“’Te, I need you to do something unreasonably dangerous.” ’Mai looked over at Xiatokte. ‘’Te was no coward, but he did tend to take exquisite care of his own hide. “Unfortunately, I’m needed to hold things down here, and most of what you need to do in the city can be delegated for a week or so.”

“Another journey? Such fun. What garden spot did you have in mind?” ’Te was cataloging everywhere within a few days' journey of the City.

“Colmbe. And you won’t be going empty handed.”

Xiatokja swept into the secured room under the Cathedral. She dearly wished that ‘’Tok was stable enough to move, but if Gert said he wasn’t, then he wasn’t. And now she was needed urgently at his bedside. She kept her emotions locked down, but by the Gods she was going to be a mess later tonight. Planning out just how she would collapse into a sob-wracked heap helped distract her. The result was oddly soothing.

“I am here. What’s the problem?”

Gert nodded calmly. But then, he did everything calmly. She could light him on fire and he would keep calm about it. Calm was not calming right now.

“So the poison is pretty interesting. Radiological hemotoxin is a pretty rare beast, and the metal carrying the radiation is, of course, toxic in its own right. The idea seems to be a sort of cascade failure state, where each toxin impacts the systems that might support the body in combating the other toxins, resulting in an accelerating curve of system failure leading to death.” He said, as though he were discussing the design of fishing flies and not her husband’s life.

“Alright, that’s not good to hear, but you said you needed me urgently?”

“Yes. The hemotoxin is necrotizing tissue and destroying fine veins at the moment, and the radiation is starting to impact the bone marrow. Which would be fatal, normally, but I am more or less keeping ahead of it. He needs a blood transfusion, and better still, a bone marrow transfusion. Do you know how to type blood and find compatible donors?”

Xiatokja squeezed her eyes shut. She knew about blood typing, of course, but she didn’t know how it was done. Didn’t even know if she had the equipment to do it if someone told her how. “No.”

“Oh. Well. That’s inconvenient. Roberta or I can do it, but I’m stuck right here, and I don’t think you want Roberta leaving Gentian’s side.” Gert frowned, thinking through alternatives.

“Can you tell me how to do it?”

“The basics are simple- take a sample and administer antibodies for the various blood types. When one of them gets the sample to clump, you’ve found your type. This is a crude test which misses a lot of important nuance. Still though, worth doing just to get us going.

“I don’t have the ability to create antibodies for different blood types.” Xiatokja was hanging onto her composure with her fingertips.

“Shame.” He shrugged, then thought a minute longer. “We have many prisoners in the cells?”

“I have no idea.” She replied.

“Well, just have Gentian go on a mission of mercy to the local prison. Have her hand out small loaves of bread for… I don’t know, something appropriately civic. In exchange, get a blood sample. Doesn't have to be something sterile, Roberta will pick up all she needs regardless.”

“You just need blood and marrow. Presumably, the closer they are to him genetically, the easier the transplant and less risk of rejection.”

“Again, up to a point. Blood type matters a whole lot here.”

“Any reason I can’t start grabbing Xia and testing them?”

“You tell me.”

Xiatokja’s grin was both relieved and nasty. “The nice thing about my Clan is that almost any problem can be solved with enough money. I’ll be back later.”

Xiatoktok wasn’t a Cold Garden Xia originally, having moved out west from the Eastern Edge many, many decades ago. Still, the genetic legacy of the Xia was strong. Finding suitable donors wouldn’t be too hard. Naturally, being a Xia, Xiatokja had to make it a little more… spicy. Exposing a weakness would be suicidal. Generating weaknesses in others, however, was a virtue.

Very quickly the word went out. Second or first generation Xia had an opportunity to make serious cash. Submit a blood sample for the initial screening. If selected, pick a location for your new home, because you are going to have both the funds and desire necessary to build something lavish. Yes, of course we know about rationing. And the new urban planning commission. It’s hilarious, and a little pathetic, that you think it would matter at all. To save hassle, sample collectors started turning up at Xia homes and businesses. Hinting loudly that it would be an absolute shame not to participate. You have to play if you want to win, after all, and nobody likes the go-it-alone types. Given that your name is already on a list. Hint hint.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

It only took a few hours to assemble the samples, and one hour more to acquire a donor. By that point the rumor mill was in a huge froth, as people went mad over the announcement that “A winner has been selected. We want to thank all the participants, and have made a list of those who chose not to participate. They will not be offered special opportunities in the future, to respect their wishes.”

The rumored prize pool had expanded to a mansion, a string of elite racing cheves, and four of the finest, rarest courtesans imported at immense cost and even greater risk from the Pearl of the Dragon. The whole event was a surprise morale building event for the Clan, proving that the power and leadership of the Elders remained unmatchable. Glory to the Xia! Eternal and Gold!

The bitterness and infighting that the victory announcement generated was truly exquisite to behold. Xiatokja was in a profoundly vindictive mood, so she drank it up like ice water on a hot day. She watched a young woman slap a clearly interested young man clean off his feet and into a corner. Leaking like a half empty bottle. Exquisite. She would have to refuse to even look at her later. Really up the sense of lost opportunities. Mmm.

“So… I’m donating blood and maybe bone marrow?” The “lucky” winner had finished signing the paperwork, including a particularly nasty non-disclosure agreement.

“Yes. You will be compensated on a per-centiliter basis for blood, and on a sliding scale for marrow. Juice and cookies will be provided, as tradition demands.” Her secretary answered.

“Juice?”

“Apple juice, fresh squeezed.” The secretary looked wistful. Juice was terribly expensive and basically not sold anywhere. Especially not with rationing in place. Best not even dream about the sugar in the cookies.

“Can’t complain about that.” The donor sounded cheerful. “Who am I donating to?”

Guess he is too junior in the Clan to recognize me. Or too socially inept. Do I care? No, not really. Not today, at least.

“Come with me and find out.” Xiatokja said.

Gentian was walking to her next appointment. After the Night of Burning Tears, she thought she would only ever travel by carriage. To her surprise, the reverse happened. She found she much preferred walking. Something about being bound up in a box was stifling. Walking, on the other hand, seemed to energize her. Reconnecting her to her city.

She stopped by various neighborhoods, greeting the chanticleers and encouraging people. She walked through the city’s east. The burned buildings had been torn down, but most of the shanties were still in place. Enormous long houses, more like cheap warehouses filled with bunk beds, had been constructed to shelter as many as possible. Priority was given to families with children, or the elderly. It wasn’t enough. So many had died. So many were still dying.

Gentian walked through the long houses, greeting the managers and residents. Reassuring them that new houses were going up every day, and that they had not been forgotten. These were always presented as visits to raise spirits, but the managers knew quite well that her visits were never scheduled in advance. And that while she was playing with happy children, her servants were conducting eagle-eyed inspections of both the people and premises. Several long houses had their managers replaced already. Lady Gentian might be sweet and approachable, but the shadow she cast was pure Xia.

“I am so sorry to hear about your husband! How is he doing?” How often did she hear that question? Dozens? Hundreds of times?

“He’s in a bad way, but pulling through. He’s tough. He’s getting the best care.” Endless variations of the same reply. How could she say “He looked so small,” or “It hurt me to see him soiled. As though I had added to his shame.” The dignity that was so much a part of Xiatoktok violently stripped away. With it went the sense of invincibility he used to give her. Even with everything else, even with the looming threat of the Patriarch, there was the feeling that as long as Master and Mistress were there, nothing too bad could happen to her.

Not any more. Her sense of safety was another unintended casualty of a war that she wanted no part of. But she was in it now. They were coming for her family. They were coming for her. All she had was a borrowed spear, her wits and the people of Cold Garden. And only two of those were hers to command.

Well. If she couldn’t command, she would lead. “It’s a horrible reminder- we have to be unified. We have to remember that everyone in Cold Garden is on the same side. They want to play us off against each other. That’s their game. The Collective, and the bandits. They want us to tear each other apart, so they can just walk in and take everything we have.” She said that over and over again too.

Unity. The Xia and the Throng are one people. The Dusties too, for all that they were now synonymous with undertakers. Gentian visited their ghetto occasionally and you could always spot the Humbles by their thousand yard stares. “Don’t be the sucker. You hear someone talking about how everything would be better if we just kicked everyone out, or took everything, or surrendered- you found the spy. And we don’t put up with spies in this city.” That got rumbles of support. “Don’t let ‘em spread division. Don’t let ‘em bait you into starting pointless fights.” Hammer it home, hammer it home. And make a point of showing off the schools and new homes. Good homes too. She couldn’t stop the contractors from taking a more-than-healthy cut, but she could damn well make sure the quality was there.

Every day, the people of Cold Garden saw Gentian walking amongst them, spear waving above her. Her message was always positive, always hopeful. Always pressing forward, as one unified city. She didn’t know if it was doing any good. People told her it was, and folks looked happy to see her. She just hoped that she gave the spies and provocateurs fits. She could understand Xiakinni. She could even, sort of, somewhat, maybe, one day, come to forgive her. But Gentian and never been a meek soul. And someone had to pay.

Xiatamrou looked at Colmbe in disgust. What the actual fuck was he supposed to do here? Clear out the GNUF? Fine. Manageable. In fact, they looked like they were spoiling for a fight, which suited him just fine. The town itself was another matter. It was outside of Cold Garden’s sphere of influence. Not part of the Five City alliance. Not claimed by any particular tribal power, nor the collective, nor anybody really. And he couldn’t blame them, because Colmbe was a shithole. He counted seven “saloons,” ie brothels with a full bar and gambling tables, an enormous caravansary that was mostly an empty field, a few badly organized docks, a couple of warehouses he wouldn’t keep a rock in… he couldn’t see a single thing he approved of. And the voyageurs were absolutely swarming around the place. Like lice.

“Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Condottiere?”

“Ready the men. The company will advance.”

And after we win, I have to occupy this hole. I’m going to kill ’Tok.