Xiarai put her back to the wall of the tavern as soon as they were given a booth. She tried to fix Xiatokte with a glare, but it quickly withered into staring fiercely at the table directly in front of her. He was not even a fraction of the person, the great being, that the Patriarch was. But he had some of the same style. Some of that boundless, casual confidence that the world would bend to his will. Xiarai had a hard time defying that sort of charisma. And besides, he was a member of the main line, and a vice president of the single most important Xia asset this side of Sky’s Echo. She knew her place.

“Dinner’s on me. Order what you like.” Xiatokte said with casual flair.

“I’m sure whatever you order will be delicious.” She murmured. She tried not to mutter. Gods, there was a time, not even a year ago? When she would have snubbed the man. The Patriarch’s Clerks Do Not fraternize with the rest of the Clan. They are to be untainted by favors asked or owed.

“That won’t do.” Xiatokte shook his head. “This is in the nature of a bribe, you see. A tasty currying of favor.”

“I cannot imagine a single thing worth bribing me for. You are aware that I can offer you nothing in my current occupation, and can tell you nothing of my previous occupation.”

“You know that. I know that. Most, however do not know that. And I want to talk about your future occupation, not your past or present. Tell you what, let’s start with a round of bread and oil. Rationing is tough at the moment, but I know Delwyn has some good stuff set aside.”

’Te looked over at the discreetly watching waiter and put in an order. Tea, not liquor, she noticed. A snub? Or an indication that she was to be completely sober for this conversation? She desperately tried to remember how the unterspracht worked. She had done it before, of course, but not in years and years. Decades.

“Xiarai, currently employed as a secretary of all duties in the Astrology Department. Your present tasks consist of transcribing satellite tracking records. Your previous occupation was, of course, one of the Patriarch’s Clerks. Ranked, I believe, twenty third in the Scriptorium. Dismissed for insulting the Patriarch and accusing him of uncleanliness.”

She looked up, eyes blazing with fire, puffing up with genuine rage. “I would never-”

Xiatokte raised a calming hand. “I know. The Patriarch knows too. And you and I both know why he did what he did.”

She deflated again. “To be the hands of the Patriarch is to be without stain. To be the thoughts of the Patriarch is to be without error. To be the will of the Patriarch is to be unwavering and eternal.” She recited the words like a catechism. ’Te nodded understandingly.

“It’s a damn hard road. You walked it honorably and well, as far as you could.”

“Not far enough.” She whispered. She didn’t even see the food arrive.

“Well. I want to present you with a new road. Let me start by saying that I have already cleared this with Central House.”

She didn’t quite know how to respond to that. ’Te continued.

“You are in a rare and very useful position. You are ferociously intelligent, legendarily discreet, have exactly one serious tie to other people, and have a completely understandable, justifiable even, grudge against arguably the most powerful person in the West. Certainly the most powerful person in the Northwest. Tell me, Secretary Xiarai, have you ever considered becoming a spy?”

The mercenaries were well on the road to Colmbe. Xiatoktok was quite happy with the reports he was getting about that- muddy road, far below freezing in the morning, swampy for a few hours around midday, then back to freezing come nightfall. It must be miserable. Xiatamrou wouldn’t be suffering much, of course, but every little bit helped.

Food shortages were accelerating. Being Xia, Xiatoktok had made more than ample preparations. Being Xia, he knew damn well that rumors of “hoarders” were already swirling, with dark consequences for the accused. Could they set up some aquaculture? A cubic hectare of a professionally run aquaculture farm could produce an astonishing amount of nutrition.

Of course they could. And next year, it will be really useful. Until then, however... Xiatoktok sighed. If they can’t grow it, they must import it. The grain merchants and the caravan companies were doing their best, but it was the tail end of winter, and early spring was called “The Starving Season” for a reason. Other cities could only supply so much, and for so long. He took a look at timber imports from the Disputed Territory. That particular ball had barely gotten rolling, but the initial indications were promising. Contracts were being signed, saw blades were being shipped west, and even the Lagianlopo were cooperating. Apparently being able to haul artillery trains around made hauling timber wagons around a doddle.

The first day of school at the Dillwater Xia Academy was coming up fast. Should he be in attendance? Probably not. Ah, he would usually send flowers, but… didn’t Gentian try and strong arm the grain merchants into supplying hot lunches? Are they honoring that promise? Lets put the screws on them and make them do it. I bet the city would be happy to go along.

He shuffled some papers around. His desperate scheme to launch an oil company had been overtaken by events. Now his “desperate scheme” had become an opportunity to make hilarious amounts of wealth in the middle of a war. It would also contribute to feeding a lot of people, which was good too. Frying was a nice, cheap way to add calories to food. Lots of poor folk would be getting by on fried cornbread or fried griddlecakes.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

The first test fields had been selected. They should be well out of the way of marauders. That being said, the rural security situation was… not great. How were negotiations going with the Lagianlopo going about that? He would have to ask the City Council.

Xiatoktok frowned. He had a meeting with the Rationing Committee coming up in the afternoon, then after a “brief” two hour session, a three hour session with the “War Production Committee.” Such fun. He grinned slightly. Ok. It actually was pretty fun. He stretched out his fingertips, feeling all the plates he was spinning, keeping balanced on the narrowest of poles. Feeling himself become an axis on which history was turning. Feeling the weight of time filling him up.

Xiatokmia was not a believer in management by walking around. It might work in a smaller, less politically fraught organization, but this was the Grand Redoubts Bank. Nobody here believed that there was any such thing as a casual conversation at work. If she had to physically wander around and stare at her employees, it meant that she was not delegating properly. And she did not have a reputation that inspired intimacy or affection.

She looked at the organizational table of the Bank, neatly arranged in front of her. “Neatly.” It was covered in so many dense lines, it looked like a thousand spiders tried to make a web while bouncing on a trampoline. Having worked with it for so many hours, it all seemed quite straightforward to her. Each line was a connection, linking an employee to another, or to an influence group, or some patronage network. Then, of course, you had the connections between those networks. The urge to just burn the whole web down and start from scratch was powerful… but impossible. That web was the Xia clan. Those connections of mutual interest held together the sprawling families as much as shared culture and ideology.

It was frustrating. It was really, really damn frustrating. She wanted to grab people and scream at them “Why won’t you let me help you?” Because that was what she was trying to do- help. Make everything run. Make the Bank a profitable and productive enterprise. But no. She had to be the goddamn enforcer. She, of all people, had to manage the internal affairs of the bank and keep the infighting down to manageable levels.

There was a knock on the door, a long pause, and a short pattern of taps. Lunchtime. She pressed the button to open the door, her other hand on a heat weapon. Her secretary wheeled in a trolly with lunch and an updated org chart.

Salmon with roast potatoes. Nice. She had a look at the org chart and frowned. The web had shifted since this morning. She traced the lines back. Looks like the Blue Sky Group teamed up with The Silent Forest to make a move on the residential lending department. Interesting timing.

The residential lending department was in complete turmoil. A huge portion of the mortgages were wiped out when the buildings burned down. On the other hand, the Bank was facilitating loans for new homes from the City, as well as underwriting the various urban renewal projects. Getting some people in there now could pay off majorly in the medium and long term. The short term gains, prioritizing some loans over others, weren’t shabby either. Of course, her Green Mountain Group dominated the department, so she couldn’t let them casually sink their hooks in…

She traced the lines back to their origins. The stronghold of Blue Sky was in the records custody department, while Silent Forest… wasn’t even in the bank. They were focused on developing… oh that’s interesting. They were trying to develop an agricultural supply industry. Now just why would they throw their money behind Blue Sky for residential loans? Commercial, sure, but residential?

Her finger swept along the lines, tracing businesses, tracing connections, friendships, patronidges and mentorships. Treating the Xia family tree as an atlas. Seeing how that atlas lined up with a map of the city, then a map of the region. A picture developed. The city was focused on rebuilding the houses that it lost, but it also lost a horrible amount of warehouse space in the east of the city. In fact, they lost some of their most valuable warehouse space, as most of the farmland and “foreign” trade came in through the east. And guess who was bidding to secure their own, newly constructed Warehouse? Silent Forest.

Their bid would be a lot more successful if they could bid on land that had “No public interest in rebuilding lost housing.” Oh yes, a nice little bank shot there. A lot of that warehouse space hadn’t been rationally built or organized in the first place. This was an opportunity to not only get a warehouse cheap, it was an opportunity to make sure that warehouse was strategically located. The additional efficiency would give them an invisible, but constant, edge over competitors. Not a bad little plan.

They were high out of their skulls if they thought they could pull it off without giving her a cut. The Green Mountain Group got a piece of every action. Otherwise, why bother running the bank. She chuckled grimly. Some adjustments to their plan would have to be made. Some broader concerns had to be addressed. After all, the City did need the housing. The Green Mountain Group was heavily invested in the house building industry too. But it could be made to work. Mia made a few notes, arranged a few meetings, and was on to the next thing. A pretty ordinary lunch.

“President, please, eat something before you go!” Xiakinni pleaded. “You skipped lunch, and they will certainly keep you until after dinner.”

“No time, no time. No matter, I won’t starve between now and the morning.” Xiatoktok made sure his robe was immaculate. It was always such a delicate act, establishing authority and prestige without appearing too imposing and inciting anger. He loved that game.

Xiakinni sighed, and fiddled with her fingers. “I was afraid you would say that. The papers have been loaded into your carriage, and I have sent word to your house that you are likely to run late. Your butler said that he would keep a plate warm for you.”

“Thank you.” He really needed to get her married off. This was far too intimate. On the other hand, he was in a rush, so the scolding would have to wait. “Well. Off to see if we can’t keep the people of Cold Garden fed and warm between now and harvest.”

“I’m sure you will manage it, President.” Xiakinni said loyally.

Xiatoktok smiled as he settled into the carriage. His files were neatly stacked and bound with a ribbon. Sitting on top was a flask of tea and his favorite crackers.

The President’s carriage rolled into the Cathedral courtyard. The footman came around to the door, set out steps, and opened the carriage politely. And waited. He peaked in. Then ran screaming.

“HELP, HELP! PRESIDENT XIATOKTOK HAS BEEN MURDERED! HELP!”