//------------------------------//
// Chapter XII: Manehattan 
// Story: The World Within the Web 
// by Lord Max 
//------------------------------//


Chapter XII: Manehattan





* * * * * *




“A common criticism laid at the feet of Devien society is that their oft-tauted courtesies and desire for excellence are merely a thin cover that gilds a far dirtier reality. There is a certain element of truth to this: while the scores of elite families in the Isles produce no end of astonishing creativity and pride themselves on their reputations, one cannot deny that in the lower echelons of society, a vast number of the art traded in and out of the land are, quite simply, junk. 

"Those without the patience, leisure, or wealth to study the prerequisite techniques vaunted by the nobility—the techniques that mark one as an artist deserving respect—ordinarily content themselves by making cheap prints and low-quality, mass-produced works that can be widely distributed and widely bought, and most often these are either largely derided trash made without proper training or are ‘crowd-pleasers’ that rake in sales by appealing to frankly base pleasures (generally of the startlingly indecent variety). 

“Were one to imagine a society, however, where this alleged veneer of propriety did not even exist however, one need only drift their gaze south to see a living example. The Blurr is one of the Devien Isles’ close neighbors in the Painted Sea, and a far different land indeed, despite their shared interests and heritage. A land of greater size and diversity than the Isles, the Blurr is a site of wide, open plains, rocky outcroppings, and plateaus cooked by the hot sun overhead. 

"Though it lacks rolling green hills and gentle waves of their northern sisterland, the Blurr is nevertheless a place of great natural beauty, and is well-known for breeding some of the fastest and sleekest horses in the Known Internet. It is also more populous than the Isles, or indeed many sites in the east: sprawling cities like Askobarr and Transid dwarf even the largest metropoli constructed by Devien hands, and contain a far greater variety of life and living as well (though the less said about the foul port of Tolerance, the better).

“This greater diversity, however, brings greater fractiousness. The Blurr does not possess the aristocratic ruling class of the Isles, but instead instills its people with a far more individualistic and egalitarian sensibility. What this means in practice, however, is that the site is dominated by various powerful, ideological factions that people are eager to join, most notably the fandoms. Many of the Great Fandoms and scores of lesser ones maintain impressive footholds in the Blurr, and are constantly vying and juggling for power amongst themselves, dominating almost every aspect of day-to-day life. 

"Though there are innumerable small subfandoms that attempt to worm their way up the hierarchy, some of the most powerful groups by far are the immensely influential Tripartisan Alliance, the long-standing though waning DA, the oft-overlooked Homesteaders, and, as always, the Animen United. Other fandoms do not share the same titanic power as these few, but nevertheless maintain a healthy influence, or are growing at a steady pace. The Marvellien faction of the Comican has recently seen an explosion in activity, while the Brony Collective has secured a relatively stable niche, though it is opposed by a dedicated anti-fandom nearly as large.

“What this translates to is a land of great political instability, one where personal feelings are frequently offended and where tensions are frequently high. Conflict and strife between the ruling groups are far more common in the Blurr than anywhere else in the Painted Sea, with fire-feuds and even illegal wars more regularly waged. Blurrites also have a tendency to become wrapped in foreign controversies as well, as evidenced by the recent strife between them and various other sites. Special note must be made at this point for the insurgents that, sadly, have become the veritable face of the Blurr for many: the Oppressed.

“The Oppressed cannot be said to be a recent phenomenon, but their activity has greatly intensified in the past several years. A highly vocal and extremely dedicated movement, the Oppressed constitute the militant arm of the Blurr’s many social campaigns, battling against the supposed tyrants that they believe seek to control or limit them. In reality, their acts are generally targeted against those that fail to meet their ideological standards or unwisely oppose one of their members, with these insurrectionists utilizing terror tactics to drive out anyone they believe to be against their platform. Though vehemently in opposition to the Channic anonymites (and, in turn, overwhelmingly hated by the Channic anonymites), the Oppressed actually resemble the masked-men in a variety of ways, particularly in their fierce paranoia of outsiders and their penchant for violent action and assassination to advance their agendas. 

"Admitted enemies of the Oppressed ‘justicars’ and even neutral actors who nevertheless find themselves standing against the group are sometimes found dead, usually by strangulation with a strand of red silk that is left behind as a warning. 

Contrary to popular belief, the numbers of the justicars are by most estimates quite small, but these attention-grabbing methods garner them a highly disproportionate reputation among outside observers, with many mistaking their presence as ordinary and acceptable for the average Blurrite. The tendency to incorrectly see the fingerprints of the Oppressed on virtually every controversy and issue has increased dramatically in recent years, with many decrying the common paranoia almost as much as they deplore the justicars themselves. Military actions involving the Oppressed have also been seen far more recently, particularly in the context of the Great Gamer War, as well as smaller-scale fire-feuds waged by the Comican and the Brony Collective...”


— “The Painted Sea (Put Briefly)”, by Eriaria Habe





* * * * * *




“The velvet?”

“Too heavy.”

“Not the scarlet-cloth one either, then?”

“Not if the weather in the Dreamweave is anything like Indelio. I can hardly meet with a Lord Moderator all sweaty and hot, now can I?” She gave an exaggerated shudder at the idea.

“The sindon dress, perhaps?”

“Hmm, put that under ‘maybe.’ The color might be an issue, of course. Too much white or black and Lord Halforth might see us as copying their uniforms.”

“There’s the purple Kursedian gown, my lady. And a silk formal dress the same color.”

“That Kursedian gown always struck me as too social for something like this. The silk though… I only worry that it would be too fine. The Moderators don’t care for rich clothing. Perhaps something simpler would be best.”

“Boiled leather? Sackcloth?”

“Alright, alright, now you’re not taking me seriously at all, Proximo. The very idea of it!” Lady Violet said in mock horror.

“Apologies, my lady,” Proximo replied. “It has been two hours, though—the mind tends to wander.” It had taken that long to come to decisions regarding Lady Violet’s shoes, jewellry, and headwear, and while time might have flown by, the strain was beginning to be felt. For all that time, they had not left the captain’s cabin—Proximo was standing in front of an open cabinet, while Lady Violet sat comfortably to the side, examining his suggestions. Outside the rear window, one could see the port of Shine still glowing with activity in the late-day sun. 

Violet sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Leaning up in her chair, she tapped a hand on the table excitedly. “That settles it, then—you and I are going out ‘on the town,’ as it were.”

“Now? My lady, there’s still so much left to—"

“Pish posh, Proxi,” she said with a wave of her hand. “All that can be done later, and we’re only here in Shine for a few more hours before we leave. Besides, a little fun will do you good—you really work much too hard on my account.”

“I’m not sure it’s…”

“Well, I hate to do this, Proximo, but you’ve brought it on yourself now,” she said teasingly. She sank down low into her chair, closed her eyes forlornly, covered her forehead with the back of her hand, and let out a depressed sigh. “Puh-leeease?” she pleaded miserably. After a moment, she opened one eye to see if her assistant was convinced, then added, “Also, this is an order.”

Proximo laughed. “Fine, you have me backed into a corner. Lead on, my lady.”

Violet sprang up with a triumphant smile, and opened the door for her assistant. The deck of the Wonderbolt II was relatively subdued, though with plenty of Loyal Friends loading supplies onto the ship. It had been some time since the meeting with the other diplomats ended, but a few were still remaining on the host ship, chatting with one another or with crew members. One of them, Prim Enproper, was leaning against the railing with a depressed look on his face when he noticed Proximo and Violet pass by.

“Afternoon, Lady Brushshape,” he said in a dull, monotone voice. “Off to do something fun?”

“Just to enjoy the city a little before we leave, Prim,” she replied cheerfully.

“Oh. I wish I could understand the appeal,” he sighed morosely. “Cities never agreed with me, not that anyone ever does. Did you know that every person that has ever lived in a city has, at some point in their life, died? I don’t throw with those kinds of odds.”

“Come now, Prim, you really must go out and enjoy yourself more.”

“You sound just like my mother, meaning no offense, my lady. Always ‘move out of the house’-this or ‘stop disgracing our entire family line’-that, or ‘why don’t you find yourself a nice girl’-such-and-such. I did try with the last one. I remember meeting a woman once, but she died of tuberculosis shortly after. I have that effect on people.” He gave a downtrodden sigh and rested his chin on the ship’s railing.

Lady Violet was in the middle of saying something reassuring to Prim when the Warden of Honesty approached. He was flanked on both sides by two of his Honest Eyes, and seemed intent on speaking with the lady. “Leaving?” he asked.

Violet turned to him with a smile. “Yes, my friend. Just to peruse the city for a time—Proximo and I should return in a few hours.”

The idea made the Warden clearly uncomfortable. “Should not go without escort,” he grumbled. “We can accompany,” the Warden said, gesturing to himself and the guards on either side of him.

Violet waved her hand at the thought. “Oh please, Honesty, I can manage quite well enough on my own. You know that having a dozen guards around me during every social occasion makes me feel discourteous. Besides, I’ll have Proximo with me.”

That obviously did not comfort the Warden of Honesty at all. “It is not safe.”

She laughed. “Honesty, it’s the tourist district of the city. The closest thing to danger here is the cutthroat pricing of prints and knick-knacks. I think I’ll survive.” After seeing the look on the Warden’s face, he gave a reassuring smile. “Fine, if I take a few guards—not a whole battalion. Would that be enough?”

The Warden stared down, hesitant. “Yes,” he replied after a pause. 

“Very well then! Though I must insist that they not crowd the two of us—I at least want to give the semblance of nonchalance this evening.”

The Warden did not respond, but instead looked down to the two men at either side of him and motioned for them to go along with Proximo and Violet. The two of them bowed deeply to their lord as he walked away, only rising once the Warden had departed. The guards were vaguely familiar to Proximo, though he had never been formally introduced to either of them. One was the same squat, ugly, bald man with the disgusting star-shaped scars on both of his hands that Proximo had seen repeatedly a few times, while the other was a new face. This one was also short, but very muscular and far more cheerful looking than his frowning companion.

The angry-looking one made the introductions. “I’m Red Autumn. This one,” he pointed his thumb at his fellow Honest Eye, “is Crispin.” The guard called Crispin smiled and waved at Violet and Proximo, but did not say anything.

“Well met,” Lady Violet said politely. “If you have not already been acquainted with my dear assistant, this is Proximo Hart, my most leal servant.”

“You make me sound so important, my lady,” Proximo said. He bowed to the pair of Honest Eyes. “Good to meet both of you. Thank you for the protection this evening, though I hope we won’t need it.”

Red Autumn shrugged and Crispin smiled. The group turned around to head out for the city, when Red spoke up behind them. “You two should probably be armed, though.”

“Truly?” Violet asked. “I’m certain that you two will provide much better protection than we could ever supply to ourselves.”

“If you don’t want more of us guarding you, then you both shouldn’t be empty handed,” Red grumbled. “The Great Honest One demands we protect you. We cannot fail him, and you going armed can’t hurt.”

“It might, actually,” Lady Violet said. “I failed duelling school when my parents thought to enroll me. To be honest, I can barely cut my own meals without hurting myself.”

“Considering that I’m the one that cuts them for her, I will testify to the truth of that,” Proximo said.

He could see that the Honest Eyes were every bit as unconvinced as their master, so Violet relented. “Hold on one moment,” she said before speeding off to the captain’s cabin.

Proximo was left alone with his two guards-to-be, and tried to make small talk. “So,” he said, “how long have you been with the fandom?”

“First Rise,” Red grunted. “We’re Faustians, the both of us.” Crispin nodded.

“Ah, you fought with the Warden in the Chan, then?”

“Yes,” Red Autumn replied, chest swelling with pride. “I took my name from the time that I joined with his glory. His eye burned away all falseness within our souls, and set us free.” Crispin solemnly placed a hand on the insignia printed upon his armor in response, and bowed his head.

Proximo was suppressing the urge to roll his eyes when Lady Violet returned, holding something in her hands. “Would these do?” she asked, allowing the two guards to see a pair of finely-made daggers. They were the same that had been gifted to them by Madelin Wright, prior to them leaving the Citadel for their mission, the one’s with hilts made of white teywood and sharp blades pale as the moon, both with purple gemstones in the hilt.

Crispin fawned over the weapons, admiring them closely, while Red frowned. “Anything larger?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid,” Violet said apologetically. “We Generous Friends do not have much in the way of martial prowess.”

Red Autumn grimaced, and placed a hand on his own weapon. He had a large, ugly knife of his own at his belt, but also a warhammer that looked like a smaller, lighter version of the one belonging to the Warden of Honesty. Crispin, who was still looking at the daggers with an almost childlike fascination, carried a simple sword. “Will they let us bring these in the city?” Red asked suspiciously.

“I have the necessary permits to allow my bodyguards to carry weapons,” she explained, “so we shouldn’t have any issues from the Mods or the city watch so long as we don’t cause unnecessary trouble. We weren’t planning on that, were we Proximo?”

“Only the most necessary trouble will be done, my lady.”

“Well, there you have it,” she said happily. “Shall we go?”

With Red and Crispin taking the lead, the four of them proceeded off the ship and out onto the docks of Shine. There was a veritable hoard of people crowding the place, ebbing and flowing this way and that out of their own vessels or boarding houses or backstreets, craning and shuffling past to move from one side of the busy yard to the other. Workers lugged massive stacked crates on their shoulders, setting them down to be loaded, bought, moved, and sold again however the strange cadence of the Devien markets and their foreign contributors demanded.

Proximo stepped gingerly through the mess, watching sailors and tradesmen passing by or conversing loudly, and only narrowly avoiding being hit by a cart of oysters being pushed forward in front of him. 

Moving past the initial glut of harborfolk, he saw the sweeping rainbow of people—visitors, pilgrims, residents, and tourists that had poured into the port from every corner of the Known Web. Native Deviens with dyed hair chattered amiably with pale Blurrites and dusky Etsians, Sajlic traders in rich robes with braided beards examined wares alongside the somber-dressed Centrallians, as well as southrons from the Saying Sea, Facers, and fandom-followers of all kinds imaginable. 

Proximo wagered that perhaps for every six people in crowd, one of them had the asymmetrical garb and jutting hair of the Animen. Many others wore the colors of the Comican, or instead had the sleek naval uniforms of the Fleet, or long duster coats, or innumerable other uniforms from the fandoms great and small alike. He could even spy some of his own brothers and sisters on the streets, clothed in white robes or blue shirts or upturned golden hoods. Proximo even thought he spied anonymite masks, and perhaps, even less likely, one of the cybrahakar among the people wandering the cobbled streets, though they rarely went far from their frozen tomb-cities in the far north.

The party of four made their own path through, and found themselves in Lotus Row, still as bustling and bright as Proximo remembered it from his old school days. Long, straight rows of clear glass windows were adorned with sweeping drapes and stately mannequins that presented the latest fashions being sold. On one side, with pearl pillars of teywood standing in front, was an academy of arts that Proximo recognized well from his younger years, though the dark red door of the place had been closed for the day hours before. The Row was a wide and paved street, rarely seeing the use of horses or carriages down the path that was ordinarily glutted with tourists and travellers. Down each side were flat sidewalks that stretched down like lines of white ink painted on with a brush, sitting before the lilac and vermillion storefronts that rose above them.          

It was one of these many tradeshops that caught Lady Violet’s eye. “Oh, let’s stop in this one!” she said, taking her assistant’s arm and leading both him and her guards towards one of the scarlet entrance-ways. The sign above the establishment was was printed with long golden letters that read: Indelian Effervesce: Fine Garments and Attire. 

The store-owner’s eyes passed over them amiably from behind the green countertop when they walked in, though he was too busy making a sale to offer his greetings. The shop was lined from back to front with clothes in a hundred different styles, whether draped on wall-rails or carefully placed upon modelling props to showcase the most prominent brands. Lady Violet made her way immediately to the more expensive and glamorous items as her retinue fell behind. 

Lady Violet traced her fingers through the dozens of choices available on the wall, her excitement plain for her servant to see. Though she tried her hardest to be demure and decorous around others, Proximo knew better than anyone that she never could stop enjoying the little things. 

His own mind was wandering as his eyes glanced over the displays, mostly to how droopy and uncomfortable his belt was feeling with the dagger attached to it. Proximo loathed fighting and preferred to stay as far away from weapons as possible, so the feeling of the razor-sharp blade slung precariously on his side was heavy in more ways than one.

Violet must have noticed his discomfort. “Proximo!” she exclaimed while holding a dress in front of her. “You’re looking positively depressed for someone in a fancy clothes store—what’s the matter?”

Proximo hesitated and looked around to see if the two Honest Eyes were close enough to hear. Red Autumn was a few yards away looking both baffled at the idea of there being such a wide variety of pointless frivolities available and disgruntled that he had to spend any time near them. Crispin, on the other hand, seemed extremely chipper, covering the close-cut golden hair on his head with a large, feathery hat. The two of them were still keeping a very close watch on both their companions and the single door that led into the Indelian Effervesce, but Proximo wagered that they were, at least, far enough to not listen in on what he said. 

“Apologies, my lady,” Proximo said softly, “I just feel a bit… off. Wearing this, I mean,” he gestured to the weapon. “I know it probably sounds silly, but it doesn’t feel right on me at all.”

Lady Violet shrugged, exchanging the garment she was holding for another. “I understand what you mean, Proxi, but it might be for the best.” Her eyes flickered over to the two guards, then to the knife on her own hip. “I seriously doubt that we would ever be in danger here, but if it makes them more comfortable, then why not?”

“It just seems a tad unnecessary.”

“Perhaps, but maybe my honest friend is right, and it is better to be safe than sorry, as it were.” She shrugged once more. “Or not. I’m not very comfortable with the more martial side of life either, but one has to learn to set aside one’s own feelings on things. Besides, I think it makes me look fierce, armed like this. Don’t you think?” 

“Absolutely terrifying, my lady.”

“Mm-hm, that’s what I thought.” She patted a hand on the sheathed dagger. “You must at least admire the craftsmanship that went into these, Proximo. They have a certain… austere beauty to them. It was a well-meant gift, on Maddy’s part.”

Proximo reached his hand into his pocket. “True enough, but I think I prefer the one Lord Jestin gave me. Less risk of death.” 

He pulled out the bronze pocket-watch, feeling its slight, pleasant weight in his hand. Though it failed to actually tell time, Proximo had kept the gift with him since they had left the Citadel—Jestin Jen was a man that he considered a close friend, and it helped him to have a token of that friendship close. The etched image of a winged tiger on the front conveyed a certain fierceness that Proximo knew neither he nor Lord Jen had, but it was a comfort nonetheless.

Violet smiled at the idea of it. “It was a kind thing, I must admit. Shame that it doesn’t work, though. Perhaps, while we’re here, we could find someone to fix it? It hardly seems to serve its purpose, broken like that.”

“It might be broken,” Proximo replied, “but it’s serves its purpose well enough for me.” After seeing the look that Violet was sending him, he explained, “I believe it is meant to be symbolic, I mean.”

“Ah, that does sound like something Jestin would do. It really can never be straightforward with him, can it?” She chuckled, and then ran her fingers over a pair of hats on a nearby stand. “Well, I suppose the use of his gift to me was a bit more readily apparent.”

“That being?”

“A book of history, concerned with the Devien Isles. And it was recently written as well, so they had a section concerning the Dreamweave. It was all very interesting.” Suddenly, her eyes lit up, and she gave a cry of delight. “Oh, look at this one, Proxi!”

She picked up a very large, very ornate white hat with a wide, drooping brim. Placed on her head, it was big enough to cast a shadow that nearly covered her completely. “Very stately, don’t you think?” she said, posing with it and fluttering her eyelashes. 

Proximo couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” 

“Nonsense!” she said emphatically. She spun around to face her two guards. “Now, honest opinions from the two of you: what do you think?” She tilted down the hat slightly and gave a coy smile.

“Sure,” Red Autumn grunted, clearly not caring. Crispin, however, almost seemed to glow in approval, nodding his head frantically.

“Well there you are, Proximo,” she said victoriously, “outnumbered three-to-one.”

“Your love of giant hats will be your downfall, my lady.”

“You mean to say,” she said with a raised eyebrow, “that you’re opposing my purchase? Are you prepared to kill me? Because that’s what it’ll take.”

“My duty is to look out for your well-being, my lady,” Proximo said sanctimoniously. “I will fight it tooth and nail.”

When they were at the counter moments later, paying for the hat and some other things, Proximo couldn’t help but notice that Lady Violet was staring out the store’s windows cautiously. Even while she placed the money on the counter and took the boxed hat from the store-owner’s hands, she kept one eye on the street outside.

Proximo decided to inquire about this as they left. “Is something the matter, my lady?”

She frowned, then thought for a moment. “...no. No, it’s quite alright.”

“Can we go back to the ship now?” Red Autumn asked irritably. He had been sulking for some time now, no doubt due to some displeasure for finery and fun that he’d inherited from his master. Proximo found the attitude distasteful, all things considered.

“Oh, where’s your sense of good times, Mister Autumn?” Lady Violet asked amiably. “Come now, the city’s beautiful! Like stepping out into a canvas,” she said, holding up her hands as though framing a picture. “Now I must insist that you at least try to enjoy yourself before this is over, sir. I do adore my honest friends, but you all have a penchant for being far too serious. Come now, smile a little!”

Crispin, apparently thinking that it was he who was being addressed, broke into a huge, beaming grin while Red contented himself by grumbling and seething. It occurred to Proximo that Crispin, while certainly friendly, might not be entirely… there.

“That’s more like it!” Violet said cheerfully. “Now then, I wouldn’t mind sitting down for a bit. Proximo,” she said to her assistant, “do you know of any places of interest around here? Preferably a little further away?”

Proximo thought for a moment. “There’s a tea shop down the Row that I would visit, when I was younger.”

“Perfect! Lead the way, then.”

They continued through Lotus Row, the crowds thinning slightly as they passed further down and away from the docks. Every once in awhile, Lady Violet would stop at a stall in the street, chat for a moment with the proprietor, then handle one of the items—once a steel breastplate that had been polished to a mirror shine, then a small hand mirror—before setting it down and continuing. Had it been anyone else, Proximo would have assumed it was mere browsing, but he knew her well enough that the pattern seemed oddly out of place to him. He thought of asking what she was up to, but dismissed the idea as they approached their destination. 

The tea shop was much as Hart remembered it, and once they had been admitted by the doorman they proceeded up a short flight of stairs to an open terrace. The noise of the streets was still audible, but fainter here, and instead the low tones of polite conversation came from the two dozen or so small, circular tables, while a man with a stringed instrument played and sang in the corner. Violet took the lead now, and chose a seat with the back to a wall, while Proximo sat opposite of her—Red and Crispin chose a different one, facing the door, apparently mindful of maintaining a ‘semblance of nonchalance,’ as the lady had said.
        
Violet seemed content, seated and listening. “A lovely atmosphere,” she said wistfully. “Good choice, Mister Hart.”

“I aim to please, as always, my lady.”

The lady raised a stately hand to flag over the waiter, then said, “A green for him. A purple for me, if you please.” Proximo saw her eyes flick quickly to the doorway after the order was complete and the server proceeded away. As they waited, the melody of the shop-singer could be heard, a twangy provincial voice singing of history.


“Devio walked in cloudless clime
the sun was white before our time.
The scarlet sky waned overhead,
above the emerald riverbed,
o’er cyan fields and saffron lakes
to the mist-waves where horizon breaks.

“Devio saw the darkling shade
of Indelio beside the Fade.
He reckoned Marches green and high,
in Sublimides where Kursia died,
and saw the Inkwell spill to sea
by Autumn Ides in Atremides.

“Devio measured Heaven’s Field,
and ‘neath the sight of God appealed
to have the hand of paint and seal,
to catch the world of true and real
in canvas-stock and paper-stay,
to shape the Marches with his clay…”


Proximo had been so focused on the music that he did not notice when the waiter placed two cups on tiny saucers in front of them, nor did he see that Violet had taken a newspaper off a nearby table to read. He was about to chastise her teasingly for reading at the table, when he turned the paper towards him, pointing to the headline. “Would you look at that, Proxi? It never really ends.”

He glanced down at the large, curving letters printed at the top of the front page: HOSTILITIES RESUME. His eyes went up and down the first few lines of article as Violet shook her head. “ ‘The Great Gamer War’ has started in earnest, it seems.”

“Again?” Proximo said, weary of the idea. He began reading the passage more quickly to get what information he could. “I thought the Mods had negotiated a ceasefire? Didn’t Twicechan agree?”

“For whatever good it did, yes. I didn’t delude myself into thinking it would last, but I hoped we might have seen at least a year of peace before it all went downhill again—a foolish thought, I suppose.”

Proximo skimmed through the lines, picking up information. ‘Despite outward hopes, fresh demands arise from both the pro and anti-Oppressed camps… terror attacks during Summer Sale… the recent expulsion and removal of Channic combatants from their home isles only served to heighten hostilities and stoke anger… political refugees, having fled to Twicechan, claim the Mootking to have been compromised by Moderator and Oppressed interests… Mootking Kulk vows further opposition… Central has yet to respond, however…’

He frowned at the unfortunate news. “Do you suppose the Mods will intervene again?”

“I doubt they’ll enjoy it, but I also doubt they’ll have much choice. I have to say, though: I’d never expected to see a Mootking as willing to bring down the Hammer of Central as this one. I know the Channic are upset about it.”

“The Channic are always upset.”

“Point taken. Still though,” she said with a sigh. 

Before she spoke again, however, Proximo saw her eyes flick over to something behind him again, before she smiled slightly. 

Quickly pulling out a pen, she swiftly grabbed the newspaper, scribbled something Proximo could not see over the front page, then flipped it over and passed it to her assistant. 

“Mister Hart,” she said courteously, “could I ask you to please pass that paper to Red, if you don’t mind?”

Her assistant shot her a confused look, but did as he was told. Without looking at the message, he handed it off to the guard. Red Autumn looked annoyed at first, gained a look of realization when he flipped over the paper and read whatever was on the bottom. Proximo could see him tense up, then pass the note to Crispin. His hand hovered close to the knife on his belt.

Worried now, Proximo turned back to Lady Violet, opened his mouth to ask, and was immediately silenced when she spoke first.

“Apologies, Proxi,” she said nonchalantly, very carefully keeping her gaze precisely in front of her. “I would have mentioned it earlier, but I wasn’t certain until now. I must ask that you not look behind us. We’re being followed.”
 
True to the lady’s command, Proximo did not look behind, much as he wanted to. “Who?”

“I can’t say I recognize the man, but he’s been right behind us since we got off the boat—he stops whenever we do, and then starts as soon as we go on.” He kept her eyes firmly on Proximo, not looking at all towards the apparent shadow that was lingering behind them. “On the bright side, it’s just him, from what I can tell. Here,” she said, before fumbling at her belt. Surprisingly, she pulled out her dagger, and passed it gently over to Proximo. “Angle it just so.”

Proximo looked down at the knife, pretending to be examining it for rust, all while surreptitiously watching the clear reflection that the peculiar metal in the blade gave off. There was a number of seated tables behind him, but less than a handful had only a single person sitting in it.

“Do you see the bearded young man in red? The foreigner, I mean.”

Proximo picked up the man quickly, seated alone and looking aloof at a corner table not far from the door. He was wearing a crimson surcoat, and was clearly not a Devien, judging by his features. Though he was feigning disinterest, Proximo could see his glance returning to Violet’s way several times. Hart placed the knife down quickly, so as not to attract his attention.

“Should we leave, my lady?” he asked, nervous.

“Tempting, but I’m not certain that’s the ideal choice. Like I said, he seems to be alone, so I have the suspicion that it’s merely… surveillance that he’s interested in. It’s not an uncommon thing, considering our mission, to have a spy or two watching out. Honestly, if we just bolted out right now, he would probably realize that we knew he was there.” She smiled, seemingly vaguely amused. “It would give away the game, you see.”

“Try to be serious, my lady,” Proximo chastised. “This could be dire.”

“I’m always serious, Mister Hart,” Lady Violet replied firmly, “even when it doesn’t seem like it. Especially when it doesn’t seem like it.” She pushed a tress of purple hair out of her eyes, then gracefully lifted up her teacup to take a brief drink. “I really must ask that y— oh, hello.”

Confused, Proximo wanted to turn around and she what she was interested in now, but restrained himself. As it happens, it mattered little, as a person Proximo did not recognize walked past him, towards Lady Violet. Hart heard a scuffling sound behind him, no doubt Red and Crispin standing to eliminate a possible threat… but they stood down when Violet waved the stranger over, and he handed her a sealed letter. She smiled, bid the person to come closer, and whispered something in the stranger’s ear—in a silent reply to whatever question she had asked, the man shook his head. After that, he departed as soon as he had arrived.

“What was that about?” Proximo asked immediately.

“More information from our sources in the Dreamweave, it seems. I’m surprised that this one is still reporting, to be honest. All the better for us, even if he is a bit late sending it.” Using her knife, she broke open the seal envelope and read down the paper enclosed inside, her dark eyes darting hither and thither across the page. 

“Something important?” he ventured, still conscious of and uncomfortable about the spy lingering behind him.

“Most things are, I find,” she replied. She refolded the letter, placed it inside the envelope, then tucked it away. “Current events, really. You needn't concern yourself with it, my dear assistant.”

Proximo raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh really? You’re making it sound all the more intriguing, my lady. Something that you would prefer to not share?” He tilted his head at her, watching as she shifted in her seat at the question. “You know that you can trust me, my lady, if it really is something important.”

“I know,” she replied meaningfully. “But there’s really no need for concern. If anything becomes relevant, you’ll be the first to know.”

He nodded, though he still suspected that she was keeping something from him. Proximo did his best to shrug it off anyways, when a thought came to mind. “Who are our contacts in the Dreamweave?”

“Pardon?”

“I know that the Collective has its own eyes and ears in the Painted Sea, but I hadn’t met any from the Dreamweave until now. Obviously they’re there as well, though, or we wouldn’t have reports sent by them,” he explained. “If you don’t mind my asking, my lady, who are they? It would be good to know, seeing that we’ll have to keep up with them once we’re in court.”

She did not answer immediately, and thought carefully before speaking. “Forgive me, Proximo,” she said slowly, “but I would prefer not to say.”

“My lady?” Proximo said, taken aback.

“It really has nothing to do with any… lack of faith in you, Proxi,” she apologized. “I simply cannot say.” She reached out and put her hand on his. “You understand, don’t you?”

Yes, he thought. It was, of course, understandable from a professional standpoint, but for some more personal reason it unnerved the assistant, knowing that he did not have his lady’s confidence. “If I’ve acted in any way that would shake your trust in me…”

“No, no Proxi, of course not,” she said emphatically. “Listen to me, please: there are a few people in the world that I trust completely, and without question. Mars is one of them, so is Maddy, and the other Wardens, my family, yes.... and you. It’s all the other people that I worry about.” She smiled wanly. “It isn’t lack of trust, Proximo. Just… professional caution.”

“You know that I’m not some loose-lipped gossip hop, willing to let privileged information slip out on a whim, my lady. If you have some secret plan in mind, I would ne— “

“If I had some secret plan in mind, I would tell you before any other person. Have I ever given you reason to doubt that I never doubt you?”

Proximo leaned back in his chair. “What about your plan with Coin Counter?”

Lady Violet tilted her head. “The Knight Regulator? What about him?”

“You had him for dinner aboard the Wonderbolt, with the captain and I. You were questioning him.”

“Am I not allowed to have an interest in the lives of my friends and subordinates?” she asked innocently. “He is new to the Collective. I merely wanted to check on his well-being.”

“You say ‘check,’” Proximo replied, “but it seemed closer to ‘interrogate’. What was all that with the Warden of Honesty? I half expected some Knight Prefect to accuse him of apostasy, the way you were charging him.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“And you’re dodging the question, my lady. What was the need for it?” He saw a look from the lady that was clearly meant to remind him that she was under no obligation to answer, and so he added, “Unless this is a secret plan I’m not meant to know?”

Lady Violet gave a resigned sigh. “I felt some fielding of his loyalty was not entirely out of the question, given his record. You had some doubts yourself, if I recall.”

“And I reported to you that I was satisfied with his explanation. I’m confused as to why you felt the need to sic the Warden of Honesty on the poor man, regardless. Was my word not enough?”

“Oh, come now, Proximo, you’re just being petty. I was simply verifying and seeing for myself, is all. Honesty has a good sense for truthfulness.”

“You’re sounding like one of those Honest Eye cultists. Like he has some magical powers.”

“Two of those ‘cultists’ are protecting our lives as we speak,” she pointed out, sounding slightly perturbed. “Perhaps some gratitude would not be out of the order.”

“My lady,” Proximo said in a low voice, glancing over to the unaware Red and Crispin, “their views are insanity. They’re fanatics.”

“And?”

Proximo looked at her, not quite believing what he had heard. “Regardless,” he sighed, “I’m assuming that there was a more specific reason why he in particular had to be scrutinized.”

“There is. I’m surprised that you’re asking now, of all times. I would have gladly told you why it was done immediately, had you asked.”

“I had assumed you would include me in whatever plot you had.”

“And so I am,” she said sardonically. “I believed—and still believe—that Sir Coin represents a valuable asset to our success. We will need to work closely with an Authority investigation team while we’re staying in the Dreamweave, and we’ll need people who can work closely with them in turn. If we can have people who can understand the Mods, make them trust us, perhaps favor us, then it will all go the more smoothly.” She picked up her cup delicately and took another sip. “Who better to treat with Knights than a Knight? Not to mention he has a wealth of experience in such matters.”

Proximo considered that. The thought had occurred to him as well, and it seemed reasonable enough. He couldn’t help but continue, though. “You wished to test his loyalties further then? To see if he would agree.”

“Naturally. It was a necessary precaution, considering what’s at stake, and it was ultimately harmless either way.” She eyed him as she took another drink. “Unless you disapprove?”

He frowned slightly. “It strikes me as lacking in honesty.”

“To whom? Sir Coin or yourself?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“Well, I’m sorry that you feel that way,” she replied, obviously eager to stop the conversation.

Proximo’s eyes narrowed, despite himself. “Fine.”

They sat in silence for a time, neither speaking nor looking at one another. Proximo left himself to his thoughts, discontent. She has a point, of course, he admitted to himself. It is a difficult position they’re in, and being certain of who receives what information was a natural measure to take. But that didn’t make being left out any less distressing, or her decision to lure Coin into little more than an interrogation feel any less… wrong. It wasn’t a rational feeling, he knew, but something felt off-key about the whole affair.

In the background, he could hear the other patrons moving and talking. The singer’s voice could also be heard, in the middle of an encore of the same song from earlier. The lyrics drifted over listfully, and Proximo contented himself by listening to them.


“Devio’s fellows saw the land
of beauty that came from his hand.
They stared in wonder at the night
he painted pale, the colors bright,
and wept to see the perfect face
of the statue clothed in silk and lace.

“Devio saw them bend their knees
In Silkensigh, in Sublimides,
to offer praise and beg for boon
beneath the sky, under the moon.
There they would crowd for faintest chance
for the slightest sight of the master’s glance.

“But did she come to see his deed,
beside his house, there by the Sea?
And had the one his eye had caught
come here to see the work he brought?
And was the distance far apart
between them halved by way of art?

“Her ink-spell hair could not be seen,
nor would he find her eyes of green
in any crowd or painted scene
that he could conjure on a screen.
For long ago she slipped away,
to pass beyond the veil of day.

“Devio labored without end,
deaf to the praise that they would send,
for the only one he sought to see
was the image that would never be,
the only beauty for which he would wake,
was the only one he could not make.”

        
The singer rested, placing his instrument down, as the assembled people applauded. Proximo sighed, the words resonating in his mind as he thought. He glanced over hesitantly to Lady Violet, only to see that she was doing the same to him. Both looked away again when they met eyes.

After a moment’s pause, Violet cleared her throat. “You know,” she said, “there will be much against us. In the Dreamweave, I mean.”

Proximo nodded silently. After a time, he said quietly, “I’m sorry, my lady. That… that wasn’t very mature of me.”

“I’m sorry as well,” she said, smiling gently. “It felt like the most professional avenue, truly, but perhaps it wasn’t the best one for us.” She reached out an open hand. “Partners?”

Proximo took the hand. “Always, my lady.”

She smiled. “Well then,” she sighed, “I’m finished with my tea. Shall we go?”

“What about our shadow?” Proximo asked, thinking of the man following them.

“Oh, still there. I imagine that he’ll be following us back to the ship as well, but what can you do?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re much too nonchalant about these situations?”

She shrugged. “You learn to live with it.”

They rose to leave, with Red and Crispin coming over immediately. “Is there a reason why we’re still here?” Red asked, disgruntled. “A man spies on us across town, and the first thing we do is stop for tea.”

“Oh, you make it sound as though you didn’t enjoy yourself, Mister Autumn,” Violet teased.

A grunted “Let’s go” was the only response she got. They paid the bill at the door and traced their way down the Row, past the shops, past the docks, up the gangway and back on-board the Wonderbolt. It was only at the end that Proximo allowed himself the luxury of turning around to see where he had come from. All around, the buzz and commotion of Shine stretched far away. He did not see, however, their man in red—the one following them seemed to have cut away.

While he thought about this, Hart heard the lady being greeted by Captain Skytide. “...good to see you once again. We shall be ready to depart within a few hours, once you command it.”

“By all means, captain, take us underway as soon as you’re able. I’ve enjoyed the voyage, but duty is ahead, as always.”

“As always, my lady.” He turned to shout orders at the crew, leaving lady and assistant in the middle of the deck, surrounded by rambunctious Loyal Friends.

“Who do you suppose he was for, my lady?” Proximo asked, the question having been heavy on his mind. When she appeared confused, he added, “Our shadow, I mean. I wonder whom he must have been on the employ of.”

Lady Violet considered this. “It could easily be the Mods—they’ve been known for such intelligence-gathering. Or perhaps some crook hired by Dreamweave nobles, to find out what they can from us. Or the Chamber keeping tabs on foreign dignitaries. You can mark this, though: it won’t be the last of such interest. I doubt it was even the first of it.”

The assistant found himself in agreement. It felt strange, to be returning to a place that he had known so well when he was a child, and finding it much the same as an adult. It was stranger, though, to find oneself wrapped up in such odd intricacies at the same time—no doubt, this would be a trend once he stepped foot in the Dreamweave again for the first time in years. 

It’s easier with a friend, though, he thought, it always is.

Proximo crossed his arms and leaned back, still pondering in his head. “You don’t suppose there was anyone else that might want us watched, do you?”

“Not that I know of. Surely we’re not that interesting, are we?”

They laughed together, and went inside. The last part of the journey was ahead, and after that, few could say what might come.




* * * * * *





“Indelio Friendquarter respond. Stop.”



“Indelio Friendquarter respond. Stop.”



“Star. Stop. Inkie responds. Stop. What is priority, Star? Stop.”



“Canterlot. Stop. Please acknowledge immediate. Stop. New pattern active. Stop.”



“Acknowledged. Stop. What is word from Element? Stop.”



“Element demanding full Weather Team pattern. Stop. ‘Rain to Cloudsdale.’ Stop. Active immediate. Stop. All vessels crewed and on stand-by until further notice. Stop. Captains are to send immediate reports to Star active now. Stop. Element will send further instructions if needed. Stop. Addition: dispatch MoAw assets for well-being assessment on abroad-friends, active immediate. Stop. Tail and report. Stop. No direct contact. Stop.”



“Star, is this broad order for Devien Friendsector, or Indelio Friendquarter only? Stop.”



“Former. Stop.”



“Star, this is militant-level fast strike preparation order. Stop. Is this fire-feud? Stop.”



“Not relevant to orders. Stop. Acknowledge compliance, Indelio. Stop.”



“Star, Indelio Friendquarter requests passcode acknowledge from Element before compliance. Stop.”



“This is Element. Stop. Passcode is ‘Danger-Professionalism.’ Stop. Now would you. Stop. Ignoring my orders and. Stop. Wasting time. Stop. Hate these things. Stop. Don’t make me come over there. Stop.”



“Sorry, Element. Stop. Immediate compliance acknowledged. Stop. MoAw assets scrambled for Indelio arrival. End of line.”