CHAPTER TWO

Amelia arrived at her uncle’s mansion at around eight o’clock. It was a large estate in the private hills of the Saint Simon Quarter, a borough filled with grand 18th-century homes. Amelia learned that he bought the place not long after losing his first wife, living alone in the home for nearly five years by now. Amelia’s brother, Barrett, supposed that their uncle meant to give them the estate as inheritance, but they had only moved to Yorkshire within the past two years, before then she hardly knew anything about her uncle besides his military career. In that time, he bought four automobiles and for a time owned a major league baseball team (He sold the team after losing the 1935 World Series). At the rate her uncle was spending, she did not think there was much consideration for the future.

His Yorkshire home was four stories and painted a dark shade of yellow with old marble statues greeting her in the front garden. The statues depicted Kaiser Dakota II, who had paid for all of Graves’ military training. Two gargoyles watched from either side of the front stoop; she passed them on her way into the mansion. Warm light, marching songs, and the sound of several conversations burst through the door as she opened it. Patriotic music blared from the back of the living room, a band played for a rowdy crowd of young veterans and militia members carrying banners and wearing tricorn hats. She could smell the smoke of cigars and the sour scent of ale.

Captain Nolan, chairman of the Renaissance Party, had been released that day after three months of imprisonment. He had been convicted of inciting a riot, a trial which the Emerald Gazette covered very closely, but Amelia had not taken the time to follow. She hadn’t seen any of the operations of the Renaissance Party until now.

The party attracted a diverse crowd. Militiamen, veterans, businessmen, senators, city councilmen, nobles, and members of the Colonial Society noted by their pins. Her uncle had been a major donor to the Colonial Society, and through his conversations the society had begun to take an interest in the Renaissance Party. Also in the Colonial Society were Wherric exiles, Tykan settlers who had fled from Countria during its revolution.

The chandeliers cast a warm glow over the whole living room, she listened to the music and leaned against a window beside the front door. The sound of a fiddle pierced the living room, and cheers filled the room as the band played an old folk tune. The men began to square dance, calling on the ladies to join them. The couples held their hands up, kicking along to the rhythm of the music.

A green banner hung from the curved living room balcony with a symbol of the Renaissance Party, sharp lines made to resemble a clover. Her eyes were drawn to the bold colors of the banner, it startled her when a man in a bright green militia uniform approached her, “Care to dance?” he asked.

Amelia watched the dance floor for a moment, “I don’t know how,” she said.

The man took her hand, “Do you want to dance?” he said again, perhaps he didn’t hear her. Amelia smiled, and he pulled her up from the windowsill. She followed him onto the floor and started to follow his lead. Quickly she got a feel for it, kicking her feet up high in sync with the other couples. The man guided her along the song, holding her wrists as she spun around. A smile grew on her face, uncontrollable in her confused state. She started to laugh, and the man pulled her close as the song ended and the crowd cheered. The ragtime piano player leaned into a microphone, “For being such a great audience Atticus Graves would like to get everyone another round, get it quick!”

The men cheered and headed for the bar at the north end of the building, Amelia left the living room with her dance partner, “What is your name?” she asked.

“I’m Rickon Agrippa,” he said, he was a tall, handsome fellow with green eyes she couldn’t look away from, “And you are?”

“I’m Amelia Graves.”

His eyes widened, he almost looked nervous, “Of Atticus?”

“He’s my uncle,” Amelia said, “You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, do you?”

“Yes, he’s upstairs having a meeting with the chairman.”

“I see, are you a member of the party?” she asked.

“Not at the moment, no,” he said, “Though I am very inspired by the party, I’ve been considering joining.”

The man with the fiddle played for some of the room, and the conversations filled the rest of the space. After the fiddling was over, a man stepped up to the microphone in a black tuxedo. Amelia recognized him as Eugene Perry, owner of the Perry Steel Company, “Ladies and gentlemen, I would first like to welcome home Captain Nolan, we’re glad to have him back! How is everyone doing tonight?” Perry asked, the crowd raised their pint glasses and cheered, “I’m sure you’ve all heard the news today from our friend Kaiser Xavier…” Perry said, and the crowd booed, “It seems as though our sovereign has lost his ways in war. I know you all understand what this means: a weak throne,” the men in the living room had gradually turned their attention to the stage, “I understand this is a celebration, but we have only overcome the first of many hurdles. If we hope to keep this nation alive, we will need to fight for its survival…” The businessman continued speaking, but Agrippa had taken Amelia’s hand again, she followed him upstairs, her other hand glided along the darkwood bannister.

The door to Atticus’ office was locked, she could hear a muffled conversation with occasional laughter. Agrippa opened a cabinet on the wall beside the indoor balcony, “Would you like something to drink?”

Amelia nodded and followed him to the mini bar, as he poured the two of them drinks she looked down on the living room. The house was full of people, tricorn hats wandered freely around the room, gathering to listen to the businessman speak, “Are you new to this city?” Agrippa asked as he pulled the cork off a bottle.

Amelia nodded, “My family lives in Verdino.”

“Verdino?” Agrippa smiled, “My mother was from Verdino, she always said she missed it. I’ve seen photographs, it’s a beautiful city,” Agrippa raised his glass, toasting with Amelia and drinking. She smiled and their eyes met one anothers gaze.

Amelia began to take an interest in this militiaman, “Well, where are you from?” she asked.

“I was born in Rhendenschen, in the Wherric colonies… But my father is from Collette, so that makes me fully Tykan,” he smiled, “I grew up in the Wherric colonies with my father. He was an officer and traveled from base to base, there was a lot of unrest in those later years.”

Amelia nodded, “The news from the war in Colslavia is especially distressing.”

“I think your uncle is right to stand by the Colslavs with his paper, they’re fighting animals down there. I saw some of the greatest brutality from the Wherrics, they’re a rabid people. They took my mother from me in their petty revolt…”

“I’m sorry to hear that, I can’t imagine.”

With a half smile Agrippa accepted the compliment, “So what is it you are doing out here? You came to the big city, what for?”

“I’m a reporter.”

“The Gazette?” Agrippa asked, Amelia nodded, “Interesting,” he said without elaboration.

What? Amelia thought, What does that mean? She noticed that the man’s smile never fade, she broke their eye contact. She sipped from her glass, noticing the steel business man, Eugene Perry, cross the dance floor. To her surprise he waved in her direction, and Amelia turned to Agrippa, “Do you know him?”

Agrippa waved back, “I do, for the moment he’s my employer.”

Perry came to the top of the steps and Agrippa put his arm around Amelia, “Mr. Perry, this is Amelia Graves, she’s from Verdino.”

“A southerner?” the man asked, “Welcome to Yorkshire, are you two waiting to speak to Nolan? ‘Cause I can let youse in if you need.”

Amelia smiled, “You know, I would like to meet this chairman,” she said as she locked arms with Agrippa. The militiaman nodded and they walked together behind Perry, who knocked on the office door. An armed guard opened the door, and stepped aside to let the three of them in.

***

Atticus Graves hunched over in his captains chair, his fingers tapped along the leather and he listened patiently. Three others were in his study, the recently released chairman, Captain Nolan, stood over the mantel with his drink. Across the room sat Doctor Periwinkle, an anthropologist and avid supporter of the movement. On the sofa beside Graves sat James Knowles, city councilman and candidate for the senate, he was running against the controversial Nicholas June, the noble socialist.

In the study, most of the walls were covered with bookshelves. Some displayed medals and old uniforms Graves had worn throughout his career. Above the mantel was a large, golden framed painting. The frame alone was a marvel to look at, with geometric and symmetrical design on every edge. The painting depicted a scene from the rainforest of Bye. Foliage filled the background of the frame, and in the foreground a jaguar carried the corpse of a howler monkey in its jaws, the beast trotting proudly to eat its prey. Its vibrant yellow coat covered in dark rosettes commanded the viewers’ gaze, the detail in its musculature was brute and powerful. Blood dripped from the neck of the monkey, its eyes looked past the frame, its jaw hung low and limp. Attached to the frame of the painting was a small metal placard that read “For a good friend, from Xavier Apollo.”

Graves caught himself looking upon the painting, his eyes darting between the jaguar and monkey. His study smelled like old oak, tobacco smoke, and whiskey. He opened an old bottle that had been saved for a special occasion, it sat on the coffee table half full. He broke his gaze on the artwork, and Captain Nolan turned to the others, “I don’t trust him, let him leave.”

“Are you sure? He’s written half of my speeches since you’ve been gone,” Knowles said.

“Atticus would do just as well, he owns a damn newspaper,” Captain Nolan said, “Mr. Bourgeois wants to go off to Teblare, he never showed his face here. I say we let him go. There is no place for him in the party.”

Periwinkle spoke, “What kind of place do you think he will find in Temples?” he asked, “The reds are everywhere up there, is it wise to let him join his kind?”

“Don’t misunderstand him, Bourgeois believes in our race, our common cause, but he was always hot headed. He wanted to take things in his own direction, command the party alone. Now he wants to leave that I’ve returned. Let him leave, he won’t be a problem,” Nolan said.

“How can we be so sure?”

“What are you suggesting we do, doctor?” Nolan asked, his face grew tense.

“Mister Chairman, you just got back home, maybe we could talk about something a little more lighthearted?” Graves said, he slowly pushed himself up from the leather chair, “We should be celebrating, things are looking up. You have your freedom and your health, a blessing.”

“The Lord Phantom protects,” Nolan said, “There is too much work to be done before the election. I’ve already lost three months that I could have put toward this cause, I won’t waste these last four.”

A knock came at the door, and the militiaman in the corner of the room opened it. Graves saw the businessman enter, followed by Agrippa and his niece, “Amelia! This young lady has been a star reporter in Yorkshire, she's quickly learning her way around.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Graves,” Captain Nolan said, he shook her hand politely, “Are you familiar with our party platform?”

“I can't say I am.”

“If you're anything like your uncle, you may like that our party offers a traditionalist way of thinking, of sorts. We value this nation.”

“Aye,” Agrippa said, he drank to that and held Amelia by his side, Agrippa pointed to Nolan, “This man has been good to me since I formed the White Clovers. My men would answer any calls from the Renaissance Party.”

“You've been a loyal friend to us, we need more men like you if we want to keep our city safe,” Nolan said.

Perry was cutting a cigar when he turned to the militiaman, “Speaking of cooperation, Agrippa, I have some more stops for you to make before our business together ends… We can talk about it later.”

What kind of business? Amelia thought. Before she could ask, Agrippa turned to her with an answer, “Mr. Perry pays me to keep security of some of his personal property. It's a well earning job,” he said, “I drive his car, it’s a beautiful vehicle. You'll have to see it sometime.”

Amelia smiled, she watched Perry light his cigar and sit in one of the captain's chairs, he turned to Renaissance party candidate James Knowles, “I’m reading a lot of news about activity down at the harbor, socialists have been at work in East Yorkshire. I've heard rumors that June has reds at my factories. I do what I can to keep it under control, but it's becoming a crisis. So, where are you at in terms of polling? Will we be seeing you in the Senate?”

“I recently gained the endorsement of several veterans organizations, and our propaganda minister has done a tremendous job at getting the cause of the Renaissance out there. The socialists think they can draw the masses to their side with promises of a utopia, but most people have no place to work. They have longshoremen going to their meetings. With Nicholas June’s antics at the harbor, I’ve been eager to see our prime minister do something about it. Finally, it seems like the communists will get what's coming for them. As for our cause, I think people are beginning to realize which side cares about Tykans.”

“Who is your propaganda artist?”

The room went quiet for a moment, then Graves spoke up, “His name is Wolf Bourgeois, but unfortunately he couldn’t make it here tonight. He is sailing north to Teblare to teach political economy, he is a skilled professor…”

“That’s a shame he’s leaving youse, Captain Nolan, who will replace him?”

Nolan looked to Graves, “Well, General Graves here has been an honorable friend of our movement. He has experience with the art of publishing. I hear you can write speeches, that’s a valuable skill.”

“Me?” Graves said, he chuckled, “I couldn’t, I’m not even a member.”

“Yet,” Nolan said, “You believe in our party. Ricard Agrippa wants to join us, he knows it’s what this nation needs right. A strong vision, you’ve been painting that vision for years with your newspaper, Graves.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Graves sipped a glass of cognac, “I’m merely an admirer of the party, but I don’t want to get personally involved. You will find someone who can do the job,” he said as delicately as possible. The old man crossed the study and opened the door, the music from outside came running in, and Graves turned to the others, “You can all wait one more night before going back to the campaign trail, yes?”

***

The next morning, Graves sat on his patio with a rifle slung over his shoulder, a target stood full of bulletholes across the gardens. He sipped from a cup of black coffee and held a copy of the Gazette, skimming over the headlines. The coffee wriggled in the mug as a tremor shook his hand, “MAJOR ECONOMIC REFORM WILL ‘END RECESSION’ PRIME MINISTER SAYS,” a headline read. Graves grumbled under his breath and took the paper back inside.

From the Saint Simon Quarter he could see the entirety of Yorkshire. The capitol building was named the Apollo after the Kaiser’s family, and it stood proudly in the center of the city. It was a great white building with a jade dome that overlooked the Bay of Teurastus and the mouth of the Sherman River. On the south side was the massive downtown district, with well over eight hundred thousand people. A magnificent skyscraper was under construction, it was planned to be the tallest skyscraper ever built and a docking station for airships. Its industrial sector rested along the northern shoreline, ships and dockyards filled the harbors, and the great bay was calm that morning. Graves stumbled inside, spilling some coffee onto his marble tiles. He walked toward his living room, and he could hear the voice of a maid calling for him, “Mr. Graves! Someone here to see you!”

“Give me a minute,” he said. He moved down a dark hallway where a vast array of animal busts hung. He had acquired these over his years as a soldier, adventurer, and hunter. Above the gold-lined windows were the heads of Crystal Prairie deer, great Victorian elk, and fiery orange and black tarrons. The tarron was a great raptor that roamed the rainforest of Bye, and its bust rested beside a poncho stitched of the finest tarron feathers. The hall even housed the skulls of Byesian tiger geckos and Wherric apes.

“Mr. Graves!” the maid said, “Wait!”

The man reached the end of the hall, and to his surprise, he found a woman sitting in his living room. She sat on one of the windowsills which overlooked the bay and smoked a cigarette quietly. She was a woman in her mid-forties, with milk-white skin, blonde hair underneath a cloche hat, and blue eyes which poured a bored gaze outside.

She was Olivia Apollo, wife of the Kaiser, sitting comfortably in Graves’ home with an imperial sentinel in the corner. He felt his blood run cold and the air escape his chest. She was never seen outside of the Apollo, not since the Southern Peninsula War began. Graves had not seen her since he had last seen Xavier, “Your majesty?” he said.

Olivia faced him, she smiled, “This is a beautiful place you’ve cut out for yourself… I wouldn't have thought newspapers could get you so far…” she thought for a moment, watching Graves take a seat on a sofa, “It has been a while since I’ve seen you.”

Graves nodded, “It has…” He watched her sit across the coffee table from Graves. She picked up a copy of the newspaper. Graves watched her for a moment quietly, unsure of what to say, “What brings you here?”

“She’s a good writer.”

“Who?”

“Your niece, I’m assuming this is your niece, Amelia? It’s, well it’s opinionated, but well written. She’s like you. I can assume your views haven’t changed much since we last met?”

“I’m proud of her.”

“So, you were serious, you’ve never thought about having children?”

Graves shrugged, “You don’t see any wives or kids here, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” she said, “It’s quiet at the Apollo, I don’t know how you live in a place like this alone.”

Graves grumbled, “I suppose you didn’t come here to catch up. What is it?”

Olivia opened her purse and produced an envelope. Graves recognized the personal seal of the Kaiser on the letter. The wax seal was a tool that he only had the privilege to use once. It had been years since he was in the same room as the Kaiser, let alone his imperial office. She handed it to him. He felt the seal, “What is this?”

“It’s from my husband,” Olivia said.

Graves felt the seal with his thumb, “He wants my help?” he asked, “What kind of mess has he gotten himself into…”

“Everyone’s writing about it,” Olivia said.

“It’s an election year,” Graves said, grumbling, “No matter what I publish people will think differently of me, he didn’t tell you what’s inside the envelope?”

“He did tell me.”

“Why did he send you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “Maybe it’s harder to turn him down if I’m here. He told me to make sure you read it.”

Graves looked down at the seal and started to open the letter, he pulled out a typed letter with the Kaiser’s signature at the bottom. Graves read the first few lines, “This is a call to arms…” he said, “He wants me to command an offensive?”

“It’s a special appointed position, he told me. There is a boat waiting for you at the harbor, it will leave at noon with or without you.”

They both heard footsteps come down the stairs, and Amelia entered the living room, shocked to see the Queen in front of her eyes, “Your majesty, I…”

“You must be Amelia,” Olivia said, “You have an excellent way with words in the Emerald Gazette.”

“It’s an honor, your majesty,” Amelia said, “Thank you, what brings you here?”

Graves held up the letter, “The Kaiser is asking me to fight in his war.”

“Oh, well Uncle Atticus is perfectly comfortable here with the Gazette, we have lots of work to do before November.”

Graves got up from the sofa, “It sounds like there is more work to be done in Colslavia,” he said, “The politicking and the squabbling here is… It’s just too much noise. The army is loyal, dependable, you can make order with an army.”

“But Uncle—”

“I’ve already decided, Amelia. Call the editors desk and put Elijah on the phone for me, please. I’ll have the staff gather my things, I only have until noon.”

“You’re leaving now?” Amelia asked.

“Upwards of twelve thousand men died yesterday morning trying to attack a hill,” Olivia said, “It’s a heavy responsibility to carry, but General Graves’ accomplishments are undeniable. All I’m advocating for is a swift end to this war, and I believe that is what my husband wants as well. You can think it over, I’m just the messenger,” she said. The imperial sentinel saluted before escorting her out of the mansion. Graves stood silent with the letter in hand, his thumb feeling the waxy seal. They listened to iron hobnails of the sentinel's boots carve a path down the hall. The Queen left through the foyer and they heard the door close.

“Call Elijah,” Graves said to Amelia. He turned down the hall and shouted to his staff, “Pack my bags! I want to be ready to leave in an hour!”

Amelia bit her tongue and turned down the hall. She came to the telephone in the foyer and began to dial the newsroom. The operator answered, and she waited for them to connect her to Elijah’s desk. As she stood there she pulled aside a curtain to look back on the roundabout driveway. Olivia’s driver held the door open for her and closed it when she climbed inside. The drive exchanged a few words with her before pulling out of the roundabout. The sentinel’s followed in a separate vehicle. A voice came from the phone.

“This is Elijah Woodward speaking.”

Maids came up and down the stairs, carrying the generals bags and clothes. Her Uncle Graves went into his study and closed the door behind him. Amelia spoke into the phone, “This is Amelia Graves, I’m calling from Atticus’ residence… He would like to speak to you in a moment.”

The editor obliged and waited. Olivia placed the handset of the phone gently on the table in the foyer, then she heard the sound of a car horn blaring outside. She pulled the curtain aside again to see a car parked in front of the home. It was a green car with a silver grill at the front that formed a V shape, clashing with the circular shape of the headlights and the body of the car. It was a luxury vehicle with an open top. Amelia saw Agrippa behind the wheel, waving at her.

Graves came back down the stairs, carrying a small journal, “Is he on the phone?” he asked. Amelia nodded. He heard the car horn, noticed Agrippa and smiled, “Seems like you have places to be as well.”

“You’ve got to leave so soon?”

“The Kaiser scheduled the boats to leave at noon, I know Xavier, you don’t want to be late to answer him. He expects me to make up my mind quickly, to know I will stand with him.”

Amelia frowned, she didn’t like the sound of any of this, “How long will you be gone?”

“It depends on how long it takes to end this war,” Graves said, “It could be months, a year… I don’t know, which is why I must talk to Elijah to make arrangements. I’m sorry I don’t have time for a proper goodbye, but I know you will do great things for the paper while I’m gone, keep in touch with Elijah, but enjoy yourself,” he hugged his niece, Amelia held him close, Graves held her shoulders up and smiled, “Go on, Agrippa is waiting for you.”

***

Amelia approached the car, taken aback by its condition. It was clean, expensive, Agrippa walked around the car and opened the passenger door. Amelia sat down and Agrippa got back behind the wheel. He handed her a pair of goggles, “You can wear these, in case the wind gets too rough.” The engine rumbled and started to move, Amelia admired the white leather interior, then noticed a black bag in the back seat. Agrippa spoke, “I have a few errands left to run, so I’ll have to bring you back to your Uncle’s—”

“I won’t be needing to come back here, you can drop me off at my apartment when we’re done,” Amelia said, the man smiled.

Agrippa raced out of the driveway, the wind blew through Amelia’s hair. They started down the winding roads of the Saint Simon Quarter, cutting through a forest of thick trees and steep cliffs, “Wait until you see this thing on a straight road, it’s got a hundred and fifty horsepower,” Agrippa said, he pointed down the cliffs, they caught brief glimpses of the city through the trees. Amelia struggled to put on her goggles.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To the shore,” Agrippa said, they went over a small bridge and came to a clearing, they left the gates of the Saint Simon Quarter, then buildings began to pass them on either side. The streets were busy with pedestrians, carriages, automobiles, and the occasional armored car from the White Clovers. Agrippa accelerated, getting on a highway toward the Sherman Wharf. The highway went along another forested cliffside, this time the cliffs led directly down to the beaches, where the water came crashing against the rock faces. The highway was short, leading straight to the harbor. Towering brick buildings surrounded them, Amelia heard seagulls flying over their heads, the rushing tides, and smelled burning coals, horse shit, gasoline, fish, and ocean breeze.

“So, why are you a journalist?” Agrippa asked.

Amelia shrugged, “Why are you in a militia?”

“An easy question. My family comes from a noble lineage, and our prestige is being challenged by so-called revolutionaries. I am a part of something greater, this is how I serve the nation. Oh!” He pointed to a building as it passed them, the smell of seafood hit their noses, “The best lobster in the city there!”

Amelia looked ahead of them, trains crossed over the streets on elevated tracks. Agrippa drove underneath the bridges, the trains wheels made sharp and booming sounds. On the other side of the bridge she could see the site of the skyscraper construction, the clouds hung low, fog engulfed the building.

“Well, why are you a journalist?” Agrippa asked again.

“That has never been something I think of.”

“Why?”

“I think we are all naturally curious, but I can’t stop asking questions.”

“Curious, sure… but I’d prefer to know something and have a firm grasp on it, I can’t simply be an observer. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so,” she said.

He turned right and they reached Sherman’s Wharf. On their left they witnessed giant ships pull into the harbor, and thousands of men worked tirelessly on the docks, “The longshoremen, reds are all over here. Now I’m sure you don’t visit this part of the city often.”

The men worked on the other side of a chain linked fence. Amelia watched the longshoremen carry heavy sacks and crates along a gangway bridge, piling the goods into trucks. Amelia did not spend much time at the wharf, she only saw it from the fifteen story windows of the newsroom. Agrippa started to slow down, and they watched the men work for a moment, “I don’t understand how they could believe such lies…” Agrippa muttered, “I saw many of these folks back in the old colony.”

Amelia turned to Agrippa, “Who?”

“Many Tykan planters were in Rhendenschen, settlers, Phanists. When the revolution came, it was a persecution,” Agrippa said, “We stood and fought for our land, our legal settlement. I was awarded a medal of bravery from the colonial governor for defending Tykan property. Tykan’s lived there for over a century, and the Wherrics seem to think they can claim it? The Wherrics wouldn’t have been able to do it if it weren’t for men like this, who listened to the communists. They let those animals invade us, we were sabotaged. I suppose that is why I’m in a militia.”

“Why did they listen to communists?” Amelia asked.

“They were told they could get paid more, believed they were entitled to something they didn’t even own. These people are only in it for themselves, they come here and replace us well meaning Tykans. I understand, though, that most of them don’t know any better, they haven’t lost like I have.” Agrippa turned down another street, dogs came out of an alleyway, barking and chasing them down the block, “This way leads to Greene’s Cafe.”

“A cafe?”

“Yes, but not the kind we should expect to be welcome.”

They cruised down a boulevard, passing an old drug store, a convenience store, and small tents made of rags in the corners of alleys. People huddled in the tents, some slept on the sidewalk. Amelia took off her goggles, taking in the scene. Agrippa pointed to a building on the left, he parked along the right side of the road. It was a cafe storefront with tall windows that were plastered with red posters. Pictures of a thin man with black hair, a top hat, and a stoic face covered the windows along with socialist slogans.

“Greene’s Cafe is the campaign headquarters of Nicholas June… As you can see, they aren’t far from the docks. I don’t blame the longshoremen for listening to a lie, I blame the liars,” Agrippa pointed to the cafe.

The building was old, about sixty years, and it was one of many traditional coffee houses across Tyka. Coffee culture had blossomed following the Civil War, and waves of liberal ideology came into the nation under the reign of Lady Adeline. Liberals, philosophers, professors, and students alike met in coffee houses. The industry was encouraged by Adeline. She gave coffee houses favorable tax benefits in comparison to more conventional bars and taverns. Soon, every political organization and party met in coffee houses. Debates were frequent, and the menus of coffee houses expanded with the growing popularity. Some alcohol was permitted, and the coffee houses benefited all the more. Some, such as Greene’s, were run by specific parties or organizations.

She could see through some windows. Inside Greene’s, it was a small and dimly lit place, old brick walls lined the dining room, and the smell of fresh espresso and pastries flowed through whenever the door opened. There were more posters for June’s campaign around the cafe, a second floor that looked down on the cafe, and the sounds of typewriters clacking trickled into the cafe. The cafe was quiet, mostly filled with staffers tired and trying to keep awake with a cup of coffee.

Amelia turned back to Agrippa, “What does that all mean? You want to fight the communists? Why? Knowles said the party is doing well, the Senate is even affirming your side…”

Agrippa’s attention was elsewhere, he watched an older man across the street, headed toward Greene’s Cafe. He was a man with a thick white beard and no hair on his head, he wore a scarf and a jacket, carrying textbooks. “Who is that? A professor?”

“Professor Bourgeois…” Agrippa said, he slumped down in his seat, peering over the door to watch.

“From the Renaissance party?”

A young staffer answered the door, Wolf Bourgeois said something, and the staffer called back into the cafe. Agrippa cursed under his breath when he saw the tall figure of Nicholas June approach the door. Nicholas was about thirty-five years old, he had dark black hair, a mustache, and a youthful glow. Born in Cryta, his family had been in exile from Tyka for generations following the Civil War. The June’s had ruled Tyka at one point, though those days were long behind them. His time growing up in Cryta gave him a great deal of education, he studied at the University of West Brandia, and was drawn to more radical theories and ideologies. The Communist Party of Cryta had appealed to him, and quickly he found himself involved in their affairs.

Nicholas’ activism in Cryta served as a staging ground for what he wanted to do when he could one day return to his family's homeland. Coming from a noble house, he was able to still claim citizenship fairly easily when he returned to Tyka in 1930. Over the following eight years, he had established himself as a political force, and working people across Tyka knew of him. Whether or not he was favorable was hotly debated, where some viewed him as a champion of the working poor, while others saw him only as a Crytin Communist.

“Wolf Bourgeois, talking to the Cryin Communists Party…” Agrippa scoffed.

Bourgeois pulled out a letter from his pocket and handed it to the senate candidate, and Nicholas shook hands with the Renaissance party member. The door closed and the old man went back down the sidewalk the way he came. Agrippa started the car again, and passed Bourgeois while looking the other way.

“What else did you want to show me?” Amelia asked.

“I’ll need to return this vehicle soon,” Agrippa said, “So I will bring you to your apartment, but I will want to see you again. I think it’s good that you’re trying to be a journalist, you seem like an intelligent woman. I understand you like so see things as they happen, well things are happening here. Tonight, Eugene Perry is holding a dinner party at the Moonage Hotel, it’ll have all the sources you could ever dream of. You should come with me tonight.”

Amelia raised her eyebrows, “Who will be there?”

“The Prime Minister, Knowles, senators… Everyone.”

Amelia smiled, a meeting of elites days before an important vote? What more could one ask for as a journalist?