The joint stock companies had been an explosive success so far. It was a thoroughly tested financial technology, so the results were expected. There were some significant social consequences down the line, true, but the degree to which that mattered was debatable. Did the Xia really care about increasing the alienation of the ownership class from the labor that produced wealth?
Since they were well positioned to be that ownership class- no. No they did not. As soon as the roads became passable, the Bank sent out small teams of junior associates to put on “road shows,” where they pitched various investments to other financial institutions and high net worth individuals in the broader Five City Alliance. ’Te made a point of planting Xiachoii in the team going to Red Mountain. “The others might not make it there and back. She will.” He didn’t elaborate further. ’Mai, who was overseeing the project, just shrugged and went with it.
Not that ’Te had much time to spare on the affairs of his juniors. The Business Council, briefly pacified by the sudden wave of money brought on by the launch of the joint stock companies, had stepped up their campaign to secure effective control of the Bank.
Their new proposal was fairly insidious- rather than leave the Bank as a privately owned company split between the President (Formerly Fatty ’Lu, now Xiatoktok) and the Clan, why not make it a joint stock company too? It would instantly increase its capitalization and open its profits to any Clan member that chose to invest. Of course, the shares would not come from the Clan’s stake, that would be foolish and dangerous.
’Te had his various apostles and emissaries out in force, working through the Clan and civic leaders alike to point out that, in practice, it would just make some very, VERY rich Xia even richer, while reducing what little effective oversight of the Bank existed. It was one of those frustratingly delicate balancing acts that came about in old families.
On the one hand, the Xia were a gerontocracy, with the Patriarch acting as both the ultimate authority and ultimate deterrent. On the other hand, the various councils, committees, groups and the like all had varying, but sweeping, powers of their own. Powers backed by millennia of tradition, if not actual rules. The Business Committee in Cold Garden had made a point of stretching their claws into as many Clan interests as they could, both internally and externally. As a result, what should have been a supervisory body answering to the Patriarch was actually the largest and most powerful business interest in the Clan.
As a result of the odd arrangement, the Business Council could supervise the Bank, recommend how the Clan shares should be voted (actual vote cast by the Patriarch via his clerks) and make suggestions about how the profits should be managed, but couldn’t directly pocket the profits themselves or exercise direct control over the Bank. It was an irony lost on no one- Xiatoktok’s effective dictatorship over the bank, functionally under the direct supervision of the Patriarch, resulted in far less corruption than would occur if the Bank’s ownership was “democratized.” The Patriarch was generally a silent partner, but no one thought for a minute that his clerks missed a thing. It was much easier for him to supervise one person’s dealings than the surviving old foxes of the Business Council.
The Business Council’s efforts to put their own people in place for a takeover were so constant, they ate an inordinate, unsustainable amount of both ’Tok and ’Mai’s time.
“Expert Xiatoktok? A new report just came in? News from Colmbe.” Xiakinni reported. She had been moving aggressively to keep herself firmly in ’Tok’s sights and notoriously limited memory for subordinates.
“Have them hung.”
“Pardon?”
“If there is news from Colmbe, I can assume it’s some criminal activity by Voyageurs. Because other than the Sky Runner's office, passing caravans and whorehouses, that’s what Colmbe is. A place for Voyageurs to touch civilization and sell their filthy wares. Have them hung by the neck until dead. Then ensure the corpses are hygienically disposed of, somewhere where they cannot seep into the water table.”
“Err… I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem, Expert. Here is the report.”
The news was bad… sort of bad. Probably bad? Yes, bad, though he wasn’t sure the GNUF bandits entirely knew what they were getting into. The Collective certainly didn’t. They came up from the south and west. The Voyageurs were creatures of the deep north. Hunting and trapping through the endless pine forests and bitter tundra's, careening down rivers that most thought were not navigable. There were darker rumors too- of things once buried in the ice, or recovered from hidden bunkers in the wilds. Rumors of dark, forbidden magics, and the price the monstrous witches of the Voyageur clans would pay for them.
Xiatoktok knew those rumors were utter nonsense. Although, he could rip parts of someone out of the fabric of time, so “knew” might be a strong word. As might “utter” and “nonsense.”
“Any more information on this?”
“That’s the executive summary, Expert. The full analysis and underlying reports are all available of course, what few there are.”
“Mmm. When is my next meeting?”
“Forty minutes, Expert. Your weekly with the residential loan department. They asked me to add another twenty minutes to the meeting, it seems that they have a great deal to discuss.”
Xiatoktok sighed lightly. “I’m sure they do. A small pot of tea, Xiakinni, and a dish of cold cucumber salad from the kitchen.” Recognizing the dismissal, and the gift of the assignment, Xiakinni got a wiggle on.
“Poor girl is going to be so disappointed. Ah well. Maybe I can set her up with someone.” Xiatoktok muttered, conveniently forgetting that no one, absolutely not one person, in the entirety of the Cold Garden Xia, not even for one second, would trust him to act as match maker given his own notorious monogamy.
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The news from Colmbe… the Great Northern Unification Front, an outfit plainly worn like a sock puppet by the Collective’s Intelligence Directorate, had set up a permanent encampment in Colmbe. “In” being another one of those words it would be unwise to treat as fully reliable. Colmbe was a tiny patch of saloons and brothels, with some docks on the river and a caravansary. It was situated in the middle of the most wretched band of poisoned earth and contaminated soil this side of a hot waste. Xiatoktok would sooner swim in a sewer in Cold Garden than take a bath in a tub in Colmbe. He had not understated how infested the place was with the Voyageurs. It was probably their biggest single trading site between the Ramparts and Sky’s Echo.
It was this specific point that persuaded Xiatoktok that the Collective, via the GNUF, had settled on a half-bright idea. He drummed his fingers on the table. The Collective had committed some kind of atrocity… he couldn’t remember exactly what. It happened last summer. They shot up a Nimu caravan, killed a load of people, something like that. Anyhow, the Mercantile Trust, with the enthusiastic support of almost every shipping concern in the West, had embargoed the Collective's settlements in the Disputed Territory.
It seems that nobody cared for their “We enforce your obligations to us by force, and selectively honor our obligations to you,” vendor management policy. An awful lot of hands had been burned trying to grab a piece of that potentially massive action. As a result, the Collective was having a hell of a time getting supplies to their settlers in the Disputed Territory. Every supply convoy was essentially a military expedition, costing a fortune in time and personnel.
Looks like they thought they could use the Voyageurs. Xiatoktok grinned nastily. This could be really funny. Then frowned. Colmbe, while an utter shithole, was on the biggest east-west caravan route to Sky’s Echo, and a vital commercial link to the east. Hilarious or not, the GNUF couldn’t be allowed to garrison the settlement. Something would have to be done.
Xiakinni returned with the tea and salad to find Xiatoktok smiling peacefully. She felt a sudden pain in her heart, seeing the almost innocent expression, remembering how drained he looked just minutes before.
“Kindly summon the Voices of Reason for me, Xiakinni. I think I will enjoy watching someone else solve a problem for a change.”
The Voices of Reason were not pleased to be summoned. They wouldn’t be particularly pleased to be invited. They simply appeared at a time of their choosing, and you had to deal with them. But Xiatoktok had been particularly ruthless in dealing with their pawns, and the opportunity to find a chance to sink hooks into him was too appealing to be ignored.
“And what dread business compels you to find us during your busy day?” Xiatamrou asked.
“It must be dire. Given the way you keep dodging our messages.” Xiatamqi followed on, trying not to look pissed. She had the most patience of the three, but she was also well known for holding the longest grudges. Most senior Xia had perfect or near-perfect recall, so “most vindictive” was a highly contested title.
“Why, I wish to do my filial duty to the Clan, naturally.” This was met with flat, unamused looks. Xiatoktok took a moment to really appreciate them, and pressed on. “I wished to formally report an exigent danger to the business interests of the Clan, and formally petition the Business Council to address the problem.”
The looks shifted from “unamused” to “bemused.” Claiming something was an “exigent danger to the business interests of the Clan” was the favored go-to excuse of the Council to interfere with a Clan business operation. There was no formal reporting process.
“Oh? What, exactly?” Xiatamqi’s asked.
Xiatoktok grinned and handed her a brief summary of the situation in Colmbe. “Naturally, I am sending a rather longer version to the Patriarch, just for his records. But in short- our main connection with the East is now threatened by GNUF forces and their Collective handlers. The immediate and secondary effects of even a moderate disruption, especially now, would be devastating to our collective interests. I am therefore petitioning the Business Council to accept responsibility for resolving the matter.”
He glanced over at Xiatamrou, who had a quite peculiar expression on his face. “Just a week down the road. A nice easy march, Condottieri?”
“Yeeeessss…” Xiatamrou’s voice trailed off. He knew that if this went forward he would be the one actually putting boots on the ground. While he certainly had mounted units, the core of his mercenary band was heavily armored infantry and armored crossbowmen. The notion of running field battles with the Voyageurs or the GNUF did not appeal. Occupying Colmbe and keeping the road free of bandits appealed even less.
“I am so glad. You see, the Bank really has no stake in Colmbe. We don’t even keep a branch office there. I’m quite helpless to intervene. But thankfully, the Clan has you.”
The Voices silently conferred, then nodded politely and withdrew. Xiatoktok, as promised, sent a very detailed report on the situation to Central House, complete with a financial impact projection. It noted, repeatedly, that the issue had been reported to the Business Council for resolution.
Were the birds singing more beautifully today? They must be welcoming this particularly perfect blue sky. Ah, spring! Barely upon us and your beauty can’t help but shine through. The first crop of Black Pelican should be planted any day now, too. He was truly looking forward to the Collective trying to collect their share of the earnings too. Humming lightly, he dove into the Bank’s financials. Depending on how things went, he might just bless the multitude with a surprise bonus.
On a certain street in a once nice neighborhood in Cold Garden, a barely standing building had its shutters firmly closed, save for the attic window. For some reason, this half burned husk kept that one open. Or, well, something must have shifted inside the building to pop the shutters open, they weren’t open this morning. Perhaps the building was going to collapse.
On that same street, a certain passer-by saw the window and jerked to a stop for a second. Then carried on. They were a little hunched over now, walking a little faster. They made their way to another address a scant three blocks away, and counted the pretty wooden fence posts. Somehow, they managed to survive the fires almost untouched. They looked back and forth, making sure that no eyes were upon them. The decorative cap on the third post from the right lifted easily off its post. Underneath was a slim glass vial and a note. “You know what to do. You have three days.”