Chapter 250: On the Island, Part Two
"How many of you are there now?" Kian asked.
The elder answered: "My lord, the island holds approximately three hundred and fifty thousand souls, spread across the various estates.
We maintain the noble houses every day — the moment the lords return, everything will be ready for immediate occupation. We guarantee the finest standard of welcome!"
"What's the state of the infrastructure? Power situation? Food output?"
The old man's expression shifted slightly — a flicker of uncertainty crossing his weathered face.
Why is this lord asking these questions? These were steward questions. Management questions. A noble lord's job was to arrive, be comfortable, and leave the details to people like him.
...Wait. You're not actually a noble, are you? Emperor's Throne, are you one of us in a good coat?
"My lord — if I may ask — which house do you belong to?"
Kian caught the doubt in the old man's eyes and felt a flash of irritation at himself. Damn. Blown cover in thirty seconds.
The road to becoming a credible member of the exploiting class, apparently, still stretched a long way ahead of him.
He reached out and slapped the elder across the face hard enough to spin him in place.
"Insolence. Which house I belong to is not a question a servant puts to his betters. Know your station."
The elder staggered, clutched his reddening cheek — and felt a wave of relief wash over him.
There it is. That's the real thing. Only a genuine lord hit you like that without thinking about it.
He snapped upright and answered promptly.
"My lord. Infrastructure is fully maintained — we attend to it daily. Power has been offline since the lords departed.
Water is not a concern — we've dug wells throughout the island, and there are several river systems. Drinking water is plentiful."
"Any rebel activity on the island?"
The elder drew himself up with the offended dignity of a man whose honour had just been questioned.
"My lord! Rebels? On this island? This is the sacred retreat of the nobility — no such filth has ever contaminated it!
Some rebel elements attempted a landing several years ago — they had constructed wind-powered boats. We burned them. The lords' private garden will not be defiled while we draw breath!"
His eyes were shining.
Kian clapped him on the shoulder.
"Good man. Every one of you — exemplary servants of the established order, all of you. I'll say it plainly: it won't be long before I return with the full weight of noble authority behind me. Your good days are coming."
The crowd broke into relieved smiles, and the elder pressed his advantage.
"My lord — will more of the noble houses be returning? Have the rebels finally been defeated?"
Kian's expression sharpened again.
"Audacious. Deeply audacious. One sun in the sky isn't enough for you? You want a full complement? How many lords do you think you can actually serve, old man?"
The elder backpedalled at speed.
"No no no, one master is more than enough for this servant! Entirely sufficient! Ha! Ha!"
Kian spent another half hour working through practical questions. The elder answered everything readily, and with each answer Kian's assessment of Garden Isle improved.
The population was self-sustaining. The land was already under cultivation. Bring in a few heavy agricultural machines, run some proper land clearance, and the island could produce food well in excess of local needs. That surplus fed the guana-beast breeding operation. The breeding operation supplied the canning line. The Captain's Devourer transports could put down directly on the island and lift finished product straight to orbit — no warehousing required.
Clean, simple, scalable.
Kian dismissed the crowd with a promise that the lords would return soon, boarded the shuttle, and flew back to Hive Tenebris at speed.
First stop: the Captain. He arranged for additional shuttle deployment.
Second: the Kae family's private soldier battalion. He cut them orders to board a shuttle and establish military control of the island. Boots on the ground, flag planted, population secured.
Third: the Forge Temple. He found Enginseer Antonius and requested a technical survey team — ride along with the shuttle, assess the cargo vessels in the shipyard for restoration potential, submit a cost estimate. Antonius agreed without argument and dispatched a team immediately.
Fourth: the food processing facility. Kian found the plant supervisor and got to the point.
"I need to relocate one complete canning line. Top-specification — the grade that produces the highest-quality output. Anything I need to know before I move it?"
The supervisor nodded. "The facility and everything in it is yours to deploy as you see fit, my lord. One consideration: the premium canning line requires significant electrical capacity. The sterilisation and preservation systems draw heavily. Ensure your new site has sufficient generation capacity before installation."
Kian thought about the Captain's ship. The cargo manifest included a controlled fusion reactor. That would cover it.
"Have your workers strip one complete line and put it in storage. Ready for collection on short notice."
"Your will, my lord."
Coming out of the plant, Kian ran straight into his next problem.
Garden Isle needed a front man.
The situation was unusual. The island had been noble property before the war. The people on it were noble servants — loyal, cooperative, and deeply invested in the idea of noble authority. But if Kian claimed it openly under his own name, he'd have every surviving Spire noble who ever owned a villa there knocking on his door demanding their property back.
He needed a proxy. Someone who looked the part — noble enough to satisfy three hundred and fifty thousand servants raised on hierarchy, while giving the actual noble houses a reason to stay away.
I could just send a subordinate and run it remotely. Don't need to be there personally.
He thought back to the elder's suspicion. The way the old man had looked at him.
That bad, am I? Apparently even performing basic feudal oppression was beyond his current presentation. Depressing.
Fine. I'll send someone who actually looks like an aristocrat. Tell the servants the island has a lord. Tell the Spire nobles a powerful rebel faction has seized the island — that'll keep them from coming to investigate.
The question is: who do I send? And under what cover?
He turned it over for a while.
Then he had it.
He went back to the Spire estate and found Kilian Cavendish in the entrance hall, attending to some household matter with his usual immaculate precision. The man looked, as always, exactly like what he was — white-gloved, perfectly pressed, faint trace of cologne, the kind of bearing that communicated established authority from thirty metres.
Kian, by contrast, was in combat fatigues, belt rig loaded with pistol and knife, and had apparently brought the smell of the underhive back with him.
No wonder the old man had doubts.
He reached into his coat and produced a shield-shaped heraldic badge — the crest of House Chastener — and held it out.
"Take this. I have a difficult assignment for you."
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