Industry & Intrigue

by Ryan McCall

  The door of the carriage opened and out stepped an obese man in fine clothes with an expensive, indigo hat atop his head. The man was so large he had difficulty stepping down from the carriage to the pavestones. His squat legs could barely support his weight. Lawrence was amazed that he reached the ground without toppling over.

  Now on the ground and steady, the man waddled over, backed by two Galrian soldiers and several finely dressed aides. He stopped in front of Lawrence. He looked severely out of breath from that short walk. Lawrence could hear his voice wheeze as the man took each breath.

  By the Creator, he looks like he could die at any moment. The thought of the man keeling over from a heart attack in the middle of negotiations, kept him sober. That’s the last bloody thing we need, another dead Galrian official.

  He watched as the man felt around inside his jacket for a minute before producing an officially sealed scroll.

  The man bent to his knees and said, “Your Imperial Majesty of Alkos, allow me to introduce myself. I am Pyotr Skalov, diplomat of the Royal Consul and official envoy on behalf of His Royal Highness, King Cyrus Domik for these negotiations.” He then held the scroll up in his right hand and Lawrence took it. It was sealed with green wax and the symbol of the royal boar of Galria.

  “Thank you Mr. Skalov. You may stand.”

  The man complied.

  “We have quarters for you and your aides inside the town hall building.” He pointed to a grass area next to the square that had been cleared for the delegation. “Your soldiers may make camp over there. Once you and your people have settled in, we will meet in the central hall at two o’clock.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty,” replied Pyotr. He then barked out orders to his aides and soldiers in a far more commanding voice than Lawrence expected. The soldiers began marching over to the area, followed by the large carriages. Pyotr’s aides fetched bags from the smaller carriage and carried them towards the town hall.

  The envoy stood and waited, not moving from his spot. Lawrence assumed he didn’t want to strain himself. If walking gave him as much trouble as it had, Lawrence could only imagine the exertion he would go through trying to carry something. Once the soldiers had moved off, Pyotr bowed once more and followed his aides inside.

  Flint made a comment. “I hope the cooks have enough food to last. That one looks like he could eat us into a famine.”

  Lawrence managed to prevent himself from laughing. “Captain McLaren,” he said in a mock scold. “You shouldn’t talk about envoys of foreign nations like that.”

  “He’s one of those upper class Galrians who gorge themselves stupid and make a game out of it. Most of them come from Azocul, Galria’s breadbasket and most fertile province. If they exported and sold their excess produce instead of consuming it all, they would be its wealthiest province.”

  After seeing the unhealthy size of Pyotr, Lawrence was in full agreement with his head guard on that.

  The initial negotiations had gone well as far as Lawrence was concerned, at least given the circumstances they were facing. It was coming up on four o’clock, Pyotr and his people had retired to their rooms and Lawrence was sitting in his large chair next to Siobhan. The other Alkon government officials had left. Lawrence sent them away and wanted to have a private talk with his foreign minister.

  During the meeting, Siobhan had done most of the talking. He had not tried to stop her from taking over. She could play the diplomatic game more successfully than he could. He always let his emotions get the better of him, something which had caused problems with foreign dignitaries in the past.

  “So what did you think?” he asked her. She knew well enough to give brutally honest answers. She drummed her fingers on the oaken table. Papers still lay in front of her, many her own, others given to her by Lord Skalov.

  “They appear earnest, far more than I expected. Lord Skalov talked like his king had authorized him to seek a rapprochement. Although he remains stubborn on the issue of sending in Galrian agents to track down the assassin.”

  “It’s unthinkable I know, but I can’t blame them for it,” said Lawrence. “We still don’t have any new information to give them.”

  Director Talmach’s most recent telegram had not reported anything new. His agents had meet with a contact in Longhaven, but were yet to trace the Arm.

  “We could allow it, as long as they are supervised by senior custodians,” he suggested. “That should keep them from poking their noses anywhere we don’t want them to.”

  The brown-haired woman nodded. “That may be the answer, Your Imperial Majesty. I’m not sure how they’ll respond. They don’t have much trust in our security and legal authority,” she said. “Did you hear him laugh when I mentioned we had our best intelligence agents on it?”

  Lawrence chuckled. “I thought he was choking at first, the way his whole body shook. I have never seen anyone in such bad health. It’s a wonder he can even make it up and down the stairs in this building.”

  “I saw his aides helping him up,” she said.

  “Ah,” Lawrence brought the conversation back to diplomacy. “So let’s assume the worst case scenario. We have until tomorrow night for the deadline on their demands. I don’t expect Nolan’s agents to have anything for us by then. His people may be good, but cracking the Arm of Assassins is not something to be done in a matter of days.”

  “You could telegram the mayor of Longhaven, Your Imperial Majesty. Put pressure on him,” pointed out Siobhan.

  “The last emperor that tried to put pressure on Longhaven was my great-grandfather. The Imperial Army and city militia came this close to firing on each other.” Lawrence put his index finger and thumb together. “He was forced to back down. Ever since then the Longhaveners have done as they liked. Besides, even if it could help, there isn’t enough time. If the Arm tries to exert its influence when the agents get close then I may have to do something. A bridge to cross when we come to it.”

  “In that case, Your Imperial Majesty, we can do little other than to agree to as many of the demands as are acceptable and try to give and take on the ones that aren’t.”

  “Give and take? I don’t like the sound of that.” He frowned.

  “My father once said that the sign of a successful negotiation was when both sides came away feeling unsatisfied. It’s what diplomacy is all about, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  Lawrence nodded. “He sounds like a smart man. Where did he serve?”

  “He was ambassador to the Kordate Union for seven years, Minakaya for two and Tal Feros for three.”

  “Well traveled and experienced,” said Lawrence, impressed. “I’m surprised he never served in the same ministerial post as yourself.”

  “He had planned to, Your Imperial Majesty. But my mother was stricken with shaking fever. He dropped everything to care for her as she wasted away. After she was gone, he was never the same.”

  “You lost your mother, I’m sorry for your loss.” Lawrence could empathize, after having lost members of his own family to disease. Sickness and death were the two great equalizers, they cared not whether one was an emperor or a lowly beggar.

  “Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  She was quiet, her face betrayed no emotion. But she was thinking of her mother. He was sorry he had brought back a painful memory for her. The same happened to him whenever someone mentioned his father or older brothers.

  “I think that’s it then,” he said. “You should eat and rest for the evening. I need you at your best for tomorrow.”

  His words snapped her out of her maudlin thoughts and she nodded. “Of course, Your Imperial Majesty. I will do everything I can to reach a favorable solution. Provided Envoy Skalov is amenable and not playing us for fools.”

  “You think he’s that good of an actor?” he asked.

  “The best actors, make the best diplomats, Your Imperial Majesty. But I believe that Pyotr Skalov is exactly what he appears. A fat, little government official who
does whatever his king tells him to do.”

  ***

  In the late hours of the night, Pyotr Skalov received a visitor to his room. Pyotr was a man who used people’s assumptions against them. People thought he was nothing more than a fat oaf and he did everything to encourage it, slowing his movements and purposefully stumbling to give the pretense of being in poorer health than was the case.

  He used this to his advantage as it meant everyone underestimated him, to their own folly. He had risen through the ranks of politics to become the Lord of Azocul. His ruthless ability to manipulate people’s perception of himself was why King Cyrus had chosen him for this mission. The young Alkon foreign minister judged him as soon as she laid eyes on him. The emperor was harder to read.

  The visitor to his room spoke quickly and quietly. They couldn’t afford for anyone to discover he was here. When he was finished, Pyotr handed him several sealed envelopes. They were orders from the king, to only be opened at first light tomorrow. His visitor would pass them along in order to prepare.

  The man left the room and Pyotr laid back on his bed in satisfaction. The king’s plans were going exactly as he wanted. If Pyotr pulled this off he would be able to vault himself into the royal court; a place he had been attempting to get a position in for a long time. He went to sleep, dreaming of the power he would have when that day came.

  Chapter 54

  “This is the House of Blades you’ve been raving about?” asked Fiona in disbelief.

  Tel nodded. The elven gambler and part-time spy had told them all about Longhaven’s infamous weapons black market while they traversed the city. The door before them was the half-rotted entrance of a pathetic, ramshackle hut, in what must have been the most poverty-ridden section of Longhaven. Fiona had never seen so many vagabonds and drug addicts in her life; they were lying everywhere on the street, no one paying them the slightest attention aside from trying to avoid them.

  Looking at the small building she was beginning to suspect that Tel’s reputation as an intelligence contact was smoke and mirrors and he had lead them astray.

  “Is this a joke?” she asked, anger creeping into her voice. “We don’t have time to waste. You are aware of how urgent this is? The emperor is meeting with the Galrian representative today.”

  “I am well aware of the urgency. Director Talmach made it clear,” replied Tel. “If you can’t trust me, then at least trust his judgment in employing me.” His handsome face had a smug look.

  She couldn’t disagree with that, she trusted the director implicitly. Which meant Tel was a good as she’d heard. Mollified, she made a gesture of apology “Sorry. You’re right, but if we don’t find something today, the Galrians will shove a stick up Emperor Lawrence’s arse and twist until they get what they want.”

  Kendrick guffawed at her crude remark and Tel grinned. “That’s something I never thought I’d be picturing,” he chuckled. He stepped up to the door and knocked loudly, three times. “Have faith Agent Badenoch. The House of Blades hides in plain sight.”

  The door opened, revealing a tall woman with pale skin. “Yes?” she asked in a rasping voice.

  Tel produced three metallic passes and handed them to her. She glanced down and took them into her hands. Her hand moved behind the door and there was a small burst of light.

  “You have valid tickets. Before you go down, please place all weapons into the storage lockers to your left. They have keys attached, you can take with you.”

  The woman stepped aside and Tel entered first. He deposited his weapons into a locker and took a key. Fiona did the same. She didn’t like leaving her gun and dagger behind, but Tel had warned them that the House of Blades enforced their rules ruthlessly to ensure thievery was kept to a minimum.

  Kendrick dumped his bag into the locker, having to push and squeeze to get it all the way in. After he took his key, the woman led them down the corridor to a grated door. She opened it and let them pass.

  “The stairs are steep, so be careful. Once you have reached the bottom door, speak the words ‘Ceannaich Fallain’ and you will be allowed to enter,” she said.

  Fiona followed Tel down, with Kendrick close behind her. The woman had been right about the stairs, she slipped several times, the shoddy lighting not helping. They finally reached the bottom. Water dripped down the stone walls and moths fluttered around the only lamp. There was another door here, a hefty looking stone one. There was an elaborate metallic knocker. Tel rapped on it, the sound echoing throughout the staircase.

  Fiona heard the grating sound of rock moving and a small circular hole appeared above the knocker.

  “Password?” a gruff voice called out.

  “Ceannaich Fallain,” said Tel. The words were Old Alkonnic and sounded strange coming from Tel’s high pitched, elven voice.

  The door shuddered and started moving. Light poured into the dim passage. Tel stepped in first, with Fiona and Kendrick following. After they were through, the door closed back tightly. A muscular orc in a black and white shirt grunted as he pushed it shut and turned to them when he was done.

  “I presume you know the rules already, so I won’t lecture you,” he said. “Be warned, if you cause trouble, you’ll be answering to me personally.” He picked up a piece of wood in his right hand and squeezed. The wood cracked and snapped in half.

  Fiona ignored his arrogant display of strength and turned her gaze to the black market they were standing in. The door they had exited stood at the top of a long flight of stairs leading down to hundreds of small buildings and stalls. She could see figures moving between them, it was certainly busy.

  They were in a massive underground cavern below the streets of Longhaven. Whether it was natural or man-made, she didn’t know, but what the House of Blades had done with it was impressive. At first she had thought it was daylight that had poured into the corridor, but now she could see she had been wrong. Far above their heads were large electric lights. They must have been powerful, to simulate daylight.

  At random points in the cavern were massive stalagmites taller than buildings. The market extended up alongside them. Spread out between the mountains of granite, the marketplace was an intricate lattice of wooden walkways that hurt her eyes trying to take it all in. There had to be hundreds of levels and walkways intersecting and curving around each other. She could make out buildings along each of them, more shops. It was more impressive than Tel could ever have prepared her for.

  “So how do we find the Arm in all of this?” she asked him and waved her hand at the huge market.

  “The Arm use only the finest weapons. Most of what is down there is common or of poor quality,” he said, pointing at the lower level. “The higher up we go, the more specialized the stores. There are a number of elite vendors that sell only the best of whatever one is after. The most well-balanced swords, the newest gun designs, even Huntington electro-rods.”

  Fiona tried not to let the surprise show on her face at hearing that. “How in the hells did they get those? Only the Imperial Army has access to them.”

  “That’s why it’s called a black market,” replied Tel. “Come on, once we get to the main market floor, we still have to make our way through all of these crowds.” He descended the stairs and she followed.

  It took them ten minutes to reach the main floor of the market and now that Fiona could see it up close, it looked like the bottom of a natural cavern, though it obviously been smoothed out, to make it easier to walk on.

  Tel led them through the crowds. It was slow going and it was a rough crowd. A few times Fiona thought someone was going to attack her, but they settled for giving her a malicious look. The guards in distinctive black and white uniforms were alert and watchful, no one wanted to do anything to attract their attention.

  They eventually reached the middle of the cavern. Looking back she could barely make out the stairs they had come down, although there were other sets of stairs around the cavern. She guessed they led to similar hidden entrances.<
br />
  They were standing below of one of the huge stalagmites which looked to be the main intersection for all of the upper walkways. Tel continued to lead them through the stairs and walkways for a long time.

  Fiona was panting when he finally stopped. She looked at Kendrick, his face was dripping with sweat. He needs to get away from his experiments and into the training rooms more often.

  Tel ran his hand though his golden hair. “There, that wasn’t too bad.” He pointed at a large cream colored building. “Right there. That is the most expensive and exclusive operation in the entire House of Blades.” Fiona looked. The sign carved on the front of the building said, Solamh’s Fine Acquisitions.

  “Anytime the Arm need something rare that they can’t acquire themselves, I can guarantee you they’ll come here for it” explained Tel.

  “So we wait until he closes up, then we make him give us his Arm customer details?” asked Fiona.

  “Ha!” said Tel. “That’ll be the day. First, he won’t close up shop. The House of Blades operates all hours. Second, Solamh will have significant security measures in place and we gave up our weapons upon entering, remember?”

  Fiona cursed the rules of this place.

  “Third, even if we were somehow able to get to him; the House’s guards would prevent us from leaving.” He shook his head. “No, what we need to do is wait for an Arm member to arrive and track them when they leave.”

  “How do we do that?” asked Fiona. Despite Tel’s knowledge, she wasn’t sure they would be able to reach the Arm. “Even if we can identify one, Arm members aren’t exactly slouches when it comes to sneaking around unnoticed, they base their entire profession on it.”

  “Uh, I may have something that could help us with that” said Kendrick.

  Another of his idiotic devices. Fiona looked at him. “I thought you dumped your bag in the locker.”

  He fussed around in his pockets for a few moments, before pulling his hand out and holding something in his palm.