The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

One Week - Day 6

On the sixth day, Able made the mistake of thinking the day was over. He was wrapped in the thin blanket and checking through his list to figure out what to focus on in the morning when there was a knock at the door. He had a pencil and little idea how to use it defensively, but he figured he might as well hold onto it while he went to answer the door.

"Who is it?" he held the handle tightly in case someone tried to force their way in.

"Houser, we need to talk." At least Constance Driver had come herself, he supposed as he opened the door. He was marginally relieved to see she was alone.

"What about?"

She gestured sharply to the interior of the room, her stance brooking no argument. Able hesitated as long as he dared then stepped out of her way. He cautiously closed the door and turned to face her.

"I admit I am not certain how much you know," she started the moment the latch clicked.

"Are you asking me to divulge?"

"Heh, I don't expect you would. You like to play it close to the chest, as they say, don't you?" She took a pamphlet from where it had been tucked beneath her arm. "But it seems to me, beneath that chilly exterior, you're something of a firebrand."

"Am I?" Able was unwilling to stray too far from the exit to get a look at the writing she was holding, but she spared him the need by beginning to read it aloud.

I am open to debate as to whether Lord Crescent's proposal is more astonishing for its blind faith in success or its reticence as to what it intends as success. The floodplain of the Threeface River is the foundation of Crescent Cross. The ability to grow crops during the dry season is what historically gave Crescent Cross the advantage to become one of our first cities. If we naively accept, for the moment, that the proposed dam will simply move the phenomenon further inland, why does the esteemed Lord want to move it further inland in the first place? Crescent Cross has long since overfilled all available waterfront land, but I suspect there's an idea that if the Threeface floods were to stop, if the river banks were to be reliable year-round, that he could fill them with abodes and establishments to serve the gentry. This prospect is so alluring that what reasonable thought could be given to the destroyed farms on either side of the dam?

"...and it goes on to detail possible costs of the removed food sources as well as loss of life and capital around the failed dam at Wheatport. This is yours, isn't it?"

"Yes," he swallowed. "Good work tracking that down. I only printed three hundred of them."

"How would you like to print tens of thousands of them?" her dark eyes locked on his.

"What would be the point?" he shrugged calmly, or so he hoped what with his heart knocking frantically at the bottom of his throat. "The dam proposal failed."

Reminiscent of her sister, Driver gave him a glare that would give him pause before he attempted being glib again but then broke it with a forced smile, "We could use a pen like yours."

"We?" Able frowned. "Who is 'we,' exactly? What are you trying to accomplish?"

"We're a collection of concerned citizens," she replied easily, "much like yourself, who will not stand by while Larbantry destroys itself and takes much of the world down with it."

"That is both melodramatic and vague," he quirked one eyebrow. "What do you mean Larbantry is destroying itself? It seems stable."

"How important was the war to you, child?"

"I—" Able stalled, uncertain what she was asking him.

"Sorry you didn't get to participate? Glad we won? What—you lost your father to it, so certainly it was worth that?" The way she rattled off her pointed questions made it difficult for him to collect his thoughts.