Rewrite That Witch
CH473 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 473: The Third Step of City Construction

At the end of the first month of spring, after two weeks of learning and assessment, Barov convened the first municipal plenary session in the castle hall.

Sixty-five people filled the room: directors of every City Hall department, and a selection of nobles from Longsong Stronghold who had been invited to observe and participate. Forty-seven seats were taken, eighteen empty. The absent nobles had already been assessed and found wanting. Barov had spent a year learning to tell the difference between nobles who could adapt and nobles who would not, and the two weeks had been as much examination as orientation.

His Highness called it an express train, Barov thought, watching the room settle. Those who cannot keep pace will be left behind. He held no particular sympathy for the ones who had fallen out. Whether a man was a noble or a commoner, capable or useless, made no difference to Barov in the abstract. What mattered was whether the machinery functioned. And this machinery was unlike anything he had known in King’s City.

He had spent years in the Astrology Association, then a decade in the Ministry of Finance as an assistant treasurer, watching the highest levels of royal administration from close enough to understand exactly where he stood in relation to power and exactly how far he remained from it. King Wimbledon III had dispatched him to Border Town on the strength of an old promise, and Barov had gone without expectation of anything at all. He had been too old for optimism.

And yet. Here he stood at the end of a long table, about to read out the fundamental laws of a new city to sixty-five men who had never imagined such a thing was possible. When Prince Roland ascended to the throne — and Barov believed now, without much qualification, that he would — Barov would be Hand of the King. He allowed himself, for just a moment, to imagine the treasurer’s expression.

“Your Highness.” He cleared his throat. Roland nodded from the head of the table.

“Let’s begin.”

Each person had been given a thin hardcover book, gilded letters on the cover reading Basic Laws of the Kingdom. Barov had read through it many times. He knew what it contained. He also knew that several of the people in this room had not read it carefully, and several more would hear things today that would disturb them, and a small number would object.

“What you have before you,” he began, “is the unification act to be enacted in His Highness’ territory once city construction is completed. You are welcome to follow along, or to listen. If you have questions, His Highness will answer them.”

A light rustle of parchment.

He began with the structure of the new territory.

“Article One: Roland Wimbledon shall reserve all rights with respect to the territories under his jurisdiction.”

“Article Two: The City Hall is the highest authority of the territory, administering all matters under the supervision of Roland Wimbledon.”

“Article Three: Every person, upon entry to the territory, shall have the right to gain citizenship through multiple channels. The City Hall has the obligation to guarantee at least three such channels to the public.”

“Article Four: Every individual, upon gaining citizenship, shall not be discriminated against on the basis of gender or former status — whether freeman, farmhand, servant, or slave. Every citizen has the right to equal protection under the law, and the legal obligations to pay taxes, defend the territory, and serve in the military.”

“Article Five: Every noble shall be treated as a regular citizen and shall no longer be privileged by title. Titles shall be honorary without granting executive power, and shall be conferred by inheritance in accordance with the law.”

“Article Six: Every citizen has the right to seek protection of life, security, and personal property.”

“Article Seven: Every citizen has the right to education, liberty of work, and liberty of marriage.”

“Article Eight: Commercial interaction and free trade are encouraged, provided they are carried out in accordance with the law.”

He continued through the remaining articles, turning pages slowly, reading each one in plain language, pausing where he thought clarification was needed. Few laws written by nobles had ever concerned themselves with civilians. Even freemen in King’s City had been objects of administration, not subjects of protection. The thoroughness with which these laws protected ordinary people was, by the standards of any kingdom he knew, remarkable. He assumed the prince’s reasoning was strategic — that winning the Battle of Doomsday would require the full weight of the population behind him, and this was how you built that weight. Barov did not need to share the philosophy. He needed the machinery to work. These laws would make the machinery work.

Food was brought in at midday. The session did not pause. Barov drank water until his throat was raw and kept reading.

Late in the afternoon, they came to the final topic: the only article in the Basic Laws that the room was asked to vote on rather than simply receive. The flag and the name of the new city.

This was when the hall came alive.

Barov had expected it. He asked every attendee to write a name and a flag design, place the submissions on the table, and vote across multiple rounds. The room turned to the task with an energy that had been absent for most of the afternoon — an article about property rights was abstract; a name for your city was personal.

After several rounds of voting, both were decided.

The flag took the royal emblem of the Kingdom of Graycastle as its base: a gun and a tower. Above these, a large pentagram. Below, three smaller ones. The large star represented Roland Wimbledon. The three smaller ones: the City Hall, the Army, and the Witch Union.

The city name: Neverwinter.

Barov wrote it down in his notes. He let the word sit for a moment.

Neverwinter. He tried it against the city he had been watching grow for a year — the bridges, the factories, the electric lights that would soon come to every house, the population expanding and educating itself and changing in ways he had not thought possible. The name fit. It suggested something that did not retreat, something that endured through cold. He couldn’t have said whether the prince had influenced the vote or simply let it run, but either way, the result was right.

He closed the book.

Discussion

Suggest a change