by E. M. Hardy
“You mean, stop provoking him?”
“Yes… Your Highness,” 42 responded after a moment’s hesitation.
“Then how will we gauge our vassal’s true intentions?”
“I… you were doing that on purpose?” Zi Li chuckled at the surprise in 42’s voice. It was rare for the normally stoic Balancer to lose her composure, and the Empress relished this moment.
“Indeed. We are being intentionally unreasonable during our confrontations with our vassal. We noticed that Martin reacts emotionally when he is aggravated, which is why we play the role of ‘spoiled empress’ whenever we wish to ascertain our vassal’s genuine, unfiltered thoughts on a matter. Truth be told, we agree that peace with the Sahaasi and the Taiyo is beneficial for the Empire at this moment in time. We recognize the reality of the situation before us, and we do not desire to overextend our people at this time.”
Zi Li couldn’t hear it, but she could practically feel the quiet sighs of relief from the Balancers. She chuckled at that.
“Worry not, my most loyal servants. I am not, as Martin put it, a spoiled brat who breaks her toys during a tantrum. He reveals more interesting nuggets of information than he realizes when he gets angry… such as his aversion toward putting himself in a leadership position, as well as his plans to use the Isles of Taiyo as a testing ground for a new style of governance. I do not mind playing the role of overbearing child if it means gathering insights such as these.”
The Empress shifted in her seat as she stared at the bowing agent before her. “I am, however, honestly surprised that Martin would make such a bold claim about my involvement in Shen Feng’s failed assault on his pyramid.”
The Empress eyed 42 at that moment, cognizant of her involvement in Martin’s discovery of her attempt to quash a problem before it got too big for her to handle.
“It is your humble servant’s failure, Your Majesty. This one did not notice one of Martin’s constructs spying upon her at that time.”
The Empress waved 42’s concerns away. “It is of no consequence. This Yao Xiu is shaping up to become quite useful to us, especially after her performance in the campaign against the Shogunates. Keep an eye on her, 42, for she might serve as a competent Balancer in her own right.” 42 nodded after a moment’s hesitation, clearly doubtful of her thoughts on Yao Xiu’s capabilities. “Do keep a mind to guard your tongue better, 42. Let our enemies suspect all they want, but do not give them the chance to confirm their suspicions.” The agent nodded silently, accepting the Empress’ gentle rebuke.
Not that it mattered, because Martin was right in the end. At first, she thought he was an interesting tool to study, an artifact from a long-lost time with secrets to spill. Then he became a threat to her rule that she could not ignore, especially after she spent so much time and effort regaining control of her Empire. She was confident that Guo Zhenya and the hordes would have been enough to overwhelm Martin’s forces at the Leizhu Swamp, but Ye Heng’s betrayal went much deeper than she expected. It was only through sheer luck that Martin was as earnest as he was, for she had no leverage at all to keep him in check. He did not have a family she could hold hostage to guarantee his support, nor could she conspire with his enemies willing to take him down. Agent 42 had been in contact with those within the League of Merchants that wanted to turn on him, but the League had purged those elements and was now firmly in agreement about cooperating with him.
And then, there was Yao Xiu. Zi Li said what she said about the girl, but she didn’t quite know what to do with the young historian. On one hand, she all but revealed the extent of the Empress’ involvement with Shen Feng’s attack. On the other hand, she loudly proclaimed her loyalty while simultaneously convincing Martin to continue serving as a friend to the Empire. The best thing she could do was bring her into her side, keep the girl where she could serve her interests while binding her fate to the crown.
As for Martin, she could not ignore his implied threat of overthrowing her rule any time he saw fit. He indeed had more power now than when he first swore vassalage. When vassals have more power than their lieges, they tend to detach themselves by outright betraying their lieges or striking out on their own. Venkati did it, Inagaki did it, and the khans of the Grass Peoples did it. It was strange that Martin chose to continue serving as her vassal, despite the obvious disparity in power. He didn’t even need Imperial goods or trade, considering the nature of his very existence. He had more in common with demons and spirits than with men of flesh and blood.
She thinned her lips together, not wanting to admit Martin’s point. If she wanted to survive, if she wanted the Empire to survive, then she needed to gather allies of her own. She needed to form alliances strong enough to oppose Martin on the day that he got tired of playing the simpering servant, when he decided to truly turn back on his oaths as her vassal.
“This means I need to get married,” she declared to no one in particular, as she thought about a handsome young princeling from a prosperous little emirate far to the southwest of the Empire… a princeling who had the support of a dozen other emirates, as well as a certain organization with many resources she could use to her advantage.
Epilogue
Yasin wiped the sweat from his brow, the hot sun beating down his back as three camels plodded steadily behind him. He peered up, squinted, and compared the twin peaks of two mountains to the rough drawings laid down in his worn map. He looked up again, saw the dog-shaped boulder that was supposed to be east of the cache. He swiveled his gaze, saw the cluster of rocks that were supposed to be west of the cache.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” whined Abinqe, as the jinni shook his ethereal head in exasperation. Yasin ignored his jinni, focusing his attention on the map.
“We are, according to this stupid map,” growled Yasin in frustration. The cache was supposed to be somewhere around here. He flipped the map out of its roll, fuming at the whole thing and vowing to castrate Erdi the next time he got back to al-Taheri. In his anger, Yasin tossed the map to the sands and glared daggers at it—as if his anger would somehow force the flimsy piece of leather to reveal its secrets to him.
“Oh, would you look at that?”
“Yes, Abinqe, you were right, I was wrong. I knew I shouldn’t have paid so much coin right away, and that I should have asked for more proof before I committed myself to this fool’s journey. Now leave me to my misery and—”
“Not that, you stupid idiot. I meant, look at the map!”
Yasin followed his jinni’s gaze down to the poor, abused roll of parchment on the sandy ground and started cursing all over again. This time, however, he directed those curses at himself. In his hurry to deal with his partner, to avoid the ever-vigilant League of Merchants from sniffing out his one-man smuggling operation, he didn’t bother to properly inspect the map—or rather, its backside. He had missed the note on the back saying that the cache was located underneath the sands, in a hidden cave marked by a rather large tree stump.
Now reoriented, Yasin swiveled his eyes to and fro, finding nothing of the sort. He looked down and cursed himself anew as he found himself sitting on a very dry, very dead piece of wood that used to be a tree stump.
Still cursing his own stupidity, Yasin stomped and fumed his way to the camel in the rear and picked out a shovel from the pack. Muttering dark tidings, he began digging out the sand surrounding the stump. He didn’t have to dig far, as he discovered the creaky hatch just a few inches from the stump. He cleared out the remaining sand, pulled the latch up, and grimaced as the nutty, bitter-sweet aroma of poppy resin mixed in with the stink of stale dust assaulted his nostrils.
Yasin’s grimace morphed into a smile when he climbed down into the cave and inspected his haul. It seemed that Erdi had stuck to his word, and left a barrel of the precious resin for him to pick up and load on his camels. Yasin, for his part, shuffled papers out of his pack, inspected its contents, and nodded happily to himself. If Erdi had the co
nnections to bring a barrel of poppy resin out here in the middle of nowhere, then Yasin had the connections to falsify the documents he needed to bypass customs in Ma’an. The League of Merchants may have opened up trade to the small but prosperous emirate that used to be its enemy, but the tariffs on luxury goods like opium would cut deep into a regular merchant’s profits. It was far cheaper to bribe a couple of guards at the gates to look the other way when he strolled casually in with a barrel of fine poppy resin.
“Okay, so maybe the resin isn’t exactly the finest,” admitted Yasin in a moment of levity, as Abinqe helped him lift the barrel out of its hiding spot. “But it would still fetch a sizeable amount in the opium dens that only care about the price of the resin you brought them.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Yasin. It might give you some comfort when the League sniffs out your little operation here and blacklists you from every trader’s post.” Abinqe shuddered as he continued. “I just hope they haven’t upgraded their laws to make smuggling poppy resin an enslavable offense. I don’t want to end up like poor Yesuzzin, forced to inspect the League’s ledgers until his bondmate dies.”
Yasin shivered as well, letting the fear wash over the link binding him to his jinni partner. “Don’t worry,” he said, “There’s no way the cartels will catch us. We’re too small to gain their notice, what with all the preparations for a royal wedding or something. I bet they’re planning a dozen assassinations as we speak.”
Yasin huffed and puffed as he rolled the barrel of resin to the cave’s entrance. A few tight knots later, and the camels did the rest of the work for him as they hauled the barrel up and out of the cave. That done, he flipped the hatch back to its place and shoveled sand all over the entrance—leaving nothing to stand out of place.
“Time for a break,” Yasin said to himself, patting his camels in satisfaction as he broke out some tough bread and soaked it in a cup of tepid water. He couldn’t wait to get back to Ma’an and gorge himself on a proper meal. A plate of grilled lamb chops, a generous bowl of lentil soup, heaping piles of flatbread, maybe some rice wine from the Empire—all these fancies added a dash of imaginary flavor to his bland meal of bread and water.
Yasin was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the strange somethings approaching from the horizon. That was not right. Nobody lived this far out in the sands east of Ma’an. The endless desolation, the frequent sandstorms, the oppressive heat, and the lack of water for miles around made sure of that.
“Hey, Abinqe. You see that?”
The jinni’s glowing grey eyes followed those of his bondmate, and they widened as they focused on the distant things. “I don’t know what they are, Yasin, but I’m betting they’re nothing good.”
Yasin swallowed the last of his bread, gulped down the rest of the water, and scrambled to pick out the seeing lens from his pack.
They were constructs, just like the ceramic ones audaciously building roads in the middle of the Bashri desert. Those were controlled by some sort of spirit calling itself Martin. It saw through its eyeless creations, working tirelessly at whatever task needed doing. The spirit itself wasn’t a bad sort, even sending one of its clay men to help Yasin out when one of his camels stumbled and spilled his supplies all over the road.
Those constructs were supposed to be far to the west, in civilization. They weren’t supposed to do anything out here in the east, where nothing but endless sand and sun greeted them all. So what were they doing out here, in the middle of nowhere?
The big ones caught his attention first. Large beasts walking on all fours, tall as fully-grown palm trees, with human-like heads perched on their long necks. Each step rippled with power from disturbingly lifelike limbs, thick with strength and menace. These towered above a sea of smaller constructs, also four-legged and reaching as high as a man. Unlike their bigger companions though, bird-like heads sat atop their necks. Where the big ones boasted strength, these smaller ones trotted with deadly grace and precision.
And there, in front of them, waddled the familiar little dolls. Tiny little two-legged things nearly identical to those building Martin’s roads and obelisks. Right now, they were doing exactly what their look-alikes to the west and north were doing: erecting the strange monuments that ‘fed’ life to their larger brothers.
Except the monument didn’t look like an obelisk. No, the monument they were building was much bigger—almost like a pyramid.
One of the big constructs swiveled its featureless face and stopped. Yasin swore the construct was looking at him despite having no eyes, nose, or lips to speak of. Thousands of other eyeless faces turned as well, focusing on the smuggler and his bonded jinni hiding behind a rocky outcrop.
“Abinqe,” Yasin said, eyes peering through the seeing lens as cold sweat dripped down his neck. “Drop everything else and help me tighten up the barrel of resin. We’re getting out of here… now.”