by Jon Skovron
Merivale turned away from the captain and stared out the window at the bright blue sky beyond. It was so often a sunny, cloudless day on Stonepeak that Merivale had long ago decided the monotony was nearly as bad as the endless gray skies of New Laven. Still, staring at such a blank space always gave her a sense of calm clarity.
“I suspect something is coming to a head on Vance Post. And soon,” she said. “I need you in that battalion. I realize this takes you away from your family for the time being, but rest assured I will make certain they are looked after, and I will have you recalled as soon as the current threat is past.”
“Thank you, my lady,” said Murkton.
“I will go see Archlord Tramasta this afternoon to make the arrangements. I recommend you go home to inform your family and pack at once. As you suggest, that battalion is needed in Vance Post to restore order as soon as possible.”
“As you wish, my lady.” Captain Murkton bowed crisply and left.
Merivale’s eyes swept the clean lines of her sparsely decorated parlor for a moment, then she went to her study. She sat down at her desk and stared at the open letter in front of her, which had arrived yesterday from New Laven.
My dear Lady Hempist,
I would like to introduce you to a friend I have known since my youth. The Black Rose is the current reigning ganglord of Paradise Circle, and very sympathetic to our cause. She has expressed an interest in taking a more direct role in events and believes that she and the resources at her command would be of enormous help to us. It should be noted that she played a key support role in recent events on Dawn’s Light. The Black Rose is prepared to offer even more extensive service to us. All that she asks in return is the opportunity to speak directly to Her Imperial Majesty Empress Pysetcha on behalf of the good people of Paradise Circle. If this is an alliance that interests you, please send your reply care of Mister Hatbox at the Drowned Rat tavern in Paradise Circle, New Laven.
As for me, I continue to follow the trail, which seems to lead next to Vance Post.
With fondest regards,
Red
Merivale folded the letter and slid it into the desk drawer. While she trusted Red’s judgment, she wasn’t sure she trusted it enough to enlist the aid of a ganglord. The fact that this Black Rose didn’t want money made Merivale all the more uneasy. And yet, if this woman was partly responsible for the damage done to the biomancers on Dawn’s Light, it was an alliance she couldn’t dismiss out of hand. She would need to consider this carefully, and since it involved the empress directly, perhaps even consult with her on the matter.
And then of course there was Red’s comment about going to Vance Post, where the Vinchen were also on the hunt. Something was definitely brewing there, which was why she needed more of her people there. To ensure that, she would have to call on the newly appointed chief of military, Archlord Tramasta. The previous chief, Lord Gelmat, had been a cantankerous old man who had served the office since before Merivale was born. He hadn’t been particularly pleasant to work with, but as long as it didn’t inconvenience him too much, he’d allowed Merivale to place her people where she needed them. In return, she had passed along a judicious amount of information to him that made running the massive operation of imperial police, soldiers, and navy slightly less arduous.
She hoped she could reach a similar understanding with Tramasta. They got along fairly well in social situations, and while she found his arrogance and penchant for indulging in cloud glass tiresome, she considered him a fairly intelligent and capable man. She would, of course, have to reveal her true role in politics to him, but that couldn’t be helped.
It was still only mid-morning, and Merivale knew the archlord habitually rose around noon, so she decided to check in on the ambassador first. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d paid a visit to Nea Omni-pora of Aukbontar and in the interim had heard rumors of strange noises coming from her apartments.
When she knocked, the door was answered by Catim Miffety, the ambassador’s bodyguard. Catim was a large man, easily six and a half feet tall and with the muscle mass to complement his height. Like all Aukbontarens, he had dark brown skin and dense, curly black hair. Catim tended to keep his hair cut extremely short, which accentuated the hard, chiseled lines of his face. All told, he was a fine specimen of manhood, and if Merivale had thought it would grant her any leverage, she would have gladly seduced him long ago. Sadly, Catim’s other most defining trait was his unwavering loyalty to duty.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t still have a little fun with him, of course. Aukbontarens were an oddly puritanical bunch, and it gave her some pleasure to embarrass the large man.
“Catim, a delight to see you as always,” she purred as she pressed her hand against one of his massive pectoral muscles.
“Welcome, my lady,” he said, trying to cover his discomfort. “I assume you have come to call on the ambassador?”
She sighed dramatically. “I suppose if you’re busy with your duties, I will see what Nea’s been up to.”
“Very good, my lady.” He turned stiffly. “Follow me, please.”
Catim’s command of the imperial language had improved greatly in the months since their arrival. He was now nearly as adept as the ambassador. Most of the Aukbontarens had also taken to dressing in the imperial fashion of straight-legged trousers, linen shirt, and longer jackets. Merivale appreciated that this showed off Catim’s physique to greater advantage than his native, more loose-fitting garb, but she did find she missed touching the light, airy fabrics of Aukbontaren fashion.
Merivale followed Catim through the spacious apartments that Prince Leston had set aside for the ambassador and her retinue. As they passed the kitchen, she saw Etcher Kato hunched over the counter, exerting his small frame on something she couldn’t see.
“Whatever are you doing, Etcher?” she asked teasingly. She had long ago identified the excitable scientist as perhaps the weakest link in the ambassador’s retinue and had been working on him steadily since. She was fairly certain that sexual seduction would not get her very far, but had realized that merely displaying keen interest in his work was all the seduction she needed to gain his affection.
He turned from the counter, a triumphant smile on his expressive face. Although not nearly as handsome as Catim, there was something indefinably charming about the eccentric little man. His hair was longer than Catim’s, twisted up into little clumps that stuck out in all directions. He also tried to follow the imperial fashions, but the details seemed to escape him. As usual, his sleeves and shirttails were out and flapping around.
“Lady Hempist, I’ve made the most delightful discovery!” He held half of a crushed orange in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. “In addition to eating the pulp of an orange, one can squeeze the juice into a cup to make an exceptionally refreshing beverage!”
“Yes, Etcher,” she agreed.
His face fell. “Your people already discovered this, haven’t they.”
“Centuries ago,” said Merivale.
He winced. “In my defense, we have no squeezable fruit in Aukbontar.”
“I understand perfectly. Come. Why don’t you present your findings to the ambassador and I won’t say a word.”
He gave her an unsure look “She’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“No doubt,” said Merivale. “But we take our praise where and when we can get it. After all, for humble servants such as ourselves, it is our greatest reward.”
“As long as you know I’m not really trying to deceive the ambassador.” Etcher’s eyes flickered momentarily to Catim, who stood impassively in the doorway.
“I suspect neither of us will succeed in the attempt, but it will be fun to try, won’t it?”
His smile returned. “I suppose it will. Okay, then.” He tossed the orange peel into the basin and hurried forward, leading the way with his glass of orange juice.
Merivale placidly followed the two men down the hall to the room at th
e back of the apartments. The room should have been a servants’ quarters, but the ambassador never treated her people as servants, and insisted they each have their own room. As far as Merivale knew, the servants’ quarters was not in use.
But as they approached the room, Merivale’s nose detected a number of unfamiliar smells. The closest thing she could liken it to was gun oil. There were also a lot of clanking sounds coming from the room, like metal striking metal. These were the same sounds described by the nosey lords and ladies who lived on this floor.
When Merivale entered the servants’ quarters, she saw that the bunks had all been pushed to the walls to make space for the enormous mechanical device that lay in the center of the room. The device was comprised of a bewilderingly complex array of rods, levers, pipes, and gears. Sitting astride it was Drissa, the machinist. Drissa was still somewhat of an enigma to Merivale. The short, stocky woman’s command of the imperial langue was limited to only a few haltingly spoken words. She was the only member of the ambassador’s retinue who continued to wear Aukbontaren fashion, including a scarf that covered her hair, something none of the other Aukbontarens wore even when they first arrived. Normally, Drissa wore a short, loose-fitting dark blue jacket and baggy green pants that tapered at the ankle. But now she wore a large beige smock made of canvas, and thick leather gloves. The smock, gloves, and even her face were all streaked with black smudges. She also wore goggles with curved lenses that appeared to magnify whatever she was looking at. In her hand she held a large wrench.
“So, this is one of those machines I’ve been hearing about?” asked Merivale.
It was well known that Aukbontar was decades beyond the empire in the mechanical sciences. Their knowledge in this field was part of the proposed alliance between Aukbontar and the Empire of Storms. In exchange for that knowledge, the empire would offer Aukbontar in-depth knowledge of biomancery. As a show of good faith, the ambassador had set her machinist, Drissa, to adapting the machine they brought with them for an imperial warship. So far, she hadn’t asked for reciprocation, which was just as well, since Merivale had neglected to tell her that it was extremely unlikely the biomancers would give their knowledge to anyone outside their order, much less someone from Aukbontar. It was not, after all, Merivale’s job to negotiate treaties.
“Yes, Lady Hempist. This is a machine,” said the ambassador.
Except for the empress herself, Ambassador Nea Omnipora was the most regal person Merivale had ever met. This was curious, since Aukbontar didn’t actually have a monarchy. But perhaps her Great Congress, knowing the empire’s deference to nobility, had specifically chosen a representative with a noble bearing. Even now, in a grimy canvas smock and leather gloves similar to Drissa’s, no one could mistake Nea for a commoner. Her dark brown skin was smooth and without blemish. The curves of her forehead, cheekbones, and chin were so elegant, they could have been made by a sculptor. Her full lips and bright eyes were so beguiling, it was no wonder Prince Leston had fallen for her at first sight.
But Merivale had come to see that beauty and poise were not the ambassador’s greatest gifts. In fact, Merivale had begrudgingly come to realize that Nea possessed a cleverness, resourcefulness, and intelligence that equaled her own. What’s more, now that Nea knew Merivale was chief spy to Her Imperial Majesty, a careful guardedness had risen up between them that lent an edge to even the most casual conversations.
Merivale surveyed the machine with fascination. “It looks terribly complex.”
“By necessity,” said Nea as she removed her gloves. “Drissa, why don’t we take a break.”
Drissa nodded, then slid off the machine and moved quickly past Merivale toward the kitchen.
“Ambassador, perhaps this most refreshing beverage will quench your thirst after all that work.” Etcher eagerly thrust the glass of orange juice toward her.
“What is it?” she asked as she accepted the glass.
“I have squeezed the juice from an orange.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Very clever of you.” She took the offered glass and sipped demurely. She closed her eyes as she swallowed, and a small smile came to her lips. “Quite delicious. Thank you, Etcher.”
“My pleasure, Ambassador.” Etcher beamed.
Nea turned back to Merivale. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Lady Hempist?”
“I’ve been hearing reports of strange noises coming from your apartments, so I came to discover the source.” She gestured to the machine. “And so I have, apparently.”
“I hope we have not been disturbing our neighbors,” said Nea.
“Hardly,” said Merivale. “More than likely, several bored lords and ladies have been pressing their ears to the door in hopes of hearing something scandalous. There are all sorts of curious rumors beginning to surface about the liberal politics of Aukbontar. I suspect a good number of the nobility are intrigued.”
“Better intrigued than hostile,” said Nea, then took another sip of her juice.
“Quite so,” said Merivale, deciding not to add that there was probably an equal amount of both.
“Perhaps her ladyship would like to try this juice that Etcher has discovered,” said Catim with a slight smirk.
“How thoughtless of me,” said Nea. “My lady, shall I have him make some for you? Or did you already have some earlier today? I understand this beverage is typically enjoyed at breakfast.”
“Ambassador!” Etcher looked crestfallen.
“Now, Citizen Kato,” chided Nea playfully. “Did you really think you could swoop in on another culture and invent something to improve their lives so quickly?”
“It’s my fault entirely,” admitted Merivale. “I put him up to it, terrible person that I am.”
Nea smiled as warm as ever, but Merivale spotted the momentary flicker in her eyes that showed a glimpse of annoyance at one of her people being manipulated. “All in good fun, then.”
“Nothing more, I assure you,” said Merivale, which of course was not true at all. She was testing the limits of her current influence on the ambassador’s retinue, and she was fairly confident Nea knew that.
Merivale stepped closer to the machine to examine it more carefully. It was actually quite fascinating. Given enough time, she thought she could at least glean some rudimentary understanding of its workings.
“I don’t suppose, my lady, that you would be able to share any news concerning the status or whereabouts of my friend Red,” Nea said lightly, as if she were not asking for government secrets.
“Last I heard, he was still very much alive and on the move,” said Merivale. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you more than that.”
“I’m grateful to hear even that much. You know he is dear to me.”
Merivale nodded, her eyes still tracing the lines of the machine. “If it gives you some comfort, I will pass along additional assurances of his continued survival as I receive them.”
“Thank you, my lady. I would very much appreciate that.” There was a pause. “His Highness has also been quite distraught about it.”
“Naturally,” said Merivale. “Do you … see him often?”
Nea smiled again and Merivale caught the flicker of weariness in her eyes. “His Highness is ever attentive to my needs.”
“No doubt it is because of his fervent desire to see this treaty signed,” Merivale said lightly.
“No doubt.” Nea held firm to her smile.
Merivale knew that Red had given the prince a stern talking-to about pressuring Nea regarding his affections. For a time, it seemed to work, but now that Red was gone, the prince had started backsliding. Perhaps it was merely that with Red gone, there was no one else that Leston felt close to. But even if that were true, Merivale was somewhat concerned that the heir to the throne was unable to attach his affections to anyone other than a criminal and a foreigner. It did not give her a great deal of confidence for his forthcoming reign. She had any number of ideas on how to correct this flaw in his personality, bu
t the empress had explicitly forbade her from meddling with the prince’s personal life. So they would all just have to wait and see how he turned out. He certainly couldn’t be worse than the current emperor.
Merivale took her leave of the ambassador a short time later. As she exited the apartments, waving a flirty farewell to Catim, she wasn’t particularly surprised to see Prince Leston coming toward her. The prince wasn’t as late a riser as Tramasta, but he tended to linger over his breakfast, so visiting Nea was most likely his first outing for the day.
As the prince drew near, Merivale stopped and curtsied. “Good morning, Your Highness.”
“Ah, Lady Hempist. I’ve actually been looking for you. May I have a moment of your time?”
“I am happy to serve in whatever capacity I am able, Your Highness.”
His eyes narrowed. “Provided it doesn’t contradict whatever it is my mother has instructed you to keep from me.”
Merivale smiled graciously. “Exactly so, Your Highness. I’m glad we have an understanding.”
The prince had always possessed an air of ease, as if the world were there to support him. No doubt this was due to a pampered childhood, a lax father, and, in Merivale’s private opinion, an overly protective mother. But since Red’s absence, a change seemed to have come over Leston. Increasingly, he appeared as if he dressed each morning with a hurried impatience. His hair and clothes had become uncharacteristically untidy, and he seemed to eschew the orange skin powder popular among nobles altogether. Even more striking was the keen sense of loss that haunted his eyes now. His friend had been taken from him abruptly, and with almost no explanation. Merivale suspected it was the prince’s first real experience of just how capricious the world could be.
“Where is Rixidenteron?” He said it more like a demand than a question.
“At the moment? I genuinely don’t know,” said Merivale.
“But you know where he’s going?”