Tiāntáng Chapter Shard

AN: So, after many struggles and inability to get somewhere with ideas, I have finally managed to pull together something for a novel series (he hubristically says). Martial arts fantasy mixed with pseudo-historical fiction (in the sense that it draws heavily on Ming/Qing history, but takes place in a completely different world). What I'm about to present here is a scene or chapter-esque piece I came up with. If this appears in the actual final work, it will likely be rewritten in some fashion, and the purpose was to allow me to get words down, do some world-building, and start a framework for the broader plot arcs across the series. Anyway, it's here for constructive criticism on the writing itself, as well as any questions or thoughts you have to offer.

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As the sun rose, Alain de Montaigne awoke. His servants dressed him, and he proceeded to the modest chapel adjoining his manor. There Alain knelt and prayed to the Grand Divine, beseeching for strength, wisdom, and good fortune in carrying out his duties as Governor-General of Penglai. He didn’t consider himself without the first two, but he was just a man, and the latter was the domain of the godly.

Afterward, per his routine, came a breakfast of rice and fruit. Upon finishing, Alain took his carriage to the Hotel de Ville. He returned the salutes of the guards, marched straight to his office and seated himself behind the large bureau. His trusty secretary appeared and laid down several folded letters on its surface. “Just arrived from the homeland, sir.”

One bore the seal of the Church, while the other three bore more plain sealing meant for the security of private correspondence. “Very good. My itinerary for today?”

“Only one noteworthy event scheduled, sir.” Trubert replied smoothly. “The deputation from the Merchant’s Association, at two in the afternoon.”

Alain’s mouth creased. “Ah, that.” Regrettably, he was too diligent to insist on putting off a meeting he disliked, even if he held the power and prerogative to do so. The costs of virtue.

He picked up the letter knife and slit open the missive from the Church. His mouth proceeded to evolve from crease to pucker as he read through it. “Archbishop Mosquet is deeply concerned about the growth of Luciene influence on Penglai,” Alain announced, “and urges us to act more vigorously to combat it and stem its spread to the native population, for the sake of their souls.”

“With all due respect to His Eminence,” Trubert shook his head, “it’s rather difficult to pursue such a course of action under the present circumstances.”

Which was a diplomatic way of saying it was complete nonsense. Luciene influence grew on Penglai because royal policy, since the Edict of Tresval issued sixteen years ago, was to deport those heretics who refused to convert to the colonial islands, rather than stain the Blessed Country with mass bloodshed. While a formal census had yet to be taken, Alain suspected there were more Lucienes than orthodox Saintéans residing in Penglai at this point, clerics included. And they were no less enthusiastic about proselytizing to the original inhabitants.

“Yes, but we can’t simply tell him no,” The Archbishop was too influential for that, not when Alain de Montaigne’s career was at a critical stage. “Draw up a response, assurances I take this seriously and, bah. You’re the one who knows how to turn a phrase, Trubert. Put something before me that says I’ll see what I can do without actually committing to doing something about it.”

“Of course, sir.” Trubert nodded, and the balding man took his place at a much smaller writing desk off to the side to begin composing the reply. Alain returned to opening the other letters. These, more pleasantly, were from friends and allies in Sainté, which he set aside for reading outside of working hours. Thus disposed of, he moved onto the red-edged folder, containing matters for his attention.

A judicial summary: a Tianren farmer in a village on the northern coast had discovered his wife dallying with her paramour, and overcome with drunken rage stove the other man’s head with repeated blows. Only his inebriation prevented him from doing the same to her; that, and the neighbors drawn by her screams.

The evidence was clear, the trial straightforward, and the sentence obvious. Yet by law – as the patent representative of King Jean III – Alain held the power of commutation and pardon, which in practice meant he had to sign execution orders before they could be carried out.

Which he did here, after a silent prayer for the prisoner’s soul. The law was clear, and the sympathy one might feel for a husband betrayed could not outweigh that. The gallows awaited.

(Beatrice insisted the climate in Penglai was no good for her health and remained at the family estates… with the delights of Langeux just ten kilometers away.)

A progress on the road paving project. Once, only the crown could afford great projects like plastering the streets of Langeux and the royal highways with everstone, now a mere Governor-General could do the same for his domain. The ever-growing traffic flowing through Porte Dorée certainly justified it! Still on schedule, excellent.

An update from Monsieur Delacon – after great time and expense – a ‘martial master’ willing to train the garrison in the arts of internal Quintessence had finally been found. Apparently, this Wei Puyi was a disreputable individual seeking to keep ahead of troubles of his own making. Nevertheless, dubious moral character could be tolerated in exchange for ability and results. With Wei sheltered in the Azure Hope factory, Delacon would begin the preparations to smuggle him over to Penglai.

By the time Alain worked through these and other documents, a servant arrived with his lunchtime meal. It was, in his opinion, a brilliant little innovation: a plate of bread slices with cuts of meat between them! Indulgences in food and drink were best reserved for dinner, in his opinion.

Thus, chewing and wiping away crumbs with a cloth napkin, he turned his attention to the other report from Delacon. One unfortunately quite germane to the upcoming meeting with the Merchant’s Association.

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“Your Excellency, thank you for receiving us,” Armand Duplois bowed, with a stiffness born of the wears and tears of age.

Horse manure. Duplois was one of the wealthiest and most vicious merchants in Porte Dorée, and playing up his physical infirmities to make others lower their guard was one of his most classic tricks. Alain wasn’t sure if Duplois condescending to employing this on him was out of disdain, or a desire to take no chances.

The pair bowing beside him gave weight to the latter possibility. Henri Rombeau bore the prominent chin and sharp nose of the de Paris – widely reckoned as the fourth or fifth most powerful noble family in Sainté – as a scion of a cadet branch. And of course, Gerard Villiers, official chairman of the Porte Dorée Merchant’s Association. One did not acquire such a prestigious position without being highly effective in both business and the salon.

In short, the trio were the leading men of the Association. Individually, none Alain could take lightly. Combined…

Well, this was why, though he retained the privilege of sitting while they stood, the meeting itself took place in one of the private parlors rather than the reception hall. And why Alain smiled broadly while gesturing for them to sit.

“It is my pleasure to host the city’s most eminent gentlemen.” Servants brought warm and fragrant tea and fine pastries to the table. As this was nominally a social affair, Alain raised his cup, followed by the other three men, and offered the customary toast. “To joy and wellbeing.”

They repeated it in turn, and the four spent the next minute sipping their tea. Decorum given its token due, Villiers opened the conversation.

“Governor-General, while we do not wish to be impertinent, on behalf of the Porte Dorée Merchant’s Association, we must renew the petition made six months ago.”

As expected. “Monsieurs, while I sympathize with your plight, the reasons against my taking the step you advocate remain.”

“We recognize the political difficulties that it causes you, Your Excellency.” Villiers answered in a regretful-sounding tone, “but in the end, we feel you are overestimating the damage. The sting to the Dragon Throne’s pride would still be less humiliating than the current spectacle.”

“A dangerous assumption to make, Monsieur, distant as we are from the imperial court and its perception of the matter.” Alain countered.

“We stand to lose as much if not more than yourself from poor judgment here.” Rombeau pointed out, brown brows arching. “The Merchant’s Association has considered the matter carefully and seen its certainty only grow over time. It is not as if we ask to usurp the power of law and slaughter those floating rats,” though his tone contained the underlying certainty that this could easily be done, “merely have the Marine Royale convoy our vessels to deter further attack.”

“Yet there remains no pressing need to take the step that I am aware of.” Alain steepled his fingers. “I loathe the situation as much as you, but having paid close attention to the matter, I know you only lose a slice of your extensive earnings.”

Which in their minds was something to squeal about, Alain commented in the privacy of his mind. “As for that, can you not divert more of your ships to Azure Hope where all remains orderly?”

“The freedom from extortion does not exceed the costs of the longer travel, Your Excellency.” Duplois informed him. “Negligible, if not false savings.”

“I bow to your superior understanding of such things,” Alain conceded, “but in the end, the overall health of our trade with Tiāntáng remains strong, and the well-being of His Majesty’s subjects has been secured. And that is as far as my responsibility stretches.”

The trio knew that well enough, so why–

“My own grandnephew has been kidnapped.” Duplois announced, marble in face and voice.

A jolt ran down his spine, but Alain did not, could not let it show in the slightest. “Is that so, Monsieur? No such report has come to my attention.” They couldn’t be serious, Delacon would naturally have made it the first priority to inform him about something like this…

“Pah! This isn’t some shot against Delacon, Your Excellency. The ship Marcel was overseeing just arrived this morning with the news.”

“Our request would otherwise have been pro forma,” Villiers added, “since the Merchant’s Association cannot be seen to simply acquiesce.”

“But there is no room to accept a fait accompli now.” Rombeau finished. “All the more so because the pirates weren’t responsible for this.”

Alain had thought it unlikely that they would, but the implications. “Who then?”

“The Black Hand Syndicate. A criminal organization that holds significant influence in the city, and supposedly through much of Tiāntáng entire.” Duplois explained. “One of their cultivators abducted him while he was carousing in the harbor district. The ransom demand came back with the ship.”

“Convoys will do nothing to retrieve young Marcel.” Alain said after a moment’s pause.

“No, Your Excellency, it will not.” Duplois declared grimly. “But it came about because we have let these scum believe they can molest us without consequences. No more.”

Behind the mask of his composed face, Alain de Montaigne reflected on how it had come to this.

Saintéan vessels were authorized to trade in two major ports, Azure Hope and Golden Pig City. The former had always been a bustling but stable place, but the latter…

Over the last several years, piracy had swelled on Tiāntáng’s southeast coast. Individual ships at first, here and there. Then the ships became flotillas. Flotillas became no less than five different fleets. Then, they began to unify under one banner. The Sea Serpent Confederation.

Like all civilized societies, the Kingdom of Sainté gave no sufferance to pirates, as enemies of all mankind. On the face of things, Tiāntáng was no different. But no other state would tolerate the disgraceful effort the imperial government called combating the Sea Serpent pirates.

Even by Tianren standards, their so-called navy was filled with ungainly, wide coast-bound junks, with only a small number of actual warships available. Not that those made a difference, because their sailors and officers alike were an ill-disciplined, poorly trained lot who by word and deed were too cowardly to fight the pirates and incompetent to win the rare times they did. Because that embarrassment wasn’t enough, corruption hampered the progress of repairs, let alone the construction of new warships.

In theory, this could’ve been circumvented. The Marine Royale squadron based at Penglai, bolstered by several armed merchantmen sponsored by the Merchant’s Association, possessed all that their Tianren counterparts lacked. Furthermore, Saintéan ships boasted vastly greater speed, durability, agility, and the firepower of cannons. Thus, it was suicidal for pirates to ply their business in the strait at large, much less the waters around Penglai itself.

The problem arose when you got closer to Tiāntáng’s shores. Saintéan warships were forbidden to sail to Azure Hope or Golden Pig City without authorization. In practice, several leagues and no closer. All perfectly reasonable in isolation. If Alain were the Emperor, he wouldn’t let foreign warships into his ports, especially not ones bearing the fearsome power of cannons.

But that meant unarmed merchant vessels going all on their own, and they were vulnerable on the approaches to Azure Hope. Here, with pirate vessels blending into the constant crowds of junks, there was little hope of keeping them at a distance – negating the speed and maneuvering superiority of Saintéan ships – and the odds of being boarded were significant.

At that point, it was generally too late. The mundane pirates were bad enough, but even the meanest ‘cultivator’ was unbeatable. Even a Quintessal-forged blade of Syriac steel could do little if the wielder faced a foe with the strength and speed of several men, let one who boasted more exotic powers.

Whereupon cargoes were plundered, and sailors taken hostage for ransom. The pirates had become so confident as to dare establish one of their offices in Porte Dorée, for the purpose of encouraging Saintéan merchants to pay protection fees. Alain could not punish this impudence, with the implicit risk that captives might be killed in retaliation.

Of course, given the size of the profits, the Merchant’s Association could and did tolerate these payments as a regrettable price of business, even if it undeniably rankled these proud men to have to submit to the threats of mere criminals.

But if the city itself was no longer safe, the safe passes provided by the Sea Serpents no longer a surety, the kin of these grandees threatened… then the situation had passed beyond the point of endurance for them.

Therein laid the trap. Commerce was Penglai’s raison d'être, as a crucial hub in Sainté’s overseas trading network. While a brisk trade in spices, dyes, and cotton existed with the principalities of Vedas, it could not compare to the alluring Empire of Tiāntáng. Silk, tea, porcelain, the once-thought impossible power to wield Quintessence directly… Sainté held a thirst for Tiāntáng’s goods and secrets so vast to be quenched by a mere three decades of trade.

If Governor-General Alain de Montaigne was perceived to cause the shutdown of trade through his transgressions, or even simply risked such a thing, it would mean his ruin. On the other hand, if the merchants appealed to Langeaux, and the king and royal ministers decided he had been negligent in safeguarding Saintéan subjects and vessels, that too would mean his recall and the crippling of his career.

Would they be wrong in doing so? The thought flickered across his mind before he could stamp it out, and Alain was forced to consider it more deeply. Thus far, he had acted with prudence, inglorious though it was. But the three were right; they had reached a point where prudence became pusillanimity. His allegiance was to the monarch of Sainté, not Tiāntáng, and the latter’s government had continually failed in its responsibilities here.

Between the inability to stamp out the pirates, this White Scarves Rebellion, and more whispers being gathered by Delacon, the Xuǎn Dynasty might not be able to do anything but accept a fait accompli if a show of force was made.

No. Even in this, the diplomatic proprieties had to be respected… one last time.

“Monsieurs,” he finally declared. “Here is what I propose. For the moment, you should encourage minimal time on shore outside the security of our factories. I will draw up a message addressed to my counterpart,” the provincial governor, “requesting a stay of the ban on our warships where Golden Pig City is concerned, and that he transmit this request to the Emperor with all due haste. I want you to ready one of your fastest clippers to one of my officers with it to Golden Pig City posthaste.”

A flicker of a response, but clear skepticism marked their faces.

“And if the imperial court refuses?” Rombeau questioned, clearly barely resisting the urge to say ‘when’ instead.

“Then the last of our obligations to them are fulfilled, and we will do what we must.”

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Tiāntáng Chapter Shard