Three Rules

In this world, securing a stable living was about as easy as plucking a star from the sky.

A year's harvest might be ruined by the weather. Bandits might fall upon a village without warning. Or a noble might strip a man of his property, perfectly "legally." Such things were everyday affairs, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠which was precisely why Rondel needed to diversify his sources of income.

Being born a commoner doesn't mean I'm sentenced to farm for the rest of my life.

He had pretended today was the first time he had ever touched a chessboard, but a display of skill like that ought to tempt even Theodore.

"You? Become my chess master?"

Theodore did not accept the offer outright, but even this much was a promising sign.

"You have played a single game in your life, and you mean to instruct me, who has played chess for all of mine?"

"I don't see why not. I have grasped the principles of victory. All that remains is to pass them on to you, Baron Theodore."

"Had any other fellow said such a thing, I would have called him mad. Your words, however, are rather difficult to dismiss."

Theodore stroked his chin. They had played only one game, and yet Rondel's skill stood unmistakably above anyone he had ever faced. There was nothing to fault in the skill itself. Making the man his teacher, however, presented one further problem.

"It is common enough for a noble to receive instruction from a master. Those masters, however, are themselves nobles, almost to a man. No noble takes lessons from a commoner."

"In plain terms, it would look undignified."

"Standing is of great importance in society. Should word get about that I had taken a commoner as my master, my position would become uncomfortable."

"You needn't worry on that account. My instruction will proceed with no one the wiser."

"Instruction that no one knows of? How could such a thing be possible?"

At the question, Rondel drew a letter from inside his coat.

"We correspond. You send me the record of a game, and I will write back—what better moves lay open, and what perspective one must hold in order to win."

"Instruction by letter. Done that way, there would certainly be no loss of face. Still, if the secret were exposed, it would become a problem all the same."

"It will not be easy to determine whether the person on the far side of a letter is a commoner or a noble. If you remain uneasy even after all this, then there is nothing I can do. We may pretend I never offered to become your teacher..."

"No. I am not refusing. I merely require a moment to think."

The instant Rondel adopted a take-it-or-leave-it air, Theodore flung up his hands in haste.

In the end, after due deliberation, he accepted.

By the time Theodore's carriage had been fully repaired, their negotiation over fees had concluded without a hitch. Before climbing aboard for the last time, he spoke to Rondel, and his face was thoroughly satisfied.

"When they told me you had brought prosperity to Silvatia, I thought at first it was nonsense. That was my error. A man possessed of cunning such as yours could well have done it."

"I was merely fortunate."

"It was not fortune. What you possess is a talent sufficient to revive the whole of the Astrail Kingdom. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It is a waste for you to remain buried in a backwater such as this."

He held something out.

It was a silver eagle pendant. The fineness of the workmanship made plain that it was no cheap trinket.

"Take it."

"How could I accept something so precious?"

"It is customary for a pupil to present a gift to the one who becomes his master. Keep it on your person. A day will come when you have need of it."

Theodore departed in the carriage.

Vincent watched it dwindle into the distance for a while, then turned his gaze on Rondel.

"Ever yourself. Not content with stopping a man who came to do the domain harm, you send him off as an ally. Did you picture this scene from the very beginning?"

"Everything has unfolded as I anticipated."

"Your chess was extraordinary. Moves so unpredictable one might well call you a god of strategy. If this is what you manage the first time you sit at the board, I dread to imagine what practice would make of you."

Vincent poured out his admiration, as he always did. Rondel had predicted nothing beyond the winning of a chess game, and he bluffed as though he had foreseen it all.

Four more months passed.

The reservoir was completed without incident, and the rains arrived exactly as the data had foretold. Silvatia's wheat fields flushed a lush gold. With water supplied in abundance, there was no difficulty in bringing in the crop.

Theodore's chess lessons proceeded just as smoothly. Whenever something in a game eluded him, or whenever he found a point that wanted study, he wrote it down and sent a letter, and Rondel answered with the solution. The refined hand and the choice of words read, to any eye, like the work of a noble, which afforded Theodore a satisfaction all its own.

They had settled on fifty gold a page for each letter of instruction. Every reply ran to more than ten pages of commentary, and so the income was handsomely fat.

If things keep going this quietly, I'll have a stable flow of cash.

Rondel set down the book he had been reading and looked around ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the house. For a man who earned several hundred gold as if it were nothing, it was an absurdly plain, ordinary home. Had he wished, he could have had a better one tomorrow. But if he meant to prepare for what lay ahead, it was wiser to remain here for the time being.

Bang.

Someone flung the door open.

"Brother! I'm home!"

His youngest sister threw it wide with both arms raised, and in crowded the older brother and the other siblings who had been out at work, parents with them. The youngest came running with a delighted cry and plastered herself against Rondel's leg where he sat.

In this world, hard labor was the default for child and adult alike. Most people lived soaked in sweat, their clothes filthy. Rondel's family was clean—not because they refrained from work, but because they bathed and did the laundry often. He had taught them the importance of hygiene, and in this house, that was the baseline.

"Everyone worked hard. Shall we get dinner ready?"

Rondel rose, stroking his sister's head.

Supper for the nine of them—Rondel, his six siblings, and their parents—came to an end. Afterward the family cleared the dishes and the table, washed up, and cleaned the house in short order. It was a habit of long standing.

Then Rondel brought a blackboard out from the corner. It was a kind of signal. The family drew the curtains over every window and retrieved the books they had hidden away in drawers, jars, and boxes. A few of those books had been bought in this world at great expense, but most were things Rondel had made himself from modern knowledge: fairy tales, and economics, business, psychology, philosophy, art, science, mathematics—everything he had accumulated over a lifetime. School, work, the running of a business, reading, hobbies. All of it was gathered here.

"Shall we begin?"

He addressed the family where they sat together. He raised one hand, and they raised theirs in answer.

The family repeated whatever Rondel spoke first, and only when the rite was finished were they permitted to open the books each of them held.

He had been passing knowledge down to them for a long time. To the eldest, economics and business. To the third, chess and psychology. To the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fourth, art and philosophy. To the fifth, science and mathematics. The sixth and the youngest were still at fairy tales and language, but soon they too would receive instruction suited to their aptitudes.

In a world where more than ninety-nine in a hundred could not read, his family would pull ahead. They suffered the hard labor of commoners now. The future would be different.

Rondel called his third younger sister to the table.

"Sophia. Your turn today."

"Okay."

A chessboard and a clock lay on the table. The clock had been peculiarly altered: Rondel had built it after the chess clocks of the modern game.

"Bullet. One minute. Ready?"

"I don't feel good about this one..."

"Begin."

Rondel started the timer as he moved a piece, then slapped it again in the same instant. Sophia answered just as fast, played her move, and hit the clock.

Tak. Tak. Tak. Tak. Tak.

Each of them had one minute. Whoever exhausted their time lost, and so the two of them laid down move after move with no space left in which to think. The game was decided in less than two.

"Agh!"

Sophia clutched her head.

"I didn't see the hole on the queenside. Am I an idiot?"

"Why didn't you see it?"

"You were pressing the kingside so hard. I think I locked onto that and missed it."

"That pressure was the trick. If you hadn't fallen for it and had defended the queenside, the game would have run a different course."

They went back over the game they had just played. Before starting another, Rondel handed Sophia a letter. It had come from Theodore.

"Oh. Him?"

She read it with familiar ease, then fetched several sheets of paper and began to scribble. What she wrote was instruction to be sent on to Theodore. Just as she always had.

In truth, Theodore's teacher was Sophia.

All this time, the one who had exchanged letters with him and given him his lessons had not been Rondel, but her. Since when? From the very beginning. Rondel had too many projects already underway to spend his hours on the post of a mere chess tutor, so he had set his chess-trained younger sister to the work and turned the whole arrangement into income that collected itself. Nothing but letters would ever pass between them. There was no reason for him to step in. So long as the instruction was solid, that was enough—and Theodore himself was satisfied.

Sophia spoke as she wrote.

"Heh heh. 'I am grateful for your great wisdom,' he says. I barely did anything. Anyway... Theodore says he sent you a gift. Did you get something?"

"Nothing's come in except the gold."

"That's strange. He wrote that the gift ought to have arrived around the time the letter did."

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

The two of them were about to play again when the sound of hooves and carriage wheels rose outside. Every member of the family scrambled to hide the books they had been reading, and Rondel cleared the chessboard and the blackboard out of sight.

Knock, knock.

"Rondel, forgive the late hour. Are you within?"

It was Vincent.

Once he was sure the house was in order, Rondel opened the door and received his guest.

"What brings you here, my lord?"

"Hm... I cannot tell whether I ought to offer congratulations or an apology. This will be far too sudden for you."

Vincent's expression was complicated. He seemed to want to explain, but there was no need. The person best suited to make the situation plain had come in behind him.

An unfamiliar noble strode up with proud bearing, faced Rondel, and produced a large scroll. The royal crest was stamped upon it.

"Heed the command of His Majesty the King!"

"......!"

At the cry, Rondel, his family, and Vincent dropped to one knee. The noble nodded with satisfaction at their obeisance, unrolled the scroll, and read what was written within.

Every eye went wide and fixed upon Rondel.

This was no ordinary request. It came from the king himself, the apex of the realm. It meant that Rondel's ability had become known from the very bottom all the way to the top.

"A truly glorious honor."

He smiled with humility, as if he had known this fate in advance. Inside, he harbored an entirely different feeling.

I'm fucked.