Banned Books and the Empire's Filth
"The imperial spy network. Have they set off?"
"Yes, Your Highness. Dorgon left with them."
"Good, good. If any reports come in from the Empire, bring them straight to me. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!"
It happened while I was buried in paperwork. Sure, I was slacking off, but who could complain about me sitting in my office?
I'd recommended a popular novel to Daniela. The title was [The Earl of Mantova's Love]. It was pretty well-known up north too.
"I didn't think you were into trashy novels like this."
"I-I read them every now and then."
"There are plenty of good ones out there, so feel free to read whenever you want, Daniela."
She seemed a bit more at ease. She was glowing. I had no idea what that phrase really meant. Maybe she was just moved by something touching?
Hmm. While I jotted down some notes, I observed Daniela's little habits. It might've looked stalkerish, but we were sharing a room, so what could I do?
"Back at the Academy, novels like this were banned. They said they undermined a noble's dignity."
"Sounds boring. Good thing you dropped out."
"Even so, I'd sneak peeks at ones that made their way in."
"Hmm, like what, for example?"
Daniela set her book aside for a moment and rattled off some novels she'd read. She'd gone through quite a few—not just one or two titles.
Think, Theo! Had I read any of the ones Daniela mentioned?
"Oh, and [Atlas]. That one was really fun."
"Atlas? Great novel. I think I have a copy somewhere."
"Really?"
"I'll show you something fun. Come here for a sec?"
[Atlas]
Atlas's plot was incredibly intricate, but it all boiled down to one thing. Once it gained popularity, the Empire slapped a ban on it. The reason? It criticized imperial society! The author sued under imperial law over the absurd pretext, but it was pointless. So he fled the Empire, wandering in search of a new place to write. That's when he ended up in the North, producing fresh works. Rumor had it he was holed up at the northernmost edge now, inspired by a very writerly desire to pen stories about the nomads.
"Oh, is there a volume two of Atlas?"
"Of course. Only folks up north get to read it."
"But I heard it was banned for imperial citizens."
"This is the North. Part of the Empire, but not really. No need to follow those token policies."
I handed Daniela volume two of Atlas. If this were proper Empire territory, we'd have been fined just for possessing it—but who could fine me? Besides, fining people for reading books? That's the weird place.
Daniela cradled the book reverently, flipping open the cover to reveal the continuation of her story.
"Can I read it?"
"Obviously. Plenty of northerners have already devoured up to volume three."
"Volume three..."
She was glowing again! Daniela thought she'd spoken softly, but no. What the hell did "glowing" even mean? I resisted the urge to ask. I just sat there, watching her devour volume two in silence.
"Gonna hit the restroom. Keep reading."
"Ah, yes, Your Highness."
I stepped out of the office. My guards were still posted around the room. Alfredo approached from the door.
"Your Highness, a question."
"Yeah, what?"
"What should we do about the order to move Daniela to the guest quarters? The maids are just heating the room nonstop."
"Hmm... pretend that order never happened."
"As expected. I'll tell them to stop."
Alfredo nodded, looking like he'd anticipated it. Should've shut it down sooner. Waste of heating costs. Wait, no—that wasn't the point.
Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck me. Something Daniela could do. She might refuse, but...
"Get me some paper. A few hundred sheets?"
"That much paper?"
"Quality doesn't matter—just lots of it. Time to do some writing."
"You, Your Highness?"
"Nah, not me. Our guest inside."
A perfect plan. Have her write a book. It'd give her purpose, something to focus on. And a reason to spend time together. Heh heh...
"An excellent idea, Your Highness."
"You guessed what I was thinking? How dare you."
"We old folks your age know the heart of a man in love all too well."
Me, in love? Come on. Tch, he knew just how to shut me up.
Meanwhile, in the Empire's capital, Central. Foreign Minister Jamuchin was thoroughly flustered. Every glance out the carriage window made him grimace. Dorgon, accustomed to it, kept his head down.
Jamuchin was Foreign Minister in name, but optimized for managing nomads. He had confidence in such matters, yet this was beyond expectations: the smell.
The streets overflowed with filth, and the poorly maintained roads jolted the carriage relentlessly. Was it too familiar? The North used to be like this, Jamuchin thought.
"Still, Dorgon."
"Yes, Minister Jamuchin."
"I still don't get it. This is really where they serve the Emperor?"
"Yes. It's still the commoners' district, so different from the Emperor's palace."
"Worlds apart from ours. How do these people survive winter?"
Outside, ragged folk abounded. Few wore proper linen; most sported torn, threadbare rags. Beggars everywhere. The old North had them too, but after our Grand Duke took over, measures were enacted. Jobs in magic stone mines or plots of land. Sure, much went to the state, but beggars like these? Vanished.
"This isn't the North, Minister. No need to be shocked."
"Sigh, can't adapt. I want to go back to Winter Castle."
"Just a bit longer. The palace will be... unique."
The carriage halted; gate guards checking palace entrants opened the door. Jamuchin shouldn't have, but he pinched his nose anyway. A putrid rot mixed with cloying perfume.
"Welcome to the Imperial Palace, envoys from the North."
The guards' final salute rang out as the door shut. The carriage rolled into the palace, now thick with that heavy perfume.
The palace that greeted Jamuchin and Dorgon was utterly alien. Moments ago, starving masses filled the streets; now, vast gardens unfolded. Crossing fountains, they reached the grand entrance.
Armored guards stood with spears, yet posed no threat. The palace gleamed in gold and marble—opulence incarnate. From windows to carpets, nothing was cheap.
"This is the Emperor's palace?"
"Yes. What do you think, Minister?"
"Gaudy. So gaudy. How much time and gold went into this?"
"Beyond words."
As Jamuchin and Dorgon stepped toward the doors, they swung open. Giggles echoed down the hall. The red carpet's plush feel startled them.
In the Emperor's receiving chamber, Jamuchin squinted against the blinding gold and marble glow. They gazed up at the empty throne atop the dais—no Emperor, just his stand-in.
The Empire's Chief Minister, nearly twice a normal man's size. Bloated, repulsive flesh, exhaling waves of overpowering perfume with every breath.
"That's the Chief Minister? Like our Hexon?"
"Yes."
"Damn, how does this place even function?"
"I've always wondered. Doesn't seem to, does it?"
"One gold flake from those walls could've fed the North faster."
Whispering quietly, Jamuchin and Dorgon bowed as the minister descended. Dorgon knelt to greet him.
"Where do you hail from?"
What the hell? Jamuchin thought, but kept his face neutral. He slipped into his 'hick' act with rigid expertise.
"We come from the North's Grand Duke. Here on account of the loyalty oath he sent the Emperor."
"Hah, from the exiles' kingdom?"
"Yes."
Jamuchin flashed a toothy grin at the minister digging in his ear. Endure. Can't botch this. Technically, a mere minister shouldn't receive the Duke's envoy—the Emperor was nowhere in sight.
"The oath's fine. Why come all this way?"
"There was a clerical error in the wording. Just need to correct it."
"Is that so? Hmm, no idea myself."
"If the Emperor hasn't read it yet, perfect."
As Jamuchin bowed, it clicked. He grasped the Duke's true intent in sending them here.