Frost 2, 122
"...and once the Every Waking Moment had landed, the dragon begame sensate again, and inquired as to our business." Imogen said. The Orkhan Sunsinger stood in front of the table, addressing the four senior witches seated around it with as little emotion as she could muster. Be professional. Professional. "At which juncture, Exathun informed us that this ‘Voice’ artifact had been stolen from him by some sorceress seeking to destroy the Draegir Arcas and the Moritasi Raxen."
Imogen paused for a moment in case any of the senior Sunsingers laughed. They didn’t.
"...er, the dragon informed us that he would give us a period of time until commencement of the new year to retrieve the artifact and arrange its return, or, um. ‘All the North’ shall, uh, ‘feel his wrath.’."
She didn’t really expect a laugh from that line, but the silence was dreadful. After a moment, she cleared her throat and elaborated: "The dragon departed at that point, and I asked if the Dawnmartyr Iselya could arrange to inquire with Arcas as to the identity of the thief. That was the culmination of my report, sers."
The Captain and two lieutenants present did not respond; thankfully, her own master took pity on the Ork.
“Thank you Corporal,” Master Gerhard said, his voice unusually gentle, “I’m sure you’ve given us much to think about. I’ll see you out.”
Corporal Ward nearly objected that she knew the way out, but her master’s face brooked no reply, and she was grateful to have escaped the stone-faced officers. Imogen pulled open the chamber door as Ansel Gerhard walked out–slowly, still, but with much more sureness to his step than when she’d seen him last–and followed after.
Imogen proceeded a step behind the old witch on his calm way through the hall, until her buzzing mind could stand the silence no more.
"What’s, ah- what are they likely…."
“To do about Exathun? I don’t know, as yet. Gregoire shall have to be told, of course, but we haven’t got the resources to defend Karnor from such a monster, not on top of everything else.”
Gerhard gave Imogen a side-eye.
“You’re not worried about yourself, are you? That would be most unworthy of you, Corporal Ward. Well, don’t fret, in any event; you’re not going to be reprimanded for failure to kill an ancient dragon. If we’d had better reports, we would never have risked sending an agent at all.”
Imogen tried to stop the sigh of relief from emerging; she was mostly successful. The two continued in silence for a bit, before Gerhard spoke again.
“I’m afraid things in Karnor have deteriorated rather rapidly since the explosion, actually. I can’t speak about all of it openly, but we’ve been stretched very thin by the need to move refugees, contain the situation in Zaichaer and so on. The food situation would be bad enough without this infernal Eclipse and the weather, and if that keeps up it’s a certainty that the clans are going to come raiding soon.”
The younger Sunsinger frowned. None of this was news to her. Ansel certainly didn’t have to convince her that matters had gone sideways in a most concerning way.
“I just wanted to highlight the very real importance, now, of keeping the coven strong. Unified. Everyone marching to the beat of the same drum.”
"Master, I assure you, I’ve been doing everything in my power to-"
“Oh, no, no need to explain to me. I’m aware that you’re a dedicated worker, always trying to do the right thing. I just thought I’d bring the point up generally. Now, for an unrelated matter- the Treasurer wants a word with you, while you’re in.”
A wave of cold as intense as any Frost storm whirled through Imogen’s gut. Her heartrate increased almost-imperceptibly. She smiled, and just managed to cough out a polite laugh.
This was why Master Gerhard had walked her out of the room. He’d walked her right past the entryway and towards the offices.
"Y-yes. Yes, of course, I’ll go right away to see her, no doubt about it. I just need to get something from-"
Imogen peeled away from Ansel’s leisurely pace at a somewhat more frantic step, aiming for the hallway leading towards the residences. Suppressing panic, she grabbed at the doorknob and opened it-
-only to see an empty nothing beyond, a great white lack-of-space filled with distortion.
This was undoubtedly the work of Master Gerhard’s mysterious aidolon, the thing which only existed in spaces between. She knew very well that it was futile trying to enter any doorways it was guarding.
“I’m afraid she insists on seeing you immediately, Imogen.” Master Gerhard’s tone was apologetic, but she knew better than to try to persuade him to call off the spirit. If the Treasurer wanted something done, nobody short of the Marshal was going to countermand that order. Imogen wasn’t even totally sure Marshal Norickson would, come to think of it.
"I see." said Imogen in a small voice. "Then I suppose I had better go immediately."
~~~
The Treasurer’s Office was not, for lack of a better term, an official posting. Nowhere in the Sunsinger’s org chart, if such a thing existed, would you see a little box labeled ‘TREASURER’ with arrows pointing to all the senior officers. Likewise, there was no particular part of the Sanctuary of the Dawn cordoned off as the Treasurer’s fiefdom.
This was an office of necessity. The Sunsingers were a large coven; they had many witch officers to be sure, but an even greater number of families, support network personnel, and people holding odd jobs. Beyond the Sanctuaries, they had managed a network of dozens of safehouses throughout Zaichaer and the surrounding towns and villages, not to mention an office in the Marketplace. Each officer had a myriad of contracts with witches throughout the north, even with members of the Circle, and the Coven’s properties required dozens of contracts for maintenance, storage, supply…
These things took a lot of money, and required careful attention to the balance sheets. And that required Margaret.
Lt. Margaret was, as far as Imogen knew, a witch and a Reaver, and probably quite capable with some weapon. She had no idea what that might be. The important thing was that Margaret was Treasurer, and kept track of all funds, incoming and outgoing, and all assets, and all contracts. And upon her word, any of the Sunsingers’ accounts could open… or be forever closed.
When Imogen crept slowly through the door, she tried to present Lt. Margaret with the very picture of a polite smile. She walked towards the woman’s heavy desk, each step feeling like her feet were lead. When at last she reached the desk and the Treasurer still hadn’t looked up, Imogen cleared her throat as gently as possible.
“Corporal Ward.” said Margaret, not looking up, “Please, do sit down.”
The Orkhan Sunsinger found herself in the chair at once. It wasn’t a very comfortable chair; the upholstery kept her back straight, and the cushioning was so firm that it might as well have been pillowed steel. She wondered if the effect was intentional.
"You, ah, you wanted to see me, ma’am? Uh, Lieutenant?"
“That’s correct, Corporal. I’ve had a look at your balance sheets, and I notice that the last deposits made date back to last Glade, when you were still special attache to the Pfenning. I assume that contract is concluded, and you aren’t expecting further payments from the Railrunners?”
"Um." responded the witch, "Well, yes. I mean no. I mean… yes, it’s concluded."
“I see.” The Treasurer ticked off something on a form, which was not quite at the right angle for Imogen to read. “And you spent a few months in… Ecith?”
"That was an internal assignment." Imogen responded, hurriedly, "Never any expected payment."
“Quite. I see also that you did report that mission as a failure, so you would agree it was deadweight loss?”
"Uh… well, yes. There was a Primal, you see, and this ghost-"
“Then the routine patrolwork, also non-remuneratory. I see here that you report entering a contract with… ‘a spooky necromancer’... to help solve the undead issue. Did that work out?”
"Not- not as such but I did incinerate a lot of the undead-"
“I see, and you say that you’ve spent considerable time in the past six months in… uncharted wilderness, thousands of miles away? In contract with a… sentient boat. Has the boat paid you anything?”
Imogen didn’t feel like her response to that question was going to help anything; after a moment, Margaret continued.
“Now, you report helping ‘a Railrunner’ with setting up for organized theft and smuggling in the Gelaran Imperium.” the Treasurer’s tone was neutral; though the Sunsingers didn’t themselves tend to undertake that kind of criminal activity, they had no real objection to guarding other covens while they did it. “Really all over the map, and apparently off in bits of it they haven’t yet drawn. Still, can you report that you’ve contracted with this Railrunner for a profit share?”
"It’s still in early talks," Imogen said, defensively, "I have no doubt of payment once-"
“No. Not that it’s strictly relevant, but would this ‘Railrunner’ happen to be the girl you’ve spent five years chasing?”
Imogen pursed her lips. Margaret smiled, but it was a thin smile, not at all a happy one.
“Never mind. And finally, this dragon business, you say that rather than killing the beast you’ve chosen to agree to a year-long contract to recover some lost property for it? Also with no concrete promise of remuneration?”
"I had no better option!" the Ork objected, desperately, "I couldn’t have killed him there, Peggy-" the Treasurer’s eyes flashed, dangerously, "I, uh, Treasurer. Lieutenant. He was bigger than the hills he was perching on!"
“Yes, well, I’m not in any sense reprimanding you, Corporal Ward. I don’t have all the facts, nor am I your commander.”
Shivers flooded through the Sunsinger’s body. The words were conciliatory, but the tone… the Treasurer’s voice would have frozen Exathun himself, if he could have heard it then.
“I wanted to review these figures because, you see, in total over the last year your accounts have come up short by a considerable sum. Every Sunsinger has a season now and then where they draw more funds than they add, of course, but it concerns me that there is no apparent shift towards taking more jobs to become, shall we say, income-positive.”
"But these orders were given to me," Imogen protested, "And with all the crises of late, there’s been so much more that needs done-"
“Precisely, Corporal.” Margaret interrupted Imogen with a raised voice and hand, all at once. “It is during times of extremity when the resources of the Sunsingers are taxed to the greatest extreme. It cannot have escaped you that things are only going to grow worse from here, and the Sunsingers must have the funds to guard the refugees, to negotiate with the powers consolidating in the region, to ensure steady supply lines when the Vyrkul raid farms.”
The Treasurer sat back, finally looking Imogen fully in the face. “And it is not my job to tell you how to spend your time, even if I, perhaps, think you are wasting a great deal of it on flights of fancy.”
Imogen felt her face flush, and was thankful yet again that few humans could tell when shame was rising on an Ork’s face. It was a well-earned reputation, to be sure. The Sunsingers demanded much of their members, and nobody could fault Imogen for honesty, courage or skill, the highest hallmarks of the order. On the other hand, her dalliances at the Pfenning and stalwart refusal to show any ambition at all towards leadership had convinced most of the coven that she was a complacent witch.
“But if you do not find and take some contracts which bring in actual revenue soon, I’m afraid I shall have little choice but to recommend that you are cut off from access to the Coven’s accounts.”
Margaret adjusted her spectacles, gaze level. The threat was worse than it seemed; Imogen could make due without access to the Coven’s accounts, at least for the short term, but it would be an indelible mark on her record, a stain which could never really be removed. The Ork had never been ambitious and hardly feared a lack of promotion, but a positive indication that she couldn’t be trusted with the business of the Coven at all?
"Lieutenant-" Imogen said, with rather more pleading in her voice than she would have cared to admit. "If I don’t deal with the dragon within the year-"
“I’m sorry Corporal, but the numbers are numbers. If you are too busy to assist the Coven in its time of greatest need, well, I’m sure you know your own affairs best. Good day.”
"Lieutenant!"
“That will be all, Imogen.”
"...and once the Every Waking Moment had landed, the dragon begame sensate again, and inquired as to our business." Imogen said. The Orkhan Sunsinger stood in front of the table, addressing the four senior witches seated around it with as little emotion as she could muster. Be professional. Professional. "At which juncture, Exathun informed us that this ‘Voice’ artifact had been stolen from him by some sorceress seeking to destroy the Draegir Arcas and the Moritasi Raxen."
Imogen paused for a moment in case any of the senior Sunsingers laughed. They didn’t.
"...er, the dragon informed us that he would give us a period of time until commencement of the new year to retrieve the artifact and arrange its return, or, um. ‘All the North’ shall, uh, ‘feel his wrath.’."
She didn’t really expect a laugh from that line, but the silence was dreadful. After a moment, she cleared her throat and elaborated: "The dragon departed at that point, and I asked if the Dawnmartyr Iselya could arrange to inquire with Arcas as to the identity of the thief. That was the culmination of my report, sers."
The Captain and two lieutenants present did not respond; thankfully, her own master took pity on the Ork.
“Thank you Corporal,” Master Gerhard said, his voice unusually gentle, “I’m sure you’ve given us much to think about. I’ll see you out.”
Corporal Ward nearly objected that she knew the way out, but her master’s face brooked no reply, and she was grateful to have escaped the stone-faced officers. Imogen pulled open the chamber door as Ansel Gerhard walked out–slowly, still, but with much more sureness to his step than when she’d seen him last–and followed after.
Imogen proceeded a step behind the old witch on his calm way through the hall, until her buzzing mind could stand the silence no more.
"What’s, ah- what are they likely…."
“To do about Exathun? I don’t know, as yet. Gregoire shall have to be told, of course, but we haven’t got the resources to defend Karnor from such a monster, not on top of everything else.”
Gerhard gave Imogen a side-eye.
“You’re not worried about yourself, are you? That would be most unworthy of you, Corporal Ward. Well, don’t fret, in any event; you’re not going to be reprimanded for failure to kill an ancient dragon. If we’d had better reports, we would never have risked sending an agent at all.”
Imogen tried to stop the sigh of relief from emerging; she was mostly successful. The two continued in silence for a bit, before Gerhard spoke again.
“I’m afraid things in Karnor have deteriorated rather rapidly since the explosion, actually. I can’t speak about all of it openly, but we’ve been stretched very thin by the need to move refugees, contain the situation in Zaichaer and so on. The food situation would be bad enough without this infernal Eclipse and the weather, and if that keeps up it’s a certainty that the clans are going to come raiding soon.”
The younger Sunsinger frowned. None of this was news to her. Ansel certainly didn’t have to convince her that matters had gone sideways in a most concerning way.
“I just wanted to highlight the very real importance, now, of keeping the coven strong. Unified. Everyone marching to the beat of the same drum.”
"Master, I assure you, I’ve been doing everything in my power to-"
“Oh, no, no need to explain to me. I’m aware that you’re a dedicated worker, always trying to do the right thing. I just thought I’d bring the point up generally. Now, for an unrelated matter- the Treasurer wants a word with you, while you’re in.”
A wave of cold as intense as any Frost storm whirled through Imogen’s gut. Her heartrate increased almost-imperceptibly. She smiled, and just managed to cough out a polite laugh.
This was why Master Gerhard had walked her out of the room. He’d walked her right past the entryway and towards the offices.
"Y-yes. Yes, of course, I’ll go right away to see her, no doubt about it. I just need to get something from-"
Imogen peeled away from Ansel’s leisurely pace at a somewhat more frantic step, aiming for the hallway leading towards the residences. Suppressing panic, she grabbed at the doorknob and opened it-
-only to see an empty nothing beyond, a great white lack-of-space filled with distortion.
This was undoubtedly the work of Master Gerhard’s mysterious aidolon, the thing which only existed in spaces between. She knew very well that it was futile trying to enter any doorways it was guarding.
“I’m afraid she insists on seeing you immediately, Imogen.” Master Gerhard’s tone was apologetic, but she knew better than to try to persuade him to call off the spirit. If the Treasurer wanted something done, nobody short of the Marshal was going to countermand that order. Imogen wasn’t even totally sure Marshal Norickson would, come to think of it.
"I see." said Imogen in a small voice. "Then I suppose I had better go immediately."
~~~
The Treasurer’s Office was not, for lack of a better term, an official posting. Nowhere in the Sunsinger’s org chart, if such a thing existed, would you see a little box labeled ‘TREASURER’ with arrows pointing to all the senior officers. Likewise, there was no particular part of the Sanctuary of the Dawn cordoned off as the Treasurer’s fiefdom.
This was an office of necessity. The Sunsingers were a large coven; they had many witch officers to be sure, but an even greater number of families, support network personnel, and people holding odd jobs. Beyond the Sanctuaries, they had managed a network of dozens of safehouses throughout Zaichaer and the surrounding towns and villages, not to mention an office in the Marketplace. Each officer had a myriad of contracts with witches throughout the north, even with members of the Circle, and the Coven’s properties required dozens of contracts for maintenance, storage, supply…
These things took a lot of money, and required careful attention to the balance sheets. And that required Margaret.
Lt. Margaret was, as far as Imogen knew, a witch and a Reaver, and probably quite capable with some weapon. She had no idea what that might be. The important thing was that Margaret was Treasurer, and kept track of all funds, incoming and outgoing, and all assets, and all contracts. And upon her word, any of the Sunsingers’ accounts could open… or be forever closed.
When Imogen crept slowly through the door, she tried to present Lt. Margaret with the very picture of a polite smile. She walked towards the woman’s heavy desk, each step feeling like her feet were lead. When at last she reached the desk and the Treasurer still hadn’t looked up, Imogen cleared her throat as gently as possible.
“Corporal Ward.” said Margaret, not looking up, “Please, do sit down.”
The Orkhan Sunsinger found herself in the chair at once. It wasn’t a very comfortable chair; the upholstery kept her back straight, and the cushioning was so firm that it might as well have been pillowed steel. She wondered if the effect was intentional.
"You, ah, you wanted to see me, ma’am? Uh, Lieutenant?"
“That’s correct, Corporal. I’ve had a look at your balance sheets, and I notice that the last deposits made date back to last Glade, when you were still special attache to the Pfenning. I assume that contract is concluded, and you aren’t expecting further payments from the Railrunners?”
"Um." responded the witch, "Well, yes. I mean no. I mean… yes, it’s concluded."
“I see.” The Treasurer ticked off something on a form, which was not quite at the right angle for Imogen to read. “And you spent a few months in… Ecith?”
"That was an internal assignment." Imogen responded, hurriedly, "Never any expected payment."
“Quite. I see also that you did report that mission as a failure, so you would agree it was deadweight loss?”
"Uh… well, yes. There was a Primal, you see, and this ghost-"
“Then the routine patrolwork, also non-remuneratory. I see here that you report entering a contract with… ‘a spooky necromancer’... to help solve the undead issue. Did that work out?”
"Not- not as such but I did incinerate a lot of the undead-"
“I see, and you say that you’ve spent considerable time in the past six months in… uncharted wilderness, thousands of miles away? In contract with a… sentient boat. Has the boat paid you anything?”
Imogen didn’t feel like her response to that question was going to help anything; after a moment, Margaret continued.
“Now, you report helping ‘a Railrunner’ with setting up for organized theft and smuggling in the Gelaran Imperium.” the Treasurer’s tone was neutral; though the Sunsingers didn’t themselves tend to undertake that kind of criminal activity, they had no real objection to guarding other covens while they did it. “Really all over the map, and apparently off in bits of it they haven’t yet drawn. Still, can you report that you’ve contracted with this Railrunner for a profit share?”
"It’s still in early talks," Imogen said, defensively, "I have no doubt of payment once-"
“No. Not that it’s strictly relevant, but would this ‘Railrunner’ happen to be the girl you’ve spent five years chasing?”
Imogen pursed her lips. Margaret smiled, but it was a thin smile, not at all a happy one.
“Never mind. And finally, this dragon business, you say that rather than killing the beast you’ve chosen to agree to a year-long contract to recover some lost property for it? Also with no concrete promise of remuneration?”
"I had no better option!" the Ork objected, desperately, "I couldn’t have killed him there, Peggy-" the Treasurer’s eyes flashed, dangerously, "I, uh, Treasurer. Lieutenant. He was bigger than the hills he was perching on!"
“Yes, well, I’m not in any sense reprimanding you, Corporal Ward. I don’t have all the facts, nor am I your commander.”
Shivers flooded through the Sunsinger’s body. The words were conciliatory, but the tone… the Treasurer’s voice would have frozen Exathun himself, if he could have heard it then.
“I wanted to review these figures because, you see, in total over the last year your accounts have come up short by a considerable sum. Every Sunsinger has a season now and then where they draw more funds than they add, of course, but it concerns me that there is no apparent shift towards taking more jobs to become, shall we say, income-positive.”
"But these orders were given to me," Imogen protested, "And with all the crises of late, there’s been so much more that needs done-"
“Precisely, Corporal.” Margaret interrupted Imogen with a raised voice and hand, all at once. “It is during times of extremity when the resources of the Sunsingers are taxed to the greatest extreme. It cannot have escaped you that things are only going to grow worse from here, and the Sunsingers must have the funds to guard the refugees, to negotiate with the powers consolidating in the region, to ensure steady supply lines when the Vyrkul raid farms.”
The Treasurer sat back, finally looking Imogen fully in the face. “And it is not my job to tell you how to spend your time, even if I, perhaps, think you are wasting a great deal of it on flights of fancy.”
Imogen felt her face flush, and was thankful yet again that few humans could tell when shame was rising on an Ork’s face. It was a well-earned reputation, to be sure. The Sunsingers demanded much of their members, and nobody could fault Imogen for honesty, courage or skill, the highest hallmarks of the order. On the other hand, her dalliances at the Pfenning and stalwart refusal to show any ambition at all towards leadership had convinced most of the coven that she was a complacent witch.
“But if you do not find and take some contracts which bring in actual revenue soon, I’m afraid I shall have little choice but to recommend that you are cut off from access to the Coven’s accounts.”
Margaret adjusted her spectacles, gaze level. The threat was worse than it seemed; Imogen could make due without access to the Coven’s accounts, at least for the short term, but it would be an indelible mark on her record, a stain which could never really be removed. The Ork had never been ambitious and hardly feared a lack of promotion, but a positive indication that she couldn’t be trusted with the business of the Coven at all?
"Lieutenant-" Imogen said, with rather more pleading in her voice than she would have cared to admit. "If I don’t deal with the dragon within the year-"
“I’m sorry Corporal, but the numbers are numbers. If you are too busy to assist the Coven in its time of greatest need, well, I’m sure you know your own affairs best. Good day.”
"Lieutenant!"
“That will be all, Imogen.”