The treasury of the empire was tallied, the presses roared, and books spilled into the markets. But Sharath knew that riches would not be enough to keep his kingdom. Riches bred jealousy. Knowledge kindled revolution. Order required caution.
And so began the second phase of his reforms: eyes everywhere, and judgment everywhere.
The First Whispers
It began innocently enough. Rumors came of smugglers evading checkpoints, nobles secretly meeting foreign ambassadors in secluded villas, guildmasters stashing gold under false books. Minor crimes, maybe, but all of them together constituted a spreading corruption that could ruin everything.
Sharath sat in council with Madhu and Basanna one evening.
"We have made people literate," Basanna stated, banging his cane on the tiled floor. "We've provided them with books, schools, laws… But if law is not enforced, if treachery boils on in secret, all of it is parchment on the wind."
Madhu leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "So you want a leash on every neck."
Sharath's eyes turned cold. "Not a leash. Eyes. The empire has to see itself. Every whisper, every movement. If I am to guard them, I must know."
🐧NeuroBoop laughed wickedly in his head: "Good job. You've just created Big Brother, but with more pen and less posters."
Constructing the Spy Network
The system started out as an outgrowth of the magical lookout rooms already manned by Sharath's most devoted guards. Magically empowered crystal spheres, inscribed with runes, were connected to a web of minute magical "whispers"—coin-sized appliances set throughout towns and villages.
Every machine captured noise and a weak trace of motion. Not sufficient to monitor private bedrooms—such abuse would violate faith—sufficient to monitor public affairs, tavern gossip, and suspicious meetings.
Dedicated scribes cycled through the halls of observation, writing down significant snippets onto enchanted paper that sorted itself by subject: smuggling, bribery, foreign agents, sedition.
Nevertheless, magic was not enough to supplement human sight. Sharath hired informants—street boys, tavernmasters, stablemen, minor officials. Each received reasonable pay, small favors, or the guarantee of protection. They were all sworn to secrecy: betray the empire, and the very pen they signed with would strangle them.
Above this hierarchy hovered the Shadow Council, specially selected officers and direct reports of Sharath. Madhu, as always, would not hear of not attending their induction.
"Do you realize what you're creating?" she confronted Sharath in private after the first session. "Once you set up such a chain, you can never put it back in the box. This is power that corrupts the one who consumes it.
Sharath's eyes did not flinch. "Better the poison in my blood than daggers in the backs of my people."
She did not speak again, but her silence was both warning and grudging respect.
The First Trials
The success of the spy system was swift. Nobles who were caught sending missives to foreign embassies were summoned in silence within weeks. Smugglers saw their stashes busted before products could even proceed. A band of mercenaries planning revolt found themselves encircled by guards before their initial meeting concluded.
The general public murmured about "The Emperor's Eyes"—in awe and in terror.
Kids started teasing one another: "Watch out! The Emperor's eyes are upon you!" Bar patrons giggled apprehensively when a one-too-many man cursed Sharath, but only soldiers showed up the following day with questions.
It wasn't all well-received. Priests grumbled about confidentiality of confession. Merchants worried their trade secrets were not secure. Even some governors became nervous, feeling that the Emperor knew all their activities.
Sharath confronted these worries directly in a council session.
"The Eyes are not to see private love, nor prayer, nor commerce," he said. "They are to see treason, corruption, and harm to the people. I don't want to know your secrets. I just want to catch daggers before they strike."
It was a tightrope—trust and fear, liberty and control. But for the moment, the empire tolerated.
Expansion of the Courts
But spies alone were not enough to bring justice. For each secret that was revealed, there had to be judgment. So Sharath set out to reform the law courts.
Earlier, nobles in secret chambers or priests in temples dispensed justice. Bribes decided cases, influence trumped truth. Now, Sharath opened Imperial Courts—organized, public, and informed by written law.
Magistrates were selected not from noble families, but from educated professionals of the law book. Their selection involved passing examinations in reasoning, morality, and acquaintance with the laws. Any who did not pass—even sons of lords—were rejected.
Courtrooms were constructed in each provincial capital: stone halls with elevated benches, open galleries, and carved scales of justice at their center. Trials were public, with scribes writing down each word.
The initial sessions were chaotic.
One trader, charged with hoarding grain, shouted: "This is unjust! My kin purchased this grain—"
The magistrate stopped him. "And the law provides that hoarding grain during famine is treason. Place your evidence to the contrary."
Another lord, brought in for tax evasion, stormed at being tried like a commoner. But the gallery cheered when he was fined twice and had lands taken away from him.
Madhu herself was there at the first trial, perched on the edge of Sharath with her sharp smile. "Observe them. The common folk love it. The nobles detest it. And you? You sit there acting superior to it all, when in truth you're excited as a child with a new toy."
Sharath smiled. "Justice is no plaything. It's the backbone of the empire."
🐧NeuroBoop breathed: "Certainly, until you flex like a reed when it doesn't serve you."
The Court of Appeals
Sharath went further, however. In order to avoid abuse, he established a Court of Appeals in the capital, where cases from all over the empire could be appealed. That way, local magistrates could not operate unilaterally.
In a well-known instance, a farmer appealed after he had been falsely accused of theft by an dishonest guildmaster. When the appeal came to the capital, evidence from the spy network demonstrated the guilt of the guildmaster rather than the farmer. The onlookers cheered their approval as the farmer was released and the guildmaster sent into exile.
It was the first time commoners understood the system might protect them from the mighty. From that day on, court galleries were crowded not only for justice, but for show.
Controversy
But controversy did smolder. Nobles complained of Sharath weakening their powers. Priests complained of divine law being overtaken by man's law. Foreign spies spread rumors that the Emperor's Eyes watched everything, that thoughts were never private, prayers never safe.
Sharath reacted not with edicts, but with demonstrations.
In a trial, a priest accused of theft requested judgment according to divine law. Sharath permitted it. There was a ritual. The gods, silent and neutral, provided no indication. Then the court reviewed ledgers and depositions. The priest was convicted.
"Divine law is eternal," Sharath declared afterwards. "But it is not written against theft of grain, nor tax evasion, nor iron smuggling. For those, the people require laws of their own. And they shall have them."
Shadows Behind the Summit
But beneath all of this advancement hung peril. The meeting with the dwarves loomed, and Sharath understood every snoop, every court, every secretary would be put to the test. Foreign diplomats would look for cracks in his new empire. Nobles would gossip louder.
The spy apparatus buzzed, providing him with intel: foreign money passing into noble coffers, clandestine letters smuggled by undercover pilgrims, even rumors of assassination plots.
For all of them, Sharath drew up responses—sometimes quiet removal, sometimes public trial, sometimes mere watching to see where the threads went.
It was a game that could be fatal. But now, at least, it was his game, played on his terms.
Closing Scene
One night, Sharath strolled through a newly constructed courthouse. The galleries were vacant, the torches low. He stroked the carved scales of justice, pondering.
Madhu walked up, her feet quiet. "So, Emperor, are you happy? You've made eyes in every shadow and a gavel in every hand. Do you feel safe at last?"
Sharath glanced at her, then at the scales.
"Safe? No. But strong. And strength, Madhu, is the only safety that endures."
🐧NeuroBoop laughed: "Until someone stronger shows up. Tick-tock."
Sharath's jaw clenched, but he smiled weakly. "Let them come. They'll find an empire awake, watching, and ready.