Nectar
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🕑 Added 2024-06-26 17:32:30 +0000 UTCEthan stood near a window of his manor, peering through the curtains at the scene unfolding outside.
The once-quiet streets of his estate were now filled with angry voices and raised fists. A sea of townspeople had gathered, their faces contorted with rage and most importantly, fear.
Shouts like “NO MORE LIES!” and “RETURN OUR AURUMS!” drowned everything.
He let the curtain fall back into place, shutting out the accusatory glares. When Leto had informed him the situation was bad, and it needed his attention, he hadn’t expected it to be this bad.
He’d quickly made his way from the soap factory, then rounded the manor, hidden, and entered through the back.
Still, that hardly mattered.
What matter was that the people were suffering. Whether it was his fault or not, half the town was sick, a few already dead, and people were looking for someone to blame.
He knew that. His shoulders slumped regardless. Just why? This was not how things were supposed to go. Everything was going perfectly. Well, not perfectly, but it had been going as well as it could.
His soap was meant to do something the people of the town needed. Desperately. A cure of the Blight. It was salvation for these people. Instead, it had become the focus of their ire. So much so that they finally stood up and rallied in front of his manor—which was something they hadn’t done often. The only time they’d done it was when Theo had raised taxes multiple times. The people had starved that month, and their hunger had led them to doing just this.
It’s understandable. They never believed in Theodore. Never. Not even after I took over. Now, when they finally started to do that due to me, this happens... So, yes, it’s very understandable.
Ethan paced the length of his study, his mind racing.
What was happening was horrible. How had it all gone so wrong? The soap worked against the Blight; he was certain of that. But this new illness... it was an unknown variable.
One that threatened to undo everything he had built.
He stopped at his desk, absently running his fingers over the smooth wood. What were his options? He could try to reason with the crowd, explain that this new sickness was not the Blight. But would they listen? In their fear and anger, would they be open to logic? Unlikely.
He could order his guards to disperse the crowd, but that would only fan the flames of their discontent.
Violence was not the answer here; it would only serve to paint him as the tyrant they already believed him to be.
Perhaps he could offer refunds, as they demanded. But that would be an admission of guilt, wouldn’t it? An acknowledgment that his soap had failed, even though he knew it hadn’t. And practically speaking, did he even want to refund everyone? He needed to pay taxes, for fuck’s sake. He had debt, and knowing the soap’s success, the damn Merchants Guild would be upon him with one of their representatives.
It was fortunate that a high-ranking member of the Merchants’ Guild, Bertram, embezzled a massive amount of money by manipulating accounts and forging documents. It was even more lucky for Ethan that the [Merchant Lord] then disappeared with the stolen funds. At that time, it’d made the Guild very cautious about lending money, especially to those already in debt like Theo. But, most importantly, it had left them with so many headaches, paper work, and internal investigations that they had little time to focus on smaller debtors.
The scandal rocked the Merchants’ Guild to its core. Rumors of corruption and incompetence spread through the kingdom like wildfire. Respected merchants found themselves questioned at every turn. After all, their once-ironclad reputations were now as fragile as spun glass. The Guild’s leadership scrambled to contain the damage, but the stain of Bertram’s betrayal proved difficult to wash away.
In an attempt to salvage their tattered image, the Guild launched a series of public initiatives. They established a fund to compensate those directly affected by Bertram’s schemes and implemented stricter oversight measures for all financial transactions. The Guild Master himself made impassioned speeches, “vowing to root out any remaining corruption and restore the organization to its former glory.” Yet, despite these efforts, the Guild found itself hemorrhaging both influence and aurums. Rival merchant groups seized the opportunity to poach valuable contracts and members. The Guild’s once-enviable network of trade routes began to fray at the edges as partners grew wary of association.
For Ethan, this tumultuous state of affairs proved a damn godsend.
The officials found themselves reassigned to assist in the Guild’s internal audit. This unexpected reprieve gave Ethan the breathing room he so desperately needed. He knew the respite was temporary—the debt collectors would eventually return, hungry as ever, if not more due to the circumstances—but for now, he could focus on more immediate concerns.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted his musings. “Enter,” he called out, grateful for the distraction.
Roland stepped into the room. The man appeared concerned, his hand resting instinctively on the hilt of his sword.
“My lord,” Roland began, his voice gruff but respectful. “The situation outside is deteriorating. The crowd grows larger by the minute, and they’re becoming more... insistent.”
Ethan nodded. “What of Jack? Have you reached out to him yet as I’d ordered?”
Roland nodded, “Yes, my lord. I sent one of my men to fetch Sir Jack a while ago.”
“What of Gilbert?” Ethan sat down on his seat and rubbing his temples. That man would pounce at this opportunity to bother Ethan.
“He requests a meeting, obviously.”
“And?”
“We’re keeping him distracted.”
“Good.” Ethan allowed himself a smile.
“Regardless, the people are demanding to see you, my lord. Some are even threatening to storm the manor if their grievances aren’t addressed.”
Ethan sighed, rubbing his temples once more. “And what do you suggest, Roland? How do we handle this without making things worse?”
Roland was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “If I may speak freely, my lord?”
“Always.”
“I believe we need to show them that you’re still on their side. That you’re as concerned about this new illness as they are.” Roland paused, gauging Ethan’s reaction before continuing. “What if we were to announce that you’re personally funding research into this new sickness? That you’re bringing in the best minds available to study it and find a cure?”
Ethan considered the suggestion. It might just be enough to placate the angry mob outside.
“Go on,” Ethan urged.
“We could set up a temporary research facility right here on the grounds. Make it visible to the townspeople so they can see that work is being done. It would show that you’re taking action, that you’re invested in their well-being.”
Ethan nodded slowly, the plan taking shape in his mind. “And what of the demands for refunds?”
Roland shifted his weight, choosing his words carefully. “We could offer partial refunds, my lord. Not for the soap itself, but as compensation for the inconvenience caused by this new illness. It’s not an admission that the soap doesn’t work against the Blight, but rather an acknowledgment of their current suffering.”
“Refused.” He stood up and strode to the window once more, peering out at the angry faces below. “I cannot do that, for now,” he said at last, turning back to Roland. “However, do make the arrangements. I’ll address the crowd myself.”
Roland’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you certain that’s wise, my lord? The crowd is volatile, and your safety—”
Ethan held up a hand. “They need to see me, Roland. To know that I’m not hiding from this problem. Prepare a balcony speech. I’ll face them directly.”
With a reluctant nod, Roland left to make the necessary preparations. Ethan returned to the window.
How fucking politician of him. Ethan grimaced, the taste of ash settling in his mouth. Public speeches were never his forte, even back on Earth. Politicians always posturing and pontificating, promising the moon and the stars while delivering diddly squat. Yet, here he was, about to become one of those very same blowhards.
He chuckled humorlessly. At least Earth politicians had fancy teleprompters. Here, he’d be relying on Cedric’s overly dramatic “script” and his own improv.
This whole situation was a clusterfuck of epic proportions, and a balcony speech felt like throwing a thimble of water on a raging inferno.
Still, it was a start. Maybe.
Well, not like I’m not going to find a cure. The faster I do it, the better. Ethan sighed, and stared at the crowd. He could almost feel the damn weight of the crowd’s expectations pressing down on him. At least it means more money.
***
An hour later, Ethan stood on the balcony overlooking the main courtyard. The crowd below fell into an uneasy silence as he appeared, their angry murmurs replaced by a tense anticipation.
“People of the town,” Ethan began, his voice ringing out clear and strong. “I stand before you today not as your lord, but as your neighbor and fellow citizen. I have heard your concerns, and I share them. This new illness that plagues us is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”
He paused, letting his words sink in. Some in the crowd shifted uncomfortably, while others continued to glare. Ethan, on the other hand, found what he was saying quite fucking bland. How cliché. But he didn’t quite trust himself to say the right thing either, so he could only stick to the script.
“I want you to know that I am taking immediate action. As of this moment, I am personally funding a research initiative to study and combat this new threat. The finest minds available will be brought here, to work tirelessly until a cure is found.”
A ripple of surprise moved through the crowd.
“Furthermore,” Ethan continued, “I assure you that this is not the Blight. The soap works. However, I can understand why you may not want to believe me. It does not matter if you do, because I will work on a cure and make sure people recover. I understand the hardship this illness has caused. While I stand by the effectiveness of our soap against the Blight, I acknowledge your current suffering.”
The crowd’s mood began to shift. Angry faces gave way to looks of confusion, then cautious hope.
“I am not asking for your forgiveness,” Ethan said, his voice softening. “The research facility will be open for all to see.” Ethan stopped, then continued. “You will not be able to enter, as it would be an isolated environment to make sure we contain the disease, however, I can guarantee that we’re committed to finding a cure. That would be all, I ask for your patience. I will do all I can.”
Ethan stepped back from the balcony, exhaling slowly, quickening his steps when he heard the cries of people. Not all of them, obviously, but a majority. What could a little speech do when people were suffering and some had died already? To those that lost their loved ones, would his “speech” make a difference? Not a single fucking bit.
He was the easiest to blame, and thus they blamed him. He didn’t mind it. In fact, it was understandable. Regardless, the crisis wasn’t over, not by a long shot. But he had bought himself some time and, more importantly, a chance to make things right.
As he turned to go back inside, he caught Roland’s approving nod. “You did well, my lord. We will disperse the people.”
“Make sure no one is hurt, Roland. Start tending to people. Send out a letter to Corinth for help. We need physicians. Never mind, actually, I will be writing the letter myself. I need to emphasize how much I need that bishop of the Church of Goddess Nur. They’re housing him. I could use his help. I doubt he would deny. Send a letter to Sir Thomas, make sure he and his men take any precautionary measures they can. Lastly, send letters to Argent, Westford, as well as all the towns, villages, settlements—everyone near us, really—that there may be a wave of illness coming. Prepare as much as they can. We do not know how it’s spreading. We do not know how we’ll cure it. It could take some time. There’s much work to be done.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ethan nodded. There were plans to be made, research to be done, and a community to heal. The road ahead would be difficult.
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Comments
Nicolae
Targeting the fix to discredit it.
