Xiatoktok was reading the morning intelligencer. Each entity organized under the Xia Clan House was required to report certain matters to the Central House. There, the Patriarch’s scribes would correlate, corroborate and analyze the data, before summarizing their findings and sending them to whomever needed them most. Some got barely a note once a week. Xiatoktok got no less than ten neatly written pages daily.
Not for nothing were the Scribes known as the brain of the Xia clan. Their diligence and fanatical loyalty to the Patriarch was heavily rewarded. And jealously protected. The morning intelligencer was as close to clairvoyance as the Clan could manage. At this stage in the epoch, at any rate.
“Should we reintroduce newspapers? I think the printing press is around. Literacy is a bit iffy, though.” Xiatoktok silently mused. He closed his eyes, sighed a moment, then opened them again. The words on the paper had stubbornly refused to change, which meant that they were likely real and likely true.
The Leonidas Collective continues to make a sustained push north, as additional reports corroborate what has been dubbed the Green River Massacre. The likelihood of the murder of General Ander in the disputed territory now appears certain, though the culprit is still unknown. Regardless of the responsible parties, the Collective have taken these incidents as both provocation and justification for the mobilization of their First and Fourth Pioneer Corps in support of their pacification efforts.
Another notice, two pages over:
Despite the winter season, thirty bands of Langpopo have been seen migrating into the disputed territory. While most of the bands have used the road passing Cold Garden, ten were spotted moving cross-country and were likely scouting alternative routes. Additional, unobserved, mobilization into the Disputed Territory is highly likely. Each band had between one and four pieces of light field artillery attached. Their ability to make use of the equipment effectively is currently unknown, but based on acquired samples, the field guns and ammunition are of adequate quality.
Then:
Worshipers of the Great Dusty World are split over the increasing use, and acceptance, of “Acts of Faith,” a euphemism for suicide bombing or other self destructive forms of attack. Theological justification is hotly disputed, as are the theological and practical ramifications of the practice. While the faith’s general embrace of death has been historically useful in restoring land to human habitability, the current trend indicates an increasing willingness to “reform the people” before “reforming the world.” Reports of chemical weapons development by Dusty cantons have been verified, and appear to be general practice in the disputed territories.
The only faint positive was that there was no new news about the Sea Folk. It was a very faint positive, they were still acting erratically and aggressively, and still holding land further inland than they had ever pushed before. But they weren’t doing anything new, and given their significant technological edge, that was a very good thing.
Even the Xia weren’t completely certain who, or what, the Sea Folk were, but their best guess was… profoundly unsettling.
The little bell above the door rang. He pulled the lever under his desk that would unlock the armored door and kept his other hand on the rip cord that would detonate the bomb. He only relaxed when the Duty Secretary came in alone and closed the door behind her.
“President, you wanted to be informed when Vice President Xiatokte was setting out? They have departed.”
“Let me see the itinerary.”
She handed it over. It listed everyone on the delegation, their route, supplies… ’Te wisely didn’t bring a concubine, though there was certainly no rule against sex with a subordinate. He would have the landau steam cleaned and purifier cores run through it when it came back. Actually, given that old ’Lu had used it for decades, he should probably rip out and replace the entire interior.
“Who or what is “The Dreadful Mrs. Crump,” and why is it listed under “Armaments?”
“I was unable to find an explanation for that, President, and the party departed before I could ask. I consulted the guards and they were unaware of a weapons system with that nomenclature, and refused to hazard a guess as to what “Mrs.” might mean in that context. However, if you look under “Supplies,” there is a ten gallon tank of “tailored biomatter, non-potable.” I believe, based on the limited available evidence, that “Mrs.” is an organic weapon system, likely venomous or radiological, “Dreadful” indicating a sort of classification or to use an analogy, caliber, and “Crump” being a trade name for the weapons system.”
Xiatoktok looked blankly in her direction for a long moment, then shrugged. “Sounds plausible. Make a note to follow up on that later. Perhaps someone in the Greenhouse would know.”
“Yes, President. District Manager Xiaponmi is here, and he insists on seeing you. He says that it is urgent?”
“When is my next meeting? And which district does he oversee?”
“Ten, President, and the Greenvale district.”
Xiatoktok had a ferocious memory, but it still took him a moment to place the district. It was a… well not a dumping ground, exactly, but it wasn’t very prosperous. A small cluster of villages were built near the main trail between Cold Garden and Red Mountain, with the bank branch in the village of Greenvale. The villagers were mostly small holders and subsistence farmers. Some trade with the passing caravans, but it was very small stuff. The “Bank” in Greenvale was a joint operation with the Sky Runners and a local general store, letting people handle their post, money and shopping at the same time. It was a good first posting for someone who was climbing the ranks but, due to class or ability, was unlikely to climb too high.
A main line Xia posted there was likely incompetent or the victim of politicing. Which was another form of incompetence.
“Send him in and make me a cup of tea. Something soothing and herbal, I suspect I will need it.”
She bowed politely and left. A moment later, Xiaponmi walked in. He looked like hell. His robes were mud spattered and torn. His hair had been straightened with his fingers, but was an atrocious mess. His boots were worse, and what was worse is that the dolt wore them into his office! He could smell the animal dung clinging to them from here, and this fucking loser was walking his shitty boots across his carpet! Xiatoktok’s hand reached for the bomb cord. The man had a shitty skull. No aesthetics to it at all. He wouldn’t display it even as a joke.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Xiaponmi’s knees seemed to give out, and he collapsed, head pressed to the floor. “I have failed you, President! I am so, so, sorry!”
Promising start. Xiatoktok removed his hand from the bomb cord.
“You have. Which failing are you apologizing for?”
He started to raise his head up off the floor. “President I-”
“If I see your eyes, I will doubt your sincerity.”
His head smashed down to the floor again.
“I would never dare!”
“Report!”
“The bank, President, the bank was destroyed under my care!”
“Explain further.”
“We had settled up the post harvest collections and were mostly done with the financing for the spring season. People buying new aurochs, cheves, plows, that kind of thing. Seed grain. We loan the money in the winter, the goods come in the spring, and we collect after the harvest. That’s the cycle.”
“Presumably you were capable of managing this.”
“Yes, President! No performance rating below “Meets Expectations” in the last five years!”
Which made him almost unbearably mediocre. Xiatoktok’s hand drifted back towards the cord.
“The Bank. Was Destroyed. How?”
“We were finishing up the winter surge. It’s just me and a couple of tellers. They take turns keeping the books. The Sky Runners send one of their kids to mind the desk, Greenvale is too small for a Factor or real office. Mor Lashi runs the General Store. So there generally isn’t more than ten people in the building at any time, customers included.”
This time Xiatoktok decided to wait silently. No matter how this ended, he would have to redecorate. Again.
“We close up early in winter too. No point in wasting the lamp oil. Except three nights ago. A bunch of riders came into town. There must have been ten of them! Dressed like tribals but no tribe or band I recognize. They came in hard, ignored everything and just went straight for the General Store. Kicked in the door even though it wasn’t locked. One of ‘em cut down the Sky Runner’s kid with a long knife. Didn’t say anything, just CHOP and the boy was trying to scream with his head hanging half off and blood spraying up the wall.”
Xiaponmi started shaking.
“I was watching from the back room. Mor got a hatchet to the face. Just threw it over the counter. Sounded like cutting a melon, down he went. I slammed the door shut, dropped the bar and ran out the back. Kept running, hid in a ditch. They rode off not ten minutes after I ran. Didn’t even bother looking for me. I guess they didn’t care. I crept back to the store. Nobody in there, but I could smell smoke. I went in. Every scrap of paper in the store was on fire. Chelo and Toll, my tellers, they had been cut down too.”
He was having trouble talking now. He took a moment to gather himself and pressed on.
“They were good kids. Both of them. Good kids. Didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve me running out on them. But there was nothing I could do. Nothing I could do!”
Xiatoktok just waited.
“The bandits looted the general store, cleaned out our ready cash too. But that’s not what they were really after. They burned everything, President. Everything!”
“You think they wanted to burn down the store?”
“They wanted to burn down the Bank! All of our ledgers and notes. All burned.”
“We have copies of the ledgers here. And the notes.”
“Yes, President, but it doesn't matter. Greenvale is Langpopo territory and falls under tribal law. Happens that the Langpopo have the same rule for secured loans and mortgages that Cold Garden does. Almost word for word.”
Xiatoktok felt a chill crawling along his spine. “Not enforceable without the original signed agreement. So all those mortgages and loans secured against the harvest…”
“Might as well be gifts to the good folk of Greenvale now.”
“Meanwhile, we still owe the money deposited in the Bank to our customers.”
Xiaponmi kept silent, pressing his head to the floor. Xiatoktok almost wanted to laugh. The idiot was right. They had come to destroy the Bank, or at least that branch. Generally he wouldn’t give even half a damn about the fate of some rural open air prison for incompetents, but for his Joint Stock plan to succeed, it was exactly those rural branches he needed. This really, truly, could not stand. He could practically hear the Voices of Reason charging over and demanding to know what he was intending to do about this latest act of gross negligence.
He sighed and rubbed his temples. He rang the bell for his secretary.
“Duty, bring in my tea please. District Manager Xiaponmi, you may stand.”
“Thank you for your grace, President. It is more than I deserve.” Xiaponmi struggled to his feet, and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor.
“Why am I hearing about this from you? By which I mean, why was it not reported up through your chain of report, and why am I only hearing about it three days after it happened?”
“I have a couple of cheves, good plains ponies. I rode hell for leather all the way up. Didn’t stop to send a message with the Sky Runners. Didn’t even occur to me to let Expert Xiatokmia know. I just kept thinking, “The President has to be told.” Over and over again in my head.”
So the Sky Runners probably don’t know that one of their kids is dead. They aren’t the most violent tribe, but most people would not cross a continent spanning courier network with the capital to put out really serious bounties. For that matter, since the Xia are famous for their bounties, you would think that the bandits would kill all the witnesses. But they let him go. Either they don’t fear our retaliation, or they want him to tell people about this.
“Describe the bandits.”
“Like I said, dressed like tribals but not any tribe or band I know.”
“Be more specific. What kind of clothes did they wear?”
“Buckskin trousers and jackets.”
“Tasseled? Beaded? Were they dyed or painted?”
“Uh. I don’t recall. They might have been painted? I remember seeing blue and red, but it’s all a blur.”
“Boots or moccasins?”
“I didn’t see.”
“Metal or stone weapons?”
“Looked ceramic, I guess.”
“Any pistols, rifles, any weapons requiring a significant technology base?”
“Other than the knives and hatchets? Not that I recall.”
“Distinguishing facial features?”
“Not really. Just… definitely not local. We know all the local bands, President. Half the villagers are related to them, and the other half act like they were. They are good folk. Wouldn’t do anything like this.”
Xiaponmi was starting to shake again, exhaustion wiping away what little strength he had left. The Duty Secretary returned with the tea.
“Thank you, Duty. Wait a moment. Xiaponmi, I have heard your report. Your duty does not end here. You will be interviewed later and will have to prepare a written report. For now, Housing will find you a place to sleep, eat and clean up. If you leave the apartment for any reason, inform the front desk so that we may find you immediately if we need to. You did the best you could, Xiaponmi. There was nothing more you could do. I do believe that you truly did your best.”
Xiaponmi didn’t look up from the floor. In a muffled voice- “Thank you, President. They said. You were a good one. Not like the old one. Thank you. They were good kids. Good kids. Didn’t deserve that. Nobody deserves that.”
“Rest well, District Manager Xiaponmi. I will take it from here.” He signaled the duty secretary to lead the sobbing man away. Xiatoktok sat behind his armored, armed desk. Sipped his excellent tea. Looked at the brown-black boot prints on his beautiful pale cream carpet. Felt the gentle warmth of heat stones filling the room. He thought for a moment about arranging some sort of nasty accident for Xiaponmi, then just tossed the thought away. He had far, far more important things to worry about. Carpets could be cleaned. And Xiaponmi had truly tried his best.