Chapter 9 - The Rebellion of the Twenty and Four
It was in the gray light of a Tuesday morning—a day Rubius had long since learned to regard with suspicion—that news arrived at the Fortress of Golden Ambition which would pit the Dragon-King against an alliance the likes of which the republic had rarely seen.
Rubius the Brownie sat in his customary corner of the great hall, his Glimmering Slate propped against a steaming cup of tea, scrolling through the morning's headlines with the weary resignation of one who has learned that peace is merely the interval between controversies. What he found on the slate made him choke on his first sip.
Across the top of the device, in letters that seemed to grow larger and more alarming with each passing moment, ran the news:
"Twenty-Four Dominions Rise Against Dragon-King's Golden Edict"
"Coalition of Coastal and Northern Realms Files Scroll of Complaint Before High Court"
"Guardians of the Law Declare Tariffs 'Illegal and Reckless'"
Rubius read on, his furry feet making small, anxious scuffing sounds against the marble floor.
The story, as the Guild of Endless Scrolls told it, was this:
Lord Donaldo the Tremendous, in his infinite wisdom and without consulting the Grand Council, had decreed a new Golden Edict—a tariff of fifteen parts in one hundred upon all goods entering the republic from across the seas. The edict was justified, according to the Dragon-King's scribes, by an ancient clause in the Scrolls of Commerce known as Section 122, which permitted such measures during times of "payments crisis" when the golden scales of trade tipped dangerously against the realm.
But twenty-four dominions of the republic—from the sun-baked valleys of the Coastal Golden State to the granite shores of the Empire State, from the rolling hills of the Keystone Dominion to the misty forests of the Northern Fir—had united in opposition. Their Guardians of the Law, the elected keepers of each dominion's legal scrolls, had filed a joint complaint before the High Court of Trade and Tribunals, arguing that the Dragon-King had overstepped his authority.
The edict, they claimed, was not merely unwise but unlawful. The payments crisis required by Section 122 did not exist. The Dragon-King had manufactured justification where none was present. And the people of the republic—ordinary citizens, shopkeepers, farmers, and craftsmen—would pay the price.
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On the Nature of the Rebellion
Rubius scrolled through the list of plaintiffs, his eyebrows rising with each new name.
There was the Coastal Golden State, whose Guardian, a man named Xavier of the Sunlit Valleys, had long positioned himself as the Dragon-King's foremost antagonist in matters of trade and climate. There was the Empire State, represented by Letitia of the Northern Metropolis, whose investigations into the Fortress's affairs had caused Lord Donaldo no end of frustration. There was the Keystone Dominion, whose Guardian, Michelle of the Eastern Rivers, had built her reputation on challenging the Dragon-King's edicts in court after court.
But the alliance stretched far beyond the usual suspects. The Great Lakes Dominion had joined. The Land of Ten Thousand Lakes. The Mountain Dominion. The Bay of Progressivism. The Diamond Dominion. Even the Peach Dominion and the Bluegrass Realm—places where the Dragon-King had once enjoyed considerable support—had added their names to the scroll of complaint.
Twenty-four dominions in all. Nearly half the republic. United in opposition to the Golden Edict.
Their argument, as the legal wizards explained it, was elegant in its simplicity. Section 122 of the Scrolls of Commerce had been written in an age of crisis, intended to allow the ruler to act swiftly when the republic's financial stability hung in the balance. But the republic's financial stability, by any reasonable measure, was not in crisis. The golden scales of trade, while not perfectly balanced, were far from the abyss that the law required.
The Dragon-King, the Guardians argued, was using a emergency measure as a routine tool of governance. He was bypassing the Grand Council, ignoring the will of the people, and imposing costs on every household in the republic to satisfy his own vision of economic destiny.
And those costs, the scroll noted, were not trivial. The wizards of the Independent Budget Office had calculated that the Golden Edict would cost the average family of the republic approximately seventeen hundred golden coins each year—in higher prices for goods, in disruptions to trade, in lost opportunities for commerce.
Seventeen hundred coins. Rubius thought about his own modest savings, tucked away in a small chest beneath his bed. He thought about the kitchen sprites, who earned barely enough to send coins back to their families in the distant dominions. He thought about the Fox-Spirit, somewhere out in the republic, trying to make ends meet while the Dragon-King's proclamations reshaped the economy around her.
Seventeen hundred coins was a fortune to such as these.
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On the Defense from the Fortress
Rubius knew, with the certainty of long experience, that his master would not take this news quietly. He tucked his slate away and made his way through the winding corridors of the Fortress to the Dragon-King's chambers.
He found Lord Donaldo in a state of magnificent fury.
The Dragon-King paced before the tall windows overlooking the Churning Sea, his brassy orange scales flashing in the morning light, smoke billowing from his nostrils in thick, angry clouds. Before him stood a cluster of advisors, their faces pale, their scrolls clutched tightly in trembling hands.
"Twenty-four!" Lord Donaldo roared, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Twenty-four dominions, all of them run by Deep Realm puppets and failed Guardians who couldn't win a real election if their lives depended on it! They call my edict unlawful? They call my tariffs illegal? I am the Dragon-King! I alone have the authority to protect this republic from the thieves and cheats who have stolen our prosperity for generations!"
One of the advisors, a brave soul named Gregory of the Southern Plains, ventured a response. "Your magnificence, the Guardians argue that Section 122 requires a payments crisis. They say the conditions do not—"
"Conditions!" Lord Donaldo whirled on him, smoke nearly singeing the advisor's robes. "I create the conditions! If I say there is a payments crisis, there is a payments crisis. That is how leadership works. The previous administrations, they waited for crises to happen. I make them happen. Then I solve them. That is why the people love me."
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"But your magnificence, the High Court may not see it that way. The same court recently ruled against your previous tariffs, the ones imposed under a different section of the Scrolls. The Guardians cite that ruling in their complaint."
Lord Donaldo waved a clawed hand dismissively. "That ruling was a mistake. A Deep Realm ruling. The judges are all appointed by the Previous Administration, or by worse. They don't understand trade. They don't understand economics. They don't understand that I am saving this republic from destruction."
He resumed his pacing, his claws clicking against the marble.
"The tariffs will stand. They must stand. Without them, the foreign kingdoms will flood our markets with their cheap goods. Our workers will suffer. Our factories will close. Our camels—" He paused, a thought occurring to him. "Our camels will be out of work. Do you want that, Gregory? Do you want unemployed camels roaming the streets of the republic?"
Gregory wisely chose not to answer.
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On the Reaction of the Faithful and the Foes
Rubius retreated to his corner and returned to his Glimmering Slate, watching as the controversy spread through the Network of Shimmering Mirrors like wildfire through dry grass.
The Loyal Opposition, naturally, was jubilant. Senator Tamika of the Prairie Expanse issued a statement praising the Guardians for their courage. "This is what the rule of law looks like," she declared. "When one branch overreaches, the others push back. The Dragon-King is not above the Scrolls of Commerce, no matter how much he believes otherwise."
Representative Veronica of the Southern Borders went further. "The Golden Edict is a tax on the American people, plain and simple. Every time they buy something, they pay more because of this president's vanity project. The Guardians are right to challenge it, and I hope the High Court strikes it down completely."
But the Dragon-King's defenders were equally vocal. Across the Glimmering Slates, supporters of the tariffs pointed to the flood of foreign goods that had, in their view, devastated the republic's manufacturing dominions. They argued that the Dragon-King alone had the courage to stand up to the Forbidden Kingdom of the East and other trading rivals. They dismissed the Guardians as "coastal elites" who cared nothing for the working people of the Northern Marshes and the Sun-Scorched Dominions.
"Let them sue," one supporter wrote. "While they file their scrolls, the Dragon-King is actually doing something. He's fighting for us. He's fighting for American jobs. The courts can't stop that."
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On the Wizards and Their Predictions
The learned wizards of the High College of Eldritch Wisdoms, as was their custom, offered measured analyses that satisfied no one entirely.
Professor Elena of the Eastern Institute of Law explained to the scribes that the case turned on a single question: Did the conditions of Section 122 exist? "The law is clear," she said, her spectacles glinting in the light of the Shimmering Mirrors. "A payments crisis means a specific set of economic circumstances—a severe imbalance in the republic's trade accounts, a threat to the stability of the golden coins, a risk of financial panic. The Dragon-King's scribes will argue that such conditions exist, or that he has the authority to determine that they exist. The Guardians will argue that they manifestly do not."
Professor Marcus of the Swampy City's College of Governance noted that the High Court had recently ruled against the Dragon-King on a similar matter, striking down tariffs imposed under a different section of the Scrolls. "The pattern is troubling for the administration," he observed. "If the court finds that the president is simply cycling through legal authorities until one sticks, they may look with skepticism on any new justification."
But Wizard Thomas of the Eastern Marches, the truth-teller whose inconvenient observations had become a fixture of these chronicles, offered the most memorable commentary:
"The Dragon-King believes the law bends to his will. But the law, like the scrolls in our archives, has a way of outlasting those who would twist it. Twenty-four dominions have reminded him of this. More may follow."
Rubius read the words and sighed. He was growing very tired of Lord Thomas being right.
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On the Reaction of the Dragon-King
When Rubius next ventured into his master's chambers, he found Lord Donaldo at his writing desk, dictating a new proclamation to a fresh set of kitchen sprites (the previous batch having fainted from exhaustion an hour earlier).
"—and furthermore, these so-called Guardians are nothing but puppets of the Deep Realm, failed politicians who cannot win at the ballot box so they resort to the courts. My tariffs are popular. The people love the tariffs. The camels love the tariffs. Everyone loves the tariffs except for these twenty-three—" He paused, consulting a scroll. "Twenty-four? It was twenty-three yesterday. Now it's twenty-four?"
"The Coastal Golden State joined this morning, your magnificence," Rubius said quietly.
"Of course they did. Of course." Lord Donaldo's nostrils flared. "Well, let them join. Let them all join. When the High Court rules in my favor—and it will rule in my favor, because I will appoint new judges if it doesn't—they will look foolish. They will have wasted their time and the republic's coins on a frivolous lawsuit."
"Your magnificence, the Independent Budget Office estimates that the tariffs will cost the average family seventeen hundred golden coins per year. That is not a small sum."
Lord Donaldo waved this away. "Seventeen hundred coins! That is nothing. That is the cost of freedom. That is the cost of putting America first. The people understand this. They will gladly pay seventeen hundred coins to see the Forbidden Kingdom of the East brought to its knees."
"Your magnificence, the Forbidden Kingdom is not the only trading partner affected. The tariffs apply to goods from the Ancient Kingdoms of the Old World as well. From the Dominion of the Maple Leaf. From the Land of the Rising Sun. From allies who have stood with us for generations."
"Allies!" Lord Donaldo laughed—a harsh, barking sound. "There are no allies, Rubius. Only trading partners who have taken advantage of us for years. The tariffs will bring them to the table. They will negotiate. They will give us what we want. And then the tariffs will go away, and everyone will thank me for my brilliant strategy."
He returned to his dictation, his quill scratching across the parchment.
"Add something about the camels. Say that the camels of the republic have formed a support caravan for the tariffs. They will march on the High Court if necessary. The people love images of marching camels."
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On the Vigils and the Waiting
That evening, as the sun set over the Churning Sea and painted the waters in shades of gold and crimson, Rubius sat alone in his corner with his Glimmering Slate.
The headlines had multiplied, as headlines do. The lawsuit was now the lead story on every Shimmering Mirror in the republic. Analysts debated the legal arguments. Economists calculated the costs. Political wizards predicted the electoral consequences.
Twenty-four dominions had united against the Dragon-King. More might yet join. The High Court would hear arguments in the coming weeks. The fate of the Golden Edict hung in the balance.
Rubius thought about the families who would pay seventeen hundred coins if the tariffs stood. He thought about the shopkeepers whose goods would cost more, the farmers whose exports would shrink, the workers whose factories might close or might benefit—no one seemed to agree on which.
He thought about the Dragon-King's words, spoken with such certainty, such confidence, such complete disregard for any possibility of error.
The people understand. The people will thank me. The camels will march.
He thought about Lord Thomas's words, which had proven true so many times before:
"The law, like the scrolls in our archives, has a way of outlasting those who would twist it."
Rubius tucked his slate away and made his way to the kitchens, where the sprites were preparing the evening meal in anxious silence. They had heard the news. They had calculated what seventeen hundred coins would mean for their own families, sending coins back to distant dominions where parents and siblings struggled to make ends meet.
One of them had set aside a small portion of the evening's preparations, wrapped carefully, with a note: "For the families who will pay." It was a gesture, small and inadequate, but genuine.
Rubius looked at the offering and felt something catch in his throat.
He climbed into his small, comfortable bed and stared at the ceiling.
"More arrows on Tuesday," he murmured. "Always more arrows on Tuesday."
But the arrows, he knew, were no longer flying toward distant sands or even toward the republic's own citizens. They were flying through the halls of the High Court, through the chambers of the Grand Council, through the homes of millions who had never asked to be caught in the crossfire of a trade war.
And from the Fortress of Golden Ambition, there was only the scratching of a quill, the billowing of smoke, and the certainty of a Dragon-King who could not imagine being wrong.
