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There is an old saying: “Sometimes all it takes to topple a castle is a cascade of loose bricks.” Whoever made up that saying must have been a terrible bricklayer, because it takes some serious work to bring down a brick building. But you can’t deny that there were some crumbling pillars of the community in that once impregnable institution that was the Grand Municipality of Welsigny. And if, by ill fortune, all those pillars went out at once, well…
Picture this - the Councillors’ Palace, marble friezes gleaming, resplendent in the afternoon sun. Down Contractors’ Avenue: citizens bartering and trading, hanging around the canteens, enjoying the public gardens on their way to and from business, some of them resting in the shade of the Monument to the Admiralty. The cry of seagulls above the Old City Hall, a venerable relic as soot-grimed as the Palace is radiant. The ever-pervasive salt-smell of the ocean atop the organic stench of the city.
In the great hall of the Palace, the six wealthiest people in Welsigny - the Marketeers’ Council - are hosting a feast in honor of their guilds. You can just see it: the clothiers in their fur robes, clinking glasses with the bankers and the lawyers. Hams and mangoes and cheeses and roast pork piled high on banquet tables: enough to feed an entire neighborhood for a week! The gentle woodwinds of the Patron’s private band serenading the crowd with the latest music from the rest of the continent. Rough men guarding the perimeter, bearing the insignia of the Municipal Shipyard. The honored Patron himself in a corner with four members of the Small Council. [1]
Into this celebration marches the head of the Militia, Commander Bern. He is flanked by two shipmen, who are trying desperately and failing to keep him out of the gathering. Take in his rugged demeanor, his imperious presence, his wide-brimmed hat, the heroic brass-on-blue of his militia coat! Commander Bern is a man used to getting what he wants, and what he wants right now is to find Master Faber, the aged head of the Marketeers’ Council, and thrust a finger angrily in his direction.
“You!” He shouts from the steps of the great hall.
“Ah,” sneers Master Faber, eating a handful of grapes halfway across the room. “If it isn’t our uncouth colleague from the Militia. I thought you’d made it clear that you had disinvited yourself from these proceedings.”
“I removed my men from your event,” says Bern, walking down the pink-and-green stone steps, “ only because you massacred our budget for the year! Did you not think that your blatant sabotage would have consequences?”
“Such tit-for-tat antics are for children, Commander.” Faber pops a grape into his mouth, chews, and swallows. “I would expect a man of your station to know that, though not necessarily a man of your…” He trails off and looks the militiaman up and down. “Class. Why are you here anyway? Come to beg?”
A vein pulses in Bern’s forehead. “Naw, market-man. I’m here to give you a chance to fix our budget, or else I tell our esteemed guests what I found out about your books.” He gestures to the crowd, who have fallen silent and given some space to the two councillors.
Faber looks steely-eyed at the commander, red-faced under the sparkling light of the Sadomi-glass chandelier. [2] “It’s against the law to stalk and harass council members. You’re bluffing.”
“It’s against the law unless we have likely cause. And we didn’t go around ‘stalking and harassing’. You never even knew we was investigating.”
“‘We was investigating.’ Do you hear this?” Faber looks around at the crowd and barks a laugh. “I’d wager your investigation came to naught anyway. May I remind you that slander is also against the law.”
“Then if I’m able to say it, everyone will know it isn’t.”
Oh, to live in that simple time and place when the law would enforce itself in you. Nowadays you need penalties and police to keep people from doing the wrong thing, but back in Welsigny, everybody was bound to the law, and nobody could steal or perjure or kill unless it was by accident–and even those had to be real accidents, none of this “contrived happenstance” that criminals these days seem so fond of. [3]
The two men glare daggers at each other. Outside, yelling from the streets intersperses with birdsong and the chirping of monkeys. The woodwind band continues to play cheerful music, having no instructions to the contrary.
“If I may.” Another person interposes herself between the two - Admiral Signy, lauded as ‘Queen of the Seas’, and de facto head of the Shipyard. [4] Her yellow-and-green uniform strikes fear into the heart of all Welsigny’s foes - at least, those who encounter her at sea. “Militia doesn’t really have the moral ground to stand on here. Commander Bern, I have it on good authority that your people are purposefully obstructing immigration procedures, leaving us in Shipyard to deal with lodging and providing for them long-term.”
Bern scoffs. “First I’ve heard of it.”
“My sources claim that this is in retaliation for us agreeing to provide Market with resources when you backed out of a negotiated contract.”
“Hear, hear,” says Master Faber.
Bern laughs. “So let me get this straight. You think that we’re inconveniencing you because you supplied this event with sailors as security guards - a terrible idea, by the way - which was necessitated because somebody here scrapped the budget that would have allowed us to rightfully participate. That’s… not…”
“It is, yes. We have two hundred requests pending with you as of this week. In previous months, you were able to go through twice that number in the same time.”
“Perhaps that’s because we had the staff to do so, because somebody hadn’t scrapped our budget yet!”
“Gentlemen, Admiral.” The Patron steps forward, wine goblet in hand. He is wearing the traditional horned cap of his station, and is dressed in a gold necklace and mauve robes.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” announces a page. “Guardian of the Nation, Patron Tasso.” The crowd applauds.
“Thank you, thank you, you really don’t have to clap,” says Tasso to the crowd. He turns to the quarreling councilors. “It sounds like you all have some legitimate concerns, which I will be glad to address after the event, once the Small Council reconvenes.” He pauses to allow them their ‘ayes’ and ‘yes, we would’s. “In the meantime, might I break up your little argument to allow our feast to continue as scheduled. I’m sure you all have something interesting to say, and you will all have time to put your cases forth.”
“Oh, I do have interesting things to say.” Commander Bern gestures around at the gathering, arms wide. “And I’m sure everyone assembled would be interested to hear them!”
“Thank you, Commander Bern. For now, please leave.”
“Thank you, Patron Tasso.” Bern folds his arms. “But I’m not going anywhere until I get my budget.”
“No, Commander Bern. Guards!” Tasso claps his hands.
“Overruled.” A Small Councillor steps forth from the corner, a lady clothed in jewelry and fine colored silks embroidered with innumerable sequins.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the page announces. “Primate of the Chancery, First Councillor Mirei.” The crowd applauds.
“The gentleman from the Militia has a legitimate grievance,” says Mirei, ignoring the crowd, “and there are enough of us Small Council here to pass judgment, no?”
Admiral Signy shakes her head. “We would rather that all twelve members of the Small Council be present, and demand that they be summoned from their chambers immediately.”
“Be that as it may, Admiral, the Small Council is not in their chambers currently, as they are supervising the courts among the people.”
Signy raises an eyebrow. “That is highly irregular for an event of this nature, Councillor. One might think that the Small Council is trying to avoid something, or someone.” [5]
“One would be mistaken, Admiral.” Mirei gives her a piercing stare. “And one would think twice before making such accusations. Be glad that the law even allows you to make such idle claims.”
Signy throws back a defiant look, but does not question further.
All around, there is a low buzz as the crowd talks among themselves, attempting to digest the last few minutes. The woodwinds have finally stopped playing, allowing the distant clash of steel on steel to waft through the hall doors. As the sun dips near the horizon, its rays strike the chandelier, scattering light onto the rich scarlets and yellows and greens in the crowd, and reflecting onto the silvered glass panels in the ceiling.
“Thank you, Councillor,” says Commander Bern. “I will show, through the permission of my testimony, that councilman Faber verifiably and knowingly diverted funds from the treasury for his personal gain and that of his guild.”
“Outrage! This is an outrage!” Master Faber slams a hand down on the table, causing some fruit to roll onto the floor. “I demand that this lying, impudent lout be thrown out immediately!”
“Master Faber, let him speak,” says Councillor Mirei. “Furthermore, if you continue to embarrass yourself with these interruptions, I will bind you to silence until the end of the commander’s testimony.” Master Faber stares back at Mirei, nose wrinkled and eyes bugged out, but does not retort.
“Councillor,” interjects Tasso, honey dripping from every word. “In the interest of the majority assembled, I really am of the opinion that we should adjourn this until–”
“And your opinion has been noted, honored Patron,” replies Mirei. “But you have been overruled by the authority of the Small Council, and this grievance appears to be of interest to the same majority you wish to defer to. We will let the man speak.”
Commander Bern bows. “If I may. We first suspected the Market of misappropriating funds two months ago, shortly before our budget was cut. Reports of gold bullion mysteriously ‘getting lost’ around the coasts were what alerted us to this misdoing. Our investigation into these mal-occurrences showed unmarked boats heading to Market warehouses in the middle of the night, where we suspect unsuspecting workers mixed the bullion in with lawfully gained coin.”
“If this is the case,” says Mirei, “then those boats would have been steered with the intent to steal, which is illegal and therefore not possible. How do you explain this?”
“Thank you, Councillor; we suspect that these were neither Welsignians nor registered visitors, and therefore not bound to the same Constitution as we. Perhaps they were even pirates.”
“Pirates!” Faber laughs dramatically, looking around at the assembly. “How much more ridiculous must these allegations get? I tell you–”
Mirei cuts him off. “Last warning, Master Faber. Commander Bern, again: if this is the case, where would these alleged ‘pirates’ have gotten their orders from, considering conspiracy to steal is illegal, and therefore not possible?”
“Thank you again, Councillor. At this point in our investigation, our funding was cut, and our ability to investigate severely hampered. As such, it took us several weeks to–”
“See? He admits it! He admits that he has nothing!” Faber cackles with glee.
“Master Faber, that was your final warning,” Mirei says. “As you have chosen to disregard it so flagrantly, I hereby bind you to silence for the remainder of this testimony. Commander, it took several weeks to…?”
“Yes, Councillor, thank you,” says Bern, ignoring the Marketeer waving his hands madly in his direction. “It took several weeks to confirm, but we eventually learned that councilman Faber was able to give out these orders, and that he was funneling the ill-gotten coin towards his personal vault and to guild expenditures. This very banquet, for example, is being funded with that money.”
A moment of silence grips the hall, broken only by the sound of rushing footsteps and metal clanging outside. One of the Small Councillors, a long-haired man, looks intently at the door. The wind blows fresh air into the heavily perfumed hall.
“That was very interesting, Commander,” says Patron Tasso, finally. “Since the law permitted your statement, I think you have made your case. I will petition the Small Council to launch an investigation into Master Faber, and I will override the Market decision to slash your budget. You may consider your funding reinstated.”
He coughs and takes a sip from his goblet, turning away from Master Faber, who is now glowering straight at him.
“Be that as it may, Tasso,” says First Councillor Mirei, “it is worrisome that Master Faber was able to circumvent the law in the first place. Might you have any idea how the councilman was able to do that, Commander?”
Bern shakes his head. “We was unable to determine how he did so, whether he employed magical techniques or an undiscovered loophole, but–”
“It was him!” Everybody turns to look at Faber; the old man is pointing at Tasso, eyes bulging and lips drawn back in disgust. “Patron Tasso wrote me an exemption for budgetary purposes–”
“Enough!” yells Tasso. “This farce has played out long enough. Master Faber, you are in contempt of this court–”
“–an exemption for budgetary purposes, because I paid him to .”
Silence again, and this time it is absolute.
“Well, this isn’t my problem anymore,” says Commander Bern. “Time to go.” And he walks out of the hall, the crowd parting for him as he leaves.
“I censure you!” screams Tasso at Master Faber. “You have disrespec–”
“ Overruled !” Mirei turns on the Patron, seething. “I cannot believe you! After all these years of service – I knew you were a weakling, but I never thought – agh!” She turns away, stomping once on the marble floor, then faces him again. “You will be facing serious penalties for this. We are above the law for a reason! Be glad that the Small Council is not here in full - although I suppose it won’t save you for more than a few hours.”
“Oh, come now, Mirei; it’s not as if you haven’t been subject to indiscretions yourself. Might I remind you of that time you offered to boost the good Admiral’s election prospects in return for, what was it? Crab cakes?”
“How dare you impugn the honor of the Admiralty!” bellows Admiral Signy, reddening in the face. “I won that election fairly and without interference of any kind!”
“Yes,” says Patron Tasso. “After you turned down her ludicrous proposal. My word, Mirei, I did not know your favor could be bought so cheaply.”
“I did not ask for fucking crab cakes, you fishmonger’s son!” Mirei’s nails dig tightly into her fist. “I asked that my husband’s family be let in from Vimvi!” The crowd gasps, and Mirei glances at them. “What? It’s no secret that my husband is a foreigner. Will you hold that against me?”
“No secret to you, perhaps,” the Patron declaims while examining his fingernails. “But one wonders how many of Welsigny’s secrets you have let slip in exchange for foreign comforts.”
“Launch an inquiry into me, I do not care. You are the subject of debate today. And by the time we are done with you, there won’t be anything left to enact whatever piddling vengeance you may be considering. Corin! Louc! Pelerin!” Mirei claps her hands, and the other three Small Councillors glide over, velvet robes muffling their footsteps. “We will convene a petty council to deliberate the honored Patron’s fate, with the full council to declare their assent later.”
“You can’t do this, Mirei,” says Tasso, raising his voice over the murmur of the crowd. “This council is clearly partial and corrupt. As Patron, I have the right to call on the Constitution to adjudicate, and I do so now.”
“Overruled! You lost the right to adjudication when–”
“You cannot overrule my right to the Constitution–”
“Did somebody say ‘Constitution’?” Shrieks and screams abound as a group of twenty unkempt armed men storm into the hall, one of them holding a disarmed Commander Bern at sword’s point, his wide-brimmed hat in his hands. The speaker pushes his way to the front of the group, his gray uniform bearing rips and signs of recent combat. “Thing is, we’re also looking for the Constitution, so the sooner we find ‘er, the sooner we let you all loose.” He chuckles darkly.
“Pirates!” shouts Admiral Signy, but already the invaders have tackled and subdued the remaining sailor-guards. She draws her shortsword and jumps into the fray, and is immediately knocked out from behind by a flanking pirate.
“You!” Commander Bern glares at Master Faber, who is cowering where he stands, hands in the air.
“Not me!” Faber says. “I surrender! We surrender!”
“Aye, good on ya,” replies the pirate leader. The reek of salt and sweat emanates from him like a miasma. “Now, how about some pleasantries? Name’s Ector, and you all, I suppose, are the Grand Council.” He glances at the rest of the room, where guild members are crouching or hiding behind tables. “Except you, I don’t know who you are. Mess with me, though, and you’ll be dead.” He laughs to himself.
“Master Ector,” says Mirei, high and clear, and you can just hear a tremble in her voice. “This is a very unexpected visit. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Unexpected? My lady, we’ve been causing a ruckus all the way down from Contractors’ Avenue to your gardens outside. I must say, whatever party you’ve had going on must have been absolutely enthralling, because there is no way we’ve been creeping up on you unawares.” He looks around him, smiling broadly. Without a word, he sheathes his sword, walks up to one of the tables, and pours himself a glass of wine. “I’m going to make this easy for you. We’re here for the Constitution. Give ‘er to us and all of this?” He waves at his detail. “Goes away without anyone getting hurt. How about that?”
Mirei shakes her head. “Impossible. We would all of us die before we give up the Constitution.”
“Is that Primate Mirei I see? And Guardian Tasso to the side? [6] Imagine: being in such illustrious company as the two most powerful people in the archipelago!” Ector laughs again. He cuts up a bit of roast pork and chews on it before continuing. “You aristocrats amuse me, thinking yourselves so noble and goodly. Maybe you actually will sacrifice yourselves, maybe your delusion – excuse me – devotion is that strong. Fortunately for you, you won’t have to make any such displays, because someone here has already sold out your precious Constitution. Yes!” He pauses, savoring the moment as the different councillors look to each other in shock and suspicion. “All it takes is one rotten egg to stink up the batch. But that’s putting it too simply, isn’t it? I truly must commend you all for clearing the way for us - well done.”
“You mist-scorpion,” says Commander Bern to Faber, vitriol in every word. “I should have known you would betray us.”
“It wasn’t me, I swear on the law!” The Marketeer points at the unconscious Admiral Signy, shaking. “I’d wager it was her! She sent her worst men to guard us so the pirates could overpower them more easily!”
“Dog-son idiot.” Disdain is apparent in Patron Tasso’s every word. “Sailors fight using their ships, not their swords. If these pirates are accustomed to fighting on land, those sailors would have stood little chance anyway. This is why we use Militia for boarding actions and for security.”
“The traitor would have to be high up,” offers Councillor Mirei, “in order to know of our alternate arrangements. It may have been Tasso, but I doubt it - he may have sold an exemption for his own gain, but I do not think he would have the balls to sell the Constitution.”
The Patron reels, looking like he has been slapped. “Rude. And how do we know it was not you, Mirei?”
“What would I have to gain? I have poured decades of my life into this city. No amount of coin could tempt me into throwing away the legacy I have been building. No,” Mirei says, turning to the other Small Councillors. “It was one of you, or one of the councillors away at court. Damn them – of course now would be the perfect time to supervise.”
“Enough with the guessing games. It is I.” The long-haired Councillor steps forward. “I’ve had enough of your fucking intrigues and political games, and there is nothing I would gladly see more than the destruction of this godsdamned city. The coin is just an added attraction.” He heads for the huge brass door, waving at the pirates. “Let’s go. I know where she’s kept.”
“Corin, how could you?” Mirei holds her hands out in front of her. “We were building this city together! I trusted you!”
The pirate Ector scoffs. “Oh, don’t be so naive. It’s hardly any worse than what you all have been doing to each other. Clovis, Blasio!” He points at two underlings. “Accompany good Master Corin and see our hostage back unharmed.”
“You won’t get far,” Commander Bern says as they leave. “The Militia will hear of this, and they’ll be here soon.”
“And we’ll be along sooner,” says Ector, “thanks to your colleague in the Small Council.” As the pirates’ footsteps recede in the distance, Ector drains the wine goblet with a flourish and throws it on the ground with a clatter. He makes a show of pacing slowly around the hall, neck craned to take in the frescoes and adornments on the walls. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting the artwork here to be so literate. What is that painting there, Ukk wrestling with Inti?”
“‘The City Welsigny Triumphs Over The City Dorien,’” replies Patron Tasso, looking over at the mural of two buff men wrestling each other to the ground. “We commissioned it some twelve years ago from Anselm Armellous [7] before he grew into fame. But it very easily could have had classical foundations. Not that a churl like you could tell Armellous from a child’s scribbles.”
“Just taking stock of my new possessions, Councillor. But I admit I’m surprised. To think that a city so stagnant and corrupt could be capable of such stirring art. I suppose that’s to be expected, though, when art is done for rhetoric’s sake. Everybody needs to make sure everyone else sees the best in them - and most especially they need to see it in themselves, to remind them of how good they are.”
Mirei wrinkles her mouth. “What would a pirate know about goodness, particularly one who strikes at the heart of such an upright, honorable city?”
“Spare me, Councillor.” Ector walks up to her, stops two steps away. “Do your citizens even know the nature of the Constitution that they worship? Or her true circumstances? We’ll let them decide fairly once we take her out of the city.”
“You monster!” Mirei moves to strike him, but is restrained by two pirates. “You know that will destroy us!”
“You were doing so well, Councillor.” Ector takes out a knife and picks at his teeth. “If you can last the three days it will take you to come up with the ransom money, then you will have proven your point. But such displays of wanton emotion really do not help your case.”
A hush falls over the room. Ector smiles at Mirei and resumes pacing. He continues taking food from the table, sharing it among his men, and pointing out random details in the artwork to them. If you could have seen those masterpieces, Listener… the grand authority of “Snow-Iris Receiving The Martyr-God’s Head”, or the plaintive sorrow in “The Transfiguration of Tunjer” [8]… but we are here to discuss history, not art, compelling as it may be.
Presently there is a commotion outside; Corin and the two pirates have returned, dragging along a young, sixteen year-old girl, gagged and dressed in what appears to be a bedsheet. Commander Bern and Master Faber have turned pale and are averting their eyes, as are the rest of the crowd. Only the Small Councillors and the pirates observe the gathering.
“Ah, the fabled Constitution.” Ector dusts off his hands.
Corin shoves the girl into the hall. “You’ll want to move along quickly - she gets pretty mouthy. Don’t want to attract attention.”
“Oh, we’ll be able to handle attention.” Ector steps over to the Constitution, who is scowling at him defiantly. He places a hand on her cheek; when she flinches away, he slaps her. She falls to the ground with a sob and he moves to strike her again, but, thinking twice, lowers his hand and offers it to her instead. She pouts, takes his hand, and stands up. “Just to show her who’s boss,” he growls, then makes a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Come, men! A glorious future awaits!”
“Commander Bern,” says Councillor Mirei, as the pirates and Corin bustle out of the room, their hostage in tow. “How soon can you get the Militia together?”
“Oh, pff.” Bern turns his hat over in his hands, rolling the brim. “An hour? Two?”
“We will sorely need them. There are only thirteen people in this republic who are used to absolute freedom. Twelve, now. I fear for the state of the city once people realize there is no law to hold them in place any longer.”
“Aye, Councillor, I fear that myself, too.” Bern walks over to a fallen sailor, picks up their shortsword, and tucks it into his scabbard. “I have the feeling this will be a very peculiar night. Don’t wait for me; I reckon I’ll have many fires to deal with before long.” And with that, he exits the hall.
Patron Tasso begins to speak. “If only Faber hadn’t–”
Mirei holds up her hand. “Don’t.” Around her, the crowd stirs to life once more, some people rushing for the door, others standing in place, distraught. “This is no time to throw around blame,” she continues. “Our people are going to be confused. Distressed. They will need our help, and we need to present a unified front to deal with them. Louc, Pelerin.”
The two councillors remain unmoving.
“I said: Louc, Pelerin!”
Louc, a young man with mousy-brown hair, clears his throat. “In times of crisis, the charter recommends that we follow the Patron’s orders, who retains emergency powers until the crisis ends. As the honored Patron has not been formally charged or tried, we will defer to his judgment, not yours, Councillor Mirei. Our apologies.” He bows.
“Oh, are you fucking – Tasso?” Mirei peers at the Patron, who has gotten a strange look on his face. “Tasso, this is no time to – Tasso, are you hearing me?”
“Yes, Councillor Mirei.” He turns slowly to face her. “As my first order for the evening, I depose you from the station of First Councillor for sowing discord among the republic and–”
“ What ?”
“–and assailing the respectable figure of the Patron. As my second order–”
“Tasso, you blockheaded idiot, what are you doing ?”
“–I depose Master Faber from the station of Market councilman for theft of municipal funds, and I elevate Master, oh, who do we have, Master Elouan from the Furrier’s Guild to the same position.”
“Tasso, you will tear this city apart!”
“Guards?” Tasso claps his hands, but nobody comes; all the guards are either unconscious or dead. He turns to the two Small Councillors instead. “You two: please bring the good Councillor outside. Since I cannot bind her to silence any longer, removing her from the premises will simply have to do.”
“You will rue this day, Tasso!” Mirei manages to spit at his feet even as she is dragged away.
“I highly doubt that, Councillor.” Tasso rubs his hands, a wry smile creeping over his face. “Now, where were we?”
*
The fall of Welsigny is swift and unavoidable. It starts small: two vendors having a disagreement, then one discovering that nothing is preventing them from punching the other; then the two getting into a brawl and, drunk on the freedom that is suddenly afforded them, resorting to weapons until one or both parties are wounded, knocked out, or dead. All over the city, this same story plays out: between brothers, cousins, workmates, ex-lovers, debtors and borrowers, landlords and tenants, customers, children, suitors. Though the Militia steps in to keep the peace, they fare no better - none of the soldiers have tasted true freedom either, and, incontinent with violence, end up pummeling to death’s door the very citizens they were meant to protect. [9]
Two factions form under Councillors Tasso and Mirei. At no point in the Municipality’s history has true factionalism come into play, and this experiment in democracy comes to a swift end when it is discovered that Tasso’s faction is bribing people to vote for his rule. Mirei attempts to appeal to the peoples’ better nature, but when it is revealed - by Tasso, most likely - that the reason for the city’s harmony and prosperity was her council imprisoning a sixteen year-old girl in the grand Palace, she loses all pretense at legitimacy as well.
The pirates never get around to making their demands; as it happens, life on the open seas is much more attractive to a teenage girl who has been imprisoned in a magical chamber for most of her life. Rumor has it that she exerted Legislative control over her captors as soon as they broke onto the ocean, and ‘civilized’ them into a smaller, monarchical, more mobile version of Welsigny, where the pirates do as she commands and permits.
As for me? I got out of Welsigny with my skin intact. It’s hard to move around without the safety net of the law, but I’ve gotten used to it - you might even say I had a head start. I read and write people’s letters for a living, and sometimes somebody asks if I have a tale to tell. One such as this, even. Then they ask if I was really there, and start guessing who I might have been, and how I got out of the city.
But I’ve never liked guessing games, and if you’ve been where I’ve been, neither would you.
Runao’s Commentary:
Water is the hour of adaptation and introspectiveness, of stagnation and fickle-mindedness. At the heart of every successful government is a great monarch. Remember that harmony and justice require a strong hand to flourish - do not falter in this, or your glory too shall fall.