A short story where a grapefruit is mentioned, and means something
This one took some thought.
The Iron Triangle
In a place not far removed from our own, there thrived an archipelago of islands called plea. And if there were no other hard and fast rule in plea, it was that there would never be a king to rule over those majestic shores and mountains. For a single person to have any true power over another person was, to the pleabians, anathema. Each year they would gather on the large island and elect their representatives to administrate their various programs and haggle with foreign nations. This tradition stood for a thousand years, and it worked, but as with all things it could not last.
On the first of the year 1278 of the wheel, a newly elected Representative Harrington entered the republic’s chambers for the first time. The spectacle of bronze columns and corrugated marble that formed the steps in a vast half-circle made her gasp. What a great nation plea must be, she thought, that a chamber simply for debate could be so marvelous.
In her awe, she had stopped at the threshold and was roughly pushed by a venerable congressman from blocking the door. After she had been roughly dislodged from the portal, he pulled her aside and said politely, “My apologies, senator.” He flashed here an inviting smile and gazed searchingly at her face.
Harrington stammered, “I was not, that is, I’ve never been-”
“You are new to this,” the elder man interrupted her, pursing his lips and holding up a thin hand. “That is perfectly alright, we all start this way. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you to your seat.” The man led her up the polished steps and to a peripheral chair that he indicated and, to her surprise, sat down next to her.
As the other senator’s filed into the chamber, Harrington tried to spy someone she knew. It was no accident that she had been elected to this seat, for family was close to several members of the counsel. When she was a child, being reared in a grand house overlooking the eastern sea, they would appear on any noteworthy occasion with gifts a cheer. She was taught to think of these people as her aunts and uncles, however removed they were from her actual bloodline.
Thankfully, she noticed the Mentat among the filing ministers and waved to him. He was speaking rather animatedly with a moreno southerner, presumably a junior representative like herself. He noticed her, however, and waved vaguely.
“Do you know the senator Mentat?” the seasoned congressman to her right inquired.
“Oh yes, he is a good friend of my father’s,” Harrington said flippantly.
“Hmm, interesting,” the other senator said, as if lost in thought. “Be still now, we are about to be in session.”
A pair of armed guards had appeared on the floor, accompanied by one shaking, geriatric minister and another dashing, handsome middle-aged one. The elder carried a yew staff wrapped in iron bands, which he slammed on the floor causing a clamorous echo in the chamber. His eyes were nearly invisible behind the folds of his furrowed face as he wheezed, “the congress shall come to order.”
Each representative ceased his muttering and whispering. The chamber was silent.
The younger representative cleared his throat, “As the former master of ceremony, I do hereby request you to cast your lots for the next master of ceremony, in the time-honored tradition of honorary rulers.”
Boys with bags issued forth from the doors to the chamber and began distributing small parchments to each row. Each senator tore off one piece and crumpled the rest in their hand. Harrington was handed her piece and she quickly scanned it. It was a triangle with a name at each point - Mentat, Mobius, and Trin.
Her companion leaned over and whispered to her, “Once you have chosen the candidate you favor, simply tear out the name and crumple the other two in your hand.” Harrington nodded, though still somewhat confused, and without any other reason to vote, pulled the corner with Mentat’s name off and crumpled the rest of the triangle in her hand. Once the crumbling had ceased, the boys walked down the rows again and the senators cast their choices into the bag. They brought these satchels full of paper to the floor and handed them to the former master of ceremonies.
It took almost 45 minutes for him to read off each name and place it in one of three piles. The winner between the two most popular, turned out to be Mentat, but one vote. Several representatives clapped and cheered, some booed and hissed, as Mentat was led to the floor to stand before the last master of ceremonies.
“It is my duty to relinquish to you, Mentat of Plea, the honorary position of Master of ceremonies. May you remain humble and dutiful in the dispensation of this office, lest you be cast aside by the people you represent.” And without any hesitation, the former master slapped the new one and the entire chamber erupted as the senators threw the crumpled pieces of their ballots at Mentat.
Harrington remained seated, aghast. Her companion simply sighed and chucked his parchment vaguely towards the new master of ceremonies. Startled, Harrington tossed hers but hit a senator standing in the first row. She slumped down in her seat, hoping that it hadn’t been noticed.
The former master walked up the steps and took Mentat’s seat in the forum.
“Thank you senator’s for reminding me of my humility,” Mentat said and a chuckle echoed in the chamber. “With the Warden’s permission, I shall inaugurate this 807th congress.”
The elderly gentleman with the staff nodded to Mentat.
“Will the 807th congress of Plea please be seated,” Mentat said and he sat.
“Read the minutes!” the Steward rasped.
A boy handed Mentat a thick folio of papers. He opened it and began to read aloud. “The last order of business conducted by these chambers was the levying of a excise tax on the distribution of Barbar grapefruit in the northern provinces, obtaining moneys from the use of extensive shipping lanes. To this end, the floor tabled the discussion until this congress could reconvene on the first of the year, with the attributed clauses.” Mentat’s voice droned on as he read the minutes.
The man who had helped Harrington find her seat stood up and turned to walk down the steps. As he passed Harrington, she caught his arm. “Where are you going?” she whispered.
The man raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “I am going to lunch, honorable Harrington. You may stay if you like but I was present for all of the items he shall be reading about for the next several days. And really, we only convene here to initiate motions and vote on motions. The rest of the time is spent with our people and other senators,” he explained. “You would do well to observe what the people who elected you would like you to do.” And with a wink he strode to the end of the row, down the steps, and out the door.
What a terribly odd affair, Harrington thought to herself. In an act of proud defiance, she tried very hard not to fall asleep during the entire reading of the minutes, but after the fourth hour, she drifted away to sleep.
She was awoken with a jostle to her feet. She blinked her eyes into focus to see Mentat standing beside her. “A stimulating first day I see,” he said smirking.
Harrington rubbed her eyes, “I was just resting my eyes,” she said vaguely, glancing around the dim and empty chamber.
“I jest, Harrington,” Mentat said jovially, “no one really stays for the minutes but those who have to.” He nodded to the Steward with the staff who was dozing against his hand, propped up by his elbow.
“Come,” said Mentat, “let’s get some supper and I can bring you up to speed with this process. We’re all very happy that you were elected.”
On the street, they passed the hawking merchants with their wares and fishmongers weighing in their catches. “So I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Mentat shouted over the din of the market, “Why did you choose to make friends with Trin?”
Harrington shook her head. “Who is Trin?” she bellowed.
Mentat laughed, “I’ll explain in a moment.” He ducked into a doorway with a richly dressed guard barring the way.
“Your honor,” the guard said crisply and stood aside for Mentat. Harrington followed him in.
What she discovered inside was a subdued yet warm pub littered with bureaucrats, ministers, diplomats and judges, all speaking in hushed tones over some of the finest food Harrington had ever seen. Mentat led her to a table and motioned for her to sit opposite him.
“Trin,” Mentat began, as a stuffy little man in a long coat poured some wine into their glasses, “is the minority advocate for the counsel.”
“Is that important?” Harrington asked bluntly.
“Not particularly,” Mentat said dismissively, “but supporting him would make you unpopular with some other senators. He advocates policies that would bankrupt Plea, despite his best intentions to care for it’s people.”
Harrington raised her eyebrows and nodded, “Yes he did mention something about that.”
“Well,” Mentat patted her shoulder, “it’s good to sound out the competition, eh? Now, let us discuss something else. How is your mother?”
Harrington remembered little from the rest of the night, save for wine and one particular point Mentat kept repeating to her - support the southern province representatives. Her family was formally from the southern provinces as the island of Plea was divided into districts. Why she would not do this, she could not fathom. But perhaps at a later time that would be clear.
So for several days, she attended the republic floor now and then to check in on the minutes. Each day was similar to the last in that very little was explained and great deal was said. So she lapsed into idle distractions such as shopping and dining.
On her second week, she strolled the market like a professional, eying goods that were frugal buys with interest. Her inspection of gold jewelry was interrupted when a large troop of senator’s entered the market led by Mentat. Harrington noticed that they were grabbing each senator at the market into their midst and chastising them for not appearing on the floor. With undue haste, Harrington scurried towards the council chambers, quickly throwing her robes of office over her head, and ran up the stairs to an empty seat.
She had no sooner reached it than Mentat’s group filed in. They took their seats and a clamor whipped up in the chamber. The steward stepped forth and rapped his staff on the ground as before, squinting under his heavy brows. “The chamber shall come to order,” the steward wheezed.
Everyone quieted down and Mentat stood upon the floor. “Today, a motion to place an excise tax upon the transportation of grapefruit from Barbar shall be decided. Each senator may take his turn on the floor, as desired.”
Trin stood up and raised his hand. Mentat made no outward motion of concern and said, “the floor recognizes the honorable Trin from Barbar.”
“Thank you, master of ceremonies,” Trin cleared his throat. “Fellow senators, the eastern province’s sole sources of income are the exports of grapefruit and pearls. With this tax, the grapefruit market will be strained to such a degree that only pearls will flow from Barbar. While this may seem trivial, it will lead to a market plunge in the price of pearls and ultimately to Barbar’s depression within the world market.” Trin turned a serious eye towards Mentat. “Due to the grapefruit’s stiff competition with the abundant variety of fruits from the southern provinces, it could never be profitable with such a tax. Therefore, it is my recommendation to the council that, for the common good, and in the interests of the free-market to vote against this tax that is levied for to the advantage of the representation from the southern provinces,” a few boos and protests erupted from the floor and interrupted him.
The steward pounded his staff several times, “Order *cough* h-order,” he whispered.
The hubbub died down slowly. Harrington felt for the minority senator at that moment, who stood before everyone making his faltering case. She already knew the futility of his protest but desired that it be heard anyway.
“As I was saying,” Trin continued, not losing his poise during the interruption, “this motion is motivated by economic interests of the few, not the many. I seek no favor for my constituency, merely to protect them from undue difficulties and strife. Thank you.” Trin sat down.
“If there are no other senators who wish to take the floor,” Mentat said blithely, “we shall take the vote.”
“All those representatives present,” the steward’s voice whistled softly as he spoke, “who are in favor of motion 65765 to levy,” he paused for a breath, “an excise tax upon the transportation of grapefruit from Barbar,” he paused again to breath, “for the benefit of the public coffers and the improvement of the navy of Plea.” He gasped once more, “please say ‘aye’ now.”
The chamber answered with a resounding “aye” from most every seat.
“And those against, speak ‘nay’ now,” the Steward croaked.
A handful of ‘nays’ replied.
“The ayes have it,” the steward said. “Motion 65765 to levy an excise tax,” he began his labored breathing again.
Rather than listen to the remaining message, Harrington stood up and walked rather blatantly out of the chamber. She garnered a few glances but the shame of having not voted for either ayes or nays due to a conflicted mind stood out on her burning cheeks. She shed no tears over the issue, but did not feel at ease with it either.
She sat herself at the government square fountain and gazed into the falling water. A man with a cart of grapefruits was standing there, offering his tangy fruit to passers by.
It is not curious after all, Harrington thought to herself, and continued thinking, trying to figure out how the decision had been so easy when only one senator spoke in the chamber.
Trin sat down beside her, cast a warm smile, and tossed some crumbs from his pockets to the ducks.
“I am sorry, Trin,” Harrington began, sighing at him.
He held up his thin hand, “think nothing of it. I’d conceded my position for a better deal in the future.”
Harrington gasped. “When was this decided,” she asked.
Trin kept his smile, “oh, over this dinner or that one. We even met for an official committee on the subject last week.”
“But your speech, you spoke out against this motion.”
Trin blinked a few times. “Of course I did, I could not very well be on record as saying nothing, could I?” He cocked his head towards the grapefruit vendor, “People like him would stop voting for me.”
Harrington sighed, “oh what is this all for then? Why have a chamber, and votes, and speeches at all?”
Trin’s smile widened. “Because the people want it. They wish to know what is agreed upon and when. If we didn’t have a public council, we’d be nothing more than petty lords.” He raised an eyebrow. “And besides, all of us senators are on the same side, you see. I am not truly a minority at all, but simply provide an alternative the main when it suits our purposes.”
Harrington stood up, “Then why not just sell your whole country down the stream, isn’t that what Mentat would want?”
“Not entirely. One senator or another will try to threaten the pearl trade this year, as they do every year, and I will be there to champion its defense. We all want the pearl trade to continue unhindered as it makes most of us wealthy.” Trin held his hands out. “That is a competitive market as well, and Mentat will publicly state that he is in favor of taxing or restricting the pearl delvers to please his constituency. But when all is said and done, the votes shall be tallied and the pearls will remain flowing.”
Harrington nodded with disturbed understanding.
“This is the way of modern Plea,” he put his hand on her collar and fiddled with a broach he pulled from his pocket. “You will find that your family and their friends are very appreciative of your support, and that the navy will appreciate your sound judgment as well.” He clasped the broach closed, fixing it on Harrington’s shoulder.
She glanced down at it. The iron broach was a curious one, for iron was scarce in Plea. The bauble resembled a triangle with ornate braided strands of iron forming its sides. After inspecting it she glanced up at Trin.
“Welcome to the service, Harrington,” he said proudly. “You are going to great things for us all, I am certain of it. We always get along agreeably with Mentat’s chosen.”
-FW
The Iron Triangle
In a place not far removed from our own, there thrived an archipelago of islands called plea. And if there were no other hard and fast rule in plea, it was that there would never be a king to rule over those majestic shores and mountains. For a single person to have any true power over another person was, to the pleabians, anathema. Each year they would gather on the large island and elect their representatives to administrate their various programs and haggle with foreign nations. This tradition stood for a thousand years, and it worked, but as with all things it could not last.
On the first of the year 1278 of the wheel, a newly elected Representative Harrington entered the republic’s chambers for the first time. The spectacle of bronze columns and corrugated marble that formed the steps in a vast half-circle made her gasp. What a great nation plea must be, she thought, that a chamber simply for debate could be so marvelous.
In her awe, she had stopped at the threshold and was roughly pushed by a venerable congressman from blocking the door. After she had been roughly dislodged from the portal, he pulled her aside and said politely, “My apologies, senator.” He flashed here an inviting smile and gazed searchingly at her face.
Harrington stammered, “I was not, that is, I’ve never been-”
“You are new to this,” the elder man interrupted her, pursing his lips and holding up a thin hand. “That is perfectly alright, we all start this way. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you to your seat.” The man led her up the polished steps and to a peripheral chair that he indicated and, to her surprise, sat down next to her.
As the other senator’s filed into the chamber, Harrington tried to spy someone she knew. It was no accident that she had been elected to this seat, for family was close to several members of the counsel. When she was a child, being reared in a grand house overlooking the eastern sea, they would appear on any noteworthy occasion with gifts a cheer. She was taught to think of these people as her aunts and uncles, however removed they were from her actual bloodline.
Thankfully, she noticed the Mentat among the filing ministers and waved to him. He was speaking rather animatedly with a moreno southerner, presumably a junior representative like herself. He noticed her, however, and waved vaguely.
“Do you know the senator Mentat?” the seasoned congressman to her right inquired.
“Oh yes, he is a good friend of my father’s,” Harrington said flippantly.
“Hmm, interesting,” the other senator said, as if lost in thought. “Be still now, we are about to be in session.”
A pair of armed guards had appeared on the floor, accompanied by one shaking, geriatric minister and another dashing, handsome middle-aged one. The elder carried a yew staff wrapped in iron bands, which he slammed on the floor causing a clamorous echo in the chamber. His eyes were nearly invisible behind the folds of his furrowed face as he wheezed, “the congress shall come to order.”
Each representative ceased his muttering and whispering. The chamber was silent.
The younger representative cleared his throat, “As the former master of ceremony, I do hereby request you to cast your lots for the next master of ceremony, in the time-honored tradition of honorary rulers.”
Boys with bags issued forth from the doors to the chamber and began distributing small parchments to each row. Each senator tore off one piece and crumpled the rest in their hand. Harrington was handed her piece and she quickly scanned it. It was a triangle with a name at each point - Mentat, Mobius, and Trin.
Her companion leaned over and whispered to her, “Once you have chosen the candidate you favor, simply tear out the name and crumple the other two in your hand.” Harrington nodded, though still somewhat confused, and without any other reason to vote, pulled the corner with Mentat’s name off and crumpled the rest of the triangle in her hand. Once the crumbling had ceased, the boys walked down the rows again and the senators cast their choices into the bag. They brought these satchels full of paper to the floor and handed them to the former master of ceremonies.
It took almost 45 minutes for him to read off each name and place it in one of three piles. The winner between the two most popular, turned out to be Mentat, but one vote. Several representatives clapped and cheered, some booed and hissed, as Mentat was led to the floor to stand before the last master of ceremonies.
“It is my duty to relinquish to you, Mentat of Plea, the honorary position of Master of ceremonies. May you remain humble and dutiful in the dispensation of this office, lest you be cast aside by the people you represent.” And without any hesitation, the former master slapped the new one and the entire chamber erupted as the senators threw the crumpled pieces of their ballots at Mentat.
Harrington remained seated, aghast. Her companion simply sighed and chucked his parchment vaguely towards the new master of ceremonies. Startled, Harrington tossed hers but hit a senator standing in the first row. She slumped down in her seat, hoping that it hadn’t been noticed.
The former master walked up the steps and took Mentat’s seat in the forum.
“Thank you senator’s for reminding me of my humility,” Mentat said and a chuckle echoed in the chamber. “With the Warden’s permission, I shall inaugurate this 807th congress.”
The elderly gentleman with the staff nodded to Mentat.
“Will the 807th congress of Plea please be seated,” Mentat said and he sat.
“Read the minutes!” the Steward rasped.
A boy handed Mentat a thick folio of papers. He opened it and began to read aloud. “The last order of business conducted by these chambers was the levying of a excise tax on the distribution of Barbar grapefruit in the northern provinces, obtaining moneys from the use of extensive shipping lanes. To this end, the floor tabled the discussion until this congress could reconvene on the first of the year, with the attributed clauses.” Mentat’s voice droned on as he read the minutes.
The man who had helped Harrington find her seat stood up and turned to walk down the steps. As he passed Harrington, she caught his arm. “Where are you going?” she whispered.
The man raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “I am going to lunch, honorable Harrington. You may stay if you like but I was present for all of the items he shall be reading about for the next several days. And really, we only convene here to initiate motions and vote on motions. The rest of the time is spent with our people and other senators,” he explained. “You would do well to observe what the people who elected you would like you to do.” And with a wink he strode to the end of the row, down the steps, and out the door.
What a terribly odd affair, Harrington thought to herself. In an act of proud defiance, she tried very hard not to fall asleep during the entire reading of the minutes, but after the fourth hour, she drifted away to sleep.
She was awoken with a jostle to her feet. She blinked her eyes into focus to see Mentat standing beside her. “A stimulating first day I see,” he said smirking.
Harrington rubbed her eyes, “I was just resting my eyes,” she said vaguely, glancing around the dim and empty chamber.
“I jest, Harrington,” Mentat said jovially, “no one really stays for the minutes but those who have to.” He nodded to the Steward with the staff who was dozing against his hand, propped up by his elbow.
“Come,” said Mentat, “let’s get some supper and I can bring you up to speed with this process. We’re all very happy that you were elected.”
On the street, they passed the hawking merchants with their wares and fishmongers weighing in their catches. “So I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Mentat shouted over the din of the market, “Why did you choose to make friends with Trin?”
Harrington shook her head. “Who is Trin?” she bellowed.
Mentat laughed, “I’ll explain in a moment.” He ducked into a doorway with a richly dressed guard barring the way.
“Your honor,” the guard said crisply and stood aside for Mentat. Harrington followed him in.
What she discovered inside was a subdued yet warm pub littered with bureaucrats, ministers, diplomats and judges, all speaking in hushed tones over some of the finest food Harrington had ever seen. Mentat led her to a table and motioned for her to sit opposite him.
“Trin,” Mentat began, as a stuffy little man in a long coat poured some wine into their glasses, “is the minority advocate for the counsel.”
“Is that important?” Harrington asked bluntly.
“Not particularly,” Mentat said dismissively, “but supporting him would make you unpopular with some other senators. He advocates policies that would bankrupt Plea, despite his best intentions to care for it’s people.”
Harrington raised her eyebrows and nodded, “Yes he did mention something about that.”
“Well,” Mentat patted her shoulder, “it’s good to sound out the competition, eh? Now, let us discuss something else. How is your mother?”
Harrington remembered little from the rest of the night, save for wine and one particular point Mentat kept repeating to her - support the southern province representatives. Her family was formally from the southern provinces as the island of Plea was divided into districts. Why she would not do this, she could not fathom. But perhaps at a later time that would be clear.
So for several days, she attended the republic floor now and then to check in on the minutes. Each day was similar to the last in that very little was explained and great deal was said. So she lapsed into idle distractions such as shopping and dining.
On her second week, she strolled the market like a professional, eying goods that were frugal buys with interest. Her inspection of gold jewelry was interrupted when a large troop of senator’s entered the market led by Mentat. Harrington noticed that they were grabbing each senator at the market into their midst and chastising them for not appearing on the floor. With undue haste, Harrington scurried towards the council chambers, quickly throwing her robes of office over her head, and ran up the stairs to an empty seat.
She had no sooner reached it than Mentat’s group filed in. They took their seats and a clamor whipped up in the chamber. The steward stepped forth and rapped his staff on the ground as before, squinting under his heavy brows. “The chamber shall come to order,” the steward wheezed.
Everyone quieted down and Mentat stood upon the floor. “Today, a motion to place an excise tax upon the transportation of grapefruit from Barbar shall be decided. Each senator may take his turn on the floor, as desired.”
Trin stood up and raised his hand. Mentat made no outward motion of concern and said, “the floor recognizes the honorable Trin from Barbar.”
“Thank you, master of ceremonies,” Trin cleared his throat. “Fellow senators, the eastern province’s sole sources of income are the exports of grapefruit and pearls. With this tax, the grapefruit market will be strained to such a degree that only pearls will flow from Barbar. While this may seem trivial, it will lead to a market plunge in the price of pearls and ultimately to Barbar’s depression within the world market.” Trin turned a serious eye towards Mentat. “Due to the grapefruit’s stiff competition with the abundant variety of fruits from the southern provinces, it could never be profitable with such a tax. Therefore, it is my recommendation to the council that, for the common good, and in the interests of the free-market to vote against this tax that is levied for to the advantage of the representation from the southern provinces,” a few boos and protests erupted from the floor and interrupted him.
The steward pounded his staff several times, “Order *cough* h-order,” he whispered.
The hubbub died down slowly. Harrington felt for the minority senator at that moment, who stood before everyone making his faltering case. She already knew the futility of his protest but desired that it be heard anyway.
“As I was saying,” Trin continued, not losing his poise during the interruption, “this motion is motivated by economic interests of the few, not the many. I seek no favor for my constituency, merely to protect them from undue difficulties and strife. Thank you.” Trin sat down.
“If there are no other senators who wish to take the floor,” Mentat said blithely, “we shall take the vote.”
“All those representatives present,” the steward’s voice whistled softly as he spoke, “who are in favor of motion 65765 to levy,” he paused for a breath, “an excise tax upon the transportation of grapefruit from Barbar,” he paused again to breath, “for the benefit of the public coffers and the improvement of the navy of Plea.” He gasped once more, “please say ‘aye’ now.”
The chamber answered with a resounding “aye” from most every seat.
“And those against, speak ‘nay’ now,” the Steward croaked.
A handful of ‘nays’ replied.
“The ayes have it,” the steward said. “Motion 65765 to levy an excise tax,” he began his labored breathing again.
Rather than listen to the remaining message, Harrington stood up and walked rather blatantly out of the chamber. She garnered a few glances but the shame of having not voted for either ayes or nays due to a conflicted mind stood out on her burning cheeks. She shed no tears over the issue, but did not feel at ease with it either.
She sat herself at the government square fountain and gazed into the falling water. A man with a cart of grapefruits was standing there, offering his tangy fruit to passers by.
It is not curious after all, Harrington thought to herself, and continued thinking, trying to figure out how the decision had been so easy when only one senator spoke in the chamber.
Trin sat down beside her, cast a warm smile, and tossed some crumbs from his pockets to the ducks.
“I am sorry, Trin,” Harrington began, sighing at him.
He held up his thin hand, “think nothing of it. I’d conceded my position for a better deal in the future.”
Harrington gasped. “When was this decided,” she asked.
Trin kept his smile, “oh, over this dinner or that one. We even met for an official committee on the subject last week.”
“But your speech, you spoke out against this motion.”
Trin blinked a few times. “Of course I did, I could not very well be on record as saying nothing, could I?” He cocked his head towards the grapefruit vendor, “People like him would stop voting for me.”
Harrington sighed, “oh what is this all for then? Why have a chamber, and votes, and speeches at all?”
Trin’s smile widened. “Because the people want it. They wish to know what is agreed upon and when. If we didn’t have a public council, we’d be nothing more than petty lords.” He raised an eyebrow. “And besides, all of us senators are on the same side, you see. I am not truly a minority at all, but simply provide an alternative the main when it suits our purposes.”
Harrington stood up, “Then why not just sell your whole country down the stream, isn’t that what Mentat would want?”
“Not entirely. One senator or another will try to threaten the pearl trade this year, as they do every year, and I will be there to champion its defense. We all want the pearl trade to continue unhindered as it makes most of us wealthy.” Trin held his hands out. “That is a competitive market as well, and Mentat will publicly state that he is in favor of taxing or restricting the pearl delvers to please his constituency. But when all is said and done, the votes shall be tallied and the pearls will remain flowing.”
Harrington nodded with disturbed understanding.
“This is the way of modern Plea,” he put his hand on her collar and fiddled with a broach he pulled from his pocket. “You will find that your family and their friends are very appreciative of your support, and that the navy will appreciate your sound judgment as well.” He clasped the broach closed, fixing it on Harrington’s shoulder.
She glanced down at it. The iron broach was a curious one, for iron was scarce in Plea. The bauble resembled a triangle with ornate braided strands of iron forming its sides. After inspecting it she glanced up at Trin.
“Welcome to the service, Harrington,” he said proudly. “You are going to great things for us all, I am certain of it. We always get along agreeably with Mentat’s chosen.”
-FW