Papercut

[StaolDerg]

(Author's note: This is the first thread I've done in a while so excuse me if my writing is worse than usual.)

The courtyard was packed with spectators, who occupied every seat, from the floors to the rafters and even to the roof as they observed the last of the meetings’ organizers finally file in and take their seats amongst their peers. The fraternities of the Universities were present in the representatives they’d sent, identified by the uniform additional hardmarks on their palms and necks. Where normally they would be busy fighting over turfs of the campus, on this day they sat quietly, though still far apart from one another.

At the head of the meeting were the leaders of the meeting: Ousina Pers, and Luo Suiyun. Two seasons of sleepless nights and exhaustive running between different Communities finally culminated in this: an organized convention to unify the bickering Communities of Kelsun. This by itself was already a feat: most of the Communities harbored grudges against one another that stretched on for hundreds of generations back, and the animosity now was only thinly buried beneath a sheet of decorum between the respective community representatives as they suspiciously watched one another– but still, it was a step up from trying to stab one another in the middle of the meeting outright.

Pers gave her fellow organizer one last look– one that he responded to with a reassuring nod– before clearing her throat and stepping up to the flat rock that would serve as her soapbox. She had spent the last three nights drafting, reciting, and finalizing a speech, and as she retrieved the crinkled paper from her dress pockets, she subconsciously reread the whole thing one last time, hoping to recite most of it from heart.

“Kinsmen, fellow peers of the Universities, I thank you all for coming today.” she began, addressing all of her audience. “We are here today, as you all understand, on the matter of Mayor Yinbei’s recent policy of once more favoring his own community. This time, monopolizing the ownership of the local Jiangsung railway: one that I am sure all of us here recall paying for as a combined effort to bring better infrastructure to our city, alongside transferring ownership of five major urban districts’ water wells to again, his own Community and consequently leaving entire neighborhoods parched and dependant on paying extortionate fees for a drop of water.”

“I am confident these are far from the full extent of the offenses committed by this honorless scumbag, but you all understand what I speak of in your own eyes and hands: his lackeys in the police and the bureaucracy have repeatedly and systematically failed any service to the public not that of the Mayor’s community or service, and all attempts and appeals to the TAKPOE government have resulted in utter and complete failure. At the best of times, the central government in Aundui Yio gives us lip service and the Mayor a stern letter– at the worst of times, we have been told to bow down and stay in line, or the militias of the Central Government show us our places at the end of a rifle.”

Murmurs of agreement emerged from the audience, and light applause appreciated her words. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Suiyun give her a discreet thumbs-up. Renewed with vigor, she glanced at her paper before tucking it behind her back once more.

“As students and successors of our communities, we owe an obligation to preserve and improve the livelihoods and welfare of our Communities. As honorable people and citizens, we owe an obligation to uphold the dignity of our ancestors who collaborated to build up this great city and its establishments from imbalance and injustice, whether it be from outside our community limits or within. And as a result, we have no choice but to denounce the Mayor and his insidious, corrupt actions in heart, mind, and blood. By doing so, we condemn the Takpoe leadership who appointed Mayor Yinbei in the first place for its continued failure to resolve these injustices satisfactorily, and by extent, their compliance in the degradation of Kelsun’s people.”

“So in the pursuit of justice, we must declare our grievances to the authorities in more than just letters and pleas: where before small polite delegations confronted the Mayor and his armed guards within his palace of the Mayoral CItadel, we shall conduct a demonstration of greater, more decisive proportions. I call upon my fellow students to join me in a march of unprecedented scale upon the main avenues of Kelsun, from the University Square of the Mo Seng Yu Technical Institute to the front doors of the Mayoral Citadel, and make our peoples’ demands known in a way that the Mayor cannot decline. We will have our reforms, or by tomorrow we will take back the privileges and rights stripped from us by his naked corruption! And if they should retaliate with guns and horses, we shall draw this line in the sand: Give our descendants the future they are owed! They are not the only ones with batons, and they are not the only ones who know how to fight back. We will defend our communities, as they have defended us!”

Cheers broke out among the crowd, who had grown increasingly frenzied and excited as she continued along with her speech, and knowing her script was done at this point, she discarded the wrinkled paper and threw up her right arm in a fist.

“We are tired of corruption! We are tired of do-nothing politicians! If Takpoe will not give us a leader we can depend on, we shall!”

“Down with the Mayor!” the crowd cried, their own arms thrown up in fists.

[StaolDerg]

The Kelsun constabulary consisted of some three-hundred odd officers, though to call them proper officers was a bit inaccurate: they were in truth almost totally untrained, and their jobs consisted not of directing traffic or any other mundane rubbish that the modern police officers in Aundui Yio might be up to. Instead, their existence was quite simple: investigate crimes, and prosecute. There was no trial or court needed after all for the common riffraff they dealt with when a fine worked the same job just as satisfactorily. And even if they didn’t get the right people– well, the Mayor had their backs, and they had a quota to keep up with.

So as the fresh morning arose and the officers merrily stepped out of the precincts armed with a rifle and a long baton, they began their rounds around the streets. In the pockets of the officers were lists of names: people who had a warrant, and needed to be prosecuted as soon as possible. In pairs and trios, the officers found their way to the homes of these suspects, and after a polite knock, they would wait a moment for someone to answer. When no one did, the butt of the gun slammed against the lock three times, and in went the officers.

The townhouse they’d stormed was occupied by a family who had evidently hidden themselves away as soon as the officers made their presence known: a half-finished meal sat upon the squat dining table, utensils abandoned as their owners had fled the room. The officers were fine with that: they browsed the shelves and belongings of the occupants as if the house’s occupants were hiding in cupboards and family shrines, helping themselves to a bauble and a trinket here and there as they yanked whole drawers onto the floor. One officer picked out an old, silver-plated medallion from an altar, glancing over the polished surface.

“Hey, this is an Imperial design!” They exclaimed to their fellows.

“Really?”

“Yes, look– it's even got an old seal on it… maybe one from the Year of Three Capitals?”

“Sure, sure,” the other officer replied distractedly, “It’ll look nice on a mantlepiece.”

“True,” they replied and tucked it away.

Like a boutique, they picked and chose what little prizes to take, all the while snooping anywhere they thought the building’s occupants might be. And though their pockets grew heavy with the odd piece of silver-plated cutlery, they grew bored quickly. Out of irritation, one took a look at the family shrine at the edge of the dining room, and with a kick, sent the burning incense and bowl that held it into the wood-paneled floor, scattering smoky ash everywhere.

A brief thud above them brought their attention upstairs, and in great excitement, they seized their batons and dashed up to find their third fellow pulling up a loose floorboard.

“Found the suspect?”

“No, but I found something that will suffice.” Their fellow officer bent down and pulled out a small burlap bag that clinked heavily as they raised it to eye level. “Imperial silver pieces,” the third officer announced smugly, rattling the bag. “At least forty thousand Yairen right here.”

“Good enough, then,” one of the officers declared, and waved their fellows downstairs. They slammed the door shut as they left, ignoring the hateful stares of the suspects’ fellow community members and neighbors as they walked off, their pockets a little more heavy, but undoubtedly much lighter than the end of the day’s patrol would yield.

It was at the third house when they noticed that something was wrong. The house they raided this time was vacant: the dishes and cutlery sat in their drying racks, still wet as if they were recently washed after being used. The closets were vacant of the day’s work clothes, and the officers noted that the space upon the dining table had been cleared for a couple of brushes and a pot of black paint. But since those were fairly worthless things, the officers shrugged and continued on with their patrol, emptying out the house of whatever they found valuable for repossession.

But as they went on to the next neighborhood, an area largely dedicated to student dorms, their searches found that more of the houses reflected the third house: vacant, paint jars and pots on the dining table, and used brushes next to them. The exited the tenth house of the day puzzled, and turned onto one of the main city avenues, only to suddenly stop in their tracks.

The first thing they noticed was the noise: chanting, echoing, and unified, alongside the sound of drums pounding in rythmn, growing in volume as it approached.

The second was the sheer emptiness of the streets, like a valve had been turned on the flow of people throughout the avenue, leaving the cobble roads clear in view for the great procession of students that greeted them with waving banners and cards over their heads as they marched towards them, shouting and chanting.

“DOWN WITH THE MAYOR! DOWN WITH CORRUPTION!”

At first, the officers froze, unsure what to do as the marchers inched closer step by step, their batons gripped with sweating hands. They saw caricatures of their fellow officers on the banners of the students, marked with incendiary declarations with slashes drawn across their figures. As the crowd drew closer, the officers could now see the bewildered spectators on the side of the streets beginning to egg them on, feeding on the horror of the officers as they began to slowly step back, frantically brandishing their guns.

For a moment they considered pulling the trigger, but as they saw the crowd unceasingly proceed toward them despite the guns leveled at their chests, one officer stepped a little farther back by one step, then another. Their fellow policemen proceeded likewise, one step after the others as the crowd slowly gained on them. With a final glance, one of the officers swallowed hard and tapped on his fellow officers’ shoulders before turning and pelting towards the precinct as fast as their legs would take them, closely followed by their colleagues.

With cheers from the students as the police fled, the demonstrators proceeded onwards towards the Mayoral Citadel, mustered by the constant beat of the drums behind them. Across the city, three other columns of protestors similarly watched in glee as the policemen who had so happily beaten and abused their fellow citizens now stared in horror as the students’ forces grew in number, bolstered by a long-suppressed resentment that had been boiling for decades by the common Communities of the city, now allowed to spring forth like a spring. At their current progress, Pers noted confidently, they would find themselves at the Mayor’s estate within the hour. With this many people demonstrating, no amount of cudgels and beatings would put down the righteous burning anger of Kelsun’s people; and so she was sure that the Mayor would have no choice but to listen and accede to their demands.

After all, who would dare put down a demonstration of this size in full view of the country?

[StaolDerg]

Panic did not take long to set in at the Mayor’s residence.

The city’s Chief Constable hurried up the long flight of steps towards the gate of the sizeable Imperial-styled mansion, pausing every dozen steps to wheeze and give his shaking legs a momentary respite. From the last he’d heard from a subordinate whose eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates, a mob was marching up the streets towards the mayoral building, their banners slandering the mayor and his supporters.

As he clambered over the last steps, the Chief Constable found the mayor and his staff assembled outside the mansion gates, staring out at growing columns of smoke in the distance. His bewildered expression fell upon the disheveled Chief Constable before him, and even before the officer could speak horror had sprouted within his mind, imagined or real.

“Sir,” the policeman coughed, cap in hands, almost twisting the entire thing in his grasp. “A mob has assembled and they’re headed here! They chased my officers out of the outer four districts, and from what some of the men said, they even started to beat up the guards posted around the wells! It’s a disaster, a mob!”

Mayor Yinbei looked out at the dark columns rising from the city, his lips quivering. “What… What’s that all about? Are they burning down the city? No, wait! Who are they from? Ai Song Community? Luoyungai?”

“I don’t know, sir,” the officer confessed, nervously glancing in the direction from where he’d come. “Does it matter? Most of the city’s communities already despise us. They’re probably all in there, with a common enemy. I’ve ordered what men I have to rally at the city’s northern square, but that’s only some eighty people. It’s not enough. The rioters have hundreds, maybe thousands of people, they’ll push right through!”

The mayor seemed to snap back into reality at the thought. He frantically waved at an aide, and wagging a stiff finger at the Chief Constable, declared “Not one rioter can pass the Northern Square. Who knows what they’ll do if they get into my community’s districts– They’ll loot and murder like bandits. I’ll send my own militia to help. You cannot shoot your guns at them, understand? You mustn’t, or we’ll trigger a bloody war that Kelsun hasn’t seen for nearly three millennia.”

The Constable's eyes drifted uncomfortably toward the distant smoke. “I… I understand, sir.”

“Then go! We haven’t a moment to waste. I’ll call the Government to send help. The soldiers will end this nonsense, just hold back those damnable rioters!”

—------------

A thin line of armed policemen blocked off the northern approach to the Mayoral Citadel from Kelsun’s northern city square, their study batons accompanied by the sticky lacquered wood furniture of first-series Murata single-shot rifles. Where the normally bustling market square would have its stalls, the policemen had cleared the whole area, dragging a single machine gun to the center of their line, its two-man team huddled behind a makeshift barrier of dismantled wooden stalls and stacked crates that provided them a pedestal over the square. Should the crowd overrun the policemen past a brick line that divided two communities across the square behind them, only then were they to start shooting.

Backing up their lines, or at least according to the red-faced sergeant whose sweating face only just hid a veil of utter terror, were to be some three dozen volunteers armed with long and sturdy sticks to hold –or need be, beat– back any crowd. But any of those reinforcements were still yet to arrive, and fear multiplied as the policemen began to hear the clang of bells coming from a nearby shrine.

“Is that them?”

“Those are just bells, calm down–”

“There! Did you hear that? I hear chanting! They’re already here!”

“You’re hearing things! Shut up and remain in formation!”

The formation was unsteady. Officers turned around, thinking of their families and communities behind them. Surely they were safe?

“Where are the militia? Aren’t they supposed to be here?”

“Did they run? They wouldn’t have, right? They wouldn’t leave their own behind–”

They fell silent as the tolling of the bells ceased. Somewhere to the winding streets ahead, there was a great chanting. A drumbeat echoed with the cadence of each word, becoming only louder as the students reached the square.

The officers clutched their sticks tightly, and as they braced themselves for the incoming storm. As they did though, there was a flurry of steps from behind them– the militia from their communities, some armed with little more than wooden poles to others armed with downright spears and halberds passed down from generations ago dashed their way between the officers, presenting a much more formidable barrier before the crowd.

But the students hardly blinked at the new arrivals as they pressed forwards, spurred by furious drumbeats and excited slogans. Meeting the policemen and militia within only inches, they at first exchanged insults and demands before someone seized the end of the stick facing them right out of the hands of the militiaman holding it. The police retaliated– they struck forth and brought their sticks upon the heads, shoulders, wings, and any part of the body unlucky enough to be exposed.

Cries of pain as clubs impacted their body only mixed into the already ear-shattering cacophony of voices and drums. The students struggled and struck back: those behind the frontline seized loose bricks and stones and hurled them overhead, striking the odd man and bringing the line of militia and police to duck and bend. Students to the front shoved and pushed; a policeman was thrown to the ground as their fellows retreated under the weight of a sudden surge of angry demonstrators, finding himself isolated and surrounded by furious protesters who vented their anger upon him with a furious beatdown of fists and kicks. A militiaman was struck upon the forehead by a heavy brick, and as they fell to the floor motionless like so heavy a bag of flour, blood streamed from the wound upon their face to the tiles of the square.

Lost in unfolding chaos, desperation grew amongst the buckling line of defenders, who now lashed out with everything short of bullets: bayonets and blades lunged at bodies, and even as the demonstrators cried out and fell to the floor, the militamen and police avenged their fallen kinsmen with blows upon them– some until the students ceased moving altogether.

There was screaming now, screaming brought on by the bloody brawl that was unfolding across a square that had known at most for centuries the occasional boxing match of a drunkard or a petty thief. The fighters like animals bit, tore, slashed, and clawed against one another, so uncontrolled and primal that not even the sides’ own leaders understood what was happening anymore.

“Guns! They have guns!”

A murmur amongst the brawlers; a temporary moment of confusion– they looked about, but through blurred vision and bloodlust, they could only see their opponents as they dove forth against one another once more.

A gunshot.

Time seemed to slow as the report outspoke the drums, above the din. A policeman somewhere was shouting, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot-”

A second gunshot rang out, and this time someone slammed to the earth. It didn’t matter who or how, and it may as well have been from shock or from some errant stumble as the panic began.

‘FIRE! THEY HAVE GUNS, FIRE!”

Someone had a rifle raised towards a face. Were they kin?

“DON’T YOU DARE SHOOT!”

“ARMS! TO ARMS! ALL RIFLES, AIM!”

Another gunshot, joined by another. The policemen were breaking, and someone was running, stumbling, shoving their way out of their line like a caged animal. The policemen who could move about jabbed their rifles up, leveling the sights with the faceless horde ahead.

“FIRE!”

“NO! DON’T–”

With a horrific volley, the white smoke of black powder burst forth a dozen muzzles, tearing through sinews and cracking against bone mere feet away. The demonstrators receded in the way a terrible gale tears trees to lean away as so many students slumped upon their fellows, decorating the dresses and banners alike with crimson.

KA-CHUNK-CHUNK-CHUNK-CHUNK-CHUNK-CHUNK

The slow chug of the machine gun opened up, and it cut down friend and foe alike a scythe before so many blades of grass before a muscle could further move. The bullets slammed through bodies, some penetrating through whole bodies and into those behind them.

Horror and fear gripped those left of the crowd as the hands of the policemen moved towards the bolts of their rifles, chambering a fresh round for a second volley.

“RUN! RUN!”

Bullets chased them out the way they had come as the students began a mad dash for the streets behind them, some trying to drag the wounded and unmoving with them, only to be cut down as a ragged hail of bullets slammed into them too. The policemen fanned outwards at first, but as they looked down at the twisted bodies before them, they slowed to a halt. Most weren’t dead, but maybe that was worse: no hospital or even field hospital could hope to save them all. Some rasped for water, others said nothing at all, their expressions blank and eyes glassy. The stench of gunpowder hung in the air like a poisonous miasma, and someone bent over and threw up.

A police captain dropped to his knees.

“Oh, hell.”

[StaolDerg]

“What have you done?”

It was less a question and more a statement that the Minister of State croaked as she stared at a field of covered sheets down below in the square– some one-hundred-six or so bodies, lined up in neat grids in a grisly presentation, their stark white linen touched by the soft breeze. It didn’t matter what side of the demonstration they’d been on– someone was going to come home and find their sibling, cousin, or parent gone, and if they found that so much as a single finger had been laid upon their community, there would be blood.

She didn’t need a historian to tell her what a disaster another community war would be for Kelsun, let alone the country. If she didn’t bring the communities on both sides to a halt, they’d rip one another apart.

“Mayor Yinfei.” The Minister of State turned to glare at the man kneeling before her, practically kissing the floor.

“Minister,” the man cried, but Vakeri cut him off.

“It will be a miracle today if a city-wide war between the communities is prevented. If that takes handing you and your sorry hide to the wolves, I will do it. Your whole administration, if I must. Your father was appointed to keep this city balanced and compromising, mediating disputes between the communities, and keeping the people cared for while the government restructured to accommodate the new regime. He was a good man and a better leader– but clearly not a good father.”

She looked out from the citadel’s balcony to the vast city below, the mountains blocking the sun as it dipped down in the afternoon hours: already lights were abuzz like fireflies in the urban sprawl of buildings, glittering from the lanterns of boats on the river to the braziers of temples built in times immemorial up on the mountain cliffs. Yet the streets, which by this time should be busy with the crowded businesses of the street markets preparing for the evening rush, were largely abandoned in an unnatural hush. Instead the forges of the communities, their red brick chimneys rarely burning all at once, spewed dark smoke into the air with sparks mixing into the dark clouds. With bitter memories of a bloody battle some seventy years ago, Vakeri bit her lip and turned away.

“There was no animosity until your tenure.” She whispered. “All reports by agents of the Provisional Government reported a nominal status– good cooperation, full loyalty to the government, and not a single Yairen ill-spent. This city, of all the cities outside of Aundui Yio’s influence, was the best– corruption was unheard of, and an excellent deal forged by the Crested of Pages allowed us to plant the roots of modern education by evolving the Libraries from feudal order to academic institution. And it worked!”
A blazing flame danced in the white pupils of the Minister’s eyes as she glowered over the man.

“For thirty-two years it was fine. Two generations of new engineers and workers raised up from the strained flesh of peasants and messy habits of urchins who the Queendom before us could only dream of taming. Uncontested stability between the Communities as they enjoyed the boons of modern technology and ideas. One more generation, and we would have a new lineage of professional government workers to tend the vast fields of the modern government! Could you imagine what betterment could’ve come about had it gone on? What new generations of administrators could’ve fixed our country’s ills?!”

She was shouting now, and her spittle flew as she ranted, some hitting the man’s skin. He winced.

“Decades of progress, undone.” She spun round, gripping the rails of the balcony. Her chest heaved and her nostrils snorted dark plumes. For a brief moment she even entertained the prospect of seizing the pathetic creature by his dollar and hurling off the twentieth floor.

But reason stepped back into her mind, and she pinched the bridge of her head with two fingers.

“No matter. As once I have done, once more I must do. Colonel!”

An inselni dressed in the clothes of a Martial whose black dress carried the prestigious ribbons and armor of a veteran officer stepped forwards, arms tucked behind him. “Yes, Minister?”

“Send in your regiment. I want this nonsense ended: stand between both factions; Nether side may be allowed to strike. The last thing this I need is another insurrection, and in one of the major cities, no less. You may beat and bludgeon anyone who tries to start something, but absolutely no shooting.”


“Aye, Minister.” He snapped a quick salute, and without a second’s pause, placed a single hand on the balcony rail and dropped himself over the edge. The Minister watched him go, hearing a sharp whistle as his wings caught wind and brought him into a glide towards the ground. She looked back at the Mayor.

“As for you,” she said, eyes narrowing, “you may yet serve purpose.”

[StaolDerg]

Sonipei was a small town that lay some ten kilometers outside the outer northern limits of Kelsun, home to the Perisa Community of around 23,000 people, small by the region's standards. It was composed of a few dozen or so large townhouses at the center surrounding a small castle from before the Imperial times that served as the subcommunity’s meeting center. Its roads and corners were dotted with shrines to local deities, but any major religious festival would’ve meant making a longer trip into Kelsun proper. One large main road passed through the whole settlement from the north towards Kelsun in the south, its old paved stones kept clear by the diligent elders who woke early in the morning, armed with brooms made from branches tied about sticks.

Much of its young people had left the little satellite town as soon as it could afford to send them to Kelsun's schools under the support of the Community members who lived closer to the city, but that didn’t stop students from maintaining their connections in the town: the weekends and holiday breaks saw students pour back in to say hello to their parents and siblings alongside a good hearty meal. But as the elders looked up from their dutiful clearing of the streets, they spotted a procession headed down the road through the town.

Some thought they were some art or religious procession and returned to swiping at the dusty cobblestones. Such processions were rare, especially unannounced, but they had lived long enough to see such things at a rate to be unfazed initially. But as the lead elements of the group came into better view, what had been mistaken to have been their hardmarks on their skin were more clearly stained bandages torn from their own clothes and the loads they carried on their shoulders not offerings of incense and goods but makeshift stretchers again stripped from their own clothing around wooden poles or long sticks. All along the procession, their heads were bowed from exhaustion– a few kept looking over their shoulders expectantly, but more simply their faces were still of
shock.

At once Sonipei’s normally quiet doors flung open, accompanied by an onrush of townsfolk. Their hands grasped the bloodied faces of the group, and recognizing their kin under layers of filthy bandages, dried blood, and mud, wasted no time in dispersing the crowd into their homes. Any space they could lay a person down upon was used when they ran out of beds, and the village apothecary and healers found themselves overwhelmed with a veritable lake of patients who cried out simultaneously in whispers for water, for medicine, for help.

At first, their families frowned and shook their heads in disbelief at their children’s stories of what had happened in the big city. The mayor was a crook, they agreed. But never foolhardy enough to kill! What leader in their right mind would shoot first, and awaken the fury of a hundred Communities? The status quo of the city had held for centuries– why would it break now? Why shoot? No, the students told them as they lay there. The policemen fired first.

Long into the night, exhausted as their children who had stumbled home early in the morning, the adults and the elders left the little ones and their supervising elder siblings inside the house. From their hearths they took with them a piece of foul-smelling coke fuel, slipped into a pouch on their belt as they shut the door behind them. They met at the old castle, the ancient stones awash with the glow of lanterns. But even though the meeting room grew crowded, no debate emerged– they looked at one another expectantly for moments before someone finally spoke out.

“...What do we do?”

“A debate is the normal proceeding,” one of the elders began.

“What is there to debate?” Someone snapped. “They shot our kids!”

“And?” The elder retorted. “You want us to go and march against a wall of guns? Our children, even some of us here could be excused for not remembering the blood that ran down the city’s streets some forty years ago. That cannot be said for those of us charged with leading and protecting the community: we are lucky alone to not have had our whole community slaughtered in the last inter-community war.”

The room tensed up as other villagers shouted their dissent, countered by others who agreed with the elder.
“Listen.” The Elder called out, but no one did so. “Stop! Listen!”

“SHUT IT!”

Stunned by the bellow, faces turned to face one of the village’s blacksmiths, following their outstretched pointed hand cast at the window.

“Look! Lanterns.”

Indeed some ways down the winding roads that lead up to the village glowed a procession whose dark silhouettes bounced towards the castle, ostensibly galloping on horseback from the way the lights bobbed up and down. Their interest piqued, the crowd murmured and moved to get a better look, some exiting the building altogether.

True enough, the echo of horseshoes upon the stones reached their ears as the horsemen approached the assembled villagers; upon seeing the hardmarks painted on their faces, the villagers stiffened, recognizing their neighboring community. The leader of the mounted villagers pulled to a stop before the crowd, rearranging the scratchy rope that hung a broad conical peasant’s hat from his back. With some difficulty he slid off his horse, pulling a staff from the saddlebags on the flank of the horse to balance himself.

“Perisa.” He addressed the community with a bow. He had looked to be in good shape when on the horse, but as the staff wobbled in his grasp and he lifted the lantern to where it fully illuminated his face, it was not hard to see the weathered face of an elder.

“Sei.” The Perisa elder responded, moving to the front of the crowd. “I’m afraid you have us at a poor time.”

“I figured as much,” the neighbor replied, rubbing his dimpled chin. “It is hard to miss the bandages hanging out to dry, and harder yet to ignore the streams of wounded young ones as they stagger out of the city to try and get home. Is your community acquainted with the situation?”

“Which one?” the other asked. “The cause of the bloodshed? It seems these days there are not enough problems to suffer.”

The neighbor shook his head. “With the communities, I mean. All the forges are lit and burning scrap to forge rifle barrels. Kin are demanding blood in return.”

“Yes, we figured as much.” the Perisa elder tapped his side and sighed. “And what exactly will come of this? A repeat of the last time?”

Sei’s elder shrugged. “That I am only too aware. And I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the army is already arrived in the city.” He fidgeted with the strap again, before raising his head to meet the other elder’s eyes.

“I am hoping to prevent another massacre. We have enough problems as it is. I am not here to ask your kin to throw their lives– rather I am asking for you, or at least someone to represent Perisa in a negotiating mission to the army men.”

The other elder hesitated in thought. “You really think they’ll listen?”

“They don’t want the city burned down either, and unless the High-Crested are totally mad, then shooting the next generation of trained workers hardly seems like a policy decision. With some fortune, we might make them stay their hand.”

“That is all well and good, but what of those who have lost someone already? How exactly do you expect to calm their anguish?”

The neighbor was silent for a moment before wringing out his hands to his sides in defeat. “Truthfully, I don’t know. I don’t expect to. I only hope that we can stop a war from happening again. We will beg and we will plead to the government to listen to us. Whether or not a single sane thought remains in their minds and reasonable action in their bones is up to heaven.”

Persia’s elder looked at him soberly, having expected something more. “You think it will do anything? That anyone will listen?” His voice was nearly a whisper and teetered on the verge of breaking.

A sigh. The Sei elder looked at the buildings behind him, soft trails of smoke drifting from the hearths. At home were his own community’s children laying in similar homes, their bodies wrapped in bandages, and their eyes shut until the morn, or perhaps never again.

“We have to try.”

[StaolDerg]

The morning that came was quiet.

Either both sides were quiet in preparation, or in shared fear of action or reaction from the other. The soldiers looked gravely down the square with eyes both expectant and reluctant, their rifle slings grasped in hands bitten by a morning frost. There would be gloves for winter, but those supplies had been diverted for the Franerre War, and so far they weren’t back. If they ever were.

As a sentry rubbed his hands in his sleeves, trying to banish the cold from his bones, the clicking of horseshoes upon pavement caught his ear. In a scramble he grabbed his rifle and looked out towards the square, risking a turn to his comrades behind him to raise the alarm.

“Horses! Down the street!”

“Move! Move! At positions!”

At once a dozen footsteps raced across the square, picking up their long poles with which to hold back an expected charge. The sergeants in charge were heard barking at messengers to run back to the headquarters and bring reinforcements. Their orders were not to shoot, but if lancers punctured through the line and towards the Mayor’s mansion…

A dozen mounts bounded into the square, but instead of sabers and lances in the hands of able-bodied villagers, the soldiers were left in pause staring at unarmed old men and women on the backs of the horses.

“Army of the Interior!” One of the soldiers shouted, brandishing the pole. “Identify yourselves.”

The elders glanced at one another before one pulled to the front, taking charge despite the way their hands grasped the reins like they were made of gold. “We are representatives. One of us from each community… or at least those who agreed to come.”

“Put that down.” A sergeant ordered the soldier sharply, cautiously stepping towards the group. “If you are here to demand we surrender, I must turn you down.”

“That is not why we are here,” the elder interjected, a shred of desperation infecting his voice. “We came hoping we could hold talks with the government.”

The sergeant noticeably relaxed. “I see.” He looked behind him towards the Mayor’s mansion, trying not to let his relief show. “Of course. But we need to check you for weapons, and we’d prefer you come on foot.”

“Fine,” the elder said and slid off the horse with some effort, followed by the others. They handed over the ceremonial knives in their dresses, but beyond that, the soldiers found nothing else and allowed them to pass and follow the sergeant.

—

“We’re in luck, Minister. A number of elders have come seeking a peaceful settlement.”

“The Kumo. The Governor. Are they aware of the happenings?”

“Not beyond the bare minimum, ma’am. We’ve informed the Governor’s office that we are handling the situation, and a unit of officers is blockading access into the Kumo-populated quarter of the city.”

“Good. Not a word gets out until we’ve resolved this problem.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

Vakeri hiked up her dress and made her way downstairs to meet the community elders. No doubt this was already much better than anticipated– she’d sent out messengers earlier in the night seeking talks, but so far they’d failed to report back. That some still were willing to come and negotiate of their own volition was a sign at least a few were willing to trust the government’s word.

Surprise crossed the minds of the elders as they spotted the Minister of State waiting for them at the other side of the meeting hall, but noting her relaxed body language it was not entirely difficult to see that she was as eager to talk as they were.

“Minister.”

“Honorable representatives.” She greeted them cordially. “Please, have a seat.”

The elders did so, glancing at the surprisingly few soldiers present in the room.

“Is there anything I may get you? Tea?”

“Water will do fine.” an elder said quietly. At once an adjunct hurried over with a service with a pitcher and glass, but instead, the elder took the pitcher from the tray and produced a wooden vessel from their bag instead. Those around the table who had also asked for a drink acted similar- only a few drank from the glass, and did so tentatively.

Vakeri tried to ignore it. “So,” she said, moving straight to business. “I understand the communities want resolution, with or without the government’s support. Let me say now that the actions of the Mayor are unsupported by the government: to our understanding, his actions are independent of national policy.”

“Then why did you let him get away with it for so long?” an elder snapped. “We wouldn’t be on the verge of a community war if TAKPOE hadn’t lazed about like a snail!”

“The government is taking measures to prevent such things in the future,” Vakeri quickly added. “And the present and future are what we will continue to focus on in addition to remedying past errors. I understand words escape the nature of this…”

“Massacre.” Another elder finished for her. “And we…” they glanced at the other elders, correcting themselves. “Or at some of us here would like to avoid a worse repeat.“

“And so would the government.” Vakeri agreed. “So my question then is what will satisfy the communities to stay their hands? Obviously, there are some lines that are not crossable: you may not demand a collective punishment of the other communities who were involved in the violence, you may not arm yourselves to demand; in essence, you may not exceed reasonable barriers of the prior status quo before the Mayor’s misdeeds.”

The elders looked at one another. One shuffled in her chair as if she was about to get up and leave, but another elder waved her down and spoke to her in a hushed voice. The Minister twisted her tail under her chair.

Even one disgruntled elder’s exit from this negotiation could deprive any agreement reached here. Peace here depended on a lack of support for violence, and she understood that her best chance of achieving it was by catering and sweetening the deal as much as possible for the elders. Equally, giving too much authority would undermine TAKPOE’s ability to govern: the communities held far too much political power as it stood, and the last she needed was the total reversion of the Queendom to its ancestral form as a bunch of squabbling communities.

“There are some starting demands.” One finally stated. “The Mayor, the police, they need to go. And pull out the army.”

“Done,” Vakeri replied. “If you want him and subordinates turned over–”

“We don’t want them. Hang them, imprison them, give them to the Kumo– we don’t care. As long as they aren’t in power anymore.”
The room’s mood darkened further with the mention of the Kumo, but the elder continued. “Another thing– no soldiers in the communities. No arresting our people, no investigation, nothing. Your mayor shot first, and he answers to Aundui Yio, so the fault rests squarely with the government.”

“I can pardon those involved, but the police must be allowed to operate as usual.” The Minister replied. “Though I will ensure professional officers will be recruited for the city’s new department.”

“Barely a settlement,” someone muttered, but they were hushed. Vakeri pretended not to hear.

“Why do we need police at all? What’s to stop the same thing from happening again?” An elder asked. “Hell, you said that the whole thing will return to the existing structure before the Mayor started messing things up. So in essence nothing changes for us? Another dynasty of bureaucrats?”

“They will be closely monitored–”

“And? You’ll get distracted by something else, the sitting officer will die off, and we’ll be back here again. Give us some reassurance that something will change, won’t you? Because it looks to us, hell it looks to the world, that we are the laughable arse end of Kumosenkan, backward and stuck in our ways.”

Vakeri shifted in her seat. “You want to complain to the Governor?”

“Hell, we might as well!”

The Minister was quiet for a moment. “Fine. Go ahead.”

The room went quiet. “What?”

“Would you like some stationary and a pencil? Or do you prefer the telephone?” The Minister’s voice was deadly quiet. “What do you suppose the Kumo will do?”

Silence.

“Would you like a Kumo administrator in this seat instead? How about direct rule from Fuyonouso?”

She watched the elders as they looked at one another. No one wanted to think about the Kumo. The last Empress and her mother before her had not been kind to Elenria: what better would Shiriaori’s daughter be? Empress Reito had never been to Elenria in recent times– so who knew, and who wanted to find out, delivering bad news to her?

“The fact of the matter is that I am on your side, elders. My subordinates and soldiers are not here to shoot at your or your kin: they are here to block the Kumo living here from understanding the extent of the damage and potentially inviting unwanted attention from the Governor in Aundui Yio or Fuyonouso itself. Do you want to have a better life? You can start by staying within my terms.”

“...We accept your prior suggestion, Minister,” the elder conceded, backing into her chair.

The Minister nodded. “Good. The government is willing to pay for any and all damages incurred by the Mayor’s misdeeds otherwise, plus amnesty for all involved. You may not seek retribution from the other communities who may have been involved against the protesting groups, but any and all privileges unjustly handed over by the Mayor will be reverted. We will put this sorry episode behind us, and make no mistake: the Kumo cannot— will not– hear of this. Am I understood?”

Slowly the elders nodded.

“Good. If these terms are amenable, place your assent on the document.” The adjunct from before swooped in with a bound document on a tray and presented its open pages for the elders to sign one by one.

With reluctance, all of the elders signed, their jaws set and their gazes cast aside.

“I believe our business here is concluded then,” The Minister stated, rising from her seat. “I will see to that you brought out and return home. Fulfill your end of the bargain, and I will fulfill mine. The trains are already waiting to take the soldiers away.”

As the chairs creaked and groaned as they were pushed back to the table, Vakeri called to them a last time.

“Remember what’s at stake.”

—-

The morning train rumbled as it departed the Kelsun station.

With some difficulty as the carriage bounced along, the Minister of State managed to sip her tea. Opposite of her sat the Minister of Knowledge, who silently sat reading a document the latter had passed her only moments before.

“What’s this?”

“Some changes.”

Vakeri looked out the window, waiting for the brief view of the mountain valley to be eclipsed by the bricks of tunnel walls.

“These aren’t changes. This is an occupation of my Ministry!” Austari Zayfen glared up from her seat, dropping the document down. “You want my officers to report straight to the Ministry of State, you want university faculty to be approved by the Ministry of Justice… just what do you think you are doing?”

“Times are changing, Zayfen. You promised me thirty-seven years ago that your educational reforms could bring the Libraries under control. Instead, their free radicalism has allowed the students of Elenria to become infected with subversive elements.”

“Subversive elements? Are you utterly mad? The Mayor of Kelsun was a crook! What part of anticorruption is ‘subversive,’ Minister?!”

“I recommend you finish reading the report,” Vakeri responded quietly. “The investigation within is quite enlightening. Did you know, for example, that the regular debates of the Libraries are rife with treacherous opinions? Opinions and falsehoods, that if they were published anywhere outside of the Libraries, would leave their authors sentenced for crimes against the Empire? And the students of the universities often attend, sometimes even participate in such discussions.”

“These are groundless accusations. I can prove that they are baseless–”

The Minister of State folded her hands. “Quite frankly, I no longer care if they are, Zayfen. Your policies have to my understanding allowed the Libraries more power than they are trustworthy of.”

“You mean to disband my Ministry.”

Vakeri shrugged. “We shall see. When I was a Wanderer, I had a follower whose toe was infected, threatening the leg it was attached to. We amputated her— and she only lost a toe, and kept the leg.” Her cold grey silver eyes fixated on Zayfen. “Perhaps that is true here too.”

Zayfen said nothing.