As wide as a stadium and as tall as a skyscraper, the pinnacle of the dome of the Parliament House sits outside the continent. The complex is in the blue skies, among banks of white clouds, and is a mirage, reachable only in the trance state. A Witch entitled to a seat in Parliament can achieve such an altered state as she chooses, as long as it is during a train journey.
Delphine looks at her feet, at the clouds that turn into obsidians and traces the path to the glittering entrance of the glass doors.
A thrill, it's the first session in Parliament that she will have to face. She doesn't know what to expect, nor does she have any idea of the internal balance of national politics.
The novel doesn't say much about it. Clea will reach this place once—the description matches.
Beyond the obsidian steps is the glass window. It depicts the triumph of the witches. On the floor is the continent of Ialtia, the people subjugated by a swirl of women who thin out in the sky. Above them does not shine the sun, but a monstrous creature to which they hand gold coins.
No entrance is necessary. The Witch can pass through the glass window effortlessly.
Smells of incense, sulfur, and charcoal mix with a petroleum substrate. The parliament hall is as large as the stadium. The seats are arranged in steps along dark wooden stands embellished with sculptures and reliefs. The floor is an atlas of the Empire of Ialtia made with crystal flowers of a thousand colors.
The colors of the windows pour from the dome, making the space solemn and absolute.
Just nine seats are in the middle of the stadium, erected among the mountain of the Duchy of Delphine. They are seats arranged to form a pyramid, with the tallest one in the center. They remind Delphine of a podium. There, the President sits smoking, one leg dangling from her armrest in a relaxed pose.
Very few seats are occupied. Tiptoeing closer on the crystal petals, the Third Witch numbers around forty witches. They sit scattered in the stands, each with their number and emblem embossed on their respective pulpit. Only the nine central seats have no pulpit, as if the empire elite did not need them.
“Hi, Viola. Nice to see you.”
The First Witch nods, raising her cigarette holder. Pure coal, as always, a halo of smoke surrounds her.
“Hello, Coralla. I read that the death of the Presidential Prince greatly disturbed the Countesses of Dalorbami.”
The President shrugs her shoulders, leans forward with her large breasts, and assumes a composed posture. The crow-hydra-shark emblem shines in the light of a ray of light.
“The newspapers chatter, sometimes I think censorship is needed. Like in ancient times.”
“Let them talk. Gossip is an informal currency, and then find me a Witch who doesn't like it.”
Delphine disappears to reappear on her seat to Coralla's right. It is the third highest, but it does not matter as only two sit that day.
The President takes another drag and leans on the armrest.
“I think you're right. Good.” The voice of the First Witch fills the court, amplified by magic. “Let's start today's session. There are forty-two witches present. So, constitutional matters cannot discuss today. The evaluation of Witch 791's request is postponed to a date to be defined.”
At those words, a Witch sitting on the curve evaporates in a cloud of pink petals.
“On the agenda, we have three topics related to national security.”
“Three?” Delphine intervenes, her eyes frowning.
The President gives her a look of reproach, and she turns back to the stands.
“Yes, three threats. It's an administrative problem. Does anyone want to say anything before we begin?”
“Your Holiness, I have a request approved by the Ministry.”
A voice comes from behind the seats.
The President snorts and rubs her eyelids.
“Holy 14,892nd Witch. I hope it's not one of your usual proposals. As hilarious as they are, I'd rather avoid them.”
“Your Holiness First Witch of the Empire, as well as President of this Parliament, I have no interest in considering whether you prefer it. As the Witch of the 20,000 of Parliament, it is my right to expose the legislative proposals approved by the Ministry. And you know well that, as my right, I cannot be prevented from exercising it.”
Without even turning around, the President casts her eyes at the ceiling.
“Okay, Holy Witch. Tell us how you intend to make a fool of yourself this time.”
Despite the President's hostility, her voice continues tonelessly. Indifferent to circumstances and criticism.
“Your Holiness, please, I intend to propose a law that educates workers,” the few witches present murmur. “Wait and judge. It could benefit all of us. If you think about large plants, construction sites, and the rest, you admit that the credit almost always goes to us. We relied on past heritage, but thanks to magic, we achieved scientific results unavailable to the rest of the world. But think of the production chain we could achieve if…”
The President brings out a folio newspaper, leafing through it while she smokes. She moves her long red-black hair, causing a strand to land on Delphine's face.
“Coralla, aren't you listening?” Delphine apostrophes her softly.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“If you came to the courtroom more often, you would know she is always like this. Unbearable. Uh, they printed a satirical cartoon about our children, look.”
Delphine looks at the front page of the Journal of Inland, Eggrio's newspaper finally back in operation after the rebel assault. Among the gothic characters and the surrounding doodles, a caricature of Princess Viola-Maria stands out as she picks the earth with her ankles chained while a charred hand rises from a smoking pool. The President and Delphine are depicted leaning in front of the hand, the First Witch's breasts are enlarged unbelievably, and the cartoon reads: “Damn, I must have filled the underground. It doesn't go down.”
Looking up at the headline, Delphine is perplexed: CONSPIRACY SINKS. DALORBAMI'S GRAY EMINENCE CHAINED
“So, they know what happened at the party?”
The President takes back the newspaper.
“Of course, even if they were wrong. There is always space to liquefy people.”
“I don't think that was the point.”
Delphine covers her mouth with her fan, sighing.
The 14,892nd Witch coughs.
“…therefore, considering that more educated workers also mean greater efficiency, I ask you: would not it be good to introduce the obligation of a minimum education?”
Silence.
“Well. We can put it to the vote. I have done. Your Holiness.”
The President quickly hoists herself up, jumping up on her seat. Delphine watches her while the First Witch turns 360 degrees to study the room.
“Good,” she raises her arm with the cigarette. “I vote 300 million times. No. Anyone else want to vote?”
The few witches present do not vote. Not that it helps. Basing the voting system on payments, with the 300,000,000 lire just paid to the treasury by the President, the game is closed.
“Holy Delphine, do you want to vote?”
Delphine is recalled from her thoughts. She observes the President. She looks down at her. He sits on her armrest, looking at her 14,892 behind her. She is a distant Witch with an angry expression. There is no point in siding with her, and Delphine's maximum rating is ridiculously higher.
And then I can't go against the President now.
“Yes, I will only vote once. No.”
The President claps her hands happily, then sits down. When Delphine looks back behind her seat, the Witch has disappeared.
“Well, let's get to the important stuff. The Seven Countesses of the Principalities of Dalorbami have decided to act directly.” The President brings out a parchment and ridiculous opera glasses to read. “After the isolated attack on Holy Delphine here, they massed troops on the southwestern border of the Duchy. They hoped that the poisoning would be successful. They had negotiated with Viola-Maria and my crazy son. The plan failure seems to push them to act in the open.”
The Duchy is a problem of the Third Witch, and the Seven Countesses are all in the top 10 of the second estate. They are witches unadmitted to parliament. But they have proud and ancient families.
In wealth, the Seven Countesses of the Principalities of Dalorbami can compete with Delphine but not with the Second or First Witch. For this reason, no one says anything.
“Coralla, I'll take care of it,” Delphine hides her smile.
In the book, when the war breaks out, disease spreads. And Delphine's mind melts. But now, given the circumstances, crushing Dalorbami is perhaps the best move to defuse the standard ending.
“Uh, do you want a hand?”
“President, you honor me, but I can do it. I ask for a reward in return.”
“Um, I'd say it be done. Tell me.”
With her head, Delphine indicates the second seat.
“Given the continued absence of the Second Witch, I ask that we reverse our Base of Prosperity seats and revenues.”
“Ho, would you like to be Second Witch? Fun. Besides, I don't appreciate the Second very much. However, a war will impoverish you. I don't know if you will have enough capital after that.”
None of the few presents say anything. Well. Delphine cannot admit the real reasons behind the decision, but citing greed and the desire to obtain the Second Seat as an excuse... Well, no Witch will ever doubt it. None except perhaps the 14,892nd, but that is already gone.
“I will confiscate the countesses' properties, titles, and lands. Furthermore, we will ignore the legacy so that their daughters lose positions close to 20,000.”
The secessionist Seven Countesses of the Principalities of Dalorbami started this battle because they lacked parliamentary rights despite their immense riches. They are enterprising witches, averse to parliament, who hope to fragment the Empire into individual nations.
But the 20,000 parliamentarians do not approve. No one. Delphine does not like losing part of her rights. Furthermore, this secession is a bomb that needs to be defused. Penalty: the incineration of Ialtia.
“Well, that's settled. Let's get to the second point. The rebels in Eggrio.”
Of the few witches present, at least a dozen fades into clouds, feathers, petals, insects, sparkles, and other varieties. Eggrio is a duchy city. It is of little interest for witches who have no business there.
The President herself shrugs at Delphine.
“I don't think there's much to add.” She comments while puffing on the smoke.
Delphine knows there is a lot to add. Clea is alive and will soon attack Celce, the third-largest city in the hinterland.
But how can they understand without explaining that Delphine has a novel with the future written in it? It is not possible, that is all. Another approach is better.
“Coralla, my friend, there's no need to talk. If there are other sources of rebellion, I will personally intervene to quell them. The mills are repaired, and the newspaper is printed normally again. As for the village, there has already been a request for slaves from the northwest. Their freedom is purchased in exchange for agricultural enslavement.”
The President nods, satisfied.
“You have always been an excellent administrator, Viola. Well, insignificant people problem solved.”
“Insignificant, sure, but they killed my mother!”
Priscilla jumps up from the side terrace.
Delphine hadn't noticed her, but she's a second-rate Parliamentary Witch.
“Holy Priscilla, please. I remind you that you are only here thanks to Your Holiness Delphine. Without the 35,000,000 Lire loan to cover the waste of your foolish Mother, you wouldn't be here now.”
The witches present laugh. Delphine fakes a smile. The President expressed herself bluntly. After all, no one except Delphine knows about Clea. It remains an inexplicable mystery. How were three Witch and an Archdevil killed by a bunch of rebels?
According to the investigations of the Eggrio gendarmes, Priscilla died by a simple bullet. It is a .40 caliber, lead-tipped bullet. It measures pretty standard for local hunting.
Clea captures her in the novel. It is unexplained how Priscilla spent millions of lire in a few hours. The extermination of the village with thorns, no—I doubt he spent more than I did to kill that man outright.
Additionally, skills related to role or lineage have specific discounts. It wouldn't surprise me if Priscilla thorns cost her a hundred lire each or even less.
“I will kill all the seditious!”
Sullenly, after her declamation, Priscilla sits down with her arms folded. Nobody adds anything. The topic is considered exhausted.
“Very well. Only one point remains.” The First Witch brings up a table. “This year, the overpopulation is such that it requires your intervention, Third Witch of Infection.”
“I know, you told me about it.”
“Exactly. When do you intend to start?”
“With the secessionist population.”
Coralla seems satisfied with Delphine's immediate responses. The Third Witch has prepared, although she has another plan in mind.
Milo, Clea's brother, was captured during the attack on the newspaper. He is not the only one and opens up a glimpse that does not happen in the novel.
The first to get sick will be the rebels.