The Apothecary Diaries Book 9

Gyoku-ou

The quill in Rikuson's hand ran swiftly over the parchment. How many of these signatures had he affixed by now, in the compressed form so conducive to quick writing? He occasionally compared his version to the original just to make sure his hadn't changed.

Back in the capital, all he'd had to do was press a chop to a piece of paper; it didn't tire his hand out the way this did. He took a moment to shake out his wrist and regarded the paper.

"Master Rikuson. If you would handle these as well?" A functionary arrived with more paperwork. He was the fifth such bureaucrat to come here; from his minimal accent, Rikuson assumed he came from Kaou Province. His earlobes were somewhat large, a shape traditionally associated with blessing. His left shoulder also leaned slightly lower than the right; maybe he had a habit of carrying everything on the right side.

"Thank you. You can put it here," Rikuson said.

"Yes, sir."

This new stuff was, well, busywork. Or at least, the governor viewed it as such.

Most of the population of I-sei Province was concentrated in the cities along the trade routes that linked the east and the west. This "busywork" involved petitions from peasants living in the rural reaches far from the main trade routes. In villages, not cities. Hamlets. Most of them were farmers of some description, livestock herders or grape growers—things that could survive the arid climate. Some of them wanted irrigation canals built; others complained that increasingly frequent nighttime bandit attacks saw them bereft of their livestock. The wheat harvest had been terrible as of late, and there were several petitions asking for someone to come and look.

"Ha ha ha!" Rikuson was laughing out loud before he knew it, earning him a mistrustful look from the departing bureaucrat.

It must have been more than six months since he'd come here from the Imperial city. He had been sent here, allegedly, because they wanted someone who understood the politics of the capital, and yet all he'd been given to do was make-work like this. The only thing that had changed in all this time was that Rikuson had gotten better at it, quicker at going through it, which only meant that he was given more and more of it to do.

"I almost get the feeling they don't trust me," he grumbled to the empty room, the office he had been assigned. He worked his right hand again—he was starting to feel tendonitis coming on—and looked over the papers once more. Even he could detect patterns when given enough paperwork to look at day in and day out. After all, he had (he liked to think) more talents than simply a photographic memory.

"I make sure to report everything to him, and yet here we are."

It was Gyoku-ou who sent all this work to him. If Rikuson spotted something but didn't report it, he might well be cut loose sometime later when something needed to be cleaned up. He had the distinct sense that was why he had really been summoned here.

Gyoku-ou was the current, if ostensibly temporary, ruler of the western capital. If Gyokuen, who had gone to the central region, decided not to come back, then his eldest son—Gyoku-ou—would succeed him. Gyokuen had several other children, but none as strong-willed as Gyoku-ou.

"Pardon me." Another bureaucrat appeared with more paperwork. Not more petitions, but papers Rikuson had sent to his superiors that were being sent back. This particular bureaucrat served directly under Gyoku-ou, and Rikuson had seen him exactly twice before. The first time was when they had taken their trip to the western capital last year, and the second was when Rikuson had gone to give his formal greetings to Gyoku-ou—he and this man had seen each other in passing. "These are being returned," the man said.