Memoirs of a Merchant of Mirdhr
07 Apr 2022Cerbervs Blackwood
Kareldt; lived here all my life, or so it seems. As a kid, I can remember being taken to the Parovii Democratic Party's annual Kareldt Expo. Each year they used to drape the whole of Bondar Gateway in green and orange fabrics from bow to stern to celebrate the reign of the Lords of Mirdhr. Park Botanical Nursery gifted all attendees with a hamper of fresh potatoes and silverbeets, which my mother would then make into the best curry you could imagine.
Of course, now as a grown and somewhat cynical man, I can see it for what it was; lording their dominion over those who were without.
The multitude of silken banners hid the corrosion of Bondar's walls and a day of festivities worked wonders to help the people of Kareldt forget about the daily overcrowding and rationing. Everyone had their distractions, but that was just the Kareldt way of life.
Thankfully, things are different now. A shift in power some fifteen years ago enabled a much-needed reshuffle in the lower echelon at the 'Lord's Manse'. Ben Mirdhr staged a coup that, by all accounts, involved the capture and subsequent release of a few key political family members.
It was a bold enough power play to shake their foundations and create cracks in the system that he could exploit for his gain.
Ben Mirdhr has been good for the Duchy of Kareldt ever since he lead us into both a mining and technological boom.
Most hardworking citizens were happy to turn the other cheek when the occasional Pirate envoy began to sit at his table, or the local bar closed for repairs after playing host to another captain and their crew.
Space is cruel; if you don't watch your back then it'll suck the very air from your lungs and reduce you to a bag of frozen meat.
My father; James, did well for himself as a young man. He worked hard as an engineer and made a few agreeable investments that saw me get my first ship with his insurance payout.
Dad's illness, towards the end, put a strain on my mother and me. His mental decline and an unhealthy obsession with Guardian tech would be the undoing of him… and, subsequently the estrangement of our family to some degree.
As a young man, I remember him locking himself away in his office, pouring himself over topographical maps of distant moons or whispering incoherently into his coffee as he stared at schematics of an advanced technology shrouded in the enigma that was 'The Guardians'.
I still wonder what happened to him. What makes a man approaching his sixty-seventh year want to leave the prospect of a comfortable retirement in search of a fable?