The Crown's Foreigner

[Draeris 3124]

Başıl Karamanoğlu in his new workplace in Helena

 

The Crown’s Foreigner

 A tale of an unusual employment

 

When one observes the renowned House Basrid, one might forget that their roots are entangled into tales of barbary and primitivism: for they exhume an aura of civility and knowledge. If one is to come across a Qalasheeni, he is reminded of the centuries of cultural distance that both have enjoyed from each other: each other’s differences emphasized as a bitter sweet reminder. But what of a Karamani? For he walks with an attire of hides and speaks an exotic tongue, while finding no issue in mingling with the Orenian bureaucrats and prominents alike. Had their different faith inconvenienced them in their friendship with the staunch Canonists from Hanseti-Ruska? Had their language complicated their warm conversations with those of Sarkozic and Carrion lineage? Had their nomacy affected their ability to pen the finest of records, their participation in the most profitable of business negotiations and their availability to their international contacts? If one knows a Karamanoğlu further than his own first impression, his answer would be no. But who can get really close to a people that carefully select their foes and friends alike? 

 

This great deception bestowed upon those that are unfamiliar: did not fool Joachim Haas. The wise Vice-Chancellor had observed the Karamanoğullari Bey, Başıl Karamanoğlu, as they ventured through Helena occasionally. From negotiating an import contract with his younger brother Boudewijn, to sending a diplomatic delegation to the Kingdom of Curon. These primitive nomads seemed more than capable of travelling through the extensive bureaucratic pathways that make Oren go forward. Upon further investigating the travelling society, Joachim realised that the prominent psychological component in selecting the right candidates for the right job, were a matter of life or death for these Karamanoğullari. Their internal titles, albeit of no relevance to the Imperial peerage, were ones wielding grotesque mandates of care taking, prosperity and justice upon the young and old alike. A society that banks so much on a singular individual, must possess a cultural filter that is excellently capable of separating the strong from the weak. This conclusion led to Vice-Chancellor approaching  Başıl, commencing what would become a remarkable job interview for the position of Inspector-General.

 

The Vice-Chancellor would halt the Karamanoğlu on the middle of Helenian streets, interrupting his daily stroll to the tavern. “Weren’t you the one that interrupted our last Tartişma?”  Başıl would fingerpoint at Joachim slightly, chuckling. Joachim would chuckle back “I certainly seem to have done so.” the conversation was then organically interrupted by Joachim’s beckons, as he simply stated: “Please follow me to my office”.  Başıl complied, dipping his head as both of them ventured to the Vice-Chancellor’s office in utter silence.

 

Once there, Başıl was fascinated with the vibrant colours that housed the Orenian bureaucracy. The walls decorated with a vast array of paintings and heirlooms, the carpets forming a symphony of tasteful colours deemed a luxury for Karamanid artworks. Joachim spoke:”My primary reason for calling you here is because I require men of fortitude that are outside of the system”. “You seek a man that has not lived in a Stone Yurt?”  Başıl would interject: “quite unusual”. Joachim would nod, his hands softly placed on the desk before him. “I want a go-between for my ministers that aren’t biased to internal inquires. Effectively, I’d like to try out a man of your means, in the position of Inspector-General.”

Başıl would cross his arms, raising his chin as he inquired: “What would I need to do as an ‘Inspector-General’?”.  Joachim would lean forward slightly, as if to emphasize his words more: ”You will ensure that the right man is placed on the right job: and that they will do this job well in the future”. The Karamanoğlu nodded, entrenching his fingers in the fabric that was placed onto Joachim's desk. He nodded once, although he wasn't exactly sure to what he nodded for. They shook hands as Başıl was shown his office. Their kind and Joachim's kind were always separated by layers upon layers of difference. How would the great Timur or the benevolent Kashgar look upon him? Shaking hands with a man of a stone yurt? Adopting their bürücratic mandate as his own? 

 

Başıl took a deep breath, leaning back into his chair. By Kashgar, even men from Stone Yurts recognized the inherent wisdom of the Karamanoğullari. A question infiltrated his head however: while travelling, where would he store all of his parchment? The curse of bürücraci was already encroaching upon him..