Rewrite That Witch
CH1011 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1011: Making a Big Splash

The new administrative system had transformed the kingdom’s nervous system. Word of the king’s coronation and wedding spread west to north in days—not weeks, not months—carried now not by merchants and boatmen but by local government staff who posted bulletins on the busiest streets and dispatched readers to explain them aloud. It was as if the king had decided that every person in Graycastle would know his decision whether they wished to or not.

Within days, the news became the only topic in every town. People had even stopped complaining about the cold.

As always, the best place to track the kingdom’s pulse was around a tavern fireplace, ale in hand. The Covert Trumpeter had that role in the old king’s city, and its new owner, Black Hammer, was grinning.

His business usually died in winter. Not this winter. The benches were full every night, money moved across his counter at a pace he hadn’t seen since midsummer, and he had already run his private projection forward to the end of the coronation ceremony and found nothing but gold royals the whole way there.

What a wise decision to hold the ceremony in the Months of Demons.

If he could meet Roland Wimbledon in person right now, he would fall to the ground and kiss the man’s boots.

Gold royals were the most adorable thing in the world. After them, Theo.

Black Hammer had not forgotten who he owed. Theo was no longer a patrol leader scraping by on a modest stipend—since Timothy’s defeat he had become the most powerful man in the old king’s city, and the proof of that power was the speed with which he had removed Nagy, the previous owner of the Covert Trumpeter, who had treated Rats like refuse. In the clean-up against Black Street, Black Hammer and his friends had followed Theo’s advice and split from Skeleton Fingers. That choice had made them official subjects. That choice had given them this tavern.

He intended to visit Theo’s home before he left—Silver Ring, Pott, and Little Finger in tow, a few gold royals lighter, and all the better for it. A good relationship with Theo was worth more than its cost. He knew his limits. He had never expected a sudden rise in status, and he didn’t expect one now.

He did his job. He collected information. When a trader boasted something worth recording, he wrote it down and slipped the paper into the slit behind the wine cabinet, and the connector handled the rest.

Tonight he was watching table six.

“Do you really believe that’s just a coincidence?” A red-faced merchant nursed his grievance over his cup. “The king suddenly announces his coronation. At the exact same moment he happens to find his eldest brother’s widow and son. And he’s marrying a witch who can never bear him a child. You call that coincidence?”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the table.

“I heard Gerald didn’t like women at all,” someone added. “Apparently he had an affair with a young knight. How does he suddenly have a widow?”

“You’re not from here, that’s obvious. Gerald barely showed at banquets. Not like Timothy or Roland. That story about the knight—it’s likely true.”

The merchant leaned forward and lowered his voice to the pitch that carried farthest. “Think about what the king actually said. He said he was bringing them to Neverwinter. He never confirmed the child was Gerald’s. He did that on purpose. He wants us arguing over whether the boy is a legitimate Wimbledon heir—which will swallow years. And while we’re doing that, we won’t be thinking about the real issue.”

“Which is?”

“The witches.” He took a long swallow. “They’ve been manipulating the king from the start. The widow, the child—fabricated. They need a distraction while they consolidate their grip on all of Graycastle.”

The table erupted.

“Witches can make people?”

“They can make stones float on water!” He slapped the table. “If they can do that, they can certainly create a person. Although maybe not a perfect one—that’s why the story needs so much work. They need time. Once the fabrication holds, the child becomes useless.”

“You’re out of your mind,” someone laughed. “You think His Majesty sits alone in the palace with a single God’s Stone of Retaliation?”

Laughter swept the table, loud enough to carry across the room.

“Keep laughing—hic—you’ll see. Those concrete ships have already driven real ships off every inland river. Some machine they made has replaced all the miners in Silver City. Your turn is next. Then we’ll see who’s laughing!” The merchant’s voice was rising with the ale, straining toward something neither argument nor reason but rage wearing argument’s coat.

Black Hammer took out his charcoal and a scrap of paper. He wrote down the man’s features. In the margin he noted: slandered the royal family; malicious attack on the witches. He folded the paper and slipped it into the slit in the wine cabinet.

The police department would respond quickly. He estimated the merchant would be collected the moment he stepped outside. Whether the man was an actual rebel was the interrogator’s business, not his.

Meanwhile, in his residence in the Inner City, Yorko was holding a fine high-collared garment at arm’s length before the mirror and assessing it with the gravity of a general reviewing his troops.

“Does this make me look fat?”

Denise Payton, the businesswoman from the Kingdom of Dawn, was sprawled across the bed with a corner of the quilt pulled over her bare chest. “You never prepared this carefully when you were with me. You haven’t even received an invitation yet. Are you planning to ride straight for Neverwinter the moment you heard the news?”

“I’m an old friend of His Majesty.” Yorko shook the garment, watching how the fabric caught the light. “Invitations are for outsiders. What about this one?”

“To be honest,” Denise yawned, “you look roughly the same in anything you wear. That wasn’t what attracted me to begin with.” She rolled onto her side. “And what am I supposed to do while you’re gone? You didn’t think about that.”

“If you want some entertainment, I could introduce you to—”

“Not interested.” She cut him off. “I choose my own targets. And need I remind you that I came here all the way from the City of Glow? This is how you treat a guest?”

He hesitated. The silence stretched.

“Take me to Neverwinter.” She got out of bed without hurry, crossed the room, and put her arms around his neck from behind. Her reflection watched him in the mirror. “You’re his old friend—he’ll invite you to dinner. All you have to do is bring me along. I’ve brought you to every important banquet in the City of Glow. Surely you can return the favor.” Her voice dropped. “I know you’re planning to meet someone there. I won’t interfere. And I might be useful.”

The news was stirring lords and merchants and drunkards from one end of the kingdom to the other.

Roland himself was unaware of any of it.

One week later, a shallow-water gunboat—the Roland—arrived at the City of Evernight in the Northern Region.

Someone’s peace was about to end.

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