Much can be said about the city of Ralagast. Every word, however, came at the risk of your tongue. Of its citizens alone, chapters can be written detailing their often dour mood thinly veiled by cheerful sardonicism. Their rapiers and broadswords were as sharp as their tongues, enhanced further still by skeins of Spells-Imbuements they were called-, often drawn in the middle of the ballroom prompting the attendees to stop, pull back, and gasp, for better entertainment had just arrived. The musicians switched from baroque to merry, ragtime, swashbuckling pulls on the string. And sparks flew bright enough to rival the chandeliers.

Two, thin edges slipped past each other, twirled about the footwork of their wielders, then came together again in short matrimony. Spell collided with Spell running through the grains of the steel. Fine traceries of it arced across the room. The spectators gasped, cheered, applauded.

Edeard Lumens repositioned, resetting the fight. His fingers flexed on his rapier’s grip. A hot smile bared his whitened teeth. His opponent was panting. A spot of red had stained the other man’s sleeve.

“Quick with the sword but slow with the rapier,” Edeard said loudly. “Your wife was right. Concede, cretin!”

Their feet orbited the center of the ballroom, following the curvatures of the celestial diagram inscribed into the tiles.

“You’re full of it, young man. A hot balloon with two spigots,” Nerix Lordrun replied.

“Explains why I soar over you.”

“And one prick away from coming back to reality.” And they clashed again, lunging, poking, sizing each other’s confidences. Edeard brought his blade close to his chest as Nerix charged in two steps. He deflected the attack, then sidestepped to the side of the older man’s unfamiliar footing. As Nerix corrected his stance, Edeard poked, feinted, then struck again. Blade slipped parallel to blade. The tip of his rapier felt the opponent’s parabolic guard, rubbing against a Basketguard Spell. Faint arcs of energy were loosened as Edeard’s own repulsion Spell gathered at the tip, then reached a climax against the opponent’s guard. Nerix’s weapon was flung out of his grip. Edeard strode once and in one flick of the wrist his weapon tip rested on the bowl between Nerix’s collar bones.

The crowd gasped. The strings stopped on a shrill note.

“I’ll have you apologize for that comment about Lady Velvedere,” Edeard said.

“And I will do so the next time I see her, my knight in purest dayshade.”

“Considering how much your word is worth perhaps that would be pointless.” Edeard withdrew and sheathed his weapon.

“My comment was in jest, if such a concept is foreign to one in that attire. I’ve always thought you looked like a buffoon.”

“The correct term is otherworldly, philistine,” Edeard said. “I think I bore of this exchange. I will be retiring for the night. Good night to you all.”

There was a round of quiet applause. That story would last a couple days in transit betwixt the society. Then it was back to the pushing currency and materials from behind the desks in their mansions. Ralagast was a large city. All cities within hundreds of miles paled in comparison, although there was some suspicion that Cadeau de Chires may eventually overtake their prestige. Whatever such a vague notion meant.

Edeard basked in the afterglow of his victory on Nouliune Hall’s extensive balcony on the fifth floor. Cool winds brushed past the flaps in his clothes. Many a passing nobleman noticed his identity and greeted him. Sometimes he returned it, sometimes he didn’t. What mattered if he did or not? Edeard was a knight of the Preservation. An elite bearer of the Falerian standard. These were but noblemen of commerce and internal affairs. His glory rivaled that of the noblemen of war. He smiled at the thought, which he had recalled and played back many times again and again. This world was brilliant. He had never enjoyed life more.

When the murmurs of faraway conversation faded, he thought he was finally alone on the balcony. Then came the smell of a heavy storm. He whipped around, eyes wide, and immediately bowed.

“My Lady,” he said.

“Rise.”

Edeard rose to meet the gaze of the most beautiful woman he had ever known. Lady Velvedere. Empirial Architect. Enactor of the Emperor’s Diktat. Highcaster. She Who Usurped An Angel’s Feather…

“There really is no need to regard me in such manner, Edeard,” she said, interrupting his faraway fantasia.

Edeard thought there must be a mistake.

A rich mane of hair like heavily pregnant grain waving in the noon sun ran in braided rivers down to the small of her back. Her comely figure, which came in the form of strong shoulders narrowing down as smoothly as the eye could discern to a thin waist before widening again at the hips like an inverted chalice, was apparent even through the panoply of gear she wore. How could a man not regard her in such a manner? Edeard had awoken in this world seeing her face, and had decided then he would serve her forever.

“What do you need of me, madam?” He asked.

“Why don’t we sit a while?”

“O-of course!” Edeard tried not to appear frantic. They found an empty table nearby overlooking Ralagast’s speckled night. Countless torches effused light into the night sky. The dim light caught the softness of Lady Velvedere’s crescent eyes, half-closed, as if in mourning or just a little sad.

“It must be convenient to be a knight,” she said. “You get to fight for what you believe in. Your world is simple, honest, fair.”

“Only in some ways, madam. Though my troubles pale in comparison to yours, they exist in a fashion.”

“You overestimate me, lord. But perhaps not during this past month. The nobility behind commerce and empire are wielders of the quill, not the sword. That brings a whole new dimensionality to their dealings.” Lady Velvedere placed her cheeks against the palms of her hands and sighed. “I just wish the Emperor didn’t give me so much work to do. You may be glad to live in your world.”

“I live in whatever world that may be of use to you, madam.”

“Oh silly, I’m just venting. There is no place for sharpened metal in a board room.”

“Then I will at least listen.”

“They feel threatened. Cadeau de Chires is growing, competing, productive. Talent that used to come to Ralagast are going there instead. This city has grown old and lethargic resting on its laurels. Now I hear talk about assassins.”

“Must be rumors to deter competitors.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Assassins you hear of would be poor at their jobs.”

Lady Velvedere laughed, an expression of pure delight. Then with slow reluctance she returned to one of stony duty.

“You have heard of Lord Horatio?”

“He owns business in general goods. Why?”

“He has attempted to invest in Cadeau. We’ve received news his first caravan has been waylaid by highwaymen. They’ve survived, but the damage to reputation has been done. There has been… unsavory talk of jealous officials in Ralagast orchestrating something so convenient. The Board is asking me to use my powers and intervene. But that is liken to bringing the sun to earth to boil a kettle.” She sighed. “Oh well. I will have no more of your night. Thank you for listening to me, Edeard. You have done more than I could ask.”

“I… you’re welcome any time, my Lady.”

“We should have another one of these at a later date.”

Thunder. Rain. The smell of energy occupied the sudden vacuum in the seat opposite to Edeard.

He took a deep breath and made his way home, all the while bothered. He had never known Lady Velvedere to be powerless in any regard. Now she was, tangled in matters where power was clearly unhelpful. And he was useless. She had thanked him, but all Edeard had done was listen. Some servant he was.

He was greeted by Iana as he entered the doors to his house. He only had one maid, despite the size of the place. The constant company bothered him, so he hired the one, paid her triple, and hoped she didn’t mind the extra workload.

“Shall I prepare coffee, my lord?” Iana asked.

“Yes please. In my study.”

Surrounded by walls of shelves and books, he began to peruse. There must be something of use among those tomes. It was always said, there is often more talk of assassins than the demand for them. The obsession for their ilk was rooted in the fanciful tales of young children frustrated by their society and longed for occupations that operate with impunity from its rules. Edeard knew this better than anyone. But if Lady Velvedere with her extraordinary ken had suspicions that cloaked killers were amok in Ralagast, it would do for him to be discreet.

The doors to his study opened silently. Iana set a silver tray of coffee, sugar cubes, honey, and whole milk on his desk. He thanked her absentmindedly. Yet she lingered.

“What is the matter?” He asked, closing his book. The girl confused him at times. She seemed keen to his moods. Confident and far too willing. Perhaps it was because he paid her so well. Edeard would have given permission without hesitation if she wanted to go home at the time servants usually went home. She had a needy, elderly family that ate up her earnings in medications. But there she was every night, orbiting him. She can’t seem to meet him in the eye though. Edeard remembered being socially awkward in his other self, the world he was glad to have escaped, so he didn’t confront her about it.

“You seem troubled, my lord.”

“Hm? Yes, a little. There may be things in the shadows here in Ralagast. I may have to work outside the Knight’s Guard on this.”

“I haven’t heard of such matters from the other servantries. Should I be wary?”

“Continue as you are. That ought to keep you safe.”

“Forgive me for being egregious, but, why don’t you inform the Inquisition of this?”

“Because I received this information from Lady Velvedere with her confidence. I must help her.”

“…I see.”

“This mustn’t leave this room, understand?”

“Yes. Of course. If you don’t mind, my lord. I’d like to be dismissed for the night.”

“Oh? Um, yes, it’s past your hours anyhow. Good night.”

The doors closed behind her. Edeard returned to his work. His research yielded fruit near midnight. Faleria kept State and Economy separate, constantly tugging at each other so authoritative order could never overmatch the sheer power of currency and vice versa. But each was also the other’s strength. Without the State, the Economy had no grounds to compete, and without Economy the State had no resources with which to enforce the peace and maintain power. It made sense for one to interfere with the other. Someone in the courts didn’t want Ralagast’s money leaving the city and into its competitor, Cadeau de Chires. While Ralagast’s facets dulled and lost their shimmer, Cadeau was a growing gem on Faleria’s new frontier. There was only so much room in the Emperor’s regard. The State wanted His favor, to see Ralagast as still being superior. The Economy couldn’t care less; they curried good opinion by operating well.

It might be worth killing over.

Edeard grew weary all of a sudden. There was a disturbing monotony with the way people behaved. All this sounded far too familiar. There would be time after this crisis to philosophize. For now, he needed gear. Clandestine tools. And he knew just the armorer.