Lord Alexander S. Harrington, Lord of Maryland
Royal Washington Rowing Club
Royal District of Washington, United Realms of Arcadia
Saturday 1st May 2021, 1200hrs Local Time
“Next stroke… easy there!”
Lord Alexander S. Harrington let out a breath of relief as they passed under the shadow of the Key Bridge and the cox gave the order to stop rowing, one that was immediately followed by the four men in the coxed four. It had been a long outing, one that had taken them down the Potomac River as far south as Fort Washington Park, and whilst it had been a glorious morning for rowing Alexander was glad that they were back and the only thing they had left to do was to get alongside the landing stage. It was, he thought wryly, yet another a reminder that, at fifty, he was no longer young as he once was. Despite the fact that he tended to be a little stiff and sore afterwards, he was nevertheless glad that he had kept active in the sport, as it would stand his body in good stead as he got older, and despite being a Lord he valued the simple comradeship of a rowing crew where he could just be another member instead of one of the fifty-six members of the United Realm’s aristocracy.
The truth was that Alexander was not just another member of the crew, nor indeed was he just one of the fifty-six, for he was probably one of the more prominent. As the Lord of Maryland, he had overseen the steady development of the province’s economy into the powerhouse of growth and sustainability that it was today, which resulted in well-paying jobs and significant investment into emergency technology and the information sector. As such, he was a prominent voice in the Council of Lords on economic matters, and in many respect his province was seen by many as an example to which they were to aspire to. In a boat, however, he was just ‘Alexander’, not even ‘My Lord’, as a four was not the place to stand on ceremony, and he was well liked and respected as an athlete by both the men he normally rowed with and the club’s membership as a whole. It did not hurt, of course, that he was the club’s most prominent patron, and had personally financed the refurbishments of the boat house, but his standing within the club was by no means solely as a result of it.
As the crew smoothly brought their boat alongside the landing stage, lifting their bow side blades at the last moment to avoid dashing them against the pontoon, Alexander grabbed a hold of the side with one hand and reached out with the other to undo the clasp on the gate for his own blade, lifting it up and out and placing it on the landing stage. Whilst other members of the crew held onto the boat to stabilise it, he stood up in the boat and stepped out onto the landing stage before turning around and doing the same for the rest of the crew. After one of his crew mates gathered the blades and returned them to the boathouse, the four of them spread out along the length of the boat and leant down to grip it before, on the count of their cox, who was too short to help with this, they lifted the boat and swung it straight up to an above head hold, before splitting two on each side to carry it at their shoulders as they manoeuvred it off the landing stage and towards a set of cradles which they loaded the boat onto.
Grabbing a sponge from a bucket of soapy water, Alexander joined the rest of his crew in wiping down the boat; the last thing you wanted on a performance rowing shell was for it to get a build-up of dirt on the bottom as even the smallest amount could have a detrimental impact in a race. With four of them, however, it did not take all that long and they were soon lifting the boat back to their shoulders and carrying it into the boathouse where they lifted it onto one of the racks.
“You staying for a brew, Alex?” Sebastian A. Cutler, a political operative in his fifties with him Alexander had a close, and perpetually off-the-record, friendship with, asked as they made their way back out into the spring sunshine. “Or do you need to get back to Annapolis?”
Alexander was thoughtful for a moment; he normally finished his week in Washington, as most major committee hearings, as well as the monthly main session of the Council of Lords, were held on a Friday, staying overnight in order to row on the Potomac in the morning prior to returning to his family seat in Annapolis. As both the chief executive of the Province of Maryland, and a member of the Council of Lords, he had to balance his time between his responsibilities as Lord and his duties in the legislature, although he knew he had a easier job than some, given the distances involved.
“Always got time for a brew,” Alexander laughed as they began to make their way up the stairs to the clubhouse itself, which included a large gym area and a recreation area including a bar. “Will, Ted, Annie you coming as well?”
The two other members of the crew, and their cox, considered for a moment before following them up the stairs. Before too long the crew was sat in a bay window with steaming hot mugs of tea and coffee looking out over the Potomac. As usual, conversation initially centred around their outing; the most notable incident of which had been having to avoid the Navy frigate that had sailed from the Washington Navy Yard on their way back up river. Before long, they were bitching about work, family issues, and a whole wealth of other issues; after several years together they were a closely-knit crew.
“How is Jack doing?” Alexander asked, turning to Sebastian thoughtfully. “He wasn’t on that frigate, was he?”
Sebastian laughed; his son Jack was a junior officer in the Royal Arcadian Navy; having attended the United Realms Naval Academy at Annapolis he had attended more than a few dinners hosted by the Lord of Maryland. Although political and social patronage was heavily discouraged within the armed services, and those that did benefit from it were usually shunted off into postings where they could do minimal harm whilst benefiting from the privileges of the service, it was still by no means a bad thing to have a positive relationship with a Lord of the Realms.
“Nah, he’s on a destroyer now, the Boston, just made Lieutenant Commander and a new assignment as tactical action officer,” Sebastian replied, obviously proud. “Got himself a posting to DESRON 7 out of Gibraltar, so lucky doesn’t even cover it!”
“Beats a kick in the teeth,” Alexander agreed with a laugh.
The conversation continued for a few more minutes until there was a sudden commotion from the stairs, and another member of the club hurried into the clubhouse, her phone in hand and quickly made a beeline for the flatscreen television mounted on the far wall to turn it on.
“What’s the hurry, Jess?” Alexander called with a raised eyebrow.
“I just got a text from my fiancé,” Jessica Harrelson replied breathlessly. “It just said to turn on the news.”
Alexander and his crew exchanged glances before standing and making their way over to the TV, with other crews from other tables joining them in a semi-circle around the display as Jessica changed the channel until she reached Arcadia Cable News. Sitting behind the anchors desk, Edward McKenzie, the anchor, looked grim.
“…of you just joining us, we are receiving unconfirmed, let me stress that at the moment they are unconfirmed, reports that the major accident on I-95, that we have been reporting on for the last hour, involved the King’s motorcade, returning to Washington from this morning’s commissioning ceremony at Naval Station Norfolk,” McKenzie said into the camera, even as his eyes were clearly reading updates on his display and likely had his executive producer in his ear as the news developed live. “As it stands, we have not yet received confirmation from any official source as to whether the King’s motorcade was involved, much less the current status of His Majesty, however unverified footage on screen now does appear to show several black Suburbans, of the sort used by the National Police for protective work, in the wreckage.”
Gasps and whispers whipped around the group of rowers as they continued to watch the broadcast. McKenzie continued to report the information that they had available, but like most breaking news it was a case of repeating the same information whilst they waited for the next piece of information to come in, interspaced with experts or correspondents on the ground. It was quickly clear, both directly from the reporting and by implication, that regardless of whether or not the King’s motorcade had been caught up in what was clearly a massive accident the Royal Arcadian National Police (RANP) was keeping the press and the public away from the scene. Whether this was to allow quick and easy access for the emergency services, or to protect a potentially injured King, remained to be seen. However, the fact that a mainstream broadcaster like ACN was reporting unconfirmed reports suggested they were fairly confident, albeit not quite enough to drop the ‘unconfirmed’ caveat.
As word of this reporting spread across the United Realms, life would be grinding to a halt as people gathered around televisions at home and work. As the individual chosen by the Lords Paramount and the Prince-Electors, the voices of the Realms and their most prominent heroes and public figures, the King was seen as the singe unifying figure of the United Realms; it was from them that the Crown gained its authority and power, not merely from a bloodline or divine providence. Although the King was referred to by the honorific, His Majesty, and many institutions were termed ‘Royal’, the otherworldly position of a King in some other polities was noticeably restrained within the United Realms, and the Crown firmly grounded and bound by the constitution and the rule of law. It helped that, in almost all cases, the King was a lifelong public servant, chosen by men and women who were either chief executives of a constituent realm or experts in their field, which meant that in contrast to a hereditary monarchy (which the United Realms had deliberately avoided) the calibre of King was broadly of the highest order.
The current King, Thomas III, had enjoyed a distinguished career in the Royal Arcadian Navy, retiring after serving as the First Sea Lord and Chief of the Naval Staff, followed by appointment as First Lord of the Admiralty, and oversaw one of the most comprehensive modernisation and shipbuilding programmes in recent memory. It was largely this stellar service, and his unparalleled knowledge and experience of naval and defence matters, that had resulted in his appointment as a Prince-Elector, meaning that he had a voice in electing the next King. It had been only a moderate surprise when he had emerged from his second Royal Conclave as King, and despite his years he had thrown himself into the duties and responsibilities of the role, in the decade since his election. Moreover, there had been no indication that he was slowing down, despite pushing eighty at this point, and it would be a truly tragic end to a lifetime of service if he had indeed been killed or mortally wounded in a traffic accident.
Of course, Alexander was more than a little nervous at the thought; the Royal Motorcade was one of the best protected in the United Realms, and traffic was deliberately stopped by either the National Police or local law enforcement, so how any part of the motorcade, much less the King’s vehicle, had been caught up in even the worst accident was a question that immediately posed itself if the reporting was accurate. As the group of rowers continued to watch the rolling broadcast, Alexander shook himself; he was probably just getting ahead of himself and imagining the worst possible situation when it was far more likely to simply be a tragic accident.
The undercurrent of concerned chatter and theorising was suddenly squashed when Edward McKenzie paused for a moment and was clearly listening to his team through an earbud. Even before he spoke, the even grimmer expression that settled onto the man’s face told the news he was about to break.
“Thank you for your patience, we are now able to report and confirm that the King’s motorcade was involved in the I-95 accident, with sources from both the Chesapeake Realm Patrol and the National Police confirming it’s involvement, although details on the current status of His Majesty still remains unclear, as does how the accident unfolded and how the motorcade became involved,” McKenzie said grimly. “The RANP is understandably loath to divulge any immediate, specific information on the King’s status, or his immediate movements, so it is difficult to determine where he is being taken to a contingency site or to a hospital, however it seems unlikely that His Majesty would be kept at the scene of the accident for any longer than is absolutely necessary, so his movements seem likely to give us the first indication…”
If the expressions around the group had been grim before they were positively horrified; their King had been involved in what earlier news reports had already been touting as one of the largest in recent memory. Indeed, although McKenzie had not come out and said it, the fact that the Royal Household was not immediately issuing a press release to confirm the King was alive meant one of two things; either there had been some sort of security incident that led to the accident, or that he was dead, with both being entirely possible. In any event, the situation was becoming grimmer and grimmer the more information came available, and only seemed likely to get worse, given that it would require everything going right to have something even close to approaching a happy ending.
Alexander glanced down at his phone as it began to explode with a series of text messages, which he quickly identified as coming from his family and his legislative staff; it seemed that there had been a slight delay in them coming through which given that the entire nation was texting each other at this moment it stood to reason that the networks would be overloaded. Firing off quick replies to his family, confirming that he was okay and would likely be back late, and instructing them all to return to the family seat and remain there until he had a better idea of what was going on, he checked the content of the messages from his staff.
“I need to get to the Capitol,” Alexander commented to the group around him. “There’s no news yet, but parliamentary leadership is assuming the worst.”
“Go, we’ll be okay here,” Sebastian replied, the rest of the crowd nodding their agreement. “Stay safe, Alex.”
“I will, I’ll send word when I can,” Alexander nodded, then paused thoughtfully,“I-95 is going to be a snarl-fest, so anyone who can’t get home is welcome in Annapolis, I’ll let Lady Sarah know some of you might be coming.”
Alexander smiled sadly as several members of the rowing club nodded gratefully; even if the King had not been involved the scale of the accident would have meant that I-95 and the surrounding roads would have been backed up for hours. Although the demise of the Crown would no longer unleash chaos into the governance of the United Realms, as although the new monarch would appoint thousands of new Crown appointees the existing ones would retain their posts until replaced, rather than immediately losing their position upon the death of the monarch who appointed them, the entire day-to-day life of the nation would grind to a halt. It was a small mercy that it was the weekend, as not only were the markets closed but it was also not during the working week. Nevertheless, as convention called for all non-essential businesses to close, and families would be gathering at home to watch the coverage and mourn their monarch, the roads would be veritable gridlock and with Annapolis only a few miles away it was an obvious refuge for those who would struggle to get home promptly at the best of times, much less with I-95 effectively out of action.
With one last grim nod to his friends, Alexander made his way down the stairs and towards his car.