The children had been mesmerized by the show put on by Kita Thu. The door to the changing room was to the side of the throne dais, and the seam in the door lined up with a few holes in the tapestry. By putting their eyes against the peepholes, the children could observe what was happening in the Grand Audience Hall without being seen.
“I want to try to play the cruben-wolf,” whispered Phyro. “Will you do it with me, Rata-tika?”
“Only if I get to be the cruben part,” said Théra.
“You always get the best part—”
“This Kita brought up the most complicated problem right away,” interrupted Soto with a whisper. “That’s a mathematician’s mind-set all right.”
“What do you mean?” asked Phyro.
“The nobles and the governors have been complaining about each other for years,” said Soto. “The latest gossip is all about how several barons have had their fiefs taken away from them due to slight acts of insubordination that the scholars blew out of proportion. Have you been so busy playing that you haven’t paid any attention?”
Théra came to the rescue of the embarrassed Phyro. “I’ve overheard Mother complaining about Imperial edicts not being obeyed. She thinks Father was too generous in awarding so much land to those who followed him and in giving them too much authority.”
Soto nodded. “Your father was in a difficult position. Men and women who risked their lives for him needed to be rewarded, but having so many semiautonomous nobles makes it difficult to push uniform policies.”
“But there’s also possibly an advantage,” offered Théra. “If an order from the Harmonious City is wrong, at least the lords of the fiefs could adapt it for the conditions of their realm or refuse to carry it out. Dara is large and varied, and maybe it’s better to leave some room for the nobles to experiment in their own domains.”
“I had not thought of such a justification….” Soto looked at Théra with admiration. “But it is possible your father meant the parallel system to serve the purpose of counteracting against too much centralization, as you suggest.”
“But surely he wouldn’t approve of restoring the Tiro kings of old!” said Phyro.
Soto chuckled. “No, that he would not. But the fallen House of Haan has only one tune. I knew Kita’s grand-uncle, Cosugi, and he was the same way. All he ever wanted was to be back on the throne in Ginpen. It seems that his dream lives on in a new generation.”
“The Tiro states should be revived, and men from noble lineages installed as kings,” Kita continued. “However, the Tiro kings should acknowledge you as the sovereign and honor you as is your due, though they will administer each kingdom fully autonomously.”
“How does this benefit Dara?” asked the emperor, his expression hidden by the dangling cowrie veil.
“In a thousand ways, big and small. While the bureaucrats, as men who serve at your pleasure, are inevitably motivated by thoughts of personal gain and will deceive you by exaggerating their accomplishments and hiding their errors, the Tiro kings will be men of noble character motivated by superior moral considerations. As they will not depend on your pleasure to maintain their hereditary positions, they will be motivated solely by honor and the good opinions of their fellows.”
“Am I supposed to be content as a mere figurehead?”
“Not at all. Freed from the minutiae of administration, Rénga, you will roam from Tiro state to Tiro state and act as the conscience of the realm. With more time to devote to the contemplation of virtue, you will elevate the level of ethical thinking across the Islands. The Tiro kings will seek to emulate you, and their nobles will seek to emulate them, and so on down the line to the meanest peasant, who will wish to imitate the behavior demonstrated by his lord. With time, we may yet return to the golden age spoken of by the Ano sages in the sunken land in the western oceans, when people slept at night without locking their doors and those who lost goods in the streets might still expect to find them there untouched in the morning.
“The greatest rulers should be philosophers, not mere bureaucrats.”
“This is an exceedingly pleasing vision,” said Kuni, his tone still serene.
Practically everyone was now staring at Gin Mazoti to see her reaction to this proposal. Gin was no friend of the old nobles of the Seven States, but she was also known for pushing the boundaries of her own authority the furthest of all of Kuni’s new nobles. But Gin sat still, her face betraying no hint of her emotions.
“You have explicated the essence of Moralism,” said Zato Ruthi with a sigh. “Even Kon Fiji could not have envisioned a better future.”
“No, he could not have,” said Kuni, and those closest to him could hear a hint of a smile in the voice. “But I do have a question for you, Kita. Who is in charge of the army in your proposal?”
“Each Tiro king will be in charge of the defense of his state, of course. And should rebellion against your person arise, all the Tiro kings will come to your aid.”
“I will have no army of my own?”
“A moral ruler should not resort to arms.”
The emperor turned to his right to look at Consort Risana, who was staring at Kita intently. Carelessly, she waved her hands, as though to dissipate the faint haze of the smoke from the censer at her foot. Then she raised her right hand to gently touch the tiny red coral carp dangling from her earlobe.
Kuni turned back to Kita, his posture relaxing slightly, and nodded. “Thank you. The sincerity of your belief is commendable.”
“I have come to this conclusion after much reading and thinking,” said Kita, who straightened his back proudly.
“I have just the right post for you, I think. Your moral rectitude, mathematical aptitude, and affinity for coordination and management—that was a thrilling show you put on!—will make you an excellent fit for the administration of the Imperial laboratories in Ginpen.”
Kita looked at the emperor, stunned. The post was of high rank, but far from the center of Imperial power.
The dream of every firoa was to be appointed to the College of Advocates, a new creation of the emperor. Composed of junior scholars who did not have specific areas of responsibility—and thus vested interests—the College of Advocates was charged with evaluating new policy proposals by the emperor’s ministers and criticize them—all of them—by offering an opposite opinion.
The emperor had described it as a way to prevent ossification of ideas and practices in the bureaucracy by encouraging debate. Though the ministers had opposed the idea at first—having young people with no experience criticizing the policy suggestions of their elders seemed fundamentally wrong—the empress had persuaded Zato Ruthi and the other scholars that the College of Advocates was actually a way to implement the concept of the philosopher-king, and now a position in the College was deemed the best assignment.
But Kita’s conversation with the emperor had not earned him the honor he craved. Time passed as he stood rooted in place, trying to process this assignment.
Zato Ruthi stepped forward and broke the uncomfortable silence. “Thank the emperor!”
Embarrassed, Kita bowed. At least I will be close to family back in Ginpen. But he wasn’t sure whether they would view this outcome as a success. He gritted his teeth and tried one last time before stepping back to sit among the ranks of the pana méji. “Rénga, I hope you will give my proposal due consideration.”