Once upon a time there was a powerful Wizard King, named Usa, who lived in a grand castle, ruling a rich and fertile land.

Centuries before, the land had belonged to the Naidni peoples and Usa’s forbearers had taken it from them in a series of bloody wars.

Usa’s grand castle had been built by slaves from far off Acirfa; many of them died on the journey; others died in the effort of constructing the castle—and other work across the Kingdom.  Eventually, the Acirfans became free people, but they were still ill-treated and largely restricted to doing menial work for paltry wages.

Over time, the resentment of the Acirfans at their plight grew.

“Even when our labor is the same as the labor of others,” they cried to the Wizard King, “we are not paid what others are paid!”

At first the Acirfans tried to appeal to Usa’s sense of fairness and justice.

But Usa’s heart was hardened and, as a matter of reflex, he feared and reviled change.

Finally, frustrated that they were being neither heard nor respected, the Acirfans resolved that they would not perform labor if they were not justly compensated.  In workshops and places of commerce across the Kingdom, they sat silent and idle.

“We will work again,” they said, “when we are treated fairly.”

To the south of Usa’s lands was a vast continent called Latmerca in which the Wizard King had often meddled.  Many of the countries there were plagued by Ogres that Usa had created for his own purposes; they roamed the countryside and the cities of Latmerca, plundering, raping, killing, stealing, eating the very bones and flesh of the people.

Vexed by this devastation, a few Latmercans resolved to travel north, to seek sanctuary and shelter—safety, work, and prosperity—in the lands of Usa.

A small band of Latmercans made the arduous journey to the gates of Usa’s castle.

“You would come in?” Usa said.

“Yes, Sire,” they replied.

“And, should I permit this, what labor will you perform for me in recompense?”

The rampaging of the Ogres in Latmerca had kept the lands, and the people there, in grinding poverty.  What work there was to be had was hard and ill-paid.  What money they were able to earn by the sweat of their brows was often stolen by the Ogres.

“We will do any work you ask of us, Sire,” the Latmercans replied.

“And how shall you be compensated?” Usa asked.

“We will accept whatever Your Majesty deems appropriate,” the Latmercans said, knowing there could be no return to their home countries.

“Then come in!” Usa said to them.

To the Acirfans who had refused to work, protesting the conditions under which they labored and the rate at which they were compensated, Usa said, “We no longer have need of your services,” and they were summarily ejected from their places of employment.

Grateful and relieved, the Latmercans took up the work, accepting compensation at half the, already-low, rate that had been given the Acirfans.  Of those meager wages, most endeavored to send remittances to the families they had left behind, further reducing what they could spend to maintain themselves.  In consequence, they lived in makeshift shacks in the castle’s inner courtyard, fifteen or more often sleeping in one small room.

The Acirfans, now without work, struggling to care for their families, became angry: first they had been slaves; then they had been poorly paid and treated workers; now they were condemned to indigence and idleness—for the “high crime” of demanding treatment equivalent to that of any other of Usa’s subjects.

They protested, in peaceful and orderly manner.

They respectfully petitioned the King for redress.

When no response was forthcoming, some became unruly.

“I will tolerate no disorder in my realm,” the King said.  “This must cease!”

Vast numbers of Acirfans were summarily condemned to the dungeon, their homes stripped of men, their children rendered fatherless.

Meanwhile, frustrated at the meanness of their circumstances, one of the Latmercans, Zevahc, sought audience with the Wizard King.

“Sire,” he said, “our wages are so low we can barely sustain ourselves.  Can you not see your way clear to helping us?”

“You would have more money?” Usa asked angrily.

“Yes,” Zevahc said, “that we might eat, that we might have decent shelter.”

Incandescent with rage, the King had Zevahc exiled: ejected from the castle, escorted to the Latmercan border and abandoned there, left to the mercy of the Ogres.

The Latmercans in Usa’s Kingdom made public no further qualms about their pay.

Seasons passed.

One day a much-bruised young girl in ragged dress presented herself at the castle gate.

She said her name was Alala.

A Latmercan of no more than fifteen years, she was visibly with child, and carried another babe in her arms.  She had been slave to one of the Ogres, she said, and violated by her master horribly and often.  She sought the sanctuary of Usa’s castle, for herself, for her child, for her child to come.

Saddened by her plight, Usa granted her request.

In the gloaming, a fortnight later, Usa—having retired early to his bedchamber—was shaken awake by his Vizier.

“Sire,” he cried, “a great throng of people have amassed at the castle gate!”

“Of what number?” Usa asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Perhaps as many as ten thousand,” the Vizier said quietly.

“And what do they seek?”

“They are Latmercans,” the Vizier said.  “They seek sanctuary from the Ogres that . . . you created, Your Royal Highness.”

Usa paced his bedchamber, then gave orders to his Vizier.

“Walk among them,” he said.  “Then return and report to me.”

The Vizier quickly complied.

“What have you learned?” Usa asked, on the Vizier’s return.  “Of what sort are these folk?”

“They are, by and large,” the Vizier said hesitantly, “good people.  A preponderance of young men, but families as well; a fair number of young; some women are with child.”

“Good people?” the King echoed.

The Vizier nodded.

“Yes, Sire.  They have made an arduous journey, that their families may survive and prosper.  They seek sanctuary but they are also desperate to work.  It is my suspicion, Sire, that there is no labor they would refuse.”

The King nodded.

“What do you believe would be the consequence, should I permit them entry?” he asked.

“We could dispense entirely with the labor of the Acirfans,” the Vizier said immediately.  “And the Latmercans could do much work beyond that.  I think it inevitable that the pressure thus generated would lower wages across the Kingdom.”

“In consequence,” the King said thoughtfully, “would not the cost of goods and services fall?”

“It would Sire,” the Vizier said carefully.  “But one suspects that the ability of a great number of your subjects to afford these goods and services—given the general reduction in wages—would be impaired to one degree or another.  They would likely not respond well to this.”

The King waved away this concern.

“The Latmercans would inevitably be more compliant workers, would they not?” the King said.  “The example made of that rude and audacious fellow Zevahc, this is remembered, that the punishment for wage agitation is expulsion and exile?”

“It is Sire,” the Vizier murmured.

The King returned to pacing the bedchamber.

“Ten thousand, you say?” he said.  The Vizier nodded.  “And how many would you say are in the condition of our Alala?” he asked.

“Beaten?” the Vizier asked, “Or with child?”

“Both,” said the King.  “And—” before the Vizier could answer, “—how many in Latmerca would come here for work, should I permit this?  How many suffer beatings?  How many are poor and with child?  How many fear for their lives because of the Ogres?”

“Sire, I don’t—” the Vizier began.  “What you ask is complicated,” he said carefully.  “I can look into these questions but . . . clearly most Latmercans live in fear of the Ogres.”

“Most,” the King mused.  “And—again—how many do you think would make the arduous trek to my gate, should I make the example of admitting the ten thousand who now wait there?”

“In my estimation?  Perhaps half the population—”

“How many—” the King interrupted.

“—tens of millions, Sire,” the Vizier responded quietly.

“Tens of millions,” the King repeated slowly, sighing, closing his eyes for a moment, very much wishing that he had never gotten out of bed.  “And therefore, were you in my place, Oh Wise Vizier, what would you think to do?”

The Vizier rubbed his forehead for a moment and then made to speak.

“Well—”