45
Detective Kathiya
Kathiya never thought much about being a detective. It always felt like a profession for people far smarter and of a much cooler temperament than her. The skills were there: sneaking, eavesdropping, more sneaking, but she could never imagine herself gathering anything that wasn’t mostly made of gold, let alone something as incorporeal and nebulous as “information.”
Today, she found she quite enjoyed it. She had a knack for it too, not that a bunch of careless, spoilt, grown-up children were particularly challenging cases. Most of the time, they told her themselves. Other times, they simply told others, and she listened in. Only once she snuck something out the pocket of an unwary vulture, who turned out to be one of the editors for those event papers they sell.
She found that the crane was a librarian and doing quite well for himself, selling copies of some of his own works, involving a system based on government control of markets and the distribution of wealth. Something like that, anyway; it got boring three pages in. Whether they were any good or not, she couldn’t tell. Maybe Sethel would have to give them a once over. Still, they sold well enough to people who already understood and agreed with the message they proposed.
The young lad Wesley was the son of a wealthy glassblower. This gave him much credence as one of the lower classes, which he let people know often. He may have neglected to mention that his father owned several of the factories and never actually blew any glass himself.
Several others came from all over. Some happened to be playwrights who were either looking for inspiration or somehow got lost and ended up on the wrong end of the revolt; others were simply the unemployed who really didn’t want to get a job. The bulk was made up of university students who took terrible courses in the study of playwriting or esoteric art forms of Kahredian tribes and found themselves struggling in an over-saturated market with a useless degree and blamed the nobility for this.
There were some people who would be considered the lower class, but she could count them all on one hand and would leave often to go and actually work. That’s the way she thought of it, anyway. Her father always taught her that hard work pays off, even when he worked all his life for a measly hunting cabin on the edge of the forest. Even when all their effort was hardly enough for them to scrape by. Even when he grew sick from it. Even when it later claimed him, and the banks came and took all they had, like they were plucking the least disappointing flower from a disappointing garden.
It was no different here. You can work as hard as you want, and someone will always be there to take it from you, be it through law or revolution.
Doesn’t matter how moral, or righteous, or legal they make it seem. It’s just the strong taking from the weak, in the end.
The same as it’s always been. And all this time she learned that money is power, and you should always follow the money.
That’s what she was doing right now, stalking over tightly knit rooftops and shuffling along tight ledges that hung from each of the strange, individually built towers.
She often peered over the edge, watching a traull-pulled wagon, reigned by the bull with the filed down horns and a few other guards, make its way along the bustling streets. She had followed it from the abandoned factory, deep in the slums, to here, close to the affluent centre. There had been quite some commotion behind her, from deeper into the slum. Quite a lot of yelling and some generalised, boilerplate chaos. Their demonstration sounds to have begun. Could have been fun, yet she had a bigger fish to catch.
To her surprise, she found this hunt to be a rather exciting experience. Orrick maintained some very ordinary building tops. All sloped roofs and tiles. Nothing interesting unless you stumble upon an ill-maintained one and end up falling straight through.
Here, she was scaling crystalline towers and weaving through the twisting stone of a structure that was designed by someone who had no business designing anything that people were expected to live in.
She squeezed through two oddly placed pillars and followed the roof’s edge, watching the wagon as it continued its journey. It now appeared to be heading towards the upper-class houses.
Kathiya followed along, hopping over a balcony and onto a flat rooftop, where the silhouette of a gargoyle against the fading light of a set sun loomed over her and the streets below.
The wagon had stopped next to one theatre, and the bull had left to go inside.
She leaned over a kept watch for a while. All that money. Donations for the cause. Where the hell was it all going? It certainly wasn’t going to the revolutionaries.
Something moved in the corner of her vision, and she turned to find that the perched gargoyle was no gargoyle at all. Her blood froze, and she wondered if she had been caught again.
She turned and was met with something she didn’t expect.
‘Ves’sa!’ she yelled in surprise and welled with relief, seeing her again. ‘You’re here! What have you been up to?’
‘Hunting.’ Her sharp, focused eyes never left the streets, occasionally glancing at anything that took her interest.
‘You've been up here all this time?’
She nodded. ‘Too noisy down there. Too many people.’
They settled back into an all too familiar silence. That seemed to be how most conversations with Ves’sa went. Kathiya noticed she was talking more, even if only by an extra word or two. Reminded her of the silent librarians of Mismyer, who would carry information to and fro.
Then she got an idea.
‘Hey,’ she said, breaking the silence. ‘I have a favour to ask of you. Do you know where Ludgar is?’
‘Always.’
‘Meet me here in a few hours. I have a message I need you to deliver.’
Ves’sa only gave a nod in response, and she remained perched above the gilded bell-tower, still like a vigilant sentry.
The bull emerged from the theatre carrying a hefty trunk on his muscular shoulder. He dropped it onto the cart like it was a sack of flour, and the cart set off again.
‘I’ve gotta go. Doing some hunting of my own.’ She left Ves’sa to her hunt, whatever it was, and set off on her own.
The cart made its next stop at the grand gate of a grand estate. A huge, gaudy thing built from solid white-gold. It looked like gold, anyway. A quick scratch would reveal it to be just paint of some kind.
Savanti homes were built quite differently from that of other homes around Versia. What they lacked in verticality, they made up for in width and surface space. They rejected lofty stone towers and angled roofs for flat roofing and perfectly square buildings.
Savanti had a lot of excess land space, and landowners were willing to use all of it, no matter how inconvenient.
It annoyed Kathiya somewhat. She quite enjoyed jumping and scuttling from rooftop to rooftop. Single-story buildings were boring and were harder to sneak around.
‘Another drop-off?’ she wondered to herself.
Guards came to open the golden-white gate. Guild mercs? Odd, but not completely unexpected.
The high iron fences would be formidable against the less than nimble residents. To Kathiya, they proved no more than a simple hurdle. She had scaled many like it before.
This one did have quite the garden, adorned with so many sculpted shrubs, water features of many urinating angels, and wooden, crimson shrines based on architecture used in the land of Tsukichi. Typically, these arches denoted places of worship. She got the feeling there was no spiritual significance to anything here.
A dash through the gardens and a few dives into some strangely cut shrubs and bushes, and she found herself staring at an open courtyard that occupied more space than most homes, and was adorned with so many parasols and gazebos that the sun must never have been an issue, complete with pools and fountains.
The affluent of Savanti glided from one to another, chatting away with plastered on smiles and fake guffaws that they must have practiced hundreds of times all while most likely despising each and every person that surrounded them, each wondering how they could fuck over the next. That’s what Kathiya assumed these people were like, anyway.
The guests revelled about the place, dressed as ostentatiously as the next, sniffing pinches of crystal white powder that glistened like silver or maybe glass. Moon dust, they called it. The Moonlight Serpents used to smuggle it into Evandis quite some time ago. Was never as popular as huska, for some reason.
In any case, it made their senses quite unreliable, so she used the chance to slip beneath the tables, through the shrubbery art forms, and through an open window into the house’s main body.
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She landed on a hefty pile of coats in a darkened room. Must be the cloakroom. She stumbled her way along, reaching the door at the far end, hands only incidentally touching the pockets for anything of possible value. With only the lightest touch, the door creaked open, and she peeked outside.
Kathiya had broken into many homes before, she had seen the inside of the abodes of the rich nobles to the most destitute of peasants. She had never seen a home quite like this.
Long and wide with a low ceiling, and a colour scheme that could be described as “clinically white.” The walls were so white they were almost hard to look at. The decorations were as odd as the room itself, with one being a series of dark balls gradually increasing in size. She believed this was called “minimalist.” She preferred to call it “shit.”
The party continued as it did outside, with copious amounts of wine, debauchery, and moon dust, the attendees still in ridiculous dress; a stark contrast to the barren walls around them.
Her outfit was fine for outside, in the shadows, or any normal place. Here, she found she would need to be a little more inconspicuous… or maybe much less.
She wore a gaudy purple coat, made from the hide of a kisserine, and tore off the sleeve of a coat made from the fur of a Xandalan scuffler. She tied it around the neck, removed her hood, and prepared her best rich person strut.
Kathiya weaved her way through the throngs of people, feeling ridiculous and self-conscious, not just because of the clashing colours, but the loss of her hood made her feel a little too visible; something she was never comfortable with.
It didn’t take too long before she found a familiar bovine carrying a hefty trunk on one shoulder and another in his other hand. He took them into a room guarded by two guild mercs. Ordinarily, such mercs would never appear so professional and alert, however they were aware many important people were watching them, and they had no intention of squandering possible future employment.
If they were ordinary revolutionaries half-arseing it, she may have had a chance to slip by. These guys seemed to actually be trying.
No. She’d need another way in. Perhaps there was some other way on the floor above.
She crossed the lower floor and ascended a crescent staircase that surrounded a fountain with the statue of a raised fist in the middle.
To her left, between the uncountable numbers of people, there was a hall with countless doors. To her right, the same.
Without any better ideas, she took the closest door.
Kathiya found herself in another room of sanitized white, only now there were a series of mirrors and basins running along the wall, along with a great ceramic tub at the other end of the room. This must be one of those new washrooms the League was always so proud of. She was aware that some nobles in Evandis had such, but had never seen one herself. She wanted time to get a closer look. Right now, there were two women huffing lines of moon dust at one of the basins.
‘This stuff is great if you need a little pick-me-up. I use it in the morning to wake up. Then I smoke some huska to help me sleep. I also take a dayglow mushroom if I’m feeling a little sad, and a dab of jyabajuice if I’m feeling too happy.’
The other woman went to finish off her bottle of wine and put it down with several others, and wobbled slightly, either from the wine or the dust.
Kathiya eased past, putting a hand against the white wall. It felt strange. She gave it a light tap with her knuckle. It felt almost hollow.
The two ladies at the mirror were laughing heavy, and one wobbled again, this time with far less control. Too much huska, maybe.
Kathiya had an idea.
It didn’t take much, just an empty wine bottle and the strategic roll of it. The lady was stumbling all over the place to begin with; it was only a matter of time before she tripped on something and slammed through the thin wall.
‘Oh my goodness!’ the first yelped, then going to help her up. ‘Let’s get you some huska for that,’ and carried her off somewhere.
That left Kathiya alone with a sizable hole in the wall. She peered in to find that the sizable walls were nothing more than a thin facsimile. Maybe everything really was fake in Savanti. This did provide her the perfect chance to get deeper into the place, through the musky, dry, dusty innards that were never supposed to be seen by public eye.
She crawled along dusty crevices and over wooden beams that felt far weaker and brittle than they should for things that were supporting the manors internal structure.
Along the way, she found cracks in the walls where the shoddy workmanship meant she could peer into several rooms. She peered into one to see two men smoking pipes and drinking wine, having a civil conversation.
‘The problem with change is that the common man simply doesn’t want it. Can’t understand why. They’d be happier if the government had full control over their possessions. Less things for them to worry about.’
Kathiya got bored and moved on.
There was another room crowded with the same revellers as she had seen before. Or maybe they were different, they all bled into one at this point. That was till she spied a familiar form clad in black, with a dark hat, and pale crow-like face. The black holes of eyes seemed to meet hers, and it put a hushing finger to its beak.
She backed away. Was that directed at her? No. Couldn’t be.
She looked again. He was gone.
Did she imagine it? She didn’t know.
The crawlspace led to a shaft that descended into the darkness. She clambered down the woodwork till the glow of a distant fire crept into the shaft. The remainder of the shaft ended, and the only thing for Kathiya was a thin wooden beam that crossed a surprising cavernous room hidden beneath the complex.
She dropped onto the beam, and it creaked against the newfound weight. She hoped to the gods that it would hold.
Torch fire flickered below, and the voices of people echoed up to the roof. She found the whole room was a cavern; a natural formation found below the manor. She could see the bovine finishing up with the chests, placing them into cages built into the cavern walls, and locking them behind him.
There stood Sister Ezria the powerful, rebel leader draped in finery, watching over the guards, a few close compatriots chatting with her. Kathiya could just make out their conversation.
‘Won’t some people object?’
‘I don’t see why,’ Ezria responded. ‘This fund is for the revolution. As far as I can see, I am the revolution. This would never have started without me. The fund goes to revolutionaries, which me and my family are. Besides, they have received the other donations.’
‘And those would be?’
‘The weapons from Phaos, Mantè, and Evandis.’
Kathiya had no idea who Ezria was trying to convince. She suddenly fent a cold chill sweep through; one that made her shiver, despite the fur covering her.
‘Your outfit feels out of place,’ a familiar voice said just behind her. ‘It’s far too sensible.’
‘Yeah, I had to improvise,’ she responded on instinct. She then realised what she had said and flipped around to come face-to-face with a familiar raven mask beneath a familiar dark, wide-brimmed hat. ‘You-’ She reached for her dagger, only as a precaution, of course. The only problem was that it wasn’t there. Her hand patted around the area where it should have been, as though it would just magically appear somewhere else.
‘I apologise,’ the masked individual said, flicking out the dagger from behind his hand and dangling it between his fingers. ‘You have your precautions, I have mine.’
‘Who are you, exactly?’
With a flick of his wrist, the dagger spun in the air towards Kathiya and she snatched it back by the hilt. ‘Oh, no one in particular. Consider me just a curious observer.’
‘What do you want?’
‘To observe, naturally.’ He walked along the beam as though he was taking a careless stroll through a field, each step devoid of sound. ‘Some would have a vested interest in the way this “revolution” plays out, and I’m here to judge whether it’s a sound investment.’ He looked down at the gathering below, fire glistening in the dark glass eyes. ‘I must say, I’m quite disappointed. You see down there, all that coin they’ve acquired?’
‘I do. I’m figuring out where it’s all coming from.’ Kathiya sat down on the beam, tail hanging down. ‘I know some of it is from donations; little from the revolutionaries, a lot more from the wealthy. Still don’t know why.’
The stranger sat down next to her. ‘It’s all quite reasonable. Consider it a tithe, just replace the church with upstarts. Some basic appeasement and they think they’re off the chopping block. Consider it like feeding a nightstalker. They’ll always be back for more, doesn’t matter if you have any food or not. And they’ll get their meal, one way or another. Do you know from where the rest comes?’
‘That part I’m still working out. That's why I’m here.’
‘Allow me to spoil that for you. You see, when a nation begins eating itself, be it civil war, revolution, what have you, it’s never a matter of a nation fighting against itself. Everyone likes to get involved.’
‘Everyone?’
‘From the Republic, to the Theocracy, to Evandis itself. One nation’s strife is another’s profit, especially in Rauvin’s case. Few actually realise how incompetent the citizens of Savanti are. Strange really. It’s like a piece of another world somehow landed here.’
‘Seems like everyone is involved with this working class revolution.’
‘Too true. Too true. Except the working class.’
‘What are they doing?’
‘Working, I imagine. Hard to fight for high ideals when you have a family to feed first and foremost.’
Commotion happened below, as they finished up with the cages and made their way out.
‘Now let’s go and eat,’ one said. ‘I know a great new place where they serve all their food on bricks. It’s wonderful! You can eat there in the afternoon, keep the brick, then use it to smash its window during the evening protest.’
Kathiya turned to look at this stranger, who was now standing on the beam.
‘Why are you telling me all this?’
‘Because you don’t matter.’
‘Oh.’ Her response came unexpected, blunt, and a little indignant. It wasn’t a surprise, but actually hearing it out loud still wasn’t all that nice.
‘It's not like that’s a bad thing. I don’t matter either. People like me and you, we don’t exist. We’re merely passing shadows observing the workings of the world. Of course, shadows can whisper. And we decide who we whisper to, because we don’t matter. That’s why I’m telling you.’
‘I have to admit, this takes some of the fun out of the spying.’
‘That’s the basics of being a spy. Simply listening to what people have to say. Give them a chance and the right conditions, they’ll tell you everything they know.’
‘So who do you whisper to?’
‘All in good time. For now, you should look to the west. A new power rises there; free from the infighting of Mantè, the corruption of the League, the zealotry of Phaos, and influence of Evandis.’ The wood creaked beneath where they sat. ‘Now you’d best leave. I imagine this beam isn’t all that stable with the both of us.’
The wood produced a horrid wail, then something snapped. Kathiya didn’t think, she just jumped, catching the support beams of the shaft above. The beam fell, and Kathiya saw no sign of the stranger in the fall.
She still had questions. She guessed they were for another time. For now, getting out of this place was the next best course of action.
As she climbed, she thought how it felt pretty good, this whole investigation business. It felt like it gave her something more than just a handful of coins. Like she was building towards something more than just how much money she could get.
Like all her life, she was only doing what she did to survive. Now it felt like more than that. Like she didn’t just have to survive anymore, but thrive, instead.
Doing something with purpose, even if it was just to help her friends.
Friends? Is that how she saw them?
She guessed so.
Detective Kathiya. Had quite a nice ring to it.
Now she just needed to detect some parchment and a quill.