After ascending the staircase, Nicholai shook the memory from his thoughts. He reached out and took the metal knocker outside the grand front door in his hands. Three loud taps were issued while the gate guardian stood beside him, fidgeting.
The Southeastern Time Father felt the burden of eyes on him as he stood on the elaborate porch. He shifted his weight, trying to spy the source of the feeling. He found none.
After some time, the imposing door opened. A well-presented man stood on the other side of it. With one hand in his pocket and the other curling the edge of his styled mustache, he gave his guests a thorough examination. It was clear by the look in his eyes that he did not expect so many footmen. When he completed the task of assessing his visitors, he inclined his broad chin. “Nicholai Addihein,” the man finally greeted, making no formal bow or offer of a handshake. “Please, come in.”
The displeasure in his voice at the sight of the footmen was easy to detect. Nicholai heard it as soon as it left his lips. “Thank you, Mr. Odenhardth.” He slipped inside, his footmen following until the door closed behind them. They flanked him on all sides, leaving only an opening wide enough for conversation. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me. I understand you’re a very busy man.”
“I always have time for Southeastern’s Time Father,” he replied, his mustache twitching as he turned to face Nicholai. “My study is through there.” He stepped aside, motioning behind. “Sit. I will have my people bring you something.”
“That’s ... not really necessary,” Nicholai said, slipping into the space Ganther designated for their meeting. He winced when the shuffling feet of his footmen followed his every step. “I’m hoping this won’t take very long. I’m here to discuss the sale and surrender of your property in—”
“Sescol, I know.” Ganther waved his wrist to the man who escorted Nicholai into the home. He wore a disdainful shimmer in his eyes at his hired hand’s inability to disband the small army the Time Father brought with him. With their wordless exchange, the employee scurried from his sight.
Ganther entered the room, weaving his way around several footmen as he found a chair. One leg crossed over the other as he sat. Stroking his chin, he stared at the Time Father, his eyes scrutinizing. He said nothing, a pressure tactic perfected by Odenhardth men of all generations.
“As you know,” Nicholai started, holding fast to the document in his hands, “with the dramatic decrease in the population after the natural disasters and ... and the wrath Panagea incurred at the hands of the lesser gods ...” He paused, feeling a familiar sweep of guilt course through his veins, “ ...well, we’ve lost so many. Millions. We ... just don’t need to be producing as many food-like products anymore.”
“Yes,” Ganther replied, his voice both diplomatic and venomous. “Especially with you dolling out free nourishment to the working poor, in exchange for them maintaining your ... ‘gardening’ projects.”
Nicholai noticed Ganther’s lip peel back in disgust. He chose not to call attention to it. He held out his hand, offering the sealed envelope to the man for his approval. “Your property in Sescol could be put to much more efficient use. I’m sure you’ll find my offer to be fair. It more than covers the cost of the manufacturing plant and the land it stands on. In fact, it covers the cost of the factory prior to property values plummeting.”
Ganther made no motion to acknowledge the envelope. He kept his eyes on Nicholai. “My family has provided food for Panagea for hundreds of years, Mr. Addihein. First in the form of gardens, much as you’re doing now. But we learned the folly of such methods. What will you do when the population recovers, and we are in the same predicament we were hundreds of years ago?”
The Time Father blew a long-held breath from his lungs. He knew Ganther wasn’t going to make this easy. “I have reason to believe, so long as the lesser gods control all of Northwestern and Southwestern ... and continue to sprinkle their presence over the other divisions, as well, that the likelihood of them allowing us to return to our former population is slim, at best.”
The blue blood’s arms fell to the sides of his chair. A raspy, judgmental hum rumbled in his throat. “Have we thrown in the towel with the lesser gods, then? We’ve just ... decided they won?”
Nicholai’s body stiffened. “I don’t think there were any winners in the events of last year.”
A long pause followed. Ganther blinked slowly, glimpsing the Southeastern footmen surrounding him. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands into his lap. “Mankind beat the lesser gods back once before. I am confident we can do it again. In any case, eventually, we’ll need those industrial plants to keep up with the demand. Whenever that recovery happens to take place, the Odenhardth family name will be there to oversee it.”
Rubbing the side of his face, Nicholai shook his head. “I disagree. But even if you’re right, Ganther, it would take years to make that kind of recovery. The property could be put to much better use in the here and now.”
Ganther sucked air in through his teeth. “You treat me like a child, Nicholai. You waltz in here and spout your knowledge as if my family has not had a hand in Panagea’s success for hundreds of years.” Though Ganther’s words held a sting, he spoke them with unmatched calm. “The factories bring us our wealth, of course, but they bring prosperity to Panagea and its people, as well. They provide jobs. What could possibly be more useful than that?”
“Right now, Panagea needs increased opportunities for education.” Nicholai held firm, standing as Ganther sat. “We can bridge the gap between classes if we allow them to remove themselves from this rut we’ve left them in.”
Ganther sneered but tried to sustain the illusion of his diplomacy. “If everyone bettered themselves, Mr. Addihein, who would be left to do the dirty work?”
Nicholai’s gaze flattened. “What do you think I’m doing right now?”
A small huff escaped Ganther’s pressed lips. He leaned harder back into his chair, letting the cushion envelop him. “The Odenhardth name is a Panagea staple, Mr. Addihein. Time Fathers come and go, but we persist. You cannot simply wipe us from the face of this continent.”
“I’m not trying to do that,” Nicholai interjected, sighing. He tried to reign his irritation in, knowing it did little to serve in making amends. “I’m trying to work with you.”
Ganther glowered. “I fail to see how your commandeering of my property is working with me.”
“Look,” Nicholai held out his hands, “I don’t discredit all the good the Odenhardths did for Panagea when we had multiple millions of mouths to feed. But even with all the destruction, we still have countless manufacturing plants. They provide jobs for the working class, yes, but at the end of the day, if we don’t need what they’re producing,” he paused long enough to let out a dim chuckle, “the product goes to waste. Unused. Their efforts are for naught. Is it really necessary to keep producing things people will not buy?”
Ganther stared, his fingers pressed into his cheek, unimpressed.
Nicholai knew the man’s silence was another power tactic. He took a step toward him, showing no fear. “The land would be better suited for something we need. If we can create an environment where minds are far more stable, where people are provided for, it will be that much harder for the lesser gods to feed on their insecurities and worries. We need to redistribute the successes of people as a whole. A rising tide raises all ships.”
“A maritime metaphor,” Ganther mumbled. “No doubt a token from your time spent at sea. Unfortunately, Mr. Addihein, not unlike oceanic endeavors, your ideals are dated and unsustainable.”
Nicholai held his ground, looming over Ganther as he sat in his chair. “The people need this, Mr. Odenhardth. What we’re doing isn’t working.”
“They put themselves where they are, Mr. Addihein.” Ganther glanced up as his gate guardian returned with two beverages. He took the clear goblet of liquor, holding it near his lips. “If they want to free themselves from their situation
, they can.”
Nicholai couldn’t stop a glare from forming on his face. The gate guardian held a drink out to him, but he held up his hand to refuse. “And how do you propose they would accomplish that?”
“The same way any of us did,” Ganther mused, taking a sip from his drink. “Hard work. Sacrifice.”
“Yes,” Nicholai muttered, staring down at Ganther. “I’m sure it was very hard work for you ... saying no to your father when he handed you the deeds to his companies.”
“Look at the pot,” Ganther replied, unaffected as he helped himself to another quiet drink, “calling the kettle black.”
A moment of silence cleared the Time Father’s head. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth as he collected himself. Calmed himself. “You’re right,” Nicholai agreed, taking a step closer to Ganther. “We have both been dealt good hands, Mr. Odenhardth. We are privileged men. Should we not use that opportunity to make Panagea a better place?”
Ganther stared up at the Time Father, uninspired. Sensing the man’s inability to yield, he set his liquor down on a nearby table. The liquid bobbed from side to side in the glass until time allowed it to settle. “With all due respect, Mr. Addihein ... your previous attempts to make Panagea a better place have not produced comforting results.”
Nicholai flinched. A truth rested in Ganther’s words. He tried to save Lilac by stopping Southeastern’s time. As an unintended result, a dying Panagea crumbled faster. Millions perished. He tried to keep Panagea from decaying entirely by returning the Earth Mother to the depleted continent. Her return invited the lesser gods back, who in turn made additional millions slaughter themselves and others. Nicholai Addihein did not boast a great track record for helping mankind. But he never foresaw himself abandoning the effort. “I hear the third or fourth time’s the charm,” he replied.
Ganther’s eyes remained steadfast on Nicholai, betraying nothing of what he felt. He stared for nearly a minute before his focus fell to the document in the Time Father’s hands. “Leave your offer on the table before you leave. I will mull it over.”
The words allowed Nicholai’s tensed shoulders to find some ease, but in the back of his mind, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Nothing ever was. “That is all that I ask. Thank you, Mr. Odenhardth.”
No words left Ganther’s mouth as Nicholai placed the letter on the table on his way out the door. The footmen who accompanied him followed, leaving Ganther and his gate guardian to themselves in the cavernous room that was his study. The blue blood allowed some time to pass. He swirled his drink around in his glass, sitting in the silence.
A ticking clock met his ears, giving him a better idea of how much time slipped by. He wished to ensure Nicholai and his crew had moved well beyond the gates to his home. When Ganther concluded that he had gifted the Time Father enough minutes to do so, he turned to the hired hand beside him. “Go see what you can do about Mr. Addihein.”
The man drew back. His stomach dipped into an unseen hole. He knew what Ganther insinuated. “Sir ... he, he has some ten footmen at his disposal.”
“Yes,” Ganther said, running his tongue over his teeth to savor the faint taste of liquor that had collected there. “Footmen that should never have crossed the threshold into my home. Your performance has displeased me, Villum. You will go to Mr. Addihein. You will see if you can regain my favor by accomplishing what countless others have failed to do so far. Whether you succeed or fail,” he paused, stopping to take another drink, “I’ll walk away victorious.”
Over the years, Ganther Odenhardth grew accustomed to getting what he wanted. He birthed a fear in many. A man of unquestionable power and means, it was not wise to disregard an order. The gate guardian found himself nodding before he slipped out the door.
Cautious feet carried him down the front steps of the mansion. His ankles felt like anchors as he walked toward the gate. He paused, long enough to reach into his boot, where he removed a concealed dagger.
It was a suicide mission. There were no holes in the wall that protected the Southeastern Time Father. Any attempt on his life would mean the end of Villum’s.
But so was finding oneself on the opposite side of Ganther’s approval.
He could run. His legs could carry him far outside of Ganther’s property. Outside the whole of Southeastern, maybe. Villum had family in Western; he could seek refuge there.
The man bit his lip. The hope was short-lived. Family would be the first place Ganther would look for him. The hands of an Odenhardth stretched beyond limits, into every division. Villum did not wish to damn his relatives for his own predicament. There would be no qualms at slaughtering those who harbored a man on the run.
The guardian swallowed. There was no proper course to take. Death awaited him on each end. Perhaps, if he planned things out well enough, he could linger outside of Nicholai’s homestead. At nightfall. With the aid of darkness to hide his sins. To increase his chances of successfully assassinating the Time Father.
His plotting was interrupted. Villum jolted at the appearance of a woman before him. She came out of nowhere, full-bodied and undeniable. The abruptness of her arrival, coupled with his already adrenaline-fueled body, nearly caused him to stumble back.
The woman reached out a hand, steadying him as she found his shoulder. “Hello, Villum.”
How she knew his name, he had no earthly clue. His grip on the dagger in his hand increased. Villum pinned her for a goddess as soon as his brain caught up with his eyes. “W-who are you?” he dared to ask, having heard far too many stories about the violent tempers of the gods and goddesses who roamed Panagea. He had never laid eyes on one for himself, sheltered from their destruction by the employment of one of the continent’s wealthiest men.
Epifet smiled. “That does not matter.” She slid her hand up from his shoulder to lovingly cup his cheek. “What matters, is that you will abandon your effort to kill Nicholai Addihein.”
Her touch stirred something inside him. He felt it in every cell of his body. It felt as if the goddess’s hand had melted into his flesh, warm and comforting. He never wanted it to leave his skin. “I ... suppose I don’t have to,” he found himself saying, the words spilling out of him without much thought.
The goddess nodded. Her warmth flowed further upward, from the side of his face and into his brain. “Kind words.” She held out her opposite hand. “Give me that knife, and off you go, then.”
“Yes,” Villum replied, setting the blade in the goddess’s waiting palm. It was hard to pull himself out of her touch, but he managed it. His skin felt cold without her fingers present. His entire body shuddered as a chill swept through him.
Villum was unsure how he found himself walking away from the mansion. He was unsure why he did so without genuine care. It seemed like only moments ago his whole being rattled with the itch of crippling anxiety. Perhaps the gods and goddesses were not as bad as people said.
Epifet latched on to his wavering uncertainty at having to kill Nicholai, flourishing the thought that, no, he did not need to commit such a crime. He would be fine if he ignored Ganther’s command. How silly was he, to fear death not seconds prior?
He would be fine.
The goddess turned to watch him go. She knew he would not be fine. Ganther did not take kindly to men who disobeyed his suggestions. But Ganther’s mind bubbled over with confidence. Self-assurance. He was a difficult man to rattle, and one beyond her ability to control. He was far too anchored in poise to manipulate.
Villum, however ...
She frowned. He wasn’t a bad person. Epifet lamented at having manipulated the man into a death sentence. He’d likely only last days before Ganther received word of his failure to end the Time Father’s life. At that point, Villum would have to fight for his own.
A man with little means up against a man with more than he needed, Villum would undoubtedly fail. As countless others had before him.
Epifet swept her fingers through her hair, drawing her s
houlders back. There were no regrets to be had. She refused to linger in guilt. When everything boiled down to its barest of bones ... it was either Villum or Nicholai.
She would always choose Nicholai.
Chapter Four
Stealing from the pharmaceutical facility evolved into a choreographed routine. A year of practice granted the boys of the Underground a cacophony of expertise. The action invited mixed feelings. Necessity often flirted with the edge of misconduct.
Elowyn pressed her back up against one of the walls in Eastern’s most prestigious medical establishment—the very one she built when she took over as the division’s Time Mother. The one she filled with Panagea’s most talented doctors, chemists, and scientists, specializing in both physical and mental medicine.
Smothering the guilt that came after stealing from colleagues had its ebbs and flows. Ambiguity made it easier to disguise her liability. They had no idea who she was. Hidden beneath the plates of Mairyn Catteral’s late husband’s armor, no one saw her face. Not the employees of the facility, and certainly not the collection of rogue footmen she dwelled with in the world known as the Underground.
A guard rounded the corner. With a swift swing, Elowyn’s fist collided with his temple. The violent jostling of his brain from one side of his skull to the other caused him to blackout and collapse.
The Eastern Time Mother sighed with relief. Rendering the sentinels unconscious was a top priority. Unconsciousness was often the only thing that saved their lives. Well-timed blows to the jaw or temple did not always work in her favor. She thanked the air around her for her fortune and continued darting down the long hallway.
She did not wish to kill them. Elowyn Saveign had no qualms about taking a life, but their death was not her objective. The sentinels were only doing their jobs. She wanted them to continue doing them, as well. It took a great effort to bring Panagea’s elite medical teams together, and draining them of their lives was not the intention of her hunt: only the theft of the chemicals they isolated. The chemicals she needed to continue manufacturing the cure to the lesser gods’ influence.
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 94