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THE GAIAN PRESS - Issue 19.0 - August '06
IN THIS ISSUE:
1. The Neighborhood Watch - Gaian news for our attention deficit generation.
2. Honorable Mentions - Writing submitted by the best.
3. Point! What's Your Point? - Anti-social, anti-state, anti-you.
4. Best of Issue - As voted by the members of the Press.
5. La Revue - Advice on things to do or not to do.
6. Writer's Aide - A few tips to help writers of all levels.
7. Critic's Corner - Setting a strange but admirable example, the renowned poetry critic critiques herself.
8. The Afterthought - Preview for the next issue and then some.
PART I. Next Door Neighbors
Working to improve Gaia's writing environment, The Gaian Press and Deus ex Machina are teaming up. Deus ex Machina is a private (yet active) guild of about 170 members with a hardworking moderation team that dedicates its time to attracting and entertaining their fellow guild members. Currently, a Masquerade is in the works for August 8th, and the public is invited to come and see. Their forums include casual and in-depth discussions, writing resources, roleplaying, and poetry. Just click the banner to visit them!
Gaia's Beta Guild Like peanut butter and jelly, Marge and Homer, The Gaian Press and Gaia's Beta Guild have come together at last. See their guild here! It's a small, public little corner of Gaia with about 70 members and a simple, straightforward layout. Beta Lists are posted for those who want a beta or wish to be a beta, and discussions on editing tactics can be found in the Library subforum. So look no further, fellow writers; A good editor is just a click away!
PART II. Latest Gossip
___~New skin tones! Try on a new skin for once. All you have to do is commit avatar-suicide.
___~New items! Seen any squids lately?
___~Gaia Newsletter- giving you all the latest in Gaia news.
___~Do you obsessively keep up with your gold count? Things just got easier. See the details on the latest announcement.
PART III. Bulletin Board
___The House Vitali, by Veive. Nail Viscera is heir to an infamous family of traitors. Captured by the Empire his ancestors left two centuries ago, he is brought to the capital city, a place rife with political corruption, depravity, and vice covered in a veneer of sexual repression. As a series of murders hold the bureaucrats hostage and a plot to destroy the city takes form, Nail finds himself fighting to save it for the same reason he fights his instilled self-hatred: if he won't, who will?
Readers! If you have a writing-related site/guild/thread that you would like to advertise (or affiliate!) please PM Serieve or post in one of our public threads. Be warned though, we investigate first to see if it's suitable to be advertised and offer rejections if we find that they are not. No fee will be included, but donations are very much appreciated. In fact, all donators will be listed and thanked publicly in the Afterword.
PART I. Poetry
Listed in alphabetical order by title.
Honor Among Theives, by PiousCorn
Night, by Lebki
Rose, by Aderyn
Watching, by Nikki S.
Honor Among Theives
PiousCorn
I am the one, the prodigal son,
Slaking my thirst with murderous fun.
They'll worship me and what I have done.
I'll lick the liquid silver nitrate,
Seeping from your metal birth.
Smoking ashes, burn the village.
I'll offer you a safer berth.
We came first, we'll be last.
Unholy matrimony of power.
A matriarch? A patriarch.
We'll usher in the final hour.
By fault of your love,
You're thrice made a toy.
A mutant's loss and two more deaths,
To satisfy your little boy.
I was raised, hearing of His might.
A Spartan's values, I joined His fight.
Until His unforgiven betrayal on a flickering night.
I knoy you, but not myself.
Manufactured memories flow through my mind.
I was a child, but was I really?
I follow a truth I'll never find.
Idolatry broken, I take up my blade.
A mortal wound, I should have died.
Is this the truth, or is it His?
Green glow distract me from shining eyes.
Protagonist, antagonist, I help my foe.
Folly to destroy one's own life.
I turn again, He lies now at my feet.
We enter victory, a world of strife.
I'm assured of His mortality,
I've built a past up for myself.
But mother, just who are you?
Night
Lebki
i.
Never trust a new moon. It sparkled,
Yes, but with sadistic rage.
A pale face for its paler deeds.
The fingers of that venomous moon,
Wispy grey bits of fog, and smoke,
Strangled the life out of a mortal.
(New moon means the full is near;
It means new evil is lurking.)
We were all struck down, astonished.
Us, mere handmaidens of the earth.
One of us has vanished.
ii.
I have passed these silent corridors,
But never seen that look in a man's eyes
That speaks of death, and sleep.
Not before, until now, when I found him.
Pale? His face was the color of the moon,
His mouth contorted with a wish:
For a breath, a breath, one more.
His last breath was engaged elsewhere,
Leaving his feet, swinging gently,
For us to grieve. That demon moon
That left a noose for him to die.
iii.
It has been a year, and the white orb
Shines on his tomb with cold empathy.
I wonder, does he feel any light now?
Maybe just the shifting of the earth,
Chimes, an endless cycle of mourning,
And quiet death, and a quiet passing.
He who has weighed life and pain; and
Wept, thinking that life is worth less.
A eulogy for a friend and fellow soul:
Find rest at your eternal home.
Forget your human troubles--I cannot.
Rose
Aderyn
Instead of a ring, he proposed
by offering me a single copper rose.
The rose was our love, he said,
lasting for generations to come.
I believed him, and leaned my love
in a crystal vase without water.
At first the rose outshone its
sparking iridescent vase,
four finely wrought petals and a leaf
with rippled ridges, all polished
higher than gold and standing
atop a drawn rod.
One day the rose looked
less like gold and more like copper,
severe stem silhouetted
against many-faceted glitter.
Playfully twirling on pointed toes,
feathery motes settled to rest.
Years passed and the copper
rusted into corrosive needles,
while its clear container
glowed like an ethereal x-ray machine,
a prism reforging shattered, discarded
shards of sunlight and moonbeam.
Instead of a rose, I proposed
by offering him a crystal vase
filled to the brim with icy spring
water, straight from the bottle.
I paid extra for overnight delivery,
prefaced with a bulky yellow envelope.
Watching
Nikki S.
Pounding rain ascends
And we are un-prepared
Without any protection, we continue on
Glacier cold, and wet, I walk
You hold my hand - squeezing tighter with every Drip, drop
Large work boots show that puddle who is boss
I cringe when it begins to beat harder
And faster,
But you squeeze my frozen hand once more
And warmth takes me, all over
As we watch the streets gather with
God's tears.
PART II. Prose
Listed in alphbetical order by title.
All Kings Wear Crowns - Chapter I, by omgtehsuiso
The Badger Brigade, by Hemp Fandango
Jackolantern, Soundly Sleeping, by Scarlet Jile
All Kings Wear Crowns - Chapter I
By omgtehsuiso
The Lord Speaker's discussions had always been a great bit more interesting than the ones he had read of during the preparatory stages of his position. Perhaps it had been because the old world had not permitted free thought, but following the Age of Logic, something greater had come out of it. Then again, there were always mad courtiers with proposals just as absurd. This one, he had decided, was far more promising than most of the others, albeit less engaging.
The two men had been talking in the teahouse for hours. It was not like the Lord Speaker to do so, but this proposal was special, and he did not have the patience to wait for it. He took another sip from his teacup.
"And you believe there are indeed lands beyond the reaches of our sea?" the Speaker asked. The man nodded, keeping his eyes on his cup.
"You see, my lord, we have only traded with the small isles that lie just off Oserra's coast, but modern thought provides new theory -the sort that pushes such an exploration forward." The Speaker was nodding this time.
"But there is no physical evidence of such a body of land existing?"
"No, my lord."
"A lack of evidence makes this information appear quite incredible, Mister Talle. Conjecture does not merit truth."
"Ah, but you cannot lose in this expedition, my lord. Imagine how the king would react if a city of gold were found!"
The Lord Speaker shook his head. "No, Mister Talle, no. Imagine how His Majesty would react if we found nothing, and all the money he put into your company went to waste. Have you even considered the costs that would go into financing such an expedition?
"You would need soldiers, for one, as only the gods know what sort of savages lurk in isolated lands; and ships. Not to mention willing men, who would inevitably need pay. And provisions; seed and livestock, assuming you were to indeed hit land."
Talle frowned, and finished his tea. In his hands were a bundle of papers, which he passed across the table to the Speaker. "Please, if you would, my lord, review my notes. If arable land existed for we Oserrans, then surely it must exist for other men." The Speaker took the stack and tucked it under his arm, leaving a few coins on the table to pay their tab.
He tipped his hat to Talle, and bid him a good evening before leaving the teahouse.
Despite the rain, he began to leaf through the papers. Water smudged ink, leaving faint black trails as each droplet rolled down the page. The Speaker looked back to see Talle, who was unfortunately named, visible only by his top hat, which stood out in all its sky blue glory, in the middle of a crowd of far taller men than he. Something of the first Man walking among Giants, the Speaker thought.
The king, he decided, would have to accept Talle's proposal, despite the fact that the venture was less promising than his other expeditions. Talle was famous for what he had done across the Euran Sea, but that had turned out to be nothing more than a large river -and expansion was slowing there. In spite of the promise of new eastern colonies, Talle could most certainly force the king to take a strong financial blow if he failed. But if was such a large factor in the wager that the Speaker was not willing to even consider the consequences. He hadn't the slightest clue how much King Arkain would pour into the charter, but he had an idea that the figures would not be beautiful, according to Talle's initial calculations. The mathematics to calculate astronomical costs -20,000 krents for the first year alone- and he hadn't the slightest clue as to the price for later colonization, and what he would do if something went wrong, gods forbid.
He stuffed the papers inside his waistcoat and continued through the streets. The rain made everything more dismal than usual, the Speaker noticed, and even the House of the Voices was something of a grim castle instead of its usual watchful self. The smell of soot and ash from the factories beyond was thick in his nostrils, reminding him that he had never come this far from the House before. The streets, too, had a coating of the stuff of industry, among other waste products. He kept his eyes on the pavement to avoid ruining his boots, although he periodically kept note of the world over his head to avoid ruining everything else. The chamber pots of the city were a frightening thing, to say the least, and he felt that they should have been banned outright, but there was no easy way for citizens -especially the poor- to receive adequate lavatories. There had been talk in the House, in jest, of using the obvious gallons of excrement on the streets for warfare. The king could have used the idea, with the way the expeditions had gone. Barbarians were, of course, too common, and, as history had shown, were quite capable of overtaking an empire.
He pushed the thoughts of times past out of his head as he left the streets and returned to the House.
There was a certain sense of tension when he entered the building. He knew in an instant that someone had gotten wind of his meeting with Talle, and whoever it was would be beaten, if the Speaker was given the chance. He would not be, of course, if society had its way. Although strong discipline would give men backbone, the king and his court were more concerned with "protecting the working man from abuse," something the Speaker vehemently denied, and despite his position in the House, was ignored. He frowned as he passed through the silent crowd of representatives and made his way to the center of their cramped meeting hall, dropping the papers down on the table at the center of the narrow corridor.
On either side of him, the representatives sat, all cold and wooden, like the very halls they made their decisions in. Most of the like-minded political fellows sat together, something the Speaker had, yet again, detested. Clear battle lines made it more difficult for ideas to spread, if the north voted against the south every time they past a bill, and the west allied with the north, but the east with the south. It was absolute lunacy, but the way political thinkers in Kotinach kept spewing out their talk of "democracy" and "freedom." No less King Edric's fault, of course, placing his damnable free-minded son on the throne. Patriarch of the New People, he called himself. Most Oserrans agreed he was a madman, but the Kotinachians would always call him revolutionary. To the Speaker, he was another pompous windbag in power. Come the next king, he knew, the Arkain line would be washed clean from the thrones of both Oserra and Kotinach, and, if the gods were merciful, all the talk of revolution would go with it.
He raised the gavel in his hand, and began the meeting as usual. "Our first order of business today," he bellowed, "is a proposal by Mr. Jonathan Talle. I assume that most of you are aware of his efforts in eastern colonization and expansion."
Then came the usual "here-here!" from the right, the "fie!" from the left. It had always been a battle of voices in the House, perhaps why it had gotten its name. He remembered from the history books that it had not even been called the House of Voices at its establishment. Arguing began, perhaps over the moral integrity of Talle s movements, and the Speaker slammed his gavel down again.
"You will all keep the vestiges of civilized men or I will postpone this session and give a thorough review of your conduct." There was a bit of grumbling from both sides, and for once, the Speaker was smiling, in his mind, at the fact that they could agree on something for once, even if it was hating their leader. "Now," he continued, "Mr. Talle has reason to believe that there are lands beyond our oceans, and seeks our approval for adequate funds to send an expedition."
Yet again, arguing. The Speaker let it continue, though, hoping that the volley of political philosophy might shrink the gap between the various regions of Oserra. Then again, it could just as easily have begun to widen it, but he cared little. It was possible that someone would find sense in his opponents argument. The cacophony began to cease, and the tension died as if someone had just pinched a burst vein. The Speaker knew, of course, that the person pinching was not going to be holding their fingers there for long.
He began anew. "The capital that will need to be allotted for Mr. Talle and his company totals 20,000 krents."
Gods damn these men, the Speaker thought as argument erupted again. He banged the gavel. "ORDER! You may list your grievances following my statements, and with civil tongues. Mr. Talle believes that if the expedition is successful, we will be able to not only spread our power, but also strengthen the domestic industry. As you know, the last hundred years have drained our country of resources, and if the search does indeed turn up results, we can, quite possibly, revitalize our manufacturing. However, the movement may not please the peasantry, which should always be considered. Such fees require taxes, and the higher the taxes, the more voices raised in defiance."
Now, he felt, was the time for the House to speak. "You may begin, Mr. Rores." The portly man to his right smiled and bowed, starting the deliberations.
Rores looked into the center of the left side of the room and began, despite the sound of some ungrateful politician's fingers rapping against the wood of his desk. Rores was respected among the northern Voices, although many would agree that he was a pompous windbag, a trait which his current speech was displaying. He was, in a word, conservative, and painfully so. "I do believe," Rores said, "that this expedition, if it even uncovers anything, will lead to some sort of oppression."
The Speaker frowned. The argument was ages old, although he did not disagree that the idea of the expedition was foolish. "We must remember, my fellow Voices, that our people do not take well to the concept of increased taxes, and such a movement would indeed raise the cost of living." A man stood up in the left side of the room, one the Speaker did not at first recognize.
"Mr. Rores has the floor, Mr. Edwards. It can wait," the Speaker said, and then motioned for the man to sit. Edwards did not. "Please sit, Mr. Edwards."
"I have an objection to Mr. Rores's argument, Lord Speaker," Edwards replied. Mr. Rores was looking quite miffed from where he stood, and his two fat cheeks were beginning to turn red. The Speaker feared that if the situation escalated any further, the poor man might undergo heart failure.
"And this makes your opinion so important that it needs to be heard over Mr. Rores's? Please sit down."
"No."
Mr. Rores raised a fist at Edwards, and began barking various threats. Several of the men on the right began banging their fists on their desks, shouting "Fie!" again. The Speaker banged his gavel, and everyone in the room silenced, except, of course, for rebellious Mr. Edwards. In the chaos, Mr. Rores had thrown a unused coal at the head of Mr. Edwards, and there was a good bit of blood seeping from his forehead. "ORDER!" the Speaker cried. "I will have order in this House! We are men, not savages!"
Rores smiled, finding a segue, and the red left his face. "Savages indeed, Lord Speaker. We have all seen the effects of the growth of our empire abroad, have we not? There were indigenous peoples in the east, once, but if they still live, they are rarer than gold, my good men. Rarer than gold." Rores sat down, and immediately, Edwards stood up, without the permission of the Speaker, and delivered a counter-argument. Rores had to be held back this time, and it took six healthy men to keep the older fat one in his chair.
The Speaker would have chuckled at the debacle if he were anything but a politician. It was like some disease had come over the House, and had brought madness with it. The Speaker banged his gavel again, but Edwards continued to blather.
He raised his free hand to call the guards, and Edwards gave a shout. "Mr. Speaker, I bid you, please."
"Oh, formalities, Mr. Edwards, formalities," the Speaker scolded. "Remove him from my House," he ordered the two sets of guards at the back of the room, but Edwards, knowing his defeat to be nigh, began to speak in a louder voice amidst the growing clamor. The Speaker managed to make out some of his words. "Imagine, my lords, the money! The riches! The trade!" he said, his words as tempting as that of the most adept of seductresses, while the guards carried him toward the doors. He did not struggle, although what he said held the House in silence. "Success will only bring profit, my lords!" he called as the doors shut behind his dragging feet. A large portion of the left clapped, and even some of the middle and right. Deserters in the field of battle, the Speaker thought as he watched them. With Edwards absent from the proceedings, the Speaker called up the next most senior of the men from the left, and felt the political scales shift.
"Continuing from where Mr. Edwards left off," the leftist began, "if discovery is indeed made, which we can be almost sure it will be, from Talle's proposal, the profits would be immense. Taking into consideration the risks at hand, I believe that, despite the sum, success is not only inevitable, it is profitable." The left clapped, per the usual tradition. Automatons, the lot of them.
The discussion continued for several hours, although the sentiments of both sides began to form one strong opinion for imperialism. The Speaker, torn, quickly moved to the next item on the docket once the debate died down.
We find the best so you don't have to.
IN THIS ISSUE:
1. The Neighborhood Watch - Gaian news for our attention deficit generation.
2. Honorable Mentions - Writing submitted by the best.
3. Point! What's Your Point? - Anti-social, anti-state, anti-you.
4. Best of Issue - As voted by the members of the Press.
5. La Revue - Advice on things to do or not to do.
6. Writer's Aide - A few tips to help writers of all levels.
7. Critic's Corner - Setting a strange but admirable example, the renowned poetry critic critiques herself.
8. The Afterthought - Preview for the next issue and then some.
PART I. Next Door Neighbors
Working to improve Gaia's writing environment, The Gaian Press and Deus ex Machina are teaming up. Deus ex Machina is a private (yet active) guild of about 170 members with a hardworking moderation team that dedicates its time to attracting and entertaining their fellow guild members. Currently, a Masquerade is in the works for August 8th, and the public is invited to come and see. Their forums include casual and in-depth discussions, writing resources, roleplaying, and poetry. Just click the banner to visit them!
Gaia's Beta Guild Like peanut butter and jelly, Marge and Homer, The Gaian Press and Gaia's Beta Guild have come together at last. See their guild here! It's a small, public little corner of Gaia with about 70 members and a simple, straightforward layout. Beta Lists are posted for those who want a beta or wish to be a beta, and discussions on editing tactics can be found in the Library subforum. So look no further, fellow writers; A good editor is just a click away!
PART II. Latest Gossip
Serieve
___~New skin tones! Try on a new skin for once. All you have to do is commit avatar-suicide.
___~New items! Seen any squids lately?
___~Gaia Newsletter- giving you all the latest in Gaia news.
___~Do you obsessively keep up with your gold count? Things just got easier. See the details on the latest announcement.
PART III. Bulletin Board
___The House Vitali, by Veive. Nail Viscera is heir to an infamous family of traitors. Captured by the Empire his ancestors left two centuries ago, he is brought to the capital city, a place rife with political corruption, depravity, and vice covered in a veneer of sexual repression. As a series of murders hold the bureaucrats hostage and a plot to destroy the city takes form, Nail finds himself fighting to save it for the same reason he fights his instilled self-hatred: if he won't, who will?
Readers! If you have a writing-related site/guild/thread that you would like to advertise (or affiliate!) please PM Serieve or post in one of our public threads. Be warned though, we investigate first to see if it's suitable to be advertised and offer rejections if we find that they are not. No fee will be included, but donations are very much appreciated. In fact, all donators will be listed and thanked publicly in the Afterword.
PART I. Poetry
Listed in alphabetical order by title.
Honor Among Theives, by PiousCorn
Night, by Lebki
Rose, by Aderyn
Watching, by Nikki S.
Honor Among Theives
PiousCorn
I am the one, the prodigal son,
Slaking my thirst with murderous fun.
They'll worship me and what I have done.
I'll lick the liquid silver nitrate,
Seeping from your metal birth.
Smoking ashes, burn the village.
I'll offer you a safer berth.
We came first, we'll be last.
Unholy matrimony of power.
A matriarch? A patriarch.
We'll usher in the final hour.
By fault of your love,
You're thrice made a toy.
A mutant's loss and two more deaths,
To satisfy your little boy.
I was raised, hearing of His might.
A Spartan's values, I joined His fight.
Until His unforgiven betrayal on a flickering night.
I knoy you, but not myself.
Manufactured memories flow through my mind.
I was a child, but was I really?
I follow a truth I'll never find.
Idolatry broken, I take up my blade.
A mortal wound, I should have died.
Is this the truth, or is it His?
Green glow distract me from shining eyes.
Protagonist, antagonist, I help my foe.
Folly to destroy one's own life.
I turn again, He lies now at my feet.
We enter victory, a world of strife.
I'm assured of His mortality,
I've built a past up for myself.
But mother, just who are you?
Night
Lebki
i.
Never trust a new moon. It sparkled,
Yes, but with sadistic rage.
A pale face for its paler deeds.
The fingers of that venomous moon,
Wispy grey bits of fog, and smoke,
Strangled the life out of a mortal.
(New moon means the full is near;
It means new evil is lurking.)
We were all struck down, astonished.
Us, mere handmaidens of the earth.
One of us has vanished.
ii.
I have passed these silent corridors,
But never seen that look in a man's eyes
That speaks of death, and sleep.
Not before, until now, when I found him.
Pale? His face was the color of the moon,
His mouth contorted with a wish:
For a breath, a breath, one more.
His last breath was engaged elsewhere,
Leaving his feet, swinging gently,
For us to grieve. That demon moon
That left a noose for him to die.
iii.
It has been a year, and the white orb
Shines on his tomb with cold empathy.
I wonder, does he feel any light now?
Maybe just the shifting of the earth,
Chimes, an endless cycle of mourning,
And quiet death, and a quiet passing.
He who has weighed life and pain; and
Wept, thinking that life is worth less.
A eulogy for a friend and fellow soul:
Find rest at your eternal home.
Forget your human troubles--I cannot.
Rose
Aderyn
Instead of a ring, he proposed
by offering me a single copper rose.
The rose was our love, he said,
lasting for generations to come.
I believed him, and leaned my love
in a crystal vase without water.
At first the rose outshone its
sparking iridescent vase,
four finely wrought petals and a leaf
with rippled ridges, all polished
higher than gold and standing
atop a drawn rod.
One day the rose looked
less like gold and more like copper,
severe stem silhouetted
against many-faceted glitter.
Playfully twirling on pointed toes,
feathery motes settled to rest.
Years passed and the copper
rusted into corrosive needles,
while its clear container
glowed like an ethereal x-ray machine,
a prism reforging shattered, discarded
shards of sunlight and moonbeam.
Instead of a rose, I proposed
by offering him a crystal vase
filled to the brim with icy spring
water, straight from the bottle.
I paid extra for overnight delivery,
prefaced with a bulky yellow envelope.
Watching
Nikki S.
Pounding rain ascends
And we are un-prepared
Without any protection, we continue on
Glacier cold, and wet, I walk
You hold my hand - squeezing tighter with every Drip, drop
Large work boots show that puddle who is boss
I cringe when it begins to beat harder
And faster,
But you squeeze my frozen hand once more
And warmth takes me, all over
As we watch the streets gather with
God's tears.
PART II. Prose
Listed in alphbetical order by title.
All Kings Wear Crowns - Chapter I, by omgtehsuiso
The Badger Brigade, by Hemp Fandango
Jackolantern, Soundly Sleeping, by Scarlet Jile
All Kings Wear Crowns - Chapter I
By omgtehsuiso
The Lord Speaker's discussions had always been a great bit more interesting than the ones he had read of during the preparatory stages of his position. Perhaps it had been because the old world had not permitted free thought, but following the Age of Logic, something greater had come out of it. Then again, there were always mad courtiers with proposals just as absurd. This one, he had decided, was far more promising than most of the others, albeit less engaging.
The two men had been talking in the teahouse for hours. It was not like the Lord Speaker to do so, but this proposal was special, and he did not have the patience to wait for it. He took another sip from his teacup.
"And you believe there are indeed lands beyond the reaches of our sea?" the Speaker asked. The man nodded, keeping his eyes on his cup.
"You see, my lord, we have only traded with the small isles that lie just off Oserra's coast, but modern thought provides new theory -the sort that pushes such an exploration forward." The Speaker was nodding this time.
"But there is no physical evidence of such a body of land existing?"
"No, my lord."
"A lack of evidence makes this information appear quite incredible, Mister Talle. Conjecture does not merit truth."
"Ah, but you cannot lose in this expedition, my lord. Imagine how the king would react if a city of gold were found!"
The Lord Speaker shook his head. "No, Mister Talle, no. Imagine how His Majesty would react if we found nothing, and all the money he put into your company went to waste. Have you even considered the costs that would go into financing such an expedition?
"You would need soldiers, for one, as only the gods know what sort of savages lurk in isolated lands; and ships. Not to mention willing men, who would inevitably need pay. And provisions; seed and livestock, assuming you were to indeed hit land."
Talle frowned, and finished his tea. In his hands were a bundle of papers, which he passed across the table to the Speaker. "Please, if you would, my lord, review my notes. If arable land existed for we Oserrans, then surely it must exist for other men." The Speaker took the stack and tucked it under his arm, leaving a few coins on the table to pay their tab.
He tipped his hat to Talle, and bid him a good evening before leaving the teahouse.
Despite the rain, he began to leaf through the papers. Water smudged ink, leaving faint black trails as each droplet rolled down the page. The Speaker looked back to see Talle, who was unfortunately named, visible only by his top hat, which stood out in all its sky blue glory, in the middle of a crowd of far taller men than he. Something of the first Man walking among Giants, the Speaker thought.
The king, he decided, would have to accept Talle's proposal, despite the fact that the venture was less promising than his other expeditions. Talle was famous for what he had done across the Euran Sea, but that had turned out to be nothing more than a large river -and expansion was slowing there. In spite of the promise of new eastern colonies, Talle could most certainly force the king to take a strong financial blow if he failed. But if was such a large factor in the wager that the Speaker was not willing to even consider the consequences. He hadn't the slightest clue how much King Arkain would pour into the charter, but he had an idea that the figures would not be beautiful, according to Talle's initial calculations. The mathematics to calculate astronomical costs -20,000 krents for the first year alone- and he hadn't the slightest clue as to the price for later colonization, and what he would do if something went wrong, gods forbid.
He stuffed the papers inside his waistcoat and continued through the streets. The rain made everything more dismal than usual, the Speaker noticed, and even the House of the Voices was something of a grim castle instead of its usual watchful self. The smell of soot and ash from the factories beyond was thick in his nostrils, reminding him that he had never come this far from the House before. The streets, too, had a coating of the stuff of industry, among other waste products. He kept his eyes on the pavement to avoid ruining his boots, although he periodically kept note of the world over his head to avoid ruining everything else. The chamber pots of the city were a frightening thing, to say the least, and he felt that they should have been banned outright, but there was no easy way for citizens -especially the poor- to receive adequate lavatories. There had been talk in the House, in jest, of using the obvious gallons of excrement on the streets for warfare. The king could have used the idea, with the way the expeditions had gone. Barbarians were, of course, too common, and, as history had shown, were quite capable of overtaking an empire.
He pushed the thoughts of times past out of his head as he left the streets and returned to the House.
There was a certain sense of tension when he entered the building. He knew in an instant that someone had gotten wind of his meeting with Talle, and whoever it was would be beaten, if the Speaker was given the chance. He would not be, of course, if society had its way. Although strong discipline would give men backbone, the king and his court were more concerned with "protecting the working man from abuse," something the Speaker vehemently denied, and despite his position in the House, was ignored. He frowned as he passed through the silent crowd of representatives and made his way to the center of their cramped meeting hall, dropping the papers down on the table at the center of the narrow corridor.
On either side of him, the representatives sat, all cold and wooden, like the very halls they made their decisions in. Most of the like-minded political fellows sat together, something the Speaker had, yet again, detested. Clear battle lines made it more difficult for ideas to spread, if the north voted against the south every time they past a bill, and the west allied with the north, but the east with the south. It was absolute lunacy, but the way political thinkers in Kotinach kept spewing out their talk of "democracy" and "freedom." No less King Edric's fault, of course, placing his damnable free-minded son on the throne. Patriarch of the New People, he called himself. Most Oserrans agreed he was a madman, but the Kotinachians would always call him revolutionary. To the Speaker, he was another pompous windbag in power. Come the next king, he knew, the Arkain line would be washed clean from the thrones of both Oserra and Kotinach, and, if the gods were merciful, all the talk of revolution would go with it.
He raised the gavel in his hand, and began the meeting as usual. "Our first order of business today," he bellowed, "is a proposal by Mr. Jonathan Talle. I assume that most of you are aware of his efforts in eastern colonization and expansion."
Then came the usual "here-here!" from the right, the "fie!" from the left. It had always been a battle of voices in the House, perhaps why it had gotten its name. He remembered from the history books that it had not even been called the House of Voices at its establishment. Arguing began, perhaps over the moral integrity of Talle s movements, and the Speaker slammed his gavel down again.
"You will all keep the vestiges of civilized men or I will postpone this session and give a thorough review of your conduct." There was a bit of grumbling from both sides, and for once, the Speaker was smiling, in his mind, at the fact that they could agree on something for once, even if it was hating their leader. "Now," he continued, "Mr. Talle has reason to believe that there are lands beyond our oceans, and seeks our approval for adequate funds to send an expedition."
Yet again, arguing. The Speaker let it continue, though, hoping that the volley of political philosophy might shrink the gap between the various regions of Oserra. Then again, it could just as easily have begun to widen it, but he cared little. It was possible that someone would find sense in his opponents argument. The cacophony began to cease, and the tension died as if someone had just pinched a burst vein. The Speaker knew, of course, that the person pinching was not going to be holding their fingers there for long.
He began anew. "The capital that will need to be allotted for Mr. Talle and his company totals 20,000 krents."
Gods damn these men, the Speaker thought as argument erupted again. He banged the gavel. "ORDER! You may list your grievances following my statements, and with civil tongues. Mr. Talle believes that if the expedition is successful, we will be able to not only spread our power, but also strengthen the domestic industry. As you know, the last hundred years have drained our country of resources, and if the search does indeed turn up results, we can, quite possibly, revitalize our manufacturing. However, the movement may not please the peasantry, which should always be considered. Such fees require taxes, and the higher the taxes, the more voices raised in defiance."
Now, he felt, was the time for the House to speak. "You may begin, Mr. Rores." The portly man to his right smiled and bowed, starting the deliberations.
Rores looked into the center of the left side of the room and began, despite the sound of some ungrateful politician's fingers rapping against the wood of his desk. Rores was respected among the northern Voices, although many would agree that he was a pompous windbag, a trait which his current speech was displaying. He was, in a word, conservative, and painfully so. "I do believe," Rores said, "that this expedition, if it even uncovers anything, will lead to some sort of oppression."
The Speaker frowned. The argument was ages old, although he did not disagree that the idea of the expedition was foolish. "We must remember, my fellow Voices, that our people do not take well to the concept of increased taxes, and such a movement would indeed raise the cost of living." A man stood up in the left side of the room, one the Speaker did not at first recognize.
"Mr. Rores has the floor, Mr. Edwards. It can wait," the Speaker said, and then motioned for the man to sit. Edwards did not. "Please sit, Mr. Edwards."
"I have an objection to Mr. Rores's argument, Lord Speaker," Edwards replied. Mr. Rores was looking quite miffed from where he stood, and his two fat cheeks were beginning to turn red. The Speaker feared that if the situation escalated any further, the poor man might undergo heart failure.
"And this makes your opinion so important that it needs to be heard over Mr. Rores's? Please sit down."
"No."
Mr. Rores raised a fist at Edwards, and began barking various threats. Several of the men on the right began banging their fists on their desks, shouting "Fie!" again. The Speaker banged his gavel, and everyone in the room silenced, except, of course, for rebellious Mr. Edwards. In the chaos, Mr. Rores had thrown a unused coal at the head of Mr. Edwards, and there was a good bit of blood seeping from his forehead. "ORDER!" the Speaker cried. "I will have order in this House! We are men, not savages!"
Rores smiled, finding a segue, and the red left his face. "Savages indeed, Lord Speaker. We have all seen the effects of the growth of our empire abroad, have we not? There were indigenous peoples in the east, once, but if they still live, they are rarer than gold, my good men. Rarer than gold." Rores sat down, and immediately, Edwards stood up, without the permission of the Speaker, and delivered a counter-argument. Rores had to be held back this time, and it took six healthy men to keep the older fat one in his chair.
The Speaker would have chuckled at the debacle if he were anything but a politician. It was like some disease had come over the House, and had brought madness with it. The Speaker banged his gavel again, but Edwards continued to blather.
He raised his free hand to call the guards, and Edwards gave a shout. "Mr. Speaker, I bid you, please."
"Oh, formalities, Mr. Edwards, formalities," the Speaker scolded. "Remove him from my House," he ordered the two sets of guards at the back of the room, but Edwards, knowing his defeat to be nigh, began to speak in a louder voice amidst the growing clamor. The Speaker managed to make out some of his words. "Imagine, my lords, the money! The riches! The trade!" he said, his words as tempting as that of the most adept of seductresses, while the guards carried him toward the doors. He did not struggle, although what he said held the House in silence. "Success will only bring profit, my lords!" he called as the doors shut behind his dragging feet. A large portion of the left clapped, and even some of the middle and right. Deserters in the field of battle, the Speaker thought as he watched them. With Edwards absent from the proceedings, the Speaker called up the next most senior of the men from the left, and felt the political scales shift.
"Continuing from where Mr. Edwards left off," the leftist began, "if discovery is indeed made, which we can be almost sure it will be, from Talle's proposal, the profits would be immense. Taking into consideration the risks at hand, I believe that, despite the sum, success is not only inevitable, it is profitable." The left clapped, per the usual tradition. Automatons, the lot of them.
The discussion continued for several hours, although the sentiments of both sides began to form one strong opinion for imperialism. The Speaker, torn, quickly moved to the next item on the docket once the debate died down.
