“Warder Oda,” he said, gasping, then flicked a glance to Kris and then back to Michiko’s frown. Even so, he barely hesitated. “There is news, extraordinary news that we thought you should know at once!”
Michiko hesitated for the barest second, then nodded. “Warder Denn, if you will excuse us for a moment?”
Uneasy, Kris stepped out to the anteroom. As the door closed behind them, they heard: “From a ship that just arrived—” They paced the room twice, wondering if they should go back to their own embassy to get whatever this news was there, but before they could transit the small space a third time, Michiko burst from the door.
“Warder Denn, I’m afraid this news concerns you as well.” She took a breath. “There are reports that Quloo has stolen an outlying island from Rumika.”
Kris went entirely blank for a moment. “Which one?” they managed finally.
Michiko glanced at the servant, then shook her head. “All I know is that it was uninhabited. Presumably the Quloi are attempting to make up for some of the lost aerstone. But I never imagined they would be so desperate as to do something like that.”
Kris was still stunned. “But stealing a whole island . . . and even that, it will not net them nearly the amount of aerstone discussed in the deal.”
“Perhaps it is more a show of force,” Michiko said grimly. “If you would like, you could accompany me to the lowest island. I would like to interview the crew of the ship that brought this news personally.”
Kris agreed gratefully, pausing only to send a message by courier to their own embassy. Probably they should have gone themself to contact their government, but they were itching to do something, and the fast pace that Michiko set through the city streets did something to satisfy that urge.
“It’s a ship called the Green Parrot,” Michiko told them as they cut through an alley. “They were traveling from Tsukisen with a cargo of fabric and happened to see—” She stopped as they came to the crowded area around the lifts, and they rode downward in silence, Kris chafing at the enforced stillness of the ride.
As soon as they dropped below the middle island, Kris smelled smoke.
“What is that?” Michiko asked, wrinkling her nose as the scent became more pungent. “Surely . . . surely they won’t have attacked the witnesses?”
Kris shook their head. Anything seemed possible. Although . . . “It seems like too much to be one ship. And too close to be in the docks.” They peered from the windows of the lift, but the angle didn’t let them get much of a view of the lower island.
Then the lift landed, and its doors opened on chaos.
“What is going on?” Michiko gasped. The plaza in front of the lifts was seething with people, and as the two warders slipped out of their carriage, the mass surged forward, trying to board.
“They’re trying to get off this level.” Kris heard the tremor in their own voice. Their hand had moved automatically to their blade, and they saw that Michiko was also holding the hilt of hers.
“Come on,” she said, and led them around the edge of the plaza. When they reached a place with a little more breathing room, she grabbed at the sleeve of one of the women milling toward the lifts. “What is it? What’s going on?”
The woman turned with a face full of fear. “It’s that flotsam from Rumika,” she cried out. “Clamoring for more and more, as if we hadn’t helped them! And now they’ve set the warehouse row on fire!”
“What? No!” Kris took off, pushing their way through the crowd toward the refugee warehouse.
“Kris! Wait!” Michiko called, but the mass of frightened people was already closing between them.
Chapter 13
Michiko
Michiko pushed against the crowd of people funneling toward the lifts, but she was getting nowhere. She usually tried to avoid using bladecraft in public, but she was getting shoved from all sides. Michiko almost panicked when the press of bodies prevented her from getting her sword out of its scabbard, but she swung her elbows until she had enough space to pull it out almost vertically and then, holding the tip toward the sky, carve Aerstone Stance.
She felt dizzy with relief as she leaped into the chill air above the crowd, landing lightly on a rooftop on the edge of the plaza. She rested there, breathing deeply and feeling the sweat cool on her skin while scanning for Kris. Michiko didn’t know where the refugees had been located, but that woman in the crowd had said the warehouse row was on fire, so when she had gotten her breath back, she started leaping rooftop to rooftop, in toward the column of black smoke in the western sky.
She found Kris two blocks down the street, standing on a windowsill, trying to talk to a yelling mass of angry people. Michiko had to jump down to stand on the windowsill next to Kris before she could understand what they were trying to say.
“The refugees are not a threat!” Kris was shouting hoarsely. “They need our help.” Their voice was barely audible against the rumble of the mob.
“Kris!” Michiko yelled. “This is useless! We need to get out of here!”
Kris didn’t seem surprised to see her there; Michiko wasn’t sure they’d noticed that they’d gotten separated.
“These people are angry at the refugees,” they said, sounding astonished. “They think the refugees set fire to their own shelter. Why would they do that?”
Glass shattered somewhere, and Michiko felt something rattle down over her. She curled instinctively, covering her head with her arm, and saw the shards fall below her. A second later there was a thud as another rock hit the wall beside them.
Kris was staring at the crowd furiously, and Michiko grabbed their shoulder and shook them. “Kris!” she yelled. “Tell me about the refugees when we’re back on the top island!”
“Right,” Kris said, snapping out of it. Drawing their sword, they cut Spider’s Grip, resheathed, and scrambled up the wall. Michiko leaped into the air, and the window where they had been standing shattered below them.
“What is going on?” Michiko asked when Kris reached the roof where she was perched. “I always thought of Twaa-Fei as—”
“Safe.” Kris shook their head, dazed. “I don’t know. It almost feels like . . .”
“Like what?”
“Like the war has spread even here.”
Episode 9
Assassination
By Malka Older
Prologue
The open space around the lift station on the lowest level of Twaa-Fei was always crowded. There were the people waiting for the lift for transport to the middle or upper islands. Thrice a ten-day there were formal markets that took place in the plaza, and there were always at least a few vendors taking advantage of the traffic.
This crowd, however, was an entirely different beast.
Standing in the center of the plaza, Yochno, Seneschal of Twaa-Fei, observed the situation. Barricades of scavenged materials—tables, small boats, even a few manak bones—blocked off two of the smaller avenues out of the plaza. Twaa-Fei security forces were arm-linked at the mouth of another, a roaring, chanting crowd behind them. A messenger ran up and handed Yochno a folded note. He read it and turned to the captain standing beside him. “Send more troops to Bard’s Neck and coordinate with the dockers’ union. I’ll be back in three hours.” The captain saluted as Yochno, drawing his robes around him, withdrew to the single lift still authorized for travel to and from the lowest island.
The air grew noticeably sweeter and cleaner as he rose. Despite himself—because Yochno tried not to play favorites among the citizens of Twaa-Fei, even when some were busy destroying things—he found his shoulders relaxing and his breath coming easier when he stepped off the lift to the pleasing and strife-free boulevards of the upper island. He walked briskly to the council building, entered, and navigated the corridors to the circular chambers. The warders, unused to being kept waiting, turned to him immediately when he entered, wearing expressions of varying degrees of irritation or eagerness.
Without letting his eyes sto
p on her in his survey of the room, Yochno noted that Bellona was seated in Lavinia’s place. At this rate, none of the older warders would be left.
Clearing his throat, Yochno stepped to the podium. “I have come directly from the lowest island to inform you of the situation there.” He let a modicum of exhaustion into his voice; he had been with the security forces all night. “The unrest has spread. While the initial disturbance came from a small group of Rumikan refugees unhappy with the assistance they’d received, the riots have now become a catchall for any number of discontents. Twaa-Fei residents have been fighting in the streets; we have confirmed reports of”—he glanced at his notes—“Quloi and Rumikan citizens scuffling. There have also been attacks on the Zenatai community. We’ve identified Kakute and Vanian gangs, and there may be others.” He glared out at the warders. They had all been looking at Kris, but almost all of them were implicated. “Warders. I ask you to each fulfill your role and calm your populace.” After a moment of heavy silence, Yochno continued. “However, please use caution. Some of these groups predate the current unrest and may be armed. In addition, the dockworkers have been agitating for higher wages. It is not a full-on strike yet, but it may reach that point by the end of the day. If so, I need not remind you, not only goods transfer but communications will be heavily impacted. We have only minimal food stocks on the triple islands. It is imperative that we keep the docks open.”
Yochno removed himself from the podium in a flurry of robes and seated himself in the chair allocated to him against the wall of the room. There was silence, and he found himself hoping that he had impressed the seriousness of the situation on the warders, so many of them callow and young.
Kris Denn rose. They looked as though they hadn’t slept, hair sticky and lank and eyes bloodshot. “Fellow warders,” they began, “we have many issues to discuss. I had hoped to come before you today to ask for your assistance with the refugees who have been driven to Twaa-Fei by violence beyond their control, and who are in need of sustenance and shelter, and, as the seneschal has told us, that question has become only more urgent over the last day.”
Yochno saw Bellona’s lips moving, and imagined she was muttering something to herself about the impudence of refugees who burn down their own shelter to ask for more. If it had been Lavinia, he would have been sure; but then, Lavinia wouldn’t have let her lips move.
“However,” Kris said, and their voice become more strident, “a yet more egregious atrocity has occurred, in complete disregard for the system of balance and justice that has been constructed here in Twaa-Fei.” Kris’s rhetoric had certainly improved since they’d become warder, Yochno noted, approving. Then he saw Kris’s fingers shuffle: note cards. Yochno sighed. This was a diminished era of diplomacy. “Some of you may not yet know that yesterday morning a Quloo dreadnought, in defiance of all international norms, removed an entire island from Rumika’s skies.”
Yochno’s eyes flicked up in surprise. An island? He glanced at Ojo; the Quloi warder’s eyes were fixed on his lap, his face still and drawn. Yochno felt a stab of sympathy for his old friend. Perhaps he really did have little agency in what was occurring, because surely he would never have authorized something so shocking and, at the same time, so desperately foolish.
“We demand that the island be returned! We condemn this action, indicative of the worst type of colonialism and violence! And I ask you all to stand with me!” Kris’s voice was rousing, their face glowing with passion as they stood, their arm outstretched and waiting.
There was no response. Michiko seemed frozen to her seat. Bellona had a slight contemptuous smile. Yochno’s sharp glance caught Takeshi shifting uneasily. Cassia looked surprised, but she didn’t move. Taro appeared perfectly comfortable, as though listening to a toast at a dinner party. The silence stretched and hardened.
“I demand some action on this point!” Losing their composure, Kris ran a hand through their hair, shifted their weight to the other foot in a way that was almost like stomping the floor. “It could be one of your islands next!”
Bellona’s scornful smile deepened.
Yochno wondered if Kris would call a duel. Their hand was on the hilt of their blade, knuckles white. When they had arrived, that certainly would have been their play. And Lavinia was not here. But Kris was going to have many further disputes with the council in the near future; perhaps they had realized that calling duels at every council meeting was not the most politically effective course.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, Kris finally sat down. Taro let the silence draw out even longer before rising himself and announcing mildly, “If there is no other business, we shall adjourn.”
“A moment.” Bellona stood. Taro seated himself again, glaring at her. “As you have all no doubt noticed,” Bellona began, “Warder Junius has temporarily been recalled to Mertika. We are standing in the defense of our neighbor Rumika, unfairly attacked and under threat of unjust war.”
Kris’s head shot up, fury written on their features: she let them twist without allies, waiting until they had been completely humiliated to announce that Mertika was supporting them. Yochno allowed himself a tiny shake of his head, but he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of admiration as well.
Ojo had also looked up, but more slowly. He was not surprised, Yochno thought, reading his steely expression. He was ready.
“As such, Mertika declares war on Quloo. We invite our allies to join us.” Bellona stopped, and let her gaze rest on Ojo, waiting for a challenge. Yochno could not hear a single breath drawn in the room. Ojo against Lavinia would have been difficult, but Ojo could probably beat Bellona. The question was, what good would it do him? Unlike policy, a declaration of war could not be countermanded by a duel.
“Thank you,” Bellona said finally, her smile still in place.
Taro cleared his throat. “Meeting adjourned.”
Chapter 1
Michiko
Michiko stepped out of the council building and into the warm sunlight of the upper island. She had a sudden memory of boarding the Silver Sparrow, the ship that had brought her to Twaa-Fei. At the time, a council meeting on subjects of importance seemed the height of accomplishment, and the idea of a declaration of war—a war she was being pressured to participate in—would have shocked her to the core. Now what she felt instead was galvanized. It had finally happened. Everything Mertika had been doing had led up to this, and now it was out in the open.
Now she could act.
“It’s finally happening.” A voice beside her echoed her thoughts. Michiko looked up and saw Takeshi. He had the same amiable, slightly weary appearance as always, but Michiko was no longer fooled by his shyness. Takeshi could be one of her strongest allies; certainly his situation was closest to hers. That doesn’t mean he’ll stand up to Mertika, Michiko reminded herself. After all, she wouldn’t have when she had first arrived.
Without saying another word, they walked together away from the council building. When they had reached a small park where any eavesdroppers would be visible, Michiko paused. “What are you thinking?” she asked in a low voice.
Takeshi raised a hand, then drew his blade. For a terrified second Michiko thought he was going to accuse her of treason and strike her down, but instead he cut the sigil of Shrouded Voices around them. Smart. No one could approach without being seen, true, but a bladecrafter could augment their distance hearing. Maybe Takeshi had more experience with conspiracy than she thought.
“It is not exactly a surprise,” Takeshi said.
“Did you receive a conscription order too?” Michiko asked.
Takeshi’s eyes widened. “No. You did? They probably don’t think Ikarans are worth drafting,” he added bitterly.
“More likely it is a test of my loyalty.” Michiko wanted to pace, but in case anyone was watching, she didn’t want to draw attention.
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know yet,” Michiko said, but she had to do something besides going back to
Kensuke’s—her—office and staring at the order. “What about you?”
“I’m sure we will be drawn in soon enough,” Takeshi said. “In the more immediate term, I thought I would go down to the lower island.”
Michiko stared at him. “To do what?”
“You heard Yochno. Try to help where I can. I have a number of Zenatai . . . friends.” Takeshi paused. “Perhaps they can help us too. In any case, maintaining peace on Twaa-Fei is critical.”
Intriguing. “I was down there last night.” Michiko rubbed her forehead. “It was . . . messy.” The plaza in front of the lifts had been so packed with furious people that she had thought she and Kris might have to climb the lift shaft using Spider’s Grip—a daunting prospect—but they had finally managed to talk their way on using their warder badges. But it should be calmer today. And she never had spoken to the witnesses about the theft of the island. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 2
Ojo
“They declared war?” Adechike was disbelieving, and Ojo was too tired to give him the patience he deserved.
“Of course they declared war!” he snapped. Why had he never realized before just how naive Adechike was? “This is what they have been building up to for months. This is the purpose of everything they have done.” He paused. “With the exception of a little extraneous humiliation on the side, I suppose.” He wondered if Bellona’s cruelty stemmed from prejudice against Rumikans, personal animus against Kris, or just a general hatred of all non-Mertikans. Or maybe after her time with Lavinia, being cruel was all she knew how to do.
“But don’t they understand what this means?” Adechike was as distraught as if he himself were about to be called up to fight. “It will be incredibly destructive, costing thousands of lives, not to mention the disruption to trade, the destruction of homelands . . .”
The Complete Season 1 Page 28