’Te felt a lump in his throat. The artist did a really good job. It wasn’t even a little bit subtle, but then, propaganda rarely was. This was pure-quill brain poison, aimed at those educated enough to read, but not so much that they would read critically. Mother Malima? Mother Malima?!
’Te had never been to Old Radler, but he had seen the pictures. Amazing pictures. A city of absolute wonders. One of those wonders being a thirteen year old girl beheading a seventeen year old girl while standing on a literal mound of corpses, as the audience looked on and cheered. That was Malima’s first victory at the Martial Games, and by all accounts, she was honing her edge until she died. The Ma program of child rearing, particularly as practiced in Old Radler, was a source of constant horror and scandal for the other Clans. All the Clans were strict in their own ways. But not like the Ma. For the Ma, weakness was the origin of sin. Better you died young, before your sin could pollute others.
’Te tapped his finger against his lip. Xiachoram said that these were being published all over the Eastern Edge, and as far south as the Mouth of the Dragon and the Southern Archipelago. Apparently, for an only somewhat extortionate fee, you could get the Sky Runners to make a copy of the pamphlets through their relay system and transmit it to you. Then you just had to find someone to trace the pictures, and someone else to engrave them, and a third person to print the copies. And you could print just as many copies as you liked.
What, was the author going to come and stop you?
These were spares picked up by the merchant down in Red Mountain. Apparently they sold pretty well. They must sell like shaved ice in summer on the Eastern Edge. So long as nobody knew that Malima likely had the highest single person body count since Boqui. Or that it took the collective, focused, efforts of three generations of the Black Parade in Sing Sing to figure out exactly what “Pipi” did there and fix it. And he sincerely, devoutly, hoped that the Bo did see “Doctor Boney.” It would be hilarious. For him. The Bo weren’t famous for their wacky sense of fun. Always so stiff faced.
He sat up with a jerk. He knew “Doctor Boney.” He lived in Cold Garden.
Xiatoktok had been ignoring ’Mia’s demand that he go see a new doctor about the head trauma. He kept insisting that he was fine, and she kept insisting that someone who was six inches from a bomb blast, armored desk not withstanding, is not fine. Also his headaches, light sensitivity and strong reaction to sudden loud noises were pretty compelling evidence of a problem. He had managed to drag it out, but the blasted officiation of the blasted Call to the Blood Concubinage required a blasted notarized medical evaluation. It just said that he had no physical, mental or genetic problems that would stop him from fulfilling his duties in the Concubinage, but it was also not waivable. If you were going to go formal, you had to go all the way formal. Apparently.
He would take it out of ’Ja’s hide again, but she seemed to be having way too much fun the last time he did that. ’Tok therefore invoked the ancient privilege of a husband to grumble mightily to himself as he went and did the thing he was supposed to do.
Since he refused to use a Xia doctor, and his relationship with the Throng was in a delicate place, ’Ja recommended a Bo doctor who had set up a discreet practice in the city. Finding the doctor wasn’t a problem. Getting the doctor’s name was.
“Tubu Vintle, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The man looked like driftwood. If someone had carefully sun dried all the moisture out of a human, then pumped in just enough resin to keep them from looking like an actual mummy, they might look like this Bo. And they were a Bo. The shape of the skull was a dead giveaway, as was the utterly flat affect. ’Tok could imagine the doctor using the exact same phrase and tone to introduce himself to a new cheve. It had been an emotionally fraught few days. He just eyeballed his new doctor.
“You here for an eye exam?”
“No. I just refuse to be examined by a doctor using a false name.”
“Nothing false about it. It’s my name. Tubu Vintle. It’s on my license to practice.” He pointed to a plaque on the wall.
“You are a Bo.”
“Yep.”
“Your Clan gave you a name.”
“Yep.”
“That name was not Tubu Vintle.”
“Mmmhmmm.”
“What. Is. Your. Name?”
“Tubu Vintle.”
“The name you Clan gave you!”
“Oh… Bo-something-or-other. Been a long time since I used it.”
Xiatoktok gave the Bo what he intended to be a withering glare. He quickly realized his mistake. The shady doc came pre-withered.
“Would it help if I told you I was a hidden seed?”
“A what now? I mean, I can more or less guess but…”
“Basically what you think. After the Nacon pogroms last epoch and the Swabians trying to basically absorb us-”
“Then kill you all.”
“And then kill us all, yes, we decided to hide most of the Clan. A few of us are still wandering around out in the open, but most of us keep low.”
“Fair. Xia have done the same often enough.”
“Yep. Third Swabian was a shitshow for everyone.”
They shared a moment of reflection. Nobody, not even the Imperial Family, enjoyed the brief colonic rupture that was the Third Swabian Empire. It was widely believed, though never confirmed, that Ma Ghul-Jagers spent a decade exterminating any traces of supernatural influence from the Summer Capital after it fell. The other Clans looked down on such rank superstition, but avoided the area just in case.
If the Ma thought somewhere was cursed, why fuck around and find out?
“So… a hidden seed, but not, you know, very hidden?”
“Yeah. Low key integration effort. Casual references to a great, great grandmother who might have been Bo, that kind of thing.”
“I’m one twenty-third Bo on my sister in law’s side.” ’Tok confided mirthlessly.
“You got it. Of course, I knew all along. The shape of the ear hair is a dead give away.”
“Haaaah. Which does actually lead me to the reason for my visit.”
“Health certificate, right? Your wife said you needed one. Congratulations on the new concubine, by the way. I hear that Gentian is a raving beauty.”
“Xiatokja told you, did she?”
“Oh no, she just booked the appointment. No, I heard it from my assistant. It was all the rage in local gossip circles.”
“It’s what now?”
“Oh yeah. Apparently, Gentian is such a staggering vision of womanhood perfected that she was able to make a notorious pervert like you court her. A full Call to the Blood Concubinage? Tsk tsk. The power struggle between her and your wife is intense, filled with erotic tension, drama and betrayal. No hints, I’m enjoying the story.”
“I’ll kill her.”
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“Which “her?” No, don’t tell me. It’ll make the gossip so much juicer. I love arguing theories.”
The sticklike doctor didn’t show the slightest hint of excitement in his face. His voice was just above a monotone. Somehow, ’Tok believed him.
“Could you please just sign the form?”
“Nope, got to do the exam. You got some kind of brain trauma, some kind of axion shearing? Can’t tell from here. Hop on the slab. I’ll have a quick rummage around and see if I can’t get you safely into your Concubine’s fragrant arms.”
“It’s an examination table. Not a slab. Words have meanings.”
“They sure do. Like, for example, “Doctor.” As in I am one. Strip down, lie down, and try to remember that in the long run, we’re all dead.”
After a surprisingly gentle and completely non-invasive examination, Xiatoktok was allowed to rise, dress, get his signed certificate and a mild talking to.
“The bad news is that you do have some physical damage to the nerves in your brain. This is not impossible to treat, but it is slow and kind of a pain in the ass. I would tell you that it’s expensive, but in your case, it isn’t.”
“Discount for members of the Black Parade?”
“Rich people have a different definition of “expensive.””
“Of course.”
“The worse news is that, in addition to the physical damage, you have mental trauma too. I’m not going to sugar coat it.” The utterly deadpan doctor continued. “I am not the best therapist. But if you want to talk to someone who will definitely keep their mouth shut and can completely relate, I am here and available.”
“For a reasonable fee.”
“Very reasonable.”
Xiatoktok sighed. He didn’t care about the money, and honestly? It probably would be a fair rate.
“Alright, get your assistant to coordinate with my Duty Secretary. I’ll find the time.”
“Might be hard to reach your secretary. What with the sudden swarm of job applications. So wonderful to see a sinner repent, isn’t it?”
“And with that, I’m done.”
“Not yet you aren’t. I’ve been trying to get someone to pick up the autopsy report, but nobody will. Frankly, I think they are trying to duck my fee.”
“What autopsy?”
“For your former Vice-President Xiatokbui. Apparently your in house investigators didn’t find anything when they chopped her open, so they kicked the autopsy over to me for a second opinion. They said to bill the Bank. And I refuse to send my findings before my fee gets paid. So guess who’s going to buy an autopsy report today?”
Xiatoktok was willing to admit that he mentally filtered out some people. Any well functioning cog in his machine tended to get ignored until it started slipping out of alignment. He liked to think he made up for it by being hyper focused on the people he was paying attention to, and nearly as fixated on the environments he moved through.
He could remember Xiatokbui exactly. A stout woman. Not nearly as heavy as old ’Lu, but… stout. Doughty. Impossibly venal and petty. Somehow even more financially illiterate than ’Lu. A classic example of someone promoted for political utility rather than any practical value. And she knew it. Politicking is what she did. It was the one thing she was genuinely good at- making herself seem invaluable to as many different interest groups as humanly possible. It even worked on ’Tok! The Pine Mountain Group had sunk a fortune into her, expecting to use her as a sort of human shield later on.
Things didn’t work out that way.
’Tok pictured Xiatokbui moving through this office, back when Fatty ’Lu infested it. When every inch of wall space was covered in expensive art of dubious quality, calligraphy he was incapable of appreciating, and little trophies of his many triumphs. Generally some token of a company or family he had ruined. Xiatokbui and ‘Lu liked to laugh over those. A real bonding experience. And they did click. Horrible, but true. They genuinely were a powerful, effective team.
’Lu was a shortsighted scumbag, but he was fierce within his limited capacity. Constantly pressing the competition, constantly pushing sales, constantly leaning on cities and politicians to open the way for the Bank. And after the sweaty tornado of ’Lu smashed through, the soft drizzle of ’Bui came to wash away any hurt feelings. Nobody actually liked Xiatokbui, as far as ’Tok knew. But nobody disliked her enough to risk killing her. It’s why her death was such a mystery, and why nobody was looking into it too hard. She wasn’t useful to anyone, anymore. ’Tok snorted. He wondered if he could somehow blame ’Lu’s death on these new raiders.
’Mia arrived for her scheduled meeting.
“Why the grin? Strange grin though it is?”
“I just read Xiatokbui’s autopsy report.”
“Oh? Any idea who poisoned her?” ’Mia asked with a vague sort of interest. Her mind was elsewhere.
“A well known scumbag with a prior record of poisoning people. One that was in your office not too long ago, in fact.”
That got ’Mia’s attention. “Oh? Who?”
“Xiatokbui.”
There was a pause.
“I don’t follow.”
“It messed with my head too, but the report is convincing.” ’Tok handed the file over. “Do you remember that she was on that unscheduled sweat lodge retreat on the night of her death?”
“Yes, she was supposed to be hosting a bunch of transportation companies. Damn shame that meeting didn’t happen, now that I think about it. Transport is in rough shape and only going to get worse.”
“True. Well, it turns out that like any good Xia, ’Bui had some top notch toxin resistance. She further enhanced that resistance by ingesting small quantities of poison. The idea is that she would build up an immunity to them.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that! Does it really work?”
’Tok grinned.
“Sort of, with some poisons. Mostly organic poison, not something like arsenic or cyanide.”
“Huh. Maybe I should look into that.”
“I wouldn’t rush it. ’Bui rushed it, and look how that turned out.”
“She didn’t prep for the right poison?”
“No, the little idiot…” ‘Tok mentally reviewed Xiatokbui’s actual dimensions. “The rather large idiot was taking microdoses of about thirty different poisons, including ones that you can’t build a resistance to. In practice, it meant that her kidneys and liver were under a lot of stress almost all the time. BUT. Being Xiatokbui, she figured that her resistance must be through the roof.”
“With you so far.”
“So she goes to the sweat lodge. A hot and steamy environment, putting stress on her organs. Not a lot of stress, but some. Then she figures that she needs a TON of narcotics to get in the right state of mind for a good ritual.”
“Ah. Starting to see where this is going.”
“There is a twist at the end. A very dumb one. You see, everyone else is taking a small hit off a communal pipe while Xiatokbui is sucking down a private bonfire of cannabis dusted with a fine selection of psychoactive mushroom powders. Guaranteed to get anyone, absolutely anyone, high as a kite. A mix which witnesses claim she said she used and enjoyed in the past.”
‘’Mia’s eyes went vague as she recalled the initial report. She slowly nodded. “Right. The Classy Lady’s Comfort she called it. She had a whole box of it in the office. Enameled box, with the name written into the glaze. I binned it, of course.”
“Wise choice. Anyway, the original investigation showed no problem with Xiatokbui’s personal narcotics, nor was there any poison detected elsewhere in the lodge. So it was a mystery what poisoned her, given that her symptoms didn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“Oh no. No. Not possible.”
“Oh yes.” ’Tok started laughing. “All those accumulated toxins, all those heavy metals building up in her body, finally fought through her overloaded kidneys and liver. It was the combination of all three things- the accumulated toxins, the massive dose of drugs AND the sweat lodge that triggered it all. She might actually have pulled through, if she got medical care fast enough. But she was in a sweat lodge ritual! She thought she was just really getting into the ritual! Then she gets pulled out and rushed to the Bank in the freezing cold, lurching around on that two wheeled cart.”
“And she dies with your name on her lips.”
“A thought that often warms my heart.” ’Tok smiled. He didn’t mention its aphrodisiac effect, as he knew it made ’Mia uncomfortable.
It was ’Mia’s turn to start laughing. “That is just perfect. What a perfect end to that wretched woman. You know she hit on me?”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. Not some kind of organized seduction campaign or anything, just… she would get drunk or high and casually hit on me. Then she would act like it never happened when she was sober. She invited me out for drinks once. It was incredibly awkward.”
“Dear gods. I can’t even imagine.” He paused. “No, I imagined it, that’s just wretched.”
“Well, on that happy note, and before we get down to serious business, what are you going to do with the autopsy report?”
“What any good President should. Issue a stern warning decrying the leaked results, take the opportunity to moralize over the evils of self abuse, then discreetly leak the report. With, perhaps, a few redactions and corrections.”