5. The Best Emperor
As Empero grew up, he was taught to adore the very idea of a throne and being the one to sit on it. Or lay, or stand, or hover, whatever an animal could do. Still, he couldn’t have imagined how ludicrously much time he would spend on a big chair, hearing the requests of the Commonfolk.
“If I may speak honestly,” said a female pig, wearing clothes with more holes than cloth. “It is unfair. If you accuse my husband of a crime, then this must be done in the open. Let everyone see that justice is done, let all witnesses come forward.”
Empero considered this for a long while, discussing with Sinnika to his left and Gatagrip to his right. That was just for show. He didn’t want to look “infirm” like his father, easily swayed by whatever people around him said. But they had already discussed this yesterday and formed an opinion.
“We agree,” said Empero. He grew taller and sounded more royal with every passing day. “From this day forward, secret trials are banned. Everyone gets a fair trial, and the eyes of the Commonfolk will ensure it is fair. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
The woman bowed again and again, snorting and mumbling “thank you, thank you, thank you”.
“Next!” yelled Empero.
An elephant, who barely fit inside the room, towered over him. Or so they say—Tresmo obviously couldn’t observe these events himself.
Still, this was one of the smallest elephants they’d ever seen, as all the large ones had joined the gods during the First Conflict—and many had died.
His trunk held up an array of leaky buckets, dripping on the tapestry before the throne.
“I recently returned to this city, where I was born. My ancestors from Toxotes created the first thing close to a fire brigade,” he said. “Granted, the curse of eternal leaky buckets made it hard to continue this practice. Still I am disappointed that Amor has forgotten the threat of fire.”
“We have the Vigiles,” said Empero proudly. “They stand watch and respond to any emergency as quickly as possible.”
“It’s better to prevent it in the first place,” said the elephant. “Amor is a city of kindling. Wooden homes, shoddily built against each other. No space, too many beings, water trapped in aqueducts from the hills. It needs but one spark to turn to ashes in less than a week.”
“Don’t waste gold on it,” whispered Gatagrip into his ear immediately.
“There have only been a handful of small fires since you were born,” whispered Sinnika. “Nothing to worry about.”
Empero listened to this with a straight face. To those in the room, he’d look as if he were thinking really hard, and very independently too.
“Nothing will ever break the beautiful city of Amor,” he said confidently. He leapt off the throne and took the leaky buckets away before all of them were holding meetings inside a pool. “Nothing will harm Amor as long as I’m emperor.”
“Hear, hear!” responded the crowd, who were always quick to smile and applaud.
The elephant trumpeted in frustration. “Then I’m not returning again. I don’t particularly enjoy burning to death.”
“Next!” yelled Empero.
His applause never stopped in the weeks that followed.
First, he banned capital punishment—otherwise known as the “death sentence”. He considered it inhumane. Murder by law was still murder. A good emperor—the best emperor there ever was—did not murder. No, he lets his mother do it for him, Sinnika had whispered. Empero had wisely ignored the remark, staying calm and composed at all times.
After a long debate with Sinnika, including many calculations, they concluded they could lower taxes too. A phrase which here means “make poor people pay a little less to the rich people”.
Even slaves were allowed to come to his palace and make demands. That’s how he became one of the first emperors to give slaves certain rights. If their owners were unjust or cruel, they were allowed to sue them now.
It was a demanding job, being emperor. Empero barely had time for anything else, and he’d sometimes fall asleep halfway Senate hearings. That’s why he gave the Senate more independence too—which here means “allow them to settle small matters without bothering him about it”. Although he sold the decision to the Elite with words like “necessary freedom” and “wise independence”.
To keep himself entertained, he arranged many open competitions in the arts: poetry, drama and athletics. The fact he always participated himself, and won first place in singing, didn’t seem strange to him at all.
Empero relished the time alone with Sinnika. Back to studying, back to his younger years, back to Alix’ book and the secrets it contained. Away from the endless politics in the palace. Just him and wisdom on the page.
Although, increasingly, he wanted to move away from the page.
“The theory looks sound and all,” said Empero to his fox tutor. “Alix says that everything is made out of smaller things. And that those things are charged: either positive or negative. Either yes or no, +1 or -1. That’s why, when you combine them, everything is still neutral—or 0. Otherwise we’d be attracted to everything like magnets!”
“And?” Sinnika asked curiously.
“Thunder, Alix thought, happens when there is a difference. The sky is charged one way, and the ground another. To solve this problem, and get everything neutral again, thunder happens. Like … like a river of light, vertical, to bring the positive to the negative. Back to harmony. As I said, it all seems to make sense … in theory.”
Sinnika was writing again about “what happened here”. Empero had decided to allow it, whatever the tutor had to say. That’s what a good emperor would do. Being kind and generous has only had good consequences so far!
And besides, the nasty things they said were about his mother, not him.
“But we need to actually do it now, test it, go further,” continued Empero. “Our best forecaster has predicted a thunderstorm soon. We need to try and catch the thunder.”
“We? Please, don’t endanger yourself like that. Thousands of Amori are standing in line to help their beloved emperor with anything he wants.”
“They’re no alchemists or philosophers. They wouldn’t know what to do. I’ll do it myself, yes, alone, to make sure nobody else gets hurt. That’s what a friendly emperor would do.”
Sinnika frowned, putting his writing away. “There are some … who aren’t pleased with how friendly you are with the Commonfolk.”
“Tell me who they are,” said Empero immediately, “so I can make them see sense.”
“You already know, boy,” said Sinnika. He breathed out a long and deep sigh, as if suddenly remembering he was very, very, very tired. “Nothing is ever going to change, is it? The ones in power, the Elite, are the only ones who can change the law. Because, well, they have the power. But those are exactly the people who do not want to lose power! So they’ll never change, the system never changes.”
“All of the Elite?” asked Empero with a small voice. “They all hate that—”
“Not hate necessarily. But every right you give to the Commonfolk, feels like losing that special right to them. Every coin spent on some poor pig with a problem, means coin not in the purse of the Elite. If the emperor is thinking about how to help Commonfolk, well, he surely is not thinking about how to help the Elite!”
“So?”
Sinnika’s leather face, and long whiskers, wrinkled in worry. “I would be a bit more hesitant in your generosity the coming years, if I were you.”"
Empero shook his head, his fur, his entire body. “Then I will prove you wrong. I can be kind, and generous, and give power away, and remain emperor of a prosperous Amor at the end. The Elite will just have to accept it.”
Empero could scarcely leave his throne. He was swamped with requests from Commonfolk, and he tried to say yes to them all.
“You don’t have time or money for this,” Sinnika would whisper in his ear.
“They looked at me funny once,” Gatagrip would say, “don’t give them what they want.”
“That’s not a strong argument,” Sinnika would say. And before long, Empero would barely be able to hear the request over the angry whispered debate between his left ear and his right ear.
Until everyone had to step aside as a large party entered. A weird assembly of different species, nationalities and uniforms. Some soldiers, some nobles, a poet, and even some Jurads.
“Empero! We rely upon your kindness and grace!” said the nobles. “Our city, the second largest in the Amor Empire, has suffered disaster.”
“And the Jurads near your border are being viciously attacked for our faith!” said a religious woman.
Empero’s face scrunched up in worry. “That is terrible news. I will send aid at haste and—”
“We don’t have any soldiers left to spare,” whispered Sinnika in his ear. “And the Jurads are not part of our empire.”
“Let them die,” whispered Gatagrip. “Disaster is disaster. And the Jurads believe in fairy tales, of course they’re attacked.”
“No, no,” Empero said out loud. The whispering in his ear had become so loud, so insistent, that everyone else could hear it too. “I would not be a proper emperor if I didn’t—”
“You can’t do everything, or be everywhere,” whispered Sinnika. “Spare your energy for the things that matter most, and that is the capital of Amor.”
“I suddenly remember that noble speaking up against me,” whispered Gatagrip. “Kill him.”
Empero shuffled on the throne. Hundreds of eyes stared at him, their paws already in the right position to start applauding.
The young man stepped off the throne and gently placed his paw on both the religious woman and the worried noble.
“You will receive whatever aid you require. That is my final decision.”
“You idiot!” hissed Gatagrip.
“I’ll start making the calculations again …” mumbled Sinnika in frustration.
His mother yanked him back to the throne and nearly deafened him with her whispers. “I am your mother. I am the reason you’re on this throne. You will listen when I demand something. Kill those two nobles for, I don’t know, conspiring to kill me.”
“I will not—”
“Send all Jurads out of this room. No, out of Amor entirely. We believe in the Amori Gods here, none other.”
Empero struggled to break free from his mother’s iron grip. This didn’t look good, he immediately thought. This ruined his reputation with the Commonfolk.
All the whispers, all the demands, the endless chattering in his ear—he was done with it. He could see now how his mother had gotten what she wanted with all her previous husbands, emperors, or family members. With clarity like a lightning bolt from the blue, he saw how his mother was doing the same to him now.
He finally applied his full strength as a young male wolf. His mother was pushed aside with no hope of preventing a hard crash on the floor.
He addressed everyone watching.
“My mother is unwell. She has served us honorably all these years, but it is time for her to retire. You will receive your aid; Gatagrip will leave the palace ground for good.”
This received applause and “hear, hear”—but only from the Elite.