Frederick III
The docks were calm this morning. The wind blew lazily, giving up after meager gusts, content not to push anything too hard. The sky was grey, but the clouds didn’t bring a storm or hold any rain—just a lousy morning. Frederick walked the docks and felt alone. He saw people out getting ready for the day, but they were only a few, and everyone kept to themselves. People weren’t talking to each other much these days.
The calm grew from tension. An adept sailor knew a storm wasn’t coming today, but he didn’t count this weather as a blessing. In a few minutes, the clouds could change in any direction. The fishing should be good, so Frederick should’ve held more optimism. His instincts prevented it. He found himself lightening his footsteps to make less noise, and for no good reason.
He had nothing against these magic folks. He didn’t understand what they did, just like they wouldn’t understand why the sea troubled him this morning. He kept a healthy distance from them his whole life. As a boy, he was smart enough to realize that making fun of a magician was a fast way to make the wrong enemy. Children quickly learned more practical uses for their magical talents when provoked. So Frederick lived his life and let them live theirs.
Frederick approached his fishing fleet. His largest ship, Mother Goliath, was on her way out to Ebolia. His fastest ship, Princess’s Racer, was due back any day now, full of students from Triton’s School of Magic. That left his fleet of local fishing vessels. Some went out for a week or two at a time, fishing deeper waters. Some others stayed close and came in every night. One of Frederick’s captains was waiting for him; his two-mast ship was supposed to be off already, headed for the deep waters North East.
“Got a problem, Fred.” The man was gruff. He and Frederick preferred conversations with as few words as possible. He was one of Frederick’s favorites. “Stowaway,” the captain said, eyeing him.
“Haven’t pulled him out yet,” Frederick stated, for it was not a question.
“The boys is scared.” The captain flicked his head toward the city. Frederick grumbled.
“Go get the guard. I’ll try’n talk to ‘im.” Frederick boarded the ship while the captain lumbered off. The sailors eyed him and motioned toward the storage compartment.
The magicians and wizards of Faucberg had played this whole Movement fiasco all wrong. The common folk were upset; this happened from time to time. Magic users were simply the flavor of the month. They should’ve shut their mouths and put their heads down when all this noise started. Instead, they protested. When the newly elected governor, a Movement preacher named Kyle, got the common folk good and pissed off, the magic users resisted. That gave Kyle the fuel he needed to pass a few anti-magic laws.
Then came the arrests. Then there was fighting. Accusations flew; Frederick heard a lot of noise despite how much he tried to ignore it. Folks were scared now. In all of Frederick’s years, he had never been mugged, robbed, or harassed by anyone that could use magic. The only times he saw magic were in the hospitals, in fact. But now folks were scared. A building was burned, people were injured, curfews were set, and the local Faucberg guards had their hands full. And now Frederick had himself a stowaway.
He ducked his head as he walked down into the storage compartment. He took a quick glance and saw a sliver of a foot behind a barrel. “Guards on their way,” Frederick announced. “If you leave now, you might be able to avoid ‘em.” The foot flinched, but several moments passed with no action. Frederick sighed audibly. “This is a fishing boat. It won’t bring you anywhere. You’ll go out to deep sea, and the crew will offer you to the Krakens.”
A shaky head rounded the corner; the man’s eyes were wide. “Please,” he pleaded. “I’ve got nowhere to go.”
“Can’t stay here,” Frederick said. “C’mon now, before they drag you out.” The man bowed his head, resigned. He followed Frederick up to the ship’s deck. The sailors were tense. Down the dock, Frederick spotted several guards following his captain toward the boat. The stowaway saw them, too. He ran, jumping off the ship and streaking down the dock.
A few of the guards chased after the stowaway. One stayed with Frederick’s captain and approached the ship. Frederick looked around at the crew, who stood watching.
“Get to work,” he told them. “’Spose to be off by now. You’ll need to hustle to make quota.” The men complied, setting off into motion. Frederick walked off the boat to greet the guard.
“You let him get away.” This guard was serious, glaring at Frederick, annoyed. Frederick crossed his arms.
“Ran off,” he responded. “Stows happen. Didn’t give me any trouble.” His captain addressed the guard next.
“Boys was just a little uptight, ya hear. What with the trouble in town.”
The guard scolded them. “All suspicious persons are to be brought in for questioning. I could bring you in for treason.” Frederick didn’t take kindly to threats, but forced himself to remain level-headed.
“This wasn’t about magic. Just someone stowin’ away.” Against his nature, Frederick decided to play up the man’s ego. “We appreciate you all keeping us safe. Know it’s been a rough few weeks.” The man seemed to diffuse slightly but kept his tone aggressive.
“There’ll be a decree later, but ya’ll can know now. Governor Kyle is taking emergency action to get this city in line against the threats of violence.” The guard stood up straighter and looked Frederick in the eyes, preparing to gauge Frederick’s reaction. “Governor Kyle will be named King later today.”
Frederick raised his eyebrows, trying to look impressed. “Is that so?”
“He’ll be able to command the military without parliament’s written approval. We need help out here. Too many captains letting criminals get away.” He glared at Frederick.
“Good,” Frederick responded. “You’ll get the help you need. And the city will calm down a bit. We’ll all be glad for that.”
“Next time, hand over the stowaways. And anyone else that might be a threat to the city.”
“Of course, sir.” Frederick had his best subordinate face on now. “Really sorry ‘bout that. Won’t happen again. Sir.”
Previous Chapter: https://therealzsmith.com/2023/03/10/resistance-chapter-9
Next Chapter: https://therealzsmith.com/2023/03/24/resistance-chapter-11
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