by Chad Huskins
“Lord Dustrang,” she bowed.
As he entered, he removed his cloak and handed it to Fengin, who had materialized to attend their visitor. Then Dustrang walked directly over to her and touched her chin, lifting it so that he could look into her eyes. He smiled a sad sort of smile.
“I’d heard that you were now the ward of House Syphen,” he said. “But I didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of seeing you, for it’s almost the Hour of the Rat.”
“I’m glad that I waited up,” Drea said. “What a surprise it is to see you, Lord Dustrang.”
Markus Dustrang was a rotund man, but still strong and verile for his age. He wore a well-manicured blonde beard, and his toga was adorned with gold and silver jewelry. This was peculiar, because, in all the years she’d known him, Drea had never thought Lord Dustrang to be a materialistic man. He’d never flaunted wealth. Indeed, his businesses had begun to falter years before, when he’d had to end his business partnership with Drea’s father.
“You’re the spitting image of both of them,” Dustrang said. “Somehow, you reflect the softness of your mother, and yet in your eyes, I see your father’s willfulness. May both virtues serve you well.”
Drea smiled. “Thank you.”
“I remember them every day,” he said. “And I miss them. I miss your father’s wise counsel, and your mother’s sweet words. She was a terrific poet, and the world is worse without her.”
“You’re very kind, Lord Dustrang.”
The man looked uncomfortable for a moment, like he was wrestling with a thought. Finally, he got it out. “Listen, Drea…I want you to understand that, though I stood against Fedarus, I did not intend to do you harm. In fact, some small part of me hoped that, as I drove the blade into him, I would not only be liberating Drith, but also you.”
Drea nodded. “I’m sure you had your reasons,” she said. “I know little of such things. I’m only glad to see a familiar face around here.”
“Hopefully you’ll see a lot more of him,” said a voice from behind. Drea turned and saw Lord Syphen coming from an adjacent corridor, resplendent in a stygian-encrusted toga. “For whenever the Dustrangus come calling, the halls of House Syphen are truly blessed.”
“Phaedos,” said Dustrang. “Sorry to come calling so late, but I thought we might discuss—”
“Yes, yes, yes, of course. No worries.” Lord Syphen snapped his fingers at a nearby slave girl, one no older than Drea. “You, fetch us some wine.” The girl dashed off.
Drea took a step back to allow the two men to clasp arms and embrace like brothers. They spoke briefly for a moment about some small matter that needed seeing to in the Senate, some clerical error on a bill that both men wished to pass, and then they turned to regard Drea again.
“I see we have a late-night stalker,” Lord Syphen said, smiling a grandfatherly smile.
“Yes. I was just telling Drea how happy I am that you’re seeing to her care and continued education.”
“It’s our pleasure. Everyone comments on her personality and erudition. She will be a most attractive choice for young men seeking a worthy wife. I predict a happy marriage for her someday.”
“That warms my heart to hear, Phaedos,” said Lord Dustrang, looking at his fellow senator honestly. “Very much so.”
“As I said, it’s my honor. But come, we have business to discuss, and Drea needs her rest. Tomorrow’s another busy day, isn’t that right, Drea?”
“Yes, Lord Syphen.”
The two men clapped each other on the back, and started down a hallway, when the slave girl returned with the wine, and bumped into Lord Syphen. She had come up behind him too fast, for when Lord Syphen turned and collided with her, the two cups of wine went crashing to the floor, breaking and spilling.
“Foolish girl!” said Lord Syphen. With sudden violence, he backhanded her across the face, sending her reeling back against the wall. “Look what you’ve done! Some of the wine has stained our guest’s clothes! I’ll have you stripped and beaten tonight!”
“Y-yes, my lord. A thousand apologies—”
“Go to your quarters, I’ll deal with you later.”
With that, the two patriarchs retreated down the hall, headed towards Lord Syphen’s study. When the sniffling slave girl passed by Drea, she reached out to touch the poor girl’s wrist. The slave girl stopped, and looked at Drea questioningly.
Working off some inborn need to mollify, Drea pulled the girl in close, and hugged her. The girl just stood there, arms at her side, not knowing what to do. Drea kissed the girl’s cheek, and whispered in her ear, “Just remember, while he’s whipping you, that Loraci’s scales eventually demand balancing. For all of us.”
When she looked into the slave girl’s eyes again, she saw confusion, but also an ounce of wonder. Drea looked around the foyer, and realized that there were seven other slaves there, too, all of them looking right at her, including Fengin.
Drea picked up her lantern and started back for her quarters. She was halfway across the back lawn, though, when she saw the light coming from Lord Syphen’s study. She paused, looking around for any sign of guards. Then, she doused her lantern and slinked over to the window.
She peeked inside, and saw an electric globe illuminating the whole room. The two patriarchs stood around a desk. Lord Syphen was standing still, and pouring himself a bit of wine from a pitcher another slave had brought him. Lord Dustrang was pacing back and forth in front of the desk.
Their voices were a little muffled through the glass, but Drea heard them well enough.
“—apologies for the slave girl’s incompetence,” Syphen was saying. “I’ll pay for its thorough cleaning.”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”
“I’m glad you came here tonight.” Syphen walked around the desk and handed Dustrang a cup of wine.
“Thank you,” Dustrang said, taking a sip.
Syphen waved him to a seat. “I’d hoped that we could come to some kind of agreement before the Festival of Hyra. It would be beneficial, I think, to make it official before the goddess of change blesses the streets of Drith with her presence.”
“Of course, it’s preferable for all of us if this matter becomes settled soon. The people need to fully recognize the authority of our Triumverate, Phaedos, for without it, there can be no order.”
Syphen took a seat across from his guest. “I’m glad that you see it that way, Markus. Very glad. The Imperator had the final say in what bills the Senate passed, and without him we need some sort of governing body to make all the separate political parties come together.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Phaedos. Law and order must be restored. Just today, the Guild of Lictors reported that there has been some rioting in Lower City.”
“I’d heard. Awful business.”
“They’re saying that it could be another lower-class uprising,” Dustrang said, sloshing his wine around in his cup and gazing into it. “The people loved Fedarus more often than they hated him. They won’t forgive what we’ve done.”
“Soon enough, they won’t have a choice.”
What’s he mean by that? Drea wondered.
Dustrang just looked at Syphen, and nodded thoughtfully. After a moment of silence, he said, “How’s Drea coming along?”
Syphen shrugged. “She’s doing very well.”
“Does she ever mention what happened? Has she mentioned me, or my business relationship with her father?”
“Not to my knowledge. Why?”
“I worry how much she knows,” Dustrang said.
“I’m looking into that. That’s why I brought her here.”
“It’s dangerous keeping her alive. The others in the hidden door, they also agree with me.”
Drea’s heart skipped a beat. What does he mean, keeping me alive is dangerous? What is he saying? She felt gutted. What few pillars had been left to support the structures of hope that had been building in her were now collapsing. This was her father’s gre
atest friend and business partner! Why would he say such a thing?
“You forget my family founded the Hidden Door,” said Syphen. “We’ve been playing this game far longer than you or the rest of the group. Our spies are everywhere, our plans are carefully laid. So when I say I have reasons for keeping her here, under my watch, you will all just have to trust me.”
“That’s just it, Phaedos,” said Dustrang, leaning forward. “Trust isn’t written anywhere in the texts of The Way, except where it instructs us to be cautious of having too much of it.”
“Don’t let paranoia undo all that we’ve achieved. We’re so close now, Markus. So close to having all that our two families have ever wanted. Soon, we will be at the pinnacle of power in all the Empire, and Drea oda Syphen will be married off to someone in House Syphen.”
“And then?”
“Then we will have legal access to what assets are left to her, and the people will see that even Fedarus’s in-waiting bride agrees with the Syphenus that the tyrant had to die. Then she will birth half a dozen new Syphenus to continue our legacy, and we will carry on.”
Dustrang looked at Syphen seriously. “You know the family’s words. You know they don’t bend easily.”
“This pup isn’t quite like her father,” Syphen chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. “She’ll make a fine broodmare. Just fine.”
Drea wanted to vomit. A lump grew in her throat, then sank into her stomach like a ball of lead. She backed away from the window, half in a daze and stumbling. The last thing she heard was Lord Dustrang saying, “Let’s talk about some other disturbing matter. I’ve heard rumors that Lady Blackveil has returned—”
The rest was lost to her, and Drea didn’t care to hear it. She walked across the lawn in a daze, wondering if she’d heard it wrong. Eventually she found her way back to her cottage, and sat on the edge of her bed, sobbing.
It was the most horrifying thing to realize, that the last ally to House Kalder was not so loyal to its last daughter. In fact, unless she had completely misheard Lord Dustrang…He’d prefer I was dead! But why? What threat am I, truly?
Drea looked at her hands, and saw that they were trembling.
And what was that talk about a hidden door?
That night, while her mind was racing with questions and fears, Drea sat at her window, looking up at the moons Hirgus and Janus, thinking she would never sleep again.
Somehow, sleep did find her. And soon she found herself in a dream where she was falling. After what seemed like forever, she landed on soft grass. Grass that smelled of springtime and was filled with crickets.
And the sun was shining.
But it’s night, she thought dumbly, rolling over to view the sky. Sure enough, the sun was out, and there was not a cloud in the sky. The dream was so visceral she could even feel the heat from the sun’s rays.
Drea stood waveringly to her feet, looked around, and found herself in a familiar field of tall, whispering grass. She looked behind her. She was all alone with the Charred Temple.
And, for the first time ever, its front door stood open.
: Collegium Qoria:
The day after the Imperator had been killed, the Drithean Senate had been forced to come up with new leadership that would temporarily take the powers that an Imperator would normally wield. Those powers included the ability to open and close each session of the Senate, to declare the agenda for each day’s work in the Senate, and to have ultimate veto power on any bill or motion.
However, it quickly became evident that the Senate was too divided about how to do this—some had supported Fedarus’s plans, while others had opposed him, and some had killed him. Who could be trusted to be fair with such power? Someone had to take control of the Senate and act as interim Imperator.
So, in their wisdom, a few senators, led by Phaedos Syphen, came up with a solution. Three men chosen from each of the major parties would share the power of Imperator, keeping each other in check, and ensuring against the corruption of the others. These three men made up the Triumverate. But their powers could not be authenticated unless first blessed by the gods.
The Council of Augurs was called upon to officially ordain the Triumverate, so they gathered all the senators—as well as a few well-dressed lords and ladies—in the Temple of Mezu. There, beneath the high ceiling and the ominous gaze of Mezu’s statue, an animal sacrifice was made.
Drea was there in the Temple of Mezu, dressed in her best purple stola and palla, along with her new-sisters, watching as Lords Syphen, Dustrang, and Det awaited the decision of the augurs. The augurs sifted through the spilled guts of a lamb, searching for signs.
The temple was filled with nobles from every Major House, some of them sitting, some of them standing along the walls, watching as robed augurs ran their fingers over the lamb’s intestines.
The large room was silent.
Drea looked up at the statue of Mezu, feeling his hard gaze. She wondered how much the All-God saw. Does he know how badly my family has fallen? Does he care? Do any of the gods?
It was an old question: Does any god truly care about us?
Eventually, an elderly augur rapped his stick against the stone floor, and waved his hands for attention. “The signs point to the next three-moon day!” the old man rasped. “At the Den of Beasts, at the Hour of the Wolf! All senators and noblemen must be in attendance that day, to see how the birds will fly!”
Drea knew what this meant. Birds were long believed to be omens, and whenever augurs were unsure of something, they would name a date and a time, and watch to see what sort of birds showed up. Depending on the type of birds, and how many, and which direction they were flying, the omen could mean any number of things. If it was a flock of doves flying east, for instance, it was a sign of great beginnings; but if they flew west, towards the setting sun, it meant a terrible end was near.
The ceremony convened with a few murmurs of discontent—everyone had come to see the Council of Augurs in the hope that they would have something definitive to say, yet they had only pushed off the true ceremony for another day.
Drea and her new-sisters left the Temple of Mezu, walking quietly behind Lord Syphen and some other senators. Markus Dustrang was there, and though he looked at Drea once and smiled at her, she had to avert her gaze. She couldn’t bare to look at the man after what she’d heard him say.
He’d rather I be dead like my parents. But why? What did I ever do to him?
Drea and her new-sisters followed Lord Syphen quietly as he discussed a few things with Harkonex Det, the fat patriarch of House Det, who to be a member of the Triumverate. They walked down the Avenue of Gods, passing beneath the cloven hooves of Raxtiq, the Hunter God, before making their way down the Street of Summits.
Vaedris and her sisters were avidly in conversation about a myriad of things—the ceremonies they’d just seen, the beautiful weather, some bachelors in House Det—but Drea’s mind was preoccupied with too many problems that needed solving.
The riddle of Markus Dustrang’s words were too much to be borne. It wanted solving, but all answers eluded Drea.
Further down the road, Lord Syphen led them to a building that served as the head office of the Steamwright Collegium. “I have some business to attend to inside,” he said. “You girls wait in the lobby.”
They did as he asked. Vaedris and her sisters remained near the entrance, talking about Daedoris’s chances of attracting some man or other from House Titung, while Drea drifted away from her sisters. She walked up a short marble staircase, trying to take her mind off of matters by judging the decorative paintings and sculptures lining the walls. Some of the sculptures seemed familiar, though she couldn’t say why.
It’s like I’ve been here before, Drea thought.
As she walked around, she began to hear a familiar sound. The chattering of machines. She followed the clamor.
Soon, without realizing it, Drea had wandered into a room with a balcony overlooking fifty or sixty men, all working
at cubicles. The room was loud, filled with the chattering of large, rectangular machines, each one mounted to even larger oakwood desks.
I have been here before, she suddenly realized. But when?
Drea recognized the machines, as well as the men working at them. The machines were called arithometers, and the men working at them were called tabulators. Drea had seen all this before. In a distant memory, her father brought her to see this.
I must’ve been five, maybe six years old, she realized suddenly. Funny how old memories come back after being long buried.
This was the accounting department for the Steamwright Collegium, if she wasn’t mistaken. The men down below were receiving scrolls of daily payroll reports, sales records, and bills of lading. They were working to balance the vast account books of the Collegium.
“I recognize the ring,” said a wavering voice behind her.
Drea turned, and found a wizened old man approaching her, one dressed in a brown toga and holding a wax tablet filled with fitures.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be up here.”
The old man made no comment on her presence. He just pointed at the ring, and said, “Your father came here often. I believe he even brought you for a tour once or twice.”
Drea looked at the signet ring on her hand, then looked up at the old man. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“My name is Izyru. Izyru Omp. We’ve met before, thought I doubt you remember. You were barely knee high when last you graced us with your presence.”
“You remember me being here?”
“Oh, yes,” Izyru said, leaning against a banister and peering at the tabulators working assiduously down below. “I recall your father wanted you to know all about this place and how it worked. He owned some small shares in this place, you know, as well as other businesses, such as the Vagarr Mining Guild, the Aqueduct Consortium, and Stonehold Trade. He was a man of many talents.”
Drea nodded at the dim memory. “I vaguely remember him taking me around to see some of those places, and showing me how it all worked. Though I was far too young to absorb it all, of course.”