The Grace of Kings (20 page)

A dangerous precedent, Fithowéo, my brother.

Kiji, I've done nothing unusual. What mortal have I actively or directly harmed?

You shielded him with your statue—

To prevent harm is not the same as causing harm. Our agreement stands.

You argue like one of Lutho's paid litigators—

Leave me out of it, brothers and sisters. Though I do note that the distinction between acts of omission and commission has troubled philosophers for—

Enough! I will let this one go, Fithowéo. This one time.

A week later, Duke Shigin's body was found floating in the moat outside the walls of Dimu. The king mourned the death of his friend publicly and loudly and cursed the drink that had caused Shigin to fall into the water and drown himself.

Everyone calibrated their grief by the king's. If King Huno cried for half a minute, no one dared to cry for longer. If the king never mentioned a certain name when he spoke of the discovery of the Prophecy of the Fish, then no one else was going to either. If the king reluctantly explained that he had worked hard to try to cover up for Duke Shigin due to their friendship even though the duke was always a bit cowardly and tended to exaggerate his own role in the rebellion—he was just a follower—and couldn't resist the drink . . . then the historians and scribes carefully edited their records to match the king's hints.

“Could you and I have remembered things so wrongly?” asked Ratho. “I could have sworn—”

Dafiro put his hand over his brother's mouth. “Shush, Little Brother. It's easy for men to be friends as close as brothers when they're poor and struggling, but much harder when things are going well. Friends are never as close as blood. Remember that, Rat.”

And of course, no one ever, ever mentioned the faint red circle that had been found around the neck of Duke Shigin's corpse, which matched the impression made by a rope.

“You don't see anything wrong with this?” Mün Çakri asked gruffly, his eyes bulging from his round face. “You really don't see anything wrong with a King of West Cocru created out of thin air?”

Kuni Garu shrugged. “I am the Duke of Zudi by popular proclamation. How is that any more legitimate than his coronation by prophecy?”

“Once this is accepted, you're going to see kings and dukes springing up like mushrooms after the rain,” Cogo Yelu said matter-of-factly. He shook his head. “We're all going to rue this day.”

“Well, let them,” Kuni said. “Getting a title is easy. It's keeping it that's hard.”

While King Huno promoted many people, none of them were from the group of thirty corvée laborers who had started the rebellion with him. Indeed, after the death of Duke Shigin, none of the laborers would even admit to having been there with him.
Ah, the story of the fish. Yes, yes, it's a very good story. I heard it from someone else.

King Huno slept more easily at night.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

KUNI, THE ADMINISTRATOR

ZUDI: THE THIRD MONTH IN THE FOURTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF RIGHTEOUS FORCE.

Being the Duke of Zudi was probably the first job that Kuni Garu really enjoyed.

The only imperfection was that Jia's and his families still refused to have anything to do with him—they were sure that this victory was only temporary, and that the empire would be back at any moment.

“They know perfectly well how harsh Xana's laws are,” Kuni fumed. “If the empire returns, they'll all be dead. Better go all in and bet everything on me.”

But the elder Garu and Matiza hoped that Erishi would be more merciful than Mapidéré, and they thought it wiser to keep their distance from the doomed rebel and leave themselves some room to maneuver; Kuni obliged them by staying away. (Lu Matiza did manage to send word to Jia through friends that she was sure Gilo would come around, eventually, if Kuni continued to do well.)

But Naré Garu defied Kuni's father's wishes and came to visit him and Jia in secret a few times to give advice to the pregnant Jia and to cook Kuni his favorite meals.

“Ma, I'm a grown man now,” Kuni said, as Naré insisted on filling his bowl with sweet taro rice.

“A grown man wouldn't give his mother so many heartaches,” said Naré. “Just look at how many of my hairs have turned white because of you.”

So Kuni kept on stuffing his mouth with sweet taro rice while Jia watched, smiling. He vowed to make his mother proud—like Jia, she was one of the only people in his life who never gave up on him.

He woke up with the sun, oversaw the morning drills of soldiers outside the city, came back for a quick brunch, and then reviewed civil and administrative matters until early afternoon—his time in the Zudi government came in handy, as he had good relations with the bureaucrats, his former colleagues, and he understood the importance of their unglamorous work. After a quick nap, he met with Zudi business leaders and elders from the countryside to hear their concerns. He invited them to stay for dinner and then reviewed more documents until it was time to go to bed.

“By the Twins, I've never seen you work so hard,” Jia said. She stroked Kuni's hair and his back lovingly, as though she was petting a large, enthusiastic dog.

“Tell me about it,” Kuni said. “I've cut my drinking down to only at mealtimes. I'm not sure this is healthy.” He smacked his lips but refrained from looking around for a bottle. Jia wouldn't drink with him anymore, claiming that it wasn't safe given her very pregnant state. (“Surely a little drink wouldn't matter?” “Kuni, it wasn't easy for me to get pregnant; I'm not taking any chances.”)

“Why do you have to meet with those old peasants?” Jia asked. “The mayor never bothered with them. So much of your work you impose on yourself.”

Kuni's face turned grave. “People used to see me staggering around the streets, hollering and drunk with my friends. They thought I was a callow youth. Then they saw me go to work as a paid servant of the emperor, and they thought I was a boring bureaucrat with no ambition. But they were wrong.

“I used to think that peasants had little to say because they had no learning in their minds. I used to think that laborers were crude because they had no organ for fine feelings in their hearts. But I was wrong.

“As a jailer, I never got to understand my charges. But when I became a bandit, I spent a lot of time being close to the lowliest of the low: criminals, the enslaved, deserters, men who had nothing to lose. Contrary to what I had expected, I found that they had a hardscrabble beauty and grace. They were not mean in their nature, but made mean by the meanness of their rulers. The poor were willing to endure much, but the emperor had taken everything from them.

“These men have simple dreams: a plot of land, a few possessions, a warm house, conversation with friends, and a happy wife and healthy children. They remember the smallest acts of kindness and think me a good man because of a few exaggerated stories. They've raised me on their shoulders and called me duke, and I have a duty to help them get a little closer to their dreams.”

Jia listened carefully and did not hear in Kuni's speech his habitual whimsy. She searched his eyes and saw in them the same sincere glint that she had seen when she asked him about his future years ago.

Her heart felt so full that she thought it might burst.

“Keep on working then.” Her fingers lingered on his shoulder as she retired to sleep.

After Jia was gone, Kuni thought about sneaking out to share a few sips with Rin Coda at the Splendid Urn.

Rin had promised Kuni a great time if he came out tonight. “Widow Wasu has lined up some great entertainment for us. She's been telling people how you used to go there often and how she still has your ear. If you show up, you'll be doing an old friend a great favor.”

Being the Duke of Zudi was very tiring work, and sitting in
mipa
rari
all day long made his back ache. Kuni did yearn to go and be among his old friends, where he could lounge comfortably on the ground in
géüpa
without concern for his appearance, where he could say what was on his mind without worrying about every word being scrutinized, where he could be his old self, instead of being so
responsible
.

Yet he knew it to be an impossible wish. Like it or not, he was now the Duke of Zudi, no longer the gangster Kuni Garu. He could no longer be truly comfortable anywhere. Wherever he was, his new title was part of how people saw him.

The Widow Wasu wanted him there so that she could claim a bit of the magic of that title too and turn it into drunk customers and jangling copper pieces.

Rin was also happily running a business where he accepted people's money in exchange for “access” to the Duke of Zudi. And Wasu probably was one of his new clients.

Cogo Yelu disapproved of this whole business, but Rin answered him by quoting a Classical Ano proverb: “
Datralu gacruca ça crunpén
ki fithéücadipu ki lodü ingro ça néficaü.
No fish can live in perfectly clear water.”

Kuni agreed that it was important to keep some connections to the world of organized crime, and he also assured Cogo that he did not give the people who paid Rin any undeserved advantages.

But he had so much to do. The village elders he met earlier in the day had spoken of the need for repairs to the irrigation ditches. He wanted to review the bid budget from the masons Rin had recommended to be sure that it was fair. Maybe he'd just deal with a few more petitions. . . .

Before long he fell asleep at his desk, and a trail of saliva wet the paper under his face as he dreamed of sweet, hot bowls of sorghum ale.

“Lord Garu, we need to talk about our finances,” Cogo Yelu said.

Kuni was both amused and annoyed whenever he heard his old friends address him as “Lord Garu.” Sure, he liked hearing it from former Imperial constables and soldiers who used to harass him and his friends, but it sounded wrong coming from someone like Cogo, who he always thought of as an older brother. There was no hint of joking in Cogo's tone, either. He was bowing slightly, his face turned to Garu's feet.

“Cut that ‘Lord Garu' bit out, will you? We're old friends, but you're acting like a stranger.”

“We
are
old friends,” Cogo said. “But men have roles and masks that they wear, and these have a reality of their own. Authority is a delicate thing, and it must be carefully cultivated by proper ritual and action from the governing and the governed alike.”

“Cogzy, I haven't even had a single drink yet today. It's much too early for your philosophy lessons.”

Cogo sighed and smiled to himself. Kuni's lack of respect for conventions was both why he liked following Garu and was afraid of where it would all lead. He wanted to help the young man, who indeed seemed a fledgling eagle.

“Kuni, people won't take you seriously if they see your old friends treat you as an equal. It will confuse them. An actor playing a king on stage will make the audience believe that he really is king when all his fellow players behave as if he were king and follow the proprieties. But if one of the troupe winks at the audience, the illusion is broken. You're the Duke of Zudi now, and it's best if you make it clear that you are in charge, no matter who you're talking to.”

Kuni nodded reluctantly. “All right, you can call me ‘Lord Garu' in front of other people. But you are still Cogzy. I just can't call you ‘Minister Yelu' and keep a straight face. Now don't object. You know how I get confused with new names.”

Cogo shook his head but decided to let the matter drop. “The finances, Lord Garu.”

“What about them?”

“The money we seized from the Imperial Treasury of Zudi has been exhausted. Much of it was sent to Çaruza when King Thufi called for funds for the Krima-Shigin Expeditionary Force. The remainder has been spent to pay the soldiers' wages and to, well, fund street parties and free food and clothes for the people of Zudi pursuant to your orders.”

“And I'm guessing that you're about to tell me that the taxes aren't coming in fast enough.”

“Lord Garu, your generosity is unmatched. You've abolished the multitude of heavy Imperial imposts, and the new taxes I drafted up at your request are quite fair and light. However, we have not been able to collect much on them. The businesses of Zudi are jittery. They aren't sure that the rebels will win, and if the empire comes back they think any taxes paid to you will be wasted. And so they are . . . dodging.”

Kuni scratched his head. “The soldiers will have to be paid, of course, and I haven't forgotten your salary and everyone else who followed me through all the difficult times. I don't want to push the compliance issue too much, though—nothing gets people more riled up than overzealous tax collectors.”

“Lord Garu is very wise. But I have a proposal.”

“Let's hear it.”

“We'll take the restaurant business as an example. The way bars and eateries have been able to avoid paying their full share is by keeping two sets of books. They might take in a hundred fifty silver pieces a night, but the books they show us contain only entries for fifty. We have to find a way to collect on the hidden entries.”

“And how do you propose to do this?”

“I suggest that you announce the establishment of a new lottery game, to reward the lucky and free citizens of Zudi.”

“I fail to see how this is related to the issue of tax dodging.”

“It's linked, but only indirectly, as all money is fungible.”

“That's your brilliant idea? We'll have to offer a huge prize for the lottery to get enough people interested. There's plenty of gambling parlors in the city already. How can we compete?”

“No, the lottery is only a cover for something better. You see, people won't be purchasing their lottery tickets directly. Instead, they'll get them only when shopping, as a kind of receipt. For each silver piece they spend, they obtain from the vendor a lottery ticket for free. The more they spend shopping, the more tickets they get.”

“And where do the vendors get their tickets?”

“They have to purchase them from us.”

Kuni thought about this. The scheme seemed preposterous, and yet . . . effective.

“Cogzy, you rascal!” Kuni slapped him on the back. “Under this scheme, the vendors won't be able to cook the books because their own customers will be hounding them for the right number of lottery tickets based on what they spend. And since the businesses have to buy the lottery tickets from us, they'll end up paying us fees in proportion to their real revenues.”

“Just the way the taxes were supposed to work.”

“You've just turned every customer in Zudi into a tax collector for us.” Kuni imagined the look on Widow Wasu's face when she realized that she could no longer dodge his taxes and almost felt sorry. “Have you no shame?”