The great book of law snapped shut, marking the end of the day’s judgments, and Cato rose from his bench.

Well over a month had passed since the attack by Kolonn forces, and life in Anthusa had settled back into a normal rhythm. Both the city’s wounds and Cato’s own injuries healed rapidly, but the same could not be said for his soul: though its sharp edges had dulled and mustering his energies no longer felt like crawling barefoot over broken glass, that grinding discomfort never left him, and he was forever wary of overextending himself and weakening himself further.

Despite that, his own star rose in the weeks since. Captain Apostolis advocated for him relentlessly, praising his self-sacrifice for the sake of his fellow soldiers, and no small number of Cato’s peers joined that cry. Not only had he received a considerable pension and an award, Captain Apostolis appointed him to an administrative post for the duration of his recovery, and it was an open secret among the Orczy soldiers that he was being groomed as a candidate for the Vice-Captainship.

No longer was he a guard lieutenant, staving off Kolonn aggression and demanding public order, a figure of both admiration and fear among the local populace, he now served as… well, effectively, a watchdog.

Duke Orczy employed several executors who held open court within the city, as well as venturing into the prisons to render judgment on inmates. Each trailed a train of subordinate officials, including a doctor of civil law, several notaries and servants, some three dozen armed footmen and cavalry, and a soldier. Despite being considerably stronger than the patrolmen, Cato felt rather redundant.

That was until he realized that his true role was not as a bodyguard.

Though he was occasionally called upon to deliver sensitive reports, aid in apprehending elusive criminals, and secure witnesses against outside influence, Sergeant Enzo soon made it clear that his purpose was keeping an eye on the executor, not on threats to him. He attended visits to the prisons, oversaw testimony, double-checked sentencing, and though he was silent for most all of it, his presence exerted an undeniable influence on the judge and his subordinates. That was partly due to his small fame, but also the impression that through him, the captain and even the duke watched their actions.

Cato often caught the executor, his supposed superior, sneaking glances at him, looking for signs of approval or disapproval. He followed Enzo’s advice, and put on a stony expression at all times. “Keep them guessing about how much you watch,” the sergeant advised, “and about whether they’re in your good graces or not.”

When the executor investigated corruption among prison guards, Cato’s presence at his side communicated that the duke took such matters seriously. When regular citizens came before the executor to seek redress for crimes, their eyes wandered over to him, even as their words were meant for the executor.

Cato saw a very different side of the city these days. The desperation of the citizens faced with violence and disease was familiar to him, but the little frictions of daily life, from which he had previously been insulated, overwhelmed him in their sheer quantity.

Where once his presence encouraged the people of Anthusa to be silent and orderly, he was now in a position to listen to their problems. Inevitably, their opinions and concerns on other topics snuck into their complaints and testimony, no matter how much the executor tried to keep them on track.

It occurred to Cato that the Anthusans didn’t much like the duke.

That wasn’t quite right. They liked Duke Orczy well enough. His support for the city in matters of security, amenities, and culture was well known and subject to great praise. And they didn’t seem to mind that they, being a city on the planet Vintal, were ruled by a family from Konigsphare. The Orczy were immensely prestigious, and it didn’t hurt that the duke had grown up in the region and spoke fluent Vintic.

Rather, the Anthusans resented being a duchy at all.

Once again, Cato leveraged his country-bumpkin reputation to get plenty of information out of his very educated coworkers. He’d known for a while that the city was run by a council of nine governors, chosen by lot and locked in a tower for two years. It seemed like an absolutely insane way to run a city, but in seeing how ridiculous it was the real implications had passed him by. What did those nine governors actually do, with Duke Orczy apparently managing the city’s affairs himself?

Cato soon learned that, for most of the city’s history, there had been no duke: Anthusa was an independent polity, one which had even executed its aristocracy in ages past and reconstituted itself as a republic. It was subject to constant destabilization and attempts by ambitious citizens and invaders to rule it, and institutions like the nine governors were created to decentralize power and make it as difficult as possible for any one person or family to gain control.

That went out the window with the Manzi bank, once a small institution whose cooperation with the Holy Son allowed them to gain mind-boggling amounts of wealth and influence. The Anthusan anthem became the currency of choice all over Vintal, and even on other planets, and the city thrived, but despite their new prosperity the citizens always feared that the Manzi would go the way of countless would-be tyrants before them.

Centuries later, their fears came true. In a moment of crisis occasioned by the mad Holy Son Zealous II, the Manzi took over the city, and called in their Orczy allies to be its formal stewards.

That was only a few generations ago, and Otto Orczy was just the third Duke of Anthusa. The second duke, his uncle, died in the destruction of the Holy City.

Everything else, from the executors to the nine governors, was a holdover from what Anthusa used to be, preserved not because it was the best way to govern the city but because it maintained a sense of continuity. With that, the Orczy rule and subtler Manzi control were more tolerable.

That was the right word: the citizens on the street had no desire to overturn the current order, especially as the region was bouncing from one crisis to another in recent months. The duke’s rule was stable and generally respected, and amid plagues and destruction the people of Anthusa clung to it like a life raft.

As he walked the executor back to his home, Cato wondered what would happen if things improved. If Vintal was secured from further Abyssinian attacks, the Holy City was reconstructed, the plague was cured, and the Kolonn were driven from the region, how long would it take for Anthusa to stop tolerating Orczy rule? What was the duke willing to do to keep power, and how much did Anthusa value the freedom of its ancestors? How bloody would it get?

And what would he do, if it came to pass in his own lifetime? He was almost ashamed to say that he felt a real sense of belonging among the Orczy guards these days. He had worked hard to integrate the people of Inillo into that faction to protect them.

How much blood was Cato willing to spill to keep his pension, his station, and the relatively comfortable lives of his followers, if Anthusa tried to throw off the duke? Would he even consider betraying the duke, or trying to stand aside?

He was dizzy with thought as he reached the threshold of Agatha’s clinic. These days, he entered without knocking, and saw Inna lying still on the long couch opposite the door.

For a moment, Cato’s heart jumped into his throat. But with a second look, he noticed her healthy complexion, the gentle rise of her breath, and the slight, but unmistakable aura that coiled around her sleeping form.

Inna just reached the first level of alchemic transformation. Her body was now more durable, flexible, and powerful, an equal for any uncultivated athlete or strongman.

It was also an exhausting transformation, and the final step, converting all the alchemic potential built up over weeks into a permanent enhancement of the body was both stressful and risky.

Agatha strode out from the back rooms, noting Cato’s presence without surprise.

“Late day in court again?”

He nodded.

It was just the first stage, the first step in the work of a lifetime. But seeing his followers, one of his first followers even, take that step left him with vertigo.

“Myshkin is about to start the final stage himself. Want to watch?”

Cato gathered himself, and nodded again. He spent the next few hours watching Agatha guide the one-time shepherd through the process, turning weeks of effort and investment into… something more. A fulfillment of humanity, or maybe the first step in transcendence of it. Myshkin sat in a great cauldron, bathed in a heated solution of reagents, the same ones gradually introduced into his body over weeks, now reaching a saturation point. His breath was steady, his concentration did not falter, and with the witch’s guidance he assimilated all of it.

When it was over, he rose from the cauldron grinning. He stared down at his limbs as if feeling them for the first time. It took both Cato and Agatha to convince him not to move suddenly and to stay inside.

Within a few minutes, he was heaving the last of the toxins and excess reagents into a bucket. Not thirty seconds after he was done with that, he passed out entirely and the remaining pair covered him in a robe and set him to sleep by his sister.

Then it was Cato’s turn.

The fundamental process of alchemic transformation remained constant across the various stages: conditioning, purification, introduction, multiplication, assimilation, and transformation itself. At each stage, the body was reforged, with new and exotic reagents modifying the base matter and reordering it according to the subject’s will.

But while the process of each stage was in no small part a process of accumulation, the rarity and potency of the requisite materials increased mightily each time. The length and difficulty of the process likewise increased. Cato would meditate in the cauldron all night and most of the next day, and needed to totally memorize and understand the process himself: verbal guidance from Agatha would not suffice.

As he lowered himself into the cauldron, he decided this was as good a time as any to ask.

“What would you do if the duke was overthrown?”

Agatha wasn’t taken aback by the question, but she did demand to know how Cato came to it, and pondered her own response at length.

“Not much, I suppose. I might have to shelter for a while, and keep my valuables out of sight if some trouble came about. I’d definitely have to look for a new source of income.”

That was perhaps more true of Cato than of her.

“One way or another, it wouldn’t really change much about my life or what I do. Worst comes to worst, I’d lack up and practice my craft elsewhere.”

Cato meditated on that well after she left. Night came, and the cauldron boiled on, and he couldn’t get it out of his head.

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

How freeing, to be unmoved by the changes of fate.

But how lonely, too. Even if he wasn’t affected, too many others were. Agatha lived to learn, before anything else, but second to that she helped people. Whenever a new plague victim came to her clinic, Cato saw how much she genuinely cared.

But that care was abstract, free-flowing: it attached itself to whoever needed help at the time, and moved on to a new target just as easily. She lived and worked in Anthusa because it was large and wealthy and it was easy to be anonymous. Before, she did the same in the outskirts of Inillo. There was nothing special about the people of this city that compelled her. Even her obvious soft spot for Inna and Myshkin resulted from their past acquaintance and her own whim, not any unbreakable bond. If packing up and leaving to do the same thing elsewhere was in her best interest. Cato had no doubt that she would do it, and wouldn’t look back.

How freeing. How lonely. How totally outside Cato’s ability to imitate.

Like it or not, his fate was inexorably tied to the people of Inillo. It had been an imposition and had become a duty, and was now… a calling? Something he could not leave behind without denying a part of himself.

Inna and Myshkin woke from their stupor well into the night, and waited quietly outside the chamber door. When the process was complete, theirs were the first faces he saw. They tended to him as he was purging toxins, clothed him and set him down to rest.

It was more rewarding than the rush he felt in his newly transformed body, more beautiful than the vast array of subtle colors and scents that he could now make out.

It felt good, not being alone.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

Vice-Captain Caselli arrived unacceptably late to the duke’s office. Though he received the summons a full hour ago, during a long lunch, he was not hurried. He took the time to finish his meal, take another drink or two with his friends, and walk home at a relaxed pace. There, he changed into clothes that complemented his uniform better, combed his hair, and only then set off for the duke’s office, not in the private Orczy estate but in the old potentate’s fortress.

He rode, of course, but only at a walk, slow enough to be admired by the crowds that parted for him like a cooing sea.

Vanity, thy name is Vice-Captain Vittorio Caselli.

And when one arrives, let us be clear, unacceptably late to a formal meeting with the duke, one ought to expect some punishment, or at least a scolding. That is, of course, only if the one in question is not named Caselli. It is at once an art and an instinct in him, to arrive neither on time nor to be conventionally tardy, but so late that all the formalities are surely done with and only relevant business remains to be discussed, and then to arrive with such aplomb that one is immune to censure.

Such it is that Caselli thrusts open the double doors of the duke’s office, cutting a fine and handsome figure in his well-ornamented uniform, that when both the duke and Captain Apostolis register his tardiness, they do not think it worth the trouble to comment on it: first, because at this point it is simply more expedient to briefly recount the important details of the meeting thus far (in Caselli’s experience, what takes an hour to discuss can be summarized in a minute without much loss of detail) and because it would be a shame to penalize such a handsome, orderly, and talented young officer as himself for something so trivial.

It doesn’t hurt that, once he does arrive, Vice-Captain Caselli devotes his complete attention and incisive mind to the topic at hand, disarming all accusations of base sloth. He is simply a man who values his time, his health, and beauty sleep. Let others slave away, stressing themselves out for little gain. Maximum effect for minimum effort is the Vice-Captain’s philosophy.

Apostolis summarizes the essence of the meeting in record time: Caselli is to lead a diplomatic delegation to the neighboring city of Velatri to deepen the ties of brotherhood between the two governments and, more clandestinely, to survey Velatri’s outlying lands for certain newly discovered resources they suspect have recently been uncovered. Captain Apostolis will hold down the fort in Anthusa, and Lieutenant Cato will be assisting Caselli.

The young lieutenant has been in the room all along, but Caselli deems him worthy of attention only now.

He’s heard plenty of the young soldier’s exploits: Caselli was also on duty the night of the Kolonn attack, holding off their assault on another front, and quite missed seeing all of his brave—and frankly, suicidal—heroics in person . They had grown in the telling, but Apostolis’ own report was consistent, lucid, and nothing short of a hagiography.

When Apostolis advocated for Cato to receive training in administrative posts and sustained his candidacy for the vice-captainship, Caselli agreed straightforwardly. When he became captain one day, he would need a go-getting subordinate to help carry his workload.

But there were plenty of people who might fill that role, and Caselli was not yet convinced Cato was the man for the job. Apostolis was a righteous old soldier, but always overly impressed by camaraderie and courage in battle; Caselli needed to know whether this young lieutenant would be pleasant to work with. He and Apostolis, their temperaments complemented one another; whether Cato could fill a similar role was up in the air.

The boy was ram-rod straight, formal, stiff. Caselli remembered this was the lieutenant’s first time meeting with the duke in person for any length of time. No wonder he was a bit tense. He needed to learn the art of relaxation, and while it came easier to some it could still be trained. Even so, it was a good sign at the present. Clearly this was a rather serious sort with a healthy respect for the chain of command. Good clay.

The duke’s eyes also lingered on the boy during their meeting, and Caselli wagered it had been so prior to his entrance as well. It was subtle, but his eyes rested not quite in front of his face, on the air just to the boy’s side, and darted over to look at Cato’s expression frequently.

Was the duke also trying to assess the boy? That wasn’t quite right. Caselli had a nose for these things. There was clearly something going on between these two, something which was not common knowledge. The boy was either oblivious to it or hiding it capably, and the duke was losing his poker face over it.

Altogether, a very interesting situation.

As the meeting drew to a close, Caselli recapped the major points, drew new observations, and concluded the proceedings decisively. He’d been listening very attentively the whole time, of course. It wasn’t his fault other people couldn’t multitask.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

“Inquisitor, what do you think of…”

Inquisitor Phaero was very good at finding new employment.

After that whole mess in Beroli, the former Lord-Vicar quite had his hands full. His convenient little scapegoat turned out much more dangerous than he had first expected, a diabolist of some form for certain, and even as Cato and his rabble fled the town and Phaero’s friend Benicio failed to return, Beroli fell into a frenzy.

“Inquisitor, this report for your perusal…”

But Phaero was adaptable, and turned the situation to his advantage once more. With a certified murderer and diabolist and his vile cult having just been expelled from town, he made it clear to all that their continued depravity, not just of any one sector but of the whole town as a whole, had brought this doom upon them; first the plague, and then the Inillans. Unless the citizens of Beroli got their act together, not only would the plague continue, but more disasters of this sort would strike, each worst than the last.

“Inquisitor, the charges against him are as follows…”

It worked. Though his little scapegoat didn’t quite work as intended, it still bought him precious months and a little more control over the local narrative. Eventually, the plague did in fact retreat, and he was still on top and prepared to take credit.

“Inquisitor, about those heretics…”

So, one might think, he would be free to stay in Beroli? Wrong. The whole place was tainted for him now. He did far too good a job, in fact. Even as the crisis calmed and the last lord’s sons stuck their heads out for air, there was no public desire to replace the Lord-Vicar. How could Beroli ever replace its savior and protector?

“Inquisitor, I would like to offer my personal thanks…”

He cursed himself. Trapped with the burden of responsibility! But he found a way out. Spectacular but vague rumors of how he dealt with some villainous and despicable diabolists reached the ears of the Order of the Black Mantle, whose inquisitorial branch was in dire need of new blood after the unpleasantness in the Holy City. It was with great public sorrow and private relief that he accepted a new post, lubricated by a considerable portion of his hoarded gold, and settled into his role as an inquisitor. To hell with Beroli, that pit of snakes and heathens!

“Inquisitor, I am innocent please!”

He loved it. Forget his scholarship, forget any other part of the church, he should have joined the inquisition decades ago. What other order not only allowed, but actively instructed its members to rove around, gathering secrets and imposing orthodoxy? Where else could he mingle among the upper crust and insert himself into their affairs without becoming responsible for them?

“Inquisitor, this bottle is from the royal vineyards of Fleur, it…”

Though, perhaps, it was only right that he should join at this point. Contrary to its rather sinister reputation, the Inquisition did in fact have rather strict rules around the conduct of its members, especially on the job. These were often circumvented, of course, but it did not escape Phaero that his new peers were all observant and curious weasels who would carefully file away his iniquity into their own black books. It was a rather perilous organization to belong to, for men of Phaero’s persuasion.

“Inquisitor, please meet my daughter Armanda, she…”

But he happened to enter the order just as it was suffering from both a lack of manpower and a boatload of new concerns. Not only had the Demon Sultan’s attack on the Holy City severely hurt public confidence in the church and its power, the plague and the failure of existing measures to cure it gave rise to all manner of charlatans offering their own cures, informed by speculative aetiologies, many of which violated some element of church orthodoxy. It was open season on heretics, and Phaero had a big appetite.

“Inquisitor, shall we attend to the delegation from Anthusa?”

He stopped in his tracks.

“They’re here already, are they?”

“Yes, inquisitor, they just arrived at the gate.”

Phaero bestowed a wise and gentle smile on his aide, young Gregorio. He was just the right blend of cunning and idealistic, eager to work his schemes on the hidden forces of devilry yet curiously blind to the failings of those he considered above him. A lovely companion who never ceased to amuse him.

They carried on towards the great entrance hall of the ducal palace at Velatri. The city was one of those powerful influences whose attention he tried to avoid back in Beroli, but as an inquisitor his sights and tolerance for risk were set much higher. He’d been residing in the palace for quite some time, cataloging the activities of the locals and helping the duke unspool the hidden machinations of witches and heretics. He quite liked Duke Ambroglio, in fact. He was a man after Phaero’s own heart, a vicious rascal with whom he was always on the same page, who hardly needed to be deceived at all.

Then, upon arriving in the entrance hall, Phaero stopped in his tracks, turned on his heel, informed young Gregorio that he was feeling a sudden and severe case of the runs, and made for his private quarters with all haste, where he spent the next hour quivering in terror.

That was Cato.

Cato of Inillo was in Velatri.

Cato of Inillo was in Velatri, as part of the Anthusan delegation, and by all appearances not in a low position.

Gregorio, ever sweet and useful Gregorio, kept him apprised of news through his locked chamber door. Only hours later, when the Anthusan delegation had concluded their meeting with Duke Ambroglio and retired to the guest quarters for the might, did he scuttle out of hiding and towards the duke’s drawing room.

Duke Ambroglio, the amalgamation of every old soldier who let himself go after grabbing power, was still awake and answering letters.

“Inquisitor, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The glint of gold in his mouth twinkled, then disappeared behind a scowl when he saw Phaero’s own grim expression.

Inquisitor Phaero spared no time or detail: he made exceptionally clear that a member of the Anthusan delegation, yes, in fact, one of the very people the duke had just entertained in this very room, was none other than a vile and insidious diabolist whom Phaero had once dueled and thought dead. Their response needed to be swift and lethal: otherwise, once this Cato realized that Phaero was here and his cover was blown, the cultists who secretly dwelt among the delegation’s soldiers would start painting the palace red.

Phaero was very surprised to find that the duke nodded along to all of this. The duke only grinned, and handed the inquisitor a letter, delivered by the delegation and meant for Ambroglio’s eyes only, written in Duke Orczy’s own hand.

It was a whole lot of tripe, polite affirmations of brotherhood and the like, right up until the postscript.

> P.S.

>

> Among the delegation I have sent you there is a man named Cato of Inillo, an assistant to Vice-Captain Caselli. He is hateful to me and knows it, and in my negligence I have permitted him to gain such influence that it is most inconvenient for me to expose him or take vengeance upon him directly. If he should die, preferably in such a manner that the rest of the delegation does not suspect foul play, and especially in such a manner that makes him infamous, I am prepared to concede certain terms more preferable to your Grace in addition to whatever decisions are reached by the delegation.

>

> He almost certainly expects some scheme against him, and will be on guard. Though I have removed him from his allies, he absolutely must not be underestimated.

>

> Do not listen to his lies.

Understanding came over Inquisitor Phaero, and together with Duke Ambroglio he began to scheme, as only two men that are of one mind can scheme.