Thomas sat in a cushioned chair, his advisors and guards between him and the miners.
“The king calls for an increased production of topaz,” Melville announced.
A gasp filled the hall. Crandall, miner spokesman, bowed before the king, “Please, sire, the mines are already overworked and are becoming dangerous. We can’t produce topaz any faster.”
Thomas squinted at the men before him. He was their king. They could not manipulate him.
“Double the rate.” Thomas whispered to Melville.
“But, sire, did you hear their concern?”
“Yes. They can hire more workers. Double the production rate.”
Melville frowned but relayed the message.
A minor approached Thomas. “Please, your highness.”
Before he could continue, a guard clubbed him, knocking him to the floor. Other men stepped back. Thomas looked into their faces, reading their emotion – fear. Energy ran through Thomas’ veins. He was king. A man to be feared, heeded, obeyed. He made the rules. He set the policies. And he controlled the army.
—
“If Melville annoys you, fire him. You are King.” Professor Carter said as Thomas reclined in an easy chair, complaining about his chief advisor’s instruction.
“You’re right. I could fire him. But I’ll need a replacement.” He mused. “I don’t know who to trust for wise council.”
“You aren’t taking his council now. It irritates you.”
“Would you be my chief advisor?”
“The council wouldn’t like it. I’m not a member.”
“Then you will be.” Thomas jumped up to find Melville.
“Sire, what do you know about your tutor?” Melville asked when informed of Thomas’ plan.
“I have known him longer than I have known anyone else here, including you. Out of respect for my uncle, you may remain on the council. But Professor Carter will be chief advisor.”
Thomas felt a tug on his arm, disturbing his dream.
“Your highness.”
“What? Melville, what are you doing here?”
“Shhh. Come with me. The palace is on fire.”
“Fire!” Thomas jumped up, sniffing the air. “I don’t smell fire.”
“You will. Please hurry or you will suffer the same fate as your uncle. But this time Carter is using the protestors to do his dirty work.”
“I don’t see any trouble. I’m going back to bed.”
“Please, come with me and you’ll see. Your life is in danger.”
Thomas shrugged and followed Melville down a back hallway, out a side door to a tool shed near the seldom-used side entrance of the property. Thomas hesitated, wondering how he and Melville could fit in the cramped space cluttered with broken shovels and brooms.
Melville whispered. “There is an uprising tonight. The plan is to burn you in your bed.”
“Who? Whose plan?”
“The protestors believe it is their plan, and will execute it. But Carter is behind it.”
Thomas turned. “If this is about making Professor Carter chief advisor, I’m going back to bed.”
“Wait. Listen. For once in your life, listen.” Melville angled his body, blocking the door.
“When you appointed Carter chief advisor you also made him your successor, until you have a child.”
“What?”
“You are the last Tawndry. There is no one after you. Our law appoints the chief advisor second in command if the King dies without an heir. I would question why you don’t know that, but I know your tutor.”
“And you don’t like him. Now let me out of here.”
