The City Council met just after sundown. Nobody was mad enough to imagine it would be the last business of the day- just the opposite. They thought it would be early enough to not interfere with their rounds later. The ashes were still hot, but their people were getting colder by the moment.

“The Throng has been called to war. We certainly didn’t want this, but by heaven, they’ll get it! To that, I call upon Strategos Runce to tell us what the strategic situation looks like.” Counselor Vellem, a leading voice in the chamber, invited the slim man to speak.

“In a word- difficult. Starting with the issue of whom, exactly, do we fight.” This created some unpleasant grumbling and yells from the Councilors (and invited guests) but the Strategos waved them down.

“Yes, the Collective. They are our ultimate enemies here. But. There is a reason they worked with all those displaced tribes and city folk from out east. Notionally, they are now a new tribal group. The Great Northern Unification Front, which seeks to return to its rightful homeland in the northwest. Apparently, various tribes and city folk claim folk traditions that place them as the rightful rulers and inhabitants of the cities in the Five Cities Alliance, as well as the Disputed Territories.”

“What shit!” A voice called from the crowd. “We’ve been in Cold Garden almost a millennia, and it was abandoned before that!”

“I can assure you that reality plays little or no role in this whatsoever.” The Strategos continued. “This is purely about creating both deniability and a “just cause.” I should also add that while we have found a few more senior bandits who knew about the training and supplies from the “International Fellowship Committee,” they were very few. The overwhelming majority just did as instructed, using the weapons provided. No questions asked, because they are all basically armed refugees. Whoever gives them food is right.”

That hit home. The Strategos pressed on.

“So the Collective has a high degree of deniability for its involvement with, or potentially the creation of, The Great Northern Unification Front. Even if they did admit to supplying trainers, supplies and weaponry, they would justify it in terms of resisting aggression coming from the East, and they will send a very sternly worded letters protesting the shocking behavior of the GNUF. If pressed, as a major diplomatic concession.”

“Red Mountain.” A sick voice came from the back benches.

“Counselor Simmel is correct. If we declare war on the Collective, we will essentially break apart the Five City Alliance. Red Mountain is in the process of becoming a client state of the Collective, and if the Plutocracy can’t spot it, there is truly no saving them. On the other hand, they are still our largest single trading partner, supply a huge amount of goods the city needs, and have a lot of sway with the other three cities.” Grim nods dotted the chamber.

“So. With whom do we go to war, and how? A direct conflict with the Collective is… excessively politically difficult. It is also militarily untenable, as I regret to inform the Council of what I am sure they already know- they have more soldiers under arms than the City has citizens. Those soldiers are also well trained, disciplined and with a high proportion of veterans. Their weaponry is ample in supply and incomparably more sophisticated than what we manufacture domestically. We could theoretically match their weapons in quality in a year or two, but never in quantity.”

“Are you saying we can’t win?” A pissed off voice sounded from the back.

“I’m saying that we can’t win alone. Councilor, the military defense of Cold Garden has never relied entirely on the Throng’s strength of arms. We have relied on our relationship with the Langpopo. Who are more or less at war with the Collective already.”

“So what, exactly, do you propose?” Councilor Vellem asked.

“We formalize the arrangement with the Langpopo as best we can. We become their arms and supply depot for the coming war, and get our soldiers out in the field in a support role. We also, again to the extent practicable, work as a counterbalance to the irregular forces of the GNUF. Which leads me to a question for the Council- what, exactly, is our objective in this war?”

That brought them to a nasty halt. What was their objective? Survival? Increased territory? Sheer revenge killing?

“Let us set that aside, momentarily.” Counselor Vellem said smoothly. “We should take a moment to turn to domestic matters before we try and decide on international ones. Counselor Sellik, I think you were trying to put together a state of the City report?”

“Not even close to done, I’m afraid, simply because the state of the city is changing too quickly. Allow me to summarize briefly- We have lost a third of the city’s housing stock outright, falling to a quarter if we include the “merely” damaged but salvageable. We are trying to get some sort of sense of the casualties, but at the very least, thousands are dead. I don’t know how many were taken, but… scores, certainly. Perhaps a few hundred. The mercenaries did a good job intercepting raiders as they left, but they didn’t take the field instantly. All we have at the moment are anecdotal reports.” The Councilor shook her head bitterly.

“Shops, warehouses and the like are also badly damaged. The bad news is that a lot of our warehouses are in the east of the city, because Caravans from Muddy Waters come that way. The good news is that even more of them are in the south of the city, because that's the way caravans from Red Mountain come in. So not a complete loss. Still, the losses, financially and materially, are going to be staggering. From what I can gather, while there is no immediate prospect of a famine, one in a few months seems highly likely. We will need to import a sizable amount of food, building materials, medicine, everything. Combined with our new military commitments, and rebuilding, finding the money for all of this is going to be… challenging.”

“I won’t ask about the state of the treasury, because we all know the answer is “Not enough.” Councilor Vellem kept the meeting going. “On the subject of money and supplies, I invited a guest, well known to all of us, who may have some useful ideas on the matter. President Xiatoktok, if you would?”

Xiatoktok rose from the back bench. He had kept his robes deliberately simple, but with a martial theme. He had to surrender his saber at the door, but the frog still hung from his belt.

“My thanks, Councilor Vellem. Honored Councilors, from the perspective of the Grand Redoubts Bank, there are three interconnected problems, which have similar solutions. Problem One- the bandits, these so-called Great Northern Unification Front criminals, are acting as raiders and guerrillas. Their military role I will leave to more experienced minds- economically, they serve to isolate us from the rest of the continent. Even Vast Green Isle’s Foreign Quarter has been raided. Therefore, external trade is difficult, expensive, or outright impossible.” Xiatoktok had their complete attention. He spoke with urbane authority.

“Problem two- our city is badly wounded, our people impoverished, our internal markets are in disarray. Internal trade is therefore difficult, expensive or outright impossible. Problem three- the needs of the City will draw away money from restarting the economy generally. State support for commerce and industry is therefore difficult, expensive, or outright impossible. Ordinarily, this would trigger a full blown economic collapse, followed by a slow, painful, recovery over years or decades. Assuming, of course, the city survived its external threats.”

The room had gone utterly silent. Even the Strategos looked pale.

“There is reason for hope. When we use the word “economy,” we most often do so inaccurately. I am as guilty of this as anyone. “Economy” properly refers to the totality of wealth and resources in a given region. This can and should be broadly construed to include both production and consumption of resources. Where we err is in thinking purely in monetary terms. It is not. It is everything and everyone. In that sense, Cold Garden and the Five City Alliance are rich. We need to unlock that wealth and put it to work. Right now, it is bound up in refugee camps and the desperate hoarded goods of those lucky enough to be spared the fires.” Xiatoktok smiled warmly at the confused Councilors.

“I have had the privilege of speaking with many of you about the creation of joint stock companies. I will confess a financial interest in seeing them come into being- frankly I intended a project of mine to be the first of them. However, my own pecuniary interests cannot outweigh the needs of the City and the people. The solution to all three problems is to make it in everyone’s direct, personal financial interest that the economy moves.” He swept his eyes around the room and brought command to his voice.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I propose the creation of state owned enterprises- joint stock corporations who’s majority ownership is held by the City. The Cold Garden Reconstruction corporation- responsible for building homes and selling them to the homeless at a fixed percentage over cost. The Cold Garden Agricultural Cooperative- which buys wholesale from surrounding cities and regions and resells to retailers at a fixed percentage over cost. The Cold Garden Grand Armory Corporation- responsible for weapons acquisition, manufacture and sale.” His voice bounced off the walls. The Councilors couldn’t see his point yet, but they were interested.

“The City puts up the biggest bit of capital, then opens the companies to investment from the people. This does three key things. First, it raises capital without needing to increase the sovereign debt of the City. Second, once the companies are running profitably, they will provide vital goods and services to the people, alongside a steady stream of income. Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, they align the interests of those outside the City directly with those inside it. They want to make money too, right?” Xiatoktok’s urbane seriousness slipped momentarily into a mischievous grin.

“The raiders will be met with aggressive scouts and agile cavalry, determined to preserve supply lines. Locals, who will have a better sense of where the bandits are, will be eager to inform on their movements. This will negate the GNUF’s greatest advantages, namely maneuverability and surprise, and allow for economic prosperity in our territory. The industries of the city will thrive, importing needed goods and setting the homeless and hopeless to work building their homes and futures. Lastly, this sudden burst of commercial activity will give rise to yet more commercial activity, enriching the people and filling the City treasury.” He nodded magisterially.

“Councilors, before you consider debt to finance your needs, I hope you consider investment. Not just for the present crisis, but for the brighter tomorrow we all fight for.”

The delegation from the Bank sat in an antechamber. Simple whitewashed walls painted with cheery murals of happy people. Xiatoktok was meditating. The rest of the delegation couldn’t be so calm. They sat fixedly in their chairs, their hands clenching and then being forced to unclench. Legs started to twitch unconsciously, before being consciously stilled. Beads of sweat trickled down, but nobody dared to wipe them off and reveal their stress. Their fear. Their lack of composure. Not with the President sitting right there, cool as the other side of the pillow.

The President did not sweat. His breathing was as gentle and regular as a baby on it’s mothers bosom. Not a wrinkle on his robes, not a hair out of place, not the slightest sign of strain. He might as well have been in his own meditation chamber at home. Each of them remembered the saying that had been going around the City for weeks now. “Only two things move Bloodless ’Tok- Generational Wealth and Xia Gentian. And of the two, only his concubine gets a rise out of him.”

Looking at him now, and remembering the rumors of the night before, they believed it. Hard to imagine that the President had ordered a selection of prisoners be brought to his private villa outside the city. This was so that in nicer weather, he could impale them on long spikes in his garden and enjoy both lunch and a show. At least, that’s what they heard. The rumor was almost certainly true- very trustworthy sources said he was negotiating with the city for even more prisoners. Perhaps he was going to throw a party.

They shot each other furtive glances, wondering if they could put one of their “very trusted, very loyal” colleagues on one of those spikes.

A gentle knock came from the door, then one of Xiatokte’s protégé's came in. “President? The Council has released its decisions.”

Xiatoktok opened his eyes. “Go ahead.”

“The attack on the City was perpetrated by the Great Northern Unification Front, under the lead of Warleader Theremin Gill. The City goes to war to demand reparations for the harm, and the lives of everyone involved in the attack, from the individual raiders to the political and military leaders who ordered it. Addressing the immediate needs of the people, a variety of social support programs are to be implemented and,” Here she drew a deep breath “The following state owned joint stock companies will be created…”

Xiatoktok permitted himself a small smile. Under “Other, important contributing joint stock corporations” was the name Green Mountain Oil and Seed.

The line was forming before the dawn rose, even though the Sky Runners wouldn’t open their doors until the sun was clear of the horizon. Too many people desperate to reach out to the world, or hoping that the world was reaching back to them. Standing in line was a man who seemed to be made of a series of perfectly round balls, distorted by heavy winter clothes. He had the sort of face that seemed primed for uncritical joy. There were hints that, not so long ago, he was truly dedicated to the ecstatic ideals of his faith. The lingering smells of good food in his clothes spoke to his love of his neighbors and the world generally. A warm, welcoming soul. The frozen tears on his smooth face said that his joy had been stolen from him.

The line slowly trudged through the doors, up to the long table, did their business or got the bad news, and trudged out the back. Soon enough it was the perfectly round man’s turn to stand in front of one of the Runners. A rangy young man who didn’t look much more cheerful than the perfectly round man.

“Package or letter.”

“Package, I guess.”

“Destination?”

“New Scandie, is what I was told.”

“Putting in an order with the polisher, eh? Lots of those today.”

“Yes. I’m afraid I’m going to inconvenience a lot of people.”

“Nah, Polisher’s pretty quick. Put your package on the scale.”

The perfectly round man reached inside his jacket and drew out a little pouch. From the little pouch, he pulled a pea-sized core, and set it on the scale. The scale hardly budged. Neither did the surprised eyes of the Runner.

“You want to send a polished core to a polisher?” The runner squinted a bit at the core and started fishing around under the table for something. “You want to send a polished core to a polisher. Hey, UNCLE! I need an Elder over here. Bring the lens, you’re going to need it.”

“The messenger didn’t explain much, just said I should send it to him if I ever-”

“Going to stop you right there. Better if I don’t know. You can tell Uncle if you like.”

“What’s this now?” The older man walked over, a heavy glass lens in hand.

“Polished Core, going… west.”

The older Runner grunted looked at the core, then over at the very round man who somehow managed to feel more miserable and awkward now than when he first came in.

“Best you come with me. We’ll get you squared away in my office.”

They walked over to a tiny room, barely big enough for two chairs and a desk. The Runner removed the hood on a very bright light core, and examined the core with the magnifying lens. He then produced a clear glass, added water and two drops of an unnamed liquid. He then put the core behind the glass, which turned into an absolute riot of colors and lights.

“It’s real.” The elder Runner sighed. “Never saw one before, but we all learn how to identify them eventually. It’s part of the deal.”

“I… don’t know anything about that. It was delivered to me, out of the blue.”

“I bet. Let me guess. Someone said they owed you one, and then this turned up?”

“Yes, exactly!”

“No rhyme or reason, just… he decided that he owed you one.”

“He ate my food after I welcomed him to the City. It seemed to mean a lot to him.” The round man started to cry. “I cooked samples, you know? And ran the food stall in front of the grocery. Gorgie, he ran the store. He was always the tough one. The one that said you can’t just let things slide, you gotta do it right or people take advantage. So what if they take advantage, I always said. They are all the Throng. We all dance together.” His voice got muffled. “They burned it down. Our store, with our rooms on top. I got out, but Gorgie, the roof-”

“I understand. Truly, I understand. I am so terribly sorry for your loss.” The elder spoke with exhausted sincerity.

“So I remembered the strange guy, and the message.”

“What was the offer?” There was an undercurrent of urgency from the Elder.

“To kill for me, by blade or heat.” The round man sniffled. “I just needed to send the token. I don’t even remember his name.”

“From your perspective, it really doesn't matter. I must remind you- you will never see a token like this again. Never. It was given to you, but I can promise you that the great-grandchildren of the polisher will honor it if your great-grandchildren present it a century from now. What you are holding there is the promise of a life taken. Are you absolutely sure, absolutely sure you want to kill?”

The round man started crying again. “He was my world. Our wonderful little grocery, my stand, our neighbors, my heart, we all orbited around Georgie. I learned to cook, because my food made him happy. I could sing and dance, because he made my soul sing and dance. I love him with every fiber of my being. I always will.”

The Elder closed his eyes and sighed. “I have heard your will. Speak the name of the one who is to die.”

“Warleader Theremin Gill. The City Council announced it last night- he was responsible for murdering all those people. Warleader Theremin Gill.”

The Runner let out an explosive sigh through his nostrils, nodded and rose. He came around the desk to the round man.

“This comes with a bit of ritual. Good news is that the delivery is free of charge. Please stand for a moment.” The round man sniffled and stood. “I should add that this ritual is extremely secret and would very, very, strongly suggest you never mention it to another living soul. Ever.” He coughed and knelt down on both knees, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I, Ransoom El-Iyn-Ar, Elder of the fallen Ghe Clan, in keeping with the ancient compact, have received the Promise Token of the Ma. By my blood and that of my line, I swear it shall be delivered to its creator as swiftly as possible, that vengeance might be had.” Elder Ransoom shivered. “Let all mortals give way, let all ghosts and demons fall back, let the mountains and rivers show their humility and restraint. A Ma shall come to take the life of Theremin Gill… and any who stand in his way shall die.”