“Good that you’re back. Good that you're back.” ’Tok patted ’Te on the back, as ’Mia nodded along. “We were worried something had happened.”

“Thank you, both of you. It did get rather hairy for a while, but we pulled through. And made some interesting gains along the way. Let me tell you-”

“That’s great. Look, I have about eight meetings I need you to take this afternoon. You have about fifteen minutes before the first of ‘em. This box has the background information you are going to need. Tomorrow we can get you moving at full speed. Now, if you will excuse me, I have an incredibly half assed embezzlement scheme to shut down.” ’Mia shoved a schedule into ’Te’s hands, pushed a file box towards him with her foot, and strode out of the office.

“Things got busy the last few days. We really are desperately glad to have you back.” ’Tok said, with a smile.

“Sounds like it. Look, I brought you a present.” ’Te handed ’Tok a box. “Didn’t you say you met Malima once?”

“Saw her fight once. Or more accurately, saw her slaughter a field of youths with a ferocity that haunts me to this day.”

“Then you are going to really enjoy my present. How’s the new concubine?”

“Xia Gentian? A terrible mistake! Awful! She’s corrupted ‘Ja. She’s trying to corrupt me!”

“That good, huh?”

“I already bought her a second tiara. Tell no one.”

“Everybody knows?”

“In this town? Before she did.”

“Hah! Well, you aren’t going to believe what I found on the road.”

“Probably not.” ’Tok coughed. “By the way, you now have fourteen minutes to get ready for your first meeting. You should probably jump to it.”

“Fine, fine. Don’t ask me about the Langpopo coming up from their winter camps, then.”

This got a half second pause.

“They’re doing what?!”

There was less to the story than Xiatoktok thought, which had the inverse effect of worrying him more. It seems that the Langpopo had their own means of gathering information from Red Mountain, and had heard that the Collective intended to fortify the entirety of Rooks Nest Pass. Which made perfect sense from the Collective’s perspective, as it would lock down much of their eastern flank as they pushed north into the Disputed Territory.

The Langpopo relied heavily on their mobility, so having to fight through two garrisons on either end of a comparatively narrow pass was… unappealing. So they swooped in, locked down Becklund, and started fortifying the end of the pass. It might not be as sophisticated a fortification as the Collective might make, but when you have artillery in quantity, static defenses are a lot less important. Apparently, Xiatokte had been intercepted by the body of their troop and invited for the traditional Langpopo “trading opportunity.” Which, for once, he was delighted to engage in. The Langpopo refused to sell him any coil guns or artillery, but were fine selling him cheves. So many, in fact, that they would be delivered separately, to a ranch north of the City.

“Good plains ponies are already worth a lot, ’Tok. Going to be even more valuable if we have to evacuate our families. Never a bad thing to load up on transportation options.”

Xiatoktok once again imagined the firing squad, bullets ripping through ’Ja and Gentian, and himself. The twisting in his gut felt worse this time.

“‘Mia is already fortifying the Bank, and I made my private residence a deathtrap years ago. How about you?”

“Similar, though with a heavier emphasis on escape. And revenge. Amazing how easy it is to make chemical weapons. I can see why the Dusties are so into them.” ’Te grinned nastily. His hands shuffled through the papers quickly.

“Am I reading this right? We got approval for the Joint Stock Plan?”

“Yep. You have just enough time to make your first meeting. Go sell it.”

The next week passed in a haze of frantic effort. The Xia, lead by Xiatoktok and Xiatokte blanketed the city’s elite, persuading them that they a) wanted to invest in the joint stock company and, b) that they didn’t need to pass any news laws to authorize it, as what they already had was sufficient. Getting the Charter from the Council was going to be a challenge… or so everybody thought. It passed unanimously. Even some notoriously Xia-skeptic councilors cast their votes in favor.

This should have had the Chanticleers screaming bloody murder, but those voices were oddly muted too. They had their hands full with a sudden fiery debate of their own- the Xia Schools. On the one hand, anything with the name Xia slapped on it was a non-starter. While they didn’t uniformly dislike the Xia, their involvement in their communities meant that they experienced the fallout of the Bank takeover on a different level than the City Councilors. Trying to support and lead their neighborhoods as they watched thriving businesses collapse, people losing their jobs, whole communities struggling to support the hundreds of suddenly destitute people? All because the Xia were having an internal argument over who got the biggest piece of pie? That grudge wasn’t going away easily. But what should they do when those same communities wanted them to be the honorary principles of Xia run schools?

A blazing hunger for education had swept across the city, sparked by one Xia Gentian. Her “Plain Spoken” speech had been written down and shared amongst the literate, memorized and repeated in performances by storytellers. Not that people had to rely on storytellers to hear it- she stumped at every market day, every social meeting, every civic group that would hold still long enough for her to get up on a table and start talking.

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Once the ball got rolling, she (on the advice and instruction of Xiatokja, who was drawing on epochs worth of examples) went for the women. Gentian evangelized education amongst the womenfolk, speaking to them about their futures, and their children’s futures. About how in a scary, dangerous world, you could lose any material thing, but your education you could carry with you anywhere. It was early days yet, a week is not a very long time to move opinion, but… there was an existing hunger for education, and Gentian was laying out a five course meal for the city mothers. And those same mothers moved everyone else.

It was the explicit call for religious education that jammed up the Chanticleers. It was easy to say that the Xia wanted to brainwash your kids. It was a lot harder when the Xia wanted your approval on the curriculum, and insisted on Joyful Throng religious instruction being a core part of the education. The “honorary principal” thing was just too damn weird, especially since it came with a tiny “honorarium.” Whatever that was.

The Langpopo were definitely making their presence felt, though largely by their absence. “Everybody knew” that the Langpopo had moved a few days south of Cold Garden in force. It was totally normal to see hundreds, if not thousands, camped out across the plains around the city in the summer. So the fact that they were around, but not visible was stressful. The city’s relationship was always somewhat nuanced towards the Langpopo. The tribe was like a lake that the island of Cold Garden floated in. It was very good for keeping others away, but there was always the nagging concern that it would rise up and swallow the city whole. The fact that the Langpopo were building a fort didn’t help matters. But what really worried people was the fact that nobody was coming by to trade.

Life in winter camp was boring. Very boring. And your food choices were very, very limited. So the fact that the Langpopo weren’t stopping by to trade for food, booze, or entertainment, said something was seriously wrong. It’s not like they needed every last person working on the fort every single minute of the day, right? Xiatoktok had someone practically living in the Sky Runners’ office, and he wasn’t the only one. The answer, when they eventually got one, elevated “Worried” to “Scared.” It seems that small towns weren’t the only ones getting raided. Individual Langpopo bands were too. All of a sudden, the source of the black market artillery and coil guns became a burning question. There had been an understanding that a certain percentage of the weapons had blood on them, but enough to alarm the whole Tribe? That was a very, very different story.

The Cathedral City of Cold Garden, with immense reluctance, began to close their gates at night. Open gates were a symbol of the city- welcoming, because they were brave enough and strong enough to accept that you might be a bad person. They comforted themselves that “brave” was only “brave” until it was “stupid,” and they weren’t “stupid.” It wasn’t much comfort, but they certainly slept better with the gates shut and the watches doubled.

Gentian was walking with her usual escort to tour an existing school. If the educational initiative was adopted (and she had every confidence that it would be) the school would be, essentially, bought out by the Xia. This was less than it sounded in practice- they were “buying out” a one room schoolhouse with a teacher who’s own formal education was questionable. Still, he had decades of classroom experience, which was damn valuable in its own right. Buildings could be built fast. Experience was earned one minute at a time. And Xia Gentian was learning all about time. The streets were well brushed and the snow removed, so walking wasn’t much of a chore. She enjoyed the exercise, and people appreciated the common touch. She knew that her Lord Husband (they were back to that one, her Lady Wife was starting to recycle the more tolerable names,) insisted on the carriage as a safety precaution, though really, it seemed excessive.

Gentian strongly reconsidered that opinion when a short man in exquisite Xia robes appeared next to her. He was carrying a short spear wrapped in brown worsted wool cloth, the worn wooden shaft leaning comfortably against his shoulder. He was close enough to touch her. Despite all that, he seemed to be flickering in and out of her perception, and her guard, her maid, and her secretary didn’t seem to see him at all.

“Good afternoon, young Xia Gentian. Usually, I would expect you to be formally presented to me, but, alas, sometimes we grow mischievous in our old age.” He looked, perhaps, seventy. Which, for a Xia, meant that she was being addressed by a centenarian.

“I am honored that the Revered Elder knows this little concubine’s name, though I am ashamed to admit that, in my blindness, I cannot properly address you.” She was proud of how steady she kept her voice. The old Xia, the really old ones, were known to kill at a whim.

“Ah, most people call me the Old Man. I think they think speaking my name is disrespectful. Which it certainly can be. I have killed people for far less.” The centenarians mostly secluded themselves. But sometimes, people would just… die. With no visible cause of death. And people would shudder, and try very hard to say it was a sudden stroke. “You may refer to me as Patriarch. No, don’t stop walking, no need to prostrate yourself, I am forgoing most formalities for this discussion.”

Gentian’s heart nearly stopped. Her feet didn’t. When the Patriarch said “walk,” you walked. Until he told you to stop, or you died.

“How may I be of service, Honored Patriarch?”

“By continuing to do what you are doing. I am a particular believer in education, and your initiative fits nicely with some of my longer term plans. To that end, I am giving you a little gift. Except it isn’t a gift, but a loan, and I expect it back.” He lifted the spear from his shoulder and handed it to Gentian. It felt heavier than she thought it should, but she hadn’t ever held a spear before.

“No interest needs to be paid, beyond you using it at the right time.” She couldn’t see his face, but it sounded like he was smiling slightly. “To ensure that you do have it at the right time, do not allow it to leave arm's reach until you return it to me.” She would be sleeping and bathing with it, then. Even if she didn’t want to, her family would insist. They would wire her hands shut around it, if necessary.

“My thanks to the Patriarch for his kindness and generosity. I will certainly obey you, and will use it properly, at the proper time.”

“I am certain you will.” They walked a few steps further. “Wondering why you can’t see me properly, and why nobody else seems to be seeing me at all? At the very least, they should hear me talking or wonder why you suddenly have a spear.”

“Yes, Patriarch. I did wonder about that.”

“The most important thing one of the blood has to learn is how to eat. It is a skill, and a hard one. However, once they do learn, the applications are endless. For example, selectively consuming the portion of “time” wherein my existence, and the existence of that spear, would be perceived by others. I consumed your “time” when you tried to look at my face, though not when you looked at the rest of my body. Be quite clear on this- no alteration to your mind has been made. I altered the very fabric of space and time instead. I am continuing to do so, instant by instant. A very finicky bit of dining, I must say, but I am not willing to forgo all the formalities. And you certainly have not earned the honor of looking directly at me.”

“I am in awe of Patriarch’s power and skill, and am supremely humbled that he would condescend to speak to me.” Gentian said, with total honesty.

“You should be. Which is why you are going to carry a message for me. Tell your Master and Mistress that it’s time to stop fooling around and attend to serious matters. If they haven’t learned to feed themselves in a month, I will eat them.”

There was a sudden shriek behind her. Gentian spun, careful not to whack anyone with the spear.

“Madam, where did that come from!” Her maid pointed shakily at the spear.

Gentian looked around. They had reached the school. The Patriarch was nowhere in sight.