“Alright. You have had a few days to investigate.” Xiatoktok didn’t add “you fuckwits,” as it would have been redundant. “How, exactly, did we fail to see that Red Mountain was selling out to the Collective?”

The room was filled with nervous silence.

“President, respectfully, it’s not our job. This sort of broader strategic intelligence work is handled by Central House. We are built to do business information gathering, and analyze that data for actionable information.” The department head of the Business Analysis department bravely said. The Chairman of the Risk Analysis Committee faintly moved his head in such a way that could be interpreted as support if the comment was well received, and disapproval if it wasn’t.

“Quite right, quite right. And do you think this will have an impact on trade in the North West? Or that it will impact the transportation and logistics situation? Or the war in the disputed territory? Any chance of the war spilling over into the Five Cities? Could that possibly have an impact on returns, or on the continuing value of loans against secured goods? Like, picking an example COMPLETELY at random, a loan financing, and secured against, a load of algae plastic feedstock? Could that loan be considered less secure now? Should we consider shutting down the entire Secured Transactions Department? How about mortgages?” Xiatoktok asked the Head kindly.

“Overall, would you say that the appearance of roughly twenty thousand combat troops, plus an unknown number of logistics troops, camp followers, political cadres, dependants and administrators- overall would you say that they could have a significant, even actionable, impact on the economic situation in Red Mountain? Given that the workforce of Red Mountain is desperately poor and living in extreme food and shelter insecurity, do you think they will find the political and economic philosophy of the Collective appealing? Could this lead to work stoppages, trade disruptions, potential “spontaneous local uprisings of the oppressed masses?” Followed by the annexation of Red Mountain by the Collective?” Xiatoktok sounded terribly kind and patient.

The department head of Business Analysis simply bowed in apology. There was nothing she could say.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, ’Gam.” The Presidential finger pointed directly at 'Gam's nose. The Chairman flinched at the open disrespect. “At least she had the guts to try and defend herself, if not brains. You, on the other hand, are acting like I am somehow going to ignore you in a three person meeting. Tell me ’Gam, would any of the questions I just asked have any bearing on Risk Analysis?”

“Yes, President.”

“How many, would you say?”

“All of them, President.”

“All of them?” Xiatoktok sounded surprised.

“Yes, President. All of them.”

“But you somehow failed to provide me with an analysis of any of these issues. In fact, the last thing I have on the Collective moving north is weeks old and, yes, from Central House. Vice-President Xiatokte, who I very much hope is still alive, had to tell us about the alliance after it had already happened. And. I. Need. To. Know. How. We. Missed. It.” He glared at his subordinates.

The two dithered a moment longer, then the department head took another swing at it. “It was a few things. First, this was clearly orchestrated by and through Jerri Nomeki and her Bank. They were able to disguise meetings with the Collective as normal business meetings. Likewise, Second, discussions on the issue were held in strictest secrecy by the Plutocracy. This was exacerbated by problem three- the Xia Clan presence in Red Mountain is almost entirely… people who are perhaps not performing at the highest level, and lack necessary soft skills that would have allowed them to excel in the current situation. Finally, our sources inside the Collective are unreliable, and we primarily rely on reports from merchants traveling to and from Collective territory. Not the sort of people who would have access to the Central Planning Committee.”

Xiatoktok slowly let his eyes shut. He breathed through his fear and frustration. What she said made sense, it just wasn’t acceptable. “’Gam? Anything to add?”

“I think we may need to consider the possibility that this is just the latest step in a long running scheme. The collaboration with the Collective, at least by Jerri Nomeki, must go back many years. Consider the fallout of the currency unification- we got rinsed. Then, once we were short on cash, our branch offices started getting raided. Then this. Now independent caravans will not want to go through Raven’s Nest Pass, if they are willing to come through Red Mountain at all. In other words, we lose a revenue stream. It is good for the Collective, but it is even better for Jerri Nomeki.”

Xiatoktok nodded gently. “Not really pertinent to my question, but I take your point.” Silence curled around the room like a serpent, eyeing the two bank employees. Tasting the air with its tongue. Xiatoktok breathed out in a long sigh.

“The Collective have a very particular hatred for the great Clans. At some point, probably soon, the Collective is going to come knocking at the gates to Cold Garden. They will tell the City Council that everything would be better if they expelled us and nationalized everything we owned. A much nicer word than “steal,” though they might try for “repossess.” Deny that it was ever rightfully ours and that they were always the victim. The word “Parasite” will figure prominently, as will “Leech,” “Vampires,” “Thieves,” “Rapists,” and “Poisoners.” And since they will have an army at their back, they will be very persuasive.”

Xiatoktok let his eyes drift over an ink wash painting of a lone stone on a sandy beach.

“Sorting out the politics is my job, and the job of those above us. Letting me know what dangers are coming, and the severity of those dangers- your job. You have very, very little time to demonstrate that you are capable of doing your jobs. For all our sakes, work quickly.”

It was drizzling. Cold Garden was having an unseasonably warm snap, which meant that the temperature had briefly spiked above freezing. The thin rain was melting the snowbanks. Not completely. Just enough to ensure that the streets were good and wet. Xiatoktok morbidly looked forward to the freeze that evening, and playing “Spot the Limp” tomorrow.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

His wonderfully comfortable carriage rolled down the street towards his elegant home… and he couldn’t enjoy it. Too much fear, too much stress. The usual move to buy good publicity was charitable giving. It looked generous, and it helped keep the recipients in need. It was a wonderful way of farming time. But that wouldn’t work in Cold Garden. They were far too communitarian to let a neighbor starve, or go homeless.

Becoming patrons of the arts was another classic, and a lasting way to generate propaganda. But, again, this was Cold Garden. Communal singing, dancing and mural making were the big artistic drivers. Not a whole lot of room for sponsoring young, underappreciated geniuses with a good sense of gratitude towards their patrons. Also, and not to put too fine a point on it, but sponsoring artists just before a war starts is… not a great look.

Xiatoktok idly considered sponsoring a new city wall, then imagined being lined up with Xiatokja and Gentian against it and being shot to death by a Collective firing squad. His stomach twisted sharply into a knot. No. Not a wall. But if not the arts or charity or war fighting tools, then what? A new granary? Wouldn’t be the dumbest idea, given the sudden urgent need to accelerate the Joint stock plan. Pelican Black wasn’t any use just growing in ’Ja’s greenhouse after all.

He ruminated and grumbled and fumed right up until dinner, at which point Gentian decided to interfere. The interference came via a delicately speared piece of fish popped gently into his muttering mouth.

“Say Ah!” She smiled cheekily.

“You say that before you put the food in his mouth.” ’Ja reproved gently.

“But Honored Husband’s face is so much funnier this way.” Gentian replied. They continued to go ‘round and ‘round on appropriate titles. Xiatoktok maintained that “No to Master. No to Mistress.” was a hill he was prepared to die on, but he was getting worn down.

Gentian, to his immense irritation, was becoming more adorable day by day. He was, resentfully, bitterly, compelled to admit that she was very good company. The Honorable President was forced, once, to confess that she made his days sweeter with her joyful presence. He would, however, unscrew his own head before admitting that ’Ja was right to bring her into the family.

Horrible witch. And she had corrupted Xiatokja. Definitely happened that way around.

“Alright, you might as well drag it out, dear. What troubles our Honorable Husband?” Xiatokja kept her face quite straight, but there was a certain glimmer in her eye that suggested she was playing to lose.

“Don’t you start. It’s been a damn trying day.” He quickly caught them up on where he was at, mentally.

“Oh. Honored Husband is overthinking it. Schools.” Gentian said with a shrug.

“Pardon?”

“Schools. Education. Most people stop their education when they are about, what, six or eight? Old enough to start helping on a farm or in a shop. Maybe half the Throng can read or write. Set up free schools. Bring the Chanticleers in on it, let them see the curriculum, offer to let them teach religious classes as part of the school day, hell, throw in a hot lunch. Put one in each neighborhood, invite the Chanticleer to act as honorary principal, then encourage the whole neighborhood to send their kids, participate in activities, that kind of thing.”

Xiatoktok looked at Gentian in surprise, but quickly grew more serious as she talked. It would be very expensive, even for him. He would want to get some City support, and support from Central House too. But there was a lot of promise there.

“That… is a very good idea. It could work. It would be a hell of a lot of work. But it could work.” Xiatokja murmured. Xiatoktok nodded along.

“Few things the Old Man loves more than education. I bet we can get his support.” ’Tok agreed.

“Might even get City support. Depends how much we are willing to let them interfere.” ’Ja finished off her soup, and looked over appreciatively at Gentian. “Well done!”

“Thank you, Honored Wife!” Gentian beamed. She set her spoon to the side of the bowl. Gentian was done with dinner too. ’Tok tossed his spoon aside and stood.

“I think you deserve a reward.” He smiled over at Gentian. “Tonight, you will have all my attention. Unless ’Ja can seduce me away from you. Do you think she can?”

Gentian smiled brilliantly as she rose from the table. “No. But don’t worry, she’s getting used to losing.” Gentian affectionately patted ’Ja’s head.

“Oh, I wasn’t worried. About her, anyway.” ’Tok gently twisted the knife and watched ’Ja squirm. He slipped his arm around Gentian and whispered loudly enough for ’Ja to hear “You are going to look so beautiful pregnant.”

It was another day of frantically keeping plates spinning for Xiatoktok. He had sent a letter outlining “his” school idea to Central House, updated the City Council on expected interest rates for the next three months (no change, even though by all rights they should be skyrocketing), met with various departments and committees, had a brief lunch with ’Mia (who was looking as ragged as he felt), before a quiet hour of reading correspondence that had survived the filter of his increasingly vindictive secretarial pool.

Gentian had worn her tiara to check her bank balance for the first time. The staff had yet to recover. A lot of very happy jewelers in Cold Garden these days.

“Message from Central House, President.”

“Bring it here.” ’Tok carefully opened the five centimeter thick envelope after checking the seal. The scribe’s handwriting remained impeccable. “School Plan- Approved and funded per your recommendation. Use the curriculum attached at 1 as the model. Joint Stock Company Technology- Approved for general use. See approvals attached at 2.” In neat letters at the bottom of the page, a different hand wrote- “Don’t think you can avoid the storm, redirect it or any of that nonsense. Focus on survival, then revenge.” The signature in vermilion ink was simply “Xia.”

“DUTY! All of you in, here now!”

The secretaries came storming in, and yes, there were an increasing number of attractive young men and women, weren’t there. Not that he gave a damn right now.

“I have a lot of letters to write. Queue up. Each of you will take dictation, go write it properly, send it off then get back in line. By heavens, they won’t know what hit ‘em!” Xiatoktok’s usual decorum had escaped him, to the shock of his secretaries.

“First and most importantly- To my butler. Ice down two bottles of the hundred year Steel River Wine for dinner tonight. The house is to be filled with flowers and I don’t give a damn that it’s the middle of winter. The gold and sapphire necklace in my vault is to be put in a box for Xiatokja, and Xia Gentian is hereby ordered to go at her first convenience to Grantham and Grimsby to commission a new tiara. Bill to come directly to me.”

He looked at the stunned secretary, who didn’t look like they could believe what they were writing. “That’s all for you. Jump to it.” He looked over the rest of the staff. “Shake out your fingers, this is going to take a while.”