They toured the rest of the market, and Xiachoii made a few more small purchases here and there, but was mostly trying to catalog what was in the market. What did the small traders think there was a market for? It was a little alarming. A lot of staples. The woman selling socks and underwear was doing a huge business, as was the person selling dried soups. Worrying, worrying, but not enough to count as a proper sample of economic concerns in the city. Her eyes kept straying back to the miniature seller. Of all the things in the market, the miniature of Mother Malima felt the most real.
Rav coughed. “Forgive my indelicacy, but… The name Malima…”
“You are wondering if she is related to the Ma?”
“Yes, I apologize for speaking out of turn, but we, well a lot of people, wondered after seeing the little illustrated books.”
“Are they popular down here?”
“Very. The stories are simple but hopeful, and even people who can’t read can more or less follow along. And like he said. It’s good to think there is someone reliable out there. Especially this time of year.”
“Makes sense.” Xiachoii wondered just what she should say. She had barely begun practicing the Xia legacy, but this felt like one of those moments they talked about in school. Where the world asked you which road you would walk down, and then when you looked back, you would see only the straight path.
“Yes, she was a Ma. She was the Matriarch of the Old Radler Ma. She watched her whole Clan butchered in front of her by the Confeds. And yes, she fought like hell right up until the bastards blew up the city. Obviously much older than I, but from what my seniors have said?” She looked seriously over at Rav, knowing that her words would be repeated and spread and exaggerated by a thousand mouths.
“From what I know, she spent every second of her long life fighting for her kids and grandkids. And she was so terrifying in battle, the Confeds sent entire armies after her. In the end, they had to destroy the whole damn city to take her down.”
She gave an empty little smile to her porter. “The Ma would be outraged, you know? They famously make sure their dead stay dead, no afterlife permitted. But Malima was never properly buried. She never received the rituals, no offerings were made for her, and her funeral pyre was the corpses of everyone she ever called kin.” Xiachoii stared up into the frigid, pitch black night. Watching her breath curl away, like smoke into nothing.
“So yes, Rav, to answer the question you are loudly not asking. Yes, Mother Malima could very well be standing between this life and the next. And she would protect her new Clan, the Clan she so desperately gathers to her. The Iron Staff is her will. Her body might break, but her heart to protect never did. May she stand between the lost and all devils, in the empty places they must walk.”
The rest of the week passed in a blur of stress and a feeling of floating hopelessly in a freezing void. Xiatokte met with people all over the city, figures who could shape entire industries with a word. With a pointed silence. And nothing was ever agreed to. As far as the Associates could tell, there wasn’t even a whiff of an agreement. And yet he approached every meeting as though he was closing a deal, and he insisted they bring the same sense of urgency.
Then in the evening, while Xiatokte was entertaining various titans of industry at the Grand, the Associates were loosed on the city. To create whatever value they could. Xiachoram networked aggressively, making full use of the Saloon in the Grand. He organized a few small get-togethers, made introductions, even quietly loaned money to some scions whose grasp of finance was somehow worse than their ability to calculate odds in a casino.
Xiachoii couldn’t find the energy to network. She knew this was a crucial, vital moment in her life. Everyone said that your network was your career, and that’s how jobs and promotions came. But that felt wrong. That wasn’t creating value for The Expert or the Clan. It was a very Xia answer, but it wasn’t the answer to the question the world was asking. Xiachoii chose to invest in faith.
Her first little investment was in the man selling “reproduction” miniatures. His nephew clearly had a bit of a gift, so she ordered one hundred miniatures of Mother Malima, paid in advance. In the event that she wasn’t able to collect the paintings by the time they were complete, the vendor was to hold them for three days, then sell them. He was allowed a five percent commission, the balance to go to Xiachoii.
She was one hundred percent certain she would never see a penny of the profits. The best part was, the little fool thought he was scamming her. He hadn’t seen through the illusion of money.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Xiachoii tracked down the people making copies of the Mother Malima picture books, then paid someone to write new stories. Those she did insist on receiving copies of, and made it very clear just who she was and what the consequences of failing to deliver would be.
Cold Garden might not react warmly to such heretical materials but… fuck the Throng. After what they did to the President? How they disrespected the whole Clan? Fuck each and every one of them.
She made a point of hiring some of the cleaner looking beggars to pray to Malima for her lost siblings. She tipped each of them enough for a decent meal, calling it the Mother’s Mite.
All around the city, a small stream of money pushed public opinion along in a direction it already wanted to go. Xiachoii didn’t know if it would be any material help, but it felt right. Increasingly easy, in fact. Like the people she needed just… popped out at her. Or maybe her eyes were drawn to them. Xiachoram was very proud of his little portfolio of debtors. Preening, like he had done something remarkable. Xiachoii just thought he looked weak.
Like fat prey.
One night she lay in bed and fantasized about eating Xiachoram. Pulling away muscles and fat with her fingers. Yanking sinews and tendons out and watching him scream and thrash. Taking a fatty bit of belly and eating it right in front of his still living eyes. Cutting off his eyelids with her fingernails and making him watch her turn him into food. Cutting away the tastiest parts of him and presenting them to The Expert. She didn’t like to think The Expert’s name any more. It felt disrespectful. She hadn’t earned it.
Xiatokte was reviewing the papers organized by his CDO’s. The news was increasingly grim. Trade volume was up. The Nomeki’s absolutely were relying on the increased trade volume to refill their treasuries after wiping out all their debt. But there wasn’t any increased trade within the Five City Alliance, which meant exports. Which would be fine and dandy, except that the exports to the East had essentially stopped, exports West were already at their peak, nothing New was coming North and South… South was the Collective.
He had received an invitation for a drinks reception in the Cauldron of Industry, hosted by the Algae Plastics Trust. A very symbolic location, with some very symbolic hosts. Jerri Nomeki would certainly be there, as would most of the Plutocracy. Showing the nice sense of vicious propriety Xiatokte had come to associate with Red Mountain, the invitation was for him and one guest.
Xiatokte ran through his various options, ranging from his most loyal and capable guard, to some acquaintances in town, to even some of the local Xia. They all had their advantages, but he smelled a rat. And Xiatokte had a hell of a nose for rodents. He nodded at his valet, who went out to the hall and brought in the rest of the party to join him for breakfast. Well, the rest of the party that weren’t guards.
He looked them over. All immaculately dressed and groomed, of course. His CDO’s had the quiet assurance of experienced people who had reached as high as their abilities could take them. He wasn’t looking for growth from them, just diligence and capability. And he got that. The Associates were more interesting.
Xiachoram looked… satisfied. Still hungry, of course, the venal desire Xiatokte had cultivated in him had only sharpened over the course of the week. Perhaps instead of satisfied, he looked a trifle smug? No, not even that. Comfortable. Xiachoram looked a little more comfortable in his presence than was wise.
Xiachoii didn’t look at him at all. She didn’t look ashamed. She just always found a reason to keep her eyes down when she faced in his direction. Which was a more extreme result than he was expecting, but not unwelcome. She also looked a little heavier. But she clearly hadn’t gotten fatter. Now just why was that…
Oh. Now. That’s interesting.
’Te wasn’t nearly as accomplished in the Xia legacy as ’Tok, but it was a matter of degree. If he let his senses drift, he could see a tiny wisp of time start to twist around Xiachoii. Something that she shouldn’t be capable of doing on purpose for decades.
He smiled, and the whole room brightened.
“You have all been working hard this last week.” ’Te smiled around the room. “I know it may be confusing for our youngest members, but this trip has actually been a significant success. I know you are worried that no deals have been made. However, you need to broaden your definition of success. We might not have made any significant financial investments but- what have we done? Xiachoram?”
The young man proudly puffed up his chest.
“We have displayed our strength and position- whatever little games they try to play, the Xia always have an answer. They can either join us and prosper, or defy us and starve.”
“Mmm. Well, there is some truth to that, but you can do better. Xiachoii?”
She had been very still, eating without looking up from her food. Now that she was called upon, she neatly put down her spoon, rested her hands on her lap, and looked towards him without looking Xiatokte directly in the eyes.
“We have been educating them. They don’t trust the financial information we have been showing them, but they completely understand the notion of corporations, and how it will benefit them.”
“Much more correct, and about as good an answer as you could make within the scope of your knowledge.” Xiatokte smiled around the table. “The Plutocracy has invited me for drinks and nibbles tonight, in a rather interesting venue. Your reward for the best answer is that you shall accompany me. Dress in your formal gown, but do bring some discreet weaponry. Those sorts of events can often go sideways. Xiachoram, you will be assisting the CDO’s and the guards in readying for our departure. No matter what happens, we leave tonight.”
“Expert?” The two chorused.
“We spent an entire week here without any attacks on our person. In fact, our whole trip down was remarkably safe. That means the Mountain is cooking up something particularly nasty. Better to get out ahead of it than fight our way clear of it.”