Party To Treason [Aurin]

Wherein Darus of Haqs attends a party

Filled with people both proud and poor, the Imperium is a land of ambition, glory and a belief in the power of the mortal spirit.

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Erratum
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Gertrude gloated openly at this; clearly, she believed she'd successfully disentangled her new friend from Frederick's gauche plotting. As, perhaps, a consolation, she answered Darus' question for him.

"Well, I've no window into the affairs of the capitol, but from our little perch, everything about that man has been infuriatingly opaque. It felt like one day they were parading him around, and the Chronicle was trumpeting that Light and Justice had sworn to his Majesty, and a new age was upon us. Next thing you know, he bloody well disappears, and nobody can say anything about it? It's awfully queer... but don't let it bother you, darling. Matters of gods and princes- what have they to do with Dardouen?"

Fred looked somewhat annoyed, but shrugged at that. He could scarcely argue the point. God and princes and Dawnmartyrs and armies of darkness, those were concerns for heroes and the Emperor. People like that didn't come out to the Duchy.

~~~

As the night wore on, Aurin found things falling neatly into patterns so well-worn they were almost boring by definition. Gertie, dutiful hostess that she was, dragged him from person to person, fawning all the while. Here, she introduced him to a notable farmer; there, she brought him before a local weaver renowned for his work, or a potter. There was even a poet whose works Aurin had happened upon once or twice from his office in Kalzasi, a naturalist writer by the name of Guzma Halleron who had acquired some renown mostly for his painstaking exactness in working scientific descriptions (all the rage among some gentry, especially the old class of Zaichaer) into otherwise-mediocre prose. But mostly she paraded him in front of a seemingly endless procession of merchants.

That was the kind of affair this party was, after all. People rich enough to want to claim some level of distinction, but neither rich nor well-born enough to merit the Duke's attention. Fred was the closest thing to royalty at this party, constantly attended by hangers-on hoping for some drops of Sir Tupin's legendary fortune, or hoping secretly to wed his notoriously reclusive sister and acquire that money thereby.

The topics of discussion rose and fell like tides around Aurin, but they came again and again to two familiar shores- uncertainty about future trades to the Eastern reaches of Karnor, and angry rumblings about the taxes. By inference and implication, Aurin came to understand that the well-to-do of Dardouen felt very much abandoned by the Imperium over the course of the Eclipse, their profits and investments attacked by beasts while the Kathar and the Imperium's new troves of moonstone were kept safely within the capital. Now, even as things were slowly beginning to normalize, the legislature had chosen to raise taxes yet again-- for "the rebuilding and aid of the people" they said, as though they were not themselves the people who were most in need of it!

By the time the party began to come to a close, Aurin had heard references to the same complaints again and again, but never quite explicitly said. That, it seemed, was beyond the Gelarian character. Nor, again, did any of this criticism encompass His Majesty. No, it was always scheming ministers or pathetic nobles who had misled and hoodwinked him.

(Valentin's arrival in town came up no less than thrice, a fact which would certainly annoy him if deployed properly)

As the guests began to filter out, however, Frederick managed to catch Aurin away from his crowd of hangers-on, dismissing them with vague words about 'business of his sister's, some boring matter for the trader.' As deftly as he could, he cornered the other man, a predatory look upon his face.

"I do hope you had a good time here" Fred began, "We try our best with our parties here, though it's nothing like the grand balls they can afford to throw in the capitol on the public's crowns. Before you do go, I beg you to satisfy a little point of curiosity for me- as an outsider. What do you think of our government's work here in Gelerand, as opposed to in the many other countries you've traded in? How does it compare, would you say?"

"I really would like your earnest opinion."

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Aurin
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Darus was only too happy to take facts that Aurin knew from actually visiting Solunarium and knowing people in the know there and embellish them for storytelling purposes. The pleased Gertie and her coterie, and he enjoyed subverting the official narrative here and there, no matter who the officials were—Imperial, Kalzasern, whatever. He did take copious mental notes about those he met; he would make profitable turns out of them all if possible—for the Golden Peacock Theater, for Portions for Foxes, Zaichaer's Institute, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. He was good at sussing out what people wanted to hear and saying it, balancing all sorts of half-lies like some kind of circus freak.

But he didn't go seeking out Frederick's attention; they had a meeting set up, sort of, and so he played it cool, unlike all the other fawning fops and such. But when Frederick took him in hand, he was pleased to change lanes.

"Ah, people are people, and I can find a good time almost anywhere," he assured him. "Some of them are droll, others mind-numbingly not droll. But I haven't drunk myself to distraction, so apparently they were droll enough." Darus smiled. And he smiled at the predatory look, similar, he supposed, to how he often looked. Quietly, without fanfare, he erected a bubble against eavesdropping around them. People might still read lips, but he was deft at turning, gesturing, and taking sips enough to disrupt that for the most part. If Frederick noticed, well, he would know that Darus of Haqs was a man who knew how to keep things secret.

"I agree with many of the people here," he began, "that taxes are too high. But that is a matter of course... as a merchant, I always find taxes too high. Most of the time, I can make the customers eat that, but sometimes, the taxes are so egregious that I am forced to eat some of it myself. After all, I look to my bottom line, but if I act the pirate to maximize profit in the short-term, I will surely suffer in the long-term. My bottom line keeps me... hm... well, relatively honest, anyway." He managed to make his smirk self-aware.

"I was neither born nor raised in any sort of empire, so it does seem strange to me that Dardouen should owe allegiance to an imperial throne so far away which, it seems, doesn't repay that allegiance and those taxes in what one might consider commensurate. Now, I am not screaming revolution, even though war can prove quite profitable. But it seems to me that your emperor ought to... hm, eat some of it, the same way I do, if he wants to maintain his bottom line with regard to power in the long term."
word count: 477
“I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions.
I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them.”
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Erratum
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Frederick nodded as Aurin spoke, maneuvering slowly to a decimated drinks cart near the door and pouring himself a bourbon. The liquor sparkled in the fireplace's light, darkly golden.

"It's just as you say, master merchant."

The man turned to face the flames, letting a dark and inscrutable look take over his face. He took a long pull from his drink, then regarded the nearly-empty glass solemnly, twirling the dregs of it between thumb and forefinger. Fred closed his eyes.

"I wouldn't dream of criticizing His Majesty. First and foremost, I am a leal man, you must understand this about me. But the court... well, they have long been grasping and worthless, of course. Parasites who have supped upon Dardouen's blood for generations without recompense. Oh, to be sure, they had cause back in the day, back when the beast-fucking dawnmartyrs and the Bitch Princess were plotting ruin..."

Frankly, it was sometimes hard to understand exactly what any given person in Gelarand thought their ill-fated invasion of Ecith was really about. The official line was that an exiled line of Gelarian nobility had joined up with Ailos to plot treason, but the evidence had always been thin on the ground. Nowadays, the average person hardly seemed to care- after all, the princess and Dawnmartyrs were both dead, and none of it had been relevant for decades. Apparently Frederick still held a grudge, though.

"But you have hit upon it precisely. All of us here, we pay our taxes--with complaint, perhaps, but on time--and have done for all our lives, and our fathers', and their fathers'. But at last when disaster struck, did they come to our aid? Did all of the money we sent them in good faith come back to us in the form of arms or alms? No."

Fred's hand tightened around his glass, but it was a stout bit of dinnerware and did not break or stress. After a moment, he breathed deeply and set it down reaching up to run fingers through his own hair.

"The counts and barons of the realm stayed holed up in their keeps, or at the Palace of Spires, if they could manage it. Even our own dear Duke Dardouen hasn't had the nerve to show his face for nigh on ten months. Just as a matter of personal curiosity, Herr Darus, do you think such a course is sustainable for the kingdom?"

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Darus had an adaptable palate. When Frederick poured himself a bourbon, it seemed like just the right sort of drink for discussing things at the tail end of a party. He poured himself one and regarded the firelight as well.

"Oh, to be sure, in an empire this large, the government can get up to all sorts of mischief without the emperor's awareness or approval," he said. To his mind, the man merely acted like a rational animal, doing whatever would keep power in his possession. Such was the nature of man.

"Ahh..." The glib and amusing veneer withered away and he just looked tired, as if all the schmoozing had drained him. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed again. "No, I don't imagine the arms or alms trickled down as they ought to've done. At least the duke has enough shame not to show his face."

Darus considered.

"I have been fortunate enough to be able to afford capable guards and managed to secure enough illumite to keep them effective against voidspawn, thank all the Gods, but I have never expected anyone to care about the sanctity of my skin... Presumably you have found a work-round for the deadbeat duke or you would not still be here. The sustainability of that course begs several questions: first being, do the powers that be care enough to risk their own security to do right by the people under their stewardship?"

Darus didn't believe they did care down at the bottom of it or, if anything, they were the political version of the fair-weather friend. Perhaps there was some fancy phrase for that, but he didn't know it. Then again, Kathalan wasn't his native tongue.

He took a sip of bourbon and glanced sidelong at Frederick, curious.
word count: 309
“I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions.
I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them.”
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Erratum
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Aurin's question seemed to strike the callow socialite like a physical blow- he visibly recoiled from it. His eyes grew dark and distant as he stared at the wall, the hand grasping his brandy almost imperceptibly shaking. Certainly, the spy had seen that sort of reaction before, but it was usually reserved for very personal, very private matters. It was the sort of response he would have expected if he'd asked about his sister-in-law's murder, not defense policy.

It seemed that whatever might be false about Frederick, the lack of Imperial guidance and guardianship through the long winter had really and profoundly disturbed him.

"For the duke, I have no care." the man spoke at last, distant at first, but growing more strident, "Tupin said it best, Divines keep his soul; Dardouen was never anything but a miserable wretch, who let his hunger rule every action. No doubt he would have gladly let the whole lot of us perish, if it kept him in the Emperor's graces."

Probably Frederick thought of himself as a prodigy in the matters of politics and plotting, but Aurin had his full measure now. This was one of those men who viewed the world in platitudes, justifying one action with some clever witticism and condemning another by dint of a copybook heading. Frederick plainly thought himself profound, as though noticing that nobles were rapacious and cruel and ranting about this to drunken farmers who all thought themselves overtaxed was a revolutionary thing.

"But Dardouen has forgotten why he is duke." the man regained his composure, his mouth curling into a smile, "The Court of Spires, the same. They imagine us honest folk..."

The murderer, or accomplice thereto, pursed his lips, seeking that beautiful framing which would turn his next words into an act of sublime philosophy rather than mundane treason. "They think that our lives are like crowns, to be spent in the games they play to chart the course of Empire. But Dardouen is the source of all life in Gelerand. Let the capital go without shipments of food for even a month, and even the almighty Kathar, the humblers of Ailos, will have no strength to disagree."

"Right now, the Imperium is like an old man who is so obsessed with foreign matters and navel-gazing that he does not take care of himself. And when you neglect your body, what is it which causes you to remember that you must mind your constituent parts? Pain."

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"Oh..." he said quietly, decidedly, as though he were taking in something profound.

"I know I pass myself off as a fop, but it is largely to seem ineffectual, to give other traders the idea that I'm easy to manipulate, to make people like Gertie think I'm harmless fun, but... I hear you. I see you."

He raised his glass to honor whatever character Frederick was purporting to be, from the character, Darus of Haqs, that Aurin was purporting to be. Darus was of a mind with Frederick. Aurin understood the sentiment, but disagreed with the methods. And anyway, he was working with Valentin Valentin.

"'Tis like the proverb of the frog in the pot of boiling water: throw a frog in a pot of boiling water and it will jump out; put a frog in a pot of water and slowly bring it to a boil and it will die without trying to save itself."

He sighed, took a sip of his spirits, and then opened his mouth as if to say more, but then thought better of it and shut his mouth. It was entirely possible Frederick was trying to suss out enemies to the empire. Darus didn't consider himself one, but it was the Emperor who made those delineations, and the Emperor who could send his Kathar legion to spank Darus for misspeaking, even when in his cups at the end of a party.

Darus daren't speak full treason even if his citizenship was not of the Imperium. All the same, he could say some things that were decisive enough.

"Dardouen demands a duke whose dignity and mettle can stand among the luminaries of the Imperium."
word count: 283
“I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions.
I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them.”
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Frederick's face lit at his companion's words, not with relief... but with intent. Hunger, perhaps, or elation at the sense of opportunities presented.

"You have it aright, yes, yes!"

Nothing more of interest was discussed that evening, and Frederick soon excused himself on some pretext or another. The man went straight back home to the Allstead estate, with its tiny crew of workers and vast sums of ill-gotten money, and from there retired late to bed. If Aurin had done any investigation, it quickly became clear that Frederick's plots, such as they were, were juvenile. He wrote no letters to foreign conspirators, he used no codes or ciphers. It was rabble-rousing of the most banal and basic kind.

Still, Valentin was eager to hear Darus' report. Soon after he returned from the party, he found light spilling from his mirror, showing the auditor sitting across the table in his guest house nearby.

In the moments before Valentin noticed Aurin's return, he was treated to a rare sight- an anxious lawyer. Valentin Valentin had already taken a nightcap to quell his anxiety, and was seated in an overstuffed reading-chair, shifting uncomfortably on the red-cushioned upholstery. The fingers of one hand drummed nervously on the wooden armrest as he peered about the room, plainly concerned at the possibility that someone might detect by accident either his end of the Window or the one he'd opened to Darus' lodgings.

As soon as he noticed the merchant-cum-spy, however, the mask snapped back into place. Valentin leaned forward, all composure and steel, and let out a long breath.

"There you are." he said, coldly, "I take it you had a fine time at the soiree, then? I hope your information is as good as the beer they serve in that upjumped chamber of commerce."

Not his best line, but he didn't let that stall him. "Did you manage to make contact with Frederick Allstead? Is he our man?"

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Aurin wasn't explicitly spying upon Valentin, but given a Window into his home and a window into his soul, he certainly took advantage of it. With Darus' face in a bemused smile, it might have looked as though he was admiring the man. Once noticed, his smile turned into a smirk more suited for Aurin's own face and he pushed off the door jamb to approach the window in his mirror.

He smiled into Valentin's coldness, still retaining a bit of Darus' lightness.

"Oh, Freddie...?" He yawned, stretched. "We chatted, certainly. A would-be Duke of Dardouen if someone made it the path of least resistance for him. He doesn't seem to be preparing the necessary infrastructure for a rebellion, but I wouldn't put a little murder past him, especially if he didn't have to get his hands dirty."

Then he dropped the act and Valentin got a window into how his mind worked. He gave a report on the evening, chronologically for ease of communication, but he cut through the fluff with the amoral eye of a vivisection. Valentin was treated to a cogent analysis not only of Frederick Allstead, but several major and minor players in the local scene.

"So, maestro... how do you want to proceed? I can make headway soft selling while Darus' mercantile distress is resolved, or I can do a little breaking and entering." He shrugged as if it didn't matter to him either way, though it did, of course. He was considering waiting until he knew Frederick would be elsewhere, then, wearing his guise now that he had spent enough time up close and personal to prepare a foolproof glamour and play up his personal tics, vault into his home and poke around as if he owned the place.

Aurin didn't really want this to drag on forever, and it didn't seem as though Valentin was made of patience either, but they were partners so he awaited input.
word count: 334
“I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions.
I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them.”
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Valentin Valentin listened eagerly to Aurin's account, eyes practically glowing with anticipation- at first. As the other man casually described the rather tepid little disgruntlement floating around the merchants of the city, the lawyer's face fell, then grew pale. By the the time the story had wrapped up, the auditor looked like he was going to throw up.

"Those idiots!" he breathed, staring out into the air over his Windowed mirror, "Do they not- how could they not? Oh no, no no..."

The man rose, his breath coming long and ragged. He paced back and forth behind the table, before ducking out of the frame to check one of the shuttered windows, as though he expected to see men peering in from the other side. It was a full twenty seconds before he'd regained his composure enough to return to his seat; even then, there was a pronounced twitch in his cheek. It was far and away the most shaken state Darus had ever caught him in.

Once Valentin was re-seated, it took him only a few more seconds (and some calming breaths) to return to a state fit for discussion. He looked back into the mirror, staring right at Aurin. "This is a significant problem." He said at last.

"It is Imperial doctrine not to tolerate rebellion- and that means making a firm example of anyone implicated in any way. Once word leaks of Frederick Allstead's intentions, the Inquisition will seize control of this city's government and execute all of them. If the Duke doesn't uncover the rebellion first, he'll be called to the Palace of Spires himself to answer. It is not impossible that there will be a mass execution."

The words seemed insane--so much over such a juvenile threat?--but Valentin's tone was deadly earnest. The man drummed uneasily on the table as he spoke, his eyes drifting away from the mirror as he contemplated what they could do.

"We should aban... no. No, they'll find out you were at the party and dispatch Kathar to take you in, and from you they will learn of my association. Verdammt! This is a tricky one. Perhaps there is some way to distance ourselves from this, yet..."

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Aurin
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"...the fuck is wrong with this place?" he asked, surprised and disgusted. He hadn't been given much opportunity for education, so much of the Imperium's history was not within his contextual knowledge of the world. But he was a survivor and he recovered quickly. "All right, have some tea or something. Valentin Valentin has never met Darus of Haqs. There's a reason I have only ever been Darus here, don't let my glamours drop even in the bath tub—" or balls deep in Gertie, but now was not the time to shock and horrify his patron, "—and I can look like someone else when I sneak into his home, execute him, gather evidence, store it in a junction, and fall blissfully asleep."

He paused.

"Be right back."

Thankfully, while there was a great deal of magic in Gel'Grandal, Dardouen itself wasn't entirely saturated in it. And so, the Railrunner was able to appear in some shadows of Allstead's demesne, wearing an entirely different face, form, clothing, and the like. He got in, and he did what he hadn't done in a while: a swift, silent assassination. He left no roses as he had for Overmann or Strauss, bronze and black, respectively. This wasn't Myshalarai business, nor a contract conceived within the Menagerie.

It was efficient, giving him time to peruse documents on and in his desk, and to break into his personal safe for the good stuff. He made a mess, of course, to hide what had been taken. He stole, as well, both because it might make people think it had been burglary more than a search for information, and because he liked pretty things he could sell for money or favors. His semblance had his aura inverted the whole time, leaving nothing of himself to be traced, at least not by local authorities, and nothing viable would remain by the time someone who had a chance of following some trail of his could get there.

Only an hour or so had passed before he blinked back into his rooms. He was Darus again when he peeked into the mirror to see if Valentin was still there.
word count: 367
“I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions.
I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them.”
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