Thirty clerks filled the room; their counterparts were scattered in a half dozen rooms throughout the castle. When a project demanded more resources than immediately available, a clerk would leave to handle that problem and another would replace him. While waiting to be called into the First Chamber, the others would engage in the review process.

This turned the bureaucracy completely on its head. Previously, it had acted as a filter. It distilled information so that the Prince only learned what the bureaucracy felt he should know. Ministers hoarded information, concealing it from their fellows and superiors. Because information was power, it flowed none-too-freely.

Cyron shook his head. The bureaucracy had enshrined inefficiency by stifling the creative power of those working in it. Innovations died at roadblocks. Problems were sequestered and buried so no shame could come to the minister whose responsibility it was to find a solution. This allowed problems to fester-even simple ones.

Cyron expanded distribution of information and encouraged solutions. With every fact passed up to him, he demanded analysis and solutions. The bureaucracy would have previously made decisions on their own, but Cyron relished having options. If he chose to ignore them, so be it; but he had hundreds of people concocting solutions that might never occur to him.

Pelut Vniel tried to stop Cyron. The Prince had gotten everything he asked for and more. Ministers buried him beneath an avalanche of information. It came in jumbled and confusing-the mess begged for ministers to sort it all out. Vniel magnanimously allowed Cyron to take as many clerks as he wanted-especially those with no experience-to deal with the information.

Cyron had turned the tables on them. He’d started by drafting plans based on the data he’d been given, then forwarded them to the ministers for their opinions. They’d taken their time getting back to him, but he’d anticipated that. He’d acted without their advice, tweaking things when they did respond, but mostly moving ahead with his plans. When they protested that he had ignored their input, he noted that their belated comments agreed with his actions.

Then he turned around and buried them with reports, requests, and other make-work. Those ministers who complained he was not giving them anything substantive to do were rewarded with serious tasks. If they delivered solid product, he continued to use them. If they did not, he neutered them with flattery and marginalized them.

Pity stupidity isn’t lethal. The bureaucracy had practiced stupidity in a manner calculated to harm the nation. Primarily they neglected maintenance. The armories were a prime example. The first inventory had indicated there were twice as many arrows, but there had been no physical inventory-the number had been derived from adding up old records, some of which came from Imperial days. Weapons disbursed in time of emergency weren’t counted as they went out, and few enough came back. As a result, a prince could look at the numbers and feel secure about his nation’s preparedness.

But when an enemy came to call, he would be in serious trouble.

That worked in the bureaucracy’s favor and Cyron understood that. A secure prince promoted stability. An aggressive prince might consider going to war, but his ambitions would be blunted when the true numbers were produced. The bureaucracy would promise him weapons, and would procure them; but their counterparts in other nations would then prepare for war themselves. A stalemate would ensue and stability would be preserved.

The Prince did not doubt that there were other benefits to the bureaucracy. When arrows had to be produced in haste, prices rose. Bowyers who wanted part of a government contract would willingly reward bureaucrats for favoring them. Likewise for those paid to transport the arrows and those whose warehouses stored them. The wastage inherent in that system could easily enrich bureaucrats, so motivation to change it didn’t exist.

On top of that, he had other clerks going out to see if bribes were still being paid. Those who pointed out corrupt officials were given rewards and the officials were fined. Cyron functioned under no illusions that his system would eliminate corruption-he just wanted to make it less profitable.

It was too early to determine if his efforts would pay off. Senior ministers complained as if they were feeling pinched. Most feared substantial punishments if past corruption was revealed. While reports of the same had come in, Cyron did not act on them. He didn’t promise that he would not act on them, however; he would wield that club when necessary.

And it would be. The only minister unsullied by corruption was Pelut Vniel. Rumors abounded, of course. The assassination attempt that had cost Cyron half his arm must have been sanctioned by Vniel. Count Nerot Scior had been identified as the man behind the plot, and there seemed little doubt that the assassin’s wage had come from his purse. The man had fled Moriande for the westron counties, but he never would have dared try to usurp the Dragon Throne if some sort of accommodation with the Grand Minister had not been reached.

So far, Cyron’s only effort against Vniel had been his general assault on the bureaucracy. Fractures were already beginning to appear as the ministers, one by one, began to cooperate with Cyron. Copies of all missives flowed to Vniel’s office, but unofficial transcriptions of consultations did not. Cyron assumed that simple knowledge of these consultations would annoy Vniel. With any luck, Vniel’s quest for knowledge would distract him and keep him from causing trouble.

A runner bowed before the Prince. “Highness, the Empress suggested that within the hour she would be prepared to hear your report on preparations for attack.”

“Tell her I shall be with her shortly.” The Prince nodded to the man, then glanced at the shaft of sunlight pouring through the doorway overlooking his animal sanctuary. It fell on the backs of two clerks who both set their brushes down simultaneously. The man handed a sheaf of pages to the woman, who gathered them into a folio. She stood and presented them to Cyron.

“The latest reports, Highness, including lists of materiel on its way south and the readiness of the troops gathering here at Moriande.”

He did not take the folio from her. “You will come with me, Minister Tamirsai. You will hold the papers so I may consult them.”

“As you wish, Highness.” The woman smiled. It was, of course, a great honor to be presented to the Empress. Cyron regularly rewarded clerks for good work by having them take papers to the Empress. Tamirsai worked diligently and was well deserving of the reward.

Tamirsai had also received training from the Lady of Jet and Jade, though none of her fellow clerks were aware of this. She acted as the Empress’ eyes and ears-one of many such agents in a cadre about which Cyron knew very little-and probably less than he thought he did. While the information she bore would be of great value to the Empress, awareness of any subterfuges among Cyron’s staff would be more so.

“Very well, let us proceed.” Cyron waited for her to pass in front of him. “We shall return as quickly as possible, doubtless with new orders. I shall need the figures for stored grain and a survey of wells by the time I get back. Do your work well, and you, too, shall soon know the Empress’ favor.”

TheNewWorld