Allied Territory, Themiclesia.
It has since been over a month when the treaty was concluded at the desk of John MacKenzie, now Vice President of “Themiclesia”, the portion under the control of the Murder Party. Since the retreat of the armed forces of the allied nations - Oaledonia, New Tyran, the New Lowlands, and numerous others, there remained a power-vacuum that begged government. As a gesture of kindness, the three allies set up a rival government in Phoenix, once devastated by the allies through indiscriminate bombing, but quickly restored to its former shape. There were very little concrete buildings in Phoenix anyway, most being thatch and tar; three quarters of the city was rebuilt within the month with temporary shelters for its 20,000 odd residents.
The new rival government of Themiclesia faced a decision -- one that never surfaced, but reigns over every heart. Will the government continue the old forms, or will they innovate and modernize in a less extreme way to compete with the attraction of the Republic of Themiclesia? The magistrates and ministers had this question in their minds as they bowed deeply to the empty throne that represented Themiclesia’s monarchical government. Once they bowed, twice they did too; thrice they did again, and four times the end. Looking at the rest of the world, no country demanded this stringent decorum and unmeritocratic ceremony. While it has never been a positive embarrassment for Themiclesia in the old days, before the violent revolution, it nevertheless attractive quite a bit of criticism from human rights groups, which advocated for the abolition of court culture.
The royal court was almost a world unto itself, bound by its own rules and regulations, which dictated the behaviour of everybody who worked within its limits. Right until the revolution, litigants knelt before the bar at the court of King’s Bench, a practise long gone in all other countries in New Odessa, if they ever existed at all. Only gentlemen were exempt from kneeling before the royal court. The gentry system has served the country in the aristocratic government, and kept those from base birth from becoming high officials; on the other hand, it also barred many capable individuals from earning their just rewards in society, as monetary remuneration and as status advancement.
These customs are now an element of comfort for those that did escape the devastation of the Murder Party in the Republic. For now, they remained, that everybody knew that, to maintain power in organized government, popular opinion must never be wholly ignored again; it is evident that many people are in fact crossing from the allied side into the republic side, a phenomenon which many have dismissed as impossible, after all the horrible bloodshed.
If Themiclesia was to remain an aristocracy, eventually the labour will all escape to the other side. If allied Themiclesia was to reform, then nobody knew quite where to start.
Interim Prime Minister James Nepheleis looked at his desk, seeing what is left for him to dispose of. Of the 780 constituencies that once made up the province of the House of Commons, only 315 are not under the control of the Republic. Of these, 121 were completely wiped out during the ensuing warfare, leaving 193 constituencies; of the 780 corresponding ladies and gentlemen who made up the House of Commons itself, only 32 escaped death. This is easy because the Murder Party made a booklet of every dead member of parliament, complete with place and manner of death, witness signatures, the killer, and even a snapshot of the (mostly) grisly remains of the dead members. This number was not even sufficient to open a session, which required the presence of at least 40 members. The Great Seal of Themiclesia is missing, so dissolving the current parliament and electing new members is out of the question; the current parliament, amputated and doubly decimated, will have to stand in a limbo, unable to convene, unable to dissolve, until the end of 2015. This leaves the government (or what is left of it) unable to raise revenue, unable to pass laws, and, most importantly, unable to reform.
The Prime Minister’s mind drifted to the impossible -- dissolving the monarchy, and establish a republic, to circumvent the constitutional procedures necessary to continue government? Did he even have the ability to do that? Of course not, not to mention that it would be suicidal to dissolve what’s left of the spiritual symbolism of the old, peaceful country, upon which clings many people who just managed to save their own lives, and need some time to calm their souls.
Looking to his own cabinet, part of which was inherited from Stephen MacKenzie’s former cabinet, Nepheleis was lacking a minister for finance, for the defence, for education, and for reconstruction; he was not free to appoint new ministers without the Great Seal. The Lord Chancellor’s personal consent would do, had he been alive and not a rotting corpse in the park in Lyttonwic. At least he was able to save, when he escaped from Luttonwic, a few chests of gold reserve and some cash, so that the government can continue to operate for at least a few months. The gold reserve calculated to amount to 82 million pounds sterling, which was about 7 months’ budget for the old government; taking into consideration the reduced territory, it might just last through the year, if there were no exorbitant expenses arising.
Then his mind drifted to defending the border. Of the original 75,535 soldiers, only 12,255 came to his calling a week ago, representing 1 whole army and 3 regiments. Considering the power of the sleek, efficient paramilitary of the Murder Party, this number, however elite and determined to defend the crown, will perish alike, though their hearts might be as bright as ten suns. As far as he knew, the paramilitary of the other side numbered over 3 million; but then! Raising an army without royal consent is again treason! Relying on foreign aid would inevitably look like weakness, so he’s left with no way out on this one. While the Murder Party was cutting down on its military personnel too, the remainder were still the elite units, and some of Mark S.’s older friends are still commanding the units, they even went as far as to use all-black coats, so as to increase the intimidation factor. They are also printing out posters to “liberate our friends under foreign tyranny”.
And what’s more! They have universally adopted post-modern architecture, with vast amounts of glass, to represent their new government. Their new legislature building looked like a cathedral of glass, where everything is open to public, while the old parliament buildings were dusty and venerated. The whole atmosphere is made to look like one under a modern, democratic government, though the Murder Party is anything but democratic in its own sphere. Everything seems awfully rosy over there, but that might just be an illusion when compared to the state from which their half emerged.
They did an excellent propaganda campaign with the “Everybody Votes” movement they had. Voter turnout was 99.8% from the enumerated population. They even hauled out the stats of the old government when a total of 0.007% of the adult population voted. And the international community seemed to buy into this “democracy” business. Themiclesia’s old government, as James was keenly aware, asked what is best for the country, not what the people wanted. This aristocratic system is what made her into one of New Odessa’s premier powers today, is what made Themiclesia’s average GDP one of the highest of all countries, and is what made life in Themiclesia so enriching and enchanting. Even Human Rights International congratulated this election, which it called “the first true election in Themiclesia” for 23 representatives and 9 councillors.
That is pure nonsense. With such a tiny legislature, James is not surprised even if the old parliament was more democratic than this present “Federal Legislature”.
“James, James?” a voice asked, rescuing James from his hopeless day-dream.
“Huh? Yes, Hamish, what is it?”
“Have you figured a way out of this national railway strike trouble?”
“Oh -- yes,” James stuttered.
Railway employees are now complaining that their working hours are too long, conditions too dangerous, and pay too little -- the things that every strike seeks to but never resolves.
“James?”
“Tell them, that we will give them a 30% raise upon the privatized railway company’s stocks.”
“Are you sure this is going to work?”
“Yes. Tell them that the better they do their jobs, the more this 30% will be worth when they collect it.”
The railway remains extremely important in Themiclesia, with the severely under-developed highway system still killing dozens each day due to unenclosed ditches, lacking lighting, and unsafely sharp bends.
“Fine. What about defence policy?”
“Heaven, is it that time again?”
“James, the defence of the realm never ends.”
By this point, James had explored just about every avenue to increase armaments without seeing immediate rise in government expenditure and very overtly crossing the boundary into illegal action.
“Well, besides that, how the donations coming along?”
“We received over fifth thousand pounds in donations today, James.”
“Good. And what can we do?”
“James, the questions is, what should we do?”
“Yes, I see.
---
John stared down at the icy, unmoving think beneath his feet, and he kicked the thing. Apparently, it has been pooling within the thing all this time, over three hours, so it started gushing out, and bubbles rushing in simultaneously, from the unmoving thing. It was the night, and getting from his own place to Derek’s place was not the least bit troublesome; throughout these turbulent six months, Derek learnt to trust John as his own family, and it is this blind trust that led to his own downfall -- John is a politician, and they are never to be trusted.
Yet few are as audacious and unfeeling as John - he had already accompliced himself in the murder of his whole family, and then he slew the man who helped him slay his own family -- yes, Derek, whom now John sees as an obstacle for the progress that he wishes to see in Themiclesia. Derek has been for a few weeks at his wits’ end to think about what is this newly liberated land to do. Things were always different from John than for any other person. To him, his country came first, not the empty throne that stood in the palace, or the crown that was displayed at the great hall; to most, serving the country is the same thing as serving the crown, and they often showed bias toward the latter, but John thought his country as a being composed of and defined by the people who inhabit it, not simply the land ruled by a king; he though the legislature as the ultimate representation of what the country is willing, and not simply some assembly the king summons half-heartedly to hear their counsels. In his view, a nation’s sovereignty lay with the people, not with the crown; throughout his intelligent life, he has struggled to see how exactly a crown is a country, so, after years of reasoning, he rejected the idea outright. But tact and finesse was his forte, so he never hesitated to agree with whatever he disagrees, and only to reveal his true colours after the fact has been accomplished.
“Good bye, Derek, you have been a nice stool.”
He said, looking into the unmoving thing’s surprised complexion, frozen in time by ugly betrayal. He stooped down and picked up his instrument, a small knife, still unblemished by blood, and dipped it in the foul substance. He carried the thing a Derek’s favourite secretary’s room, and placed it on her night table.
“Good bye, Marie.” He said, in like manner.
A brother whom he swore with his life to protect, with whom he has accomplished so much, and shared so many memories sweet and sour, and ultimately merely a stool.
4 million deaths, and one under my name. I think I will be fine with it.
The new rival government of Themiclesia faced a decision -- one that never surfaced, but reigns over every heart. Will the government continue the old forms, or will they innovate and modernize in a less extreme way to compete with the attraction of the Republic of Themiclesia? The magistrates and ministers had this question in their minds as they bowed deeply to the empty throne that represented Themiclesia’s monarchical government. Once they bowed, twice they did too; thrice they did again, and four times the end. Looking at the rest of the world, no country demanded this stringent decorum and unmeritocratic ceremony. While it has never been a positive embarrassment for Themiclesia in the old days, before the violent revolution, it nevertheless attractive quite a bit of criticism from human rights groups, which advocated for the abolition of court culture.
The royal court was almost a world unto itself, bound by its own rules and regulations, which dictated the behaviour of everybody who worked within its limits. Right until the revolution, litigants knelt before the bar at the court of King’s Bench, a practise long gone in all other countries in New Odessa, if they ever existed at all. Only gentlemen were exempt from kneeling before the royal court. The gentry system has served the country in the aristocratic government, and kept those from base birth from becoming high officials; on the other hand, it also barred many capable individuals from earning their just rewards in society, as monetary remuneration and as status advancement.
These customs are now an element of comfort for those that did escape the devastation of the Murder Party in the Republic. For now, they remained, that everybody knew that, to maintain power in organized government, popular opinion must never be wholly ignored again; it is evident that many people are in fact crossing from the allied side into the republic side, a phenomenon which many have dismissed as impossible, after all the horrible bloodshed.
If Themiclesia was to remain an aristocracy, eventually the labour will all escape to the other side. If allied Themiclesia was to reform, then nobody knew quite where to start.
Interim Prime Minister James Nepheleis looked at his desk, seeing what is left for him to dispose of. Of the 780 constituencies that once made up the province of the House of Commons, only 315 are not under the control of the Republic. Of these, 121 were completely wiped out during the ensuing warfare, leaving 193 constituencies; of the 780 corresponding ladies and gentlemen who made up the House of Commons itself, only 32 escaped death. This is easy because the Murder Party made a booklet of every dead member of parliament, complete with place and manner of death, witness signatures, the killer, and even a snapshot of the (mostly) grisly remains of the dead members. This number was not even sufficient to open a session, which required the presence of at least 40 members. The Great Seal of Themiclesia is missing, so dissolving the current parliament and electing new members is out of the question; the current parliament, amputated and doubly decimated, will have to stand in a limbo, unable to convene, unable to dissolve, until the end of 2015. This leaves the government (or what is left of it) unable to raise revenue, unable to pass laws, and, most importantly, unable to reform.
The Prime Minister’s mind drifted to the impossible -- dissolving the monarchy, and establish a republic, to circumvent the constitutional procedures necessary to continue government? Did he even have the ability to do that? Of course not, not to mention that it would be suicidal to dissolve what’s left of the spiritual symbolism of the old, peaceful country, upon which clings many people who just managed to save their own lives, and need some time to calm their souls.
Looking to his own cabinet, part of which was inherited from Stephen MacKenzie’s former cabinet, Nepheleis was lacking a minister for finance, for the defence, for education, and for reconstruction; he was not free to appoint new ministers without the Great Seal. The Lord Chancellor’s personal consent would do, had he been alive and not a rotting corpse in the park in Lyttonwic. At least he was able to save, when he escaped from Luttonwic, a few chests of gold reserve and some cash, so that the government can continue to operate for at least a few months. The gold reserve calculated to amount to 82 million pounds sterling, which was about 7 months’ budget for the old government; taking into consideration the reduced territory, it might just last through the year, if there were no exorbitant expenses arising.
Then his mind drifted to defending the border. Of the original 75,535 soldiers, only 12,255 came to his calling a week ago, representing 1 whole army and 3 regiments. Considering the power of the sleek, efficient paramilitary of the Murder Party, this number, however elite and determined to defend the crown, will perish alike, though their hearts might be as bright as ten suns. As far as he knew, the paramilitary of the other side numbered over 3 million; but then! Raising an army without royal consent is again treason! Relying on foreign aid would inevitably look like weakness, so he’s left with no way out on this one. While the Murder Party was cutting down on its military personnel too, the remainder were still the elite units, and some of Mark S.’s older friends are still commanding the units, they even went as far as to use all-black coats, so as to increase the intimidation factor. They are also printing out posters to “liberate our friends under foreign tyranny”.
And what’s more! They have universally adopted post-modern architecture, with vast amounts of glass, to represent their new government. Their new legislature building looked like a cathedral of glass, where everything is open to public, while the old parliament buildings were dusty and venerated. The whole atmosphere is made to look like one under a modern, democratic government, though the Murder Party is anything but democratic in its own sphere. Everything seems awfully rosy over there, but that might just be an illusion when compared to the state from which their half emerged.
They did an excellent propaganda campaign with the “Everybody Votes” movement they had. Voter turnout was 99.8% from the enumerated population. They even hauled out the stats of the old government when a total of 0.007% of the adult population voted. And the international community seemed to buy into this “democracy” business. Themiclesia’s old government, as James was keenly aware, asked what is best for the country, not what the people wanted. This aristocratic system is what made her into one of New Odessa’s premier powers today, is what made Themiclesia’s average GDP one of the highest of all countries, and is what made life in Themiclesia so enriching and enchanting. Even Human Rights International congratulated this election, which it called “the first true election in Themiclesia” for 23 representatives and 9 councillors.
That is pure nonsense. With such a tiny legislature, James is not surprised even if the old parliament was more democratic than this present “Federal Legislature”.
“James, James?” a voice asked, rescuing James from his hopeless day-dream.
“Huh? Yes, Hamish, what is it?”
“Have you figured a way out of this national railway strike trouble?”
“Oh -- yes,” James stuttered.
Railway employees are now complaining that their working hours are too long, conditions too dangerous, and pay too little -- the things that every strike seeks to but never resolves.
“James?”
“Tell them, that we will give them a 30% raise upon the privatized railway company’s stocks.”
“Are you sure this is going to work?”
“Yes. Tell them that the better they do their jobs, the more this 30% will be worth when they collect it.”
The railway remains extremely important in Themiclesia, with the severely under-developed highway system still killing dozens each day due to unenclosed ditches, lacking lighting, and unsafely sharp bends.
“Fine. What about defence policy?”
“Heaven, is it that time again?”
“James, the defence of the realm never ends.”
By this point, James had explored just about every avenue to increase armaments without seeing immediate rise in government expenditure and very overtly crossing the boundary into illegal action.
“Well, besides that, how the donations coming along?”
“We received over fifth thousand pounds in donations today, James.”
“Good. And what can we do?”
“James, the questions is, what should we do?”
“Yes, I see.
---
John stared down at the icy, unmoving think beneath his feet, and he kicked the thing. Apparently, it has been pooling within the thing all this time, over three hours, so it started gushing out, and bubbles rushing in simultaneously, from the unmoving thing. It was the night, and getting from his own place to Derek’s place was not the least bit troublesome; throughout these turbulent six months, Derek learnt to trust John as his own family, and it is this blind trust that led to his own downfall -- John is a politician, and they are never to be trusted.
Yet few are as audacious and unfeeling as John - he had already accompliced himself in the murder of his whole family, and then he slew the man who helped him slay his own family -- yes, Derek, whom now John sees as an obstacle for the progress that he wishes to see in Themiclesia. Derek has been for a few weeks at his wits’ end to think about what is this newly liberated land to do. Things were always different from John than for any other person. To him, his country came first, not the empty throne that stood in the palace, or the crown that was displayed at the great hall; to most, serving the country is the same thing as serving the crown, and they often showed bias toward the latter, but John thought his country as a being composed of and defined by the people who inhabit it, not simply the land ruled by a king; he though the legislature as the ultimate representation of what the country is willing, and not simply some assembly the king summons half-heartedly to hear their counsels. In his view, a nation’s sovereignty lay with the people, not with the crown; throughout his intelligent life, he has struggled to see how exactly a crown is a country, so, after years of reasoning, he rejected the idea outright. But tact and finesse was his forte, so he never hesitated to agree with whatever he disagrees, and only to reveal his true colours after the fact has been accomplished.
“Good bye, Derek, you have been a nice stool.”
He said, looking into the unmoving thing’s surprised complexion, frozen in time by ugly betrayal. He stooped down and picked up his instrument, a small knife, still unblemished by blood, and dipped it in the foul substance. He carried the thing a Derek’s favourite secretary’s room, and placed it on her night table.
“Good bye, Marie.” He said, in like manner.
A brother whom he swore with his life to protect, with whom he has accomplished so much, and shared so many memories sweet and sour, and ultimately merely a stool.
4 million deaths, and one under my name. I think I will be fine with it.
Rules:
The common law of II applies.
Notes: This is a continuation of the previous instalment. If you are unfamiliar with the events involved, you might feel free to read up about what has happened.
