Chief Justice Morland had to brace himself against heavy wind and rain as he shouted out the decree for Harold’s execution. His black robes and thinning mop of hair were drenched, and his nose was very red.

“Harold Daymoore. For the crimes of treason, uxoricide, murder, attempted murder, conspiracy to murder, evasion of authorities, assault of a public servant, dissension, and fraud, you are condemned to death. Your death shall be conducted on the authority of Chieftess Olga Rakardottir, the acting head of the Coalition government. May the Mother take you into her eternal embrace.” Morland walked from the wooden stage and joined the small crowd standing silently in front of it.

Hal rubbed his arms uncomfortably and looked around. He saw a group of people who were all unhappy and waiting in the muddy grass for something unpleasant to happen. Some, like the regal King Foucaud and his retinue, were disgusted at Harold, and his continued impact on their life and precious time. Others, who were decidedly fewer, mourned for the man that they knew and loved. A smaller subset, perhaps only one, felt nothing but the cold.

Olga walked onto the stage. She looked at the crowd, as if they were an accomplice in some sort of shared crime, and beckoned the execution team with a wave of her hand. They dragged Harold, naked and covered in filth, to the middle of the stage. At the sight of him the crowd hissed and groaned. Bryan, the idiot son of Brack, whispered in Hal’s ear. “At least they could cover him up, surely. I didn’t come here to see the man’s- “

“Shut up please,” Hal said without looking at him. The horned bastard was important but easily cowed. The real power laid with his minder Robin, who was standing at the back of the crowd, out of earshot.

One of the white-robed executioners brought out a wide metal rectangle. It had three thin pieces of metal fanning out of its top. Two were curved in arches to either side and one went straight up. Olga watched the executioners forcefully strap the rectangle to Harold’s jaw, the metal strips pointing up into the air. She turned to the crowd as the executioners held the rectangle upright on Harold’s now gaping mouth. “The sinner has been judged. Their evil is made clear for all to see. To mourn them is to spit in the eye of their victims.” Olga stood to the side and pointed at Harold, displaying his straining form to the crowd. “Show them!”

Two executioners grabbed at the two arching pieces of metal and pushed. The pieces slid down and burst from the sides of Harold’s throat. Blood sprayed profusely from the wound as Harold let out a muffled scream and writhed weakly.

Many in the crowd groaned at the sight. Even Foucaud looked away in disgust.

Olga grabbed the middle piece and shoved it down into Harold’s body. He gave one last flinch and died, his blood pouring freely from the two grotesque protrusions coming out of his neck. The executioners hooked the rectangle to a wooden pole and carried the body away. It would be displayed to the public until the body was so rotted that it fell off the contraption.

Grim

“Bloody grim that was. Can’t say that’s how I'd have done it.” Bryan said as the crowd walked backed into the city.

Hal sighed quietly and looked up at Bryan. He gave a little friendly smile. “Oh?”

**********

Gillian sniffled and wiped at her eyes. She took a deep breath and hugged herself as she laid on the sofa. Ophelia and Dast played some wretched stomping game upstairs. How her head throbbed.

“Guess who received the best grade in the entire class!” Serilin said as she entered the living room.

Gillian stood up from the sofa and embraced Serilin. She whispered into her ear “Was it you? This would be awkward if it wasn’t you.”

“Yes, it was me.” Serilin pulled away and pulled out a sheaf of papers from her pack. “Where is father? Oh I don’t care, you’re good enough.” Serilin pulled Gillian down next to her on the sofa and straightened her papers. “I won’t read it all. Only the good bits that the professor gushed about.”

Gillian nodded encouragement.

“Alright. We’re at the evaluative section regarding Batu’s effects on the south-west of the continent. I say here, ‘In the common understanding, Batu is seen as a benevolent and at times paternal figure who has taken it upon himself to enlighten humanity and endow them with essential knowledge. In the less common, but still prevalent, understanding of popular scholarly circles, Batu is seen as a manipulative charlatan who is abusing his supernatural powers of knowledge and analysis to gain power for himself. However, these perspectives both fall short due to a key reason. A reason that has muddied the accuracy of both global politics and history since time immemorial. Objectivity. If one views Batu from- “

“What’s this?” Hal walked to his chair and sat down slowly. He smiled weakly and yawned.

“Serilin is just reading out her history assignment. It was graded the highest in her class.” Gillian said

“Really? That’s good. I expected no less.”

“Well father, you have been quite busy recently, haven’t you?” Serilin put away her papers and stood up. She began to pace around the room like some vicious philosopher. “I haven’t seen you in a while. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen my father in a very long time.”

“Darling.” Gillian tried to grab Serilin’s sleeve, but she was swatted away.

Serilin’s pacing increased speed. “I have heard the things that you have done. You’re now the head of some organized crime ring who claims that they serve any authority but themselves. Some of my own friends have been caught up in the Council’s prying! Just the other day Berty-“

“Get to the point. What’ve I done wrong today? Hm?” Hal sat back in his chair and stared at Serilin. His eyes were dark, and he wore a brooding expression.

Serilin clenched her jaw and crossed her arms. “I’ve heard that you’ve been instrumental in the current corruption of the government. People starve in the streets because nobody can afford food anymore. Efir addicts line the gutters like never before and yet there is also a shortage of Efir, making them more desperate, violent, and likely to die from withdrawal.’

“Yes, Serilin, these are the death throes of a corrupt system. You have probably seen an increase of guards patrolling the streets, or maybe the petty criminals that you spend time with try to avoid them? Either way they are protecting the city and providing jobs to the poor.”

“Hah! You really think the guards help anyone? People don’t even have to avoid them, as long as they have coin. They don’t even protect people anymore, they just sit around and occasionally bust into the houses of people who haven’t paid them yet!”

Gillian stood up, forgotten, and walked out of the room. Nobody called her back in. Because she could honestly think of no better place to go, she walked into the kitchen and started to clean some dirty pots. She stared into the filthy tub water as her hands worked desperately. Suddenly, her eyes welled with tears, and she wiped at them with her elbow. She took a shuddering breath and whispered. “Oh Cassandra, you were right! I’m so lonely without you.” Quite sobs racked her slender frame as she stood in front of the sink.

“Madam?” A tall, black-uniformed stranger stood at the entrance to the kitchen. He was quite muscular and had the dark skin of a Boranian. A large-eyed woman with short blond hair stood behind him, wearing the same uniform. She was pretty, in spite of the malice of her stance. Both wore the golden pin of a Council lackey.

“What? Hal’s in the living room.” Gillian gave a final frustrated wipe of her eyes and crossed her arms at the two strangers.

“We know. He appears to be quite busy with a young woman, however." The man bowed his head respectfully. "When we attempted to get his attention, he waved us away. Our mission is very urgent so we cannot afford to wait around, and we both thought that it would be best to leave the delivery with you. He has mentioned you as a trusted-“

The woman gave a subtle poke and the tall man stopped speaking. Gillian remarked at the man’s deep voice before holding her hand out for the package. The tall man strode over to Gillian and handed her a small parcel. He nodded respectfully again and left, with the woman in tow.

They both waited until they were out of the house before speaking again.

“’Very urgent?’ She definitely knew you were taking the piss.”

“Well what would you have said Darcy? I can’t just say I’m fucking knackered and what to go ‘ome.”

Darcy chuckled and looked around the street. It wasn’t very crowded. Nobody was in earshot. “Alright then Mansion, what’s our next thing?”

“We’re paying a visit to some lowlifes. I think it’s the crowd that the boss’s daughter hangs around with. He said to show the utmost discretion. But he said it sarcastically, so...”

“They in Graham’s Square?”

Mansion nodded and led the way. They eventually arrived at a dingy house that sat next to a café and a moderately successful-looking inn. One window of the house was smashed open, and obscene graffiti covered a small area near the front door. Mansion knocked.

A man’s weaselly face popped out. With a suspicious glance at Mansion and Darcy he said, “What?”

Mansion pulled open the door and pushed him into the walkway, where he fell to the floor. Darcy followed him in and closed the door. Mansion looked around. They were in a narrow corridor parallel to a set of stairs leading to the second floor. The house had the stink of the uncared for, and trash lined the sides of the footpaths.

“Charming place.” Darcy leaned over the man, her hands wresting on her knees. “What’s your name?”

“Piss off.” The man rolled around on the floor and rubbed his hands against his temples. His face was pale and sweaty. “I think I broke something.”

Mansion grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. He smiled and put his giant hand on the man’s shoulder. “I apologise for pushing you. We just want to have a conversation. That’s all.”

“My name is Jameson. Don't break anything please, wankers.”

Jameson walked down the hallway with a pathetic little limp. He led them to a lounge room with five other people. All looked drunk, high, hungover, or somewhere in between. The lounge was about as vile as one would expect.

“Who’re they Jamesy?” A small woman, no older than twenty, stood up and put her hands on her hips. She had the intense, angry glare of a professional arguer.

Jameson rubbed his shoulder defensively and hurried to stand behind her. “They pushed me over Berty, I-“

Mansion puffed his chest out and spoke in a deep, overwhelming voice. “We are employees of the Council of Inquiries.” He gestured to his small golden badge. “We have been sent here to give you some simple instructions. Stop your friendship with Miss Serilin Landoran, or else we’ll be back.”

Darcy walked to the coffee table and gently knocked over a tall porcelain Efir smoker. It shattered on the wooden floor.

“Stop it. We won’t be intimidated!” Berty stood strong and stuck her chin up at Mansion, although trying to look down at him was fruitless from her stature. “We know what our rights are. And I won’t let two hired thugs just come into my home and violate them like they’re above the law.”

Now everybody was awake and standing behind Berty. The small group looked scared, and most looked weak and untrained.

Mansion took a step forward. “Please don’t misunderstand us, Ma’am. Violence is only a last resort here. We just want to communicate our directives to you, and to understand that you will cooperate with these directives.”

The implicit threat was clear, though only Berty seemed to have heard it. She looked doubtfully between the Mansion and Darcy. “We can’t just abandon Serilin. She’s a good friend. One of us.”

“Is she?” Darcy walked towards the group in a strange, meandering way. Subtly, she flipped open her uniform to reveal a mean looking dagger. “Isn’t she the daughter of our boss? Seems like a conflict of interest if there ever was one. At the end of the day, she’ll stick with the guy who tucks her in at night, I know I would.”

“Ser’s different than that. She hates Lord Landoran.” Berty sneered, eager to rebuke. “She’s the one who gives us-“ Berty stopped speaking and looked down with instant regret. “Just piss, off will you? We’re done here.”

Darcy stood right in front of Berty and stared into her face with wide eyed intensity. Darcy’s face was pale, and her eyes were rimmed with the darkness of fatigue. It made for a disturbing sight.

Mansion took another step forward. He spoke in calming tones. “Darcy, don’t.”

A boy with a large Adam’s apple spoke up from the small crowd behind Berty. “Leave her alone! You can’t do anything to us.”

With a startling burst of speed Darcy wrapped her arm around Berty’s throat and pulled out her knife. She held Berty’s back against her and pushed the tip of her knife just beneath her eye. “Move and I’ll pop it like a grape.”

The crowd of students all stepped back and made noises of horrified indignation. Jameson grabbed a chair and hoisted it half-heartedly.

Darcy dragged Berty towards Mansion by her neck. Berty writhed and clawed against Darcy’s vice grip, but could only free herself enough to capture small breaths.

Darcy snarled and shouted into Berty’s ear, spittle projecting from her mouth. “IF YOU DON’T DO WHAT WE SAY, I WILL COME BACK HERE AND GUT YOU, YOU FUCKING BRAT!” Darcy removed her knife and threw Berty to the floor, where she kicked her in the stomach and chest.

Jameson ran forwards with the chair, the tragic hero coming seconds too late. Mansion grabbed the chair before it went anywhere and hurled it at the wall, where it broke into its component pieces.

Mansion then grabbed Darcy’s arm and pulled her away from Berty. “That’s enough. She’s learnt her lesson.”

Berty wailed in a pitiful display of pain as she wrapped her arms around herself on the floor. Darcy broke free of Mansion and gave her one last kick to the stomach. Berty threw up on herself and wailed louder. Mansion grabbed Darcy again and dragged her away from the crowd of horrified students.

Darcy gave her wide eyed stare to the students and smiled like a feral animal. “Until next time!” She laughed as she swatted away Mansion’s grip on her arm and walked with him out of the house. She stretched and rubbed her hands together happily as they entered the sunlight of the street. “Oh, I haven’t had fun like that since I was in the corps! Thanks for hamming up the deranged lunatic thing with pulling me away and stuff, really enhanced the show.” Darcy looked around and saw the café. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries emanated from the place. She looked up at Mansion. “Want something? I could eat.”

Mansion shook his head. “No. Let’s just get back to base.”

He had lost his appetite.