Prelude to Anarchy - Princess of Steam

Warplanning

Primstoll stood at attention before his nation. His back was straight, his legs placed at an even set and he was looking straight ahead with eyes that saw everything and nothing. Before him was a glass pane, and beyond that the capitol.

He was in his office on the topmost floor of the largest, and most imposing building in the Crown. The Judicial Hall. Here, laws were written, people were judged and history was changed. It was the true centre of the centre.

He had fought tooth and nail and dagger to get to this room, to own it. Now, no one questioned his right to be here. He grinned, then saw the reflection of his own sardonic smile and let it go. There was still a lot of work to do.

Turning around, he marched over to his desk and sat behind it. Towers of papers dotted the mahogany giant, like a topographic copy of the cityscape just outside his window. There was always more paperwork, more bureaucracy to wade through. But he dove into it day after day, because he knew that from these sheets emanated the very control that would shift the tides of history. Shift them in his favour.

He leaned back and sighed. It was not going fast enough for him. His last few exploits had turned out for the better, sure, and his prestige had grown, but now he was in limbo. Something had to happen to tip the balance of power. Something big.

The rebellion, as he thought of them, were yet too small to pose a threat. They were merely some discontent nobles and a few angry peasants with more bark than bite. He wanted them to be bigger and stronger, to actually pose a threat to the Crown. Then he could step in and save the day. Then he would be given his just reward.

Primstoll was salivating at the thought when his secretary walked in. The man was shorter than most, stoop-backed from spending too much time writing and he had terrible eyesight, but he was discreet and efficient. "Hello, Scribeswell," Primstoll said with a genial smile. It was good to practice his ability to manipulate.

The secretary greeted him in turn with a short bow.

"Anything horrible to report?" Primstoll asked.

Scribeswell paused in thought. "Well, yes sir, perhaps. The Emperor was found drunk this morning near one of the royal fountains, though his guard had time to cover the event up before any press came around."

Primstoll shrugged. That was not an issue, really. If anything, the emperor relied on him a little more when he was intoxicated to such a degree. It allowed Primstoll a little more freedom. He leaned forwards and put his head into his hands. The lack of ideas was annoying him. He had everything set to build a great flame, but there was no spark it start anything with.

Scribeswell continued. "Well, um, I think that's it, sir." He paused, started to turn, then stopped and faced Primstoll again. "Lord Primstoll, I know I'm overstepping my bounds but, are you okay?"

The lord blinked then stood taller. He had allowed weakness to show. That was unforgivable. "Of course, Scribeswell. Still a little tired with all the preparations for the Sentinel's launch this week. There was quite the hubbub, as you must have noticed. How are you?" he asked the last without really caring about the answer.

The secretary grinned. "Oh, I'm fine sir. I bought tickets to Princess Leon's air race this coming week. My daughter is an enormous fan, says she'll be a pilot when she grows older. My wife will accompany her, of course. I can't afford to go with all the work here. Still, the look on her face when I announced that she could attend." Scribeswell was grinning as though to demonstrate.

"Well, that's great. I hope she enjoys it," Primstoll said, then he dismissed Scribeswell.

A few minutes passed where the only noise was the traffic of ships, planes and automobiles outside and the constant tick of his clock. He forced himself to think harder, to find a way to turn thing around in his favour while allowing him to use every tool at his disposal in a timely manner by the day's end.

Scribeswell's conversation came back to him. Princess Leon's air races were common enough events. She had built an airship that rivalled even the Amaranthine Sentinel in size. A great flying arena made to cater to thousands of eager peasants and a few nobles who were into the dull sport of spinning in circles in midair in sleek little aircraft.

An idea finally came to Primstoll. He laughed to himself, then bent over his work. Yes, it would require a stealthy hand, but that would be made all the easier if most things were in plain sight.