Tag Archives: Imbani Akinda

Bonus #43: The Audit, part 3

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Akinda wasn’t one to flatter herself, but she thought she was doing rather well considering what had been looming all morning. Her work involved a lot of interaction with rich people in general and nobles in particular, who were arguably more dangerous than Eserite street soldiers in their way. Today, though, would be her first time facing a room of Guild enforcers who were likely to end up being pissed off by what unfolded. To be uneasy at the prospect was wholly reasonable.

But her well-practiced poker face did not suffer for the unaccustomed exercise. She smiled blandly and looked skeptically aloof as an auditor should on a routine inspection while spending the morning looking over the factory’s attached mana well, where a slowly grinding magnetic generator spun infinite circles right in a major leyline nexus and conjured a steady stream of enchanting-grade dust ready to be refined into usable form. It was a pride and mainstay of Falconer Industries, and had been the elder Mr. Falconer’s original cash cow before his son turned his personal fascination with horseless carriages into an even more lucrative empire.

Geoffrey Falconer himself had decided to join her for her noon visit to the employee services center, accompanied again by his wife. This time, to her relief, their daughter was not present. Their Butler, however, was. Depending on how events unfolded, that could prove to be very good, or cause a lot of potentially messy complications.

“I mean, there are limits,” Marguerite Falconer was saying blithely while stirring a bowl of split-pea soup with her spoon. “It’s not a feast fit for the Duke’s table or anything. The factory does need to turn a profit and we’re not running a restaurant! But we do employ dedicated cooks and kitchen staff, and there are firm standards for the quality of ingredients used.”

“And you find this is cost effective?” Akinda asked mildly, taking a sip of soup. It was hard to judge its quality objectively; she hated peas. The buttered rolls were quite good, though, and it was hard to ruin tea.

“Oh, definitely,” Geoffrey said, having swallowed his own bite of ham and peas. “Tarvedh was skeptical when Margeurite first floated this, but it made sense to me from the get-go. Obviously people do better work when they’re well-fed and don’t have to worry about fetching their own meal.”

“Tarvedh was skeptical, was he?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, now,” Mr. Tarvedh blustered, “not at the principle of the thing, merely some of the particular expenditures!”

“It is in line with Vernisite practice,” Akinda said noncommittally. “Human employees are like any beast of burden in that they are most productive when properly cared for.”

A few nearby people in overalls turned to give her flat looks at that.

“You, uh, don’t often talk doctrine in front of the beasts of burden, do you?” Marguerite asked with a reproachful frown.

In fact, she did not. Akinda cleared her throat, covering her momentary lapse by wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Speaking of which, do you often eat with the laborers?”

“Oh, not most days,” Geoffrey said blithely, gesticulating with his spoon and causing his wife to snatch it from his hand before he could spray them all with droplets of broth. “But it’s nice to have this down here, just in case, you know? And one does like to keep in touch with the staff. Can’t very well stay on top of the condition of the place if we’re always hiding away in the office.”

“Truthfully he’d eat down here more, except he often forgets to eat at all,” Marguerite added, giving her husband a fondly annoyed look. He grinned at her and retrieved his spoon.

Akinda had actually never eaten at a picnic-style table surrounded by working class people on their lunch break. She liked to think she was not so snooty as to find their company objectionable in and of itself; it was hard to analyze her own emotional reaction given the constant pressure of what she knew was going to start happening any minute. Every moment that it didn’t only increased the sense of looming threat.

The Falconer’s Butler had not sat down at the table with them, which was no surprise. Suddenly, though, he shifted to look at one of the double doors into the cafeteria from the main floor—the one closer to the factory’s entrance. Then, with no sign of hurry or change in his expression, he took two steps to the left to hover in front of the Falconers.

Akinda inhaled slowly, but deeply, and set down her spoon. Showtime.

She was now listening, and so picked up the sound of a lot of feet on the stone floor outside over the general low hubbub of the cafeteria. Neither of the Falconers had noticed their Butler’s movement; he was staring at the door, and had not yet sought their attention. At the first raised voice outside, the babble of conversation at the tables began to subside. Enough that the brief sound of a scuffle was audible, followed by a wordless shout.

Geoffrey looked up, frowning deeply. “What in—”

They streamed in through the two wide doorways, two groups of four people in mismatched attire immediately planting themselves in wedge formations inside the cafeteria to secure the entries; another foursome glided swiftly to the kitchen doors where they split up to cover those. Then more slipped in around their comrades, slowly spreading to either side to cover most of the room’s front. Not all of them were visibly carrying weapons, but…enough were.

“Excuse me!” Geoffrey said, his voice a sharp crack that cut across the rising murmurs of his employees. He got to his feet and took a step forward, clearly not intimidated by the mass of scruffy people who had just invaded his factory. Marguerite remained frozen in place, clutching a spoon, her face almost white. Tarvedh looked like he might faint.

The Butler shifted with his master, not blocking his view of the enforcers or exactly hovering, but remaining close enough that no thief who recognized the uniform was likely to make a move toward Falconer.

Akinda slowly turned fully around on her bench. She let herself stiffen, let her eyes dart nervously across the ranks of Guild enforcers forming up, just as would someone who was surprised by this development.

There were close to two dozen of them. How many practicing thieves could possibly infest a given economy? This had to be a significant chunk of the Eserite population of Madouris.

“Just what the hell is going on here?” Falconer demanded, glaring.

“Now, now, now!” The ranks in front of the closer door parted and he emerged, swaggering even as he held up both his meaty hands in a placating gesture. Rogue wasn’t dressed exactly as he’d been the night before; the dashing woodsman theme was still in place, but today’s leather doublet actually had gilded embroidery and his pointy hat and blousy shirt were a deep maroon instead of forest green. By all the gods, he was wearing a cape. “Let’s everybody remain calm, shall we? I realize this must look a certain way, but you have my personal assurance that my associates and I don’t intend to so much as ruffle anyone’s hair, nor make off with even one pilfered spoon.” He came to a stop in the forefront of the line of grim-faced thugs, grinning and tucking his thumbs into his broad leather belt. “I do, however, require a few moments of your time.”

“And you are?” Falconer replied acidly. His wife sighed heavily. Akinda had to wonder whether the man was actually brave, or just too perpetually in the clouds to fully grasp the situation. Then, too, she’d met a lot of wealthy people who couldn’t quite parse the notion that bad things could happen to them, even after they were bleeding.

“You may call me Rogue!” The man swept off his insipid little hat and executed a bow elaborate enough for the Calderaan court. “I have the honor of heading your local chapter of the esteemed Guild of Thieves. And yourself, sir! May I presume you are Mr. Geoffrey Falconer?”

“Well, you don’t seem to have trouble presuming,” Falconer snorted. “If you’ve harmed my guards—”

“I’m going to have to stop you there,” Rogue interrupted, holding up one hand as the gregarious smile melted from his face. “You probably think you’re showing some spirit in front of your subordinates and lady wife, sir, but you are not the only one here with an audience. There’s a stark limit to how much backtalk I can afford to take with my own people looking on. So what say we agree to be polite to one another, whether or not either of us likes it?”

“Now you listen to—”

“Geoffrey,” Marguerite pleaded.

He hesitated, half-turned to catch her eye and hold it for a moment. Then a little of the tension seeped from the set of his shoulders and the industrialist turned back to fix his gaze on Rogue.

“Fine,” he said, folding his arms. “What do you want?”

“Well, what do any of us want, really?” the Underboss replied, spreading his arms and grinning broadly. “Peace, justice, happiness, a wholesome world for—”

“Rogue,” interrupted one of his subordinates, a thin hawk-faced woman in a long velvet coat. “You’re doing the thing again. Just because we busted into the guy’s factory doesn’t mean we gotta waste his time.”

“I am justly rebuked,” Rogue said, giving her a sidelong glance. “Right, then, to the point. What I need from you at the moment, Mr. Falconer, is forbearance. As I have said, I’ve no intention of causing any further kerfuffle here than we already have; I believe my point is made. I can get to you, Falconer, any time I so choose. You’ll have to take my word that I can do so subtly—after all, if you knew who the Guild operatives among your staff were, that would be rather missing the point, eh? But now, you are aware the Thieves’ Guild has the forces and the will to march in here at any time we like, and do…well, really, what couldn’t we do?” He winked. “After all, what would you do to stop us?”

“And?” Falconer replied with scathing disdain.

“And that is all I have to say to you, sirrah, and thank you for indulging me.” Rogue tugged the forward point of his hat politely, then raised his chin and his voice. “To everyone else present! Clearly, you value your employment too much to squander it here and now by coming forward. But now you know that your petty overlord is not the almighty tyrant he tries to seem. The working man’s lot in life is going to start improving in Madouris, as of today, and as of here. Starting now, you can be assured that any further abuses by your employer will be…” He grinned lazily, casually rolling a coin across his fingers. “…addressed. We’ll be around, never you fear.”

Akinda’s blood had gone cold, and not because she feared incipient violence—in fact, quite the contrary. Her entire strategy here counted on Rogue creating a confrontation; it had not occurred to her that he might throw down an offer of support and then leave. Did he really need to bring so many enforcers just to do this? Of course he did, she realized. Shows of force were the only language Eserites understood, and this was her fault for assuming that meant they were completely unreasonable. Between the Duke and her own cult pulling strings even Rogue couldn’t entirely be blamed for having been maneuvered into this position.

Now, she had to find a way to push this to a head or the entire endeavor would be a complete loss. And there was just no way she could see that didn’t involve exposing herself…and therefore becoming a personal target of the Guild’s vengeance.

Akinda, for the first time in a long time, froze. Was that a sacrifice she was willing to make? Was it one she should? Would the bank expect it of her, or chide her for recklessness?

And then it was abruptly taken out of her hands.

“You have got some god damn nerve!” roared a man at the next table over, shooting to his feet so suddenly he almost knocked over the bench, and the two coworkers still sitting on it. He was a burly, towering specimen even for a factory laborer, with the handy addition of an immensely bushy black beard to enhance his fearsome scowl. “You come into our factory, you threaten our boss, an’ you wanna talk to us about abuse? Fuck you Eserite pigs!”

An ugly murmur rose in the cafeteria—no, more of a growl, Akinda decided. The assembled crowd of laborers shifted, a stir running through them like a great hibernating beast twitching as it dreamed. Instantly, at least half the thieves in front of them straightened up visibly, reacting on instinct to a threat.

“Yes, yes,” Rogue said in a tone of condescending faux-mollification, “I was made aware that the bosses have their sycophants, as in every—”

“Piece of shit!” screeched another woman, surging forward from her seat the next row of tables back and almost tripping over a bench even as she leveled an accusing finger at the Underboss. “You wanna call Rajesh a sycophant? How about you come over here and do it to his face without your little posse, then?”

Far from being displeased at being thus nominated, the big Rajesh—who was one of the few men in the room physically larger than Rogue—cracked his knuckles, glaring at the Underboss. All around him, more of the employees were rising from their benches, and several had started to stalk forward to the front row of tables.

The row of thieves began inching forward, as well. It seemed that not only were street soldiers sensitive to a hostile mood, but their innate response to it wasn’t a sensible retreat. None raised weapons yet, but a few had started to finger them.

And Akinda, right on the front row of tables, was positioned between the two groups. Well, the good news was she could return to worrying about her physical safety and not her whole plan going belly-up.

“Everyone, please,” Falconer said, turning back to face his employees and finally, it seemed, starting to understand the potential danger here, “let’s not make this worse.”

Rogue was frowning, his eyes cutting back and forth across the increasingly angry crowd of factory workers. Akinda could see him doing the math. Nearly the entire room was furious, many enough to push aggressively forward, and he hadn’t even hit anyone. They reacted this way in near unanimity to having their boss merely insulted and threatened. To a man like Rogue, accustomed to both manipulating individuals and steering large groups, the evidence of Falconer’s popularity was staring him right in the face.

He fixed his gaze on Akinda, and she tried to look confused and alarmed. She wasn’t his sole source of intel on the state of this factory, but he couldn’t miss the significance of her contribution. The plan was for her to be out of the province anyway before the Guild could begin unraveling any retribution against her, but if he decided to make an issue of it here and now…

Meanwhile, the rest of the thieves were growing increasingly nervous, which in their case meant increasingly ready to fight. The cafeteria full of laborers might not be professional knuckledusters, but every one of them had the well-muscled frame of someone who did heavy labor for a living, and they outnumbered the Guild’s presence by a good five to one. If this became a brawl, it was likely to end with Madouris emptied of Eserite presence for the foreseeable future.

Apparently Rogue either bought her helpless act or decided to put off dealing with her for later. Shifting his attention back to the crowd, he raised his hands again. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you please…”

“Get outta here!” a woman’s voice rang out, quickly echoed by a chorus of agreement. The growling crowd pushed a few steps farther, momentarily cutting off Akinda’s view as they shifted in front of her table. She reflexively pushed herself back against it as the sounds of scuffling broke out.

The crowd parted again, letting her see, and apparently the two fronts hadn’t clashed yet; in fact, there were a couple of matching tableaus where particularly aggressive thieves and workers were being held back by their fellows.

A roll of bread went sailing over the front ranks of the laborers, accompanied by an upsurge in the angry noise.

Rogue snatched it out of the air and took a big bite. His eyes widened in surprise. “Hey, that’s pretty good! Are these fresh? And it’s… Is that rosemary and butter?”

He pitched his voice a little too loud for a man commenting on a buttered roll, but it had the designed effect. The crowd—both crowds—calmed slightly as he carried on, studying the bread in his hand and chomping enthusiastically away.

“Well,” the Underboss said after pausing to swallow, “I’m starting to think I’ve been misinformed on a few important points. I realize we’ve already overstayed our welcome a tad, but if you’d indulge me just a moment longer—”

“Fuck off outta here!” one of the laborers yelled, igniting another angry push forward.

“Now just a minute!” Falconer shouted, himself pushing to the head of the crowd. “That’s enough of this. Everybody calm down!” He turned to stare at his employees, waiting for the muttering to subside somewhat, before returning his attention to Rogue. “What, exactly, were you misinformed about?”

The Underboss had taken another bite of the roll and was chewing while watching this scene play out, still projecting a picture of perfect calm. Akinda forced herself to breathe evenly. At least the two men in charge here had enough leadership ability to set an example to their respective groups.

Rogue swallowed and casually brushed off his fingers on his jerkin. “Now, I say this to inquire, not to accuse. Just repeating some stories I’ve been told, you understand. But on the matter of Falconer Industries employees being required to work extra hours, unpaid, and threatened with dismissal if they didn’t—”

“There is nothing like that here,” Geoffrey burst out, glaring.

“With all respect, Falconer,” Rogue replied, actually showing a little respect in his demeanor now, “that’s also what you’d say if that were going on, isn’t it? If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear from—”

“You heard the man!” interrupted another FI laborer, a short but barrel-chested man with dark Onkawi features, pushing to the front of the crowd. “This is a good job. We make the best damn carriages in the Empire and we get paid well for our work. Everybody here is proud of our company!”

The chorus of agreement was very nearly a roar.

“I see,” Rogue said, raising his bushy eyebrows in a serious expression. “And, for another example… These tales I’ve heard, of employees taking sick and their children having to step into their jobs so they don’t lose their positions?”

“Bullshit!” squawked a woman with steel-gray hair, pointing accusingly at him. “We get sick leave, we do! An’ four times a year Mr. Falconer brings a doctor in an’ everybody here gets whatever treatment he can do for whatever it is we got, on the company time. He set my daughter’s busted leg, he did, an’ she don’t even work for FI!”

Rogue, again, let his eyes flicker back and forth across the assembled factory workers while they shouted a disjointed chorus of agreement. He took another bite of buttered roll, chewing for a strategic pause while letting the noise die down somewhat. Geoffrey Falconer also waited, eyes narrowed; thankfully, so did the assembled thieves, though some of them clearly weren’t happy with the prospect.

“Well, this is awfully embarrassing,” Rogue said at last, turning to his compatriots. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to say that we have been played for chumps! It looks like we’ve got no business here after all.”

“Damn right!” someone shouted from among the workers, quickly repeated by others.

“Mister Falconer,” Rogue intoned, turning around again and sweeping off his hat in another deep bow. “Assembled men and women of this esteemed establishment! You have my humble apologies for this disruption. It seems I was in error to have so accused you—truly, I am sorry to have caused you trouble. I will be taking my people and myself and getting out of your hair as swiftly as possible.”

“What about her?” The oily-looking young man who spoke was better dressed than most of the thieves in a well-fitting suit, with slicked-back hair and sharp features; he was a stranger to Akinda, but he clearly knew her, and stared accusingly. “If we’ve been misled, it’s obvious who did it.”

“It’s anything but, Thumper,” Rogue said with an ostentatious roll of his eyes. “Whatever person is right in front of you is rarely the one to blame for whatever’s on your mind, and I know we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yeah, but she—”

Rogue turned to stare at him, and that was enough. Thumper clamped his mouth shut, scowling.

“Again, my sincere apologies,” the Underboss said to Geoffrey, holding up the half-eaten roll. “Thanks for lunch, Falconer. It’s on me, next time.”

“Hold it,” the industrialist said flatly. “After all this, you think you’re just going to walk away? I think I want to have this conversation with you and the police present.”

“Falconer,” Rogue said in a very even tone, “today you have seen the Thieves’ Guild made a fool of. That, sir, is a rare treat for anyone. Now, I truly am sorry to have unduly burdened you. I’m willing to say that I owe you a favor for the trouble—so long as it doesn’t end up being anything too unreasonable. Like, for example, that.”

“Geoffrey,” Marguerite said quietly, “let it go. They’re leaving. That’s good enough.”

Falconer folded his arms again, fixing Rogue with a stare which the thief met without flinching while his assembled enforcers began streaming out through the cafeteria doors. Rogue was the last out; he paused, tipping his hat once again, before vanishing.

Akinda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and felt the tension begin to leak from her body. Slowly, she turned back around on her seat, and found herself face to face with Marguerite Falconer, who was staring at her over steepled fingers.

“Why,” Marguerite asked calmly, ignoring the noise going on around them as the crowd of factory workers began expelling the pent-up tension of the encounter, “would the Thieves’ Guild blame you for their misconceptions about this company, Ms. Akinda?”

Her husband, now, was also staring at Akinda. As was Tarvedh, the Butler, and a couple of nearby laborers who had overheard.

Akinda cleared her throat. “I wonder if I could trouble you for a word in private, Mr. and Mrs. Falconer?”

“Yes,” Geoffrey said pointedly, regarding her with a decidedly unfriendly expression, “yes, I think that is a good idea.”


“With the rapid advancement of the science of enchantment has come rapid industrialization. That’s not news to you, of course,” Akinda said, nodding politely to the two Falconers once they were safely ensconced in their top-floor office. Tarvedh had not accompanied them this time, though the Butler remained discreetly by the closed door. “You have probably had reason to think about the social changes this has brought; the new industrial class are the first incidence of a rising economic power that can compete with the nobility since the first merchant guilds were formed.”

“Yes,” Marguerite said wryly, folding her arms, “Duke Madouri has made that a point of interest to us.”

“And that’s it exactly,” said Akinda. “Responses among the nobles to social change vary widely, but as a group they tend to feel threatened by anything which shifts the landscape on which their privileges rest. Some have moved to profit from the great manufacturing companies springing up within their fiefs. Others have Madouri’s attitude. You may not be aware of this, but a very old trick in the aristocracy’s perpetual maneuvers against each other is to try to trip one another into conflict with the Thieves’ Guild. That’s practically the preferred regional sport in Calderaas. Unfortunately, while the Houses are prepared to play that game, people like you are most often blindsided by it. In the last ten years, there have been several promising companies damaged and in some cases completely dismantled by the Guild over offenses which in hindsight proved to have been completely fabricated.”

“Really,” Geoffrey said, frowning. Now both of them had pensive expressions, which was an improvement over their hostile ones of a moment before.

Akinda nodded. “Eserites, like all religious people, are prone to a few predictable flaws. Once they smell corruption and abuse, they pursue it single-mindedly enough that they can easily gloss over exonerating evidence, even with the best intentions. That is the reason for my presence, and involvement. Obviously, the Guild doesn’t need outside help to investigate Falconer Industries. They do have people here already, as Rogue said. But those people are looking for weaknesses, not reasons to back off. My bank went to a great deal of trouble to give Rogue the impression that he could use me to ferret out your secrets, and arranged for him to acquire falsified evidence of some trumped-up crimes on my part. He believes he is blackmailing me into complying with his efforts here.”

“You’re telling me,” Geoffrey said flatly, “that Duke Madouri manipulated the Thieves’ Guild into attacking my factory.”

“Yes,” she said. “And the Vernisite bank in Madouris, which had been watching for such activity, warned central bank in Tiraas, which sent me. My assignment was to re-direct the Guild’s efforts.”

“You couldn’t just warn them?” Marguerite demanded.

“They don’t listen to bankers,” Akinda replied, shaking her head. “Our relationship with the Guild is rather one-sided. We find them an extremely useful measure against corruption, even within our own ranks—but that only works so long as they keep us at arm’s length, so we deliberately make no effort to cozy up to them.”

“And you couldn’t warn us?” Geoffrey snapped.

“For that, I apologize,” she said, inclining her head. “It’s policy. We tried that, early on; the effect was, consistently, industrialists taking aggressive measures either against the Thieves’ Guild or their noble tormentors, with predictably disastrous results.”

“I can’t believe anyone would do something that stupid,” he huffed.

“Yes, you can,” Marguerite said with a sigh. “You almost did it not ten minutes ago, Geoffrey. Don’t make that face, you were that close to throwing a punch at that guy and you know it.”

“Now,” Akinda said, “the Guild knows better than to attack you. Rogue has been embarrassed and will look into his sources of information with greater care. He will find details my bank has planted revealing the source of Madouri’s original misdirections, and turn his anger on the Duke. Madouri will bleed for this, and hopefully not try it again. Most importantly, his reprisal will come from the Thieves’ Guild and not from Falconer Industries, giving him no pretext to punish you.”

They stared at her, then turned to each other and shared a silent married conversation. Then turned back to her, still staring.

Akinda cleared her throat discreetly. “Needless to say, the bank regrets the imposition, and greatly appreciates your role in this affair, unwitting as it was. This has been a success for everyone—Falconer Industries, the bank, even the Thieves’ Guild. Well, everyone except Duke Madouri, who is soon to be given a lesson in not antagonizing Eserites. This ostensible audit was a formality anyway; FI is an excellent company and has been consistently a valued business partner. Your loan is approved, at twenty-five percent above the asked amount.”

“No.” Geoffrey Falconer stepped closer to her, staring right into her eyes. His wife remained behind, and matched his glare.

“No?” Akinda raised an eyebrow.

“We’ll take the amount originally applied for,” he stated. “And we will take it at zero interest, with no defined term of repayment.”

Akinda could only gape at him for a moment.

“Ah. Mr. Falconer, the bank of course wishes to accommodate you under the circumstances, but not to the extent of obviating the reason we give loans.”

“Tough,” he said flatly. “You can tell this to your bank, Akinda: I don’t need more money from you, I need you to walk away with your knuckles stinging. This scheme of yours came within a hair’s breadth of setting Thieves’ Guild brawlers on my employees. Omnu’s breath, my daughter could have been here. You will hurt for this, is that understood? If the bank will not accept my terms—or if you ever again put any of my people in danger for any reason—I will go right to the Duke, to the Guild… The Empire, the Universal Church, the Sisterhood of Avei, everyone I can think of who even might take exception to a Pantheon cult engaging in this kind of chicanery. I know very well that I’m not a sly manipulator like your masters, Akinda. But I have money, I have magic, and I am pissed off. I’m willing to bet that by the time I get finished throwing blind punches, you’ll have lost a lot more than the interest you would’ve made off this loan. Am I understood?”

He met her gaze in silence after finishing, waiting for her to answer. Akinda stared back, then shifted her eyes to look behind him at his wife. Marguerite raised on eyebrow at her.

“Well,” she said at last, “obviously, I cannot personally authorize such a measure. But I will convey your, ah, terms to the bank. And,” she added, “I will encourage them in the firmest language possible to take your offer, Mr. Falconer. In this particular situation, I am reasonably confident I can persuade the bank to agree.”

“Good.” He turned his back on her and walked back to his wife, who took his hand with an expression of pride. “Then I bid you good day, Ms. Akinda. This audit is concluded.”

She bowed, just for good measure, then turned and walked out, the Butler opening the office door for her. Outside the office, Akinda allowed herself a soft sigh of relief.

Not the outcome she’d gone in looking for, or expecting, but…one she would accept. A hoarder had been thwarted, the bank could continue doing business, and the company would thrive.

It must flow. And for now, at least, it would.

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Bonus #42: The Audit, part 2

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It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared; Akinda’s work in the heights of finance took her to a surprising number of dingy dives, but this particular bar seemed borderline respectable. Certainly on the shabby side for the neighborhood, which lay in the very shadow of the walled hill on which loomed the manor complex of House Madouri, itself practically a fortified town in the middle of the city of Madouris. Of course, she recognized the role such a bar in such a place served: it was a discreet haven in which the city’s movers and shakers could conduct shady dealings.

Of the kind she was doing now.

Akinda had set herself up in what was probably the most popular seat in the house, a corner booth with an unobstructed view of the entrance. Luckily there had been no competition for the spot, and in fact she was the only person present save the sleepy-looking bartender. No great surprise, as it was still barely evening, early enough that the bar had only just opened. She laid out a folder of papers before her which she pretended to peruse while also pretending to sip at her glass of wine. Mostly, she studied the disinterested man behind the bar, the door to the quiet street outside, the other booths, the smoke-stained posters advertising long-defunct plays, the glimpses of dark wood paneling peeking between them. This place had fairy lamps, but just two and the old kind that flickered almost like torches.

Fortunately, her date didn’t keep her waiting long enough to wonder whether he had actually understood her necessarily cryptic message. The bartender looked up at the opening door, nodding a greeting to the man who stepped inside and then paused, blinking in the bar’s dimness.

Akinda raised one hand, beckoning him over, and he squared his shoulders, stepping forward.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked pointedly while the guest passed in front of him, and Akinda was somewhat displeased to see that he had the manners to stop and order a beer rather than loiter in the establishment for free. For her purposes, it would be better if this guy were the worst sort of bitter malcontent. If he actually had legitimate grievances to share with her, this could get complicated.

Thomas Schroeder was a tall man, his naturally lanky build filled out by years of factory work; he was, at least so far, all muscle and no gut. He had the classic Stalweiss coloring, or what was commonly thought to be such. Stalweiss who had brown hair and dark eyes could tan and pass for Tiraan, if they were lucky. Actual discrimination was rare in this day and age, but it happened, especially to pale blondes like Schroeder. She wondered if that had done anything to shape his attitude.

“Thank you for joining me, Mr. Schroeder,” she said politely while he slipped into the seat across from her with a bottle of what was probably the cheapest beer this place had, and still an indulgence for a man on a factory laborer’s wages.

“Sure,” he said noncommittally, watching her closely and not opening his beverage just yet. “You’re investigating the factory, right? You’re what, Treasury?”

“Treasury agents don’t make polite requests,” she said with dour amusement, “nor hold their meetings in discreetly out-of-the-way bars. No, if any Imperial Marshal wanted to talk with you, Mr. Schroeder, they’d be very…insistent. There will be nothing like that here; I am simply a representative of the central bank in Tiraas, looking to have a conversation.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding in understanding. There were, of course, a plethora of banks in Tiraas, and any institution in the capital had some grounds to call itself “central.” Everyone who knew the first thing about banks, though, knew which one was meant when it was just called a bank and not named. That was why she always introduced herself thus; the combination of money and the backing of a major cult sufficed to keep most people polite. “So, what can I do for you, then?”

“I am conducting an audit of Falconer Industries,” she said briskly, “preparatory to approving the loan sought from my bank for the upcoming expansion. I’m sure you’ve heard about it.”

“Of course,” he said, still wary.

“The upper management is very cooperative,” she continued in a neutral voice, “but naturally they take care to show me only the sides of their operations they wish known. In the interest of thoroughness, I like to get the input of employees… Off the record, in settings where they feel comfortable being honest.”

He slowly shoved the beer bottle back and forth between his hands, frowning at her. To her practiced eye, his expression betrayed a distinctive venal eagerness she had seen countless times. He didn’t jump at the bait just yet, however. “Sure, I understand that… I’m not looking to get on the wrong side of the bosses either. If you’re looking for somebody to bad-mouth the factory, I’m not your guy.”

Were that true, he’d have said so with a firm look at least and likely visible offense, not a coy sidelong glance. Bless Gimmick’s careful eyes, she had a real prospect here. Akinda leaned forward, adopting an earnest expression. “And yet, you did agree to meet with me. I promise you, Mr. Schroeder, no one values discretion as much as a banker. I carefully protect any source of valuable information. The bank takes great care to cultivate those who prove fruitful.”

An overt offer of compensation wouldn’t do. In this case, it shouldn’t be necessary. If she had read him correctly, he had enough reasons to supply what she needed without wanting to be paid for it.

And indeed, Schroeder matched her posture, pushing his beer aside to lean toward her across the table. “Well, I suppose the gods can’t fault a man for being truthful. As long as my name doesn’t get back to my boss in connection with this…”

“As long as anyone outside this booth is concerned, Mr. Schroeder, I have no idea who you are.”

There it was. The smile—small, controlled, but eager and malicious. Yep, he was one of those all right. “What would you like to know, then?”

“The bank must be fully aware of any risks before lending money,” she said smoothly. “Falconer Industries looks like an inviting prospect for investment, but large companies are often adept at putting on a good face in front of auditors. The most common pitfalls involve mismanagement. Abusive practices by the owners, anything which might make it difficult to retain employees…”

She’d had to dangle the bait pretty blatantly, but he finally snapped at it.

“You won’t hear this from Tarvedh or most of the floor supervisors,” Schroeder said, lowering his voice and leaning further forward. “Bunch of suck-ups—they’re all on the golden teat. But unless you’ve gotten in good with their little circle, you’ve got no future at FI. It’s the worst kind of old boy’s club, Ms. Akinda.” So he did know her name; he’d clearly paid closer attention than he wanted to let on. “Competence and work ethic don’t mean a thing—it’s whether you’re willing to do favors, sweep things under the rug, and especially keep your mouth shut.”

Big bucket of nothing, so far. “Have you some personal experience with these…problems?”

His face creased bitterly. “Don’t I ever. I’d be a senior supervisor long since if seniority meant a damn thing. But I’m the one who doesn’t stand for corner-cutting or slacking off. That’s my job, keeping those under me on task. Stupid me, caring enough about the factory to point out the same going on above my head! It goes right up to Falconer himself. Doesn’t matter that the work gets done fast or right, just that his favorites get preferential treatment.”

“This is very pertinent information, Mr. Schroeder,” she encouraged. “Can you give specific examples?”

Over the next five minutes, Akinda lost any hint of respect she might have felt for Thomas Schroeder while he launched into a laundry list of the pettiest non-issues imaginable. She immediately had enough information to eviscerate him verbally, had that been her goal, but instead she kept subtly goading him to keep talking, and to reveal himself for a venal, entitled little man who lorded his small amount of power over his subordinates and bitterly resented his resulting unpopularity among his colleagues. It was the work of a few noncommittal questions to reveal that he was passed over for raises and promotions because of his own performance, and his grievances were the imaginings of a narcissist with no room in his worldview for self-reflection. People like this were everywhere, unfortunately, an eternal pestilence hiding in the ranks of every employer. She had handled them by the dozen over the years. Akinda personally wouldn’t have passed up Schroeder for promotion, but tossed him out on his ear. Then again, nobody had ever put her in charge of a business.

His petty nonsense was precisely what she needed right now, so she let him talk, listening with half an ear while thinking ahead on how to guide this in the proper direction.

The door opened. Akinda did not betray herself by looking up, but well-practiced instinct warned her that time was up.

“Useful as this is,” she said, interrupting a tiresome anecdote about how Schroeder had been humiliated by his own superior for reasonably disciplining a tardy employee (probably spoken to in private for berating someone who’d been caught in a thunderstorm), “the bank won’t attach much credence to the personal accounts of one laborer. The way you describe the factory, there must be a great deal of unrest that your employees are afraid to bring up openly.”

“Yeah, that’s it exactly,” he agreed, nodding eagerly. She kept her eyes on him, though most of her attention was now on the soft footsteps pacing toward their corner booth. “I’ve been lucky enough because I’ve been with the company for years. Most of my subordinates, it’d be more than their job’s worth to say anything.”

“Well, that sounds like a truly terrible state of affairs, and no mistake!”

Schroeder looked up, a portrait of startlement, and then scowled. “Excuse me, this is a private conversation.” Akinda just sighed.

The man who had joined them could easily have looked ridiculous, were he not large enough to be menacing just by existing, or did he not exude self-assurance like a cloud of cologne. He actually wore a leather jerkin and a pointed felt hat with a jaunty little feather; his weathered face sported a waxed handlebar mustache and matching goatee. Between the heavy knife hanging from his belt and the way his blousy sleeves were rolled up to expose hairy forearms that looked capable of lifting an ox, he probably didn’t have to endure much ribbing over his ostentatious costume.

“Why, so it is, and my apologies for interrupting you,” the big man replied with a grin, snagging a chair from a nearby table and sliding it deftly up to the side of theirs. Backward, of course; he immediately sat down with his legs spread to either side of the back and arms folded across it. “But as it happens, I’ve an interest in these matters, too! Ms. Akinda and I share a mission, you see.”

“We share nothing, Rogue,” she said distastefully.

Schroeder’s eyebrows shot upward and he took a second look at the new arrival’s hat. “Rogue? As in…the adventuring class of, what, two hundred years ago?”

“A bit more modern, but yes, you might consider it an homage, as the Glassians say,” Rogue replied blithely, a doubloon appearing in his fingers. That was a really impressive trick, what with his sleeves being rolled above his elbows. It was the way he rolled the coin across the backs of his hairy knuckles, though, that caught Schroeder’s attention.

The man’s face drained of what little color it had. “Now, look here,” he stammered, “I want nothing to do…”

“Friend, let me put you at ease,” Rogue said, closing his hand around the doubloon and leaning forward over his chair back. Considering everything else about him, it was remarkable how he could suddenly project a reassuring countenance. “An honest, hard-working man such as yourself has nothing to fear from the Thieves’ Guild. Even if you won’t believe we act with a moral purpose, well…” He winked, flashing a row of flawlessly even white teeth. “No offense, old fellow, but what’ve you got that’s worth the trouble of stealing?”

Schroeder actually un-tensed slightly. That was no good; she could not allow these two to have an open conversation. A man like Rogue would immediately see right through a small-minded fool like Schroeder, and then the whole operation might be blown. So she put a little more fear into him.

“Rogue is the Thieves’ Guild Underboss for all of Madouris,” Akinda said flatly, still giving the thief an unfriendly stare. Schroeder immediately re-tensed, and then did so further when she continued. “And if I’m not mistaken, that is one of his lackeys blocking us into this bar.”

“Now, now,” Rogue said, favoring her with an amused little smile. “That’s most uncharitable, Ms. Akinda. Neither of you are prevented from leaving, you have my word of honor! Style is just insuring that we won’t be interrupted.”

“Though the next person who calls me lackey is gonna choke on their own teeth,” the beefy woman now lounging in the door with her arms crossed announced aloud. Akinda could immediately see why a man like Rogue would pick this specimen as his enforcer; she wore a hat even more ridiculous than his, a broad-brimmed Punaji number bristling with ostrich and peacock feathers. Even more ostentatious was her knee-length crushed velvet coat, jewel blue with gaudy golden embroidery, and lace visible at the neck and cuffs. It must be absolutely humiliating to get beaten up by a woman dressed like a cabaret fancy lad.

“She’s all bark,” Rogue said, grinning at them. “You have my personal guarantee of safety—the both of you,” he added directly to Akinda. “The Guild is not in the habit of molesting people who assist us.”

“Even under duress?” she snorted.

“Especially then,” he said glibly. “Now. We were discussing Falconer Industries, and its mistreatment of its employees.”

Schroeder swallowed loudly. “Oh. Um. I, uh, that is, I wouldn’t…”

“And this is why you came to me,” Akinda said disdainfully, reaching across the table to pat his wrist. “Normal, decent, working-class people are not going to want to speak with the likes of you, Rogue. It’s funny the effect a long record of violence and intimidation has on people’s disposition.”

“Yes, alas, I fear not all of that resentment is unearned,” he said with a woeful sigh, shaking his head. “I maintain that the Guild is the ally of the working man against their corrupt bosses—but you are far from wrong, Ms. Akinda. When you solve problems by breaking the fingers causing the problems, efficacious as that is, it does tend to spook people. So! Since you have so generously agreed to help us, let me put it to you!” He had the gall to grin and wink at her again, pausing to let sink in the reminder that he was extorting her into helping him. “How would you recommend we go about addressing these terrible injustices?”

Akinda played the part well, if she thought so herself—but then, it was by no means her first time on stage. She averted her eyes, staring angrily at the wall for a moment, then turned a speculative look on Schroeder just long enough for him to get good and nervous about what she was thinking, and to let it show on his face. Then she sighed softly, shot one resentful sidelong glance at Rogue, and finally lowered her eyes to the table top. The tension, at least, was real; the Underboss had handed her exactly the golden opportunity she needed, which only made her more cognizant of all the ways this could abruptly blow up in her face if she lost control.

“You can hardly burst into the factory and start bludgeoning Geoffrey Falconer,” she began by waffling. “The Duke and the Empire would come down on you hard, not to mention how that would look to the public. If you think you’re not liked now…”

“Yes,” Rogue agreed equably, “not to mention that the Falconers have a Butler. He’s not always at the factory, but they have a way of turning up when they’re needed. Have you noticed that?”

“It hasn’t really come up in my line of work,” she said bitterly, scowling at him, then looked away again and made a show of reluctance. “…I’ve been invited to examine the employee services area in detail, while it is in use. Tomorrow during the main line shift’s lunch break. Apparently most of the floor workers will be in the cafeteria then, save the maintenance crews who’ll take the opportunity to once-over the production equipment. Right?” she prompted Schroeder, who twitched.

“Um, that is, yes,” he squeaked, and Akinda had to carefully withhold contempt from her face. Pathetic twit. “That’s, uh, part of why they want to put in the second production line. You know, two shifts on rotating, um… But now, yes, everyone will be at lunch at the same time. Almost. Almost everyone.”

She patted his hand again to stop him talking.

“Interesting,” Rogue mused, raising one eyebrow. “All the employees, gathered together. But you were just saying, Ms. Akinda, that getting these folks to listen to the likes of us would be rather an uphill battle.”

“Because you are half-mythic boogeymen as far as they’re concerned,” she snapped. “Based on what Mr. Schroeder has been telling me, their fear of their bosses is far more immediate and real. If a bunch of boogeymen suddenly descended on the factory in the middle of the day…say, when the upper management are guaranteed to be there and can’t afford to act too brutally due to my presence…”

“Why, I believe I catch the drift of your thoughts!” he said, grinning. “If there is one thing we Eserites are good at, it’s frightening the mighty. Enough street soldiers on site and, Butler or no Butler, Falconer will have to give these grievances a good listen!”

“And with the Butler here,” she added pointedly, “I’ll be at least somewhat confident you people will restrain yourselves. The Falconers have a young child, Rogue. She was at the factory yesterday, and apparently often is.”

“My dear lady,” he said, suddenly solemn and holding up a hand, “not only does the Guild suffer no abuse of children, I personally make it policy among all in my chapter not to, shall we say, correct the manners of even the most deserving rich bastards where impressionable young eyes might see. The truth is,” he added earnestly, “we do a lot less kneebreaking than you think, Ms. Akinda. You think that because we work hard to encourage the misconception! The more people think we’re one hair from a bloodbath, you see, the less often we have to actually perpetrate one.”

“I suppose that does make a certain psychotic kind of sense,” Akinda huffed, turning her eyes back to the other man present. “Mr. Schroeder, you don’t look well.”

“Oh.” He actually jumped at being addressed, and swallowed heavily. “Um. No, I’m…no worries…”

In truth he didn’t look well; hopefully Rogue would put it down to nerves at the presence of a Guild Underboss at the table, though Schroeder’s reaction was a little extreme for that. The man was pale as a sheet and glistening with sweat even in the dimness of the bar. He actually looked like he was deciding whether to faint or hurl—an appropriate dilemma for a man who had just discovered that his easily-disprovable bullshit had just conjured up the presence of actual monsters and created the looming likelihood of someone getting hurt. Someone very likely to be himself.

“Why, she’s got the right of it, old man!” Rogue cried, suddenly the very picture of amicable concern. “You look half-dead! Must have been something in the beer.”

“Oh, screw you, Rogue,” the bartender said from behind him, confirming Akinda’s suspicion that this was a Guild establishment.

“I think,” the Underboss continued, ignoring the interjection, “you might want to stay home from work tomorrow.”

Akinda could have cheered. In fact, this was all going almost suspiciously well; was it possible Rogue knew what she was up to and was setting her up for a fall? She didn’t see how—either how he could know, or what he might be trying to achieve if that were the case. But with Eserites, you could never be sure. For the moment she could only play the game to the best of her ability.

“There are any number of turns tomorrow’s events might take,” she said aloud to Schroeder, in a gentler tone, “some of which might prove perilous for the man who provided valuable information to the cult of Verniselle, which was then stolen by those who do such things,” she finished in a deliberately bitter tone.

“Um. Yes, actually, now you mention it,” Schroeder said tremulously. “Perhaps…a day resting up’ll put me right.”

“Capital idea,” Rogue said pleasantly, and Akinda nodded. If Thomas Schroeder had any sense, he would be in Shaathvar by lunch tomorrow. The Rails weren’t running at this hour, but he could be in Tiraas to catch the first caravans in the morning. She would have felt a lot worse about descending upon his life and then upending it so, had he not been such a sniveling little pustule of a man. “So, then! I believe we have, at least, a place to start.”

Rogue winked at her again, and she pressed her lips into a thin, disapproving line which did not entirely have to be feigned. “Yes…so far, so good.”

That much was true. So far, so good. If it all continued to go well, this would all be wrapped up tomorrow. Of course, the fact that it had gone so well already made her distinctly apprehensive about the future. The gods made playthings of the overconfident.

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Bonus #41: The Audit, part 1

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This chapter topic was requested by Kickstarter backer Jonathan Hogg!

“And here we are!” Tarvedh said as grandly as if ushering her into a throne room. He pulled open the frosted glass doors and stepped aside, actually bowing her to precede him into the office. Akinda acknowledged the gesture with a nod in passing, wondering about his demeanor. He, of all people, should know better than to try to suck up to her.

The central office of Falconer Industries was not what she had expected. It was a large space, though not as much as one might expect from the beating heart of a factory this size, and looked more like the private lab of some absent-minded wizard than the headquarters of a manufacturing company. The square room was bordered on three sides by glass: one wall of tall windows looking out at the factory’s front drive, the one opposite overlooking the main assembly line a story below, and the third of frosted glass in which the door was set. Directly across from her, the far wall could only barely be identified as brick, it was so covered in runic diagrams, enchanting schematics, and miscellaneous notes, some of which glowed subtly as if somebody had been jotting down ideas in expensive enchanting ink instead of the customary black. The whole room was a profusion of mismatched, comfortably battered furniture and enchanting paraphernalia, both free-standing equipment scattered about with no apparent plan and an assortment of power crystals and vials of glittering dust interspersed with the drifts of papers covering every flat surface—including, in some places, the floor. Somebody had scrawled what looked like a haphazard summoning circle on the floorboards in the corner.

Three of the four people present looked up at her entry, the smallest abruptly cutting off strumming a guitar, and Akinda was left standing there under their eyes while Tarvedh bustled around her into the office, pulled the door shut behind him, and finally turned to make the introductions.

“Here she is, sir,” he said with the same peculiar eagerness. “Mr. Falconer, this is Auditor Akinda. Ms. Akinda, Geoffrey Falconer.”

“Imbani Akinda,” she clarified, stepping forward and extending her hand.

“Ah! Of course, hello! Good morning!” Falconer was a nondescript man in his thirties who wouldn’t have been taken, at a glance, for either a brilliant enchanter or one of the richest people in the Empire. He set down the rod and vial of arcane dust with which he’d been working—rather carelessly, causing the vial to spill sparkling powder across his diagram—and hurried across the office to clasp her hand.

“Geoffrey!” the woman near him said in exasperation, snatching up a rag and rushing to join them as both Falconer and Akinda jumped slightly at the electric shock that snapped between their hands.

“Oh! Gods, I’m sorry,” the industrialist said, wincing and withdrawing his grip. His hands—and now Akinda’s—bore smears of enchanting dust. “Really, I do apologize, I have no excuse. You’d think that by this time I’d have learned…”

“He does that to everyone,” the woman said, offering Akinda the rag with a smile. “Employees, Imperial Marshals, Duke Madouri, everyone. It’s a wonder nobody’s shot him yet. The cloth is clean and magically neutral, I assure you. I make sure to keep them on hand,” she added, giving Mr. Falconer a look.

“No harm done,” Akinda said neutrally, wiping the arcane residue off her hand.

“My better half, Marguerite,” Falconer said, slipping an arm around the woman’s shoulders. Despite her remonstrative expression, she let herself be tugged against his side. “You know our head numbers man, Mr. Tarvedh, of course. This is Meron Talidar, our head of research and development.”

The man to whom he gestured had not looked up from the desk over which he was hunched with his back to the door, and still didn’t, though at being introduced he raised one hand to wave over his shoulder with an irritable grunt.

“Who is an irascible wizard of the oldest school,” Marguerite added with a sigh, earning no further response from Talidar.

“So I see,” Akinda observed, studying the man sidelong. Even with his back to her, his personal style bordered on affectation. He had unruly hair loosely tied back with a leather cord and apparently untrimmed for at least twenty years, a beard so bushy it was visible to both sides of his neck, and wore robes. Even among wizards, only Salyrites in formal attire and old men who couldn’t be bothered to learn what century it was still went about in robes.

“And this, of course, is our daughter, Teal,” Geoffrey concluded, turning a beaming smile on the last person in the office.

“Hello,” Teal Falconer said with all the uncertain politeness of any ten-year-old girl formally meeting a stranger. She carefully set down the guitar she’d been playing on her chair and approached, more cautiously by far than either of her parents. “I love your dress! That’s so beautiful, I’ve never seen one quite like it.”

“Thank you, Miss Falconer,” Akinda replied with a small but unfeigned smile. “You’ll rarely see a buba outside Onkawa, but I’m fond of traditional dress, even in Tiraas. I’m sorry to interrupt your playing; you handle that instrument beautifully for someone your age.”

“Thanks!” the girl said, breaking into a broad smile. “I get a lot of practice. What brings you to visit?”

Tarvedh cleared his throat, bending toward Teal and raising the pitch of his voice in exactly the manner one should never adopt toward any child old enough to recognize condescension. “Ms. Akinda is just here to do some business, Miss Teal! She’s an auditor from the central Vernisite bank in Tiraas.”

Teal had sighed softly as soon as the accountant started speaking to her, clearly used to him, but at that her eyes widened in alarm. “An audit? Are we in trouble?” she asked, turning to her parents.

“No, no, honey, it’s not like a Treasury audit,” Marguerite soothed, laying a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “It’s for expanding the main assembly line, remember? We’re taking out a loan from the central bank.”

“They do these things from time to time,” Geoffrey added, waving a hand vaguely. “We do a lot of business with the bank but once in a while they want to send somebody to look the business over, especially when we’re asking for a loan. The bank has to ensure its own interests, after all! It’s pretty routine, nothing to worry about.”

Teal’s eyebrows drew together in a worried expression. “Why do we need money from the bank? Don’t we have enough to just…build it ourselves?”

A round of glances passed between the adults.

“Oh, now, you don’t need to worry about that for a few years yet!” Tarvedh said with boisterous good cheer. “It’s all technical, Miss Teal. You just concentrate on your schooling and your music, there’ll be plenty of time to learn about business later.”

Both the elder Falconers shot him sidelong looks, less openly annoyed than their daughter’s, but not completely neutral. Mr. Tarvedh must really be an excellent accountant; the factory clearly did not hire its top staff based on social acumen.

“It’s actually very rare for a major business to finance its own activities, Miss Falconer,” Akinda said to Teal, in exactly the tone she would use to discuss the matter with a junior clerk at her own bank. As a child, she had hated adults talking down to her. “Especially venturous ones—major expansions and the like. It protects the business from loss, and creates opportunity for investors to profit. If the new venture does well, the loan is paid back with interest, and so the business and investors both benefit.”

“Oh,” Teal said thoughtfully. “What if it fails?”

“Oh, now, we don’t even think about that,” Tarvedh said, grinning nervously. “That is, there’s really no prospect of it! Falconer Industries is fully solvent and very profitable—”

“Thank you, Mr. Tarvedh,” Geoffrey Falconer said firmly.

“That’s the risk you take by investing,” Akinda explained. “There’s great profit in it, if you do it wisely, not to mention the benefit to the total economy by keeping money in motion, and new ventures always rising. Investors are in it for the chance of profit, and in the case of Vernisite institutions like mine, to help keep the economy moving. But whenever you take a risk, there’s a chance you will lose out, and that’s something investors have to accept. We minimize the risk by doing our due diligence and knowing exactly what we are getting into.”

Teal nodded. “And that’s your job.”

“Exactly,” Akinda said, smiling at her.

Geoffrey cleared his throat. “Well! We don’t want to waste your time, Ms. Akinda, so consider us at your disposal. Can we get you anything? Tea, biscuits?”

“Dear,” Marguerite murmured.

“Oh!” Mr. Falconer clapped a hand to his forehead, leaving a comical imprint of glittering arcane dust. “Drat, sorry. Does that count as an unsolicited gift?”

“The bank doesn’t consider basic hospitality an attempted bribe,” Akinda said with an amused smile. “And thank you, but not at this time. Perhaps I will take you up on it when reviewing your books later, but I would like to begin by looking over the facilities, if I may.”

“Of course! Like I said, at your disposal. I’d be glad to show you around myself, just let me find something to wipe off my hands…”

“Actually,” she said, quietly but firmly, “I prefer to roam unescorted by owners, as a rule. You understand.”

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “Of course, yes.” Clearly he didn’t, but wasn’t going to argue, which was good enough for her.

“But I would like to have someone on hand to answer questions,” Akinda continued, “if I could continue to borrow Mr. Tarvedh?”

“By all means, I should be delighted!” the accountant beamed, apparently meaning it sincerely. He didn’t strike her as being mentally equipped for deception. “I can offer a guided tour, Auditor—or, if you’d prefer, just tell me what you’d like to see and I’ll take you there!”

“The latter, I think,” she said, nodding politely. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Falconer. Miss Falconer. I look forward to speaking with you again soon.”

“Of course, take your time,” Geoffrey replied. “I’ll probably be right here, but my assistant can find us for you if not. Tarvedh, take good care of our guest! Make sure she has everything she might need.”

“Without doubt, sir!”

“Bye,” said Teal, waving.

Tarvedh again bustled ahead to open the office door for her, but moments later they were out, and pacing slowly along the walkway leading to the main office, lined by doors to smaller chambers on one side and the railed drop to the factory floor on the other. Akinda stepped to the edge of this, trailing her hand along the rail and setting a slow pace while organizing her thoughts.

She rather liked the Falconers and their operation; rich people who did not let their wealth go to their heads appealed to her Vernisite sensibilities. Geoffrey Falconer more resembled an absent-minded academic than an industrialist, and it was noteworthy that he had married a mousy woman who wore glasses and went about the factory in a workman’s shirt and overalls. Falconer Industries had prospered mightily under Geoffrey, but he had inherited a business already wealthy enough that he could have easily obtained a beautiful noblewoman for a bride. Many young men in his position did exactly that.

Of course, a facade was only that, often as not. The Falconers wouldn’t be the first people she’d ever met who could understand what image would impress a follower of Verniselle and put it on. Even the child could have managed, by that age; she had encountered some truly ruthless sprouts among the seeds of the nobility and the newer industrial wealthy. Money did things to people.

Tarvedh was watching her as if afraid to speak. He was an odd little man—apparently loyal to his masters, and yet the very picture of a good Vernisite. Even the triple-coin pin at his lapel was perfect, richly detailed by a jeweler but made of plain steel, displaying wealth by having given work to a skilled artisan rather than by using expensive raw materials. His clothes were likewise well-tailored but far from ostentatious.

She decided it was better to start by putting him at ease.

“Teal?” Akinda inquired softly, raising an eyebrow.

He cracked a grin at that. “Ah, yes, well. Mrs. Falconer is an artist.”

“Ah, I see. Well, she seems a charming child.”

“Mm, as children go,” he said noncommittally. “Remarkably well-behaved! She often accompanies her parents, and I can’t recall the girl ever having caused a problem. If there must be a child underfoot, I’d rather it be Miss Teal than basically any other. Well! This is as good a place to begin as any! You see the main factory floor—this is where the main expansion we are planning will begin.” He stepped in front of her to the rail and leaned across it, pointing. “You see there, the far wall! The doors currently lead to a large lot with a gravel track where we test-drive carriages, but that can be moved basically anywhere. According to the plans we’ve drawn up, we intend to add a new wing onto the building itself, leaving the wall intact but removing the doors to open both production lines to each other. That’s the goal, of course, a second line added rather than an expansion to the first one.”

“Mm,” she murmured, sweeping her gaze across the room. “Mass-produced carriages are not currently the larger part of FI’s profit.”

“Ah, that is, not at present. Hence our interest in expanding! It’s the Imperial economy, you see—these are boom years, lots of money going around, and falling into lots more hands! Right now, the really expensive custom jobs for nobility and the like provide a wider profit margin, but the demand for mass-produced models has grown steadily, and all our projections insist it will continue to do so.”

“Enchanted carriages still are not a toy for the middle class, though.”

“Yet,” he insisted with a grin. “But the middle class is expanding and growing more affluent, and has been since not long after Empress Theasia was crowned, the gods rest her soul. You know, of course, that his Majesty Sharidan has taken more of an interest in the economy than his mother did, and the good times continue to roll! Especially since the treaty with the drow; the prices of some of our raw materials have bottomed out. But more relevant to our discussion here, the bulk of our R&D at the moment is on improving the efficiency of our production line rather than devising new enchantments. The second line will open up great new prospects for us! With the assurance of one always running, we can use the second for more experimental measures and greatly increase our rate of advancement. By investing in our own processes we will bring down production costs and therefore the costs of our products, making them more widely available to a broader customer base. Falconer Industries has its eye on the future!”

“I’d like to have a look at your R&D division, if possible.”

“…ah. That, as you might imagine, is more sensitive…”

“If it is too great an imposition…?”

“Oh, not at all, not at all!” he assured her hastily. “It’s just that the company will have to have some guarantees of security if you are to view any proprietary enchantments in development. Given your status with the cult, a written pledge of confidentiality will suffice.”

“I’m willing to do that,” she agreed in a noncommittal tone, resting both hands on the rail and gazing down at the assembly line. For the most part, the employees applying enchantments to carriage pieces and assembling them together were bent over their tasks, but once in a while she caught one sneaking a peek up at the walkway. The supervisor pacing up and down the line spent almost as much time looking up as at what she was supervising. Clearly, the rumor mill had forewarned them of her presence, and what it signified. “I have noted that FI is considered the most desirable employer in the province.”

“Not just the province!” Tarvedh said proudly. “I think you will find that Falconer Industries is a leader in the carriage business. We pay the best wages to be found south of the Five Kingdoms! And not merely to our enchanters—Mr. Falconer is adamant about taking proper care even of our unskilled laborers.”

“The employees are his family,” she said, and Tarvedh grinned. It was a tired old joke, but one no Vernisite could pass up, if only because nobody outside their cult ever got it. “It’s a positive sign, of course, very promising. But, obviously, the lack of a trade union’s presence anywhere in the company is a black mark.”

“You know very well there’s nothing we can do about that,” Tarvedh all but snapped, then stopped and drew a deep breath, visibly composing himself. Very loyal; that, too was a good sign. An employer who could secure that kind of devotion from a Vernisite in good standing with the cult would be looked on favorably by the bank. Akinda would note this in her report, but wasn’t about to make a point of it here. “His Grace the Duke,” Tarvedh continued in a calmer tone, “is…how to put this…extremely concerned with potential challenges to his authority. And he is prone to seeing such challenges in places where, well, others wouldn’t even think to look. It’s been an unfortunate characteristic of House Madouri since his Grace’s late father Ravaan had all that trouble with the Thieves’ Guild. Tiraan Province is a veritable wasteland when it comes to trade guilds and unions of any kind. It is far from FI’s fault, Ms. Akinda. And Mr. Falconer does his very best to insure the well-being of his employees in the absence of a proper union.”

“That brings us to the real problem, does it not?” Akinda said quietly, still watching the factory workers going about their tasks. Even to her untrained eyes, the operation was a smooth one. The assembly line flowed steadily, pieces of carriages being conveyed constantly forward on a mix of conveyor belts, enchanted carts, and the arms of burly men and women. Enchanters, upholsterers and woodworkers applied their crafts, and less-skilled laborers fitted pieces together; notably, the factory uniform was the same for all and the workstations were equally well-appointed, the difference in skills revealed only in their application. That was a positive sign, but one which bore further investigation. The bank’s research had found that segregating employees by skillset and level of compensation could damage company morale, but then, so could failing to appropriately acknowledge and reward those who had invested the time and effort to learn valuable crafts. “The bank is, of course, aware of the difficulties his Grace the Duke causes throughout the province. He appears particularly threatened by the success of Falconer Industries. I don’t say this to imply any fault on the part of the company, but it’s a fact that cannot help but influence the bank’s decision.”

“I would never speak ill of the Duke,” Tarvedh said with a bitter twist of his mouth as if not speaking ill of the Duke was a painful task. Akinda could well believe Geoffrey Falconer had given Duke Madouri an arcane shocker handshake, and perhaps not quite by accident. “But yes, his…micro-management of the province is…just in some cases, mind you…at least potentially more trouble than it is actually worth to the provincial government. You know, in terms of revenue generated.”

“Intrusive management is one thing,” she said. “House Madouri’s taxes upon Falconer Industries have grown downright punitive.”

Tarvedh sucked in air through his teeth, his chest swelling. “We make do, Auditor, I assure you. While the High Seat in Madouris may be less than reasonable, at times, the Silver Throne remains very interested in supporting its most valuable economic producers—and the Treasury has been…ah, discreetly sympathetic to our issues with his Grace. I can provide you a full list of the Imperial incentives FI enjoys. Nor do we over-rely on the Throne. Some of the Duke’s more unreasonable taxes and regulations can be evaded by transferring certain, ah, peripheral aspects of the business out of his domain. As the Rails and telescroll network are rapidly filling in their gaps, it is less and less of an imposition. We try not to overuse this method, however, lest his Grace…” His grimace was very nearly a snarl. “…take offense.”

Akinda nodded, keeping her expression neutral. “I would like to have a closer look at the assembly line, if I may.”

“But of course!” And just like that, Tarvedh was all smiles and sunshine again. “Not too close, you understand, our employees have their tasks down to an almost musical rhythm and we mustn’t get underfoot. But I’ll call Ms. Alvaraad over to show you around, and it should be fine. That’s the supervisor, you see—there she is, currently on the catwalk over there. Oh, but we’ll need to pick up goggles and rubber gloves first. I’m afraid the safety rules are inviolable, and apply also to factory guests. Even important personages such as yourself!”

“Good,” she said, nodding in approval. “First, though, could you show me where the…facilities are?”

“Ah! Yes, of course, that’s just perfect,” he burbled, stepping away from the railing and beckoning her own down the walkway. “We’ll make a stop by the employee services area, I think you’ll like what you see there. The cafeteria just underwent renovations last year—we’ve greatly improved upon the institutional benches and tables it used to have! There is also a cafe area with comfortable seating so it needn’t be all business on lunch breaks. And the whole place has been decorated! Mrs. Falconer insisted on having potted greenery, and selected the wall art herself—some of it her own work! You know, Falconer Industries was the first factory in Tiraan Province to provide a hot meal a day to its employees. Just this way down the stairs. Ms. Akinda. Yes, in fact, the washrooms were also improved recently, I think you’ll be impressed! The sinks run cold and hot water—”

“Thank you, Mr. Tarvedh, but this is one inspection I would prefer to make un-escorted.”

“Oh, um. Right. Of course.”


The women’s washroom did, indeed, speak well of the company, being clean and brightly lit, with the amenities Tarvedh had boasted of. Not a single fixture was out of order. Akinda didn’t dawdle just to enjoy the scenery, though; one bank of sinks and public toilets wasn’t tremendously different from another, unless you were a connoisseur of plumbing. Which she was not.

While she took her time washing her hands, twisting the faucets this way and that to get the temperature just right, the washroom door opened. Akinda’s eyes snapped up, watching in the mirror, but then she relaxed. It was nothing but a young girl in a factory uniform. Surely not much more than fourteen, the youngest a person could legally do factory work in the Empire. Of course, people did lie to get work, which this one might have. Her Sheng features made it hard to guess her age; all the peoples of the northern archipelagos tended to be slight of build and aged almost as gracefully as elves.

Well, perhaps it was too early in her visit for her to be contacted. It wouldn’t be too hard to ditch Tarvedh at intervals; he wasn’t the brightest star in the firmament, however good an accountant he might be. If nothing else, she could visit the washroom at least every couple of hours, especially if she took up the offer of tea.

But then the girl, pacing forward with her eyes on Akinda, deftly flicked a doubloon out of the sleeve of her coveralls into her hand. In the next moment she was rolling it back and forth across the backs of her fingers.

Akinda carefully twisted the faucets off and dried her hands on the towel, watching the girl’s reflection in the mirror.

The young Sheng stepped up to the next sink, made the coin disappear, and began washing her own hands, eyes meeting Akinda’s in the mirror without turning her head. “Good day, Mizz Akinda. How are you finding?”

Akinda blinked. That accent was distinctly Sifanese, not Sheng, and thick enough that she was clearly a new arrival to the continent. Most Imperials couldn’t tell the difference, but she had spent four years in Shengdu and was passably fluent in the language; one didn’t prosper in any of the island countries by mixing up their peoples. Most of them did not get along.

“And you are?” she asked politely.

The girl narrowed her eyes, shutting off the water. “It is not I who am she who is questioned.”

People underestimated bankers. In their own way, they had to be as perceptive and as predatory as thieves. Akinda did not speak more than a few words of Sifanese, just enough to place the accent, but she knew its grammar wasn’t nearly that garbled relative to Tanglish. This girl was far more nervous than she.

Well, she was a kid, after all. She had to hand it to the Thieves’ Guild, they knew what they were doing. Any company as big as Falconer Industries would be watching for spies, but they probably wouldn’t think to watch a teenager who barely spoke the language. Of course, there were a number of downsides to having a child do your dirty work.

“Where I’m from, it is polite to introduce yourself,” she said with a kind smile, turning to face the girl directly. “You know my name, after all.”

“Watash—” She broke off, a faint blush rising in her cheeks. “I am Gimmicku, that is all you need.”

“Gimmick,” Akinda said politely, omitting the extra syllable. Eserite bastards; what cruel idiot had given this girl a tag she could barely pronounce? Some of the poor kid’s story was obvious. Akinda was sure those were Sheng features; the teenager had at least one parent from the Kingdom. That could well explain why she’d been eager to get out of Sifan even at such a young age. Even more than most islanders, the Sifanese notoriously did not welcome perceived outsiders among them. Obviously, nothing good would come of vocalizing any of that, so she kept to business. “What do you have for me?”

“I do not have for you,” Gimmick said coldly. “You are to find answers for the Guild, Imbani Akinda.”

“And I will,” Akinda said, projecting calm. “But it will be a slower process if I must do it entirely on my own. I presume the Guild planted you here for a reason beyond making contact with me. If you can point me in the right direction, my work will be done faster and better.”

Gimmick hesitated, her eyes narrowing and cutting to the side. Akinda couldn’t help feeling for her; this was probably her first important job, and it was a much trickier matter than picking pockets or whatever the Guild usually had its younglings do. Not so much that she was shy about manipulating the girl, of course.

“Your boss wants information on the Falconers’ malfeasance,” she said gently. “I’m being escorted around by one of their favorite henchmen, who’s going to try to curate everything I see and hear. All I need is to find a less sympathetic voice. Someone who’s not happy with their job, and who might know certain secrets. I know you’ve been watching and listening here, Gimmick. If you can give me a name, and an idea when and where to find its owner, I’ll do the rest.”

Gimmick finally dried off her hands, again facing the mirror. She glanced at Akinda’s reflection in it, then lowered her eyes. “Thomas Schroeder.” She took her time with the name, laboriously pronouncing every letter, and got them recognizably right. After that, though, her diction accelerated and got less precise. “Staruwaiso man, yellow hair, he is working after the noon shift. Line sup… Soupero— Aiya!”

Definitely half Sheng; she hadn’t picked up that epithet in Sifan. “Supervisor?”

A glare full of adolescent affront met her eyes in the mirror. Gimmick nodded curtly, then turned and strode from the room.

Only after she was gone and the door shut behind her did Akinda allow herself to sigh heavily, grip the edges of the sink, and lean on it for a moment.

A lead. Now all she had to do was navigate her way between one of the most powerful industrialists in the Empire, the House of Madouri, her duties to her own bank, and the bloody Thieves’ Guild, pitting all of them against each other without allowing herself to become a target.

Simple.

Akinda straightened up, composed her expression, turned, and glided back out to the factory floor to continue her tour.

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