Page 29 of Claiming the Tower
“The Council’s remit is everything that affects the land magic. Which gives an exceedingly large scope, when they want it to, or a good excuse to ignore something when they’d prefer.” Hereswith twisted her fingers in a back-and-forth motion. “Here, three of them— always the same three. Ventry, Tipson, and FitzHugh— for a meeting, nominally for coordination and information purposes.”
“But that would require information and coordination to be occurring.” Bess said immediately. “And I gather it isn’t.”
“See, this is a point that it took people in the meeting an hour to admit to.” Hereswith sighed, peered at her cup, and then took a longer sip. “The Council Members, at least, always turn up prepared for the meeting, with thoughtful commentary. Also sharply incisive commentary as required.”
Bess considered, peering into her own cup before taking another sip while she thought. “Why three of them? And why those three? Or is that the sort of mystery that other people aren’t supposed to think about?”
“That’s a good question.” Hereswith sounded bemused now, which was a much better mood than either angry or terrified. Bess wasn’t entirely sure what that would look like on Hereswith, but suspected it might well depend on the cause, and particularly whether Hereswith was angry on someone else’s behalf. “All right, let’s see. There are the formalities. The Council rites at the solstices, with the offerings from each of the Lords or Ladies of the land and their Heirs. And at least a summary of the six months in documentation. I assume there’s some longer form version provided too. Most of those are just a single paper scroll.”
“And presumably there’s some sort of ritual that goes with that, as well as the formal dancing.” Bess said.
“Have you ever seen it? Rather lovely, and yes, the ritual aspects are intriguing. Not that they ever talk about those. But Papa and I went several times, when he was in better health.” Hereswith tilted her head. “That sort of family. Especially when everyone was hoping I might actually marry, despite being on the shelf.”
“A few times. Not with Madam Judson, though. Before that, with Madam Howard.” She had been a lovely older woman, a long-widowed aunt of the current Lord Howard. Vastly easier and more enjoyable to work for than Madam Judson. “Ten years ago, perhaps. And I agree. The way the dances shift and change.” They began always with the same sequence, old dances from the founding of the Council that made patterns among all the dancers.
“We have the recognition of the land. We have the ritual. But they also take on various tasks. Dealing with the consequences of the Pact, though I’ve never heard that fully explained. But that is part of the reason for the Council presence in the meetings. This war is not on Albion’s land, but during the Napoleonic wars, invasion was a concern. The Spanish Armada. Negotiating with the Fatae if someone must, I gather.”
Bess tilted her head. “How different is that than what you do?”
“I have no idea?” The question had made Hereswith laugh, though, possibly with the ridiculous idea. “I’ve never talked to one of the Fatae. That’s the point of the Pact, that we don’t. That almost no one does.”
“It makes me wonder how they choose people. How the Challenge works, whatever it is.” Bess tipped her cup slightly, then added a hint of a warming charm to loosen the cooling chocolate just the right amount. “Does your cup need a little help?”
Hereswith peered into hers and then handed it over without comment. “There’s a great deal of gossip about the Challenge, but I admit I haven’t figured out much of the truth of it. It’s like the gossip you hear about men’s private clubs. Surely not all the tales are true, but which ones are exaggerations and which are not?”
“At least some of the ones about private orgies probably are exaggerations. Most men haven’t the stamina for some of those tales. A couple in a room, maybe, but all of them?” Bess said it a little off-handedly.
“You hear much more interesting gossip than I have.” Hereswith didn’t seem put-off. “Do you think that of most men, then, that they exaggerate their virtue?”
“In a particular way, men. Women do the same, but in a different landscape, on the whole. Who can be most perfect in whatever way is fashionable or desired?” Bess shrugged. “Men, at least the ones I’ve heard talking, it’s more physical prowess. In bed, in bohort, in whatever other activity they take up.”
“In war.” That comment brought Hereswith back to the original topic. “The Council don’t wage wars. That’s not the realm of their power. The British Ministry certainly doesn’t seem to consult them formally. All of what we’re doing is funnelling that— the Council’s desires, the reality of what’s on offer, and so on— through to our contacts there. Who act or not, as they see fit.”
“And you think there’s some larger problem there?” Bess frowned. “And also, why were you terrified?”
Hereswith took a breath. “The rot, first. You read the papers. Same as I do, or perhaps even more. A war brings opportunity for that sort of rot. Profits made on food that’s bought for the troops and never arrives. Perhaps they claim it got lost or spoiled or whatever, and in reality it’s been sold on for coin. Or materials that don’t last, you saw the piece about shoddy tools yesterday?”
“I did, yes.” Bess had found that disturbing, on a fundamental level. It was Horse House’s weakness, perhaps, to expect that the tools of one’s trade should be reliable.
“But there are other sorts of problems. Generals getting assigned whose skills are perhaps not up to the task. Or not suited to that kind of task. I don’t know enough about being a general to have a fully informed opinion. Generals are what happens when the diplomacy fails, after all.”
Bess snorted, but then passed the chocolate cup back to Hereswith reassuringly. “What else?”
“War is also— oh, this is just right, thank you— a wonderful place to hide incompetence in many ways. Many of them are ordinary, but you put them all in the middle of a crisis, and they cascade. And then there’s war as a way to soak up surplus.”
“Surplus?” It was not a way Bess had heard things put before.
Hereswith stared at the chocolate, took another sip, and then said, “Young men with an urge to fight can cause trouble at home. Right now, there has been an ongoing rumble of trouble in China and with China. I’ve thought we’re due for more, but it depends on the Chinese and whether they become more ardent about opium again.”
“It’s illegal there. Surely that’s consistent?” It was not a topic Bess had paid particularly close attention to, other than some of the medicinal uses of the poppy.
“Ah, but how much they act on the illegality changes. It’s gone back and forth. Sometimes, since, oh, 1800, there have been periods where there’s a system of bribes and accustomed levers. It’s not legal in China, the government doesn’t want it, but the merchants are glad to buy and sell it. And then at times, like the Opium War, starting in 1839, that shut down a number of the merchants. A change in policy, a change in enforcement on the Chinese side, with teeth behind it. Then things eased off, and the merchants pushed in again. It looks a little right now as if things might become more agitated once more, but most of our attention is on Crimea at the moment.”
Bess wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. “And the surplus?”
“It certainly gives young men who want to make their name or be brave or take risks for a hopeful reward somewhere to go. That means they make less trouble here at home. On the other hand, if what they find is death, permanent injury, all that, then everyone loses in the longer-term. War is a short-sighted gain, on the whole.” Hereswith took a last long sip from her cup and set it on the small table with the pitcher. “And the terror? You asked about the terror.”
“I did.” Bess set her own cup down so she wouldn’t spill it.
