Cold Garden was an anomaly several times over. First and foremost, there was almost no reason for it to exist. Most cities get built on top of older cities because those older cities were somewhere geographically sensible- at the intersection of navigable rivers, for instance, or along a major trade route. They sometimes got built near mines, or a place of military significance. Sometimes it was as simple as being a defensible spot near good farmland. Not Cold Garden. It was terrible at all of that. Most of that.
It was surprisingly defensible.
Cold Garden was perched at western edge of the great plains that covered the middle part of the Greenfire continent, in the foothills of the Grand Rampart mountains. When it was founded, the mountains were still called the Grand Redoubts. The name of the continent-long mountain range had changed with time, though some were slow to adapt.
The city was built around a few rivers. None of the rivers were navigable by anything bigger than a canoe for any significant length. The farmland around the city wasn’t very good. Not terrible, just nothing you would go out of your way for. Ranching, in epochs past, would have been a profitable venture. But people of this epoch ate little meat. Some echoes of apocalypses past had set a deep taboo.
It did snow seven months out of the year around Cold Garden. The body needed food and protein. Food storage consisted of pickling, salting and smoking, or just relying on a cool cellar to keep things fresh. Slaughtering your food shortly before eating it was frequently a necessity. As was having a steady supply of milk, cheese and yogurt in the cold months. The taboo didn’t hold quite so hard, this far north.
The reason the city was built where it was, was because the Joyful Throng got run out of Cedar Rapids. Cedar Rapids was a good sized town east of the Mud Dragon River. Or put another way, more than half way across the continent. The good citizens of Cedar Rapids didn’t like their weirdo cultist neighbors, not one bit, and made their dislike heavily known. Sometimes by burning down houses with the people still in them. So the Throng, some few thousand in number, up and left. Following ancient maps and driven by ecstatic zeal, they crossed the continent. Searching for their promised land.
Many died. Fortunately, they were found by a predecessor of the Langpopo tribe, who were happy enough to show their new neighbors where an old city used to be. More died that first winter. Come spring, the survivors were unified, hardened, and determined to build. Cold Garden was planted with deep set roots.
The Cathedral City of the Joyful Throng, four hundred years later, was a snug place. Perched comfortably at the edge of nowhere, happy to have the mountains between themselves and the Sea Folk on the west coast. Less happy about the raids by tribes folk on their hardy cheves hunting for loot and slaves. So they built walls. Big, high walls. You can be as mobile as you like- we are going to be snug up on a battlement, thank you. With siege equipment that outranges your piddly little bow.
Trying to wall in a city of any size was an unearthly large challenge. To make it at all possible, the city had to be quite dense. Sanitation was a constant problem, and disease was rife. One day, a small group of merchants arrived. They had an astonishing array of precious tools, food, and entertainment. They also offered some quite unusual consulting services. They said they were from the Xia Clan, and despite what you may have heard, they were here to help.
In less than fifty years, they had revolutionized the standard of living. A sewer system was developed, building on the existing ruins. Toilets were integrated with the sewers. Indoor running water hadn’t been installed yet, but clean, safe drinking water was easily available everywhere. Homes had thick glass windows. Luxury goods like oils and spices from across the continent slowly made their way to their northern sanctuary. Caravans found well set up caravansaries, and more importantly, well set up regulations and minimal taxes on foreign traders.
The Xia kept slowly emigrating to the city, and more importantly, they had locals marry in. They were seemingly inseparable from the city after only a century. Though they did insist on being allowed to punish their own people according to their own customs in addition to local law. That was a bit controversial, to put it mildly, but it became traditional soon enough.
When a Grand Renaissance of the mountains was announced, opinion in Cold Garden was divided. Most folk were against it- better that the mountains remained a radioactive wasteland and a solid buffer to their west. There was no strategic benefit to returning it to nature. Some saw it as an opportunity to become a major trading city, the closest city on the plains to the New Territories.
Ultimately, nobody asked them and they didn’t get a vote. The Langpopo wanted it, the Dusties saw it as their religious duty, the Seafolk and the Collective insisted on it, so who gave a damn about some random little city on the edge of nowhere. It happened about thirty years ago. Caravan traffic was way up. The city had never been more prosperous.
And yet, the Langpopo had gotten weapons, rifles that could fire metal slugs with magnets instead of gunpowder. Weapons that they clearly could not manufacture themselves. They had light field artillery, made of more steel than should exist in the entirety of the plains.
The Collective was sending heavily armed bands of settlers, settlers carrying machine guns and manufacturing tools for sophisticated weapons workshops. “To secure the rights and prosperity of the People in the New Territory,” They said. Implying that the broke, fanatical, Dusties weren't people. Or the Langpopo, with whom they had already skirmished.
Nobody knew what the Sea Folk were up to, just that they were considerably more violent about whatever it was. Commerce had nearly stopped along the West Coast.
The City Counsel, on the advice of the Choir of Chanticleers and with the support of the Throng, reached out to the other major cities within a few hundred miles. Everything was terribly spread out, of course. Couriers would spend a week or more on the road. The Five City alliance was born from the faint hope of resisting the enormous wave of violence that was to come crushing down on them all.
Given all that, the appointment of a single bank president didn’t seem like much. Though he was rather proud of having survived his first day on the job.
Xiatoktok was a disciplined man, believing that discipline leads to success. He ate little, mostly vegetables and legumes. He exercised daily, and dutifully attended the fighting drills every week. He cultivated the Seven Arts, could discuss the Ninety Nine Classics with deep familiarity and insight, and was passing capable at commanding the Timeless World within his mind. He was Bloodless ’Tok, for no one had yet made him bleed, and no blood ever stained his robes. None of which stopped his wife teasing him.
“Tell me again how much you invested in Xiatokbai?” Xiatokja, his loving wife of fifty years grinned across the breakfast table at him. She didn’t look a day over forty. Which irritated Xiatoktok. They were the same age and he looked fifty. Youthful looks were an important status symbol for the Xia. Even the Patriarch only looked a fraction of his age.
“Well, in terms of time and support-”
“Oh no you don’t! Cash money. How much did you put down on her?”
Xiatoktok coughed and looked away.
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“A quarter mill every three months.” He flushed slightly.
“Inclusive of birthdays, anniversaries, New Years and high holy days?”
…
“Exclusive. Also excluding non-cash gifts. Like her wife.”
Xiatokja snorted, then started openly laughing.
“It’s not funny. We wasted millions on her. And, worse, I had to put up with her! My gods, the number of tedious dinners we had with her and her dreadful wife.”
“That’s why I’m laughing! The miserable thing always looked around our home like she owned it, and was proud of her work. She would come up to me and sniff, then loudly not say anything. Is there an address for her poisoner? I want to send a gift.”
“That… is a good question.”
“Not to be indiscreet, but-”
“Nothing to do with us. We are still trying to figure out how, exactly, she died. All our plans involved having her on site.” ’Tok frowned. “She was a consensus pick by a few different Business Counselors to keep an eye on old ’Lu. She could hardly count, let alone compound interest, but she had a strong connection with the City and the local tribes. Convenient for everyone, except her subordinates. So… someone who would have been really useful to hold up as a target. Her being unavailable to draw fire away from us made us go to Plan C on nearly everything. ’Mia nearly got shot. Twice.”
“At least she’s used to it?”
“She’s out of practice.” Xiatoktok said, dryly.
“So. Mighty Xiatoktok. President of the Grand Redoubts Bank. What’s next?
“After the stick, the carrot.”
“Your favorite game.”
“Yours too.”
“Letch. Tonight.”
They kissed across the table. Still in love after all these years.
“So we have the Bank… for the moment. The various interests have had a night to gather themselves and start organizing a response. I would expect a combination of white mutiny, slow work, and vigorous leaking of information. We need to get our people in place ASAP, if they aren't already.” Xiatoktok looked inquisitively at his aids.
“My people are in place, as are the people supervising them, and the hidden spies supervising the supervisors. Honestly, it can’t hold for more than a day or two, and that’s optimistic. It could well collapse by this afternoon. They need something to rally around.” Xiatokmai rapped her knuckles against the table gently.
They were meeting in the newly redecorated presidential office before the bank opened for the day. They had worked together for a long time, and their ability to communicate by implication had been refined to near perfection. The decoration told the story: an eagle high in the northeast, a virility serpent and a live plant both in the same room- the meeting was being spied on. The painting of the eagle had the sun in it, so… the Business Counsel or agents of the Patriarch himself. Combined with the first topic of conversation- “Expect interference from the top, likely the Business Counsel making a power grab or the Patriarch looking to clean house.”
Xiatoktok let his right ring finger, with its elegant band forged from a meteorite only a bit younger than the Sun, trace the fine grain of the table. The table’s grain was enchanting, rippling like fire or water. “This conversation is to be used for misdirection. I know everything,” his fingers said.
“We have to settle down our clients. I have calmed what big accounts I could reach, but they are also going to be the first to bolt if things look iffy. Frankly, it wouldn’t take too many small accounts withdrawing at once to trigger a run.” ’Te rested his hand flat over a knot in the wood “This problem is under control,” the hand said “though not removed.”
“Reason I didn’t want to do things this way number four hundred and seventeen.” ’Tok said dryly.
“Four hundred and seventeen C. Four seventeen is ‘Riots, assorted’.” ’Mia’s voice was even dryer.
“Quite. Alright, we need to calm things from within and without. Keep me updated on the accounts we have seized and the businesses we took over. We need to know how big a hole needs filling as soon as possible. It goes without saying, but the second the very second you hear anything about who killed our honored predecessors, inform me. Clan blood has been spilled. The main line may not be touched, save under Clan law. I expect at least a Hundred Blades bounty on whoever killed old ’Lu, and Ten Blades for ’Bui” ’Tok gave them a businesslike smile, with no hint of anything else behind it. “’Mia, I can’t make you vice president, even though you absolutely deserve the post and would thrive in it. You understand why?”
She nodded grimly.
“I will be handing out carrots, now that we have applied the stick.” Xiatoktok said, straightening his immaculate robes. “And that carrot belongs to the Council.”
“I will need all of you to submit recommendation lists for promotions.” ’Tok looked across the department heads. It was a mountain range of stoney faces. “I will be directly appointing a few roles, but generally, I expect to simply endorse the names you put forward. As always, the performance of those you recommend will reflect in your own performance evaluations.”
Eyebrows raised at that.
“Some of these positions will only be temporary. I am sure that many of our colleagues will be returned to us after they explain things to the Rules Committee.” Not a soul in the room believed that, including him. “To ensure that no inadvertent errors are made during this difficult time, each new promotion will be strictly supervised. Better a role stays empty than we promote someone above their level of competence.”
The eyebrows moved down, and the slightest hints of frowns could be seen.
“On a related point, the Bank will be cracking down on staff trading on their own accounts, or speculating based on non-public information.”
This got him some angry looks and still more disbelieving ones. It would be more plausible to suggest removing the toilets.
“The rules on this are very clear, and very strict. There will be no negotiation on this point.” Xiatoktok looked impassive, magisterial in his brilliantly embroidered robe. A new robe, the more shrewd observers noted. An incredibly elaborate floral pattern, clearly custom. A few eyes squinted slightly. Could it be brocade? It would cost a bloody fortune.
“However, we are allowed to reward those who help the clan recover irregular assets. To the tune of ten percent net profits from the ongoing income from the asset, plus a lump cash payment of five percent of the net cash held by said asset, and another five percent of the sale price, should it be sold.”
That got everyone’s quiet attention. After all, the account you informed on didn’t have to be your own.
“President? What should we tell our departments about the stolen money?”
Xiatoktok frowned, looking a little disgusted.
“Right now, the Vigilis and the Clan are both investigating. I don’t expect a conclusive answer immediately, but…” He looked around the room firmly. “It looks like ’Lu was in bed with the Nomekis.”
There was a collective sudden intake of breath.
“Nothing confirmed, and we all know how unreliable initial reports are. The circumstantial evidence looks damning. Given everything. Clan investigators found that he had signed a phony contract, selling his interest in the bank, to the bank, for a small fortune. It would never have held up, of course. It was more of a… gesture, I think. A statement of intent.” He let that thought linger a moment, before continuing.
“Right now, we have essentially no Quetzal in currency. Plenty on the books, none in hand. Which is a problem, as I am quite certain that our Red Mountain branch will be hit with a sudden wave of demands for withdrawals. As people start figuring out what the new exchange rate will mean for their savings, they are going to want to turn it into something with lasting value.”
Nobody bothered to nod. It was just too obvious.
“This is what we will do- we freeze withdrawals in Quetzal, and we blame the Nomekis for everything.”
That got them talking! ’Tok grinned. There would be a great deal more to do than just that, of course. But this should set things up nicely for the moment.