The Elder Lands - Chapter 23

Lucan sat with Thomas in his father’s study. His father was absent. His disposition hadn’t been kind recently, even though Lucan had begun to solve the problems he’d created. He had to admit, though, that their woes were far from gone. Considering what Thomas had just told him.

“All around it? Even from the direction of the stream?” Lucan asked.

“Yes,” Thomas said, nodding. Even the patient old man was frustrated. It seemed that the saltwater lake was using every opportunity to make members of their household miserable, one at a time. It had been his father first, now Thomas, and soon himself, he imagined.

“Once they reached a certain depth, it was all solid rock,” Thomas continued. “No matter how much we circled, the results ended up being the same. The stream itself descends from high ground, but it seems to have carved away some of the rock for its path.”

Lucan sighed. He’d had high hopes. A month earlier, when he’d thought about the idle hands that he had after the completion of the road, he had remembered the lake. It had been mentioned by his father before that even if it was possible to dig pans near it, it would require an absurd amount of labor. Lucan happened to possess a decent, if not absurd, amount of unused labor, and hence he’d attempted to make something of it. In the end, he was left as frustrated as his father, particularly because he knew that the salt could’ve solved their problems and sorted out his mess

“I suppose I was too wishful,” he said. “Thankfully, I have been preparing other ventures for our laborers.” He hadn’t wanted to repeat his mistake and end up with idle hands again. If he had laborers and mouths to feed, then he might as well have constant work for them. “Some of the residents and peasants pay their taxes in labor, right?”

Thomas nodded. He was seated opposite Lucan, both of them before his father’s desk.

“We won’t accept it anymore,” Lucan said. “Any maintenance or service needed in the estate will be done by the laborers.”

It would grant them a meager increase in income, but still an increase. There was no sense in forgiving taxes for labor when they had an excess of the latter. The expected labor was often a mix of services that were needed to maintain their estate. That included working on the motte-and-bailey’s structures each year, repairing and renewing them so that they wouldn’t deteriorate. It also included working on the keep, repairing what needed to be repaired, and cleaning its grounds. They had one permanent, paid servant in the keep, responsible for cooking and maintaining their household, but he couldn’t keep the whole keep properly clean on his own.

Thomas obliged him, obviously in agreement on that front. “Should we have the laborers return to their shelters? Living near the lake hasn’t been pleasant for their lot.”

Lucan nodded. It was particularly harsh because his father had still not allowed them to harvest timber from the western forest. The refugees had had to do with using whatever deadwood, lone trees, and shrubbery they could find to create even worse shelters near the lake than the ones they had between the canals. The winds of winter were getting harsher every day, and Lucan could imagine how difficult it would be to resist them in the further crippled shelter. “Yes, have them return.”

“There have been some problems with vermin in their main shelters between the canals,” Thomas said. “The hamlets have thankfully followed the advice given and prepared themselves for the increase in the vermin population. But the refugees haven’t been as well prepared.”

“Bring them cats, I suppose?” Lucan huffed and threw his hands in the air. He’d given clear warnings to everyone about the possibility of an increase in vermin populations, even the villages farther from the forest.

Thomas let out a rare chuckle and nodded. “I am having it handled.”

Lucan smiled. He could always rely on the old steward, thankfully. Now it was time to move on to his next plan. He’d been swimming among his books for the past fortnight, particularly among the books about the Empire and the rare few among them about the canal they’d dug here. He’d been hoping to find further inspiration after the idea he’d gotten from reading about the Ruskai plague.

Ironically, he’d ended up with direct advice instead. One of the books had talked about the importance of irrigation canals, and how the Empire’s indentured workers–little more than slaves–could expand its fortunes further by carving canals through promising lands. The one cutting through their territory was such a canal, though it was much wider than the norm to allow the passage of trade. It tethered the Long Sea to the Walis river and had been a minor trade route in the past.

Lucan got off his chair, bringing their territory’s map and spreading it on the table. Thomas assisted him and soon they were both standing over it. “Onto our next subject,” Lucan said. He gestured to the wide stretch of land south of the main canal. “How arable do you think this land is?”

Thomas looked at him quizzically before answering. “I can’t say to the quality of all that land as a whole. I would have to inspect any particular plots that you wish to be apprised of. Why do you ask?”

Lucan pointed at where the canals split. “I want to begin digging our own irrigation canals to the south.” On seeing the old steward’s brows comically rising to nearly replace his balding hairline, Lucan couldn’t help but chuckle. “Not as wide as the existing ones of course. We only need ones wide enough to transport water for farming. If there isn’t enough farmland for the refugees, then we’re going to create it.”

“That’s…” Thomas said, growing uncharacteristically silent. He fidgeted for a moment. “It would be a significant undertaking, even more significant than the road.”

“Yes,” Lucan said. “And we’ll need multiple branching canals to create as much farmland as possible. How soon do you reckon we can begin such work?”

“Not now, that’s for certain,” Thomas said, shaking his head and finally regaining his bearings. “The land will be hard in the winter. We could perhaps begin two months from now, with the coming of spring, and even then there will be difficulties.”

“Ah, I see,” Lucan said, his excitement tapering down. He hadn’t thought of the difficulty of digging in the winter. Rather, he’d been in a hurry, since he knew such a venture would at least take a year. He’d solved their short-term problems by overhunting the predators and soon hunting the expanded populations of prey game. And the new canals would hopefully solve their long-term problems. Yet, there were still problems in-between. He still couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t be indebted to someone this time next year. Unfortunately, no matter how motivated he was, no one could fight winter itself.

As though the world had been listening to them, Lucan and Thomas heard a commotion, mostly out of children, from the bailey. When Lucan opened the study’s window, he found it snowing. He chuckled and turned to Thomas who carried his own rueful smile.

“Very well,” Lucan said. “We’ll wait. Meanwhile, can you send for someone with the needed expertise from Arpague? Also, check on any promising arable lands to the south. We will need to know where it will be worth our while to dig canals, and where we shouldn’t bother.”

“Of course,” Thomas said.

Winter was at its height. It was the best time to plan. And if planning was an activity best done in the warmth of the keep, then it was Lucan’s good fortune.