Kint stood outside the door of his home staring into the gray orange glow of the sun as it worked to disperse the steam of the morning Shroud. His fingers caressed the hilt of his stalwart knife as he waited for his daughter. The smooth comfort of its well worn handle soothed his nerves. Kint was surprised to see two figures walking out of the fog to his left just as the sun was breaking through.
“That’s far enough.” Kint started, as the figures came to the front walkway of his home. “What's your business here?” Kint questions as his partner and her favorite Niece Kaycee halted in their tracks. Nessa wore her uniform of a tight fitting black suit with a purple tie, her blond hair tied back in a bun, some loose hairs hanging on either side to frame her face. Her Niece wore a black dress with a purple stripe down one side, mirroring her Aunt. Her hair style was the same too.
“We’re not Demon’s Kint. I can corrupt you and your innocent daughter perfectly well from here.” She joked, raising an indignant eyebrow.
“Good Morning Inspector Kint.” Kaycee greeted, executing a perfect curtsey.
Kint grunted out a laugh at the sight. Nessa opened the door behind him before he could respond.
“Good morning, Lady Elsha.” Nessa greeted, as she closed the door behind her. She followed up with an equally pristine curtsy of her own, before moving to join her friend on the sidewalk.
“Hold on a moment.” Kint admonished. “Do you have everything you need?”
She gave him a quizzical eye, before politely answering. “Yes Papa, I have the book of stories and the workbooks I finished last night.”
“Do you have everything you need?” She responded in kind, raising a playful eyebrow. Kint reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a fresh pear, holding it out to show her.
“And I even packed a spare.” He said with a smile, patting his coat pocket.
She smiled a small personal smile but said nothing in response, moving to join her friend on the sidewalk.
As they met, the two immediately began walking in the direction of the school. Kint trailed his daughter, ultimately landing in a spot next to his partner.
“Excuse me.” Elsha said, after the two had taken a few steps, already lost in their own world. They stopped, looking back to their guardians. “I thought I was going to walk you to school this morning?”
“This isn’t a slum.” Kaycee huffed, “and I’m not a child anymore, Auntie.” There was a hint of petulance in her words, but only a hint. She moved to turn back in the direction they were walking but Nessa kicked sideways with her black buckled shoes, jostling her friends ankle. Kaycee gave Nessa a sharp look before, surprisingly, turning back to face her aunt. “Sorry Aunt Elsha, that was rude of me. What I meant to say was ‘thank you for the offer, but we have things to discuss this morning that are of a private nature and we’d appreciate the time to ourselves.’” Finishing, she nodded in self-approval, Nessa giving her a proud nod as well. After that, they kept walking, apparently considering the matter resolved.
An amused smile spread on Elsha’s lips at her niece's words. She would push the argument no further.
Kint couldn’t help a grin of his own. Nessa and Kaycee had an odd relationship to be sure. Their personalities were so vastly different, Kint struggled to understand how it had developed. When they’d started spending time together Kint had thought the friendship would not last. But here they were, three years on and still fast friends.
“Nessa is a good influence on her.” Elsha pondered. “I can’t understand how a child so sweet came from a grump like you.” She poked.
“Right…” Kint mused. Brows twitching together as the night's dream infected his thoughts. “She is good.” He stated, a hesitancy in his voice. Like he was trying to convince himself.
“Although I wish your daughter would exert a little more influence when it comes to fashion.” Elsha pointed as the two girls shrank toward the horizon. “A black dress in the summer… in this heat?” She wiped sweat from her brow as she spoke.
“She’s trying to be like you.” Kint pointed out. “She's doing a pretty good job, too.”
“Oh she’s not going to turn out like me… I’m making sure of that.” Elsha stated, her tone was light but Kint saw determination in her eyes.
“I think she’s going to be just fine.” He commented, chuckling to himself. “When they first became friends, I was worried that Kaycee would end up corrupting Nessa, not the other way around.”
His partner smiled at the joke, but it was a hollow smile, gone as quickly as it appeared. “She’s not as strong as she lets on.” Elsha replied, striking a solemn note. There was an odd tension to the pause that ensued, making Kint uncomfortable. As the children walked towards the school and out of sight, Elsha turned to face him, giving him a heartier grin than before. “I’m glad she has Nessa as a friend.”
“Mhm.” Kint grunted in reply. The earnestness of her response unsettled him. “Let’s get going. I have a feeling we’re in for another busy day.”
Elsha nodded, an amused smile returning to her face as they made their way to District HQ.
—-------------------------------------------
Kesleen Square was already bustling as the two Inspectors arrived. The restaurants weren’t yet open for lunch, and the Lord’s street performers wouldn’t arrive for another few hours, but this was the busiest time for merchant’s and shop owners.
Dozens upon dozens of men and women dressed in fine silks and bedecked with jewelry of varying quality, stood outside of a tall stone building. They were all yelling at similarly dressed men standing at podiums screaming right back. Above them was a large circular glass window set into the stone depicting a portly man in an apron holding an unfurled scroll of paper in his hands. The man was Ash’teel Qinder, the Prophet’s Quartermaster and Business advisor during his time. Every District had a Merchant’s Guild and every Merchant’s guild had that same glass image to mark it out.
Another thing every Merchant’s guild had was hundreds of Info Pipes extending from the roof of the building and spreading out like a spider's web into the air and across the whole district. It was through these pipes that the Guild received the numbers on grain hauls, beef stocks, and liquor casques that had come or were about to come to the city from all over the Noveriat. The people outside were all screaming at the top of their lungs to bid on portions of these goods for whatever business they were trading in. Those same merchant’s would then move to the shops around them to try to sell the raw materials they’d acquired to the shopkeepers in the square, who in turn would try to sell their finished products to the wealthy merchants.
With the morning’s trading in full swing it was difficult for the two Inspectors to make it through the square but, using Elsha as a plow, Kint was able to weave through the rut that formed behind her to arrive at the steps of District HQ. Elsha opened one of the large double doors to the building but before they moved inside Kint noticed something. There was a voice carrying across the square, one that could be heard even over the cries of the Merchants.
“Citizens! Citizens!” Came the voice of a priest standing on a step stool by the marbled stairs of HQ. Kint’s eyes locked in on the man, who was distinctly different from their usual crier. He was much older, hunched over by time, and with a dark skin tone. His robes were grays and browns, looking mended and dirty from many days of hard labor.
“Citizens” He called again, the crowd around him quieting as his words cut through the noise. While his dress and posture showed the weight of age and crushing work, his voice rang clear with wisdom and strength. When he spoke, the crowd… and it was a crowd this time, drew down to silence. Almost 20 people had shown up to hear the Crier this morning, more than Kint had seen in any district. He took in the visage of each man or woman, noting that they were similar worn down laborer types that had stopped by yesterday. There were however, a few workers who looked better off. Their clothes were better kept and their bodies more recently bathed. But, they all looked equally worn down in the face, with tired eyes and stress lined brows.
“Shit.” Kint cursed, as he noticed many of them had small rolls of paper stuffed into one pocket or another. Some of them clutching the messages tightly in their hands.
Elsha patted him on the shoulder and he turned to see her holding a ruffled message of her own. “I snagged one on the way in.” She said, like it was nothing. She’d probably pick pocketed one of these poor Kadenites as she forced her way to the building. Although Kint wasn’t going to complain about it now.
He unfurled the paper, drinking in its contents. He let out a light chuckle saying “I’m sensing a pattern here.” Elsha nodded in agreement.
“Why the new messenger?” She asked, the old man readying to begin his work.
“We’re about to find out.” Kint muttered. If his theory on the Sentinel was correct, they’d have an answer very shortly.
The old crier raised his ebony hand to draw the attention of those around him. The hand was like the branch of an old tree, gnarled, scarred, and calloused in ways that can only be achieved through a lifetimes of field or factory work. Kint gave a small nod to his partner, who returned the gesture in understanding.
“Citizens… Friends… Kadenites…” The man started, his voice sounding like his hand looked, with a rasp and wear to it from years of use. But still, it sang out over the square, striking a tone that gave the words gravity, drawing the crowd in with every syllable.
“Kadenites…” The man mused, “we don’t hear that word much anymore do we… But that is what we are. Kadenites… Residents of Kaden City… the Prophet’s City. Halvash Kaden Ignus.” He paused to let his words take hold.
A few uncomfortable grunts and murmurs went through the crowd. The Prophet’s middle name, and the name of his people, was known to all, but there was a certain collective pride attached to the word that the Apostles had been trying to suppress for years. The Five Families often used it as a derogatory term when in the company of lowly citizens. For a member of the church to use it in such a way so publicly went against may unspoken edicts of the Apostles.
To enforce these unspoken edicts, the Families had Informant’s, or Creepers as they were known locally. People who would report dirt to the Acolytes, sometimes selling out their own families, to become an Acolyte themselves. They were almost universally hated, but also feared. Which was what gave many in the audience pause, some even choosing to exit the square for fear of even being seen hearing the words. But, to Kint's surprise, most stayed. The Crier continued.
“We take his name, we Kadenites. For we are his people.” The man spoke as if giving a lecture, his words having a class to them that belied his looks. “The Prophet was not of Noble blood. He was of our blood. Growing up in the slums of a city much poorer than this one, he worked everyday spilling that blood to the soil just to feed himself.”
“We’ve all felt it. We’ve all known the Prophet’s struggle.” The crier continued, sweeping that gnarled hand over the crowd to encompass the watchers. “We’ve all felt the hunger, the pain, and the strife of working in factories or farms. Long hours of grueling work just to live, to feed our families. I myself worked the mines in my younger days.” The old man noted.
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There was another rumbling from the crowd, as people leaned in. There were no mines in Kaden City, those were found in the Apostle homelands. The Korth Family and the Inkholds currently held most of the lands with mining operations. So in a city like Kaden City, and a District where most people’s ancestors were from Vorvan lands, meeting someone who worked in the mines was like meeting a myth. Laborers on factories and farms in the city had used the idea of working in the mines to cheer themselves up for hundreds of years, because ‘it could always be worse’. To work all day in darkness, then return home at night… to someone who grew up in the sight of the Stalwart Tree it was hard to imagine such a fate. Yet here was a man who’d lived it, what person wouldn’t want to hear more.
An enigmatic smile grew on the Crier’s face as he took in the reaction from the crowd.
“Yes, I worked in the mines.” The old man started again “For twenty years I toiled in darkness, spilling sweat deep in the earth to bring Crystals and metals from the ground. Materials, I was told, that would be used to improve the great and beautiful city that you see around you.” The old man swept his arms out before him, in a gesture meant to encompass the great wonders of the city. Several of the listeners followed his gaze, turning toward the Stalwart Tree, barely visible through the Shroud, and the many towering silver spires that pierced its massive canopy.
“Well… maybe it will be beautiful tomorrow.” The old man said. The clouds of steam rising from the Merchant's guild, messages flowing in and out, casting more fog over a sky already tainted by covered by the protective mist.
There were a few grunts and chuckles of dark laughter at the Criers joke.
“For twenty years I worked in those mines, and I paid a great tax for my efforts.” The man swept his dark eyes through the crowd. “Many of you have paid such a tax... I’m not talking about the Apostles Tithe of course, but of the physical tax that is taken from so many of us.” He declared. Many of the listeners nodded slowly in response. “For it was not my pockets, heavy with coin, that paid the Apostles price. It was my back, saddled with the stone and blood of industry.” He said, reaching an arm around to rub at his hunched back. “I’m sure a few of you have had a similar injury, maybe it’s an arm or a leg or a knee that just won’t bend right anymore… Whatever it is, the tax is not just in pain, but in opportunity.” He noted.
“The opportunity to lift your children in the air, to play with them in the yard, to help your parents as they age and give them the support they gave you in childhood.” Kint looked out over the crowd. They were listening with an intensity that concerned him, the words were moving them. He could see it in their tired eyes. Each person’s gaze was enshadowed by memories of the opportunities missed. This Crier was too good. Was this what Priests were like in the Skirts of the Noveriet?
“But how could they know?” The Crier continued, breaking the brief reveries of the crowd. “How could they know what we suffer if they do not come and see for themselves?” He asked. “And how can we justify our suffering, if we do not see the fruits of our labor?” Kint looked at Elsha who raised a questioning eyebrow at him.
The Crier had moved on quickly, but it sounded like he’d called out Lord Crecius directly in his rhetoric. That would really give the Creepers something to write about.
“For that is the key question.” The man continued. “When I worked in the mines, I suffered through terrible pain, and missed opportunities. I couldn’t even hold my nieces and nephews in my arms after my 20 years in the dark.” The man held his hands out in front of him, pantomiming the cradling of a child. “But in my mind, it was all worth it." He pointed to his temple. "For the things I brought out of the ground were being used to benefit the Noveriet. People I never knew would take those crystals and metals and build them into wondrous artifacts and inventions that would dazzle the mind. It was for those people for whom I spilled my blood. It was for you, that I paid my tax, that I broke myself.” He paused, pointing out over the crowd.
“But now... I am here…” The Crier said, using a soft voice that still carried over the square. “And I see that even you good people, for whom I labored endlessly. Even you do not get to experience the benefits that our work provides.” A deep silence drew over the crowd, everyone standing stock still as his words took hold in their minds. Even the raucous sounds of the trading on the other side of the square seemed dulled by the intensity of the silence. The image of this man had been well chosen, his broken and battered figure could not be denied, and thus… neither could his words.
The Prophet’s Crier let the silence stretch before continuing.
“The Second Tenet of the Prophet says ‘Peace is found in calloused hands.’” Another pause drifted over the crowd. “And I have found the Prophet’s words to be true… But the peace of labor is fleeting when one cannot see its purpose.” He finished. Again there were nods from the audience.
“However, I caution, do not lay blame at your Lords feet. For we all know the work he does.” That calloused hand rose in a gesture of pause. “We all know that Lord Crecius is a great inventor of our time, we know his creations benefit millions, and we are just a small part of that. It is not the job of our great Lord to hear every one of our complaints. He does not have the time for such things, as he works to better the Noveriat.” The Crier made a small gesture with his hand as if what he was saying should be obvious. “But it is the Job of Mayor Fezelin.” He said, gesturing towards District HQ. As the man looked up toward the door to Headquarters, his eyes locked on Kint, for an almost imperceptible moment they stared at each other before the Priest looked back to the crowd. “That is in fact, his exact job description. He is meant to be the people’s pipeline to the Lord. The people's messenger. Making sure your problems are heard.” There were more grunts and mumbles from the crowd as many of them looked at the District HeadQuarters in frustration.
“So I urge you. Write to your mayor. Let him know that he must tell the benevolent Lord Crecius of the struggle that happens here. The blood you spill for him. Let him know that at the very least, all you wish is to know that your work is of benefit, that it helps the people of the Noveriat, that your labor… has purpose.”
A silence followed the man’s words, many of the listeners in the audience standing still with looks of determination on their faces. The old man broke the stillness as he stepped off his stool, and began brushing dust from his robes, signaling that the Sermon was over. It was amazing how quickly the square returned to normal, laborers filtering away in various directions, back to work.
“Well... Fezzy's going to have a bad day.” Elsha commented, bringing Kint out of his thoughts.
“Yeah.” Was all he said as he pondered the Crier’s words.
“I have to say.” Elsha started, “For such a crusty old fart, he was pretty good at dancing on the line. For a moment there I thought we might actually be able to arrest this one.”
Kint gave a joyless chuckle as he handed the Sentinel’s message back to his partner. She opened the door for him again and they made their way inside.
“It really was an interesting Sermon though.” Elsha commented as they moved up the stairs towards the third floor.
Kint grunted in acknowledgment, but did not respond to her words. “I think we can safely say who’s behind the Sentinel now." He noted, "Nice pick up on that by the way.”
“Oh it was just a bit of fun.” Elsha chirped, tossing a small grease stained bag over her shoulder toward him. “I took his purse too.” Kint caught the bag by reflex, opening it up to see a couple of copper bits in there but nothing more.
“Elsha, they’re poor enough as it is.” Kint admonished.
“Hey, I didn’t make them that way.” She countered. “You heard the Crier out there, it’s all Fezzy's fault.”
“Still…” Kint grumbled. “That’s not exactly what he said either.”
“Don’t you feel bad for the other guy?” Elsha asked as they crested the stairs to the third floor, completely ignoring his comments. “Spending so many years in the district, only to be replaced just when things were getting interesting.”
“I’m sure there’s some sort of bigger picture at play here.” Kint pondered.
“Yes well… I’ll let you worry about that.” She replied, uninterested. “By the way Kint,” She started, opening the doors to the Law Enforcement Offices. “It seemed like that one knew you as well.” She noted.
Before she could ask follow up questions a voice exploded from the back of the room.
“God’s blast it all! Where are those bloody idiots! They were supposed to be here 20 minutes ago!” Screamed the Mayor. The two Inspectors could see through the glass windows of his office that the squirrely assistant from yesterday was sweating profusely, struggling to come up with an answer. A look of relief, like he’d been saved from a tornado, overtook him as he saw Kint and Elsha had entered the Offices. He pointed frantically at them, relaying to the mayor that the two had arrived. “Well what are you waiting for you bloody dunce! Go get them!”
The waifish young man scurried out the door and down the hall toward the two inspectors. He stopped in front of them, stammering “Th–The Mayor requests–”
“We heard.” Elsha said, cutting him off as she moved around him toward Mayor Fezelin’s office.
“Thanks.” Kint grunted, trying to lessen the young man's anxiety as he passed.
----------------------------------------
“What took you so long.” The mayor blurted as they moved to sit. “You were supposed to be here a half an hour ago. Things are insane right now. so I need you here–”
“Apologies, Mayor Fezelin.” Elsha interjected. “We were working on a lead for the Sentinel case we discussed yesterday.” She finished, face a mask of professionalism.
The Mayor was not convinced, a suspicious look on his face as he spat “Oh… and what leads have you been working exactly?”
“We have strong reason to suspect that the Church of the Prophet is responsible for the Sentinel's messages and likely their distribution, as well.” Kint stated, matter of factly.
The Mayor let out a breath, face paling considerably from the angry red of before. He dabbed a handkerchief to his sweating brow, asking “And your evidence… for these claims?”
Elsha tossed the crumpled sheet of paper she’d stolen to the mayor. He grabbed it in his stubby hands, opening it up to see two images and a small note scrawled on the paper. The first image was of a group of workers on a factory line, all wearing rags for clothing and hands bleeding onto the toys they were building. Next to that image was that of Lord Crecius as a fat child playing with those toys, a mountain of broken playthings behind him. Below the two images read the words “No Peace.” The Mayor’s frown deepened as he scanned the paper.
“There was a new Crier outside the building this morning.” Kint started, drawing the mayor's attention “One distinctly suited to deliver a very specific message.” Kint continued. “'Peace is found in caloused hands, but work without purpose is no peace at all', was the sum of it. Very similar to the message of our Sentinel, no?” He suggested, raising an eyebrow at the Mayor.
“They’d have to have known what the message would be beforehand.” The Mayor murmured, picking up on the direction Kint was heading. He grimaced at his own words, but quickly schooled his face back to seriousness. "It changes nothing." He stated. "We must still find the source, as quickly as possible.”
Kint's brow furrowed in confusion. “But Mayor Fezelin, if the source is the Church of the Prophet, what can we do?” He asked.
“Don’t be naive, Kint.” Fezelin grumbled, giving him a condescending look. Fat rolls of his chin scrunching together as he tilted his head down and raised an eyebrow. “The Church hasn’t been an independent faction since they started letting in the Blessed.” The man admonished. “If this is being run through the Church, then most likely some Lord is trying to fuck with Lord Crecius, or maybe even the whole House of Vorva.” The Mayor dabbed his face again as he spoke. “In any case, if it is the church and we find out how they’re getting their messages into the district. Lord Crecius can put a stop to it from there. Hopefully before the whole District turns against me.”
“Fezzy.” Elsha said cloyingly, “You are just so cute when you’re playing politics. That’s two days in a row now you’ve impressed me.” She complimented. “ And you’re right by the way... They called you out again today.”
“Of course they did!” He burst out, “They can’t go after the Lord directly, no can they?” He asked in annoyance. A small smile quirked at one side of Elsha’s face. She enjoyed getting under the Mayor’s skin.
Mayor Fezelin’s lip twitched in annoyance. He took in a deep breath to calm himself, his belly rose, stressing the buttons of his rumpled shirt as it did. “Yes… well… enough about that.” He diverted. “The Sentinel is no longer of any concern to you.” The mayor said, pulling back in his chair and reaching down to a lower drawer on his desk to grab something, after a bit of shuffling, he came back up to rest a large black massage tube on the desk. It had an intricate pyramidal structure on each side, and in the center was engraved the official owl and pen seal of house Vorva. “A message came for you early this morning. I suggest you open it.” The large man said.
There was a long pause, as Elsha sat back in her chair, shocked at the sight of what lay before her. Eventually, she caught her bearings, reaching forward with an almost gentle touch and grabbing the tube by its triangular sides. She took a deep, calming breath, closing her eyes before a look of concentration took her, then a hissing sound came from the tube as it clicked open and Elsha pulled out the scroll within.
“We’ve been summoned to the Ignatium… to call upon Lord Crecius.” She said, stammering in her reading. Kint had never seen her so out of sorts.
“What?” The mayor chided, “No funny comment or clever witticism?” He gave a sour smile before continuing. “I’m glad you’re treating this with the gravity that it deserves, because it’s not just you that’s on the hook here.”
“They asked for us?” Kint said, incredulous, as he looked over the scroll himself.
“Yes. By name.” He stated with severity. “And don’t ask me why because I haven’t the slightest idea.” he cut in. Elsha was still sitting in astonishment beside him, mind clearly working overtime. “But what I do know is that you and your dullard partner here are going to be representing this office, this District, and most importantly me. So please, for the good of the Prophet... don’t fuck it up.”
There was a long pause as the words settled over the two Inspectors. Elsha just sat there looking dejected, lost in her thoughts, while Kint was trying to reason out how he could have been chosen for this. What had he done to get noticed like this?
“Inspectors.” The Mayor cut into their collective reverie. “The first part of not fucking up… is arriving to your meeting with Lord Crecius on time…” Another pause as realization began to dawn on Elsha’s face. “Yes… that’s right…” Mayor Fezelin prodded “It takes a little more than two hours by Root to get there, so you’d best get going now if you’re going to arrive by midday.”