“The records of who owes what have been destroyed,” Althorn said. There was a hint of glee in his voice. “We will all start with a clean slate.”
“And then act all surprised when no one loans you any money,” Prince Hedrick snapped. “Or do you think you can just take what you want?”
“Why not?” Althorn smirked. “You did.”
Prince Hedrick clenched his fists. Emily shot him a sharp look. There was no time for debate, not now. The destruction of the records would tear holes in the kingdom’s finances... she wondered, absently, if it would matter. There’d be no way to sort out who owed what... but there would also be no way to clarify who owned what. She looked at the houses along the embankment and scowled. Half of them appeared to have been torn open, looted and then handed over to whoever wanted them. And who knew what would happen when the original owners demanded them back?
She listened, quietly, as Prince Hedrick kept up a running commentary of destroyed or damaged buildings. Some had belonged to countryside families, who normally lived outside the city; some belonged to cityfolk, who’d either fled the city or been caught by the mob. She had very little sympathy for aristocrats who abused their people, but the aristocrats had had children... she doubted, somehow, that the younger aristocrats had been spared. There were enough stories about lost heirs to thrones and lands being hidden away until they grew to manhood to encourage the mob to kill them all. She shuddered. She’d seen it before, in Zangaria and Pendle Town, but it was worse here.
A stench of rotting fish touched her nostrils as the wind changed. She looked into the river and scowled. She’d been told the river was threatening to run dry, but she hadn’t realized just how bad it had become. The river had once been big enough to allow sailors to navigate their way up to the city and beyond. Now, the water was so low she doubted anything bigger than a rowboat could make its way along the river without hitting the rocks. She could see the shore past the embankment, mud and rocks that were normally covered by water. The docks along the riverside looked like sick jokes. There was no sign of any boats.
“The king refused to do anything about the river,” Althorn said, quietly. “Just as he refused to tackle all of the other problems.”
“And what was he meant to do about it?” Prince Hedrick laughed. “Piss in the river until it burst its banks?”
Althorn grinned, but said nothing. Emily wondered what he was thinking. She didn’t know what, if anything, the king could have done about the drought. He could have tried to meddle with the weather, she supposed, but such magics were dangerously unpredictable. The rain might not come or it might fall in torrents, as it had near Laughter. It was quite possible the rain would do as much damage, perhaps more, as the drought.
The fields are drying out, she reminded herself. If the authorities had dug for wells, which was possible, their efforts had clearly failed. The king might not have had a choice but to try.
“Turn up the street here,” Althorn said. “We’ve reserved a house for you.”
Prince Hedrick made an angry sound. “These houses belong to the royal advisors!”
“And now they belong to the People,” Althorn said, mildly. He looked at Emily, pointedly ignoring Hedrick. “You should see some of the stuff we pulled out of them, before their new owners took possession. The servants were very helpful. Some of them even knifed their masters before they could run.”
Emily wasn’t surprised. Servants were frequently abused. Beaten, raped, fired on the slightest pretense... she wasn’t remotely surprised so many servants had turned on their masters. The resentment would have been building for years. It was easy to start wondering why one had to be a servant, working from dawn ‘til dusk, when someone else lived a life of luxury. The servants were caught in a trap, unable to leave without risking their chances of future employment elsewhere... unable even to talk back. She understood perfectly. If she’d been a servant, practically a slave, she would have yearned for the chance to fight back, too.
“They were treated well,” Prince Hedrick insisted. “They were...”
“No,” Althorn said. “They were treated like dirt.”
He leaned forward. “This house here, please,” he said. “It used to belong to Councilor Triune. The slippery bastard managed to get away, somehow.”
“He’ll want it back,” Hedrick snapped. “And he’ll get it back, too.”
Emily looked up and down the street. It was almost deserted. Wards hung in the air, a stifling cobweb that pressed against her magic. She could tear through them, she was sure, but not without being detected. Someone really wanted to keep prying eyes out of their homes. And yet... she wondered, suddenly, why there were so few people on the streets here. It wasn’t as if there were any barricades. They hadn’t passed any checkpoints since they’d entered the city themselves.
“There are no servants,” Althorn said. “Councilor Triune had a small army of maids under his roof. None of them wanted to stay.”
“Traitors,” Hedrick said.
Emily ignored them as she turned to look at the house. It was grander than she’d expected, easily twice the size of her home in Dragon’s Den. The walls were made of solid stone, marred by a nasty-looking scar above the main entrance. She guessed a coat of arms had hung there, before the revolution. Rebels generally tore down all signs of their former oppressors, even though they often had more practical concerns. She hadn’t seen any statues, as they’d made their way through the city. They’d probably been torn down as well.
“I trust this will be suitable?” Althorn sounded amused, as if he didn’t care about the answer. “I’m afraid we cannot offer servants.”
“It will be suitable,” Emily said, firmly. She didn’t intend to live in the house
