Rubble shifted over the bloated corpses.
"Murderers!"
Crying echoed through the warrens where the poorest, helpless, unable to afford even a proper shanty, had lived their pitiful existences until Death came for them in the form of the fifty foot pole or the rocketing grenades or the collapsing walls aglow with burning kerosene.
"Murderers!"
Men (the victims had been mostly women and children) fell to their knees in the streets, and amid the charred corpses, and on the dank paths leading to the shattered stone walls of their homes. They cried for blood and for mercy.
"How many dead?" Per asked.
"A myriad, maybe more," the demons answered. He saw through their eyes the suffering and the hate, and in his sanctum he whispered, "Murderers!"
In memory, the macrowizard saw a past life, where he had stood on top of a tall tower on a starless summer night, rousing a crowded plaza below. He had held a torch in each hand, while the wind unfurled his hair like a banner. He closed his eyes and his throat ran dry. He heard the crowds, he smelled their sweat, their fear and excitement. Per shivered, thinking how close he had come to greatness, at the army that rose up at his call. Things had fallen apart.
He shivered again in his thin shirt. The vengeance of Abu Sa'id had been terrible then. It had haunted his memories for three thousand years.
He opened his eyes and looked past the flickering black candles and the chalk circles, into the blue flames burning in the brazier. With demon sight he saw crushed skulls and splintered cradles. An inn smoldered under a starless sky, casting long shadows against stone walls. Once again Avatars had ground mortals beneath their feet as so many ants.
Sometimes a man who steps on an anthill may be stung to death by a swarm.
#
Julius Turnus Rufus, Guardian of the Approaches, Lord of the Tocsin-Cleese, and personal secretary to His Grace, Abu Sa'id, the Prince of Schwartzmirenburg smoked a cigar as runners brought the news in. The number of the dead was, as expected, beyond counting. The agitators had awoken and stuck their heads above ground. Soon the masses would rise up, demanding Abu Sa'ids's penance. The Prince would have no choice but to respond with overwhelming force, freeing Rufus to clear the Undercity once and for all. All as he had planned.
Rufus contemplated the silver skewer over his fireplace. It pulsed with magickal light as his thoughts turned to the dolls he kept in his desk drawer. He must have crossed the room, because he found himself caressing its blade and the voices whispered to him.
Once I was a little light.
He giggled.
Once I was a little light, the voice whispered. I have traveled, the voice whispered, very far.
Maybe it had been a mistake to use a cooking implement for ritual magick.
He ran his fingers along the shaft of the silver skewer and a groan escaped his lips as his mind was flooded with images of himself/not himself and a little girl in purple. vivent. She cried and then she slept, at peace. a deep well of life unending. In the vision, he wore robes and a tall, skinny man with long straw-colored hair told him what to do. tread barefoot on holy ground. And I am in Paradise. terrible in majesty. She cried.
The skewer thrummed. Rufus pulled his hand away before his soul was sucked from his body. He laughed uneasily. What a silly thought. He was in complete control of the magick.
He lit a cigar and contemplated his impending victory. The cigar didn't explode. So few of his did these days.
#
Abu Sa'id reclined in the deep-seated leather chair and moved the black knight to threaten the white queen. Then he reached across the board and took the black knight with the white bishop. A dangerous sacrifice. With a quick flourish, he took the white bishop with a black one. Then he sunk into the chair, contemplating white's response. At last, he castled.
When keeping an enemy close, it is important to give him enough space to exercise his enmity.
Abu Sa'id advanced a black pawn. That would never do. He picked up the white queen and twirled it in his fingers, considering his options. Socket had agreed to the removal of half of the Tocsin-Cleese to Echo Canyon. With his constituency so reduced, Rufus's pretext of overcrowding in the ghettoes would ring all the more hollow. He placed the queen in the center of the board, protected by a rook and a knight.
To harm the Tocsin-Cleese would betray the trust that The Lone Nut had bestowed upon him. It would be interesting to see Rufus's next move.
He looked up from the board. A man in black saluted. "Your Grace."
Abu Sa'id nodded very slightly in acknowledgment.
"Your Grace," the MiB's face was pale and shiny with sweat, "a massacre has been reported in the Undercity."
"Thank you." So soon? Rufus moved fast, but that pot would bubble over with no regard for who might be scalded. "You may leave, but fetch my ministers. All of them."
The MiB gasped a ragged breath as he saluted. He executed a crisp turn and then stumbled on his way out.
Good help was so hard to find.
#
The Council Room was designed to intimidate. Tintoretto's Paradiso hung on one wall, eighty feet long and twenty-five feet tall, a swarming whirlwind of angels and saints. The wall opposite was a single clear pane looking down to the clouds and up to the ravening wormhole, Paradise's sinister counterpart.
The table was long enough to sit forty people along its sides and narrow enough to sit only one at its head. Normally, Abu Sa'id sat with his back to the painting. This time, the head of the table was towards the wormhole. Incandescing gases cast eerie pastel flickers over the Prince's shoulders and launched shadows down the length of the table, obscuring his face.
"Gentlemen," Abu Sa'id’s voice was soft, "a grave crisis has befallen us."
The acoustics of the enormous room were designed to amplify along the axis of the table. Even so, the ministers leaned in, struggling to hear and to see their Prince. He swept the room, making eye contact with each minister in turn.
"A terrible tragedy. Thousands killed by parties unknown." He looked right into Rufus's eyes as he said it. "In the Undercity... in the Bessarabia District."
He let silence fill the room.
The Logothete nodded to the Secretary of the Post, who nodded to the Secretary of War. The Prince regarded War, waiting.
War cleared his throat. "You Grace, it would seem to me that this matter, involving, as it does, the Bessarabia and the Undercity, might fall under the jurisdiction of the Guardian of the Approaches."
Abu Sa'id could feel shock flow through the room. War had spoken the obvious, rather than ceding the floor to Rufus. The breach of etiquette signaled contempt. Around the table, faces betrayed hints of tension: tightened jaws, hardened stares. The Ministers awaited their Prince's judgment.
"The Secretary of War is correct,” Abu Sa'id answered softly. Let them strain to hear him. Let them hold their breaths, afraid to miss a word, afraid of what he might say. “The matter is entirely within the jurisdiction of the Defender of the Approaches. I expect his available forces will be sufficient.
"That is all. You may go now."
#
The ministers crowded into Abu Sa'id's elevator lobby. The air was thick and quiet, they all held their breath. When the first elevator arrived, they filed in according to precedence. The Logothete, who presided over the Senate and the bureaucracy and held supreme authority over anything having to do with money, was chief among the ministers. He entered the elevator and breathed.
The Secretary of the Post oversaw anything having to do with communications, including foreign relations… and intelligence, external and internal. He followed the Logothete. Next came War. He turned to the Secretary of Urban Affairs, who oversaw the police, the water supply, and the roads, who waited behind them. “So sorry. This elevator is full.”
The elevator could comfortably fit five. A hushed rustle went through the gathered ministers, as three dozen men exhaled as the three most senior of them descended. Rank hath its privileges.
#
They waited a moment.
War spoke first, out of turn. “What’s he getting at?”
The Logothete’s eyes flashed. “What did you think you were doing?!”
“I thought—”
“You’re War. Save the thinking for wiser heads.”
“Easy there, Basil.” Post finally spoke. “He hasn’t been doing this as long as we have.”
“I’ve been—”
“That’s no excuse.” Post said, “Don’t get uppity.”
The Logothete cleared his throat, quieting the two of them. "It’s all about Rufus. If he fails, the Prince will send him…,” he shrugged, “wherever he sent Henry.”
Silence then.
“So—”
“So nothing. Your breach of etiquette risks alienating a man who is already doomed if he fails… and who will be unassailable if he succeeds. An unnecessary enemy serves no purpose. The Prince was warning us all to tread carefully.”
No one said anything. It was finally War’s turn to speak. “But—”
The elevator stopped with a ding.
“Good day, gentlemen.” The Logothete stepped out.
War’s face fell. The doors closed.
“Chin up,” said Post, “it’s only a slight tarnish on your permanent record. I’ll buy you a drink.”
War looked up. “There’s more going on here. I’m sure of it.”
“Tell me all about it over that drink.”
#
“Do you think they understood what that was about?”
Abu Sa’id turned to his personal secretary and held out a tumbler of scotch to him. “Some of them.” They clinked glasses. “Did you?”
Rufus halted mid-sip. “Did I what?”
“Socket is taking in half of the Tocsin-Cleese.”
“I know. After all that, when you met with it, I knew what you would ask for.” He downed the scotch. “You didn’t ask me. My people won’t agree.”
“They have no choice in the matter. You will present the correct number at Lindenplatz for removal to Echo Canyon.”
“The Socket Entity is deranged. Echo Canyon is no fit place for anyone to live.”
“It’s your homeland. I remember when your people came over to shield from the collapse of the Old Nexus. It’s time to go.”
“That was a thousand years ago.”
“A blink of an eye.”
“Now you’re just playing with me. Even for you, my lord.”
“Even for the macrowizard.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s your job to counter him, as it was Henry’s. Power has its price. Remember that. And your people… I think they will have unexpected help there.” Abu Sa’id smiled lazily. “You may go.”
The Prince turned to regard the stars and the Wormhole.
#
“It doesn't make sense that I should fall for the kingcraft of a meritless crown...” The chanteuse’s voice played over the tinny radio. It was a rundown diner in a rundown part of the Upper City. Billowing steam from a grate fogged the window of the table by the kitchen. A man in a disreputable suit slouched on the worn cushions, smoking a cigar.
"Chef," the waitress chirped into the kitchen window, "you've got company."
The lanky man flipped burgers off the griddle onto the buns on her plate. He untied his stained apron and hung it on a hook. He spritzed some breath freshener into his mouth. "Did he come alone?" The diner was mostly empty. He could take a few minutes off.
She glanced back at the smoking man. "I think so."
Per approached the table. "Try the burgers," he told his visitor, "the secret sauce is to die for."
Rufus stood, his overlarge bowtie bouncing. "Thanks for seeing me on such short notice."
"Always glad to help a friend." The two of them sat down, ignoring the duct tape patches. "What's the problem now?"
"Same old, same old. The boss. Want a cigar?"
"Thanks."
Rufus clipped one and lit it. Per smoked it in contented silence for a few seconds. Then he put a hand on Rufus's shoulder. “He wants us to fight, the two of us, because together, you and I, your people and my people, we could overthrow him and bring freedom.”
“He said my job was to counter you.”
“Do you know what happened to your predecessor?”
“He retired.”
“I killed him.”
Rufus looked up, into Per's eyes. “Is that a threat?”
Per withdrew his hand and smiled as Rufus flinched. “Why would the Prince ask you to counter me?”
“How well do you know him?”
“I have observed him for approximately three thousand years longer than you have. Long enough to know his weaknesses.”
Rufus considered the offer on the table, chewing on his cigar. The road was so very long. Once I was a little light, a voice whispered somewhere, I have traveled very far.
“But how well does he know you?”
The macrowizard puffed at the cigar. Rufus sighed. It had been so long since one of his cigars exploded.
#
At his chessboard, Abu Sa’id moved the black queen into play. He looked across the board, talking to the empty space. “You didn’t think I would?”
After a moment, “The macrowizard has no idea Rufus manipulated Socket into it.”
