Gala
It was a bright and sunny day in Wailing Wind. There wasn’t as much unpacking, but it ended up being slower than last time. Gala’s head hung low, knowing who was behind her when she first came here. There was no urgency, no excitement, only despair. She was surrounded by guards as she went up to her chambers to contemplate the future steps of the city.
Her room was about the size of the one in Gatherstorm. She expected some sort of upgrade, but the last earl of Wailing Wind appeared to put all the funds elsewhere or anywhere that wasn’t his chambers. The heir to the throne was not occupying it, as the previous earl’s wife died a couple of years before he died himself.
Gala pulled out a paper and placed it on the small desk. There was plenty of natural light and time, but Gala couldn’t think of what to write as the quill sat on the desk. There were many orders of business in the city: Cleaning the streets, getting the people to work, finally expelling the last of the slaves back into the farmlands (until they could be freed there too), and the dreaded People’s Lord. So many things, so little time. After sitting there for minutes staring at the ceiling she decided to just go about it alphabetically, outlining how to go about it and fix the issue. She spent the rest of the day planning out the next eight years of her life.
At the end of the session, she went to grab some tea from the kitchen. She would ask one of the servants, but they were either asleep or on the brink of it. Gala also figured that she needed to get out of her room eventually. Her room was on the second floor of the castle, and she made her way down the steps to the kitchen. She checked her clock as she descended the steps, but as she pulled out her watch and saw that it was midnight, she saw the heir running up the stairs with a maid running after him. He was in his nightgown with a toy figure of Vespa in his hand.
Gala watched as he ran up passed him without even blinking an eye. She realized that she had never met the heir before, even though she was supposed to be representing him. The maid quickly apologized as she ran up, but Gala told her not to worry about it.
She made her way to the kitchen, sat down, and enjoyed some tea. The earl regent continued to listen as the heir bounced through the halls from story to story. At first, she tried to ignore it, knowing that if she got in the way of the heir, he could dismiss her at any second, even though he was a pre-pubescent boy. But as time passed and ignoring it no longer became an option, Gala justified that if the kid allowed the maids to chase him, then she would probably be fine.
She kept track of the kid’s footsteps and walked around the castle looking around the rooms until she became familiar enough with where she knew the heir would pass through. She planted herself next to a doorway, and the steps slowly came. They came closer, and when the sound was close enough that if it came from behind her Gala would fling herself backward to see who it was, did she step out into the hallway and bump into the prince at the perfect time?
The heir fell to the ground and fell on his side. Gala pretended it was an accident and helped him back up. “Oh, I am so sorry. Are you okay?” she asked in her most polite voice. The heir attempted to jump right back up and keep walking, but Gala forcefully held him in place and asked him why he was running around the castle.
“I don’t want to go to sleep! People are trying to kill me!” The heir yelled.
Gala became shocked at the statement. Of course, people wanted him dead, but how did he know about it’ “Who?” she asked.
“The deathmen.”
“The deathmen?”
“Yes, the deathmen.” His tone was as if he was complaining to a parent about a lost toy or was tattle-tailing on someone else.
“Where did you hear this?” Gala demanded.
The maid caught up and grabbed a hold of the heir. She dragged him back to his chambers as Gala shadowed them intently. When the maid put the kid into his room and put him to bed. Gala waited outside. When the maid did come out, Gala asked what the heir meant about death men.
“Earl regent,” she apologized. “He found out about his death insurance policy.”
“His death insurance policy?”
“Yes, his death insurance.”
“What’s that?” Gala asked, thinking that this woman was insane.
The woman sighed and said that she didn’t like to talk about it. She barely outlived hers and didn’t want another one put out before it was too late. “I apologize for being so vague,” she said. “Let me show you the address of the place so you can find out more. I do not think you would believe me if you heard it from a maid.”
The maid went back into the heir’s chambers to get a piece of paper, which was quickly followed by the heir asking to stay up longer, to which the maid, once again, refused.
She came back out with the address written on a piece of paper small enough to fit in one’s shoe. Gala looked at it, thanked the maid, and dismissed her. Something was happening in this city that, somehow, was a secret to Gala. Everything else was on hold until she found out what it was.
#
After sleeping in until ten o’clock, Gala got dressed. She didn’t dress in the traditional robes, but ones where she could hide among the public. It looked dull, but was still nice material, and contained many false pockets. She slipped a couple of knives, money, and the address of the location into the false pockets and snuck out one of the side doors of the castle.
She wore a veil over her face as she left the capital and slipped through the midday crowd, sludging through feces, dirt, and more feces. After about a half-hour of walking, she found the address and found it to be a tavern on the outskirts of a fruit market.
She walked in and found a dimly lit tavern with men surrounded over tables and a tavern in the corner. There were paintings on the wall, cups on the floor, and the typical sound and smell of a tavern. Gala took a deep breath, so she didn’t have to breathe in as much ale, beer, and wine as possible. It was one of the things she picked up from Nero: alcohol was disgusting.
She almost walked up to the tavern and ordered a drink, but in the corner of her eye, she saw a long table on the other end of the tavern with hundreds of papers and gold coins on it. She walked up to it, and two men who sat there glanced up at her. “Name?” they asked as they went about shuffling papers and gold around.
“Claudia,” Gala said.
The two men gave out a little chuckle. “She’s dead already,” they responded.
“No, my name is Claudia,” Gala repeated.
They gave out another chuckle. “Then I apologize for the inconvenience. The man on the right looked up at her. “What do you want? Your expiration date?”
“Expiration date?”
The two men once again gave out a little chuckle before the one on the left stood up. “I’ll let you handle this one,” he said to the man on the right as he went off to the bar.
She hadn’t noticed it before in the dark, but the man on the right had what seemed to be clips of some sort on his lips and ear. Before the conversation continued, the man took one of the clips off of his ear, placed them in between a stack of papers to keep them together, and moved them to the side. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Gala said.
“Well let me tell you something. Never tell anyone your real name.”
“Why,”
“Here, take a seat.” The man said as stood up, grabbed the recently empty chair that the other man occupied, and handed it across the table. Gala placed it down behind her and sat down. “So,” the man continued.
“What is an expiration date?’ Gala interrupted.
“I’ll start from the beginning. There are a lot of ways to make money around this city. First, you got the boring one: work, then you got stealing, fraud, hitman, etc., but eventually, people get bored. Bored, but still dead broke, so what do they do? Gamble of course! Poker, Sword, Blackjack, Dice, you name it, but those games get boring too.”
“Can you get to the point please?”
“Of course, so what my boss has done—with the help of some associates—established the death insurance business. This was a while ago, and he is nearly dead now, so I would recommend watching your mouth around these parts. Here’s the deal, you give me a name, neighborhood or more specifically, age, gender, build, relatives, basically all that you can give us, and we will give you an expiration date. Let me do you, for example.”
He stood up and looked Gala over. “Young woman, out of town, walks up to death insurance booth and starts asking questions willy nilly, so let’s say you are twenty-five, so I’ll give you an expiration date of thirty-three.”
By this time, Gala had figured out what an expiration date was. “Do the people who come up to you bet that those people will die earlier or later than the expiration date?”
“Later, of course. This is gambling after all; we need to have some guarantee that we will win the bet.”
“Alright,” Gala said. It was obvious that the death insurance people made the bets this way so that if someone was near their expiration date they could kill them and win the bet. “Earl regent Gala,” she asked.
The man smiled. “Taking advantage of her arrival, eh?”
“What’s the date?”
“I need a bet first.”
Gala reached into her pocket and grabbed fifty gold coins. “Let me get the ball rolling.” She said with a little smirk.
The man adjusted his head to the side. It seemed that he was trying to look past the veil. “Well, in that case, I give her ten months.
Gala gave out a little chuckle. “Alright, I’ll come back with more money.”
As Gala left the building she only had one thought. How do people fall for this? They obviously just send hitman out so they can win—ohhhh. Never mind, it makes perfect sense.
#
Two days later, Gala planned a speech. She woke up early that morning and laid out all of her outlines in front of her, got dressed in her nicest clothing, ate a filling breakfast, and made her way to the royal carriage on the way to the location of the speech. Gala spent most of the beginning doing all of them at the same time with her looking over her speech while the servants put on her royal clothing. She wore a tight shirt with pants made with the finest purple silks with gold buttons, her overcoat was made out of fur and feathers. They weren’t griffin feathers however as those stayed in Gatherstorm for the time being. They didn’t want to risk transporting griffin feathers along with a royal in case she got captured. Her hair flowed down the neck for all the people to see, and lastly, her robe had a red inside with a more purple lining on the outside. She made a couple of more adjustments to her script while smiling at the thought of how the people would take it. A royal would finally be addressing the people through care rather than suspicion or fear.
No matter her mood, however, the smell of feces, body odor, and alcohol dominated the air. No wonder Nero hated it. He spent his entire time protected inside the palace, and when he stepped outside, the first thing he would sense was the terrible smell of the city.
Nonetheless, the people were used to it, and as Gala pulled up to the speech platform around noon she saw the people standing in a crowd so big that if one were to stand in the middle, then they wouldn’t be able to see the edge of the people. Gala disembarked at the back of the platform and was greeted by several men who tried to introduce themselves, but, for now, only one mattered. The man was in charge of security and told her they had about twenty soldiers in the crowd, and they needed more before she could speak. “How long do we have?” she asked.
“Around thirty minutes,” the man responded. His voice was strong and assertive. No particular accent arose, which made Gala a little suspicious of how someone would have no accent. He didn’t seem Dymish either. He was paler and seemed to be more Tolman than Dymish. Average height, middle-aged, destructive eyes that could pierce one’s soul if they were not themselves a little destructive, and short black hair with a bald spot. She considered bringing up his appearance, but she didn’t have time for it.
The place was getting louder and more anxious. Gala didn’t want to delay the people more than she needed to, but if she was going to do what she wanted, she would need more men. “Pull more men off of street patrol and bring them to hear.”
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“But—” the man tried to protest.
“Now, please,” Gala repeated.
The man swiftly left to grab more street patrols, and Gala walked up to the curtain behind the speaking platform and peeked out to see the pre-speech entertainment. There were the classics: juggling, spitting fire, disc spinning, and—what Gala found most interesting—a man talking to the crowd collecting gold, and handing out papers. Gala couldn’t believe it. Were they that bold? she thought. These death insurance people must really think that no one could stop them.
That would come after the speech, however, and Gala told a soldier to track him for now. The performer slowly exited back threw the curtain as the thirty minutes passed by and a minute before she was set to speak a court jester walked up onto the stage. As the jester went on the stage, Gala looked over her speech one last time, took a couple of deep breaths, and calmly ripped the script to shreds. She stood behind the curtain, and straight ahead as the jester announced her name. “Ladies and gentlemen of Wailing Wind, I present to you Earl Regent Gala Mane, earl and princess of the Dymish and Borzor people, and servant to the reunification of the continent and Mydrazan!”
The crowd roared, and Gala stepped out onto the platform. The jester stepped back as he clapped and let Gala take the podium. The crowd kept clapping as Gala scanned the crowd for any Borzors or other suspicious people. Gala motioned her hands down, the crowd calmed down, and she started her speech.
Though she ripped up her script, the speech was not inhibited but enhanced. The words flowed off her tongue like the water of a sloped marbled surface. The people’s faces and moods were as easily molded as mud on a beach. After all, Gala was promising things that the people could never have dreamed of from a royal. Improved roads, the end of slavery in the city, jobs, and security. All the things that a common man wished for at night for his children. The crowd clapped, yelled, and cheered at all the promises. Gala left the podium at many points in the speech and walked around gesturing at the falling buildings at the end of the crowd. Her emotions were their emotions, and there was no sense of tonal consistently because there was no need for it. The people followed her every move even to the smallest details. They reflected her gestures, facial expressions, and mannerisms. The people yelled out specific grievances to which Gala would respond with what the opposing side would say followed by how stupid she thought the rebuttal was.
Gala began the ending of her speech which was the final call to action. She encouraged people to organize their waste into centralized locations that would be picked up by civil servants, and the crowd continued to cheer, until.
Until the jester threw the curtains aside and ran behind Gala. She turned around to see what the noise was, but before she could react a knife plunged into her collarbone, and she fell onto the ground. The soldiers rushed over to Gala and pulled the man off before the jester could continue stabbing.
All the while, Gala was in shock. She clawed at her chest and throat trying to pull out the knife with her right hand and trying to force her body still with her left hand. Her inside wanted to get the knife out as soon as possible, but her mind knew that she would bleed out if she did pull out the knife.
The crowd was a frenzy. The crowd was like the one at Claudia’s funeral bobbing back and forth, trying to run to safety. Gala looked back at the crowd and watched as more men tried to storm the stage and get into combat with the soldiers.
More soldiers, including the one that Gala talked with before the speech, helped Gala up and tried to escort her off the stage. She felt a burning sensation in her throat like all the blood was rushing up; her chest was as if 1,000 ants were entering at once, and her eyes became blurry. She didn’t want to see it falling apart. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She knew it always carried a risk, but now that it was happening she felt a wave of anger and disappointment. The status quo wasn’t supposed to stand, she was supposed to overturn it, but now she was brought down by a gambling organization she found out about the day before.
As she was dragged behind the stage, she saw through her blurry eyes, the jester lying flat on the ground with multiple sword wounds in their head, chest, and gut. Gala’s head bobbed around as they passed through a back alleyway and into the streets as people poured out of the speech area. After what seemed like an hour, she was brought into a doctor’s office, where she passed out.
#
Gala woke up the next day. There were about five doctors and a dozen nurses surrounding her. It was a small, dimly lit, and musty room. All of them were in conversation until Gala woke up, and they all shushed, waiting for Gala to say something.
She lay down on a long-padded table with her head elevated so she could see her entire body. The knife was gone and was replaced with layers of cloth. She tried to move her head, but all that happened was a sharp pain that ran all through her body, and Gala groaned like all the air was leaving her body.
The doctors told her to relax, and she did, not because they told her to, but because she wouldn’t dare move again as it felt she would die if she did. “You are alright earl regent. The stab didn’t hit any vital functions.”
“Except for my ability to walk for the time being,” Gala responded.
“Don’t worry, you will be up with some support in a couple of weeks,” The head doctor said.
The doctors asked away with more questions that were met with the same response. “Please, for the love of god don’t move my body.” The doctors asked if she was sure to which Gala confirmed.
As the days passed by, Gala was eventually convinced that most of the pain was mental and forced to move her body. First, she had to eat and drink which made her throat burn, which caused the need to go to the bathroom and therefore the need to use her bowel muscles.
The pain was beyond belief. It felt like she wanted to end it all, that the dream was over, but as more days went by she got a letter from her father. She was able to move her hands at this point, so she could read the letter by herself and not risk the confidentiality of a royal letter.
Maximus promised to visit as soon as possible but said there was too much happening in the capital for him to visit at the moment. He refused to elaborate but assured her that he would explain everything as soon as he could.
#
Gala was able to stand a couple of days later. After all the anguish and lost hope, she pulled herself up out of bed but still needed the support of wooden crutches. The head of security for the speech—whose name Gala found out was named Captain George Smith—recommended sneaking back into the castle, but Gala insisted that the people see the condition she was in.
She pulled herself through the front door and exposed herself to the busy streets of Wailing Wind. It never came up while she was bed-stricken, but the doctor’s office was in the middle of a busy market square. Most of the people went about their business at first, but then one person noticed Gala, then a second, then a small group, and before Gala could walk out of the square, the entire population within 100 meters surrounded Gala. She tried to keep walking at first and thanked the people who wished her a speedy recovery, but eventually, there were too many people surrounding Gala and her escort party.
“Earl regent, we need to get out of here as soon as possible,” Captain Smith said.
“You know, if they didn’t get me on an open stage, then I am assured that I am safe with you by my side. Calm down.”
The risk of the death insurance people or the People’s Lord figuring out that she was in the open was too high. Gala knew that she had to do something to disperse the crowd, so she did: talk. She stopped in her tracks and waved at the people. She tried to calm them down, but there was no hope. People were talking, yelling, and pushing over each other. It wasn’t until Captain Smith blew his whistle that everyone quieted down.
“I know that you are all concerned for my health, but I am okay and will make a full recovery.” The crowd gave a small cheer. Gala eyed the crowd to see if there were any suspicious people. “The people who have done this to me did not only try to murder me but also my goals!” She couldn’t find any suspicious personnel and shifted all her energy into the speech. “And do you know what my goals are? It is to help you!” She yelled it with all her energy and leaned forward into her voice to the point where she nearly fell forward. “Now, if you want me to commence with my mission of cleaning the streets that are full of shit and worse: death insurance then let us through! Let us through so we can continue our work!”
The crowd gave a large cheer and a hole in the crowd emerged in the direction of the castle. People were still talking, yelling, and pushing over each other, but this time it was to get out of the way instead of in the way. “And I am not the only one who can do something!” Gala reminded. “If you find these so-called ‘deathmen’ roaming the streets then rid them off the streets and bring them to the first jail you find. You shall be rewarded handsomely because that is what you deserve!”
When Gala got back to the castle she went to her chambers and collapsed onto a couch. Captain Smith was about to close the chamber doors, but Gala stopped him. “Wait, come over here.”
“Of course,” he said.
“Any news from Romulus or Nero?”
“Nero was spotted leaving Staff Harbor a couple of days ago, and Romulus is on his way to the Black and Gold Mountains.”
“Black and Gold Mountains?” Gala asked. “What is he doing there.”
“They believe they found a man who knows the identity of the People’s Lord. The Borzors are also not talking to authorities.”
“So, they send the heir of the throne to the Black and Gold Mountains?”
“Yes, the king sent them.”
No matter the amount of advice Gala gave Maximus, it seemed that she couldn’t stop it all. Couldn’t Maximus see that it was a giant security risk sending Romulus to hostile territories so he could have a little more experience? “I always wondered,” Captain Smith said. “Why is it king and not emperor?”
“How old are you?” Gala asked.
“thirty-eight,” he responded.
“Well, you look fifty, but to answer your question it’s because of power. Because apparently, everything is. Is power much of an issue in the Expert’s Commonwealth?”
“How would I know?”
Gala groaned. “Really? Captain Smith? You are obviously a Tolman.”
“My father is a Tolman, my mother is Dymish. I was born in the Kingdom of Qar.”
“Come on, be honest. I give you my word that whatever you say is in confidence.”
“You think I have made it this far by taking people by their word?”
“No, a man who has gone around by the name Smith in Qar and still climbs the rank of the military is certainly one I should take seriously, so let me offer you something: A recommendation to the King to make you a general.”
Gala gave Smith a little smirk, who up until this point responded immediately to Gala’s comment but now, he hesitated. “I admit,” Gala continued. “These types of conversations are not my strong suit, but something I’ve learned from Romulus and talking to crowds is that someone always wants something.”
“That’s still your word,” reminded Smith.
Gala sighed. She didn’t know how to continue, so she asked. “What can I do to assure you that you will not be punished for the truth?”
“A promotion and a recommendation. You do your letter, and for now, you will also give me a position as an advisor along with the head of security.”
“Fine, you got it. Spill the beans.”
Captain Smith readjusted himself in his seat and seemed to jog his memory. “According to my now-dead mother, I was smuggled over the border into the kingdom at a young age. I was a servant for an earl until I became a teen and joined the military under my father’s name.”
“Where is your father?”
“In the Expert’s Commonwealth. He is a deputy administrator for an agency.”
“High achieving family,” Gala remarked.
“Negative, the rest are dead,” Smith plainly responded.
Gala took a heavy gulp and tried to move on. “You didn’t learn why we have a king and not an emperor when you were a servant?”
“Never asked.”
“Well, to answer your question, the answer is because we don’t want the earl to get all excited about their own position. We don’t want the earldom to feel a sense of pride. The people must stay loyal to the crown, and if we take back the continent, then the king becomes emperor, and we destroy earls who demand the king's position.”
“If?” Smith asked.
“Yes,” Gala confirmed. “I think the two of us are beyond the point of pretending what our positions are. Do I have your loyalty?”
“Yes, you do.”
“Alright then,” Gala said. “Let me give you your next assignment.” She leaned forward and stared Captain Smith in the eyes. These ‘death men’ made me think that I lost it all, but now I refuse to believe a city-wide organization could bring me down after a couple of days. Did you do an autopsy on the jester?”
“Yes,”
“And?”
“When we wiped off the makeup a Borzor was underneath. The idiot also embedded his name into his uniform. We are looking for his family as we speak.”
“Good,” Gala responded. “When you do, I want you to talk to them. No torture, no warm-up from the guards or soldiers. You will talk to them and make them feel important.
“You think that will work?” the captain asked.
“Torture doesn’t work most of the time, so surely this has a greater chance.”
#
September 8th, year of 500 of the 3rd Era. The day that made Gala’s life much more difficult. She was off the crutches by now since the injury wasn’t in the legs, and after some demands from a skeptical Captain Smith, the doctors admitted they gave her crutches so Gala would rest as much as possible. Gala was of course annoyed that she wasted so much time but didn’t reprimand any of the doctors because she placed some of the blame on herself. There must have been some internal resistance on its own or else Gala would be able to stand up without issue.
By the time lunch came, the troubling news began. In the days before, Captain Smith brought back reports on any leads on the family. Where they were last seen, witnesses’ reports, and expenses spent on bribes. So far, there wasn’t much to show for it. It seemed like the jester’s family vanished from existence, or worse, fled the country.
Gala dwelt on these thoughts as she began plans of creating spots around the city for the people to place their waste, biological or not. She called experts from around Wailing Wind who knew the streets along with logistical professionals who—much to the annoyance of Gala—were mostly from the military. They were all huddled around the dining hall moving the candles, plates, and silverware graciously placed in preparation for the next feast and rolled out their maps which they shuffled through as the discussions rapidly changed whenever an expert would raise an issue of a specific neighborhood’s needs.
Captain Smith walked into the great hall and went up to Gala without hesitation. He tapped on her shoulder and asked her if she could be excused from the meeting for a while. Gala responded that this was important and that she would talk to him in a couple of hours in her chambers.
When those couple of hours came, Captain Smith knocked on her door and was greeted by Gala telling her to come in. He found her staring at the windows, pondering. “I have an important update on the jester’s family.”
Gala turned from the window with her eyes perked as she listened with great intent. “Yes?”
“We found them heading south around fifty kilometers from Gatherstorm. We brought them back to the capital, and some of my guards interrogated them.”
“I told you to do it yourself,” Gala said.
“I sent them your instructions along with a list of questions, and we were able to extract some important information. Information that could complicate some things.” Smith waited for a reaction, but Gala stayed still waiting for elaboration. “The family mentioned that the jester was visited by a Borzor woman, who has the same description as a Borzor woman who regularly visits the tavern where the hit on you was first placed.”
Gala sighed. There was a Borzor woman, a gambling cartel claiming to be an insurance group and a bullish attack on a royal. It could only be one organization behind it. She didn’t want to suggest the idea or even mention their name, but there was no better suspect. She wanted to start on a clean slate as Earl Regent and ignore the problems back in the capital, but now it seemed she would never be able to focus internally ignoring all the problems beyond the borders of her country or even the walls of the castle and moat.
Her insurance policy was now 10,000 gold coins. That either meant there were a lot of dumb people or they wanted these “deathmen” to finish the job and gave gold as an incentive.
She figured that no royal or earl would dare attempt something so brazen without committing other crimes, and the only reason why a royal or earl would do such a thing would be to coup the government, and there were no known threats at the current moment so that left one person who could gain from such a monetary gain would be the People’s Lord. “Fucking hell,” she said. “Captain Smith, I want you to find this woman and anyone who has ties to death insurance and terminate or arrest them. Do you understand?”
“Affirmative, earl regent.” He said before leaving the chambers.