one man who had to be forcefully removed while shouting: 'Don't you realise it's a donkey!' During the ceremony, Carson confirmed the Regent's responses and filled out the forms as required; occasionally helping the Regent to stamp things with his hoof

For the after-party, a few of the Regent's closest friends were invited back to one of the smaller party halls in the palace. The guest list included a few horses from the palace’s low stables and some sheep from the old grazing fields outside of the city in which the Regent had spent much of his time before his sudden rise to prominence. Now the grass was brought to him.

The traditional seven-course meal was served, but with a twist - each dish was primarily composed of exotic flowers and herbs from across the Empire. The suggestion came from Carson, on behalf of the Regent, that it would be disrespectful to serve the guests members of their family, no matter how tasty they may be. It was concluded by the human attendants, namely the servants and a couple of ministers who had dropped by to wish the Regent well, that the after-pass had been enjoyed by all. The Regent showed great appreciation of the feast by consuming not only all of the seven courses provided but also a large part of the tablecloth.

Deep in the city, five men met under the eaves of a dark and cracked hovel. They all wore dark hooded robes and spoke to each other in hushed voices and riddles. One was called Steve Randson. His claim to fame was that as a child, he had lived next door to the brother of a famous baker. Why these men met up in these conditions to discuss stamps remains a mystery.

Elsewhere, two slightly more interesting and far less obscure men were entering through the doors of the Majestic, the most exquisite and exclusive restaurant in the city. They sat down together, expecting to enjoy a sunfall of fine and exotic foods, mixed with some subtle plotting against the Regent, who had turned out to really truly be an ass. This fact had taken many good citizens by surprise, as up until now most had lived in the happy pretence that it was probably a man in a donkey suit, or that the donkey was just there as a stunt double to protect the new Regent's true identity and avoid the possibility of any 'accidents'. Some had simply assumed it was just a polite term for the Regent's behaviour and had only questioned why previous rulers hadn't been described in similar terms before. It had, however, eventually been leaked to the public that 'Yes, we are now all being ruled over by an actual donkey'. This had generally not gone down very well at all.

The first man introduced himself to the other as Mr Claye, the other as Mr Bludworthe. Truthfully both men already knew each other by reputation, but it was essential to keep up the illusion that this was just a business dinner since you never really knew who was watching these passes. Mr Claye was a tall man, and it could be guessed that he was in his mid-thirties. Yet he had been blessed with a face that would withstand any test of time, appearing to have been engraved into the very space the rest of his body had decided to occupy. This kept his actual age a mystery to all but himself and presumably his parents. This after-pass, as always, he wore one of his many matching pinstripe suits with a golden tie pin shaped like a stiletto dagger. The tie was blood red. There was only so much illusion that Mr Claye could be bothered with under these circumstances.

Mr Bludworthe was a fishmonger by trade. You could tell this because it looked very much like the man had a bit of sardine stuck behind his ear. Unlike your average fishmonger though, Mr Bludworthe had a reputation for removing more than just fish guts and now ran the largest fish business in the city. In fact, he pretty much controlled the entire city dock. A waiter glided up to their table, nose pointing towards the ceiling as he requested their choices for the after-pass. Mr Bludworthe ordered lobster, Mr Claye ordered a lightly grilled steak. Both selected a fine red wine. After much small-talk, during which Mr Claye seriously entertained the idea of burning down the building to avoid such agonisingly mundane conversation, Mr Bludworthe finally led the discussion onto the topic of their meeting.

If I am correctly informed, uttered Mr Bludworthe between gulping down mouthfuls of wine, we both appear to be heading up in the same direction of business Mr Claye. I would cut to the chase and say simply that I think it could be wise if we were to pool our resources in this matter, hmm?

Mr Claye slowly sipped from his wine, carefully returning the glass to its designated spot on the table before replying. As much as I would love to entertain the pleasure of working with you, Mr Bludworthe, you are unfortunately misinformed. Neither my associates or I have anything to do with fish. We are most firmly vested in the clerical business, a job where we move numbers around for people, tell them when it is good to buy, and when it is good to sell. Sometimes we advise them when they are not being as careful with their funds as perhaps they ought to be, but nothing more than that.

Mr Bludworthe looked a little perplexed at the response, his lips visibly moving as he tried to work out the supposed undertones of Mr Claye's answer.

Oh, well, quite so Mr Claye. Yet my associates and I were very much hoping to employ one of your most prestigious colleagues to do some calculations for us. After all, we are only fish merchants. Numbers to us are only an unfortunate necessity and hopefully, these new numbers from this turn won't be bothering us for long, if you catch my drift, eh?

Mr Claye nodded grimly at the last remark. He so wished that Mr Bludworthe would stop attempting to talk in metaphor when he was clearly incapable of its subtleties.

At this stage, there were good odds that everyone in the restaurant would catch his 'drift'. However before Mr Claye could accurately express his displeasure of this entire encounter, the waiter had returned with their food, re-filled their glasses and checked that all was to their satisfaction before they had been allowed a moment to take a bite, as was customary. Once departed, the two men continued their conversation until they were forced to stop again to pay the bill. In the end, despite the better judgement of Mr Claye, they agreed that there was some merit in having further contact to discuss a firmer course of action. They would meet again the next pass in a more private location where details could be freely discussed, much to Mr Bludworthe's excitement. Thus, the business concluded, they went their separate ways into the busy streets of the after-pass, surrounded by the drunks and angry soldiers, whose duties this after-pass involved moving the undesirable elements on to a new, less cared for location of the city, while other members of the aristocracy spent as much money as they could in the final hours of the after-pass on gambling, drinking and the pleasures of Innarian company.

As planned, the meeting took place in one of the larger warehouses by the docks, in a back office. It was easy to find as it was surrounded by surlier than usual looking fishermen, all going about their daily work. Of course, due to the nature of their work they also happened to be carrying knives. Most were large enough that one might stop thinking of them as knives at all and rebrand them as slightly short swords. When Mr Claye arrived Mr Bludworthe went out to greet him; throwing his arms around the suited man and engulfing most of his guest with his great mass, something few men had ever dared to do, and fewer still walked away from.

Welcome, Mr Claye, to my most humble abode of scheming, I have one for every occasion. Abodes that is. By the way, may I call you Victor?

No, you may not, came the cold but calm reply.

As soon as he was released from Mr Bludworthe’s embrace, Mr Claye took a slight step back to reclaim his personal space. While Mr Bludworthe seemed a little taken aback by his co-conspirator's less than friendly behaviour, he quickly put the coldness of Mr Claye behind him, blaming his bad mood on the early avum and found his childish grin once more.

Immediately he invited everyone inside, and once all required personnel were within the warehouse, a pair of large steel doors were slid across the regular wooden ones and bolted down with metal studs that required two men each to lift. Mr Bludworthe proceeded to make himself comfortable at the far end of the room, sitting behind a lavish mahogany desk. At least people theorised that beneath the thick layers of fish oils and fat, the dark hue was that of mahogany. Many of the less welcomed guests just prayed it was wood and not some grim construct formed from the flesh and bones of his enemies. The smell made it difficult to be certain either way.

Mr Bludworthe pivoted a little awkwardly in his seat to reach behind him and pull on a bit of string dangling from the ceiling. This triggered the whirring sound of many cogs which were apparently connected to some mechanism that moved to reveal panels of wood. Each was covered with detailed drawings and plans of the palace. Next to the pictures were several large sheets of paper, each detailing as much information about the Regent and those close to him as possible.

Gentlemen, began Mr Bludworthe, this pass we begin the end of an idiotic situation, for sitting with us here is the positively legendary Mr Claye.

At the mention of his name, a few of the men turned to stare in awe, while a gentle whispering picked up behind where Mr Claye was seated.

Moving swiftly onto our purpose for occupying some of his most valuable time, we are here to deal with the donkey, aka, our current Regent.

A tall and haughty looking man, who had been lurking at the back of the room walked forwards. He had chosen the spot specifically to allow his approach to add an air of suspense, taking the longest possible route to the desk before finally taking a position next to the largest of the maps of the palace grounds. Pulling out an extending pointing stick from a pocket, he began to tap on the board.

If I could have your attention please gentlemen, I would like to point out to you boards one, two and three, where we have diagrams of the palace and its gardens. On the dots here, here and here you can see representations of our current agents who are active on the inside.

Mr Claye noted that these 'representations' were mostly stick figures with one or two defining features hastily drawn on.

Each of these good men and women have acquired jobs within the ranks of the palace servants, and now stand ready for you to give them their orders. I am pleased to say we have achieved all of this in just two passes! 

The speaker paused, waiting for comments of approval before moving on to the next chart, which he then tapped upon furiously at seemingly random marks before speaking. This here, gentlemen, represents the target. These marks over here show our potential allies. Finally, these other markers are those who have been deemed likely enough to give soft assistance should it be required.

Nods of satisfaction were given at the end of this speech, for upon careful examination and following of the tapping it was realised that there were only four people inside who would definitely not help the plot and one of those was the donkey. The other three were comprised of the Regent's translator and the two stablehands, who apparently had close ties to the translator. With upwards of over two hundred servants and almost half of those working for Mr Bludworthe either directly or through association these were odds that everyone could enjoy, except perhaps the Regent. With the current speaker seemingly finished, Mr Claye took the opportunity to stand and take the floor. Seeing this, the other man quickly moved aside and returned to his position at the back of the room.

This is all very nice, and you have clearly put a lot of effort into all these pictures Mr... 

Edwin, the former speaker provided.

Mr Edwin, Mr Claye continued, but we have three problems here. The first is that while we may have any number of people very happy to kill the donkey and take its place, we cannot guarantee that the killer will be someone of a quality that we would wish to rule. The second is that should we find a killer who meets our requirements, have you considered how we will persuade them to take part in this action? As to the third problem, have you considered the ramifications of replacing so many workers within a business economy like the Palace?

There was absolute silence, everyone was waiting for him to continue in the hope that he would also be providing them all with the answers to these sudden problems. When it became clear that this was not going to happen, there was a brief spate of chatter between those present until Mr Claye began to talk again, at which point all other noise ceased. 

I thought as much. Mr Bludworthe, I suggest you continue to make sure that you can give our man a clear line of attack when the time comes. I assume that you will find any choice for a candidate I make to be satisfactory. The rest of you, make sure that we are ready to strike upon the pass of the coronation. It must be public, and it must be very clearly fatal or else they could easily bring in a new donkey, and for the most part none will be any the wiser. I hope the importance of this is apparent for you all. And please stop replacing people, we need someone to be able to actually do their job once this is all over.

With that said and done, Mr Claye gave Mr Bludworthe a polite nod as a means of 'goodbye' before leaving the warehouse. He paused at the door for a moment, since the men needed to open it hadn't been expecting to be required at this moment. As they hurried over to do their job, he added;

Expect to receive my invoice for services rendered by the end of the next pass Mr Bludworthe, and please do not be tardy with the first payment.

He waited for the doors to finally be unlocked, and then silently departed. For those left behind, there was very little more for them to say. Mr Edwin looked rather put out and was about to complain about how his thunder had been stolen when he looked over at Mr Bludworthe, who was not looking very happy at all. All things considered, it was probably best to just keep his thoughts to himself.

Chapter 4 - The Tree has Many Branches

If a woman is expected to work at home (for such duties as cooking, cleaning and educating children, should there be any, are quite surely as taxing as any other employment) then it should be equally expected that a woman should be fairly compensated for her time and effort. Alternatively, you should explain to your partner that they can expect to come home, clean their own house and cook their own damn meals.

S. Dopleworth 'A Manifesto for the Home'

It was once again time for the semi-regular meeting of Rage Against the Home or R.A.T.H as it was more commonly known. This took place in a small hall