The Sun Made of Water

[Großlausitz]

November 2010

What the…? Prinzregent Jakob struggled to keep a polite attitude. He was certainly caught off guard by the sudden eruption of charm by Geijer. Jakob von Franken had dealt with numerous and different kinds of powerbrokers, lobbyists and politicians throughout his active career as heir apparent. Even amongst those characters Geijer was certainly memorable and unique. “Cincinnatus? Wait a minute, that name rings a bell. I recall translating some historical records way back in grammar school. Whereas I certainly didn’t have the ultimate knack for history or ancient languages like you do, I consider a broad and deep knowledge of history vital for a leader, be he a commoner or a prince. While I search the shelves for some wines for you to select, why don’t you explain the downside of the Alvitrs’ influence in your home-country to me a little more? Some insights from a native citizen of Oelar would certainly help me to understand your home-country and your causes better.” Prince Regent Jakob nonchalantly refrained from discussing the comment Rigpa’s idea of monarchism lest this conversation would continue to be impeded by interesting nevertheless useless talking about governmental concepts. Anyway, he concluded that he would try to attend one of Geijr’s history lectures sometime in the future.

Browsing the storage racks for suitable wines the Prinzregent carefully listened to his guest’s explanations. Between the lines Jakob von Franken had made it clear that he could not press a decision at his whim. But Franken’s political system certainly allowed the monarchy to exercise its influence behind the curtains. Over all, there would be a lot to be talked over with the Foreign Minister and the Ministerpresident. Jakob von Franken wondered whether his wife had any success with the foreign minister.

Upstairs, the Duchess of Schlesnitz paid good attention to her guest’s stories about her home country and the oligarchic-autocratic rule by the Rigpa and his followers. Other than her husband Franziska Isabel von Franken was relatively emotional and not as good at pretending nonchalance or indifference as the Crown Prince or senior diplomats. Furthermore, one of the many charities she presided over looked after promoting girls’ and women’s education abroad. “My personal access to the tools of power is constrained, yet I can assure I will convey your arguments as authentic and convincing as possible. Denying aspiring young girls the right of pursuing higher education is not tolerable!” Once the foreign minister and her companion would have left the Königsburg, the Herzogin was very likely to give her spouse a run for his money by arguing in favour of Margarethe Alvitr’s cause.
​

 

[Gunnland]

November 2010

"Perhaps this will help." Rikarthur Gregorsson reached into his dinner jacket, and a bulky fold below his right breast pocket was revealed to be a small wheel of cheese. "Our answer to a F-Fontina. From my f-farm in the Sindhu Valley. We will drink it with a modest F-Franconian Riesling, or a Chenin Blanc from Mon-Montelimar. Or..." Damn fool thing, who knows what we are having for dinner? "...it is not unknown to have it with a Chianti, after all." The stammering historian suddenly sighed, relaxing into a shrug. "I am not sure if this is at all what one gives as a gift on an occasion like this, but I am a professor of history, and a dairy farmer, not a diplomat or a prince." But at least the Franconians won't take me for Margo's factotum.

He was pleased when Jakob von Franken changed the subject to the Alvitrs. "It's not the Alvitrs, per se." Geijer paused, thinking. "Though they are the most urbane of the our warrior clans." He smiled. "The most embarrassed to be such a silly thing. We Eirs are proud." Geijer winked, pointing a thumb to his chest, at ease now. When speaking English, Tagzigs were said to almost sound like they had a brogue similar to the people of Eireann.

"Look, I hope Franconians realize this... our lords know that we must adopt modern institutions slowly, carefully, protecting a meaningful culture... it's not like our poor, unwashed people are the starving peasants of Jizhou circa 1960. We are Europe's last lost indigenous people, self-governing by an accident of history." Geijer's eyes flared mischievously at the Prinzregent. "I know Franconians remember that!" But it was a gibe gently put.

Directly above, Margarethe Hjovarthursdatter was adamant. "Olmolungring is like Jizhou in 1960! Starving, poor, dirty. There is not even universal suffrage! Nobody outside of the capital can even vote! And unfortunately many of the..." she winked and smiled, "well, men... there's no other way of saying it!... of our ruling classes are content to protect their pathetic little fiefdoms. It is not a new problem, after all. They just drink and drink... Ah, Rick!" She was often said to have a sixth sense.

And, sure enough, at that very moment, the Prinzregent and Rikarthur Gregorsson were walking in the room, loaded down with not one but several bottles of wine (Geijer was something of a diplomat, after all, by all accounts!) and a generous cut of Oelarian Fontina.

Margarethe Hjovarthursdatter was suave, but couldn't help but do a double take at the cheese. Playing rustic farmer, I see. Typical, the Campanile chose well. Isn't your last book on Franconian septentrionalism, Rick? 'The Viking Revival' she remembered. Geijer returned her forced polite gaze with stiff formality.

For he had once loved Margo Hjovarthursdatter, cold as she was.

 

[Gunnland]

November 1843

GRAVPLASS: Nonsense. Do you realize it is all nonsense? We live virtual reality. Products of printing machines and currents of published ideas. Trapped within the systematics of collective human imagination. We simply -- most basically -- do not exist. You, Stigeskaper, expert philologist and scholar of Greek, have never had a thinking thought... No, it is better to go to the ends of the earth, to Umbazi, then become deader than I already am.

Snow gathers on the frock coats of Soren Gravplass, standing on the medieval ramparts of the Capitollium. He is of medium height, lanky, with unkempt blond hair and sideburns, and radiates an otherworldly calm. Over the city walls of Yungdrung Gutsak, workers are laying railroad tracks. The setting sun far above the gathering snowstorm gives everything the effect of being cast in a red light. A second man, bearded with darker hair, approaches closely, looking somewhat agitated. This is Johann Stigeskaper.

JOHANN STIGESKAPER: It is queer weather, Master Gravplass.

SOREN GRAVPLASS: [indicating the tracklayers] The White Citadel will not be the same, now. By train, it will be a half-day's journey to Emyn Arnen. The cant of every halfwit philosopher in the city of light will reach our ears, now. I will have to go to the east.

STIGESKAPER: Anyone here, Soren, would gladly kill for the opportunity to lecture at the Sylnarsson, or to dispute the learned teachers in Nuremberg at the Heinrich-Alexander-Universität. Go back. You belong at the forefront of Europe, not writing your books for Tagzig pubishing houses.

GRAVPLASS: What about nonsense do you not understand, Stigeskaper? Would you crown me king of the living dead? Don't you take the Living God to be your king?

STIGESKAPER: I am sorry, Soren. Konstantin Konstantinsson tells me the Mimir is very concerned with you being chosen as our forty-seventh exalted rigpa. He believes, Soren, that you are a modern saint, and will not be swayed. If the rumors are true, the Mimir will prevail upon the Bishop, and I can't imagine the other councilors opposing them.

GRAVPLASS: I would still go east, Johann. I would go east anyway.

 

[Gunnland]

November 2010

Three riders braved the rain pelting down on the snow, as the horses slowly made their way up from the sea into the mountains. After some hours of riding, their beards were lined with ice. On either side of Jens Yvosson, who was sitting slightly less comfortably on his sorrel mount, were two men in long gray robes, folded up to reveal wool-lined shotgun chaps, astride white geldings. Each man had a rifle slung over his shoulder. The oddest monks in the world, thought the Lord Provost.

Legend has it that Oelarians prefer dipping tobaccos and snus because it was too cold in the horse country of the north to light cigarettes.

Halvbefaren had last seen the Abbot Mimir five years ago, at the Lord Rigpa's seventy-fifth birthday party. When after a six-hour ride, the company reached the abbey, he thought that the Prince of the North with his great white beard, the éminence grise of the country, looked no different. "Peace be upon you, my son." Jens thought he saw an nearly imperceptible smile curl underneath the man's beard. "And with thy spirit, Brother Mimir."

In time the two men were drinking the famous abbey ales and looking out of a great double-paned window off the side of a mountain. On a clear day, it was possible to see the sea, a slow six-hour ride down sheer cliff faces and into the fjord. Tonight, all that could be seen were swirling snowflakes. When the sun went down, the rain turned to snow. When you dealt with the monks, you had to accustom yourself to their long silences.

"You said you had news for me, professor? Yes? That cannot wait for my coming to Yungdrung Gutsak?"​

Jens nodded. I thought you would never ask. "Urgent. I broke bread with the Lord Rigpa two nights ago with Lord Alvitr's son, Isleifur Christian Hjovarthursson. It is a secret still, but the Lord Rigpa will step down from power soon after the celebrations."

The monk's great bushy white eyebrows rose high on his wrinkled, weatherbeaten face. "It is a good thing we have Zebulon of Karlljon on the Council, Jens Yvosson. And you as well. There have been far worse Lord Bishops and Lord Provosts, as you know."

The struggles between the Mimir, who ruled an abbacy nullius diœceseos in the northeast of the country, and the Lord Bishops, who appointed the vicar in Knytlingsfort and the prelate in Issverth, were well known. Essentially, it amounted to a struggle for control of all the schools, hospitals, and most importantly, collections and tithes. The well-known theocratic functions of Oelarian government were contested between the Abbot Mimir, historic leader of an order of warrior-monks, and the Lord Bishop.

"Yes, Mimir, although he will not step down until after the elections for the nine districts, so we do not know."

The Mimir smiled broadly and shrugged, with a sparkle in his eye, asking with sarcastic incredulity, "The man who sits atop the Campanile, with the furthest-seeing eyes and longest-hearing ears in the Heavenly Kingdom, does not know who is best placed to be our next Lord Rigpa? Unbelievable, I say."

Halvbefaren nodded, looking out the window, enjoying his thick frothy draft.

"Christian will have the support of the Alvitrs and the progressives, in fact my man Geijer reports his sister is probably actively soliciting Franconian support for him. The Lord Bishop will see him as a safe bet, I expect. And Lord Hjovarthur will push hard. He is young and capable, but no scholar, although it does not seem to be the fashion these days for scholars to rule..."

"We are a most unfashionable people, Jens Yvosson."​

"Then the poet, Gregor Samsonsson Stoker, is currently the darling of the left, and of course with many of my students and professors. There are rumors he will run for Mayor in Knytlingsfort, so you may see a deal with the Eirs and, depending on the elections, a strong chance."

"Hm. These are always surprising. So rare."​

Jens Yvosson took a deep drink. Something about the Mimir's white beard brought out his blue eyes.

"Forgive me, my son, for I know nothing of these things..." His eyes twinkled deviously; it was pro forma disingenuousness, Halvbefaren realized. "...but would I be so far from the truth if I sensed that you urgently coming to convey me this news personally, as opposed to sending a courier from the Campanile or some kind of sign, is because you are worried about the future of our traditions and way of life, and perhaps dream of being Rigpa yourself?"

 

[Gunnland]

Rikarthur Gregorsson Geijer and the other fifty or so Campanile men had received the same encrypted e-mail the day before Jens Yvosson Halvbefaren made the two-day trip to the Mimir Abbey, which required taking the train to Issverth, chartering a small boat to Klosteroya, announcing his presence, and waiting for two armed monks to escort him up from the coast on horseback.

THE TERMS OF THE GAME

For Your Eyes Only

Transition 2010 Report
Campanile, The Capitollium

Thorlakur Feargusson Gunn is expected to step down from office after the December council elections, leaving the seat of the Lord Rigpa vacant and necessitating a convention of the Great Council. This will be a secret announcement.

This will be the first convention of the Council since T.F.G. was elected in 1960.

Other than the Campanile, I. Christian Hjovarthursson Alvitr knows of this Rigpa's plan. It can be assumed that all the Alvitrs will be made aware, followed by most of the permanent council members in due time.

It is presumed that J.Y. Halvbefaren (a Gunn) and I.C.H. Alvitr (an Alvitr) are the Rigpa's preferred successors.

Registration for the council elections began yesterday. To be elected Rigpa, one needs 10/15 votes. 9 votes come from the seats elected by the people of Yungdrung Gutsak. 6 votes come from the permanent councilors, the three clan chiefs, the Lord Provost of the Capitollium, the Lord Bishop, and the Lord Abbot Mimir.

The next Rigpa will be determined, very likely, by the outcome of the Yungdrung Gutsak elections. The left is likely to support popular poet and journalist G.S. Stoker.

Stoker and Alvitr are both "New State" candidates calling for the modernization of Oelarian government structure, including representation for the electorate outside of Yungdrung Gutsak and taking some power away from the church to run schools and hospitals. Stoker is more radical by far.

Halvbefaren is a moderate conservative.

Nationalist firebrand A.A. Himmelright may also figure in the race, and is rumored to be running against G.S. Stoker in a mayoral contest in Knytlingsfort. Whomever wins the Knytlingsfort mayoral race will be in a strong bargaining position for the Eir vote. Because Lord S.S. Eir's son T.S. Eir is still in jail, there is unlikely to be an Eir candidate.

At this critical juncture in foreign affairs, each leader would take O.L.R. in a different direction. Stoker favors Kryobaijan and the leftist nations, Alvitr the EDF and the Nordic Council, Halvbefaren the Franconian and Aren monarchists, and Himmelright is suspected to envision O.L.R. as ripe for partnership with the Midland nations and the LFS.

The Campanile, needless to say, supports J.Y. Halvbefaren, our Lord Provost.

End.​

 

[Großlausitz]

November 2010

The rest of the evening went along smoothly without any further attempt by Alvitr or Rikarthur Gregorsson to entice the princely couple to support their cause. This was probably because there was no other opportunity for the odd Olerian couple to address their hosts separately. After the dinner had been finished they were brought back to their luxurious hotel suites, where they met the rest of their party. Meanwhile, their hosts were busy discussing what to make of the myriad of arguments the foreign minister and Rikarthur Gregorsson fired at them.

“It’s hard to dispute, my dear, that seeing to a broad education of their women will make a country more stable and prosperous. To think of the scores of peasant husbands squandering the little family money they have on beer and other useless stuff…”, Kronprinzessin Franziska Isabel mused. “Well, Franziska, aren’t you a bit too haughty and too narrow-minded here? If a peasant’s son or daughter is sufficiently gifted, they have an excellent university at their disposal, don’t they? We have to take the big picture into account: Unless we somehow controlled our education efforts in Olelar, it could easily backfire against Franken by promoting anti-Franconian views. I think a practical approach would be reasonable: Once we have made up our mind who to support over there, we will find ways how to have our say in educating their youth.”, Prinzregent Jakob replied. “Wouldn’t that be brainwashing?” “In business they’d call it marketing. Anyway, we only need to implant one idea: Franken is the best protector and partner for OLR. We will know more by tomorrow evening, I believe. Then I’ll have a phone conference with Robert Beaumont and Graf Peter Solms.”, Jakob von Franken remarked.

Indeed, tomorrow Margarethe Alvitr and her delegation were to meet Robert Beaumont, holding the positions of Stellvertretender Ministerpräsident der Regierung Seiner Majestät und Minister des Äußeren. Subjects were closer cooperation in several areas, which effectively meant Franken would send subsidies, support and private investments northwards. Olear’s most valuable asset was its strategic importance as northern buffer of Franken. As long as they could have dibs on the key positions and agents in the country, Franken’s leaders would be satisfied. Trying to wholly conquer this wild and self-confident country had always been a foolish enterprise.
​

 

[Batavië]

November 2010

Since 1990 the only noticeable change at the Batavian Honourary Consulate in Oelar was on one cold morning in April when a pair of repairmen removed the plaque by the gates to the building. The bronze plaque, which read: Het Honoraire Consulaat van de Bataafsche Volksrepubliek, was thrown away and replaced with a more modern-looking stainless steel plaque. This newer face read: Het Honoraire Consulaat van de Bataafscge Republiek. Hardly noticeable.

As well as outside, inside the Staatsveiligheid, which used about 60 per cent of the floorspace of the large and intimidating, yet beautiful building, was officially renamed to the Veiligheidspolitie, or more commonly, Vepo.

Karel Haas, who had led the efforts in the early '90s to fund and arm Gregor Samsson's communist and leftist student organisations, did not quit after failing in his goal. Nor was he removed from his post to some lesser SV location. Karel Haas had obtained such an extensive knowledge of this peculiar country during his SV service that he was classified as 'irreplaceable' and a 'highly valuable asset to this institution'.

Therefore, today, in the year 2010, Karel Haas was to be called His Excellency Consulate-General Haas. The fact that the now-called Vepo could install an agent as a foreign service official was possible would amaze historians. But so was the system in Batavia. Despite the end of communism, Vepo remained all-powerful and all to full of internal struggles and problems.

Haas knew the streets of the capital better than most locals. Standard SV training required him to know the city map better than any taxi driver. And having lived here for 20 years, he had even written letters to the city cartographer association with suggested alterations for a reprinting. Using, unconsciously of course, his knowledge of the city allies and streets, Haas arrived at his preferred café just a few moments before Samsson. He had recently been in touch with Gregor, especially with the rumours of elections in Oelar's second city.

Officially Batavia was a democracy and no longer communist. Yet for some reason Haas's superiors in Vlaanderen at Vepo headquarters had continued to order him to maintain contact and support the country's leftist forces. Haas was a good agent and didn't ask questions. He would regret that before the year's end.

 

[Gunnland]

November 2010

The Franconians had booked a conference room in the hotel for the Oelarians to use. Svava Pallsdatter slid an outline across the table. "Here, Margo, are our objectives for tomorrow."

She noticed Geijer craning above the foreign minister to take a look at the sheet. Both women wished he would go away and smoke a pipe, or whatever men like him still did.

1. Open talks for EDF military protection, cooperation.
2. Secure development assistance for schools.
3. Franconian training for Oelarian security forces.
4. King Alfred's invitation to rigpa's birthday.
5. Secure development aid for poverty relief.
6. Offer special forces' alpine unit for EDF missions.

Alvitr scanned the list quickly. "Two will be difficult. I wonder if Franken can give money directly to religious institutions." She looked up at Svava, avoiding Geijer's eyes. "No chance we'll be able to nationalize the schools any time soon. And then obviously One and Six are going to be trouble with the people at home." And the person standing behind me right now...

Rikarthur Gregorsson smiled, "After all, we don't want them to have too much leverage over our wise and time-honored governors. But I think I will retire now to smoke my pipe. See you when Mr. Beaumont's people come to fetch us tomorrow."

 

[Gunnland]

November 2010

With R.G. Geijer in Franken and J.Y. Halvbefaren on his way back from Mimir Abbey on Klostersoya, the Campanile's interim leadership had assigned an overzealous novice to watch Gregor Samsonsson Stoker. So zealous, in fact (and quite possibly trained only by Coronavian secret-agent movies) that the new agent produced a marvelous report.

G.S.S. tailed by another man, identity not confirmed, likely LND.

G.S.S. called by Batavian official, identity confirmed, Consul-General Karel Haas. Wiretap transcript follows:

STOKER: "Hello?"
HAAS: "Hello Greg It's been a while now, comrade."
STOKER: "Karel! I mean, Consul-General. Aren't you not allowed to call people comrade any more?"
HAAS: "Don't get me started, strange things here."
STOKER: "Same here. I think I got a freshie as a Campanile tail. Or some kid just likes hiding in my garbage can. Must mean I am less interesting. But watch out, he may bother listening in on my calls!"
HAAS: "Will you run in Knytlingsfort, as we are all hearing?"
STOKER: "You remember how it is down there. It's going to be wild, and I'm getting too old to get shot at. On the other hand, it is that sonovabitch Himmelright, and you know me. How many SV men can I have to make sure I don't end up a corpse in that godforsaken city?"
HAAS: "Oh but Gregor Samsonsson, we don't do that anymore, you know. And if we did, never over telephone. Meet you for lunch sometime this week?"
STOKER: "Tomorrow."
HAAS: "I'll be in touch."​

K.H.'s "we don't do that anymore" perhaps sarcastic.

Apologies for trash can incident.

 

[Großlausitz]

November 2010

With the Foreign Minister of Franken and several senior diplomats and civil servants present, security was stepped up even more compared to the high level assigned to their Olearian guests. For the rest of the day a special ID card was required for people to access the conference rooms’ level in the hotel. Tall roughneck LKA officers in tight black suits formed several barriers for too curious ‘members of the wider public’. They wanted to avoid Batavians, annoying Sarmatian lackeys or pesky journalists to get wind of the meeting’s results. They were supposed to learn about it at a time the security services of Franken selected.

As he led the Franconian delegation into the room, Foreign Minister Robert Beaumont wondered whether anyone of them would recognize the former 28-year-old ambassador, aged by some twenty years. Indeed, he had been an active ambassador in Olear, much more active than his erstwhile predecessors as consuls general. Beaumont, who still sported naturally brown hair despite his advancing age, smirked when he remembered how he was almost more active behind closed doors. It was thanks to him that the security service of Franken opened a much larger branch office. This was a move his country continued to benefit from. Over the past 20 years they had first caught up with Batavia, which had been the intelligence business leader there, and subsequently overtook them.

Personally his fondness for Radilean spirits combined with Olearian dairy products, e.g. fine cheese, had persisted over the past two decades. However, privately Robert Beaumont was going through a rough time. His marriage, which produced two adorable children, was virtually dead. If he wasn’t occupied with business, the Foreign Minister kept pondering when and how to put an end to the misery. In fact he had already found a soulmate - was it delusion, male horniness or real love? – who was scandalously young compared to his 48 years. She was the 23-year-old younger daughter of some well-to-do Aren earl and currently studying mathematics at the Heinrich-Alexander-University of Nürnberg. Oh boy, Franken’s and Arendaal’s yellow press would have a field day once the news of the divorce breaks. Luckily my father staunchly insisted on a pre-nup and managed to convince me despite my romantic state of mind.

Determined not to let these particular thoughts impair his performance, Foreign Minister Robert Beaumont first received his guests’ diplomatic niceties, which he answered in a similar way. “On behalf of Ministerpräsident Graf Peter Solms, I would like to welcome you to the Kingdom of Franken. I believe you received a proper welcome by His Royal Highness the Prince Regent yesterday, didn’t you?” Without any further ado both sides proceeded to tackle the meeting’s agenda. For strategic reasons Beaumont hadn’t told Margarethe Alvitr that the EDF Council had recently given its thumbs up to an association with Olear via the Partnership for Stability. Instead the Foreign Minister engaged in a discussion with his colleague on why and when Olear should sign up for the PfS. She was presenting some enlightening arguments.
​

 

[Gunnland]

November 2010

Looking out of place with his beard and a maroon sweater, Rikarthur was noticeably uncomfortable as his suave female counterparts shuffled folders and stacked papers. His discomfort did not decrease when Margarethe began hitting her points.

"In the modern age" -- a tiny smirk went in Geijer's direction -- "the Oelarian State realizes that our geography will not protect our sovereignty. Our military consultants advise us even Yungdrung Gutsak is vulnerable to attacks by high-altitude bombers or ICBMs, if not, for logistical reasons, a plausible ground invasion. But this is less realistic. What about a fishing dispute with Cornavia, Batavian domestic spying cases or Kryobaijan's influence, Suionian encroachments on our sovereignty near their exclave? We need some backing under the EDF umbrella. Franconian training for our security forces, et cetera."

As Margarethe Hjovarthursdatter took a glass of water (and Rikarthur Gregorsson slyly slipped a pouch of snus behind his upper lip) Svava Pallsdatter continued.

"We presume that strengthening Yungdrung Gutsak in this way will give our government the power to act in southern Olmolungring to stabilize the border regions between our nations, possibly with Franconian consultants..." Geijer coughed loudly enough to be noticed; his discomfort now looked like agitation. "...and furthermore the Oelarian State is prepared to offer the Franconian military units of our elite special forces teams, many of them veterans of the fighting in the Sindhu Valley, who are experienced in mountain warfare..."

Geijer could not help but interrupt. "Of course, our government has a strict policy of neutrality, as you know..."

Alvitr had to step in at that point and assert her authority, and did so smoothly. "Which means, of course, that these units would be under the Franconian flag, much like the famous Oelarian mercenary soldiers of the past..." Actually, thought Geijer, you mean crusaders, but the distinction is unintelligible for a heathen like you, Marge. "...but you have read our reports on the matter. What most concerns Prime Minister Roerich and myself is securing development aid, the tricky situation being that all primary and secondary schools in Olmolungring are administered by the church. And, of course, to invite King Alfred to the rigpa's 80th, and ask for Franconian security cooperation to help us keep that event safe."

 

[Gunnland]

November 2010

The tallest building in Knytlingsfort was the Oberschlesnitz-Eir Copper Building, a 27-story bank and office building in the downtown area, that had replaced the old Eir citadel as the locus of power. Sigvarthur Sigvarthursson wore a business suit (albeit a somewhat dated double-breasted cut) and was clean-shaven except for his full gray moustache. A lord, it was once said, cut from the new cloth. A modern businessman controlling the country's only major mining conglomerate. But today he looked tired, somehow grayer than usual.

A son like Terje Sigvarthursson would do that to you, thought Himmelright. The white-haired poet with a close-cropped beard turned to the police lieutenant, who had done most of the talking. Viereskog, who wrote the little journalistic piece in the Journal a day a go. Smart kid, probably. What the hell is he doing here, working for the Knytlingsfort police? Lord Eir must be cooperating with the police as part of some leniency deal. He didn't like to think about it.

Lieutenant Robert Petursson Viereskog didn't like thinking about renegade Eir factions, nationalist militias, or socialist insurgents either. But the calls from the Freehold had come in anyway. Yungdrung Gutsak is worried about this mayoral race. Knytlingsfort could get bloody. And at such an embarrassing time. The rigpa is committed to order in his realm, and order alone. He read that same line maybe twenty times. From the Transport Ministry, from the Prime Minister, from the Campanile, from the Foreign Minister, from Lord Alvitr, from the Bishop, from the Apostolic Vicar. And so on.

"Thank you, Arthur Arthursson, for sharing your concerns with Lord Eir and I. You are right, we must prevent any secessionist efforts and we do support that plank of your platform. As for the extra protection..." the young lieutenant drew out these words, 'extra protection', "...we shall have to wait and see whether your opponents are bona fide secessionists, now won't we?"

Robert Petursson escorted the nationalist poet and mayoral candidate out of the Eir's large penthouse office, patting him on the arm in an almost patronizing way for a man of his age. The thought crossed his mind. Why not? I've got the guns in this town. It made him a little sick. A year before he had been happily studying philosophy at the Capitollium. But studies could be expensive. No, he reminded himself, you just didn't want to marry Kristin yet. So now he was in the combat uniform with the bisected black-over-red armpatch with three red dots on the black field, symbolizing the Eir's service to the House of Knytling. Because they collaborated with the protestants. Old associations were difficult to live down in Olmolungring.

Which is why, of course, Viereskog had learned earlier that day that Gregor Samsonsson Stoker was filing for his candidacy.

 

[Gunnland]

November 1942

Issverth.

Robert Aedsson had been out of work for a three and a half years, since the Shipmen and Stevedores' Raisovet Issverth (SSRI) had taken control of the city from the Gravplass government. In fact he only had his job as a machinist for six months before he was run out by the workers' council. Now Olf Vidkunsson Gravplass was not Robert's rigpa, but he was no communist either. He was young and stubborn then, before Hilda was pregnant with Petur (that wouldn't be for another fifteen years). Plus, though the Viereskogs were Gunns, in the old days they fought with the Eirs under Knytling banners during the Protestant Reformation. So Gravplass "the Franconian" did not roil his blood like most of the other workers in Issverth.

Still, because he was proud, he put on his ragged jacket and cap, stuck his pistol in his belt, and went down to the docks each day. For two hundreth-spars he bought a cup of coffee and borrowed a newspaper, and sat, waiting for the rare chance that the stevedores would need temporary workers to unload a ship from Kryobaijan or a Suionian bark. He scanned the headline: "Comrades Push Back Priests In Knytlingsfort". This was probably two weeks ago.

Better news was the large ship that had pulled through the early morning mist into the main docks, Tagzig-accented shouts and men running with ropes. And, sure enough, the red-shirted waterfront foreman:

"Viereskog, you counter-revolutionary son of a bitch, come on, now, we'll need all the..."

A deafening blast from the hold of the ship interrupted him. Everything became enveloped in dust, and above even the piercing ringing in his ears, the hideous screams of men on the docks. For a few seconds, the world had turned to formless chaos. And then, Franconian-built machine guns. Rat-a tat tat-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat tat-tat-tat. And then, like angels from hell, hooded and robed men with Thompson submachine guns, vaulting over the ship's rails, given a human shape only by flak-vests around their torsos.

Perhaps because he had lived most of his life expectant of the coming rapture (such it was to be Oelarian, and the eschaton was surely at hand in the world war unfolding), Robert Aedsson dropped to the floor with his back to the wall. The diner's plate glass window had been blown out by the shock-wave from the blast. Robert pulled the gun out of his pants and matter-of-factly peered around the corner.

He put two rounds into the waterfront foreman's head, later rationalizing that it was to put the man out of suffering. At the time, it felt like justice. But the advancing cloaks, humanoid forms in cloaks, were too much. Still crouching, he put the gun over the sill and squeezed off a few rounds before collapsing into a fetal position, his hands over his head.

 

[Großlausitz]

November 2010

Being a seasoned diplomat and politician Robert Beaumont did certainly notice the subtle tensions Alvitr and her unwilling companion Geijer. Of course he had been prepared for that by the dossier on the delegation’s members, but it was always better to see human relations in play. If that was possible, you could come to a more informed decision, the Foreign Minister thought. “We understand your worries and arguments, madam. For Franken it would be out of question not to help its northern neighbour to prevent and/or evade potential conflicts. Having a destabilized front yard, so to say, would be detrimental to our paramount goal, preserving stability around Franken and her allies. Only through stability beyond its borders a society can flourish and prosper, Minister Alvitr.” By adding this remark Robert Beaumont intended to give the Olearians a broad hint. Creating and/or maintaining stability was the principal doctrine of modern Franconian foreign policy and used as a pretext to intervene abroad.

“In regards of your offer of Olearian special forces I would like to thank you for your generosity. As any nation with a long parliamentary history our own book of statutes is full of dormant legislation. If I recall correctly, there was an act of parliament permitting the service of foreign citizens as a sort of foreign legion around the turn of the 19th to the 20th century. Maybe we can reactivate it, which would spare us some trouble. In return for your trusted veterans’ service we are prepared to offer you broad assistance ourselves, including military consultants and so on.”
After he had answered the Olearians, one of his aides handed him a fancy looking slim leather folder, which sported the logo of the EDF and the letters ‘Europäischer Verteidigungsbund – European Defence Federation: Partnerschaft für Stabilität – Partnership for Stability’.

Suddenly the Foreign Minister’s face showed a broad and cordial grin. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m delighted to present you with the papers of the Partnership for Stability. Only a few days before your visit, the Council approved your admission. If you desire so, we can arrange for a formal signing ceremony. What about doing it at the Franconian embassy during the Rigpa’s birthday? Unless my memory betrays me, all EDF members have diplomatic missions of some kind in Yungdrung Gutsak. This way we’ll have prestigious ceremony that both shows your country has a powerful friend and that EDF is determined to guard its northern borders. Speaking of the invitation I think Their Majesties will be happy to attend. And we will provide the necessary security, in our own interest.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to address your questions on financing your country’s schools –“, Dr. Romina Ausperger, who Robert Beaumont had introduced as his senior deputy, politely interjected, “– since I have some more insight in this matter, madam. First and foremost, sending some financial aid isn’t a question of whether it’s possible. There is a myriad of private and public charities concerned with promoting education. The most influential and affluent ones are the development aid funds for education and – that won’t surprise you – the foundations of the

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, including the royal house itself. Some endowments are more publicly scrutinized than others. Yet the houses with sizeable foreign interests do have both publicly acclaimed trusts and less known ones. As the heads of the house are all Great Officers of State, they will eagerly listen to encouragement on part of their Sovereign. The question, Euer Exzellenz, is how fast you want to have your money.” Between the lines Dr. Ausperger added 'and how much publicity you want'.
​

 

[Gunnland]

November 2010

Dr. Ausperger and Rikarthur Gregorsson walked out discussing the possible discrete arrangements for school funding. One promising option was that the Faber-Castells would give lots of money earmarked for education to the Diocese of Yungdrung Gutsak, while the Knýtlings would fund the less obviously Catholic schools in the northeast under the Abbacy of Mimir. When they were out of earshot of their colleagues, Geijer loosened his tie and smiled, "Every vision for the future, progress, say, is judged by our memory of the past. That is why history is so laden with ironies. Forgive my pedantry, Dr. Ausperger. You see, Olmolungring was the only country in Europe where the people resented being on the winning side of the Great War. So here we have our progressives like Margarethe Hjovarthursdatter and Svava Pallsdatter looking south to Franken for the advancement of our people, and there will be old men who call them traitors and sell-outs not seen in our land since Olf Vidkunsson Gravplass."

The thought was on Svava Pallsdatter Gunn's mind later that evening as she began to write the memo to Prime Minister Roerich that would double as a written press briefing to the media, such as they were interested, in Franken:

In 1947, Our 52nd Exalted Rigpa, Ludvig Karlsson Skjolden, declared an end to all Franconian influence in the Heavenly Kingdom, expunged the name 'Gravplass' from the twentieth century, and most memorably, if rudely, called the House of Knýtling the "prodigal sons of Olmolungring".

Today we turn a new page in bilateral relations between Olmolungring and Franken. No longer cowering in the high fastness of a borean wilderness, the new Oelarians look forward to self-confidently writing our shared history of the next century with Franconians as equals, and as partners.

After the quick, tightly-controlled press conference (neither foreign minister had taken any questions from their opposite podiums), Alvitr leaned close to Beaumont. "Rikarthur Gregorsson knows this, too, but the rigpa is stepping down soon after his birthday. Whatever becomes of the Partnership agreement, the future of Oelarian foreign policy will be decided by Thorlakur Feargusson's successor. And some of them don't like you and me very much at all, Mr. Beaumont." She turned forward to see Ausperger and Geijer, who gave her a knowing look.

This has moved along awfully quickly. Are the Franconians that eager? Some other EDF country? Or has there been more behind the scenes diplomacy than I suspected? He would have to remember to write the Campanile that the Franconians probably knew of the upcoming succession crisis. On the outside, though, in his sweater and knit tie, the farmer-historian did not look so intimidating. Especially when he smiled.

"Well, what's for dinner?"

 

[Großlausitz]

November 2010

“Ladies and Gentlemen –“, the two Olearian affairs experts from the Foreign Office and the LND respectively were the only women, “— I hereby declare this meeting of the Reichssicherheitsrat opened. Our sole item is Olear.” Instead of going for a video conference, both the Ministerpresident and the Prince Regent had agreed to summon the so-called Reichssicherheitsrat, which was a semi-obscure body in charge of advising the Crown on security matters. One of its very relevant jobs was to clear or veto large weapon exports to non-EDF countries. It was a favourite tool of Franconian foreign policy to entice an unwilling foreign partner to do something they didn’t want by threatening to veto a weapons purchase. By law its members were the Ministerpresident, the Foreign Minister, the Defence Minister and – as if to mollify the panel – the Minister for Development Aid and Foreign Cooperation. It was presided by the Sovereign and/or the Prince Regent.

“As Frau Josefsen has just shown us, -“, the LND head of department for Central Europe had just finished a presentation on the potential succession crisis in Olear, “ – we are facing a succession dispute in Olmolungring. And let’s not forget the many instances when our guests tried to influence us yesterday and the day before yesterday.”, the Prince Regent told the council. This morning the Olearian delegation was entertained by the Olearian-Franconian Chamber of Commerce and would finally be treated to a luncheon by the Lord Mayor of Nürnberg, Gabriele Schütt. In the early afternoon they’d be sent off to their next destination.

“Indeed, Königliche Hoheit, we are faced with a dilemma of some kind. Either we support the conservative camarilla, among them the esteemed scholar Geijer, or we go for the progressives like Alvitr.”, Robert Beaumont commented. “On the one hand, the conservatives are well-meaning arch-conservative lords, who’d love to preserve their power and keep pesky women in their place. On the other hand, there are the liberals, who strive for reform. An argument in favour of the conservatives is that they are the guys who we know quite well.”

“If you don’t mind I will make the case for the liberals, meine Damen und Herren. As we all know from history it has been thanks to the progressive-minded members of the aristocracy the monarchy took a turn to the modern age instead of remaining an autocratic regime. Instead of proudly insisting on their ancient privileges the lords and some ladies of the day actively took part in politics alongside patriotic merchants and commoner entrepreneurs. Together they forged the basis for modern Franken, for its social economy and the remarkably politically stable population. Therefore, I believe we need to promote the liberal spirits within Olmolungring. In practice I advocate installing a more liberal regime à la Franconia’s late 19th century parliamentary monarchy, i.e. a democratically elected lower house and a chamber of spiritual and temporal lords to counter their influence. Per chance we might be able to balance liberal influence by promoting the appointment of some more conservative lords. There are ways out of the dilemma, I’m quite confident.”, Ministerpresident Graf Solms explained.

“Thank you, Herr Graf. Another point for helping the liberals is the big picture of diplomacy. Up to now Franken has at least implicitly preferred and promoted democracy-similar and/or democratic regimes. More or less openly assisting arch-conservatives doesn’t fit in that picture. They might turn to the Cornavians and/or Sarmatians, who will happily embrace any opportunity to screw with us. Unless we control the liberal movement it could mutate into radical republicanism or even communism. This would be far worse.”, Prinzregent Jakob von Franken added.
The meeting carried on for a while, but it was soon adjourned with the decision to focus on Alvitr’s faction, but keep a close eye on the conservatives.
​

 

[Gunnland]

November 1990

In which the rigpa, the exalted under heaven, speaks.

"You are a painter, so I am sure you have realized. Heaven meets earth here. That is why Olmolungring is a non-dual spiritual realm, the secret name that we piously abbreviate 'O-el-ar'. It is not to be taken lightly, Niels Niklausson, this paradox of infinity and finity. Man is a composite being with a finite existence, bodymind, and an infinite soul, mindstrem; Oelar is a composite country, a finite land in an infinite realm. This whole world, Europe, Nature, is an illusion, a trick of light. A virtual reality, knowable only as it is approximate. To be rigpa is to guard the holiness of a holy place for those of pure heartmind. And so it is an unnatural place."

Thorlakur Feargusson was speaking softly into his beard, and Roerich had to strain his ears to hear every word; a young woman was playing a jazz piece softly on a piano in an adjacent room of the Freehold. The fifty-third exalted rigpa was wearing a rough homespun and loose-fitting white garment, the same color as his white beard. He was explaining to the young painter why he was seldom seen.

"Guarding the peace of the realm is not easy. You remember my predecessor's predecessor, Gravplass, but perhaps you do not know that he paid a horrible price for peace. Perhaps you don't know that I think he was right; this is virtual reality after all, which is to say, all virtues are approximate. It is easy to be naive when you are the Mímir, or an idealist like Skjolden, to purge the name of our greatest teacher in modern times, Soren Michaelsson, but enough... Do you know a young man came to me, your age, in 1962, and said to me, 'Exalted Rigpa, there is a thing called heavy water, there are things named Adams at the root of all being, indivisible things that nonetheless can be split apart, and their fission is a power one degree below the power of the sun and stars, from which none are safe.'"

Niels realized he was talking about nuclear weapons.

"And I said, 'Yes, and beneath those are unobservable indeterminate things that remind us reality is incomplete.' But enough. This man thought he knew being because he knew about being. He was a fool. But enough. Even so, how do you protect the threshold of heaven from what is almost stranger than ourselves, from suns made of water?"

When the rigpa stood up, he was taller than Niels had guessed. It reminded them they had been sitting the entire time, since Roerich came into the room and was bidden to pray vespers with the rigpa, then talk a little bit about his paintings.

"Who shall protect us in the future? To discuss the future, Niels Niklausson, is the duty of the young. The government. I, we, the Trúerorden, the Mímirsorden, the lost Aethrs, the good men who remain among the clans, we guard a sacred place, a sanctuary. We need good men to govern, too. A governor is not a ruler. A ruler creates order. A ruler is a teacher who enlightens those who would drink from the sun. But a governor is a man wise in the ways of this world, a man much like yourself. Do you understand?"

Young Roerich, who certainly did not understand but was gravely impressed, nodded. His leg of lamb, potatoes, and asparagus had gone untouched.

"Good, because when the Geirtrae threatens to wither and the Kailash itself looks poised to topple into Lake Narazara, I will call upon you, Niels Niklausson, to govern this country at that most perilous of times."

 

[Gunnland]

November 2010

"Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders..." Geijer put down the book.

It was Rikarthur Gregorsson's first time on an airplane, and he discovered that flying was terrifying. Why, he wondered. It was the strange newness of the situation and the lack of control. But mostly it was the possible range for the imagination to roam, How far down? He had no memories to rein his imagination back into the real.

Nobody was quite sure how or from which friendly Franconian aristocrat-magnate Svava Pallsdatter procured the unmarked white Learjet, but there was no rail bridge to Scania. Geijer peered between the seats to what she was typing to the Cornavians.

To: "William Fenner, Foreign Minister"
[Add CC] [Add BCC]
Subject: M.H. Alvitr Meeting

Dear Mr. Fenner;

Thank you for arranging to have Margarethe Hjovarthursdatter, Rikarthur Gregorsson, and I conducted to a hotel in Southport-on-Sea. We are all looking forward to our visit and are scheduled to arrive very shortly.

I have sent a briefing report to your Ministry that I will briefly recapitulate here. [1] We would like to discuss a regional security strategy that includes strong ties with Cornavia, our Northern Council neighbors, and Franken; the Oelarian State would see a framework in which we all respect the sovereignty of all. Joint naval exercises are a possibility. [2] We would like to discuss trade between our nations, with an eye upon protecting the ancient trademarks of Mimir Ales, Oelarian cheeses, and Oelarian whiskys.

We look forward to our meetings tomorrow. Best,

S.P. Gunn
Special Counsel to the Foreign Minister

 

[Confederal Republics]

5 Commerce Plaza
Hotel Hamilton Palace Westridge
Central Business District, Southport-on-Sea
Canton of Western Crownland
Commonwealth of Cornavia

"The delegation is here, sir."

In a balcony in the top floor of the ten-floor glass-and-steel tower that constituted Hotel Hamilton Palace Westridge, itself surrounded by largely similarly built structures adjacent to the Commerce Plaza and elsewhere in the Southport-on-Sea CDB, Minister of External Affairs William Fenner drew the last breaths in from his cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ash tray next to him and got up. While doing so, he reached to the insides of the inner breast pocket in his suit to grab a pack of menthol candies, two of which he put into his mouth.

"Alright", Fenner said to one of the Commonwealth Constables in his personal security detail, and headed back in to the conference room that had been reserved for their purposes.

Alas, he'd already quit that particularly poor habit way back, but had found himself returning to it with the mounting pressures of the 2011 Commonwealth Parliament elections. The recognition that this Cabinet might well be the last in the over 50 years of Commonwealth Party supremacy in Cornavian politics, with the advances made by the Republicans quite well forcing Commonwealth into a coalition government after the next elections, tended to be unnerving for someone who'd spent nearly thirty years in Cornavian politics used to his party's stateholding position.

And now that the electoral campaign was at full swing, he welcomed any opportunity for a momentary escape from his party's frantic attempts to defend against the growing political support that the Republicans had been receiving. A meeting with the officials of the Oelarian government made for an interesting affair too, given the sort of exotic fascination that Fenner had always felt for Cornavia's Southern neighbor. And if next year's elections went south there was always a chance that he'd get to end his tenure as the Minister of External Affairs with something actually substantial. As such, William Fenner had prepped well, studying the country briefings his Ministry had made up of Oelar in advance, together with the sections not made privy to the public such as intelligence analyses by the Commonwealth Intelligence Service and details of CIS and Military Intelligence operations in the country.

He could see that the aides had prepared the conference table and equipment and the appropriate snacks and drinks, and that Mary Fieldman-Wilcox, the Minister of External Trade and Louise Needham and Caroline Perry, the Secretaries-in-Chief for the Ministries of External Affairs and External Trade respectively, had already arrived in the conference room before him. William Fenner himself was the last one to arrive, with the exception of the guests, who would be transported from the airport by a motorcade given the usual ceremonial treatment with Metropolitan Police patrol cars and outriders, and shepherded to the top floor past photographers representing the Cornavian press by the plainclothes Commonwealth Constabulary officers assigned as their escorts. For the convenience of the Oelarians, the top floor of the hotel had been booked by the Ministry of External Affairs, with the Security Service and the Commonwealth Constabulary put in charge of security for the most of the hotel and the surroundings.

When the Oelarians were finally led into the top floor, William Fenner was able to recognize each of them based on the dossiers he'd studied before the meeting.

"The Commonwealth welcomes you, ladies and gentlemen", Fenner begun in English, "I am Minister of External Affairs William Fenner, and to my right is Minister of External Trade Mrs. Mary Fieldman-Wilcox. Also I will introduce our respective aides Mrs. Louise Needham and Mrs. Caroline Perry."

 

[Gunnland]

November 2010

Smells like menthol cigarettes. They had started making snus, the Oelarians' preferred tobacco variety, in various mint flavors designed for export. Older snus users, like Rikarthur Gregorsson, preferred a pris of the "old dirty", and packed one above his upper gums before the meeting. His first time in a plane and his first motorcade had made him a little nervous. And his tweed jacket, patches on the sleeves (sewn on by his wife and all) made him look as out-of-place as he had been in Franken. So he watched his two more modern companions play the game.

In chess they call this the Dutch gambit. He would not have expected less from Foreign Minister Alvitr; after they had all been settled and the floor opened for the Oelarians to state their business, Margarethe Hjovarthursdatter went for the bloody opening.

"Mr. Fenner, in the coming months it is inevitable that Olmolungring will come out of its isolation for the first time since the Great War. So first, let's talk foreign policy and security strategy. Where will the political boundaries of Scania and Germania be drawn? Should the Oelarian State consider the Northern Council or the European Defense Federation the prime guarantor of its sovereignty? If I told you the Franconians put an offer on the table, how would the Council up the ante?"

Svava Pallsdatter, the rigpa's niece, handed Alvitr a folder. The foreign minister smiled and pushed it across the table to Mary Fieldham-Wilcox.

"Two, let's talk trade. A rail link between Southport-on-Sea and Yungdrung Gutsak would connect Cornavia to the markets of Central Europe. A feat of engineering, perhaps, but far from impossible. Fourteen kilometers and an estimated T500 million in Franconian thaler, or €400 million euros, including the rail line south to our capital, where it would connect to the main line with Erlangen. The catch is that the Oelarian treasury would take Franconian loans for the project only if Cornavia could commit to 70% of the project costs, or €280 million. We suspect it will be a great boon to Cornavian trade, and will freeze any duties to a 2.4% ad valorem ceiling, which on all accounts will still mean Cornavian goods could reach Central Europe more cheaply. We are willing to extend a similar deal to the Suionians for a much longer two-part bridge system between Issverth and their southernmost penninsula, and we can pledge 20% of its estimated T125 million or €100 million cost with an adjustable tariff rate between 2.5% and 9.9% for Aren, Batavian, and Suionian goods that pass through Oelarian territory. The figures in the folder estimate how much cheaper Scanian exports will be. What we ask in return for investment, duties nonwithstanding, are the protection of the geographic origins of Oelarian crafts as trademarks. So no copycat cheeses, whiskys, or ales can be called 'Oelarian' or 'Mimir' unless they were made here. The folder is more specific."

Geijer watched as Alvitr slid the folder across the varnished table. Only grandmasters played the Dutch. Unless there had again been more extensive background negotiations...