Chapter Fourteen

"Do I look passable?"

"Carza, you look like you always do. You have a basic level of scruffiness that just shifts places."

"...where's it now?"

"Your shirt sleeves are rumpled, and your braces are a bit uneven."

A long pause extended between the two.

"...now?"

"Now your shirt sleeves are still rumpled, your braces are better, but now your hair has come a bit undone."

Carza glared at him.

"Stop it."

"You asked."

"I wanted unabashed support and praise. I wanted you to tell me that I look perfectly decent, and that I can be confident in my appearance prior to going to this dinner."

Hull blinked.

"You look perfectly decent. You can be confident in you-"

"Shut up. You have a bit of shaving foam clinging to your chin."

"Did I get it?"

"No."

"Now?"

"...mostly, still a bit just... oh, never mind, let me get it for you."

Hull winced good-naturedly as Carza flicked a thimbleful of lingering foam away from just under his ear. She was in her robe, with a fairly decent suit underneath - not her travelling suit, that was steadily soaking up the moisture in the air and becoming much, much heavier as a consequence. It would be so much nicer once they were in the mountains. The uninhabitable, bitterly cold, half-unexplored mountains. Oh, Founder... anyway. Good robes, good suit, hair pulled back to expose her tattoo fully, a little scruffy around the edges... Hull's face was marked by a very uneven shaving session, interrupted by continuous artillery fire that either shook the building or simply made him jump slightly. His face was a battlefield between the three armies of hair, razor, and flesh. And the results were - a rashy neck, many tiny cuts around the cheeks and mouth, and a few patches of stubble around the throat that he'd wisely decided to steer clear of until he was somewhere that had marginally less artillery bombardments. Which didn't feel like much to ask, really. Carza was similarly feeling odd. She'd had a cold, cold bath, emerged, dressed, and the effort of getting dressed had already made her sweat up a storm. The only solution to this infernal heat was simply to remain in the bath forever, having an army of maids bring her buckets of ice to renew the cold at all times.

Which felt a little impractical, but she was in an impractical mood. The heat was beginning to boil her brain, she could feel it, and she loathed it.

No horses. But Krodaw was, according to Marle, an odd place. The governor's palace, the civil service, and most of the major trading houses were all located in the same broad patch of land. Once, Krodaw had been a town quite some distance away, then the colonial town had risen up here, and over time the two had merged. Once, the governor's palace had simply been a hub for merchants to meet one another - only later had it become the centre of a whole administration devoted to more than just regulating transactions and sending goods back to Mahar Jovan. Which was... interesting. Carza's experience of this sort of thing was limited to ALD IOM's history, which was one of successive conquests followed by the city devouring its conquerors whole. The Courts of Horn and the Axe had come, fully intent on conquering and adding the city to their realms, and they'd become mere components of the city after only a few generations. The idea of a colony which just... happened, that evolved from a trade mission to a full-on occupation seemed... well, odd.

No horses to pull a cab for them. But they could walk. The hires had been kind enough to accompany them, but they intended to go off and find their own forms of entertainment afterwards. Lirana was notably not chewing her leaves, and she occasionally shot Hull a very, very ugly look. Oh, Founder, had he... yes, he'd told her to stop chewing them, and now she was angry, and... oh, bother. Bother, bother, bother. And now she was sweating more as they set off, both from nervousness and from... well, the fact that it was hot as the depths of hell out here, even in the evening, which felt profoundly unfair. The world seemed to be a little unreal at the moment - everything was a little unfamiliar, and the heat combined with a lack of sleep had led to her becoming thoroughly disconnected from reality, at least from time to time. The poster warning against the Sleepless seemed to leer at her, enormous bloodshot eyes following her as she moved. A wasp the length of her middle finger landed on a street post, buzzing noisily, compound eyes staring around... and Carza honestly wondered if she'd imagined it. But it flew away before she could realise that, no, she wasn't imagining it, and it was big and scary and disgusting and no.

The governor's palace was a sprawling villa, and she could see what Marle meant - it didn't look like a palace. It looked like a gigantic clubhouse that had been awkwardly expanded into a residence for an important official. Red roof tiles that gleamed with perspiration, large windows that had been clumsily shuttered to stop people from peeking in... and no garden to be seen. There was the sound of distant birdsong, but Carza couldn't quite tell where it was coming from. The palace opened directly onto the street, only a small array of guards and a tiny checkpoint stopping anyone from just... walking in. The lack of security seemed to unnerve the guards as much as it did her - they were constantly removing their caps to mop their brows, constantly checking their ammunition pouches to make sure that everything was still there, loading and unloading and reloading their weapons to ensure the mechanisms were all functional... her little group stopped just beyond them. Egg and Cam hummed in unison, and the bald tall man spoke first.

"Well, have a wonderful evening, Miss vo Anka, Mr va Trochi."

Carza nodded jerkily. Still felt very, very nervous about all of this, really. Cam clapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey, just enjoy the food. Not every day you get invited to something like this."

Lirana snorted, and barked that she wanted to get to the nearest bar as soon as possible - she wanted to start drinking before curfew set in. Once it did, they'd be drinking until morning. Carza and Hull would likely be expected to just sleep in one of the rooms provided by the governor, just to avoid them wandering alone through the streets post-curfew. That, or some guards would escort them back to the mission. The point was, the hires were expecting to get completely smashed on the wages they'd been paid in advance, plus whatever they'd piled up from their time in ALD IOM. They didn't seem to have much in the way of long-term plans. Everything was about the next chunk of change deposited in their pocketbooks, the next opportunity to then empty those pocketbooks - drink, narcotics, more base pleasures that Carza was most certainly not going to ask about. Anyway, they were going to have a grand old time, she wasn't going to talk about the specifics of that grand old time because she knew it would worry her, and they would be back at the mission by tomorrow morning. The four glanced at one another, and Lirana gave a wide grin. Carza blinked...

And Lirana swept into a bow so low she could've touched her toes if she reached a little.

Oh... oh, come on.

"We thank you for your offer of booze, sister-scholar, and avail ourselves of all the funds you're paying us. If any act from us is required to deal with a problem tonight, then you should probably ask someone else, because we're all going to be passed out soon. Kooz Axaxaxaxaxaxaxa Uck-lawn."

Carza was going to break her nose. She'd never broken a nose before, having gone from 'too weak' to 'too civilised' with very little room between the two, but she was definitely going to give it a go. She stepped forward... and Hull quietly drew her back. She relented quickly. It was way, way too hot to be annoyed at anything. And she was standing right in front of bunch of soldiers. Oh, wait, yes, she could just ask them to smack Lirana with their rifle butts until she repented her blasphemy against the Founder. Well, not quite blasphemy, more... just being quite a little so-and-so about something that Carza held very dear to her heart. She glared.

"Don't do that."

Hull squeezed her shoulder, and spite kept her going.

"We're your employer. We won't tolerate that sort of disrespect."

Lirana laughed quietly, until she saw the look in Carza's eyes. Her fists clenched, and Carza got the feeling that Lirana wasn't the sort to really take disrespect, even if she was happy to dish it out. She stepped closer, and Carza noted that she was actually a bit shorter - Lirana paused before she came too close, precisely because she knew that Carza would be looking down on her at that point. Violence hung in the air, and Carza found herself wondering if there was a damn good reason why Lirana kept moving from city to city. If she got into fights. If she'd gone too far a few times. If she'd become used to moving frequently just in case she made too many enemies in one spot. Her muscles were taut, bunched with tension. She wanted to hit something - she wanted to hit Carza. The urge to break Lirana's nose had ceased. Now, Carza mostly just wanted to not piss herself. The older woman was shorter, but she was much, much stronger. Thank the Founder for the way this robe hid the way her legs were shaking. Lirana stopped, fists still clenched, nostrils flaring... and then Anthan poked her a bottle he'd procured from... somewhere.

"Sorry about that. Come on, let's go get hammered."

Lirana scowled, turned, and left without saying another word. Still tense. But willing to take out that tension in another way. Carza let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, and Hull did much the same. He spoke around his little wheeze.

"So, we're going to need to stay away from her, I think. I'd like to keep my delicates intact."

Vulgarity. She couldn't bring herself to scold him. It was too damn hot to scold.

"...yes. Yes, we ought to steer clear. Let her cool down. And keep her away from sharp objects."

"She could've kicked my arse."

"Don't be vulgar. And don't be inaccurate. She could've killed us if she was so inclined."

Hull nodded wearily. They were both weak little scholars who were mostly good at carrying typewriters and books, they weren't specialist graduates from the school of hard knocks. She carried large objects for a living, they wouldn't stand a chance. Carza mentally planned out a quick battle strategy if Lirana stumbled into the mission drunk as a skunk and itching for a fight - she was going to... hm... well, based on how she held herself, judging her fighting style from her personality, analysing every move she might make and every strategy she might adopt...

Carza would hide in a cupboard and stay very, very quiet, before escaping out of the nearest window and running back to ALD IOM. Hull grunted, interrupting her highly strategic cowardice.

"Dinner?"

"Dinner."

* * *

There was no entrance hall, or grand passage with sweeping stairs, or even a lobby, really. Like Marle had siad - the place wasn't meant to be a palace. There was a narrow porch with a single desk (empty) at one side, and beyond it, a huge lounge filled with overstuffed and slightly damp couches dripping with rich cushions, marked by years of continuous usage. Little tables were scattered everywhere, usually with a lamp resting on top, and maybe a slightly stained newspaper or book of crossword puzzles. It looked like a social club, based on that one mystery novel she'd read which had featured the elusive concept of the 'social club', something that was like a Court but also profoundly unlike a Court. More exclusivity, but also not a dominant part of someone's life, but also filled with their own traditions and firm sense of identity, but also not as rich with traditions as a full-fledged Court, old, but never as old as even the youngest Court... the outside world was strange. What was wrong with Courts and beer halls? They served all the social purposes of a social club, and more, and... and...

Holy Founder almighty, by all his many glowing eyes, this place was cool.

How in every hell had they achieved that?

Why was this place so cool? Why was the air so crisp? Hull let out a shuddering breath. Their sweat was already drying on their foreheads, and lucid reality began to creep back into the shadowy confines of their heat-exhausted skulls. Oh, this was wonderful, this was doing things for her that made the entire journey feel worthwhile, ooooh. She stopped for a moment, and simply allowed herself to cool down. A soldier nearby laughed - a quick laugh, brought to a clipped halt once her eyes flicked to him and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Young man, neatly trimmed beard, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, a few artful beads of sweat on his brow - instead of the waterfall that had been marking Carza until distressingly recently. He was smiling slightly, but his eyes were profoundly burned out from too much time on guard duty while worrying about getting... well, it wasn't clear what the Sleepless would do beyond killing him, but she doubted it would be much fun. He coughed uncomfortably, and spoke very quietly, as if afraid of irritating one of his superiors - none of whom were in the room.

"Theurgists."

...oh? Oh-ho. Right, yes, that made a form of sense. The science-that-wasn't-quite-science was... well, capable of a great deal of things. Temperature adjustment, propulsion, all manner of strange effects. But the cost of having theurgic coolant systems around this palace, draining heat and projecting it into the outside world, running constantly... that couldn't be easy. She imagined that near-constant maintenance would be required for something like that to function - theurgy was largely unknown to her, theurgists disliked giving any kind of insight into their operations. All she knew was some of the applications, some of the difficulties, and how to operate a terralabe - designed to detect minute environmental factors which could interfere with theurgic operations. She enjoyed the cold, and for once, felt human.

"Bathroom's that way."

Oh, she loved this soldier. She loved him with all her heart. A moment later, her face was washed, her hands were clean, she felt more than human now, she felt superhuman. For a second, there was peace, there was running water, there was cleansing. All thoughts and worries vanished. Well, that was a... strategy for life, she supposed. Constant pressure and nervousness, followed by moments of immense relief, the bad making the good feel all the sweeter. She felt like that might be a strategy for leading a whole variety of very unhealthy lifestyles - war is wonderful, because it makes peace feel better, so we should have more war to make peace even more fantastic - but honestly, she didn't feel like digging too much into that particular can of worms.

The guard nodded to her as she went upstairs with Hull, some trepidation returning as she heard people laughing. She was honestly a little surprised at the security - or the lack of it. She expected huge barriers, but instead, there were just numerous guards inside and outside, combined with a single heavy door and a single metal fence to seal it off. There was nothing solid keeping them safe from the Sleepless, and she wondered if... well, if the situation was that dire, or if the governor was that stupid, or if the Sleepless had been dramatically overblown for the sake of freaking out the newcomer. But... then she started seeing the other signs. The guards weren't omnipresent, no, but they were still cunningly placed, and heavily armed. A few other guests arrived, not giving Carza or Hull a second look, and she initially thought they were royalty - they'd arrived in a reinforced metal Hanson cab pulled by two horses instead of the conventional one, and were followed by a troop of lightly jogging soldiers. But... no, looked like an ordinary businessman and his wife, nothing elaborate. But then again, these people didn't go in for large ceremonial robes, so... hm. If that kind of escort was required for getting here, maybe the situation was a bit...

She disliked not being fully informed. And resolved to learn.

A tall, effortlessly graceful woman greeted the two of them as they awkwardly navigating up a flight of stairs, as directed by some tense-looking troops who didn't speak a word - only pointed resignedly. The woman who met them must've been the governor's wife - she was lavishly dressed, in a way that made Carza feel clumsy and hopeless, and her hair was coiffed into an enormous thing which probably concealed an emergency pistol, several rounds of ammunition, and a bomb. Somehow she made it work, likewise, she made the heavy iron brooch on her chest work, despite its largeness and its ungainliness. It showed nothing she recognised, only a mass of cunningly intersecting lines which formed a faintly hypnotic pattern. Their hostess smiled graciously as she descended to meet them, blue dress swishing around her ankles, an elegant shawl hanging about her elbows and jewels dangling from her ears and neck. Her luminous blue eyes flashed, and she reached out to take both of their hands with impeccably manicured nails. Carza wasn't sure if she was terrified, impressed, or simply fully cognisant of just how refined this woman was compared to her - someone who apparently had a permanent air of scruffiness that just relocated at random intervals.

"Oh, you must be the scholars from that lovely city up north - please, my husband's been dying to meet you all evening, please, come on through."

She laughed suddenly, and sharply.

"Oh my, they weren't lying about those tattoos - my first time seeing them, you understand. Goodness, how fascinating - and not completely unfashionable, either. I always thought face tattoos were so vulgar, but you two seem to pull them off rather well. Oh, I'mterribly sorry, you're...?"

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Carza vo Anka, and this is my colleague, Hull va Trochi."

"And when did you arrive?"

The lady was leading them up the stairs now, releasing their hands but moving with such authority that they immediately felt compelled to follow.

"Just this morning."

"Oh, that must've been during the raid - don't worry, you get quite used to them. I hardly notice the impacts at all. Please, just through here - I'm awfully sorry, but I simply must attend to a few friends who just arrived - my husband is the large fellow over there, please, you must introduce yourselves to him, he's dying to meet you."

And with that, she was gone. Carza was still wondering if that woman was real or some sort of hallucination induced by rapid temperature shifts. She'd been so... talkative. And excited to see them, to the point that Carza felt both welcomed and a little intimidated. Hull murmured to her that that woman had been one of the most alarming people he'd ever met - ALD IOM was a city of quiet people who weren't very good at talking. It was a national condition, one only treated through beer and ritual, which made everything easier by either giving one a script to follow, or just obliterating the need for conscious thought entirely. That someone could just glide down, make her feel like she'd just made a new friend, and vanish just as quickly... that woman could probably become queen of ALD IOM if she was so inclined. And she was just so tall. And her husband was ludicrously tall, he was practically a giant. Built like... like an actual fortress, with enormous mutton chops and eyebrows which extended an alarming distance from beyond his face. He was dressed in a plain suit - oh, did everyone here wear plain suits? Why didn't anyone wear gowns, she felt ridiculously out of place, and... and the governor was striding over, hand extending, she was shaking his hand, it was so very large, he could probably hug her to death if he wanted to, oh goodness those were impressive mutton chops. Hull winced slightly as his hand was compressed into something resembling a fine paste, before the governor used his mystical powers to reinflate his hand to its old state - very cunning art, that, Carza had sworn that her hand had been completely obliterated, but evidently this man was a powerful sorcerer. No wonder he had such a tall and glamorous wife.

"He-llo there, old sport - scholars, yes? Good show, good show - well, come on in, wonderful to see you, happy to receive people from your neck of the proverbial woods. Welcome to Krodaw - journey not too unpleasant I trust, good good..."

Goodness, he was tall. Carza wasn't short, she was taller than Hull, but she was also thin and the most well-developed muscle in her body was her brain.

And she couldn't really shake hands with her brain.

...or could she?

Hm.

"Terribly sorry about being indoors on such a splendid night, but the old bodyguards aren't feeling too confident about using the balcony - Sleepless and whatnot. Sorry for all of that, but please, do make yourselves at home. We'll attend to our own business later - for now, please, mingle, do as you like, consider my little piece of earth to be your own."

Were... all people from Mahar Jovan insane? So far she'd met two of the most endearingly friendly people she'd ever met who hadn't been members of her family (adopted or otherwise), and Lirana, who frightened her. Maybe their sanity took the form of a liquid which evaporated at certain temperatures, and Krodaw so happened to meet the threshold, or one of those awful wasps actually drained the sanity from people and she was next on the list. And with thoughts like that, she'd probably lost what remained of her sanity anyway.

"Uh. Nice to meet you. Sir."

She was very nervous right now.

Hull wasn't doing much better. This man's boyish enthusiasm was proving too much even for him.

"Pleasure to... to meet you, sir."

The governor grinned widely, eyes twinkling. He looked tired, she thought. Beneath all the enthusiasm, he looked very, very tired indeed.

"And lovely to meet the two of you. Now go on - actually, one moment - Marana, you ought to meet these two, they're down from the north, you know. Arrived just this morning."

A tall girl slightly older than both Hull and Carza stepped away from a small crowd in a corner of the room, and strode over with the kind of grace that was largely inherited, because she didn't seem to be cultivating it very much - everything about her suggested someone who was trying to appear rebelliously dishevelled, but was simply too tall, too graceful, and too used to expensive clothing to really seem that way. Family resemblance - very similar to the governor and his wife. Certainly inherited their height. Her hair was trimmed in a straight fringe across her forehead, two large bangs hanging down the sides. Carza had never seen a style quite like it. She stared sullenly at the two new arrivals, her father clapped her on the shoulder with his firm enthusiasm, and set off to go and attend to a few of neglected-looking businessmen with wives who kept spilling their wine - their hands were shaking too much. Just pre-dinner drinks, apparently. The girl, Marana, looked at the two of them with a look of unreserved apathy. Carza coughed. Hull mustered an awkward smile, trying to make his obvious discomfort into faintly charming gawkiness that usually worked back home. Marana didn't seem to appreciate it, remaining silent. Oh, wait, idea! Carza broke the silence, unusually - Hull seemed to be a bit taken aback by being the shortest person in a group composed of himself and two women. His slightly hunched back, which usually made him look like a hulking person compressed down for the sake of convenience, now made him look a bit more... well, not that.

"...did you... do those posters?"

She remembered, she distinctly remembered being told that the governor's daughter had drawn those. And that she was a surrealist. Whatever that was.

Marana sniffed, but her eyes were locked on Carza.

"Yes. I did. You like them?"

Hull took over, thankfully.

"They're... well, they're definitely vivid, I'll say that for nothing."

Another sniff.

"My friends back home think that I'm a woeful pawn of the establishment by producing propaganda for my father. Do you agree?"

Carza gulped. Hull glanced nervously at her. Marana wasn't storming off at least, but she did look at them like they were insects mounted on the point of a pin. The sound of her gulp made Marana's eyes flick to her, further pinning her into place, compelling her to speak when she really, very much wanted to remain utterly silent.

"I... it's very... surrealist?"

A twinkle of interest.

"Oh? You're familiar?"

"...a little?"

"My friends back in Mahar Jovan think that surrealism's become too... establishment, these days. Too concerned with shocking the establishment, I mean. Rather than bucking against all possible trends and all possible notions of decency and old standards of being. I personally disagree, of course. In my eyes, it's logical for surrealism to represent the establishment."

A self-satisfied smile crossed her face.

"As someone who's anti-establishment, I'd say that my art represents the fundamental incoherency and monstrousness at the heart of the state-machine. As someone part of the establishment, I would say that the establishment being ready and willing to accept my work as its representative is indicative of how the establishment can integrate all forms of critique, and anything capable of that is surely worthy of ruling over us all. What do you think?"

"...that's a form of logic, yes."

She was starting to develop an idea that this 'surrealism' business was a bit limp-wristed. She'd been accompanied by artillery fire and the crackle of firearms as she entered the city, but... some very fanciful art was meant to bring down the establishment? She didn't have any strong- no, that was a lie. She had no strong feelings on the establishment of Mahar Jovan. In ALD IOM, she was firmly pro-establishment, on the grounds that the establishment had educated her, brought her out of poverty, and generally gave her life more meaning than it had ever possessed beforehand. But she got the feeling that it would be impolite to disagree.

Also it would be frightening to disagree, and she was very nervous right now.

"Yes, it's logic. Which is why my friends dislike it. Logic being a tool of the establishment and part of a state-system which has oppressed millions of people for etcetera etcetera. You're both scholars, yes? Why are you here?"

Hull coughed.

"Stopping here to get a guide before we set off for a mountain pass, trying to cross over to the steppe on the other side. Anthropology and whatnot."

No, she did anthropology and linguistics, not anthropology and whatnot. Feh.

Though, she could probably call Horn-Era Studies 'whatnot'. It definitely operated under the philosophy of 'well that could probably fit in there'. Very broad area.

"How... interesting."

Her eyes, for once, actually did twinkle with some amount of interest.

"Do you take pleasure in the steppes?"

Carza shrugged, before realising that she looked surly and uncouth when she did that - only some people could do graceful shrugs, and she wasn't one of them. She just looked adolescent, something she'd not technically been for... just over two years. Time was a monster.

"I'm interested in it. And it's an unexplored field."

Marana looked... understanding for a moment, which was honestly slightly concerning.

"Oh, yes. There's something to be said for the dullness of things. That's what surrealism is. Escaping dullness. And it feels like everything's dull nowadays..."

Carza shifted uncomfortably.

"...I suppose?"

Marana smiled.

Oh. That was distressing.

"Nice to meet someone who understands."

"Uh."

Marana was about to say something else, when a small bell chimed - time for dinner. The room they entered was low, and the ceiling was made of reinforced concrete - and she noted that each and every one of the guests checked it with deliberate care. No-one wanted to be in a room with an unstable roof when artillery were pounding away at the Sleepless day and night. The governor's cheer felt a little forced as he told people to sit. Silver stands held little place cards, each one delicately sketched with their names. Marana walked ahead of the two of them, glanced at the table... and derisively switched a few around. Maybe it was a joke, or...

"Sit."

Her voice was cold. Authoritative. And Carza realised that she'd been switched around - Marana was now sitting across from Hull, and besides herself. And she wondered if the governor had given them over to his weird daughter like someone would give a live pair of mice to a hungry snake.

Or maybe she was just tired and weird. Carza, that is. Marana just seemed weird.

Surreal, perhaps.

...Carza still didn't know what that meant, and was honestly too far gone to ask.

Dinner was a rich affair - and just what Carza needed. Meat. Red meat. And the rest was really just a sideshow to the fact that she had a giant, juicy steak in front of her. She focused on it because... well, she didn't want to think about everything else. Marana's hand, long, pale, and strong, found its way around her forearm and clutched tightly, drawing her a little closer. The room suddenly felt too warm, despite the efforts of all the governor's theurgists and their clever little engines. The rich tablecloth quivered as something exploded a very long way away indeed, and some unit somewhere let off a volley of shots. The table tried to remain cheerful, but the fact of the matter was, people were nervous. Only the governor seemed immune to this, and he still insisted on drinking half a decanter of wine before the main course came out. His wife finished the other half at around the same time. The servants were all locals - they had a certain look about them - and Carza couldn't help but wonder how many were in leagues with the people trying to attack the city right now. Marana noticed her nervousness when Carza's knife squealed across the place, missing the steak due to a slight tremor in her wrist. She smiled wide - she had her mother's height, and her father's smile. But her eyes seemed to be all her own. Carza tried to muster a smile of her own, and Hull attempted to redirect some amount of attention to himself.

"So, any plans on getting back to Mahar Jovan? Anything waiting for you back there?"

"A great deal. And as for you... don't be terrifically nervous of all of the noise. It's good for us - good for the economy. Every shell we fire is one that someone else has to make, and someone else has to ship, and someone else has to fire. It's all very good for everyone but us, really."

Carza's smile was tiny and delicate.

"...oh. I... see. It's... still rather noisy, don't you think?"

"Don't worry, the Sleepless aren't attacking in force. They just like to probe in shifts, keep us on our toes. It's when they're deathly quiet that you need to be worried. And they haven't been truly quiet for weeks now. Don't worry, you're quite safe here."

She smiled.

"Oh, you look so nervous."

The ceiling shook a little, and Carza let out a small nervous cough on instinct... which induced a tinkling laugh from Marana, which only made Carza's nervousness worse. Did she take pleasure in seeing other people squirm in front of her? What was wrong with this creature? Carza glanced back to her plate, focusing her attention on the bleeding meat in front of her. A line of ants was slowly marching up the side of the tablecloth, and she watched the black line advance, like the borders of some strange country on a wide, flat map. Hull coughed again.

"We're... very much strangers here, have to say. Interesting place, Krodaw."

Marana shrugged lightly, her hair rising and falling as she did so.

"Yes, I suppose it is. And you two... you're from ALD IOM, aren't you?"

She didn't sound like she was pronouncing the capitals, but Carza was going to imagine she did so anyway. The last thing she wanted to be was insulted by this girl - because she didn't want to really engage with her on any level. Something about her made Carza feel viscerally uncomfortable. The intensity. The invasions of personal space. The relish she took in making others nervous. She was... she was a troublemaker, that was it. She made trouble. And then she had fun with the results. Maybe it was a surrealist thing - making everyone deeply uneasy for the sake of proving some point or another. Uh... the self-contradictory nature of the state was proven by the fact that Carza was about to run out of the room and hide in the mission until it was time to leave. Somehow. Maybe that was the most surreal thing of all - that the point made no damn sense. Hull nodded.

"Yes. Court of Ivory, both of us. We've just arrived here, nice to meet another out-of-towner. How are you finding it?"

She loved Hull. She adored him in a way words could never truly express - because Marana released Carza's arm slightly, and finally directed all her attention to Hull... who looked regretful for inviting it onto himself. For obvious reasons. Marana was weird. It was hard to quantify, but there was a frenzied quality to her stare, an alarming quality to her voice... maybe she just had an unnerving haircut. It was just so straight at the front, and well-groomed, and treated with some kind of oil, and... it was odd. She'd never seen anything like it. Made her look like she had an old-fashioned helmet on. A helmet that smelled of rosewater and almonds.

"Krodaw is hot, it's damp, and the insect life can kindly go hang. My friends love talking about going to rustic simplicity, approaching the savage, untapped core of the human psyche... none of them came out here with me, which I feel is a strong statement that I shall leave unstated."

"...maybe it's more a comment on the Sleepless, eh? Alarming fellows. One escapes the prison of the city and leaps into worse danger - out of the frying pan and into the fire, eh?"

It took a while to explain that concept.

They were all speaking in a hodgepodge of languages, really. The entire table was. No-one quite perfectly spoke everyone else's language, so the result was that Marana would say something in ALD IOM's language, before switching to Mahar Jovan (which Carza barely understood), then dabbling in half a dozen other tongues before the message was communicated, and either Carza or Hull could communicate it to each other. And this was why linguistics was important. Carza could feel her ability with languages improving with each second spent here, with each odd piece of grammar or vocabulary heard. One of the basic lessons of her brand of linguistics was that all tongues originated from one source, and would usually operate by a set of consistent rules. Language families meant that one could learn a set of basic instructions, and usually start extrapolating from there. She might not understand the orthodox civisprach of Mahar Jovan, but she could understand the principles which united languages in that part of the world, and could also start piecing together pieces of vocabulary. And once she had the basic building blocks, she could start to build upwards by herself. Infuriating that she was missing out on subtleties, though. Those took ages to really grasp - she was just specialised in getting to grips with basic, crude communication. Marana shrugged.

"A little of the weather, a little of the Sleepless. Honestly, they sometimes think the Sleepless are a righteous bunch fighting for their freedom. I don't like talking about politics, personally."

Hull coughed again. He was genuinely nervous, maybe as much as she was.

"...uh, interesting. You... don't think they're a righteous bunch?"

Something activated in Marana's psyche.

"They... tore out mother's handmaid's teeth, so, no, I'd say they're a bunch of brutes, and not the entertaining burly kind, more the... skinny underfed freakish kind that always look like they're about to bite your nose off. Which they've done to others, apparently. And really, there's something so ghastly about all of their ideas. Oh, yes, the establishment of Mahar Jovan is so repugnant that it must be replaced with an establishment that's local instead of foreign. All it means is oppression in a language they understand. Not even the devil they know, the Sleepless have never run anything larger than a warband. So it's getting slightly different chains and calling it freedom because the chafing is a little different to last time."

Everything was said in the most deadpan voice imaginable, but Carza was getting the feeling that she liked talking about politics, but had simply learned not to do it after she annoyed too many people by doing so, and now covered up the whole affair by feigning disinterest. Not very well. Hull snapped his fingers.

"Oh, corks, you're an... anarchist?"

"No, that's a label, and I dislike labels. I call myself a surrealist because it annoys other surrealists. I called myself an anarchist until they became a bunch of hairy-armpitted loons who lived in the wilds until the mutants ate them, or they started growing tumours up and down their spines. Largely, I just don't like hypocrites and bores. Freedom to be oppressed by our own people instead of different people... quite funny, I find, in a sad way. Don't worry, Carza, you're not a bore, but time will tell if you're a hypocrite. The steppe... I heard you were going there, what do you intend on doing?"

Carza spoke quietly. She was very alarmed and wanted to go away now please.

"Research. Languages, building up a history of what's been going on out there. That's all."

Nothing about their mission to establish a mission there, capable of sustaining very profitable research for some time. Carza was a wonderful spy, no wonder she went to glamorous parties. The ants were almost at her plate, and a sweep from her napkin sent a dozen tiny black bodies to the floor. Marana hummed in interest... and her hand fixed around Carza's arm once more.

"Interesting. You know, there's likely more interesting things back in the civilised parts of the continent. Where the artillery fire isn't constant, you understand. You might like it. And a foreigner from ALD IOM would be very welcome in the circles I operate in. And one familiar with surrealism…"

Carza hated life.

"...well, you'd be very popular, I'm sure. Do you paint? Or sculpt?"

"I research. Anthropology. It's... interesting, but dry."

"Oh, even better. You must try and paint something one day, my friends delight in seeing outsider art... very good at getting to the core of the person, don't you think?"

Carza made a strange noise in her throat that... honestly, she didn't know what it meant, she was just making sounds to avoid seeming paralysed. Marana laughed delicately. Hull tried for another interception.

"These parties occur often?"

An irritated glance. Carza was going to make Melqua give him so many fruitcakes when they got back.

"Hm? Oh, yes. Sometimes. Father likes meeting the movers and shakers in the area, you know. There's... a patriarch and matriarch from the Church of the Wavelength over there-"

She gestured to a pair sat together further down the table, eating with the delicacy of the dedicated ascetic. The man was well-groomed, his beard was trimmed neatly, and his clothes... tight-fitting clerical garb, black cassocks for both of them, with no major ornamentation. She wasn't too familiar with this new church, but apparently they were quite significant. The woman was much the same, but she had a piece of black cloth covering most of her hair. Both had gold-rimmed glasses which made them seem very studious indeed, and their voices - what Carza could hear of them - were slow and considered.

"Then there's a commander from the Knights of the Wavelength, just over there..."

A burly man with an impressive beard and a look of profound boredom. Heavy military uniform of dark green fabric, ornamented with a symbol - two axes standing beside an hourglass. Despite sharing a name, he didn't seem to be overly familiar with the priests opposite him, muttering in response to any questions sent his way, and otherwise just relishing in a monstrously huge steak.

"Shame, you just missed this local warlord father's been negotiating with, he had the most fantastic hair, uncut and gleaming with oil. He smelled like liquorice, you could smell it from the other side of the room."

Oh no, what a shame. How terrible to have missed a well-groomed warlord. Oh woe.

"Merchants, merchants, more merchants... they love father, most of them are locals who liked the fact that they weren't getting taxed into oblivion by twenty different warlords who ruled a tollbooth and very little else. Boring. I think most are trying to make sure they have tickets on the last train out, and space for all their households. No-one wants to be a collaborator once things come crashing down."

They did, indeed, look nervous - and very local indeed. There was something utterly disturbing in how blasé Marana was about the fall of the city. Carza knew they'd be able to get out of here in time, but... she wondered what the trip back would be like. She wondered if next time, this palace would be a pile of rubble, and if the expensive dresses that Marana and her mother were wearing would be torn and used as bandages by the new army which put new rulers onto the throne of this place... or what remained of it. The governor looked more and more weary with each minute, and with each glass of wine. She thought he looked like... well, haggard. He looked haggard, and the wine only brought out more and more of it. The wine had gone from bottles poured by silent locals, to decanters filled with much lower-quality wine dredged up from what remained of the cellars. Carza had lost her appetite - and she hadn't wanted a drop of wine in the first place, only drinking when Marana compelled her to. She wasn't sure what her deal was. But it was unnerving her.

Suddenly, a thump came from outside. Different tone to the last few strikes. This felt... nearby.

The silence that followed was pregnant with tension.

The governor grumbled.

"Well, all of you head into the adjoining room, my wife will make sure you have fresh drinks - I'll join you shortly."

He gave Carza and Hull a look, and his mouth split into a small grin.

"Marana, leave those two alone, I have business with them."

Carza clutched the letter under her robes, and felt genuine relief as Marana flowed away with easy grace, face resuming its sullen scowl. The governor stumped over, huge and imposing, and with a curt gesture sent the three of them into a hallway, up a flight of stairs, down another hallway, and into a compact study that he clearly used for more personal negotiations. Carza put on her game face. Time to be refined. Time to be... well, like a spy was. Spy-y. Spy-ish. Spylike. She was being very spylike right now. She prepared for a quiet discussion, when...

"Sorry about that, my daughter likes it when she finds people who aren't used to her. Be careful, lass, she liked you. Be less nervous, it only emboldens her. She gets it from her aunt - my sister was a right predator, and a troublemaker. And if she thinks she can cause trouble with you, she will."

Carza froze.

Eep.

"Uh, sir, we-"

"Letters, letters, letters, right. Get on with it. You've not got long to give it to me, so hand it over before the Sleepless scalp me in my sleep."

He grinned.

"And let's talk about your little war."

...war?