The Ambassador: Part Two

Author's Note: Once again I find myself struggling with exposition and a smooth narrative. Advice in this regard is greatly appreciated.

By the time the two men made their way to their embassy in the Marcillian Quarter the sun hung precariously over the horizon, carrying with it the last few stray glimpses of sunlight. As the light began to fail, they continued their tour by torchlight.

The embassy offices constituted a three floor wooden building crowded by entrenched cobwebs, rickety tables, and untapped wine casks once destined for ex-Ambassador Niddia’s private estates.

The top floor was the private quarters for the ambassador and his immediate retinue, though it had reportedly been years since an ambassador had slept in them. The Insvar creditors had claimed Niddia’s estate house as their prize weeks ago. As such, the upmost floor was almost bare, having apparently been looted by unpaid staff in the days and weeks before Caudius and Danti’s arrival.

The second floor was packed with empty wooden cases and shelves along the wall, surrounding the lion’s share of desks and tables, enough to accommodate anywhere between six and fifteen full-time staff. The building had its own kitchen and latrine, but no steam-room or other hallmark of refined living.

The ground floor had once served as an anteroom for the ambassador’s meetings as well as the storage for his private enterprises. Ready for travel to his private estates and therefore marked with the wax of an imperial customs seal, the wine casks were the only objects of value remaining that were not actually nailed down. Theft from a disgraced ambassador was one matter, interference with Imperial customs another entirely.

The offices reminded Danti of his uncle’s counting house in Lenoa, where he had served a cadetship, or what the counting house might have looked like having been thoroughly looted by opportunistic neighbours.

---

Claudius stood in the anteroom with his hands on his hips and his feet placed widely apart, seeming every inch a general surveying his troops. His sole remaining trooper from the previous ambassadorship was clutching at his own green yeoman’s cap tightly with both hands and stuttering his way through an inventory.

“Enough, Bartholomew,” Claudius interrupted, “It is clear enough what has been left for us to work with, and of what we have been,” he chewed the last word around in his mouth before imparting it, “relieved.”

“Sir, I have the names of the previous staff if you wish to…”

“To rehire them, or to seek damages?” Claudius laughed “no, it should be clear that we seek a fresh start, and that while the dalliances of my predecessor are not to be continued, they will be let lie.”

The young yeoman gave an involuntary sigh, his shoulders surrendering some of their tension.

Danti, stood far less imposingly than Claudius and continued to leaf through the packet of scrolls that had been secured from the top floor’s strongbox with Claudius’s key of office. He took the opportunity to begin his own line of inquiry. “You were employed two, no, three months prior to Niddia’s dismissal as his Under-steward of Citizens and for the six months previous to that as a Scribe of the Rolls. What were your duties?

“They, well they did not include the port tariffs, master ambassador sir,” Bartholomew replied

“The fact that you dared stay on for our arrival bears out the truth of that,” Claudius chuckled.

“Indeed, master senior ambassador. Well, the previous ambassador, he dealt with issues affecting citizens at, well, at an arm’s length, figuring I should think that making a priority of issues of trade was likelier to give him a looser rein from his supervisors. Not that I would know much of anything about such things, sir.”

Danti could barely restrain the grinding of his teeth. You’d think this was a man about to be arrested, he was so cagey. “But as Understeward for Citizens what were your tasks?”

“Well, I’d report to Steward Rollingstun about the difficulty facing Imperial Citizens in the Thrennish Capital specifically, sir, as well as nearabouts. When a feud developed ‘twixt a local and a citizen, I’d let the Steward know, and if things developed too badly, he’d let pass it on to the Abmassador who, if I be frank, did not care to be troubled unless it affected the Stormland shipments.”

“You disagreed with his policy?” Danti asked, his tone neutral.

“Not my place sir, though I take it someone higher’n me did, as he’s here no more and you are.”

“Your accent sir, you are from Neyen?” Claudius broke in.

Bartholomew looked up from his cap to meet Claudius’s stare for the first time in an hour. “ ‘m locally born sir, though m’father was born there. Came with the embassy twenty-two years ago as a hired blade, and stayed on as a trader in leather and hides. Runs a tannery on northshore with ma.”

Danti continued with his inquiry, as though Claudius had not spoken, “and where is Steward Rollingstun?”

“Road to Lechtenburg was the last I saw of him, master ambassador sir, with his saddlebags full of silver plate and promissory notes from the republics.”

“Lechtenburg is outside of the King’s jurisdiction,” Claudius said, throwing Danti a glance.

“Seat of House Lechtenhelm, the closest thing the Forest Clans have to a great feudal house, and largely outside the control of all three royal houses,” Danti summarized, knowing that his father was still working through the politics of the lesser houses.

“Aye, that’s the truth sir,” Bartholomew agreed, “though there’s plenty of caravans travel up and down the Three Brothers Road between here and Lechtenburg.”

“Excellent,” Claudius clapped his hands together as if that somehow banished the news, “ Well Bartholomew, if you’ve the heart for it, you’ll serve as acting Steward until more permanent arrangements can be made, at double your previous wage. Your first task will be to have these offices cleaned out. You’ll then assist Ambassador Danti in selecting new staff. Second generation locals such as yourself seem an excellent resource, so see that we have at least another one or two. Now, if there’s nothing else?” he held one arm out in what could have been an invitation to shake hands, or to leave.

“Well sir, the citizens are holding their vote on the morrow sir, for their representative.

“The citizens’ representative?” Claudius clarified, wondering, perhaps, if that was not his own role.

“On the Guild Masters’ Council sir, seeing as the king saw fit to give them a seat on it not eight years ago.”

“And who was the previous representative?”

‘Well, it was Ambassador Niddia sir, seeing as he made it clear that no other Marcillian could have the role by having the previous two representatives arrested, sir, and holding the role for the last four years.

“Ancestors’ Peace!” Danti swore, “had the man no limits?”

“Rest, Danti,” Claudius scolded him, “clearly this vote will need out presence if it elects another voice for citizens in the city.”

“You mean to run?” Danti was shocked. To ask for a citizen's vote the day after you arrived in his city was a bold, even reckless move for his father to contemplate.

“No, though the guild must have delayed the vote for our arrival. Niddia was a bully and a scoundrel so his decisions are suspect. Neither can we be blind though, or the Citizens seen to argue or prevaricate by the locals. Whoever this representative is, we’ll need to work with him closely.

Claudius exhaled very slowly, idly running his fingers across the buttons on the front of his robes.“Very well. Bartholomew, we’ll expect you by the second hour past dawn.”

The acting steward bowed deeply to both men and left quickly, leaving the ambassadors to their rest.

Once they were gone, Claudius turned to Danti, his gaze resolute. “Whatever we might wish, we’ll still need to cancel those promissory notes, and track Rollingstun, no matter how deep he burrows. The man had access to ambassadorial confidences and privileges and has now gone rogue. Once the embassy is fit for its purpose, that will be your task.”

Danti had expected as much, “Yes father. For now we’d best find somewhere to sleep that won’t leave our backs permanently crooked for the trouble.”