The Only Information Worth Hearing Is That Which None Will Tell You
“Which side won?”
“The second one, because when we visited him in prison, he admitted he was under the impression he could breathe underwater. Human consumption of sio is illegal in Pavvu Omme Os, you see. Helsodenk was smuggling sio from Tando, then?”
“Yes, and that is what ruined him. It is similarly illegal when used for that purpose in Drastlif, though there is illegal and illegal. An incident occurred in Swadvanchdeu wherein some sio-taking noble chosen to take part in a ceremony of such antiquity that no one now understands the significance of it, much like the Chawbnoipt River's name, had to be replaced because of his inability to fulfill his role. A component ritual specifies that the celebrants must be human, a common restriction, and did not recognize him as such. Upon investigation, several class abilities treated him as a monster. It was a great scandal.”
“Amazing! The bottle lists monsterization in the part about possible side effects, but that there was a confirmed case, I never heard of one. I'm sure that will come up if we ever have a debate about legalizing sio.”
Despite the lesser importance of public debates in his own country, the topic interested Dirant enough for him to ask, “And what were the other side effects?”
“Hallucinations, stomach pains, death, temporary blindness. Normal things for chemicals intended for use on monsters. I really wasn't sure why the government worried about sio in particular, but now I understand.”
It did not require a professor of political philosophy to explain that every functional government without exception included among its responsibilities the suppression of monsters. On the contrary, only such a professor would state something so obvious, either when establishing the framework for a complete accounting of the nature politics or as the prelude to some controversial proposition. A government which allowed its citizens to become monsters was likely to cease being a government soon, whether because of a popular revolt or all the monsters.
“And now the question is why some states do not ban it. Perhaps I will inquire later. In any case, nearly all of Tando OHW's products enter Egillen through Drastlif. Swadvanchdeu set about using its influence to encourage the oligarchs to treat unlicensed sio importation as a serious issue. A Dvanjchtlivan army a river-ride away from the capital must convert into an impressive amount of influence. Helsodenk's fellow conspirators tattled, his allies escaped through the back when he came to the door, and altogether Drastlif rejected him. He was removed from his position and made to pay such an array of fines as are hard to believe the laws specified previously, and after that, he disappeared from the sight of Drastlifan society, myopic as it is.”
Takki finished her lunch during the explanation, which in her country was a sign that a speech needed more length. It ought to have required a second course. “Oh, I was wondering why people tittered so much when they told stories about him. They're hoping for a new scandal. Did you hear about how he handed a boy who found a carriage for him an ipapoba? That is a gold coin, isn't it? I hope I properly comprehended the significance of the story, unlike some of these folktales.”
“Yes, it is the large one worth too much for daily expenses and too little for major commercial transactions. Traditionally it represented a day's pay for a work crew of seventy. Today it is coined to commemorate occasions such as a victory in some Egilof game or other. It is an entirely unreasonable value for such a service, and if my speech is even right now, it is the greatest feat of control I have ever exercised.” Dirant's voice held up, but his spoon held in his unsteady hand clinked against the cup a few times. Since he had no need for a spoon the joke was obvious, but an ipapoba was a lot of money notwithstanding.
“If you couldn't manage that, you'd never be able to lay bare the secrets behind the facade, Ressi. Like what Helsodenk was doing that made him so rich after all those fines. Or how the Akard-Velgsins knew where he was if nobody else did. The timeline doesn't work for your popcorn thing, though.” Takki generally came out well in Dirant's discretion reviews, and so she knew about the break-in. Solving a mystery that had its origin halfway across the continent presented challenges she accepted with eagerness for all that the person who posed it wanted not so much a solution as much as a basis to apply legal pressure.
Aside from the sudden return of Helsodenk Nifkleskir and the humiliating failure of the faction set on denying Narark Akard-Velgsin his shipbuilding triumph, nothing going on in Drastlif qualified as a sensation. No news involving slightly improved methods of preparing unusual corn strains was reported, for one. There was speculation about the financial situation of the Larstin-Megrafilts and how long the guarantee of a seat on the Restricted Council to the descendants of the last king of Maims in exchange for his abdication would be honored, but not because anyone thought the issue imminent. People whispered about which unfortunate lady with more dignity to her name than sense in her head would allow herself to be deceived by infamous playboys such as Tagrin Ichipt-Dasrops, Keiminops Bodan-Tin, and Stadraj Ist because nothing of the sort was going on at the moment. Even worse, Eizesl Ist soon announced his engagement. The Noiswawau-Swadvanchdeu war supplied more conversational material than anything local, and in regard to that, everyone simply hoped the two countries would keep fighting each other forever.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
As disappointing as the gossip scene must have been to someone hoping to hear about infringements of his legal rights, Dirant capitalized on his growing knowledge of pointless Drastlifan trivialities by filling letters to friends and family with them; the more boring the correspondence they wrote him, the worse he gave in return. He also managed to be invited to a Drastlifan dinner, which differed from others by the complete absence of preamble or postscript. Guests came, ate, and left, though the middle section was performed amid a great deal of talking. The novelty carried him through it, though afterward he sympathized more with the branch employees who reminisced about pleasant little meals and long evenings even as he reminded himself that every bird thinks there is but one way to lay out a nest.
“It is true what that writer said about three tiers of public knowledge: what it is permissible to admit in the open, what we pretend to be secret even as we discuss it, and behind that what is known to the people who matter,” Dirant thought. “And yet I must still hold to my opinion he might have worded it more felicitously, though perhaps that is to expect too much from a treatise on political philosophy.”
When a man walks in off the street wearing a coat of a size and heft appropriate for protecting a wagon from hail while wrapped in enough scarves to start up a shop in Pavvu Omme Os in defiance of the ever-warming sun to inquire about Stadeskosken's rates for extracting ambassadors from the country without letting anyone find out, that sort of reflection is inevitable. For all the many rumors Dirant had collected, many later confirmed true, none of them explained what really went on in the world.
“A request of that nature requires the highest scrutiny on our part, sir,” the receptionist informed him. “The branch manager himself will soon be available for consultation. Is that chair sufficient for you until then, or?” She waved a hand approximately in the direction of a chair designated for use by clients by clear markings, those being that it had twice the cushion thickness of anything permitted to employees during work hours.
One of those employees, his mental acuity not dulled by the stultifying effects of nice chairs, made a remark. “But is Mr. Hadolt not currently engaged with someone from the embassy?”
“Ah!” The swaddled man started back for the door, only to stop again. “But that is no better. His henchmen are everywhere.” Surely fear and heat combined to make what was under those heavy coverings more water than man. No one could imagine it without sympathy.
“Here, sir,” Dirant called out. “Come behind this counter. That is it exactly. Face toward the wall and stay silent in the manner of someone receiving a lecture he is without means to avoid. Even so. There. Ahem. Is it your custom always to miss the training your worthier colleagues attend, or do you reserve this practice for matters likely to arise if you are transferred away from this branch because your love of this country is such that your cremation here is already paid? You are right not to answer. All you must do is listen. First, observe the box designed for use with this configuration. Whatever ritualism education you received, if any, perhaps neglected the techniques you must master to continue your design vertically, though my private suspicion is that you simply skipped out on it.”
The lecture began but a minute before the embassy messenger previously ensconced with the manager came into the hallway. Mr. Hadolt followed behind as a sign of respect for the embassy and all the custom which came through it. Any Stadeskosken branch manager possessed sufficient composure and professionalism to wait for an agent of legitimate clients to depart the building before he indulged his curiosity, or perhaps amazement, about the unauthorized Ritualist training being conducted a few feet away. He even waited a time after the front door closed in case the messenger came right back inside upon remembering something, as often happened.
That done, he asked, “Well?” and waited. So extraordinary was the circumstance that he anticipated no question about what he meant any more than someone who asks a person holding a fishing rod how the little guys are biting today expects to hear about teething children. For once he was not disappointed.
“Ah, there is the signal to cease our performance. Thank you for your cooperation, sir. All I can do in return is show you to the branch manager, Mr. Hadolt Herafoken. Mr. Hadolt, this gentleman has questions for you and wishes not to be seen asking them.”
“I am greatly encouraged by the quick thinking of your employees, Mr. Hadolt. I had heard of it of course, but I suspected financial incentives behind the praise.” The man undid his array of scarves, hat, cap, high collar, and tinted glasses. Under those, and beneath a layer of sweat considering permanent residence there, were a face rather advanced in age and a head not quite freed of all that troublesome hair which demanded so much care in grooming. His gray eyes looked from side to side, perhaps in search of a ghost, while his worried frown implied that if he saw one, it would not be the first. “Our meeting is a blessing for me. I am Derisht Fogillad.”