Chapter 14: Bittersweet Victory

*****

From his spot in the open, gilded hallway of the Javan imperial palace, Admiral Percival Bancroft fumed silently. He didn't start his morning off this way, and he remembered walking with his cane to the palace in a mildly positive mood. It was just that spending enough time in the decadence of the palace always seemed to turn his mood from jovial to foul faster than he cared to admit.

The subject of his latest frustration was the painter not far from his temporary desk. Between writing out orders and interacting with the other officers in the grand room, the admiral took frequent glances at the painting taking shape in front of him. A lover of classical beauty, elaborate scenes of nature, and splendid displays of humanity in all its glory, this painting was bound to be a letdown. It was becoming a mass of jarring blobs of color, lacking in intricacy, beauty, or any kind of formula that might make it a work to be appreciated. Bancroft hated this new type of art, absent of everything that made the classical era great.

He supposed he shouldn't have expected much from the artist, if you could call him that. An effeminate-looking man wearing clothing way too tight for his liking, Bancroft should have guessed that something so decadent would have come from such an individual. He had just hoped that for one time, he might be surprised at the outcome.

The admiral sighed heavily. He was never surprised anymore.

Especially not here of all places. Ever since the crown prince had made good on his word to move them into the palace, Bancroft had known no solitude or peace. With the Admiralty building still in a state of total destruction, they needed a new workplace and to find one quickly to get back to the war effort. With the size of the imperial palace, and the large quantity of rooms that were unused, it was suggested that they make do with that space until the Admiralty could be rebuilt.

The current room they were in was a large receiving hall that hadn't seen use since Charles IX was coronated over twenty years ago. Bancroft had heard from the palace servants that enough dust had been removed to fill another small palace, something he didn't doubt with the state of disuse of most of the furniture in the room. Even the chair he sat on currently was ripped in the upholstery, a reminder of better days. In all honesty, it drew a parallel with the current state of the empire.

What was worse about the hallway was the lack of privacy. Used to having his own distinct space, Bancroft was now out in the open, watching the various naval officers move about their tasks, receiving and giving dispatches, and conducting meetings within sight and sound of all the others. It was a distracting way to work, meaning that no matter what was discussed, you had to be comfortable with all the other officers listening in.

For his line of work, sometimes a healthy degree of secrecy was necessary for operations to flow more smoothly. That line of thinking counted doubly when Bancroft was doing his behind the scenes scheming, another frequent (but silent) lament of his now that he no longer sat in a private office.

He knew the main reason for being placed in this open air prison. Crown Prince George's main chambers were not but fifty yards from his current spot. Almost every other hour, he saw the corpulent prince on his way either coming or going throughout the palace. Bancroft had been put in this spot so that George could keep an eye on him—he had no doubt about that. His subtle insinuations back in the hospital had shown that Bancroft's schemes hadn't gone unnoticed. If there was any place that he could have been situated so that eyes were on him the entire time, the imperial palace was the best spot.

Bancroft resisted the urge to grind his teeth. The fat prince thought he had him in his grasp. It wasn't hard to tell by the smug smile he wore every time he passed Bancroft's direction. George thought he had his goose, and he believed he could cook him at any time. Bancroft longed for the day when he could show him that this goose still had claws. And he would make the first example out of the father/son duo that were leading this country straight into hell.

Finding his mouth dry, Bancroft got up from his desk and took a brief stroll to grab some more water. There had been a makeshift kitchen set up on one side of the hallway, the part of it that butted up against a private theater set up for George. Once he was closer to the kitchen, he could tell there was some kind of performance going on in the theater itself. The sound of jarring, uncoordinated music could be faintly heard.

Probably another one of those disgusting plays, he thought to himself.

George loved plays. Of course, he didn't love the truly theatrical ones, those liable to win awards with casts that were truly talented. No, George had an eye for those that were more detestable in nature. Plays that had an erotic element to them. Little better than porn they were, filthy and obscene to those with more sensible minds.

Sure enough, Bancroft drifted over to the entrance to the theater, seeing George in the front row of a scene playing out just in front of him. The actors on the stage were completely nude or just about, most of them writhing together in a giant mass of degeneracy in the middle of the stage. Bancroft squinted his eyes to see what they were doing, not surprised to find it appeared to be a giant orgy playing out in front of him.

The main attraction taking center stage were two men and one woman, lined up in such a way that every protrusion had a hole to sink it in. Bancroft flinched at seeing one of the men in the middle, a most unnatural scene to his more modest sensibilities. Yet, a quick glance at George showed his eyes were holding rapt attention to the play, watching with peak curiosity as it unfolded in front of him.

Bancroft had seen enough. Closing the door with a slam, he walked back to his desk, shaking his head at the perversion. It made a mockery of the empire and everything it stood for. The imperial reach of Java was supposed to stand for decency, strong morals, and the classical ideas of reason and faith. What he had just witnessed was a complete rejection of such decency by the ruling class of the empire. If the emperor and his heir were to be so degenerate, what chance did the rest of the country have? Especially now as a war for their literal lives raged all around them.

It didn't make any sense to him. The leader of any country should lead by example in his mind. He should be the first to follow the laws and customs that had brought such glory to their country, not revel in the mud like the rest of the pigs. Yet Charles and his progeny were far cries from the emperors of old. Bancroft was reminded of it often, and every day, he thought about giving Java new leadership. Leadership that deserved the mantle of emperor. Leadership that couldn't be compromised with loose ideals or feeble minds.

One day. One day, I will show them all.

Bancroft arrived back at his desk to find Admiral Clark waiting for him with a fresh dispatch. If Clark minded the current working conditions, he didn't show it. His face was just as pragmatic and affable as always.

"How's the arm today, sir?" asked Clark while gesturing to Bancroft's sling.

"The same as yesterday but itchier, if that could be possible." Bancroft used his good arm to scratch around the cast of his broken arm. The cast had long since become a nuisance, and he had a persistence itch that occurred just an inch below where his fingers could reach. It was a pest he couldn't quite get rid of, similar in that matter to the royals.

"What do we have now, Clark?" asked Bancroft as he sat in his chair. "Who's requesting more ships today?"

Clark cracked a brief smile before handing the dispatch over. "It appears Commander Easterbrook is needing some reinforcements. I'll let you read the entire thing."

Bancroft motioned with his hands and took the message to give it a once-over.

ATTN: FLEET ADMIRAL BANCROFT

HOPE THIS MESSAGE FINDS YOU WELL. WE NEED MORE SHIPS AND MARINES AS SOON AS YOU CAN SPARE THEM. THE SITUATION IN ANDALUCIA IS GETTING DESPERATE AND WE HAVE NUMEROUS CASUALTIES. I UNDERSTAND THERE IS A JAVAN TASK FORCE AT QUILLER'S COVE. CAN YOU SPARE SHIPS TO SEND TO ME?

COMMANDER JACK EASTERBROOK

COMMANDER, TASK FORCE 21

Bancroft read it several more times before setting it down on his desk. "It seems Jack may have gotten himself into a pickle if I'm reading this right."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," said Clark with a shrug. "Although I can say I don't have the faintest idea where Andalucia is."

"It is northeast of Sorella," said Bancroft before he started to chuckle. "Wherever Sorella is as well."

"Perhaps on our next message out to Easterbrook, we should tell him to send back a map."

Bancroft smirked. "At least he's making progress. Which is more than I can say about the majority of our commanders. Hell, even most of our admirals."

"Do we even have forces that we could spare for him?" asked Clark. "The last I heard, we were concentrating men and ships at Quiller's Cove to combat the Occitanians."

"You're right, Clark, but that front has been quiet for some weeks now. And I'm getting different reports on what's actually happening out there."

Clark crinkled his brow. "Different reports? From who? Surely you don't mean that old fool Lucas, do you?"

Bancroft smiled. "Old fool, well said. But you are correct. The old fool tells me one thing, but Admiral Reynolds tells me another."

"Isn't Reynolds the more reliable source?" asked Clark. "I know that man well. We joined the academy around the same time. I've always found him to be an able officer, one that will always do his duty."

"True," said Bancroft with a nod. "However, he can be a very cautious man."

"Reckless men don't often ascend the ranks," said Clark quietly.

"That I don't doubt as well, Clark. But in the current environment, we can't afford to let our ships linger in the same position if there's no danger. I have too many of them bottled up at Aberdeen and not enough coming off the production lines. And it seems like Jack has a real need for it."

"Yet we can hardly afford to sacrifice Quiller's Cove," said Clark. "If we lose that base, surely Easterbrook's mission would have to be recalled anyway? We can't slight one hand to keep the other."

"But if it's not being targeted right now, I can't leave a good portion of my ships there either," said Bancroft. "It can still be protected, just a smaller force will have to do."

Clark pursed his lips. "So what exactly did Lucas say? When did you last hear from him?"

Bancroft pulled out the top drawer of his desk where he kept the most important dispatches. He had to cycle through about five of them before he came to Lucas' most recent message. "I heard from him about three days ago. Here's what he sent," said the admiral, before handing it over to Clark.

ATTN: FLEET ADMIRAL BANCROFT

THREAT TO QUILLER'S COVE HAS BEEN NEUTRALIZED. NO FURTHER NEED FOR FULL MIGHT OF TASK FORCE 49, ESPECIALLY IF SHIPS ARE NEEDED ELSEWHERE.

COMMODORE STANHOPE LUCAS

COMMANDER, QUILLER'S COVE NAVAL STATION

Clark read through the message before looking up at Bancroft. "Very peculiar," he remarked quietly. "Why would Lucas give a different report than Reynolds?"

"Why not, Clark? Reynolds has at his command the largest task force outside of Java. If what Lucas says is true, then there's no reason for it to be there anymore and it'll dissolve," said Bancroft. "Naturally, Reynolds wants to keep all those ships under his command."

"I'm not sure I trust the word of a commodore over an admiral," said Clark with a hearty chuckle. "Especially given Lucas' reputation."

"I don't disagree with you on that," said Bancroft as he shut the top drawer once more. "God knows every opportunity I've had to pinch Lucas over the years I've taken. The man is a disgrace to the navy, but even a stopped clock is right twice a day."

"I don't think you've just suddenly decided that Lucas isn't full of shit," said Clark with a raised eyebrow. "This has to do with Easterbrook, doesn't it? The fact that he has a need, and Reynolds has the ships."

"Of course it does, Clark, and you know that. Easterbrook is our ace in the hole. As long as that man lives and continues to reflect well on me, I'll support him as much as I need to," said Bancroft, reclining back in his chair. "So here's the deal. For once, we're going to go with the word of Stanhope Lucas over that over another officer."

"Once and only, I hope," muttered Clark.

Bancroft shot him a look that quickly quieted him. "What's the current state of Task Force 49?"

"Hold on just a minute," said Clark as he pushed up from his chair and ran back to his desk. He sorted through several folders before he came to the one he was looking for, and then made a quick dash back to Bancroft.

"Task Force 49 has four cruisers in it currently. Three heavy cruisers—Stardust, Horton, and the Paucis. There's also the light cruiser Valiant, commanded by our newly promoted Commander Luke Ravencross."

"Who previously served under Jack's command," interrupted Bancroft. "Go on."

"There are also seven destroyers there as well. Most of them a modern design and quite capable," said Clark.

"Let's do this," said Bancroft after thinking the move over for a moment. "We'll send Jack the Stardust, Horton, and the Valiant. That should be enough firepower for him."

"Three cruisers?" asked Clark incredulously. "What has he done to earn that much firepower? And he still commands the Destiny as well?"

Bancroft nodded subtly. "Jack's last few messages reference another power in the Vector. Another country called Swabia who has been hostile toward him. By his account, their ships are nearly as advanced as his and making trouble in the nations we've invested in. The extra firepower will be needed."

"That we know of," scoffed Clark. "How do we know Easterbrook isn't making this up? That he's not exaggerating the odds against him? If that's the case, he'll be no worse off than Reynolds. And there's no one else there to report on the conditions so we have to trust the man."

"For now, Clark," said Bancroft with a chuckle. "We'll ask our other commanders when we get there for a report. If it turns out that Jack has exaggerated, then we'll send the ships to another place where they're needed."

"I still don't like this plan very much," mumbled Clark. "We're sending our ships in blind off of one man's reports. It doesn't inspire a lot of confidence, Admiral."

Bancroft leveled a serious gaze at him. "Good for you that you don't make the decisions then. This is my decision, Clark. Not yours. I won't have my orders questioned."

Clark's expression changed rapidly. "That's not what I'm saying, sir. I didn't mean to question you."

"Good. Now, that deals with the issue of ships. Now, let's talk about men. What forces do we have in Quiller's Cove?"

Clark gave him a confused look. "Sir?"

"Marines, I mean. What do we have available to send to him?"

"We already have reinforcements going out for his battalion that he already has," said Clark as he flipped through another set of folders. "I have one hundred men that are waiting to embark on the next ship out of Quiller's Cove."

"Jack's last message details a land war in this country he's in. This Andalucia. What other forces do we have at Quiller's?"

"We have two regiments at Quiller's currently. The 24th and 57th are garrisoned on the island. The 57th has only just arrived."

"Good, so they won't miss it much," said Bancroft. "Send the reinforcements already planned as well as the 57th Regiment. That should be enough of a force for him for the time being."

"An entire regiment?" said Clark loudly, earning the looks of several of the nearby officers. Damn this open hallway, thought Bancroft. "That will give him six battalions. Does he need that much of a force?"

"What did I just tell you about making decisions, Clark?" Bancroft gave him a displeased look. Clark knew better than to question his orders.

To his credit, Clark swallowed heavily before he nodded. "I'll do what you say, sir."

"You need to do a better job trusting my intuition on this, Clark. Have I ever steered you wrong before?"

"No, sir."

Bancroft managed a smile. "Good. Go ahead and carry out these orders quickly. I want a dispatch out to Quiller's Cove within the hour. I don't doubt that Lucas should be pleasantly shocked. Too bad I won't be there to witness him shitting himself."

"Should I get a message out to Easterbrook as well?" asked Clark. "To tell him about the reinforcements?"

Bancroft thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. "No. Not right now. Let it be a good surprise for him. Or have Reynolds do it."

Clark gave him a funny look before standing up and offering a crisp salute. A moment later, he was back at his desk, writing out the orders. This would do nicely. This would shuttle forces that were currently useless to someone who could make use of them. It would also get Jack off his back for the time being. Perhaps a good show of force would help him finally win over whatever war he was finding in this Andalucia.

Bancroft heard the sounds of loud speaking from back behind him. Turning his chair, he watched as the performers from the theater suddenly exited, spilling into the hall behind him. Bancroft's lip curled up in disgust as he watched the half-dressed imbeciles gloat about their performance, all the while having adoration heaped on them from the bovine-jowled form of George. His Corpulence took every measure to speak with the actors, offering a disingenuous smile and frequent touching of those who had just been rutting in front of him.

It made Bancroft sick to his stomach to watch. He turned around quickly, trying to bury himself back into his work. Much to his dismay, the steady sound of heavy footsteps grew louder against the marbled floor, only stopping mere feet from where he sat. Bancroft hated to look up, hoping that if he just didn't acknowledge the man, he would go away. It wasn't so easy to get away from the crown prince however.

"Well, Admiral, I trust you're having a splendid day?"

Bancroft resisted the urge to snarl. Instead, he slowly turned his head until his gaze locked on the corpulent prince. The man watched him with a combination of sneer and amusement, always a combination that made his blood boil.

"It's going, Your Highness," said Bancroft dryly. "Just trying to win this war."

"Bah, war," said George with a laugh. "Sometimes I forget there's one going on!"

"Some of us don't have the luxury of a poor memory," replied Bancroft.

The smile left George's face for a moment, only to be replaced by a look of curiosity seconds later. "Say, Bancroft, didn't I see you at the door to the theater just a little bit ago? I must ask why you didn't feel the need to stay and enjoy the performance? I found it quite . . . invigorating." The crown prince leered at him before making a grab at his own crotch.

"It's not my type of theater," said Bancroft. "I much prefer more classical fares. At least plays where the actors are fully dressed."

George let out a low whistle. "You don't know what you're missing. The beauty of the human form is displayed at these plays. There's nothing more raw or exciting than seeing the human body at its most primal. Their lust-filled passion drives them, Bancroft. You should really give them another chance."

"I'll pass on that, Your Highness," said Bancroft politely. "Agree to disagree, no?"

George raised his chin. "If you say." The crown prince then laughed and slapped him on the back, a move that greatly annoyed the admiral. "I'm so glad to have you so close to us in the palace, Bancroft. I never saw you when you were locked away in the Admiralty. Now you are so close to me that I get to see you every day. How delightful it is to see you working!"

Bancroft managed a polite smile, knowing the true meaning behind George's words. The crown prince enjoyed having him so close so that he could keep an eye on him. He enjoyed rubbing his decadence in Bancroft's face, reminding him of his power over him. It was almost as exciting for him as the little performance he'd just witnessed.

George didn't wait for Bancroft's response, only clapping the man on the back with a chuckle before waltzing back down the palace hallway toward his own quarters. Bancroft watched him leave. How much he would love to see a knife slip between that man's ribs. That would be one form of thrusting that the admiral would enjoy. The only way it would be better was if he could do the emperor right after. That way he could kill the old man only after he knew his son and heir was already dead.

"Did he want anything in particular this time around?"

Bancroft turned to find Clark back at his desk. The deputy nodded off toward the crown prince's direction, already with mild curiosity in his eyes.

"Only the usual," muttered Bancroft. "To lord over me with his level of power. He seems quite content to play the jailer to my detainee. Don't let all the marble and gold go to your head, Clark. For this is indeed a prison here."

Clark moved a little closer and lowered his voice. "I hope you're not planning on scheming again. The stakes are too high."

"In here they are," whispered Bancroft. "Outside the palace?" He shrugged.

"It's words like that which will get you hanged," whispered Clark. "And me with you."

"Stop worrying. No one is going to be hanged, least of all the two of us," said the admiral. "I'll play along with George's rules for the time being. I can control my temper."

Clark gave him an arched look, one that was heavy with doubt.

"You don't believe me?" Bancroft asked with a sneer. "I waited years to take the Admiralty, and now I hold it entirely within my grasp. The entire navy answers to me, Clark. I won't let some limp-wristed fool with a taste for pornography lord over me for very long. George and his father will hear me roar when the time is right. I can promise you that."

*****

Somehow, the only visible ray of light in the entire room had made its way directly to Jack's face, almost blinding him once he cracked his eyelid. Shielding his face from the light, he shifted his weight on the bed, taking the moment to move away from the subtle announcement of dawn. In doing so, he brushed up against Kat's body, causing her to stir.

"So early still," she muttered against him as her limbs stretched out above her head.

Jack smiled and leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder. "Unfortunately, the day is going to start whether we want it to or not."

Kat let out a disappointed sigh. "Can you at least ask it for five more minutes before it begins?"

He shook his head and kissed her body again, this one right behind her shoulder blade. "Nope, but I can make that five minutes more relaxing than usual."

She giggled and shifted, turning to face him. Her sleepy, sky-blue eyes soon settled on him as she pushed in closer. "I bet you have a number of ideas how to do that, don't you?"

"With you, a whole host of them come to mind. Would you like to hear?"

Kat brought her finger to her chin as she playfully considered his idea. After several moments, she shook her head. "Not yet at least. We have a busy morning today, don't we?"

Jack scowled. "I was hoping to forget about that temporarily."

"Just because you might be able to forget doesn't mean this country is going to miss the opportunity of seeing their new king coronated." Kat leaned in to kiss him sweetly.

He pushed into the kiss eagerly, causing Kat to lean back on the bed. He straddled her body and resumed the kiss, this time earning a lot more passion from her as her arms circled around his neck. Her tongue was the first to slip into his mouth, greeting his own in a tender display of desire before she pulled away. "Try as you might, Your Majesty, I think you'll find that you can't coax me into any naughtiness so easily. Even if you do have me in your royal chambers."

She then locked her legs around him and tried to roll, so that now it was Jack who was on his back. She gave him one more chaste kiss before sliding out of bed, stretching out fully once her feet were planted on the floor. Jack watched her move, taking in the small amount of clothes she had on with noticeable desire. She wore a white tank top and a tiny pair of gray shorts to bed, clothing that was usually far removed from the heavily-covered forest-green outfit she usually wore. Not that he was complaining, although in his opinion, she was still far too dressed for his bed.

That thought must have been easily readable on his face because Kat looked down at him to giggle a moment later. "I'm not trying to tease you, I promise. I know you have a busy morning set up, but perhaps afterwards we can have our time for fun?"

"I'm going to hold you to that," he said with an arched eyebrow as he pushed his way out of bed. Kat soon slipped into his arms and pressed a deep kiss against his lips.

"I never forget a promise," she whispered as soon as the kiss broke. "But for now, I must get dressed." With a sly wink, she slipped out of his chambers while giving him a look that brought some serious heat to his loins.

This would be the fourth day he'd spent with Kat since rescuing her from the slave pens of the former king, Vertulis. And they wasted no time making up for the long absence apart. The very first night, after spending nearly the entire evening catching up, Kat surprised him by slipping into his sleeping bag, her only request that he hold her tightly until morning. He fulfilled that promise and the one of the next night, after they had finally arrived in Septhada and took up residence in the royal palace.

The next two nights had been more heated, with intense kissing and rubbing but no farther than that. Kat was still a virgin after all, and for the time being, she was content to move at her own pace. He didn't mind one bit, only happy that he was able to have his reunion with her in the first place. There were too many times in the previous month where he wondered if he'd ever see her again. Just having Kat in his arms was enough for now, and he would move at the pace she decided to set.

Jack moved from the bed to the large, ornate wardrobe to begin getting dressed. It was still a lot to take in, being in the chambers of the king. The private quarters of the Andalucian king were a gilded affair to say the least. Just about everything that he could see had some form of gold inlaid in some way. Strips of gold interlaced around the corners of the wardrobe, coming together in intricate designs at the edges. The tile below him was lined with gold on the sides, with the other colors being many shades of blue. Even his bed had golden sheets, a luxury Jack was sure had to have come far from Andalucia.

It all took some getting used to, especially as he passed over several colorful robes and pieces to put on his main Javan naval uniform, still not feeling comfortable at being called king. What man would be after so suddenly being thrust into this role almost overnight? Jack was still having trouble not correcting people when they greeted him with "Your Majesty." And now the entire country looked to him for leadership. It would take some time before he could acknowledge that level of power in a largely foreign country.

There was suddenly an insistent knocking at his door. Before Jack could cross the length of the room to open it, a small, beady-eyed man entered, whom he quickly recognized as one of Vertulis' viziers, Bazu.

"Good morning, Your Majesty. I trust you slept well last night?" Bazu bowed with a deep flourish, placing his head against the golden tile before arising once more.

"Hello, Bazu. I slept well, thank you. And you?" Jack still had no idea how royalty treated their servants, a notion that became quickly apparent by the look of shock on Bazu's face.

"I'm q-quite well, Your Majesty," said a shocked Bazu. "Thank you! No one ever asks how I'm doing."

Jack shot him a funny look. "That seems quite unusual for someone who held the position of vizier here, don't you think?"

Bazu let out an amused chuckle. "Your predecessor wasn't one for normal pleasantries. Or much of anything for that matter. He was much more reserved."

"I'm afraid I didn't know much about him to be truthful. Out of two times I met him, the last time was when I killed him," said Jack with a shrug.

"Such is common for most Andalucian kings, Your Majesty," said Bazu before giving a frightened shake. "Remind me to tell you the story someday of how Vertulis took the throne."

Jack grinned. "Will do." He liked Bazu, but he got the impression that the vizier had been severely mistreated by the former sovereign. So far, he found him a generally pleasant individual for a courtier, although his insecurities seemed to ring truest when he'd been rebuked. It was one of many things he'd have to help the man get over.

"Sire, you're not planning to go out in that, are you?" asked Bazu, giving him a distasteful once-over.

Jack looked down at himself. "What's wrong with my uniform?"

"Sire, I'm not sure what country you came from before, but if you're going to be the King of Andalucia, you need to look the part. Hold on a minute," said Bazu before going diving into his wardrobe. "I know just the thing to make this work."

It was for that reason that fifteen minutes later, Jack entered the main receiving hall of the Andalucian King dressed in the soft, silk garments he'd just so recently been chastising in his mind. His footing was unsure, believing that anyone who saw him in such attire would no doubt find it comical. That was demonstrated shortly before arriving at the throne when he ran into Greg, wearing his own uniform, as well as Kat, resplendent in her own forest green clothing.

"Well, would you look at that," said Greg with a contained laugh. "I never thought I'd see the day. You look all kinds of fancy, Your Majesty."

"If you have any more choice words, you should save them," growled Jack. "I already feel ridiculous wearing all this."

Kat beamed with a smile. "You look incredible. Like a true king. Even if it is King of Andalucia." She slipped into his arms and kissed him.

"I feel more like the court jester. But Bazu wouldn't let me leave the room without changing."

"You're aware that you're the king, right, Jack?" asked Greg with an arched eyebrow. "If you wanted to cook Bazu up and eat him, no one would say otherwise."

That was an interesting visual and it caused a laugh on Jack's part. "Bazu has been helpful so far. If he thinks it's better to go out dressed like a king and not a naval officer, then that's what we'll do. If I have to lead over these people, I can at least pretend to honor their customs."

"Spoken like a true king," said Kat with a healthy amount of adoration in her eyes.

Jack thumbed his hand in her direction. "At least she believes in me."

Greg chuckled. "Give me time. I'll get there. Hopefully."

The three of them proceeded into the throne room which was set up with one elongated hallway with seating on each side of a central corridor. At the end of the corridor was a raised dais, set three steps off the ground. On it was perched the throne of the king, another spectacularly golden affair no doubt coming from the mines of the country.

In the front seats were various officials and dignities, all those that made their home at Septhada as officials of the king, and there to witness the crowning of a new sovereign. That particular item was on its own podium just in front of the throne, a large crown with golden leaves on every side.

It was a surreal feeling for Jack. The last time he'd been in this room, he was being yelled at by Vertulis and told to leave the city. Now he was here to be crowned. Not unusual for Andalucian politics, he was sure, but he did find it ironic.

Bazu appeared behind him, softly clearing his throat to grab his attention. "Your Majesty, have you given any thought to who would crown you?"

"Crown me?" asked Jack. "Don't I just pick it up and put it on my head?"

Bazu stifled a laugh. "No, sire. Typically someone within your clan does the honors. Someone that's important to who you are or helped you get to where you are today. Some chiefs choose to have their women crown them or some their kin. What is your preference?"

Jack looked back at Greg and Kat, not surprised to find Greg's hands already up in front of him. "Not me please."

Jack chuckled. "I wasn't going to ask you anyway." He then turned to Kat. "Will you do me the honors?"

She beamed. "Of course. I daresay I don't have much practice crowning kings though."

"Good," he said with a laugh. "I don't have much practice being king. We'll be two peas in a pod."

The crowning ceremony started a moment later as the procession began, which involved Jack taking his seat on the throne, a wholly uncomfortable seat that was much too big for his body. He found the rest of the congregation staring at him as soon as he was seated, many of them seeing him for the first time while the others were still determining what to make of their new foreign king.

Bazu led the procession afterwards, invoking the Andalucian gods of old, timeless customs, and an exhaustively-long list of all the kings who had come before him. By the time that Jack had started to squirm on the throne, it was time for him to be crowned.

"Your Majesty, Jack Easterbrook of Andalucia, come forth and seek your crown," boomed Bazu in a confident voice.

Jack sprung to his feet and approached the podium, looking down at the crown of the king. In the corner of his eye, he could see Kat quickly approaching him, stopping by his side as her fingers wrapped around the golden crown.

"Can you bend down a little?" she whispered cutely, her arms not quite long enough to place the crown on his head.

He stifled a chuckle as he bent his knees, enabling her to stick the crown directly on his head. Almost as soon as the crown was in place, the entire congregation belted out in one voice, "Long live the king!"

What followed next was quite the display. One by one, every single servant in the palace came before Jack and descended to their knees, offering prayers for his good fortune. All of them moved to a prostrate position in front of him, and even a few pressed their lips to his feet, a feeling that never became comfortable or familiar. The only thing that Jack could think during the entire ceremony was that all of these people now looked to him for leadership. He still had a mission of his own to manage. Could he be an officer and a king at the same time?

Once the crown was firmly in place, there came time for Jack to meet an assembled group of clan chiefs. Not all the clan chiefs in Andalucia were present, only those with territories close enough to Septhada that they could make it on short notice to attend the coronation. For that matter, only three chiefs kneeled before him to offer prayers, and Jack wasted no time in finding out who they were.

"Your Majesty, a prayer for your good fortune," said the first man, a fierce-looking warrior clothed entirely in black. "You can call me Bardo. I'm the clan chief of the Uthmada clan."

"Well met, Bardo," said Jack, gesturing for him to rise. "Thank you for coming."

"And thank you for having me," said Bardo. "The previous king and I didn't always see eye-to-eye. I'm looking forward to your rule, Your Majesty. May it be blessed with peace."

Jack nodded his head, wondering what kind of disagreements the man may have had with Vertulis. He didn't have long to wonder before the next man, a greatly-aged chief dropped to his knees while taking Jack's hand in his.

"A thousand blessings be upon you, Your Majesty. I am called Ahsan. My clan is the Wethusa, and you won't find mightier warriors in all of Andalucia."

"Welcome, Ahsan," said Jack. "And I hope to not need such mighty warriors in the days to come. Although I can appreciate that they are on our side."

Ahsan looked pleased by that comment, bowing his head further and then releasing Jack's hand.

The last clan chief bowed shortly after that. Jack noticed the man appeared to be similar in age to him, with coarse, dark hair and deep brown eyes. He was noticeably missing his left arm, with only a crippled stump remaining at the base of his shoulder.

"You can call me Piosan, Your Majesty," boomed the clan chief with pride. "I have the honor of leading the oldest clan in Andalucia. The Markessa are my own, descended from the gods to inhabit the land before all other clans."

"That's a story you'll have to tell me at some point, Piosan," said Jack with a smile. "I'm unfamiliar with your gods, and I wouldn't mind hearing about the origins of your clan."

Piosan smiled briefly. "The honor would be all mine."

"I was hoping to meet more of the clan chiefs at this event," said Jack while gesturing to the rows of empty seats behind the three men. "But several of the clans are still making their way north. As well as others still further away."

"I'm sure with enough time, they'll make their way to pay homage to you, Your Majesty," said Piosan. "Especially if you are the Tur'hava."

"I hope so," muttered Jack, even as part of him still doubted this whole prophecy about him being this long foretold king suddenly come to change their society. He'd learned to stop questioning it, at least around the Andalucians. Almost all of them seemed to be convinced of who he was in relation to the prophecy that to question it in front of them only made them upset. For that reason, he kept his doubts largely to himself.

"Will you stay long in Septhada?" asked Jack, changing the subject. "Or will you be getting back to your clans?"

"We'll stay for another day or so before departing, Your Majesty," said Ahsan. "If you leave the clans for too long on their own, you usually return to find troublemakers."

Jack chuckled. "I feel the same way about my ships."

"If it's all right with you, sire, we'll take our leave now," said Bardo. "We're sure you have much to address as the new king. Following Vertulis is not an enviable position."

"Very well," said Jack with a nod, unsure of what to say to them now. How do you say goodbye to your vassals? "Please let me know when you do leave and . . . may the gods watch over you."

Despite how unwieldy it sounded in his mouth, the three chiefs nodded and soon left the room without any awkwardness. Once they were gone, Jack let out a low sigh and removed the crown from his head, moving back to his personal chambers. The ceremony had taken up the better part of the morning, and judging by the sun's position outside, it was nearing the lunch hour.

Thankfully, Bazu was seen right near his door while carrying a list of scrolls. He bowed deeply at the sight of Jack. "Sire, there you are. I have a small mountain of reports for you if you're able to go over them with me?"

Jack let out another sigh. "I really was hoping to get a bite to eat first. I'm famished, Bazu."

"Of course, Your Majesty. I'll have someone fetch you something from the kitchens at once."

"No need for that," said Jack while waving his hands. "Just come with me. I'm more than capable of grabbing my own food."

Bazu gave him an incredulous look. "Are you sure about that? We have all these servants here to take care of you, sire."

"I'm quite capable of walking myself. Come with me. You can fill me in on our way to the kitchens."

Bazu stuck out his bottom lip. "You're going to be quite a different king from your predecessor," he repeated.

Jack chuckled. "So I've heard. So fill me in. What do you have to report on?"

As Jack made his way to the kitchens, Bazu followed along in his shadow, carefully unfolding one scroll just to read the contents while juggling the others.

"As Your Majesty no doubt knows, the southern war of the clans is now over," started Bazu, reading from the first scroll. "At this very moment, I've gotten reports of just about all the clans moving back to their original territories after their concentration in the south."

"They were concentrated against me," said Jack. "The only clans that should be moving in this direction are the Numratha, Muthada, and the Burlada since they are under my personal command."

"It seems those clans make up the column that is heading in our direction, sire," said Bazu. "Although strangely enough, two other clans far to the north of here are moving in odd directions."

"Odd directions? Where are they going?"

Bazu pursed his lips. "From my report, it appears they are heading further north. Two clans in particular—the Gartala and Lapusa have started to move toward the coast."

"Any idea what they might be doing, Bazu? I wouldn't expect them to be moving because of the war still, right?"

"I'm not sure, sire, but we will keep our scouts on them for sure. It could just be that they are already going to war with each other, but I'll keep you informed. Otherwise, all other movements appear normal. Your clans should be here within the next three days."

"That's good to hear. It's been too long since I've seen several of my friends in that army," said Jack with a smile, remembering Abigail's and Vera's faces in particular.

They made their way into the kitchen, and Jack assembled a plate of food while Bazu continued to talk. "Sire, you are aware that now that you're high clan king, you'll have to relinquish your control of those clans, right? Kings don't personally control any clans."

Jack's eyes rolled up in thought. He hadn't considered that with everything that had changed in the last few days, but he remembered hearing that before. "That's something I have to discuss with each clan when they get here," he said. "Do I get to assign the leaders?"

"Some kings in the past were strong enough to assign leaders," said the vizier. "It will all depend on your prestige with the individual clans."

"I'll want to think on this some more then," said Jack. If he'd have to assign new leaders to each clan, he'd better start thinking about who had the right temperament to lead. It would do him no good if all the clans descended into the hands of the same kind of men that started this war.

"Of course, Your Majesty. In other news, Clan Chief Mahdi of the Purlovo clan has already sent a rider that he needs to discuss a border dispute with you. I'm sure you'll find that Mahdi will be a frequent petitioner of yours."

"That's fine, invite him to Septhada for that," said Jack. "Anything else?"

"Yes," said Bazu as he unrolled another scroll as they headed back to Jack's personal chambers. "I have this month's figures from the mines. Our total haul out for the last thirty days has amounted to thirty tons of gold and one hundred and ten tons of silver for precious metals."

"Thirty tons of gold?" said Jack incredulously. "How in the hell did that much come out of the mine?"

Bazu blinked at him. "That's a rather low amount for the mines for a solid month, Your Majesty, but there have been some labor shortages with the war and all. I'm sure the next month's productivity will be more than usual, especially once we receive more slaves from our allies, the Swabians."

"Wait just a second," said Jack as he came to a full stop. "The Swabians are bringing slaves here to work the mines, correct?"

Bazu nodded easily. "Yes, sire. They've been our biggest source of foreign slaves. The large number of slaves that they've brought to our shores have enabled our production from the mines to go up. In return, they get a percentage of everything that's pulled out of the mines."

"Where do the slaves enter the country? The slave city of Methusa?"

"Yes, sire, that's the one. If you've ever been there, there's an entire harbor of slaving vessels as well as a giant marketplace for—"

"I've been there, unfortunately," interrupted Jack. "I want you to get the word out to Methusa that the Swabians are not allowed to sell their slaves here anymore."

"But Your Majesty, so much of our economy—"

"Not. Allowed. Anymore," stressed Jack. "I've seen firsthand where those slaves come from, Bazu, and I won't allow it here."

Bazu started to turn white. "Sire, our economy is sure to take a hit with the loss of those revenues. Not to mention, the Swabians are generally people not to be crossed. They won't take the cancellation of an agreement lightly."

"You leave that part to me," said Jack. "I'm the Tur'hava, remember? There's a lot of change coming to Andalucia, and that's only the first part. No more foreign slaves."

Bazu gulped noticeably. "I'll get word out at once."

"Get word to the clan chiefs as well. I don't want any of them doing their own personal deals with the Swabians outside of Methusa," advised Jack.

"I will send riders in all directions to spread the word."

"Excellent, Bazu. I know this may seem like an odd request, but there's reasoning behind it."

Bazu managed a brief smile. "I'm sure it'll make sense at some point. You were brought to us for a reason. I truly believe that."

For the next half hour, Bazu went over several more reports detailing farm output (always poor in Andalucia), more clan issues (what clan chief didn't have a problem with another chief?), and lastly filling in positions for several of the courtiers that abandoned Septhada once Vertulis was killed. Jack directed Bazu to oversee the filling of those positions, leaving that selection up to him, which seemed to greatly excite the little man. He left Jack's chambers in a thoroughly good mood, as Jack let out a sigh of relief at finally having some peace for the first time since waking.

Slinking into his chair, Jack looked out at the early afternoon sun. It seemed that the country was a little too quiet after the momentous events of the last few days. Yet, despite the reports, he knew the Swabians were unlikely to take the cancellation of their deal quietly, and he found it entirely likely that it would start another round of hostilities.

No matter where he went in the Vector, it seemed the Swabians were behind anything nefarious. And for a country as bleak as Andalucia, that was saying something.

I just hope I can set this country back to peace so that I can get on with my mission.