by Choi, Bryan
“And you, Gillette! Get over here,” Jibriil snapped. An uncertain expression washed over Karma’s face and he walked over to where Jibriil was. Before Karma could kneel, Jibriil grabbed him by the collar of his doublet and drew a dagger. “I should slit your throat, you cowardly, mercenary fuck. Did you seriously think you could leave me and become the duke’s lapdog?”
Karma shrugged. “I came back, didn’t I?”
Jibriil sheathed the dagger and slapped Karma across the face. “I sent you to collect. Where’s the ‘grad?”
“In heaven, with the Hero,” Karma quipped. Jibriil drew back his free hand and slapped twice. Rings on the Archangel’s fingers raked across Karma’s cheeks and tore skin away.
“The only reason you still have your manhood or your life is because your mother is in the diacheiristes,” Jibriil snarled. “Once she falls out of favor, I’m going to feed your balls to my hounds. Now report to the barracks, on the double.”
Wait a second, Gillette is in the archangel’s regiment? Taki realized. That means he’s in the…
Karma flashed a blood-streaked grin. “But milord Archangel, major Hecaton Mezeta says I’ve been booted down to Tirefire the Lesser. I’m sorry, milord. I really wanted to stay in the Pantheon.”
Jibriil’s eyes went wide with rage and he kicked Karma in the chest to lay him out in the dust. “Subhuman wretch. Wallow in disgrace.”
Karma closed his eyes as Jibriil spat in his face. The archangel seemed to want to kick him again, but instead, turned and walked away.
The others stayed kneeling until they were comfortable that Jibriil was out of sight. Temple law required them to prostrate themselves before a member of the triada, and they did not want to inflame someone as volatile as Jibriil. He’s the real wretch, Taki thought in indignation. How did that vile bastard rise in the ranks? How could the exarch be so blind to his faults? And just how many flaws does the exarch hide?
“Come on, New—Natalis,” Hadassah said to him. “The schmuck’s long-gone. Let’s just go to the shrine already.”
Taki nodded to her, and looked over to Karma. “Right. Is he coming with us?”
Karma crossed his feet and linked his hands together behind his head, staring up at the dreary sky. Hadassah sighed and started to walk toward him, but Draco reached him first. Taki tensed. He’s not going to kick the man while he’s down, is he?
“Come on, Gillette,” Draco said, and extended a hand. “If you claim to be a Tirefire, you’d best get to peeling. I’ll show you how.”
Karma looked somewhat taken aback, but slowly reached out to accept.
Before he could reach the kitchens, Taki was again abducted into a closet by Hecaton Mezeta and not permitted to leave. Her fingertips felt like a small iron vise against the tender cartilage of one of his ears, and he would have yelped in pain if not for the fact that he wished to preserve some semblance of dignity in front of her. Even doing that was difficult, however. In such close quarters he could smell the faint odor of lavender and burnt cordite suffusing her hair. His heart started to race wildly and he flushed.
“Don’t get your hopes up, virgin. I’m not about to molest you,” she said and flicked him on the face right over the gash that Lucatiel had given him. The stinging sensation brought forth tears. “And if I catch your eyes anywhere below my neck I’ll put them out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, swallowing nervously. What sort of horrific arrangement would she force on him this time? He would not be duped again, he resolved. Still, his career was effectively over, so what damage could she possibly do at this point? The greatest hero in the Dominion was dead and his territory ceded to the Imperium by now, and it was his fault.
Hecaton let go of Taki’s ear. “Are you familiar with the houses of the diacheiristes?”
“I know they’re the most trusted and powerful vassals of the basileus,” Taki said. “But I know them not personally, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Then it’s your lucky day. You’re about to meet one of them.”
“Who?”
“Amilia Gillette. Otherwise known as the Minister of the Exchequer. Also, the reason lil’ Karma is such a lovely turd.”
“What? What does she want with me? I’m not an officer or a noble. I’m a nobody.”
“You’re completely correct,” Hecaton said, beaming. Taki glowered at her. “But I’ve known her for quite a while. Let’s just say she did me some favors and I did her some favors. Since you all are like my dysfunctional, barbarian children, I tend to talk about you all. She heard you weren’t just pretending to read like most of the scribes in Athenaeum, and that you could probably count to greater than ten. So she wants you to come over to the capital and work for her for a while.”
“Am I... being transferred to the praetorians?” Taki asked, his heart picking up again. A transfer to the Minister’s personal guard would be an answer to his silent prayers. An impossible second chance for his crippled future. Most of all, it meant no more kitchen duty, fighting with legendary enemies, or being sent back to places like New Petrovic. Elation welled from within. And yet, he also could not stop thinking about the faces of the others, particularly Lotte. He wondered to himself how he would break the news. No, it’s not important. He clenched his teeth to drive back the thought. He needed to think of himself, after all.
“Of course not,” Hecaton said with a callous chuckle. “You’re too useful to me. I’m just loaning you out for the time being.”
Taki’s fantasies of success broke to pieces before his eyes. “What am I, your catamite?”
Snapping back at anyone, much less a superior, was unlike him. But even more so was the fact that he didn’t regret it as much as he should have. Rudeness to his betters was punishable by a whipping and would delay promotion. Then again, I’ll never be promoted, so what’s the point? Hecaton laughed, loudly this time.
“That term implies we’re friends,” she said. “Now, be quiet and take these passes. They’re to prevent the deathwatch from shooting you, and let you get on the next caravan out to the capital. Once there, you are to go to the old Grande Bretagne where you will be given further instructions. You are of course forbidden from discussing this with your squadmates. Understand?”
“Yes, madam,” Taki said, wanting to be away from the cramped confines of the closet, and most of all, away from Hecaton. He was about to try and squirm out of the closet, but he thought of Lotte again, and also of Jibriil. Taki paused. Hecaton was a woman, at least on the outside. She would understand the unjustness of what the damned corrupt archangel was putting his captain through. Perhaps the major’s spiteful nature could be put to some use. “One last thing, then. I’ll do whatever dirty work you want, but in exchange, you’ll grant me a boon.” It was a directive, not a request.
“Pfft,” Hecaton snorted. “Who do you think I am? Satan Claws?”
“You know more than you let on, Major. You know that the archangel Jibriil is coercing and abusing my captain. I want him stopped. He clearly fears you, so do something about it.”
Hecaton wagged a finger. “Let’s say I went up to the archangel and threatened him. Would that help Lotte out, truly? Or would he simply displace his wrath against me onto her? Would his unwanted caresses turn to beatings?”
“Then kill him instead! You have the power, don’t you, Major? She’s suffering!”
The fact that Taki had just requested the murder of an archangel of the Temple was not lost on him, but he was too indignant to care. And even if Hecaton were averse to killing Jibriil, Taki would ask her to make it so the archangel would never walk again, never see again, never feed himself again, and definitely never bed a woman again. If I had the major’s power, I’d show him what suffering really was, he thought vengefully.
Hecaton knocked her forehead against his. “You still fail to understand something, boy. You assume that we women have not the will to protect ourselves, nor that we have the smarts to recognize a blackguard for what he is. Your
captain bears her burden solely to protect your dumb asses, and if some white-armored templar tried to swoop in and save her, she’d cut his godrotting head off. If you wish to help her so badly, leave her be and work to bring your unit success.”
Taki tried desperately to hold onto his wrath and failed. The godrotting major was right, of course. If Jibriil died, then the squad would be at the mercy of Michail or even worse, the current Yuriel. He had just tried to undermine everything Lotte had paid for in pain and humiliation. The thought filled him with shame. He swallowed and straightened his back. “Aye, Ma’am. Forget I asked.”
“Now, git out! You smell like bad lo bak gao,” Hecaton said as she opened the door and shoved him out. Taki found his footing again and shook his head. Despite the fact that he’d failed in his task, he had to give himself credit for attempting to extort Hecaton Mezeta and living to tell the tale. The thought filled him with hope. Remember what that Imperial told you. You can still change things from within, and this is your opportunity to do so. He started plodding back to his quarters to change into traveling clothes, and glanced back as an afterthought. Curiously, the major had not left the closet yet.
Athenaeum was one of the world’s oldest surviving cities, and if the legends were to be believed, the birthplace of rule by mob decree. Like many other large cities around the known world, it had been blasted away during the Fall and slowly rebuilt to its current state in the ensuing centuries. Vengeance-driven fights between cursed children had subjected entire populations to the most twisted fates imaginable by the inhuman mind. It was said that when the fusion warheads fell from the skies like heavenly fingers touching the stricken lands, those underneath wept with joy at their impending deliverance.
The Argead capital was built on the side of a small mountain overlooking a deep-water harbor. The harbor made the city a center of trade across the Dominion and its neighbors, especially the caliphates to the far south. In the first stages of Athenaeum’s restoration it had been a cluster of shanty houses enclosed by a barrier of rusting shipping containers and razor wire. In the modern era it boasted many a gleaming white concrete edifice harkening back to its storied past. The metal crates and hovels never truly disappeared, and ringed the city like a crumb-ridden beard.
Two days after his encounter in the closet, Taki passed through the gates and was immediately struck by the sheer dirtiness of the place. Every surface within the Cloud Temple was aged and pitted by the harshness of the mountains, but the capital was simply a squalid mess picked over by festering dogs. Rubble and decaying offal mounded in the streets, and wherever he went it smelled like a latrine. Though he was hungry when he arrived, he could not bring himself to purchase from the street vendors. It was a shame, because he had always wanted to try the famous harspud kebab.
Taki stood in front of the Old Bretagne hotel, feeling grimy and sour from his journey. It was a stately place, with a roof done in tile rather than thatch or daub like so many others, and even had some surviving glass windows. He wondered if the Minister would meet him in a room with those windows, for surely she was a wealthy woman. Working for her might not be so bad. Perhaps she would notice his skill and override Hecaton’s wishes. With a noble behind him, he would then have the power to help Lotte. He would even buy out his squadmates if they were extra nice to him. With a jaunty smile, he entered the building.
Showing his passes to the courtiers bought him an escort to a third-floor suite that he entered with trepidation. The shag carpet looked almost alive and seemed about as trustworthy as quicksand, though he knew that fear to be unfounded. Still, he watched his footing with care. So preoccupied was he with not being swallowed whole by a predatory rug that he almost missed Amilia Gillette staring quizzically at him from her seat on a couch by a sweeping set of glass bay windows.
“I assume you’re Natalis,” she said. “Don’t worry, the floor won’t eat you. I, however, might.”
Taki stiffened at the sound of her voice before clumsily dropping to one knee and bowing his head. Her skin was as darkly hued as Karma’s.
“Milor—” He cursed himself inwardly. “Milady.”
“’Minister’ will do, Natalis.”
“Minister, I arrive as bidden. What service would you have me render?”
“Can you actually factor?”
“Yes, Minister. I am the purser of my unit and can perform multiplication and division for a legion.”
“If I gave you a round of Browning Machine Gun and told you to divide it amongst a company, how would you do so?”
“The major receives three Old Nayto Standard. The captain, two. Assuming three lieutenants in a company, each receives five rounds of Luger. Sergeants get a round each, or ten reloads in the same caliber. Corporals, five reloads apiece. You will have a surplus of four reloads left to go to the company paybox for later.”
Amilia narrowed her eyes.
“It seems Mezeta didn’t deceive me, after all. Report to the archives. Ask the librarians to show you the transaction records of the three major ordnance exchange guilds for the last ten years. With this information, I want you to conduct an experiment.”
“An experiment?”
“Yes, an experiment. Milligrad doesn’t materialize out of the ether, so this is entirely a fiction. But I want you to plot out what would happen if it did. Use the figure of two million rounds of Luger injected into the currency pool. I want to know how badly the guilds would suffer, in particular. How much debt they would call in, and from who. Do you think you are capable of this exercise?”
Taki frowned. It was within his faculties to do so, but why would she waste his time on such fanciful speculation? Don’t question the noble. Just do as she asks, and you’ll be rewarded, he thought to himself. He raised his head. “I am.”
Amilia nodded, and for the first time Taki saw what could have been mistaken for a smile on her face.
“Good,” she said. “And I want to make something very clear. While you are in the capital, you are under my employ. I will compensate you fairly, and well. In exchange, you will not utter a word to anyone about this, Natalis. This is just a bout of frivolity, after all.”
Taki wrapped the knit scarf around his neck and made sure it was snug. Doing so would keep the drafts out and keep him from accidentally catching flame from his candles. The still air within the Vallianos archives was throat-scratchingly dry, and the ambient temperature hovered near frost level. If he set himself or the books on fire, no help would come for him this deep in the subterranean stacks.
He had now been poring over the accounts for days, tracing the flow of money from Athenaeum to the Cloud Temple and back. Like any other part of the Dominion military, polaris were compensated through block payments of ammunition. Part of the monthly shipment was expended to fulfill battle obligations, and any surplus left over was distributed to the soldiers to keep as their pay. While milligrad was the uncontested standard of currency, there was also substantial traffic in reloaded cartridges, and this actually made up the vast majority of transactions. It made sense to him. Warriors used a lot of ammunition in the commission of their duties. With an ingrained reluctance to fire the shiny “good” ammunition, that meant a lot of trading of milligrad for less sought-after varieties. Most of it ended up back in the hands of the guilds, which were in turn the main creditors for Dominion nobility.
“Corporal Natalis, it is refreshing to see your enthusiasm,” Amilia said as she approached from behind. Taki started, nearly knocking over a candle and catching his hair on fire.
“Minister,” he said, remembering to kneel.
“Rise. Have you gotten closer to confirming my suspicions?” she asked, not bothering to continue the pleasantries.
“Yes, Minister. Based on the accounts I’ve reviewed, a sudden influx of 'grad by an independent source would lead to chaos. The ordnance guilds would see their reloaded products rendered almost worthless overnight. In their panic, they will probably immediately start calling in debts, or at le
ast refusing to lend. This will place the nobility and vassals, who engage the Guilds’ services the most, in an untenable position. They would either be unable to defend themselves, or forever cut off from necessary funding.”
“Is there anyone who would be untouched?”
“Possibly a few members of the diacheiristes. The basileus would suffer, but would not turn insolvent. Of course, with the Imperial Liberation Army at the walls, everything might turn out differently.”
“Very good. Can you have a report to me by the morning?”
“It’s already complete,” Taki said, gathering a sheaf of papers and presenting them to her. She hurriedly skimmed the pages and let out a satisfied grunt.
“Then I release you back to the Cloud Temple, Corporal. Tomorrow morning, you will be given travel passes for the journey back. You may return to your lodgings. Remember to extinguish the candles.”
She started to turn to leave.
“Minister,” Taki said, despite all of the voices inside insisting that he simply depart as ordered. It was stupid of him, but he needed to know. “Are you planning to crash the guilds?”
Amilia stopped, slowly turned, and stared at him. He had not asked her if she were merely planning to destabilize the nation’s currency. What he was asking was if she planned to usurp the basileus. Wrecking the economic foundation upon which all Argead lords rested their security was only productive if someone else stepped in to take control. Someone with power and the bullets to lend. Beneath her heavy robes, she wrapped her fingers around the grip of the small but powerful revolver held against her hip.
“And what if I am?”
Taki blinked. Now he had done it. He had disregarded every piece of advice that had kept him safe and comfortable for the last sixteen years and confronted possibly the second most powerful person in the country. Strangely, he felt relief, more than anything else.