In late August, in Kuban Town, north of the Black Sea.
Inside the governor's residence, Ilya read the imperial decree intently, his heart filled with doubts.
The emperor summoned a group of junior and mid-ranking civil officials. Why wasn't my name on the list? I served under him in the old days too, marching with his army into Sarai and Astrakhan. I have both military and administrative abilities. By rights, I should be the best choice to manage the cabinet.
Just then, a clerk came to report that a Circassian nobleman was outside requesting an audience.
The instant Ilya heard the visitor's name, he guessed why the man had come to the governor's residence: his business had failed, he could not repay his bank loans, and he had been forced to seek help.
When they're making money, I don't get a share. When things go wrong, they come running to me for help. What a hateful lot!
Ilya lifted his teacup and sipped the scalding tea. He did not summon the nobleman immediately, intending to leave him cooling his heels for a while.
This sort of thing had happened many times. In recent years, the Imperial Textile Industry had flourished, driving strong demand for wool, silk, and cotton. Some Circassian nobles wanted a share of those profits too, and had begun raising Merino sheep and opening textile workshops.
Unfortunately, the difficulty and risks of doing business exceeded the nobles' expectations. Many went bankrupt and faced lawsuits from banks,
and business partners.
With matters having reached this point, the bankrupt nobles had only two choices left:
First, sell some prime estates within their territories, or lease them to the Agricultural Company, to raise emergency funds.
Second, place their territories under the Borderland Region's administration. The governor would send officials to administer