The streets of Ragna were as busy as usual - crowded and bustling even on a weekday afternoon. Standard; the norm. Marcellon felt out of place despite tracing the same route he always did. Calm down, he thought to himself, this is just another meeting with an advertising client. It really wasn't, but what else could he tell himself to ease the fact that he was caught between the fate of his nation and the safety of his family?
As he walked, Marcellon's thoughts drifted to the events that led him here. It all started with a simple message from Eirik, a trusted colleague. Then came the first meeting with the mysterious agent, followed by the secret gathering with General Siegs and Admiral Karlmann. Each step had pulled him deeper into a web of intrigue and danger, and now, he found himself on the precipice of something much larger than himself.
But what choice did he have? The Empire he had dedicated his life to was crumbling under the weight of Chancellor Marix's lies. The thought of his son, his pride and joy, being sent off to fight in a war based on deception and ego – it was too much to bear. No, he had to act, even if it meant risking everything.
As he approached Gellick's Steakhouse, Marcellon took a moment to compose himself. He straightened his tie and smoothed down his hair before entering the restaurant. The maître d' greeted him with a polite smile.
"Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?"
Marcellon cleared his throat. "Yes, a table for two under the name 'Tharnvik'."
The maître d' scanned the reservation list and nodded. "Ah, yes. Your companion has already arrived. Please follow me."
As Marcellon followed the maître d' through the restaurant, the familiar scents of grilled meat and rich sauces enveloped him, providing a momentary comfort in the midst of his turbulent thoughts.
The maître d' led him to a booth in a quiet corner of the restaurant, where the agent was already seated. "Here you are, sir. Your waiter will be with you shortly."
Marcellon thanked the maître d' and slid into the seat across from the agent, who greeted him with a nod.
"Mr. Skaldottir," the agent said, keeping his voice low. "Thank you for coming."
"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" Marcellon replied, trying to keep his tone light. Easier said than done, considering the situation.
The agent smiled faintly. "We always have a choice, Mr. Skaldottir. It's just a matter of which path we decide to take. And from what I hear, you’ve taken the same path as the good General and the good Admiral."
Marcellon leaned back, studying the man across from him. There was something about him, a quiet confidence that both reassured and unsettled him. "You seem to know an awful lot about me and my recent activities."
The agent chuckled. "It's my job to know things, Mr. Skaldottir. Well, Eirik told me. But don't worry, your secrets are safe with me."
Marcellon narrowed his eyes. "And how can I be sure of that?"
"Because we're on the same side – you, me, Eirik, General Siegs, Admiral Karlmann," the agent replied, leaning forward. "We both want what's best for the Empire, and we both know that Chancellor Marix is leading us down a dangerous path."
It was then that their waiter approached the table. Marcellon leaned back, welcoming the brief distraction. A few extra moments to gather his thoughts before diving into the deep end wouldn’t hurt.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Can I start you off with something to drink?"
Marcellon glanced at the agent, who gave a slight nod. "I'll have a glass of your house red, please."
"Make that two," the agent added.
As the waiter walked away with their drink orders, Marcellon turned his attention back to the agent. The man's words were tempting, sure. They made sense, sure. However, there was that lingering thought in the back of his mind: what if he was wrong?
The agent seemed to sense his hesitation. "I know it's a lot to take in, Mr. Skaldottir. But I assure you, I am working on behalf of Emperor Gra Lux and the true interests of our nation."
Marcellon took a deep breath, mulling over the choices laid out in front of him. Images flashed through his mind: sharing a laugh with his darling Amalia over home-cooked dinner, little Lukas' beaming face as he taught him how to ride a bike, the familiar faces of his co-workers at the IBC's office. But then, he thought about all those other families, all those people being strung along by twisted stories and false promises. He couldn't just sit by and watch it all go down in flames. If he had a shot at making a difference, no matter how small… well, he had to take it, didn't he?
"All right," he said finally. "What's the plan?"
The agent leaned forward. Marcellon looked around before imitating the movement. Lowering his voice, the man began, "His Excellency has a message for the people, and we need you to help get it out there. A pre-recorded broadcast, straight from the Emperor himself."
Marcellon's eyebrows shot up. "A broadcast? How am I supposed to –"
"Now, I know you're probably wondering how you're gonna get it on air," he interrupted, smiling like he had just the plan. "Here's the deal: we've got a citywide distraction planned, something to keep Marix's goons busy. At the same time, a fire alarm's gonna go off at the IBC, clear the building out."
He tapped his finger on the table, emphasizing each point. "You just go about your day like normal. When that alarm hits, you double back, pretend you left something behind. Link up with Eirik and your coworkers on the inside, and get that tape rolling. Once it's out, slip out the fire exit and blend in with the crowd. Easy as pie."
The plan was audacious. There wasn't a lot that could go wrong, and frankly, it was a well-thought out plan. But it was still audacious. "When will this happen?"
"Prime time," he replied. "8 PM sharp, when every family in the Empire's gathered 'round the dinner table and tuning in."
Marcellon nodded slowly. It was bold, no doubt about that. But there were still some nagging questions, potential holes that needed addressing.
"Alright, say we get the broadcast up and running. What's to stop Marix from just raiding the building, cutting the power to the whole damn grid?"
The agent’s expression didn't falter. "We've got that covered. You just focus on your part, getting that message out there. Let us worry about the rest."
There was a hint of steel beneath the casual exterior, that told Marcellon there was more to this plan than he was being told. But then again, he supposed that was the nature of the game they were playing. Secrets upon secrets, need-to-know basis only.
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The man’s suggestion could no doubt garner the support that Siegs and Karlmann needed, but what about the ensuing chaos? Maybe they'd be able to get rid of Marix peacefully, but what if they couldn't? "That is quite the... ambitious plan, Mister..."
"Wileman."
"Very well then, Mister Wileman," Marcellon continued, "This plan won't be free from repercussions. You mentioned you can ensure my family's safety. How?"
The waiter returned to the table with their drinks and an order pad. “Gentlemen, are you ready to order? Or would you like to hear about our specials for this evening?”
Wileman gave a slight shrug. “Sure, what’ve you got?”
“We’ve just added a new dish to our menu: kelpie steak. It’s a delicacy in Paganda and Leifor. We happened to get lucky with a seasonal migration.”
Marcellon raised an eyebrow. He’d heard about new food options, but most of them remained inaccessible – locked behind scientific study, too rare to study, or not viable to hunt. They had gotten lucky with the frequency of Krakens and the quick consensus of its safe consumption by the Health Department, but hadn’t come across many other new items since.
It seemed Wileman shared the same sentiment, probably, based on the excited look on his face. “Kelpie steak, huh? Sounds interesting. I’ll give it a try.”
Marcellon had to agree. “Make that two, then. Oh, and I remember you mentioned enjoying the kraken calamari last time, Wileman. Should we get that as well?"
Wileman grinned. "Absolutely. Can't pass up an opportunity for some good calamari."
The waiter jotted down their orders and collected the menus. "Excellent choices, gentlemen. I'll put that in right away."
As the waiter departed, Wileman turned his attention back to Marcellon's question. "Right, your family's safety. His Excellency has provided access to several safehouses in the Ragna countryside - private mansions where your loved ones can stay, away from the city and any potential fallout."
He leaned back in his seat, his expression serious. "Now, ideally, no one should even know that you and your colleagues are involved in this. But in case Marix somehow catches wind of it, the safehouses are there as a precaution. A last resort, if you will."
Safehouses; it made sense. His Excellency probably had these sanctuaries all over the Empire, in case something like Marix’s coup happened. However, the thought of having to uproot his family, to send them into hiding... It made Marcellon's stomach churn. Faced with the possibility of Marix coming after them though, what other choice did he have?
Wileman must've sensed his hesitation, the way his thoughts were spinning in circles. "Look, Mister Skaldottir," he said, his tone softening just a touch. "If you’re having second thoughts, I advise you to talk to Eirik or General Siegs. They’ve got the same precautions, and probably also the same predispositions."
“Yes, I suppose that makes sense.” It wasn’t a bad idea, and he’d take all the counsel – and time – he could get before making such a monumental decision. Naturally, the decision to send his family to safety went hand in hand with the decision to put himself on the front lines, and the decision to upend Chancellor Marix’s delicate house of cards.
Taking a sip of his wine, Marcellon began, “I know the information you’ve provided me is rather sensitive, but… I… I’d also like to discuss this plan with the General and the others.”
Marcellon studied Wileman’s expression. Would he react negatively? This was a huge ask, after all, and he knew what might happen if word of this operation got out. Surprisingly, Wileman only smiled, almost welcoming it. “By all means,” he said, lifting his hands. “Like I said, we’re all on the same side. We can’t restore His Excellency to the throne if we can’t even see eye to eye.”
It was a relief that Wileman accepted the proposition so easily, but would he accept the next? He was certain that they’d have questions which Wileman, ever true to his veil of secrecy, might not be so inclined to answer truthfully – if at all. “I… have a few questions about the operation then. I want to ensure this is no honeypot; that our efforts are truly for His Excellency; that our efforts actually have a good chance of succeeding.”
Wileman leaned back and crossed his arms. From what Marcellon could recall of basic psychology, that posture usually meant someone was on the defensive, right? But with Wileman, things were rarely that straightforward. Wileman was no doubt experienced, especially so if he truly was Sicarius and working directly for His Excellency. He could just as likely be using that gesture deliberately, a strategic move to throw Marcellon off. Was this genuine caution, or a ploy to gauge Marcellon’s reaction?
He shook the thought. There was no use in trying to read between the lines, in trying to challenge a master at his own game. He had questions to ask, so he would ask them. “So… you mentioned a tape. What exactly is on this tape?”
Wileman prepared to answer, but then his eyes darted off to the side and he smiled. “Ah, that must be the kelpie steak!”
“Gentlemen, two kelpie steaks and one serving of kraken calamari,” the waiter announced, setting the dishes on their table. “If you need anything else, do let me know. Please enjoy your meals.”
Wileman already started digging in as soon as the waiter left. “Mmm,” he said, savoring a bite of kelpie, “Y’know, this is probably the best steak I’ve ever had!”
Marcellon nodded, taking a bite of his own steak. The man was certainly right – this was probably the best steak he’d ever had as well. He eyed Wileman’s casual facade and reflected on his own expressions. He realized that it wasn’t Wileman’s actions that were weird; it was his own.
Relaxing his posture and letting go of his tension, he offered a smile. “I must agree, Mister Wileman. I can see why this is called a delicacy.”
“See,” Wileman said, pointing a fork at him, “Nothing to worry about. Remember this, and you’ll be fine. Anyway, the tape… well, it’d be a bit of a spoiler if I just told you what it was all about right here, huh? You should watch it when you get home. Let’s just say it clears up a lot of things.”
Marcellon nodded, watching as Wileman eagerly stuffed his face with more of the Kelpie steak and its sides. How the man could remain so relaxed despite the fate of the nation was a mystery. Was it confidence? Ignorance? Either way, Marcellon envied him. Anything would be better than the butterflies in his stomach, but he had to keep moving. “And about the distraction… what do you mean by that?”
Wileman chuckled. “Haven’t you heard of OPSEC? C’mon now, ‘Minister of Propaganda’.”
The term was familiar, certainly a reference to something, but Marcellon couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He did have a significant role in distributing propaganda as Chief Technical Officer, so maybe it was that? Wileman did have a point, though. It was selfish of him to ask about such details, but he – and by extension, Siegs and the others – needed to be able to trust this man. “I understand. Operational security is critical, but –”
Wileman seemed to understand this, seeing right through him. “Well, I can’t tell you everything, obviously, but here’s what I can tell you…”