“You’ve made a fine mess of things haven’t you, ’Tok? Creating a run on your own bank in less than two hours? That must be a record.” Xiatoktok vaguely recognized the man’s face- a servant of one of the Business Committee members. He certainly recognized the trio behind him.
“I do not know you, sirrah. Though I am quite certain you stain the honored company you keep. Good morning. What brings you to my Bank?”
“Your Bank? This arrogance is exactly what we are here about. It is not your bank, but the Clan’s. And we are here on the Clan’s behalf to supervise, and make sure no idiocy like this morning occurs again.” Condottiere Xiatamrou, as he insisted on being called, got directly in Xiatoktok’s face and snarled. The Condottiere had his long sword belted on, and a pistol in an ornately tooled human hide holster peeked out of his robe.
Xiatoktok was slightly impressed. His meeting with the department heads was six minutes ago. They must have had the three of them ready to go since last night.
“A pleasure to see you again, Condottiere. Mint? And yes, my bank. My authority comes from the Patriarch. Where does yours come from?”
“Our authority, you arrogant twerp, comes from the Business Counsel! We are their agents in this matter, and you will immediately cease all hiring's, firings, promotions, signing contracts or disbursing funds until we have ascertained just how badly you have messed things up!”
The servant tried to jam his way back into the conversation, and was firmly ignored by everyone.
“We are the owners, ’Tok. We, meaning the Business Counsel. Sixty percent interest held by the Clan, administered by the Counsel. As well you know. We employ you, to serve us. We have every right to supervise our employees.” This was Xiatampan. If ’Rou provided the muscle, ’Pan was the brain. He had gotten his position the old fashioned way- nepotism, bribery, and once he learned how to manipulate ’Rou, murder. Or so his enemies allege. Very, very discreetly allege, when they are quite sure word won't get back to him. He had skipped the obvious weapons for a gaudy selection of rings. Six of which had little compartments, filled with poison.
“And there are mechanisms for that. A monthly supervisory meeting is already scheduled in three weeks. I will be happy to answer the Counsel’s questions at that time.”
“Some matters won’t keep that long, ’Tok. And we aren’t asking you. We are telling you. We speak with the weight of the law behind us. Be obedient to the rules, and you can hang on to your life, and possibly even your job. Try to stop us, and the Counsel will eat you alive.” ’Pan sounded like he was discussing what he would have for dinner. His thumb rotated a particularly gaudy, ruby covered ring as he spoke.
“You are telling me, and you may keep on telling me, but I am telling you that I am meeting the Patriarch tonight to give my report, not the Counsel. And since the Counsel works for the Patriarch, they can get his permission for this interference. Until then, I will thank you to make an appointment if you wish to see me. I am very busy.”
“Now you listen here, you greasy little shit!” The servant lunged back into the conversation, desperate to contribute. “WE run this place. WE do! Not you! You can get in line, or you can watch as I feed your kids ground glass. Cross us and I will personally kill everyone and everything you love, ’Tok, and there ain’t a DAMN thing you can do but kneel down and-”
There was a meaty chunk and the servant’s eyes turned white. Blood drooled from his mouth as he slowly collapsed. It suddenly stank. He had voided his bowels upon death. The third emissary from the Counsel lowered her burled walnut club. It was an open secret that the club was weighted with a mix of lead and gold. Inlaid in polishers silver was the name Xiatamqi. She liked her name to weigh nine times more than gold.
“Social climbing is a pathetic vice of the lower classes. I cannot believe he was petitioning to marry in.” She said calmly.
“Disgusting really.” ’Rou nodded in agreement.
“Standards are slipping all over.” ’Pan gave ’Tok a nasty look.
“Oh, I just ignore the noise. What’s happening to my carpet is the real crime. I doubt this can be cleaned.”
“Nah, fresh like this, they can get it right out. I’ve seen much worse.” ’Rou disagreed, meaningfully.
“Naturally,” Xiatamqi cut back in, “The Counsel and its agents would never dream of causing any harm to any member of the main line of the Clan… outside of formal disciplinary proceedings. Any suggestion to the contrary is slander, and any person doing so invites our full retaliation. Legally.” It would be hard to pick one of the trio as “the dangerous one,” but of the three, ’Qi possessed the greatest patience.
“Naturally. We are all firm adherents to the rules. As such, any supervisory activity beyond what is already in place must be approved by the Counsel in full session and assented to by the Patriarch. And no such thing has happened. So, respectfully, I must ask the Council's famous Voices of Reason to leave for the day.”
They left. The servant had spoiled their hand and the moment was lost. Xiatoktok didn’t collapse or take a hit of something potent. He kept his back ramrod straight and his face dignified. His hands were behind his back, adding to the refined look he always cultivated. It would take a very keen eye in just the right place to spot that his knuckles had turned bone white. Bloodless.
“Duty.” He called the duty secretary in a smooth baritone.
“How may I serve, Expert?”
“Create a memorandum of the minutes of this meeting. Stenography should be finishing up the transcript.” He couldn’t take credit for the wire recording system in the office. Fatty ’Lu’s vault of recordings was being torn apart by loyal investigators even now. Someday they may even rediscover how to build such ancient technology. “A copy for me and one for the file.”
“Yes, Expert. Forgive me, Expert, but, which file?”
“If there isn’t a file recording my meetings, create one and add the memo to it. Oh, and it’s President now. I won’t remind you again. See to it I don’t have to remind anyone else.”
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The second, the absolute second, he got home, he would check on his kids. Then drag ’Ja into bed and just hang on to her while he shook and tried not to scream.
“How are we?” It was a working lunch in the Presidential Dining Suite. Cozy, with seating for sixteen and with room along the walls for almost as many servants. Today the servants were behind the three inch thick, soundproof door. The carpet was two centimeters deep, burying the feet of the blindingly white table and enormous matching sideboard.
The light cores in the crystal chandelier bounced off the high gloss painted furniture. They picked out the details of the guest’s robes and their jewelry, just as intended. ’Te thought it was vulgar as hell, but ’Mia loved it. Nobody liked the chairs.
“We are putting out fires, which are breaking out at a terrifying rate. Everyone is informing on everyone else. We had to create forms to keep up. The cheve trading is well underway on the promotions, but no actual recommendations have been made yet.” ’Mai shifted awkwardly. She liked how wide the chairs were, but they didn’t have a flat seat. For some reason, the seat tilted backwards.
“Word that we will no longer pay out in Quetzal has made the rounds of the banks. It certainly looks like a bank run in the making over in Red Mountain.” ’Te smiled slightly, then frowned as he slowly slid back in the chair. He could practically feel his robe wrinkling. Not a good look for a senior executive. Not a good look at all.
“Good. Who took the bait?”
“Small fish, as we expected. But a lot of them.”
“Make a note of who and see if we can’t trace the leaks back. It would be interesting to see how small fish got info from such a “high security” meeting.” The irony was thick in ’Tok’s voice. He didn’t shift an inch in his seat, and picked up his pan seared bean curd daintily with a pair of tongs. It had a nice little char on it, he thought. Not easy to do with bean curd.
“Alright. Most are so eager to unload their Quetzal that they are selling below the fixed exchange rate. We are buying up everything that hits the market, which isn’t as much as we would like, but…”
“But?”
“But come afternoon, we should have enough on hand to cover current needs. Of course if there is an actual run, we are fucked.”
“Ah, fractional reserve lending, our old friend.” ’Mia’s voice was acidic.
“The Clan thought it was worth bringing back.” ’Tok spread his hands helplessly.
“Leaving that aside. I have arranged a very showy series of “withdrawals,” and a newly appointed branch vice president is going to make a really moving, utterly spontaneous, speech where he invites a “random crowd” of concerned citizens into the vault to see all the currency on hand. All while loudly explaining that the bulk of the money is still invested in the city, their neighbors, “Botho’s grocery store, Faisal’s house, the new sewers that keep you from wading through shit,” etcetera etcetera. Pictures will be taken and widely distributed. Agitators who manage to slip in will be slipped out again.” ’Te smiled mischievously. “Good kid, shows promise.”
“If he pulls it off, his promotion may just be confirmed. We need people who look competent more than we need actual competence at the moment.” ’Tok smiled back. “Sounds like things are roughly going as planned. Any other matters of concern?”
“Everything?”
“Ho ho.”
’Mia pressed her hands together, as though in prayer.
“It keeps coming back to the same old shit. The staff are grifters and the owners keep trying to interfere to their own private benefit. We know what the best practices for running a regional bank are. We have epochs of evidence about what they are and why they work. But the benefits are too general, too long term, to get the current owners to buy in. Basically, they insist on best practices, as long as nothing changes for them.”
“Well. That cheers me right up.” ’Tok couldn’t disagree.
“I’m cheerful.” ’Te said mildly. He was already standing. This lunch was done, and he would burn this horrible chair if he had to sit in it a minute longer.
“Dare I ask why?”
“Hot date tonight.”
“I spend a great deal of effort not thinking about your sex life, and now I have it as dessert. Lovely. I have always wondered if any of your kids were actually yours. You know, genetically.” ’Mia was in a mood.
“Oh, they all are. We stayed exclusive until 'Tam got knocked up, then we went out to play until the kid was born. We kept repeating the cycle until she hit menopause. A bit boring and kind of stressful, but worth it to not have the Clan take steps.”
This brought the room to a stop. ’Tok had wondered about that too.
“Wait, so ’Tam was pregnant pretty much constantly for… decades?” ‘Tok asked.
“She must have been.” ’Mia was counting on her fingers. “Think about how many acknowledged kids he has.”
’Tok’s eyes glazed over. “You have seven, right ’Mia?”
“Seven excellent sons.” ’Mia boasted. “You have, what, nine kids?”
“Nine that lived, yes. All scattered across the continent, these days. Most on the Eastern Edge, worrying their old man.”
“Like I said.” ’Te twisted his back for a satisfying crack, then started for the door. “Needs must, and it beats our lousy condoms. Lots and lots of fresh blood for the main line. Plus they are mostly good kids. I don’t claim to be the best dad, but hell, I read to them at night. We had meals together.”
’Mia strode towards the door, then came to a slamming halt. She pointed at ’Tok’s seat. “BETRAYAL!”
’Te looked over. There was a wedge shaped cushion on ’Tok’s chair, keeping him level and comfortable through the lunch.
“You sneaky bastard. After everything, you are going to stab me in the ass like this?” ’Te hissed.
“The cushions were in the sideboard. Not my fault you lazy bums never looked.”
“President, Watchman Poole of the Vigiles to see you. Are you available?”
“Please have him wait while Counselor Xiafo comes up from Legal, then send them both in.”
Xiafo had been waiting all day for this, so Watchman Poole didn’t have to wait long. The Watchman was more or less what what Xiatoktok expected from a senior policeman in Cold Garden. Lean, genial, powerfully religious. A face like an open book, whose real contents were written in invisible ink. Although it wasn’t quite right to call him a policeman.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, President Xiatoktok.” The Watchman enunciated each portion of his name. “Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.”
“Thank you. We will see how long I manage to keep it.”
“There does seem to be a lot of turnover at the Bank. Including a lot of things that the Justicar’s office will be discussing with Counselor Xiafo, here, I think.”
“We can talk about that in my office later.”
“Well, it does lead to why I am here.” The limpid, honest eyes of the Watchman looked deeply at Xiatoktok. “The Joyful Throng has questions, and as their Watchman, I am here to help them find answers. With truth, honesty and compassion for all, all wounds may be mended and Joy rises once more.” The ritual recitation, flowing smoothly and sincerely as it had thousands of times before.
“I am ready to share what light I have, that the Watchman may complete his Vigil well.” Xiatoktok formed his left hand into a fist, the right resting flat on its top, and held them thirty centimeters from his chest. The Watchman gently pressed the index and middle finger of his right hand to his right temple, and nodded in reply. And so the interview began.
Cold Garden was generally a safe, peaceful city. Everyone worked hard to keep it that way. Internal Xia matters or not, the Joyful Throng would bring things back to harmony. One way or another.