Chapter XXVIII: Back to Life
Chapter XXVIII: Back to Life
* * * * * *
I
Selections were made for the new survey to the Chan. None would volunteer, and so Lord Makepeace put the task on me, despite my objections. My first mission was one too many, and yet I find myself called back to there once again. Several others will join me, Sir Conscience Duntham for one. I only hope our time there is short…
II
Baysmouth is the same fetid pit I remember. I had not even stepped off the ship before an anonymite threw a bottle at my head. Is there nothing to curb these degenerates?
We have taken up lodgings in a site by the waterfront. It is a sad, sagging place, but at least the perimeter has been cleared of the locals, so we can begin work. Sir Conscience has as little desire to stay as I—this place unnerves her. I can understand the feeling. I still remember my first mission, when I glimpsed the Bay for the first time, and thought of what might dwell there. It was silly of me to fear it so—pagan superstitions should not trouble a Knight Enlightener.
While performing my duties, I passed by the shore today. The tide was far away, the sea just a thin crashing line in the distance. It was only water. I truly do not know why it struck me as odd when I was last here.
III
Walcroft is an utter fool. I keep finding him meandering around Baysmouth as though he is welcome to be there, chatting idly with Ether whenever he does. Those two are thick as thieves, and I will not have distracting familiarity force us to spend precious extra minutes here. I sent the two of them back to work with a warning, this time.
The Slouch-Hall looms over this part of the city, though it is visible from most everywhere. It makes for an unpleasant sight to see everyday. I doubt an uglier building could ever be conceived: half of that incomprehensible wreck is falling apart, and what’s left boggles the mind. If any respectful man of the Design Department in Central had proposed such a thing, he would have been clasped in a madhouse.
This city is in dire need of a madhouse, as it happens. I was doing rounds to collect the necessary data, when I chanced upon a group of people laughing and throwing something between them. When I came close, they chanted some Channic mockery at me, and threw their ‘ball’ down towards my feet. It was a dog carcass. These people are diseased.
On a whim, I went back to the shore again. There was a mist on the water, this time, a kind that reminded me of illustrations I have seen of the Deep Web. I know that cursed place is not far from here—perhaps that closeness is what gives the Chan its stain. I have heard from some that entering the Deep Web changes a man indelibly, in ways even he cannot see. That awful maelstrom marks a man, and he takes something of it with him wherever he goes. There is no rational basis behind it, of course. But if that were so, what would the Chan be marked with?
— Journal entries of Ira Ahzed, once a Knight Enlightener before becoming known as “The Mad Mod.” Written prior to his reign of terror, this diary was included in The Darksea Compendium.
* * * * * *
It was a ship at sea, that much he could tell. But the sea itself—the water, the salt wind, the limitless blue sky above—was all gone, cloaked beneath an omnipresent black fog that swirled around him. There were others with him on the deck: men hunched over, huddling in corners, some praying softly, but all of them pale with fear no matter how much they tried to hide. Even then, he could barely see them either: the mist was thick enough to obscure almost anything. Only a small light remained: a gap in the mist. One that was behind them, and fading quickly as they pressed on into the darkness.
He knew this place, and realized that in a moment of terror. The Deep Web! he thought, eyes darting in a panic as he strained to lift himself off his seat. But for some reason he could not move—paralyzed in place, unable to speak aloud, he could only look about and listen in mute horror at the place that was swallowing them all.
The ship rocked back and forth, groaning as a wave hit the side and splashed black, icy cold water upon the men on-board. The mist whipped around them around them like smoke, cutting across them with particles as thick as ash from a dry fire. All around him, on every side, he could hear the churning, whirling, crashing of water as it reached up into the sky and smashed down with force enough to break bones and drown men. He looked out at the fog, frozen in fear: just beyond the railing of the ship, he knew, there was nothing but the Deep.
He wanted to shut his eyes, just to keep it away for a moment. Beyond this ship, there was nothing but waves that stood a thousand feet high, or winds that would scourge a man’s skin right off the bone. The fog drove men mad, the whirlpools dragged them to watery graves, and the Deepmen hunted for the flesh of any that dared trespass. And there were far worse things than men that lived in that place. He thought he caught sight of something, just for a moment: some pale, misshapen thing that crawled out from the water, but it was gone before he could see what it was. The light behind them, the only one remaining, was fading quickly as they plunged in further.
Suddenly, a hideous shrieking sound filled the air, and he could not tell if it was from the ship buckling from the strain or the call of whatever thing he had just glimpsed, a call announcing prey. Beyond only a wooden railing on a faltering ship, right before him, there was a place of madness unlike any other. Beyond a railing, and only that, just a few feet away!
He tried to concentrate as best he could, to keep his breath from running ragged and taking in too much of the Deep’s heavy air, but found it a losing battle. A familiar man stood in front, shouting instructions, but they could barely be heard over the wails of the wind and God only knew what else.
The light behind them, the way they had come, was closing more and more by the moment. Only tiny glowing slivers were cast forward, minuscule linings on the oppressive fog, and even they were leaving. But as the very last vestiges of the sun died away, there was the faintest glimpse of something ahead of them. Stark and hideous in the darkness, there was a black island, with the brunt of a storm looming overhead. A wan yellow glow—not the sun, but something far different—pooled out from it, but illuminated nothing. He only just saw it before the light died completely, leaving them in pitch blackness.
It was so dark that he had thought his eyes were still shut. Then he realized that the ship was gone. It was all gone—there was simply nothing there, and he was standing in a black void. He tried to breath, but it caught in his throat, burning. Tentatively, he tried to step forward.
A hundred thousand tendrils burst from the darkness, and seized him as he tried to scream. They wrapped themselves tightly around his legs, his arms, his chest and mouth and throat, dragging him together with a hideous strength. As he sank, writhing to escape, there was a venomous sound.
Home… he heard it say. You have seen that home. Do you know what you brought? Return… you will return. The spinning yellow arms took hold all the more tightly, strangling him as they forced further and further down…
And then there was the faint sound of music.
It was light, quiet, but it rang through the dark. A hymn-song that he had heard before, faintly. It rose over him as he struggled against the arms, over shadows and spiraling around him.
Just barely, he thought he saw a figure approached him, walking slowly.
A hiss came from whatever the tendrils belonged to, as they loosened their grip. The music grew louder and louder still, a haunting, uplifting noise. Punctuating the song was the sounds of footsteps coming closer, like steel soles on cobbles.
They come for you, new one… the voice spat. Its grip was unravelling, as it slipped away. Serve… you serve him. But who does he serve? For you… he comes for you.
He tried to lift himself, but he was dangling over the edge of an endless chasm, helpless over thin air. The figure was right above him, but he could not look up to see. The music was louder than ever, clear words dancing above him, when he saw a hand reach down. A golden hand, on a golden arm. He grabbed it tightly, and let it lift him up.
“Thank you,” he was able to say at last, panting. But when he stared up to see who had saved him, what he saw made any words stop in his chest. Six save me, the eye! The Eye!
Coin Counter awoke at last, startled and confused. He was lying in a bed, in what looked like the barracks that the Honest Friends had made into living quarters. The room was quiet, save for a sound at his side.
Kneeling at his bed, arms propped on the side and hands balled in front of her face, was Skylark of the Kind Friends. Her eyes were closed, but she was singing a familiar song, in a soft but sonorous voice.
“Sister Shy, flower of all things sweet and kind,
Maybe you’re a little late,
Maybe you’re a hurricane.
Please stay awhile,
Are these feathers I see spinning with me?
A piece of the puzzle finds herself.”
“The Singer of the Fandom, ‘E48,’ ” said another voice from the side. “And now he wakes as well—it seems our prayers are not unanswered. Remind me not to doubt your bedside manner again, Skylark.”
Coin saw that the speaker was another man in the daffodil robes of the Kind Friends—Mattieu Winely, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “It is good to see you stirring at last, Sir Coin,” Mattieu said. “You’ve been out of the world for a day, as it happens.”
Coin blinked, and tried to lean forward. “What—” A sharp pain cut into his shoulder, prompting a cry and a curse.
“Easy, sir,” Skylark said gently, rising from her knees. “Try to recollect your thoughts. You have been recovering from a serious injury, I am sorry to say. Do not move too much too quickly.”
“Crossbow bolt,” Mattieu said, miming out being hit in his shoulder, “straight shot, right to the back.”
The riot, Coin remembered. His eyes widened. “The others,” he started, “are they—”
“All safe now, more or less,” Mattieu replied. “It was a grim moment, and there were other injuries, but none killed, praise the Kind.”
Coin breathed a sigh of relief. Looking around, he saw a few other beds occupied, but the room was largely empty. “How long have I been out? A day, you said?”
“Indeed,” said Skylark. “The shock of your injury caused you to fall, though you seemed to be regaining consciousness not long after we brought you here. To remove the bolt, however, we had to use a draught of sleeping, so that you would not disturb the procedure.” Reaching to a table nearby, she retrieve a small, pointed object—the splintered head of a crossbow bolt, broken from the shaft and yet still deadly in its appearance. “Trust me, sir—you would not have wished to have been awake for its removal.”
“The potion sure did its job right, though,” said Mattieu with a chuckle. “It seems you cannot hold your drink very well, Sir Coin. I was starting to worry that you were suffering a bad reaction to it that would put you in a coma, until Skylark roused you. I normally have little patience for unorthodox methods, but then I never could deny her anything.”
Coin groaned as he tried to sit up, feeling pain in his wound and a scratch from the bandages that covered it. He was incredibly thirsty—it must have shown on his face, given that Skylark handed him a glass of water soon after. “Given that we countered infection early on,” she said, “the wound will not be serious. Do not exert yourself too much, though—it will be bad for your recovery. The dressing upon it will need to be replaced regularly.”
Glancing around the largely empty room, Coin took a drink and turned back to the two Kind Friends. “Where are the others?” he asked.
“Several are still recovering here,” Skylark replied. “Most others are at work. It might not have been long for you, Sir Coin, but we have had to move feverously since the riot. Yours’ was not the only group to be attacked—Lady Violet herself was cornered. She was unharmed, but now men are whispering of intrigue and assassination.”
Mattieu scoffed. “We do more than whisper, friend. The Martes are behind all of it, and this attempt on our lives was by Arcadio’s order, I have no doubt. Once we find proof…”
“I should be out there, helping,” Coin said, shifting himself out of place. He did not intend to lie idly while the masters of assassins walked free. “If the others are off searching, then I shou—”
Trying to move too much made that pain shoot through his back again, his face cringing up. Skylark gently but firmly laid a hand on Coin, to stop him going further. “Without meaning to be too assertive, Sir Coin, I’m afraid that I cannot allow that. The poultices you’ve been given will ease the wound before long, but running about will not help it. For now, you remain in bed.”
Coin tried to protest, only for Mattieu to speak first. “There’ll be no ifs, ands, or buts about it, sir. Believe me—you don’t want to see Skylark roused. At any rate,” he continued, “I can at least say that you’ll be kept in good company. You have some guests, as it happens.”
Coin looked between them, puzzled. “How could they have known I would be awake?”
“They didn’t. They showed up not twenty minutes ago asking after you. I was going to send them on their way, but Skylark wagered that she might wake you before I could. I’ve lost the bet, but at least you have time for visiting hours.” Mattieu signaled for someone to come closer.
To Coin’s surprise, the two people who had come to see him were not Bronies. On the right was Cellia Ravenry, his companion in the Moderator team, and on the left, looking grim and gawky in equal measures, was Sir Alwin Cameron, fidgeting nervously with his hands.
“Sir Coin!” Cellia exclaimed with relief. “It is good to see you awake, at last. I feared we might have lost you, for a moment. How are you?”
“I’m well enough,” Coin replied, a bit taken aback. He could understand Cellia taking the time to check on him, what with her being assigned to work alongside him. Sir Alwin, on the other hand, had no such reason—in all honesty, Coin had barely even spoken to the awkward man, and knew little about him. Alwin seemed lost, at any rate: his eyes darted about, settling on various people around the room and never holding for long, as he shuffled his feet silently. He did not give the impression of a happy caller. So why is he here? Coin wondered, hoping that it was not some new misfortune the Mods meant to tell him.
“I trust you have been recovering well?” asked Cellia. “It was no small wound that you received.”
Mattieu crossed his arms and regarded the Mods with suspicion. “So far, so well. Though for now he is confined to quarters, so to speak.”
“At least until he is patched up completely,” Skylark replied more amiably. She gave a bow. “I’m certain you would prefer privacy for your meeting, so we’ll take our leave for now. Lady Violet will be eager to learn of your condition, Sir Coin.”
With that, Skylark of the Kind departed with Mattieu in tow, though not before he gave a cold look to Sir Alwin. The knight seemed to flinch from it, and shifted his gaze to the floor.
“I hope,” Cellia began after the two Kind Friends had left, “that you will forgive the rest of the team for not being present. Percy and Abigail have been out in the field since the riot, whenever they were not tending to the wounded that is. His honor has been working to clean up this travesty the Martes were not fit enough to stop, and it has been hard work for so few of us. Sir Depravity has suggested putting forward an appeal for more men, but Sir Borlund is opposed. At any rate, it has been quite the mess.”
Frankly, Coin was surprised enough that any of the team had come to see him, and thus took no offence. “The streets,” he said instead, “have they been cleared?”
“To a degree. The city watch was slow to respond—far too slow—but they forced the riots down eventually.” She seemed troubled nonetheless. “That did not stop the damage, though. Much of the city was touched in some way, but half of the buildings around the Green Gate were burned, and the docks look like a warzone. We are still trying to sort through the losses, sir, but as many as three dozen might have been killed, and many more injured.”
Including me, Coin demurred. And many friends. He clenched a fist. “The culprits?”
“That search is still underway,” Cellia replied. “The places where your party was attacked have been under strict searches, and the city watch has been collecting evidence of the rioter’s identities from what was left. If any managed to escape, I swear that they will be apprehended soon.”
Coin had a theory of his own as to whom was behind it, and it was not one that the city watch would likely bring to light. No ordinary mob, he thought with a grimace. Well-armed, organized, and in full knowledge of where to find us. And now any evidence of them is in the hands of the very man who might have sent them. But he kept his suspicions to himself, for now. Wild accusations, made without consulting his superiors, would only cause trouble.
It was then that Sir Alwin spoke for the first time. “I suppose, ah, that you will recover soon enough?” he asked nervously.
“I hope.” Lounging in bed whilst his friends worked was not an experienced Coin relished.
Cellia gave a reassuring look. “I certainly look forward to it. Though I must imagine that you’ve taken injuries like this before, being a knight and all.”
Coin offered a sheepish smile. “This will be a first.”
“And a last, I hope,” added Sir Alwin. “It was… distressing, to hear of what befell your people. It’s terrible to see so many harmed, though fortunate that no more were injured. Had it been worse, some might have been… um, well. That you know.” The knight struggled for the words, tongue-tied. “What I mean to say, is that I’m happy to know that a fellow knight is well. You, I mean. Thank Heavens that Cellia was there to save you.”
“Cellia?” Coin repeated, taken aback. Did she… He tried to recall the details, and they began to swim back to him. He was cornered in the alley, the Animan lurking towards him with steel in hand. Until, that is, the assassin slumped down dead, and he had heard a woman’s voice. She was the one that saved me, he realized, she took down the Animan and rescued me and Dusty, and might have carried me back on her shoulders for all I know.
Cellia looked a bit abashed at the attention, but Coin could barely express how much gratitude he felt. “Thank you, Cellia, I… I don’t even know how to repay you.”
“A knight,” she replied with a smile, “needs no payment for their duty. Nor do I, sir.” After a moment’s silence, she coughed into her gloved hand. “At any rate, I am happy to see you well. I need to return to the field, but I’ll be sure to visit more, now that you are awake again. Sir Alwin?”
Oddly enough, Sir Alwin shook his head. “A moment, Cellia. I can find my own way, I hope.”
She bowed and departed, leaving Coin alone with Sir Alwin. Coin could not say why the knight chose to linger—they had no business with one another, so far as he knew.
Sir Alwin watched the direction of Cellia’s passing, a forlorn look on his face. “It was truly brave of her. Saving you, I mean,” he said after a time.
Coin opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t find the words. He was still processing the full weight of it, in truth. For a moment, he had only been a hair’s breadth from death and the cold dark plunge. And after that, away to that far place where cold and darkness and death no longer had any meaning at all. Yet just one action from one person was enough to stop it. There was a certain liberty, having brushed so close to that ultimate fate, and yet a crushing debt at the same time. It was hard enough to comprehend in thought, let alone express in words.
He merely nodded.
“You must have been in danger before,” Sir Alwin said. “Sir, how… how did you manage it? Getting past fear?” The look in his eyes as he asked was almost pleading.
Coin tried to think of an answer to the strange question. He had been in danger before—no one would ever claim that the Deep Web was anything but dangerous—but he was not sure he had ever truly conquered fear. He just pushed it away, when he felt it. “I suppose I just chose to look past it, sir. There are more important things than how I feel, and I learned to move on from fear before long.”
“Before long,” Sir Alwin repeated ruefully. “How long?”
Without another word, Sir Alwin shuffled out, looking more despondent than when he came in and leaving Coin to try and make sense of the odd man. Coin had the sense that the knight was deeply troubled about something or other, but too reticent and unsure to actually speak his mind openly or ask for aid. In a way, Coin could sympathize. Sir Alwin might be knighted, he thought, but that is not a title he has held for long, clearly. Coin doubted that he had been a sworn and seasoned member of the Order for much longer than a year at most, and he knew for a fact that the Dreamweave was Alwin’s first posting. He has no clue at all what he is meant to do.
With Moderators and Bronies alike having departed, Coin found himself alone. The room was quiet, with all others in it sleeping or resting and in no place to talk. With little else to do, Coin thought to return to sleep, but after some time of trying he gave it up, the lingering memory of a half-forgotten dream on his mind. He tried to content himself by getting a better bearing of who was with him in the barracks, gazing around lazily.
It was then that Coin saw him. In a bed not far from his own, there was a man lying on his side, a blanket draped over him. At the desk beside his bed, there was a small hand-mirror. Covering the side of his face that was turned towards the ceiling was a mass of bandages, one that shielded almost his whole visage from sight, but Coin still knew who it was.
He remembered immediately. Dustario trapped in a vice-grip, the Animan that Cellia slew wielding broken glass. The jagged, serrated edge gouging into Dustario’s handsome face, and his screams as it happened. Coin had carried him on his back to safety, but those wounds…
Coin took a sharp breath. “Dustario?” he whispered softly to the quiet shape in the bed.
Dustario shifted slightly, but did not answer. He remained silent, facing off to a blank wall.
Coin looked away in shock. Light of life, he thought, the horror of it sinking in. Dustario still lived, that much Coin could be thankful for, but this? Dustario was a friend, faithful and good. He didn’t deserve this. Could I have done more?
“Welcome to the world again, Sir Coin,” a voice said from across the room.
Lady Violet had entered, stepping over to him gracefully with a look of relief upon her face. Coin tried to draw himself up to pay respect, only for another jolt of pain to hit him quickly. “At ease, my friend,” she said quickly, motioning him to remain still with a wave of her hand. “How do you feel?”
Coin thought of Dustario. “Better than I should.”
The lady seemed to pick up on his thoughts immediately. “Nonsense,” she said firmly, but not unkindly. “Every man and woman I spoke to mentioned your bravery, friend. Had it not been for you, we might not have escaped that day without the deaths of our own. You deserve commendation, and my thanks as well.”
Coin did not have a reply, so Lady Violet continued. “Let me ask you a question, Sir Coin. As it is now, the Martes and the Moderators seem content to label the attacks on our friends as mob violence and little more.” She sat down at his bedside. “Are you convinced by that?”
“No,” Coin answered immediately. He gave his reasons as clear as he could: the organized attempts, the weaponry, the suddenness with which the attackers arrived, and everything else.
Lady Violet gave a grim smile. “Then we are on the same page, sir. You were not the only one to notice such things. And aside from all that, the assassins that surrounded me mentioned Arcadio Martes by name.”
The brazenness of it infuriated Coin as much as anything. “My lady,” he said, “we must take this to the Lord Moderator immediately.”
“But with what?” she asked. “We have speculation and hearsay, little more. The rioters are either dead or scattered, and not likely to talk. The city watch, meanwhile, has been cleaning up any evidence of the attacks that might tie it to Arcadio, and we can do nothing to stop them in the meantime. And while you might have confidence in Lord Halforth hearing our case, I’m not certain I share your optimism. He has refused our attempts at helping our friends before out of a lack of proof, and there is nothing to keep him from doing so again. The Martes, I expect, think they can skirt around this little incident unscathed.”
Coin tightened a fist. “They won’t, my lady.”
She nodded. “Now that is the attitude we’re in need of, sir. Without meaning to sell myself too highly, I might just have the inkling of a scheme in mind, and you are to be a part of it.”
“Whatever you need, my lady,” Coin said.
“What I need,” she replied, “is Alwin Cameron. You must bring him to me, or me to him. Either way, so long as we can talk.”
Coin tilted his head. “But why him? And why me?”
“As it stands, Sir Alwin may well be the deciding vote in this investigation, and I believe that he can be brought over to our side. For that alone, I would need to speak with him… but there is something else as well. An apology to give.”
“Apology?”
“From a certain Warden of Honesty. I would spare you the details… but you have a right to know, I think.”
When she had finished with the grave details, Coin could only stare at her agape. “Assaulting a knight…” he repeated incredulously. “My lady, that’s—”
“No small thing. I am aware.”
“The Lord Moderator—”
“Is not aware. I would have that remain the case, as well. Sir Coin, I imagine this must stir conflicted feelings in you,” she said with sympathy.
“It is a capital offence,” Coin replied, as much as he hated to say it.
“Indeed it is. But consider this: why has Sir Alwin not brought this matter to anyone yet? My honest friend committed a great wrong, and yet the knight has not told a soul. In fact,” she continued, “he has tried to reach out to us—you recall when he was with Cellia Ravenry and came to my quarters, that day when you chanced upon the tunnels?”
Coin remembered just that. Sir Alwin had been with Cellia, travelling across the Palace to see Lady Violet, and yet had run off the moment she came out to greet him. He recalled thinking how strange it was at the time, and now it only seemed more odd. Why did he come all that way to speak with her, just after a fellow Warden had threatened him, and then retreated just before he was able to do so?
“I’ve been turning that incident over in my mind since it happened,” Lady Violet said. “Part of me still cannot understand how Sir Alwin acts: any other man would have reported my honest friend in a moment’s notice. Yet he does not. It leads me to interesting questions, sir. Such as this: if he bore ill-will against us for what happened, why would he not act on it?”
“Fear of the Warden?” Coin ventured. It seemed a logical reason: Sir Alwin seemed to possess little in the way of backbone, and the Giant of Honesty had nothing but it. One who was not intimidated by the Warden would be a fool indeed, so being wary of the man who had pinned him against a wall and threatened death was not unreasonable.
“But then why seek me out? If he was so terrified of Honesty as to keep silent, why throw himself back to us?” Lady Violet leaned back, folded her hands, and gave a deliberate look. “I have my theories, but I cannot answer these questions on my own, and I cannot be certain of our friends’ fate until I know what side he is on. I must parley with him, and soon. And if he cannot bring himself to come to me, and he refuses to let me come to him, then you must be the one to bring him.”
Coin thought about it. “But what about the Warden of Honesty?” Coin asked. It did not matter if he was Coin’s superior or not—what the Warden had done was a great wrong.
“I can assure you that my honest friend is aware of just how wrong he was, and of the potential consequences for his actions. Sir Alwin may choose not to press charges, and in that case we shall all be safe. But for now,” she said with absolute firmness, “you must not mention this to anyone. Under any circumstances, sir.”
She left the rest unspoken: not a single word of the Warden’s actions could meet the ears of the Lord Moderator, or Sir Borlund, or anyone else that might punish him for his actions. The thought of lying to a Moderator about something so heinous made his skin crawl. Is it right to keep this from them? he wondered worriedly. If Sir Alwin truly does not cast blame, that might be one thing, but what if Lady Violet is wrong? How far am I willing to do to defend something like this?
“Regardless of that,” said the lady, breaking through Coin mute protests. “I do believe that you are the man to bring Sir Alwin to the table. I thought it before, when you first joined the Mod team. Now, it has only become more urgent. I shall not lie to you: lives may very well be at stake.”
Coin mulled over that thought, and then tried to swallow his doubts. “Then I’ll do whatever I can. Though I doubt it will be much so long as I stay here,” he said, gesturing to the bed he lay in. “If you could convince the Kind Friends that I could leave, then…”
She chuckled. “I’m afraid not, Sir Coin. Doctor’s orders, and all. But,” she added with a sly look, “I may have just the thing to keep you occupied.”
The lady pulled from her bag a red leather-bound book, thick and filled with leaflets and half-loose papers. Handing it to Sir Coin, she raised an amused eyebrow. “It just so happens,” Lady Violet said, “that I have in my possession a copy of the Martes financials. Care to take a look?”
Coin gawked, with his mouth half-open. “How—”
“You may thank the Lord Moderator for that. We requested such information for our investigation, and Lord Halforth saw that it was seized and turned over before the Martes might have delayed on the matter. My hope,” she said with a finger on the book’s cover, “is that there might just be something of interest in here. Like, for example, the purchase of weapons and their subsequent disappearance, or the hiring of certain guards and their subsequent disappearance. And it also just so happens,” Lady Violet continued with a knowing look, “that I happen to have a former Knight Regulator on hand. No doubt Hans will want a chance with them as well, but… well, I daresay you might just be in your element once again, Sir Coin.”
Coin opened the book and saw them. Numbers, aligned in graphs and tables. Sweet, glorious figures, after so long. He couldn’t suppress a smile. Conspiracies, traitors, nobles, assassinations and secrets and lies upon lies—all that was another, uncomfortable world for Coin. But numbers? That was a enemy he could fight.
* * * * * *
...it so happened that John the Traveller came to rest with his sister in the lands of the Sajle, beneath the cold mountains. In this place, men were much concerned with the trade and changing of money and gold, and its kings were adorned with all manner of precious stones and sable furs. Arriving in Eh-Baj, Our Founder encountered a beggar in the streets, who prayed for alms. Though the rich displayed their wealth openly, none would spare it for this man.
“Hail, foreigner!” the beggar cried out. “My countrymen will give up nothing, but perhaps you will afford a starving man some food.”
John answered him. “I have little money, poor fellow. If I should give you money to eat, then I will not eat myself. Is it proper for me to surrender my own life for another?”
When the beggar did not answer, John continued. “The answer is yes,” he said, and thus gave all of his money away.
This was noticed by Aurheim, who was wealthy and yet lived in a barrel in the marketplace. He spoke to John. “You are a foreigner, or else I would have found you earlier. No man gives up gold easily here.”
“Most others I have seen dress in finery,” John noted. “Yet you are in black and white alone, and unadorned.”
“The man who wears wealth grows accustomed to it,” Aurheim answered. “The man accustomed to wealth seeks to increase it. The man who seeks to increase wealth will never part with it. Those who do not part with items of fortune are unwilling to risk losing them by doing good. Everyday I search the market for human beings, and all I find are animals. They do not understand that it is better to life in a barrel and do good than to live in a palace for oneself.”
“What is your name?” John asked.
“I am Aurheim,” he answered. “The people here call me Poorfellow.”
“You are the Austere,” John replied, “and your way is indeed correct.”
It was by these circumstances that Aurheim the Austere received his name.
— Excerpt from The Books of Black and White, detailing John the Traveller’s meeting with Aurheim the Austere, founder of the Knight Regulators.
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What? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HOW COULD YOU DO THIS!!!!
.... Posting this JUST as I'm getting ready to head out the door to work... taunting me with this new epicness I can't read for hours but will know is waiting....... How dare you sir.. have you no decency?
(Plus the whole, bit of a pain to type for a long time thanks to getting one of my fingers slammed into a door early this week.)
Okay, now that I have time, let's make with the commentary and see what new goodies we have here. Have the bronies dealing with the incident and working out how to respond, as well as setting up a rather great bit of internal conflict for Proxy... and poor Coin getting stuck with ytet ANOTHER task, simply by being to damn effective and competent for his own good. I feel for ya dude.. that's pretty much my job at work, do every single thing the managers want done and want to ensure gets done.
So, time to see some of the fallout from that one the other sides? Maybe finally see the Mod's smacking the Martes' in the face with a proverbial rolled up newspaper and make clear, their 'authority' don't mean shit to the mods and they need to stop acting like they can do anything at all they want without care? Or more follow up on other things? I really have no idea where this is going now.
So more stuff on the mods trips to the Chan, those names... they sound like they should matter or be familiar but can't quite place them, been awhile since I read the rest, plus I tend to be very bad with names anyway. Still about the attitude I'd expect for a mod dealing with that hellhole.
As hard as the story his hinting... there is no way it is JUST a legend, there is something to that, and I can't wait to see the full explanation.
I kind of want to see how badly some of these mods would react to an M.C. Escher painting.
Totally just a coincidence though.. yup....
*cough* Arcadio *Cough*
Ah that name I recognize... and does fit, his whole feeling more comfortable with the water over time.. getting used to it.... influenced by 'it'. Really can't wait to find out just what is going on with this. I have a general idea but be great for the details.
Well this is bizarre way to open... also nice segway with the opening history bit. So.... either back to Mars already and another vision, which seems way to soon, or given the way things usually work, Coin's having himself a nightmare. I'd say 80/20 on Coin over Mars.
Loving the atmosphere building here, just the whole wrongness... very very Lovecraftian.
Don't think I haven't noticed the yellow motif, especially with regards to one character in particular......
Mod or Brony? If Brony..... Giggle at the Ghosties? Or, another SGaP song?
.....Let's play the pronoun game! Guaranteed the best way to confuse your audience and be both annoying cryptic, and yet engagingly vague enough to make trying to figure things out all the more fun. Pretty sure it's talking about Honesty. (assuming this is Coin) But here is the question, is this some kind of vision, some external force acting on him in some subtle way... or just his own subconscious trying to put together the small pieces he's noticed?
Called it... on both counts.
At this point, I should just assume any songs mentioned at all in this work come from SGaP. Shouldn't I?
Nothing makes it harder to safely pull out a bolt like that then the person it's in flailing and screaming and ripping the wound wider.
I'm sure a Laughing Friend would have come up with an even more unorthodox, yet awesomely hilarious way to wake him up.
Or being dehydrated is entirely normal for people that have been out cold for over a day after loosing a good amount of blood.
Yup, he's REALLY going to be able to follow that instruction.
See how long that lasts...... pretty much until they get those financial records... then again that's the type of thing he can do in bed anyway.
YAY! AKA Best Mod!
AKA Third worst mod, Still showing up and looking nervous.. starting to realize the stakes he's dealing with and just what sort of complete, vile assholes he's letting win just because he's a spineless little sack of shit? Maybe starting to grow a conscience about it?
If it was.. he wouldn't be the one delivering it. No this is more about his realizing just what a fucking idiot he's been.
Yeah, totally the case, they just didn't stop it.... not even a thought that they CAUSED it? Granted as they said, all they can prove is the lack of stopping. Still, at lest they can't weasel their way out of that one.
Yup. or at least they think so, given what utter morons these guys are, while being full bore buried inside the Dunning-Krueger effect, (Stupid people tend to be to stupid to know how stupid they are) they are sure to miss somethings.
Smart, though Celia is likely one of the few that you could win over, or at least plant seeds of doubt in to make them look into it more. So telling her... yeah that could be a good idea. But yeah, find out what the bosses want done first.
"My being a spineless weasel didn't REALLY do any damage, right?"
Yip struggling with guilt now warring with his fear and trying to figure out what to do.
Again.... best Mod! Now if only the Bronies can corrupt her a little and keep her in the "Lawful Good" category rather then slipping into the "Lawful Neutral" one the mods prefer.
From most, this would be some snarky bit of poking fun.... from him... This might actually be legit him hoping he doesn't get lost and thinking he might....
Still... he's learning and slowly getting to the point of being maybe not entirely pathetic. And as much as I harp and criticize and toss shade at him, I am liking the character as a character and seeing him struggling with this. It makes for a great example and conflict, showing the bronies winning him over and trying to make him want to be a better person, and just.. yeah loving the dynamic just hope it doesn't get dragged out to long. Maybe having to face just what Arcadio has been doing to the prisoners will be enough to push him over the edge and finally get his balls to drop.
Hopefully not TO long.
Nope... which is kind of pathetic in it's own right.
I'm with him on this.. that's the bit that really irritates me about this whole thing and how long it's gone on, just how brazen it is without any hints of him not getting away with it.. hopefully that is about to change.
That's the spirit!
OHHHHHH very smart.. I see what you are planning.. at least the general idea.. and yeah Coin stands the best chance, as we just saw, former Knight, plus wounded at least in part due to Alvin's inaction.. and we've seen he's struggling so yeah be easy for Coin to play on that and get him to agree, or at least come along. Very smart.
Oh that's going to be impressive to see.......
Possibly, or more likely given his actions since... him thinking he deserved that and worse for the crap he's done.
First proxy, and now Coin, just tossing all these really interesting internal conflicts around. Still... I get his dilemma but for me.... no question, what Honesty did went to far, but he was more the justified at this point, when one side is blatantly ignoring the rules and the stakes are this high.......
Already got the financial records? that was fast.
Wait... what!? Then again his patience with them has got to be at an all time low, so there is that at least, he now dislikes BOTH sides. Give the bronies a bit of help now, so some good points to be had.
he's got a bit of The magic Friend in him it seems.
And back to the guy that created this whole Mod thing in the first place....
And again, what he was trying to do wasn't bad, he had a lot of good ideas and reasons, it's just what what he created turned into that is the issue.
For some reason... that gives me Discworld vibes.. just, that is the kind of thing I could so see happening there.
A bit convenient.. me thinks there's been a bit of... creative interpretation of these stories over time.
Still very nice set ups for things, and again love these bits showing that... for all they think in those terms, even stuff with the mods is not black and white. There is more to the story then just Lawful Stupid Knight Templars, and the founding... just... so much detail and thought and.. Celestia's fiery taint this is so AWESOME! WHY MORE PEOPLE NO TALK ABOUT THIS EPICNESS!!!!!!!!!!
So more set up of future events and showing the bronies more directly working to deal with things.. very nice, another mild, nothing major chapter, though Coin's 'vision' well....... yeah. So, now to wait for what comes next.
It seems the Friends have the initiative at last!...for the moment, at least.
Curious dream- I was sure at first it was another of Mars's visions.
7963114
Ha, apparently I need to get better at timing these releases! Hopefully I don't get anyone fired for reading this at work.
Well... not all of them.
It's definitely among the worse ways to operate on a patient.
Honestly, I think that at this point every inner conflict the Mods are involved in is basically a fight between "Lawful Good" and "Lawful Neutral." Well, with two or so "Lawful Evil" thrown in for good measure.
Halforth might be a crotchety old grouch, but at least he's a crotchety old grouch in a nonpartisan way. The man hates injustice, wherever it might be found, and you're right to note that his patience is beginning to wear very thin indeed. You'll see some consequences of that soon...
Coin honestly could settled in well with the Magic Friends - he has the love of organization and skill with figures that would suit him well as a fandom bureaucrat. Of course, the Honest Friends are the ones most inclined towards finance, along with the Generous, but there's a degree of overlap between branches such that he would have done well in any of those three. Though I would definitely say that Coin wouldn't perform well as a Laughing Friend...
Well, "the portal to Hell is paved with the incantation of good intention," right?
7964630
That confusion was very much intention on my part. I do like to keep you guessing.
7969274 if the point of that dream was mystery, then I'll have to take a jab at solving it.
my tired eyes do spy a memory of some nightmarish experience suffered tears ago by brave Sir Coin.
7971338 Unlikely.. well unlikely JUST that. While he might have some shit go wrong there, it seems anything major enough would have been mentioned by now, so doubt he has more then just the lingering dread and fear and overall sense of "This place is WRONG!" lingering from that, the whole "One does not come back from the Deep Web unchanged" aspect rather then any specific event. Far more likely, while that is in his subconscious given the talk of "He is coming for you" and "But who does he truly serve" as well as the emphasis on a bright yellow eye... seems like his subconscious trying to make some sense out of aspects of Honesty that Coin's notice that.. are just wrong.
7969274
Not likely. 1. No access to read this at work... yeah I could download it and put it on my Kindle, but then no commentary. 2. Even if I did.... I'd get lectured.yelled at a bit but no way I'd get fired over it, I was not kidding in the bit about knowing how Coin felt being the go to person for every task that comes up just through shear competence. My day is usually puttering around trying to look busy, until someone needs something that needs to be done, then getting it done. I'm pretty much that places only handyman, tech support, maintenance guy, bio-hazard clean up crew (just got reminded of that today when I got to clean up after a kids bloody nose) , mobile self updating inventory of supplies to know what we do and don't have, one of only two people that works the cash office, the only person who has actually dealt with reimbursing Petty Cash in years... yeah I'm safe. (That plus they HATE dealing with unemployment, so the only thing I've ever seen someone outright fired for is getting caught stealing.)
Hmmm, might be nice to see this in action and actually see a mod dealing with this struggle. So far the only 'inner conflict' we've seen in mods has been Spineless Mods conflict between being a decent human being, and a spineless, pathetic sack of horesapples. (Still love that one though.) Hmmmm, maybe get to see this going on with Celia? That would be VERY interesting, have her realize the shear level of fucked up shit going on here, and have to fight between her desire to help the bronies just out of being a decent human being, and following the cold hard letter of the Law. And the fact I can very clearly see Mods having this conflict (if not most of the ones we've met" just points to how good you've been at making them so fleshed out and not some monolithic force of Lawful Stupid.
He's... I won't exactly say 'fair'... but very non-partisan true. And it's why, again, as much as I do not agree with a lot of his mindset and what he might do... he's very, very much someone I can respect. Such an amazing character. The whole 'injustice' thing that... that I'm having a harder time seeing it ever displayed, but maybe that's coming once he finally realizes just what the fuck Arcadio is doing with his 'prisoners'. Hopefully soon, and yes, can't wait to see him taking the Martes to task and making life hard for them, they need some negative repercussions for the shit they've been doing at last rather then getting away with everything so blatantly.
Oh... oh... ohhh yeah... that would not go down well. But also, as I've likely mentioned, the overlap, the complexity, I love that you have that, not all perfectly divided and separate, but, each still having traits of the others, blending together.. such a great expression of the Six Who Are One.
Fixed that for you, and, very, very, very true.