"N-No, mister — it's totally fine!"
The young woman's voice was soft and breathless, and she said it the way a person says it when they are not at all sure it is fine but very much want it to be fine for everyone's sake. Her hands were back at her chest, fingers laced over each other. She bowed slightly. She looked maybe sixteen.
"Uh — um —" Emil scrubbed the back of his neck. "What are you doing out by the office at this hour? It's a bit early to be wandering this part of town."
"I — well —"
"I came to —"
Her composure unspooled at the edges. She looked down at her shoes.
"You don't have to tell him if you don't want to," Rafael said. A big hand settled on the girl's shoulder. "My junior here — the blond one — he gets like that sometimes. Embarrassed easily. Sharp-tongued at other times."
"But you seem polite. You probably don't have any of those traits, hm—"
"Senior!"
Rafael laughed.
Emil crouched down a little so he was nearer her eye level.
"I'm sorry I bumped into you. Really." His eyes flicked to the bread on the pavement. "...Auntie Lisa's croissant, isn't it."
"E — eh, who—?"
"The shop three blocks over."
"Oh — yes! It's — really good, actually." The girl's face lit up, just a fraction, before remembering itself. "Really good."
"To make up for the bump, let me replace it. Two of them this time."
"N-no — really, it's okay!"
She went pink to the ears and clasped her hands tighter.
"It's — it's too much! Just the apology is enough, really!"
"Easy. Easy. I'm getting them."
"...all right."
---
The bakery was small and the morning crowd had not arrived. The bell at the door announced them with its little tin chime, and a heavyset woman behind the counter looked up.
"Oh, you. The usual?"
"Almost. I have a guest this morning."
The girl had gone quiet behind him, her head dipped, the way she had been dipping it since he'd first crouched in front of her. Emil glanced sideways at her and frowned.
"You all right?"
"M-mm. I'm fine."
"Pressure? Crowds?"
"No. Just — I have something on my mind, that's all."
Emil nodded slowly.
"...mm."
Her eyes — without quite meaning to, by the look of it — drifted to the glass case and fixed on a chocolate éclair that was glistening in the way only fresh chocolate glistens at nine in the morning. She held there for a moment. Then she shook her head, small and definitive.
"I'll just have one of these, please."
She pointed at a single slice of garlic bread from the day-old shelf — the cheapest thing in the case, the kind of bread that had been there since yesterday afternoon and would be there till closing if no one took pity on it.
"Ah—"
A palm came down between Emil's shoulder blades, firm.
"What are you standing around for, Emil. She's clearly a sweet kid. Spoil her a little. You can see it on her face."
"Senior. Stop meddling—"
Sigh
"Auntie Lisa, two chocolate éclairs. And one of those financiers — wrap it up, thank you."
"Eh — eh!"
The girl's eyes went round.
"The éclairs — they're four bronze coins each, sir! Each!"
Emil glanced sideways at Rafael. Rafael glanced back. They both sighed, in something approaching unison, and then both of them laughed quietly under their breath.
"Eh? Eh — is something funny?" The girl was looking at them now in real alarm. "Did I — did I do something—"
"It's you, miss." Emil's voice was warm and tired both at once. "Being polite to a fault. Honestly, when you first picked the day-old garlic bread I was about to suggest we split an éclair and I take the financier for later. Now you're getting the financier as a bonus instead."
"Ah — th-thank you very much!"
She bowed twice, quickly, like a little bird.
---
Outside the shop the sun was coming up properly, washing the cobblestones gold.
"Here." Emil held out the paper-wrapped éclair. "Yours."
The pressure had gone out of her face the moment the first bite of pastry hit her tongue. Her shoulders dropped a half inch. Her eyes closed.
"Ouuh," she said. "It's so good!!"
"Right? I come here every week."
"That sounds nice."
Crunch.
Around the mouthful she added, shy: "...what are your names, by the way? Both of you kind men."
"I'm Emil. The big one's Rafael."
"Mm. Thank you, Mister Emil."
She had her hands tucked behind her back, the way nervous girls do when they are about to ask for something and aren't sure they should.
"Um — Mister Emil? Could you — could you take me somewhere?" She looked up just enough to meet his eyes for half a second. "It might be a strange thing to ask, but —"
"Where?"
"Could you show me where the Military Police, the Standing Army, and the RMO offices are in this district?"
"...huh?"
"I'm — I'm so sorry. You've already paid for me and everything—"
Emil turned his head to the tall figure beside him.
"Senior. You could take her to places—"
"Now, now. You two've gotten on so well. And she clearly likes you better. You take her." Rafael yawned hugely. "Also, I haven't slept in a day and a half. Yaaawn. I'm off."
"Wait — hey! I haven't either—"
Rafael was already strolling away, one hand raised in lazy farewell.
"Tch."
"...I'm sorry, mister—"
"It's fine, it's fine. I'll take you."
---
The first stop was the RMO office.
The eastern district building was an old converted municipal hall — solid stone, narrow windows, a high banner of the Crown's mark hung over the entry — and Emil walked her up to its edge but did not get closer than the property line. He gestured at the building with the kind of half-distracted formality of a man giving a tour he had not been hired for.
"This is the RMO district off—"
A wet thwack.
Something soft and damp bounced off the side of Emil's head and fell at his feet.
A wet kitchen sponge. From the upper window.
"Agh!"
"Eep!" The girl flinched, both hands flying up to her mouth even before Emil himself can registered and react properly.
"What the hell—"
From the upper window, faint and gleeful: "MP scum, waste of taxes money!" "Could have dumped y'all and raise us bonus!"
Emil's jaw tightened. He set his hand against the small of her back without thinking and steered her smartly away from the building.
"Don't mind them. Don't mind them. Normal rivalry. We're well past being adults about it but they are not."
"I — okay—"
"Let's go to the next one. The next one will be — fine. Probably."
---
"This is the Military Office, district branch."
The building they came to next was older than the RMO's, and considerably more tired. The stone was good but the trim was peeling. The flagpoles had banners that had not been replaced in some time. The yard out front was patchy. It looked exactly like what it was — a regional office of an institution that no one had loved for thirty years.
"It's a bit sad, isn't it. They had their budget cut hard."
"Why is that, sir? The men at the gate work so hard."
Emil's hand went to the back of his neck and stayed there.
"...efficiency, maybe. The Standing Army was built to handle wars or large-scale disasters. We haven't had a war in almost two hundred years. So." A small dry smile. "You can imagine the rest."
"The training curriculum hasn't kept up with the kind of work we actually do, either. Modern work is mostly paperwork. The course is mostly cavalry formations and trench discipline. You see the gap."
"...yes."
Emil looked up at the sky. He blinked several times. He blinked again, longer.
"Mister Emil. Are you sleepy?"
"Quite."
The girl ducked her head, eyes down.
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. It's nothing." He shook his head, tried to focus. "It's nearly midday. Let's get lunch before the last stop. My treat."
"Th-thank you, sir!"
---
Eight that morning. Eastern District Military Office.
The deputy sat behind a desk that was clean in the way that lazy desks become clean — by virtue of never being used. He smiled at Marcus over folded hands.
"Mister Marcus. So early. Bit of a hike for you. Is something the matter?"
"The gate—"
"Ah, that. Just an honest mistake by all three duty units. These things happen. Nothing to be alarmed about."
Marcus leaned forward.
"You aren't even a little surprised? They came at us in a herd. They were buried in the groundwaiting for our patrol to step on them. Why would animals do that, Norman."
"You're overthinking it, my friend."
Marcus's hand closed on the deputy's collar.
"Then think like actual human with brain for once-!"
"Easy! Easy, Mister Marcus!"
"Use your brain, you absolute pile—"
"Hey! Get off, damn you!"
Marcus released him, slowly, and stepped back.
"You're overthinking. Rude all of sudden too. Animals corrupted by Omens do strange things. They do strange things every week. Where exactly is the surprise in animals controlled by strange thing doing strange things?"
"The surprise is in the timing. Norman. There has been a break-in at the Palace. There is a new city rising under a god we don't know. There are rumors crawling out of every gate in the city — and at exactly this moment, animals decide to coordinate themselves into an ambush at the one entry point of district closest to the pathway to capital district. And you — supposedly the wall between this country and disaster — are sitting in this room telling me it's not surprising?"
"What wall, Mister Marcus. We haven't had a war in centuries."
"There may be one starting now."
The room was silent after he said it.
"Marcus."
"Marcus Hale. Deputy Hale."
A long pause.
"You're overthinking. There is no logical reason a new nation forming under the leadership of a powerful god would attack us—"
"For catalysts."
"Eh?"
Norman scoffed.
"And what would they want catalysts for first? They have a god."
"Have you never read the research, Norman? Catalysts may be capable of producing resources. Food. Not just the fireworks the RMO uses them for."
A hand landed on Marcus's shoulder.
"You. Are overthinking."
"And you can overthink at your family grave if you don't trust me, you lazy scumbag!"
"Don't get high and mighty with me, Hale. Twenty years ago your lot didn't have the right to look us in the face without bowing first!"
Marcus's vision tunneled for a moment.
He turned, and walked out of the office before he did something he couldn't take back.
He bumped into a junior clerk in the corridor — a young woman with an armful of files. She nearly dropped them.
"Excuse me. Miss."
"Y-yes—?"
"I'd like fifteen minutes with the new commander. Today. Please find me a slot."
"Y-yes, sir!"
---
"Commander Edgar. What I'm telling you is that this is not normal, and our country may have walked into a plan laid by another god."
"First of all. Why would such a god attack us?"
"Catalysts, sir—"
"Deputy Norman told me the same. You'll be saying — catalysts, catalysts, catalysts."
"Sir, listen—"
"You're overthinking it."
"Sir, please listen—"
"You're forty, Marcus. Don't panic like a teenager."
Marcus pressed both palms flat to the desk.
"Sir. If we announce nothing, several things go wrong. If we announce something, several things also go wrong. I'm not asking you to announce anything yet. I'm asking you to consider authorizing quiet preparations along the eastern wall — extra catalyst-bearers, an evacuation drill posing as a fire drill, anything—"
The commander leaned forward.
"Hale. Listen carefully."
"You are asking me to authorize quiet redeployments in the middle of a season where the Turning Wheel cult is finally collapsing — most of them gone south already, the rest being hunted out. The only group still bothering us at all is those Cogwork idiots. The Palace, for reasons I can't fathom, has decided to back the Cogwork ones, which makes our job harder by the day."
"What does that have to do with—"
"What does that have to do with anything? Hale. Imagine. You imagine. I authorize what you're asking. I redeploy units. I run drills. I move catalyst stockpiles. And nothing happens. It was your paranoia."
He slided his chair back from the desk.
"Fwoo."
"Front page headlines, Hale. Military, RMO, and MP collude in a great deception. Analysts suggest the operation was designed to siphon emergency budget funds."
"Then the public protests. Then my underlings — who you know how shitty there are — get dragged into the open. And the public will not blame them. They will blame me. The head."
He exhaled hard.
"I am not staking my name, or my family's name, on your paranoia."
"...sir."
"If you really need help — try going through Palace Affairs. Get them to send the order to me. Then I'll act."
Marcus looked at him with the dead-eyed patience of a man who had run out of routes.
"Mm. Mm. Whatever you like, Hale."
---
Eleven in the morning.
A deep inhale. A long exhale.
The dark-brown MP coat flapped in the wind in front of the building every Military officer in the city avoided unless they had no choice.
RMO Office. Eastern District.
Marcus walked toward the reception desk with his head slightly down.
"How can I help you, sir?"
"I'd like to speak with the Commander."
A chill moved through the room.
Something's happened. The MP deputy himself, come over in person.
They must have failed at their own branches again.
What a waste of taxes, no match for our superior officers.
Marcus heard every word of it without lifting his head.
"You can go in, sir. He's free."
---
"Marcus. Haven't seen you since middle school, friend."
"Ah—"
A small wan smile crossed Marcus's mouth.
"It's been a long time, Josh."
"What brings you all the way over here today?"
"The gate. This early dawn."
"Mm. That."
"What about it?"
"...I have an unsettled feeling, Josh. Like things might be sliding into something worse, all at once."
The commander rested his chin in one hand.
"Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you. This is a good season for me, personally. I'm in the Palace often these days. Making connections. Things look bright from where I'm standing."
"Josh. Josh."
"You don't find any of it strange? The new city, the break-ins at the Palace, animals burrowing under our patrol routes, the rumor of secret tunnels along the wall that turned out to be nothing but what seem like a trap? You don't think we might be being maneuvered?"
"And what would I even do about it, Marcus?"
"There's no order from the Palace. No order from RMO Central so no order for any catalyst-bearing unit to mobilize."
"Listen — listen, listen, listen. Imagine for a moment. The whole thrust of these attacks is being aimed at the most heavily-defended part of our city, where the attackers know they can't actually break through. Why?"
"...to draw attention."
"Yes."
"And to draw attention from what, Josh."
"From..."
"From the defensive lines of the other districts, Marcus."
"Yes! Good — yes—"
"And then?"
"And then they invade us."
"And then what? Why? Why our district? There are four districts to choose from."
"Our district is the most direct path to the capital by canal—"
"And then what? The eastern district is known for producing military personnel. Not agriculture like the north. Not the commerce of central or south. Why us?"
"Use your head, Marcus. If you were a developing nation looking for resources, wouldn't you go for the north?"
"Catalysts. They take ours and then they push on and take central's—"
"And then what? Hm? Catalysts make magic. So what? They want to come fight me? Fight our army?"
"Catalysts may also produce resources — food, water, fuel. There's research from the south district scholars suggesting—"
"And to come back to the start — if they want resources, why not just go straight at the north or the south?"
"Since they are closest to south anyway."
The commander leaned forward, smiling, and pressed his finger against Marcus's sternum, gently, in time with each word.
"You. Are. Only. Paranoid. Enough."
"But—"
"Go home and get some rest. You're getting old. Memory starts to slip. So does judgment."
"...tch."
---
A café near the MP office. Eleven-thirty in the morning.
"It's really good, sir."
"Right? Told you."
"Yaaaawn."
The State's branches are unworthy of taxes!
Remove those animal corpses from our streets immediately!
The shout from the street brought Emil's head up off his hand.
"...is that a protest?" he muttered, eyes narrowing through the café window. "Cogwork, isn't it. Now what do they want ughh. Go back to writing your little research papers and leave the rest of us alone—"
He blinked.
"Wait. The news got to them already!? It only happened not even a day yet—"
Then his eye caught on something at the edge of his vision.
The girl had gone still in her chair.
She had been smiling a moment ago. The smile was gone. Her hands were clutched flat on her thighs and her gaze had dropped into her lap, eyes wide but unfocused, looking at nothing.
"Hey — hey." Emil leaned forward. "Are you all right?"
"...mm."
"Ah — I never even asked your name. What is it?"
"...Seir, sir."
"Pretty name. Why so glum? Are the protesters upsetting you? Don't mind them — they're awful, honestly—"
He cut himself off, because the look on her face was not the look of a girl irritated by a protest. The look on her face was carefully blank in a way that was costing her something to maintain.
"They might be right, sir," she said quietly.
"Right about what? It has nothing to do with you."
Seir said nothing.
"...Seir? Seir?"
She was biting her lower lip.
"I have something in my heart, sir. Something heavy that I just — a secret. I'm so sorry."
"Sorry for what? A secret?" Emil tried for a light smile. "Like — you snuck out from your mom to come downtown and let a stranger show you around? That's it? That's hardly—"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She repeated it. She did not stop.
The forced lightness in Emil's smile lost out to the tired strange feeling moving through his chest.
"Check, please," he called.
---
"Last stop."
He gestured up the long stone front of the building.
"My workplace, see? Tadah. When I bumped into you this morning you probably didn't get a clear look at—"
Emil went quiet.
Why has she been so sad, he thought. All of sudden. Why.
"Want to see inside?"
"It's all right, sir." A pale, soft voice. "I've already imposed too much. I really am sorry."
Each word came out as if it were heavier than the one before.
"...come on. Come in for a minute."
"All right.."
He led her through the front and up the stairs.
"This is where I work, with Rafael. The investigation—"
"Oh. You're still here?"
Marcus was on hallway.
His face was paler than it had been at six in the morning. There was a faint mark of tear-tracks at one cheekbone that he had not quite scrubbed clean. He smiled anyway, the small careful smile of a man holding himself together because there was no one else to hold him.
"You haven't gone home, sir," Emil said.
"Same to you, Emil. Get some sleep. I'll sign your leave myself if you want — and who's this?"
Thump.
Marcus's pupils widened, briefly, for a half-second. Then settled.
"I met her this morning, sir. Bumped into her while walking with Senior."
"Mm. She look like a sweet thing."
A pause.
"How did the meetings go, sir?"
A long sigh.
"Made me wish I had the connections to buy catalysts for our entire battalion directly."
"Even four troops' worth would do, at this point, sir. The rest got sent to guard the wall and the capital."
"Quite."
"Did the animals this morning cause trouble for You and Mister Emil, sir?" Seir asked, voice very small.
She was clutching the hem of her skirt with both hands.
"They gave me a terrible headache, little miss," Marcus said gently.
"A huge one, Seir," Emil added.
Seir's gaze stayed fixed on the floor. A single tear ran down her cheek, then another.
"O — oh, no, no, don't cry!" Emil dropped into a crouch beside her. "Hey."
"You didn't do anything wrong, miss," Marcus said, alarmed.
"I'm so sorry."
She hiccuped.
"I'm sorry. For causing trouble like this. I'm so — I'm not a good person, even though both of you have been so kind to me."
"It's all right. It's just a little crying. Don't talk like you're the villain in a story." Emil rubbed her back gently, the way you'd rub a child's. "It's all right."
She kept hiccuping.
"I'm so sorry. Thank you so much. I should go."
"All right. Be safe."
She walked out the door.
The two men watched her go.
"...sensitive thing, isn't she, sir," Emil said.
"Emil."
"Sir?"
"My artifact registered something on her."
"Like — she can use magic, sir?"
Emil folded his arms.
"If that's all it is, that's fine. She seemed like a good kid. Maybe just gifted."
"Mm. Maybe."
The two of them stood at the office window and watched the small figure of the girl walk down the long stone street outside, her shoulders bowed, her steps slow, until she disappeared around the corner.
Neither of them spoke for some time.