Exactly twenty four hours later, ’Te stepped back into the conference room. Two of the associates still looked presentable, with neatly combed hair and unwrinkled robes. The other eighteen did not.

They looked pale. Sick. Some had been sick, or fouled themselves. Some were angry, resentful. Most looked beaten. A few- broken.

’Te crooked his finger at the two presentable youngsters and turned his back on the losers. Xiafensi would tidy up later. He felt a little spring in his step as he walked away.

The two victors were allowed to use the bathroom and refresh their grooming before joining Xiatokte for lunch. It was the first time they had ever been in an executive washroom. The obsequious attendant and the luxurious finishings felt unreal after the horror of the conference room. They felt the soft cotton towel and smelled the soft, scented soap. They looked at the chamber pot and reflected that, once again, someone else would have to clean that. It was all worth it. Doubly so when they entered the executive dining room and found that the Expert had reserved the Millenium Pine private room for their lunch. No menu was provided- the Expert had ordered for them.

“Now then, since we are to work together, introductions are in order. I am Expert Xiatokte. My formal title is Executive Vice-President for Stakeholder Management and Business Development, but since every employee of the bank should be both managing stakeholders and developing business, it’s a somewhat pointless title. What I actually am is the Bank’s outward facing people person. Expert Xiatokmia runs things inside the bank, and President Xiatoktok oversees everything, with the assistance of the rest of the executive team.” They nodded fervently.

“You may call me Expert Xiatokte in private, Vice President in public. If you do very, very well on this trip, I will permit slightly more informality in address.”

“Thank you, Expert!” They chorused, touched by the promise.

The food came to the table- a small bowl of soup to start. Almost inky black, it seemed to promise permanently stained clothes if even a second’s distraction were to strike. The smell was divine- rich and earthy and warm, with a hint of spice at the end.

“A little something easy on the stomach, to start. A very light mushroom broth, using only the rarest foraged mushrooms. No two bowls are ever the same, as it changes with the season. The spice you are smelling is Kaloon Chib- imported directly from Kaloon by our House in Vast Green Isle.`` They had never heard of Kaloon Chib. Just from the name they knew it was something too precious to put on the open market.

It tasted... It tasted like warmth, and strength. The lingering hint of spice enticed you to take that warmth and strength and throw yourself into the wide exotic world. It told you that there were sensual realms far, far beyond what your little gray life had let you experience.

“I don’t want to read while eating. Introduce yourselves.”

The shorter of the two spoke first. “I am the woman, Xiachoii. It is my honor to serve the Expert.”

“I am the man, Xiachoram. My honor to serve, Expert.”

“Cho?” Xiatoktam chuckled as he neatly sipped his soup. “I swear, we were just training up the Pon generation. Drink up, it’s best piping hot.”

When your boss’ boss’ boss’ boss tells you to drink, you drink. Very carefully. The next course was a small salad of orange wheels and fennel fronds, dressed in a slightly bitter aromatic oil and sprinkled with salt. The flavors seemed to mesh like gears, each driving the next across their taste buds.

“Now, this is something a little more ordinary, at least in the executive dining room. We maintain a few dedicated greenhouses for off-season fruits and vegetables, as well as some things that just don’t grow well this far north.”

Neither of them had ever eaten an orange before. They swore they would do whatever it took to make it something they could eat at a whim.

“Just nice. We should have a minute before the next course arrives, so let me get you up to speed on your new assignment.” He smiled warmly at the two youngsters, who absolutely knew better but still felt a thrill at the warmth and humor in his smile.

“Training future executives is quite like taking in a concubine. Notionally it is a mutually beneficial arrangement. In practice, your concubine, or trainees, cost you a hell of a lot of time and money before they start being really useful. But it is necessary, because without them, there is no future. Your overall mission, and you can take this as the first real portion of your executive training, is to assist me and two of my staff in our negotiations and public relations work during our trip to Red Mountain. The whys and wherefores you will learn later. You are going to be spending the next two days putting together materials.”

’Te sipped his tea and the warmth in the cup seemed to radiate from his eyes. The trainees felt themselves drowning in his charisma.

“Job One, support me and my staff. Job Two is to use your initiative and create value for the Bank generally, and for me personally.” The good humor vanished from his face, and something entirely cold emerged.

“If you turn up with a fist full of rads or some floozy, I will have you transferred to our Nome branch that same day. As a trainee janitor. This will be considered a light warning and your best case scenario. You could be transferred as trainee livestock. Am I perfectly clear?”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Yes Expert!”

“Good.” The warmth reappeared, as though it had never left. “Value is up to you to define. It could be a friendship, or information, or a business opportunity. It could be blackmail, it could be charity work. It could be nothing more than your observations while wandering through the city. If I am sufficiently moved by its worth, then you have succeeded. If not, you have failed.”

They nodded seriously, faces flat. Poor dears probably thought they looked serious and unflappable.

“No clearly defined goals, totally subjective evaluation, no substantial support or instructions, I think the phrase you are looking for is “A textbook example of being set up to fail.” Xiatokte chuckled. He pointed out the window.

“What do you see? Xiachoii.”

“The Clan apartments, across the park. The Clansfolk coming in and out of the apartments. The Throng moving through the streets. Aurochs pulling wagons.”

“Mmm. Xiachoram?”

“Much the same, Expert, though I note the streets have not been recently swept.”

“Alright. Now what does that mean?” He looked at the two of them.

“That sanitation has decreased, which means an increase in disease risk?”

“That the city is largely safe, as people are moving calmly?”

Xiatokte shook his head.

“It means that the forty people living in that building are increasingly being viewed as others by the otherwise civic minded Throng. It means that they are viewed as a problem to be managed, not a benefit.” The mask slipped away again, bitter steel in his eyes. “It means that you don’t get to say it’s unfair. Look at your Clansfolk. Really look at them! Petty, treacherous, greedy, vain, short sighted, cowardly and sadistic, the lot of them. And you poor fools want to be on the Executive track. You want to lead this mob.”

The air got colder. Older. Xiatokte was thrice their age, and while he didn’t look it, they could feel it.

“Not that you are wrong to want that. The mob needs strong, capable leaders. People of vision and resolve. People who get things done, even when it looks like nothing can be done. People who make things happen, not just react to them. The Grand Redoubts Bank employs almost a fifth of the Xia in Cold Garden. It funds our operations all over the northwest of the Greenfire continent. This Bank, that you are sitting in, that you dare to say you can lead, is spreading the light of civilization across the continent.” He sat back in his seat. In a calmer voice, he continued.

“We have to do it. Be the nursery of civilization. The Xia. No one else can. The Black Parade. What a joke. The Ma torture and murder their own children in the name of teaching them to survive, then unleash their little monsters on the rest of us. The Bo don’t really see much use in keeping humans around, beyond having reference stock. The Pi are all for civilization, as long as it’s new and interesting and they can shatter the world with their damn curiosity. As they have done, many, many times. And yet those three showers of imbeciles and maniacs are infinitely better than the squalid, squabbling Clanless. People we have, very literally, raised from grass huts to prosperity, time after time, and who will turn on us in an instant. In. An. Instant.”

He tapped the table for emphasis.

“But we have to do it, because no one else can ensure human prosperity. That humanity doesn’t just survive from generation to generation, but lives well. And we demand our generations of effort be fairly paid. So. You are going to be worked like animals and then your actual work begins. You will have to make something happen. Create some value, some advantage for me, for the Bank and for the Clan. You will demonstrate that when you say “Follow me!” you can lead our people somewhere good. You are the ship they sail on. If you go down, so do they. “Fair” has nothing to do with it. And if you bear the burden of leadership, you have the right to the greatest rewards.”

He summoned the waiter with his eyes. The waiter pushed a little cart over. A silver dome covering a silver tray rested on top of it. Three napkins were placed before each diner, the silver tray put between them. The dome was lifted away to reveal three tiny birds. They were smaller than a woman’s palm, carefully plucked but their bodies completely intact.

“Sylphide de Ortolan. I don’t know what it means, but apparently these birds were called Ortolan, before they went extinct. Before going on any journey with a high risk of death, I order this meal. It’s not on the menu. I hired the Bo to recreate this tiny songbird as best they could. Once a breeding colony was created, I followed the recipe from the Archives. Raise them in the dark. Fatten them up. Drown them in apple brandy. Pluck. Roast for exactly three minutes, then finish with brown butter and a glaze of annins. A tropical fruit that does not grow on this continent, except in a few very special greenhouses.”

He glanced up at the spellbound trainees.

“You use your hands. Accept that they will become dirty. Put the bird in your mouth and cover your face with the napkin. Then chew. The little bones and claws and beaks will scratch the inside of your mouth as you crush up everything they ever were or could have been. Your blood, their flesh, organs and bone. An epochs old recipe. The impossibly rare fruit. The impossible bird. You eat it and you remind yourself that you made this happen. All of this. The power, the glory, and the consequences. Eat.”

Xiatokte handed the stunned trainees over to his staff in the hallway outside the dining room. The trainees would spend the next forty eight hours pouring over documents, preparing memoranda, outlining strategies and generally enjoying a combination of sleep deprivation, indoctrination and social isolation. Before they left, he had one final lesson for them.

“Kneel.”

The trainees slammed to their knees.

“There are five people here. I did not specify who should kneel, or when or where. You simply assumed that I was speaking to you, and you must kneel immediately. You added your own words to my order, and interpreted it in the way you thought would best please me. This is a good way to think. Obedience to a superior is necessary and wise. However, you aspire to be executives. People with immense responsibility. You may need to kneel even then. You will certainly need to listen carefully. For example, I said that no one would open the conference room doors for you, and that the guards would stop anyone who tried. I never said that the doors were locked, or that you could not leave.”

And with that, he went to pack. There was an awful lot to do, an awful lot to bring. And he had to activate the dreadful Mrs. Crump.