Glade 6, 122
On Glade 6, 122, Imogen Ward woke early to greet the day, feeling in her heart that today was going to be nice.
She had been assigned no Sanctuary shifts in recognition of her need to recover from her recent spar, so her sleep had been long and peaceful. She checked the bandages on her arm, her shoulder and her side, and found that the wounds were healing well. Just to be safe, she applied ointment to the tender skin and wrapped herself in fresh bandages before she stepped out into the common area of Mrs. Leonie’s boarding-house.
Though Imogen had awoken early, it seemed Mrs. Leonie had beaten her. The old widow had baked and left out a tray of lebkuchen and feigenwolkchen for her guests; the sweet scents wafted from the dough, still warm. The Orkhan renter quickly helped herself to two of the little fig-jam cookies, too conscientious to rob her roommates of their share even though they had yet to return from Nod. To display her thankfulness for this rare gesture of kindness, Imogen made a silent promise to Galetira to return the favor on some latter date.
Thus satisfied in both body and spirit, Imogen opened the door to a gorgeous morn. The gray mists of night had nearly burned away in the light of the newly-risen sun, and the sky was ripening into a brilliant azure, interspersed with red-tinged clouds. The pink flood of dawn was upon the tiles of the rooftops, and even the smokestacks of the Grungeworks and the high pressure-tanks of the airship dock were mostly venting clean white steam.
With the day beautifully begun, Imogen set off for the Pfenning, eager to get her shift done so that she could spend the late afternoon and evening as she wished. She offered the commuters on the street a genuine smile as she passed the bridge to the West End, her spirits too high to be dampened even when one surly-looking man in spectacles and a broad-brimmed bowler hat returned her grin with a sour sneer. She didn’t even look back at the rude bureaucrat, and so missed the two soldiers with guns who stepped out of the alleyway behind her, confronting him. She continued along as the shocked man reluctantly followed the two members of the Defense Corps back into the alleyway, and was long gone when a quiet ptchoo! from behind the building announced his sudden demotion from the ranks of the city bureaucracy.
The Orkhan janitor reached the Pfenning in good time, so she decided to take the scenic route to the service entrance, where some well-to-do gentleman was arguing loudly with a bored-looking woman (possibly his wife, though she seemed thirty years his junior) as they left the front door.
“-just don’t see how they can justify increasing the prices for our box seat, dear. We pay out the nose for this damn theater, and what do we get in return? Foreign nonsense, is what.”
“Mhm.”
“I’ve half a mind to turn up to that devil-woman and tell her, listen, do you have any idea what I could do to your silly operation if I’d a mind-”
As Imogen turned the corner she spotted several members of the city guard hailing him, shouting, distantly: “Sir! Sir, you’re wanted in the…” Well, that was a relief, anyway. The nobs about the West End were like as not to worry at stupid things like the price of their boxes for days, but they’d come running like dogs when their masters called about whatever nonsense concerned them. It probably had something to do with the article she’d seen bandied about from the Knob Free Press the other day. Honestly shocking that Grand Marshal Kane hadn’t announced the editor’s arrest yet. Had the government really gotten so lazy?
Well, good.
Imogen entered the staff lounge, changed into her janitorial uniform and spent the first half of the day touring the halls, giving everything a vigorous mopping before the upcoming debut of La S... er, La Sylvie? No. La Softlediere? The one where the boy kidnapped a fae to be his wife using a scarf. She really never understood that. Wouldn’t that relationship get tense, fast? Wouldn’t it be a bit worrisome to be sleeping next to a fairy you’d ensorcelled, knowing that if your scarf ever frayed, you’d be proper fucked, and not in a fun way? Whatever. Not her problem.
As she mixed the water and abrasives for the mop, she realized that the supply was running low. Technically that was on Sam, but she was sure the Theater admin was plenty busy trying to deal with their scheduling now that the new restrictions on travel between Kalzasi and Zaichaer were in force. After taking a brief inventory, she decided she would pick up a few items at the chemist’s over lunch, just to keep the janitorial closet stocked until new stuff could be ordered. They didn’t favor the staff making purchases like that, but Imogen was not concerned about being let go, not with tensions running so high in the city.
So it was that when lunchtime arrived, Imogen set out from the (now somewhat shinier) halls of the Pfenning, back towards the Eastside where she knew she could get the powders she wanted for cheap from Alfonse. She opted to remain in her uniform as she left the service entrance and made for the bridge, passing a number of soldiers setting up a stage in the street outside.
”Finally,” Imogen muttered to herself, quite inaudible to any passers-by, ”Can’t believe it took those fucks this long to own up to what happened in Kalzasi.” She imagined they would be regaling the crowds with more justifications for the imagined “provocation” which had led to that disastrous wedding raid, but Imogen didn’t think anyone was really buying it. She wouldn’t be surprised if, by the end of the week, Grand Marshall Kane had Air Commander Whatsisname bundled over to Kalzasi for a show trial.
(So predicted Imogen Ward, the worst oracle to ever live)
As bad a seer as Imogen might be, she was quite adroit at navigating the line for eintopf at Copper Cut, and it wasn’t long before she was opening the door to the chemist’s shop, the bell ringing cheerfully.
”Afternoon, Alfonse!” Imogen called towards the back. She couldn’t see the pudgy human chemist, but even in his ripening old age she knew he could hear her. He told her once that one had to have supernatural senses, to catch idiots before they could fiddle with the wrong concoction and blow a hole in his new floors.
“Hmm? Is that little Immy I hear in my store?” Alfonse couldn’t have been more than 5’6, but he’d always told Imogen that she felt smaller than she was.
”The true, the one, the only.” Imogen responded, ”And I’ve got Samuel’s money to burn. We’ve just about run clean out of, well, cleaning materials. I need soap, I need foamer, I need the light acid, and most of all we’ve got to have the perfume.”
“It’s not perfume without ambergris.” Alfonse said automatically, but there was no rancor in it. He seemed strangely distracted.
”Something up, Alfonse?” Imogen asked, curious, ”You’ve got the stock, haven’t you?”
“Mmm? Oh! Oh, yes, no fear of that, unless you want arsenic. Ran out of that an hour ago.”
”Oh? Must be calling for a nasty year for pests, then. Still, one worries that the farmers are using altogether too much of the stuff.”
“Well, no fear of that, it’s all gone to the Defense Force consignment…”
”Uh-huh, well, I’ve got the order together. Do you need cash up front, or perhaps on credit…?”
“What?! No, no, no, you know there’s no credit! My store is never credit, there’s a sign right in the window-”
~
Soon enough, Imogen was done at the chemist and was back on her way to the Pfenning.
As she crossed the bridge for the third time that day, she noticed people pointing off the side, whispering excitedly. Glancing between the heads of the growing crowd, she spotted some nob who had fallen into the Talacara, doing a panic-stroke in the middle of the icy river. Well, that was funny, though she didn’t know why everyone was making such a fuss- there were two Defense Corps. vessels floating right next to him; it wasn’t as though he was in any danger. Imogen turned and kept going, ignoring the screams as people watched the soldiers push him away from the sides of their boats.
Morons, she thought to herself, they see one idiot get wet and they think he’s about to bloody drown.
As Imogen reached the Pfenning again, she saw that the Defense Corps. men had managed to get the little stage and podium erected, and an officer (she thought those bars meant ‘Lieutenant’, but honestly who had the time to memorize all military markings?) was front and center, shouting at the people passing by:
“-CALM! DO NOT PANIC! THERE IS NOTHING TO BE CONCERNED ABOUT, THE AUTHORITIES HAVE THE SITUATION WELL IN HAND! IF YOU SEE INCREASED GUARD ACTIVITY, REMAIN CALM AND DO NOT IMPEDE THE GUARD! IF THEY APPROACH YOU, DO NOT RESIST, COMPLY WITH ALL LAWFUL DEMANDS AND NO MISCHIEF WILL COME TO YOU.”
Imogen scoffed silently as she passed, heading for the service entrance. Apparently it had nothing to do with the Kalzasi wedding after all, it was just some raid, doubtless on some stupid businessman trying to employ mages to augment his operations, as though you could just ignore the Order if you were quiet about it. She opened the Pfenning's door, just in time for it to slam closed as a human man in fine clothing crashed into her.
”Hey!” she shouted, annoyed, ”Watch where you’re going!”
“Er hat ein Waffe und alles!” the man screamed back at her, scrambling back to his feet and fleeing towards the plaza. Imogen slammed the door behind her, just in time to miss a second man holding a pistol dash past the service entry.
Incredible. She thought, shaking her head, It’s not enough for the nobs to be rude, now they curse at you for it? What was the city coming to?
The fleeing man got only a few more feet before his brother’s arm wrapped itself around his throat, and he felt the tell-tale weight of a pistol against the small of his back. He nearly spat, sick with the potent mixture of fear and exhaustion and something more deeply-seated and bittersweet than any physiology as his death finally caught up to him.
“Bruder…”
“Nein. In this moment, I am Air Corporal. Nothing else.”
“Bruder!” the doomed man screamed, “Do not dodge it! Does our mother’s love mean nothing to you, nothing at the last?”
“Do not curse me! Do not think to pin this on me!” The Air Corporal hissed, his face a mask of rage, “I warned you! You cared for that doddering fool more than your own brother’s words! And it has led you to betray Zaichaer.”
“Kill me-” the man gasped, “-but do not stain your soul further with these hypocrisies. You are the traitor, to Kane, to your oath-”
The Air Corporal crushed his brother’s windpipe to silence him, but some lingering doubt softened his grasp quickly. He let go of his brother’s neck, keeping the gun pressed firmly against the small of his back.
“It is not too late. Kelgarde, she is a reasonable woman. She was a diplomat. If you renounce Kane now, I can…”
But he trailed off there, unwilling to sink to lies. After what his older brother had said, after all his arguments calling for Brenner Dornkirk’s public renunciation? Some men could turn coat in a purge, but others could not be suffered to survive it.
His brother’s silence was answer enough. They both understood what had to come next.
“Ich bitte sie…”
The dead man wheezed one last time, and spoke, “Do it. And make better choices.”
The gun barked once.
Imogen threw the door open, hunting around for a moment for the small wrapped package of soaps. There it was! Apparently the asshole who knocked her down had also sent it spiraling into the other side of the alleyway.
As she picked the soaps up, she noticed that the jackass was now at the mouth of the ally, sprawled out. Sleeping and drunk, like as not.
”Hoy!” she shouted at the uniformed man standing next to him, ”Lock that man up, you hear me? He’s a jackass and drunk besides!”
The man boggled as she stamped back into the Theater, slamming the door behind her.
With gusto and good timing, Imogen managed to complete her shift early and beg off, returning to the staff rooms and changing back into her own clothes. The brooms and mops she returned to the storage, and the creaking maintenance trolley was parked back in its own closet. She took a moment to make the rounds, saying her good-byes to each of the staff at the front desk and the administrative offices, leaving the receipt from the chemist’s shop on Sam’s desk.
On her way out, she removed a broom from the Pfenning’s front supply closet in order to sweep the dirt and dried leaves and grasses from the front walkway. The day hadn’t tracked too much mud on the steps, so it didn’t take her long to get the grand entry to the Theater looking sleek and clean.
As Imogen swept off the last step, however, she heard something almost imperceptible- the distinctive crinkle of fresh paper against rough brick. She turned to see that a missive, a leaflet of some sort, had wedged itself into one of the cracks in the brick, seemingly from nowhere. She bent down and deftly snapped the paper up.
Before she had time to read it, however, another movement caught her eye. A second paper had fallen to the ground, just a few feet away. She bent down again and grabbed the new leaflet, frowning.
Then a third paper landed next to her foot. Then another. Another!
Imogen straightened, watching papers cascade like snow onto her clean steps and sidewalk with dawning horror.
”Wha- no. No. NO!”
But if there were any gods left attentive in the heavens, her cry could not reach them through the blizzard of leaflets which blanketed Zaichaer. And that is how Imogen Ward learned that the government had been overthrown in a violent coup.
~A Beautiful Morning~
On Glade 6, 122, Imogen Ward woke early to greet the day, feeling in her heart that today was going to be nice.
She had been assigned no Sanctuary shifts in recognition of her need to recover from her recent spar, so her sleep had been long and peaceful. She checked the bandages on her arm, her shoulder and her side, and found that the wounds were healing well. Just to be safe, she applied ointment to the tender skin and wrapped herself in fresh bandages before she stepped out into the common area of Mrs. Leonie’s boarding-house.
Though Imogen had awoken early, it seemed Mrs. Leonie had beaten her. The old widow had baked and left out a tray of lebkuchen and feigenwolkchen for her guests; the sweet scents wafted from the dough, still warm. The Orkhan renter quickly helped herself to two of the little fig-jam cookies, too conscientious to rob her roommates of their share even though they had yet to return from Nod. To display her thankfulness for this rare gesture of kindness, Imogen made a silent promise to Galetira to return the favor on some latter date.
Thus satisfied in both body and spirit, Imogen opened the door to a gorgeous morn. The gray mists of night had nearly burned away in the light of the newly-risen sun, and the sky was ripening into a brilliant azure, interspersed with red-tinged clouds. The pink flood of dawn was upon the tiles of the rooftops, and even the smokestacks of the Grungeworks and the high pressure-tanks of the airship dock were mostly venting clean white steam.
With the day beautifully begun, Imogen set off for the Pfenning, eager to get her shift done so that she could spend the late afternoon and evening as she wished. She offered the commuters on the street a genuine smile as she passed the bridge to the West End, her spirits too high to be dampened even when one surly-looking man in spectacles and a broad-brimmed bowler hat returned her grin with a sour sneer. She didn’t even look back at the rude bureaucrat, and so missed the two soldiers with guns who stepped out of the alleyway behind her, confronting him. She continued along as the shocked man reluctantly followed the two members of the Defense Corps back into the alleyway, and was long gone when a quiet ptchoo! from behind the building announced his sudden demotion from the ranks of the city bureaucracy.
The Orkhan janitor reached the Pfenning in good time, so she decided to take the scenic route to the service entrance, where some well-to-do gentleman was arguing loudly with a bored-looking woman (possibly his wife, though she seemed thirty years his junior) as they left the front door.
“-just don’t see how they can justify increasing the prices for our box seat, dear. We pay out the nose for this damn theater, and what do we get in return? Foreign nonsense, is what.”
“Mhm.”
“I’ve half a mind to turn up to that devil-woman and tell her, listen, do you have any idea what I could do to your silly operation if I’d a mind-”
As Imogen turned the corner she spotted several members of the city guard hailing him, shouting, distantly: “Sir! Sir, you’re wanted in the…” Well, that was a relief, anyway. The nobs about the West End were like as not to worry at stupid things like the price of their boxes for days, but they’d come running like dogs when their masters called about whatever nonsense concerned them. It probably had something to do with the article she’d seen bandied about from the Knob Free Press the other day. Honestly shocking that Grand Marshal Kane hadn’t announced the editor’s arrest yet. Had the government really gotten so lazy?
Well, good.
Imogen entered the staff lounge, changed into her janitorial uniform and spent the first half of the day touring the halls, giving everything a vigorous mopping before the upcoming debut of La S... er, La Sylvie? No. La Softlediere? The one where the boy kidnapped a fae to be his wife using a scarf. She really never understood that. Wouldn’t that relationship get tense, fast? Wouldn’t it be a bit worrisome to be sleeping next to a fairy you’d ensorcelled, knowing that if your scarf ever frayed, you’d be proper fucked, and not in a fun way? Whatever. Not her problem.
As she mixed the water and abrasives for the mop, she realized that the supply was running low. Technically that was on Sam, but she was sure the Theater admin was plenty busy trying to deal with their scheduling now that the new restrictions on travel between Kalzasi and Zaichaer were in force. After taking a brief inventory, she decided she would pick up a few items at the chemist’s over lunch, just to keep the janitorial closet stocked until new stuff could be ordered. They didn’t favor the staff making purchases like that, but Imogen was not concerned about being let go, not with tensions running so high in the city.
~Lunchtime~
So it was that when lunchtime arrived, Imogen set out from the (now somewhat shinier) halls of the Pfenning, back towards the Eastside where she knew she could get the powders she wanted for cheap from Alfonse. She opted to remain in her uniform as she left the service entrance and made for the bridge, passing a number of soldiers setting up a stage in the street outside.
”Finally,” Imogen muttered to herself, quite inaudible to any passers-by, ”Can’t believe it took those fucks this long to own up to what happened in Kalzasi.” She imagined they would be regaling the crowds with more justifications for the imagined “provocation” which had led to that disastrous wedding raid, but Imogen didn’t think anyone was really buying it. She wouldn’t be surprised if, by the end of the week, Grand Marshall Kane had Air Commander Whatsisname bundled over to Kalzasi for a show trial.
(So predicted Imogen Ward, the worst oracle to ever live)
As bad a seer as Imogen might be, she was quite adroit at navigating the line for eintopf at Copper Cut, and it wasn’t long before she was opening the door to the chemist’s shop, the bell ringing cheerfully.
”Afternoon, Alfonse!” Imogen called towards the back. She couldn’t see the pudgy human chemist, but even in his ripening old age she knew he could hear her. He told her once that one had to have supernatural senses, to catch idiots before they could fiddle with the wrong concoction and blow a hole in his new floors.
“Hmm? Is that little Immy I hear in my store?” Alfonse couldn’t have been more than 5’6, but he’d always told Imogen that she felt smaller than she was.
”The true, the one, the only.” Imogen responded, ”And I’ve got Samuel’s money to burn. We’ve just about run clean out of, well, cleaning materials. I need soap, I need foamer, I need the light acid, and most of all we’ve got to have the perfume.”
“It’s not perfume without ambergris.” Alfonse said automatically, but there was no rancor in it. He seemed strangely distracted.
”Something up, Alfonse?” Imogen asked, curious, ”You’ve got the stock, haven’t you?”
“Mmm? Oh! Oh, yes, no fear of that, unless you want arsenic. Ran out of that an hour ago.”
”Oh? Must be calling for a nasty year for pests, then. Still, one worries that the farmers are using altogether too much of the stuff.”
“Well, no fear of that, it’s all gone to the Defense Force consignment…”
”Uh-huh, well, I’ve got the order together. Do you need cash up front, or perhaps on credit…?”
“What?! No, no, no, you know there’s no credit! My store is never credit, there’s a sign right in the window-”
~
Soon enough, Imogen was done at the chemist and was back on her way to the Pfenning.
As she crossed the bridge for the third time that day, she noticed people pointing off the side, whispering excitedly. Glancing between the heads of the growing crowd, she spotted some nob who had fallen into the Talacara, doing a panic-stroke in the middle of the icy river. Well, that was funny, though she didn’t know why everyone was making such a fuss- there were two Defense Corps. vessels floating right next to him; it wasn’t as though he was in any danger. Imogen turned and kept going, ignoring the screams as people watched the soldiers push him away from the sides of their boats.
Morons, she thought to herself, they see one idiot get wet and they think he’s about to bloody drown.
As Imogen reached the Pfenning again, she saw that the Defense Corps. men had managed to get the little stage and podium erected, and an officer (she thought those bars meant ‘Lieutenant’, but honestly who had the time to memorize all military markings?) was front and center, shouting at the people passing by:
“-CALM! DO NOT PANIC! THERE IS NOTHING TO BE CONCERNED ABOUT, THE AUTHORITIES HAVE THE SITUATION WELL IN HAND! IF YOU SEE INCREASED GUARD ACTIVITY, REMAIN CALM AND DO NOT IMPEDE THE GUARD! IF THEY APPROACH YOU, DO NOT RESIST, COMPLY WITH ALL LAWFUL DEMANDS AND NO MISCHIEF WILL COME TO YOU.”
Imogen scoffed silently as she passed, heading for the service entrance. Apparently it had nothing to do with the Kalzasi wedding after all, it was just some raid, doubtless on some stupid businessman trying to employ mages to augment his operations, as though you could just ignore the Order if you were quiet about it. She opened the Pfenning's door, just in time for it to slam closed as a human man in fine clothing crashed into her.
”Hey!” she shouted, annoyed, ”Watch where you’re going!”
“Er hat ein Waffe und alles!” the man screamed back at her, scrambling back to his feet and fleeing towards the plaza. Imogen slammed the door behind her, just in time to miss a second man holding a pistol dash past the service entry.
Incredible. She thought, shaking her head, It’s not enough for the nobs to be rude, now they curse at you for it? What was the city coming to?
~ Bruder kämpft gegen Bruder ~
The fleeing man got only a few more feet before his brother’s arm wrapped itself around his throat, and he felt the tell-tale weight of a pistol against the small of his back. He nearly spat, sick with the potent mixture of fear and exhaustion and something more deeply-seated and bittersweet than any physiology as his death finally caught up to him.
“Bruder…”
“Nein. In this moment, I am Air Corporal. Nothing else.”
“Bruder!” the doomed man screamed, “Do not dodge it! Does our mother’s love mean nothing to you, nothing at the last?”
“Do not curse me! Do not think to pin this on me!” The Air Corporal hissed, his face a mask of rage, “I warned you! You cared for that doddering fool more than your own brother’s words! And it has led you to betray Zaichaer.”
“Kill me-” the man gasped, “-but do not stain your soul further with these hypocrisies. You are the traitor, to Kane, to your oath-”
The Air Corporal crushed his brother’s windpipe to silence him, but some lingering doubt softened his grasp quickly. He let go of his brother’s neck, keeping the gun pressed firmly against the small of his back.
“It is not too late. Kelgarde, she is a reasonable woman. She was a diplomat. If you renounce Kane now, I can…”
But he trailed off there, unwilling to sink to lies. After what his older brother had said, after all his arguments calling for Brenner Dornkirk’s public renunciation? Some men could turn coat in a purge, but others could not be suffered to survive it.
His brother’s silence was answer enough. They both understood what had to come next.
“Ich bitte sie…”
The dead man wheezed one last time, and spoke, “Do it. And make better choices.”
The gun barked once.
...!
Imogen threw the door open, hunting around for a moment for the small wrapped package of soaps. There it was! Apparently the asshole who knocked her down had also sent it spiraling into the other side of the alleyway.
As she picked the soaps up, she noticed that the jackass was now at the mouth of the ally, sprawled out. Sleeping and drunk, like as not.
”Hoy!” she shouted at the uniformed man standing next to him, ”Lock that man up, you hear me? He’s a jackass and drunk besides!”
The man boggled as she stamped back into the Theater, slamming the door behind her.
~ Someone Else's Mess ~
With gusto and good timing, Imogen managed to complete her shift early and beg off, returning to the staff rooms and changing back into her own clothes. The brooms and mops she returned to the storage, and the creaking maintenance trolley was parked back in its own closet. She took a moment to make the rounds, saying her good-byes to each of the staff at the front desk and the administrative offices, leaving the receipt from the chemist’s shop on Sam’s desk.
On her way out, she removed a broom from the Pfenning’s front supply closet in order to sweep the dirt and dried leaves and grasses from the front walkway. The day hadn’t tracked too much mud on the steps, so it didn’t take her long to get the grand entry to the Theater looking sleek and clean.
As Imogen swept off the last step, however, she heard something almost imperceptible- the distinctive crinkle of fresh paper against rough brick. She turned to see that a missive, a leaflet of some sort, had wedged itself into one of the cracks in the brick, seemingly from nowhere. She bent down and deftly snapped the paper up.
Before she had time to read it, however, another movement caught her eye. A second paper had fallen to the ground, just a few feet away. She bent down again and grabbed the new leaflet, frowning.
Then a third paper landed next to her foot. Then another. Another!
Imogen straightened, watching papers cascade like snow onto her clean steps and sidewalk with dawning horror.
”Wha- no. No. NO!”
But if there were any gods left attentive in the heavens, her cry could not reach them through the blizzard of leaflets which blanketed Zaichaer. And that is how Imogen Ward learned that the government had been overthrown in a violent coup.
The End.
