The First Is Pecuniary, The Second Societal, And The Third Unworthy Of Mention
Derisht Fogillad! No more representative name for a Rik could there be to offer Takki as an example, Dirant made sure to remember for later. Also, Derisht Fogillad served Greater Enloffenkir in Drastlif as the senior ambassador. That meant nothing to the lesser employees unless the manager made it relevant to them, though Derisht's reputation as having the highest Discernment of anyone presently alive in Egillen at 96 would give them a subject of discussion in the quieter hours. They might speculate whether his physical condition would allow him enough levels to break 100. Probably not. A typical person wound up with only half his maximum bonus in his best stat for all that youths always believed they would surpass that. Dirant still did.
A member of the Arbiter class, not only had Mr. Derisht represented the confederation's interests with unimpeachable skill, but at times members of the Permissive Council had communicated private requests for him to apply his judgment regarding certain intra-Drastlif matters the parties involved wished to avoid bringing to the courts or the Councils. Likely he would be granted the right to bear arms once he retired, Onerid Paspaklest suggested when she came in and heard about it.
“Or so I have been informed,” she concluded. “That notwithstanding, my report remains to be made. For how long would you say Mr. Hadolt has been occupied with Mr. Derisht?”
“Almost an hour if I am not mistaken. Ah, I am.” Dirant shook his watch. He had been keeping it next to the popcorn stove and box in order that it might observe a more reliable instrument and correct its shameful practices, but evidently to no result.
“More than an hour already,” a more informed employee answered.
“Oh? Perhaps the ambassador has been successfully smuggled out through a window or such, all in a way keeping with the dignity of his office of course as he was squeezed through the frame after being dipped in lard.” Against the impression a fellow passenger aboard the Oskid may have gotten and indeed did get, Onerid possessed a sense of humor tending toward the lowbrow, the sort tickled by puppet shows and crude theater. “Whether I will be forgiven or not for investigating the possibility, I must attempt it.”
Soon she returned and announced that all available employees were to report to Mr. Hadolt's office. They would probably fit at their present numbers, and the manager would need all of them. A short time later, the manager began. “Mr. Derisht has decided to step down from his taxing position. Furthermore, he wishes to keep the announcement secret until he has had time to leave Drastlif.”
“That is correct.” The client was sitting, contrary to Onerid's hopes, as far from any window as he could contrive. “My career has been long, and though I may have gained some credit from my conduct during it, there is another goal of mine which is best sought as a private citizen. To be direct, a rarity for one of my profession I admit, I believe an enemy will murder me if I remain here. I do not demand you agree with me despite the excellent reasons there are for it. However, behaving as if you share my conviction is a requirement of the job. Mr. Hadolt assures me this will be done.”
The employees bowed or curtsied to indicate their assent, and if the idea seemed a product of paranoia, there was that 96 Discernment. Satisfied, Derisht Fogillad continued. “The arrangements to effect my exit cannot be concluded early enough. The destination is unimportant. Secrecy is paramount, and most likely this building is already under watch. Those are the parameters. There is nothing more for me to say, and because 'to hear how it will be done is to lose hope in it,' I will wait outside.” He stepped out into the window-free hallway, a comforting place for a man in his position.
“And so how is it to be done?” Mr. Hadolt asked.
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An employee asked, “Can we not simply assign a few guards, march him to the harbor, and put him on a ship chartered to arrive at a destination only its captain is told? There is expense in it, but surely.”
Mr. Hadolt tapped his desk. “Rather than expense, it is an issue of manpower and classes. We have, for example, a single Battler.” Stansolt Gaomat bowed. “Then a couple Myrmidons, one Subjugator . . . it is impossible to draw from our personnel a force sufficient to allay the client's fears of assassination. We might hire a condottiero, but can we move faster than that, or?”
The employees considered the issue. Some began to speak only to encounter some difficulty before their first sentence finished. At last, Onerid Paspaklest made a suggestion. “There is this way to increase our manpower temporarily at no great cost, which is to announce our intention of celebrating a festival peculiar to the GE. An authentic one is preferable, but we might make do with something fabricated. We must invite a few people on a very select basis such as one ambassador perhaps, a few gentlemen with the canton gules, a few ladies who have invited us to some function and await reciprocation. Hundreds will show up, not to intrude they will say but merely to watch and inevitably create their own parallel parties. An open-air permit will be required, but there is seldom any trouble in getting one.”
Stansolt Gaomat offered a refinement. “A reenactment would be best, so long as our ancestors do not begrudge the use of their historical accomplishments that we might do something daring ourselves under their masks. Is there a timely historical event? If it is a case of moving something a fortnight in a favorable direction, we can get it done with some finesse.”
Stansolt obviously knew of none. Dirant ransacked his memory for festivals, anything he might once have pled as an excuse to get out of something, but came up with what he wanted no more than would an assassin if he searched Derisht Fogillad's home just then. Perhaps one of the employees owned one of those books which attached a historical event to each day of the year. With better luck, one might be a true enthusiast.
“Miss Onerid, how long to acquire the permit and send the invitations?” Mr. Hadolt asked. “Let me be specific about what I must know. What day?”
“Today if you like, sir, since there is no need to ensure anyone invited will or can appear.”
“I do like it. I was planning to celebrate Launch Day privately, but it will be all the more elucidating with more people.”
Ah, and there was the enthusiast.
“As was I, but to have a real ship for it!” another employee said. A second enthusiast; people with similar interests did tend to cluster, after all.
“A permit is necessary? I might then have had a legal tangle for the past few years when I took my household around the neighborhood for a minor Launch Day procession?” A third said that. Had Dirant somehow been ill during the Launch Day festival so that nobody wished to disturb him by mentioning it? Every year?
“Tomorrow is Long Watch, and while I favor it, it is not so much to the purpose.”
No. Rather, the nostalgic Grenlofers of the Drastlif branch had memorized the holidays, festivals, and memorials of the homeland just as the travelers of the Obeneutian wastes knew every cave and source of water. Dirant, Stansolt, Banfol, Onerid, and Onkallant maintained a baffled silence while the veteran branch employees discussed what was needed for the reenactment itself. At least they could speak again when the meeting moved into general preparations.
Soon all was arranged. Onerid Paspaklest with a small support staff would deal with the regulatory and societal aspects. Hands would be sent out to purchase what masks and costumes were required beyond what employee wardrobes held already, which would not be many. Stansolt Gaomat and Ibir Doteniksta had guard duty over the client's person while Renlimed Tellanstisk and Dirant Rikelta watched over the lobby from the receptionist's desk and popcorn counter. If anyone capable of violence showed up, they could alert the Battler and Myrmidon by screaming.
One such person showed up immediately. “Hello, Ressi. Why is your building under observation by a bunch of people who look like they tore the 'ethics' and 'morals' entries out of their lexicons? I really don't think I'm impatient, but if you solved another incident without me, maybe I should just go home.” Millim Takki Atsa used a cloth to wipe her face so cruelly assaulted by the noon sun, and if she hid a tear or two in it, what use was it to notice?
“The situation is the reverse of that,” Dirant assured her. “You are here nearly at the beginning. It is not permitted for me to disclose the matter at this juncture. Instead I may ask whether you are prepared, or no. How prepared are you to attend a festive historical reenactment after the GE fashion this evening?”
“Oh! The one thing I didn't get to do in Kitslof! I may have some etiquette questions. Would it be impolite of me to bring weaponry?”
“In this instance, it is encouraged.”