“The grand dictator made the trains run on time,” said the viser.

“But those trains were filled with slaves!” said Clara.

“Yes,” agreed the viser. “Some of them were. Others carried trade goods, or brought food into the city. But in any case, they ran on time.”

“Okay,” said Anton. “Well, it hasn’t caused a problem before now, so —”

“Begging your pardon, your worship,” said the viser. They’d asked him to not address them like that, but he’d continued using the honorifics all the same. “It most certainly has been causing a problem, but the usual chain of command and flow of information has broken down following the grand dictator’s untimely demise. The trains stopped running following the, ah, liberation, and have only been sporadically active since then. This has been stopping food from coming into the city. We can’t even be sure that food is being produced outside the city at all. I have not gotten any word from the Basketlands since the grand dictator’s death, given the aforementioned breakdown in communication.”

“So we need to get communication working again,” said Bertrand, the last of the three teenagers who had toppled a hundred year dictatorship.

“There are many things we need to get working, your worship,” said the viser. “Had I been brought up from the dungeons earlier, or not put in the dungeons in the first place, I might better have been able to correct for some of the issues that the dictatorship now faces.”

“Well, we’re listening to your advice now,” said Anton. “And it’s not a dictatorship anymore. The trains aren’t running, which means that food isn’t getting into the city, which means that people are going to start starving. That’s our problem. How do we fix it?”

“Begging your pardon again, your worship,” said the viser with a smile. “But that is one problem among many. The first problem is one of power. Specifically, what you must concern yourself with is who has the power.”

The teenagers looked at each other. “Well,” said Bertrand slowly. He looked down at the sword at his hip. “We’re all rightful rulers, aren’t we? I’ve got the sword, Clara’s got the crown, and Anton’s got the armor. We’re the last remaining heirs to the old king. So we’ll be two kings and a queen, won’t we?”

“You have artifacts of power,” said the viser with a nod. “The sword can cut cleanly through steel, the armor can deflect arrows five feet before they reach you, and the crown …” The viser frowned. “I do not recall the legends and regret that I was not able to see the final battle for myself.”

“I can move things with my mind,” said Clara. By way of demonstration, she lifted herself a few feet up into the air. After a few moments she landed back on the floor with her skirts flaring and a sheepish grin that she hid by turning away.

“Yes,” said the viser. “You had adventures, gained skills, acquired artifacts, and then toppled the grand dictator, may he rest in peace. The three of you have a joint claim, both by dint of your actions, the bloodlines you possess, and your raw physical might. Yet why should anyone listen to you?”

“Well,” said Anton. “Because of all those things, I guess. We saved the kingdom.”

“Begging your pardon a third time, your worship,” said the viser. “You did not save the kingdom, you destroyed the dictatorship. If you make a proclamation that the three of you are the new royalty, and that you will be taking over the running of the dictatorship in place of the grand dictator, who will listen to you, and why? How will you even deliver this message? The grand dictator used a system of criers and scribes. His decrees would be copied onto hundreds of scrolls, which would be read out on street corners, posted as bulletins, or delivered to those who needed to comply with them. Where are the scribes? Why will the scribes listen to you? How will you pay them?”

The teenagers looked at each other.

“But you just said all that stuff,” complained Clara. “We have the trinity artifacts, and royal blood, and all that.” She gestured to the room around her. “We’re in the palace.”

“Yes,” agreed the viser. “But people don’t care about that. They care about food, shelter, and safety. The grand dictator made well water safe for drinking. He ensured that any fires would be swiftly extinguished. And yes, he made the trains run on time. Trains which sometimes contained slaves, but often contained food from the Basketlands. The grand dictator held power through fear and raw might, but he also held power through institutional inertia and by making himself indispensible. There was some fear of retribution, I will grant you that, but people listened to him because he had crafted a system of power which ultimately relied on him.”

The teenagers looked at each other again.

“So … we need to get food to people, to start with,” said Clara. “We need to show the people that we can get things done.”

“Yes, your worship,” said the viser with a smile. “Yet it is more complicated than that, because in order to get food to the people we must first exercise power.”

“I’ll just fly over and do it,” said Clara. “I’ll pick up a boxcar of food and bring it to …” Clara trailed off.

“To the dictator’s food halls?” asked the viser. “Begging your pardon one more time, your worship, but the dictator had millers to turn grain into flour and bakers to turn flour into bread. He had butchers to turn pigs into bacon. He had chefs to make meals of the foodstuffs. He had administrators to ensure that food was brought to the right people.”

“Brought to his guards,” Anton said darkly. “While others starved.”

“To his guards, yes your worship,” agreed the viser. “But also to his administrators, his butchers, his bakers, his millers, and everyone else who made the entire system work. Just three percent of the population were denied entry to the food halls.”

“The dissidents,” said Clara.

“True dissidents were either hanged or burned alive depending on whether or not they were agitators as well,” said the viser. “It was only for lesser offenses that people were denied food. That is beside the point, your worship. The food halls were staffed by hundreds of people responsible for the feeding of the city. Do you imagine that they have been waiting at their posts for the past week, your worship? The scattered reports are that this is not the case. They have instead gone to their homes to barricade themselves in from the looters, or gone out into the streets to loot themselves. The food halls themselves have been raided. Should you go down to the trainyards and, by some miracle, find a car full of grains which had not been cracked open days ago, you would have nowhere to bring it to.”

The teenagers gave each other forlorn looks.

“The people of this dictatorship need a strong hand,” said the viser. “They need a show of power. Of the three artifacts, telekinesis is clearly the most impressive, so Clara, your worship, it would be wise for you to impress upon the people that you are here to bring order to the city. They must know that looting is a thing of the past. They must also know that you will provide for them. Recruit them to your cause.”

“You can’t give us orders,” said Anton.

“Of course not, your worship,” replied the viser. “I have never given orders to anyone. I am a viser; I advise. However, I think it within the bounds of my duties to point out that you have no better plans, unless we are to consider sitting here in the throne room as the city falls into disarray a plan.”

“He’s right,” said Clara. “I don’t like it, but he’s right.”

“Okay,” said Bertrand. “I’ll come with.”

“I beg your pardon for the thousandth time, your worship,” said the viser. “But the problems that this city faces are far too large for them to be solved by the three of you staying together. The subjects must see the power of their rulers, first in the form of raw might, but later in the form of a dependence on the three of you.”

“We don’t need people to be dependent on us,” said Bertrand. “We don’t want it. If you’re going to give us advice, you can’t pretend that we’re the old dictator.”

“Very well, your worship,” said the viser. “But it remains that there are goals which must be accomplished in quick succession, no matter how you decide to go about your rule. While Clara goes to speak directly to the citizens and display her power to them, one of the others must work to rebuild the information network. It will be as simple as paying people for what they know, and checking to see which people are liars and which are trustworthy.”

“I’ll do it,” said Anton. He looked to the others. “He’s right that we need to know more about what’s going on in the city.”

“And lastly, your worship,” said the viser. “The flow of information must go two ways. There must be spies and informants to keep the three of you apprised of what’s developing, but there must also be that same network of criers and system of bulletin boards.”

The teenagers confered amongst themselves. They still didn’t trust the viser, but he didn’t mind, because he was, of course, untrustworthy. The first thing to do was to split them apart, which seemed like it would be accomplished easily enough. Next would come pitting them against each other. That didn’t seem like it would be too difficult either. They were teenagers, each unsure of themselves, and clearly incompetent in the matter of governance. Once they were each working on their own projects, there would be wedges to drive between them, petty jealousies and harsh recriminations. From there, the three would be whittled down to one. It remained to be seen which of the three would be most suited to succeed the dictator.

The viser smiled. It wouldn’t be too long until the trains once again ran on time.