The Mechanical Crown

Late warning signs

As he watched and listened, Roldan tried to picture the king he remembered: the one he had reported to, taken orders from and fought for all his life. The king who knew Roldan by name and always asked about his journeys out to the mountains. The shouting figure on the plinth was a shadow of the man, hollowed out to leave only an ugly shell.

Tranton's words rang in Roldan's mind.

"We must all do out part," the king proclaimed, "which is why I am grateful to all of you, men and women, for joining our glorious crusade. These are hard times, but together we will restore Lagonia to how it used to be. And to make Lagonia the envy of the world again, we must all be alert. If you hear something that you know is wrong, report it. If you see someone who you suspect to be an outsider, don't leave it to chance: report it. Together, working as a united people, we will be unstoppable."

A commotion near where Roldan was positioned caught his eye: a cluster of perhaps five people dragging someone from the crowd. Roldan moved closer, walking along the rear line of the packed onlookers, maintaining his low profile. A man was thrown to the ground who then scrambled backwards, objecting to his treatment.

"Where are you from?" shouted a woman in the larger group. "You a northerner?"

The man tried to stand but was pushed back to the ground. "I've lived in Treydolain my whole life," he protested.

"Don't get hair like that around here," someone else in the group said.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," the fallen man said, prompting one of the group to kick him in the ribs, hard.

Roldan moved in, grabbing the man who had landed the kick and lifting him bodily off his feet. He discarded him onto the ground behind him, then turned to the remaining group, making sure that they could see his official insignia and armoured pieces. "Leave, now," he ordered. As the gang dispersed, he extended a hand to the fallen man and helped him to his feet. "Get out of here," Roldan said, "stay indoors."

The man brushed himself down and looked disgusted. "I live here!"

"Be wise," Roldan growled, not in the mood for a discussion. The other man stared insolently for a moment, then spun and stormed away.

"What was that about?" said a voice at his shoulder. It was Elia Shinn, another King's Guard, still relatively junior and only recently out of her training. She had chosen a strange time in which to enter the king's service.

"Just a rowdy crowd," Roldan grunted.

Elia stood next to him, arms crossed. "You hear about what happened out on the estates?"

Feeling his chest tightening in anticipation of yet more bad news, Roldan turned to her with an inquisitive shrug.

"The king requisitioned all of the noble houses. All their property, machines, accounts. Necessary for the war effort."

"How did he get approval for that?"

"I don't think he asked their permission."

"Who did it?"

Elia sighed. "Some of us. Mostly city guard. We had our orders. You weren't here. Fenris Silt wasn't here."

"And the families?"

"They were allowed to stay on their estates," Elia said. "Though I'm not sure how long that's going to last. Maybe they'll turn them into a training ground, like they're doing with the slums." She laughed momentarily, then stifled it. "The city guard can barely keep up with the number of suspects and sympathisers being arrested. They're all being sent down to the prison. I don't know how it has enough room."

As he stood in a foreign land, an outsider in his own city, Roldan tried to pinpoint the moment when it had all gone wrong. Tranton's disappearance, perhaps - or his arrival, falling from the glacier. That didn't explain it, though. Seldon had exposed something, inadvertently, by blundering into their hidden valley, but a sickness had always been there. It was as if someone had lifted a veil from his eyes and shown him the world as it truly was, leaving Roldan adrift. His honour had been his anchor; it had kept him tethered to the crown, and to Lagonia. He had looked to the likes of Fenris Silt to hold him true to his course and had never felt compromised, even when asked to do difficult tasks.

He had always thought his loyalty to be unwavering and unending, without compromise. Perhaps that was still true, if he could find and restore the valley he remembered. Yet he was only one man, servant of an organisation with dwindling influence, in a city that was slowly consuming itself.

"Elia," he said, "you were here when the Black Scree went down. I want you to tell me what happened: tell me everything. Leave out no detail."