On the Hills of Eden

Though they were still running on empty, their supposed breakfast soaking into the carpets of the Big Man Diner, they continued on with their errands and went on to find an audience with Duke Thosmodeus.

As they climbed the spotless stairs of the town hall’s marble stage, kept clean by a small army of janitors that trawled the general concourse area, they beheld the grand sight before them. A true marvel of both wealth and artistic talent, the Porthopolitan town hall embodied the very soul of the bustling mercantile city. Its facade a fusion of both the Royal and Low classes of Minervan society, formed from a series of intricately carved marble columns connected by rich ashen woods that each held an elaborately engraved entablature serving as a floor for the level above.

Each level sported its own set of unique columns, the bejewelled insets of the engravings on their entablatures each telling their own separate stories through the dancing coloured lights that shone off of them and onto the concourse below. The three-storied monolith of a building stood tall and proud over the rest of the city centre, its height matched only by the handful of Solean spires that dotted the inner city.

When they got to the town hall’s entrance, it was as if they were staring into an entirely different world. The gaping maw itself was framed with pure marble, shining brilliantly against the duller and darker colours of the pillars. And within it, the vast floor before them was illuminated by rich golden rays, splitting from an entire flotilla of glass chandeliers that hung over the level’s beautiful marble floor populated by a handful of clerks and civilians that went about their business. Encaging them and opposite the entrance stood a wall of counters that ran across the entire perimeter of the floor, walling everything beyond the semicircular open floor from the public eye. Behind each counter segment sat a clerk, and nearly every counter had already been made busy by a member of the public or by staff from the inner administration.

As they let the marble portal subsume them, they felt a rush of relief, spared finally from the harsh light of the noon clouds. Pallas pointed out a counter whose staff was lucky enough to have been spared from the onslaught of civilians, and the party made haste across the floor to the next step in their journey through the city.

As they approached the clerk, his head rose from the parchment on his desk to meet the party’s gaze.

As the three of them put their bags down, Soleiman sat himself down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the counter.

“We would like to seek an audience with the Duke.”

The clerk raised an eyebrow in response.

“Your pass-number?”

Suleiman opened his mouth, before closing it and turning back to check with Pallas.

“It was 9108, right?”

Pallas diverted her eyes in recollection.

“...Yeah,” she concluded, looking back at him.

“9108! Good sir.”

The clerk’s brow rose momentarily in acknowledgement as he reached below his desk for a clipboard holding a veritable mass of paper. He mouthed the number back to himself as he flickered through the pages, eyes running down what they presumed to be lists of other similar numbers.

“Oh, you better hurry along then, your appointment’s in 20 minutes.”

“Oh. Er… okay,” Soleiman rose from his chair, the other two picking their bags up as he did so.

“Take this,” he said, handing the three of them a card with the number ‘9108’ inscribed on it alongside a vertical signature. “Head over there,” the clerk gestured to the far end of the room, just left of the entrance. “And my colleagues there will do the rest.”

“Alright, thank you!”

Pallas raised a hand in appreciation, and Qingxi did a slight bow.

They made their way across the floor again, disappearing behind a small gap only a metre and a half wide that lay between the wall and the leftmost edge of the wall of counters and clerks. As they passed through the corridor and rounded the corner, they presented their cards to a pair of staff who were idly standing by at the base of a staircase that led to the floor above them.

The staff inspected their cards for a moment, before each taking the bags off Pallas and Soleiman’s shoulder. And though one of them tried to take Qingxi’s too, she politely raised her hand in decline. Bags hoisted on their shoulders, the staff then began their way up the red rug-covered wooden stairs, beckoning the party to follow them up and to their quarters.

As they arrived at the top of the stairs, they made their way down a corridor to their right, turning right yet again to be greeted by a long corridor making its way down the entire length of the building, flanked on both sides by an array of doors. Though both sets of doors were nearly identical, barring the exact shades of their wood, the doors on the right were framed with a thin border of gold and terminated earlier down the corridor before the ones on the left.

Moreover, the floor’s lighting was entirely different from the floor below, lit mainly by a pure white light reflecting off the marbled ceiling emitted by tall brass braziers.

The staff quickly rushed ahead of the party, making their way down the corridor to the final door on the right. They opened the door, heading inside.

The party quickly followed suit, finding themselves in a modest but still fancily furnished room, with the main focal point being the quaint coffee table that sat in the middle, encircled by plush sofas and bookshelves beyond that.

The staff set their bags down on the ground, before one of them rushed forward to grab a small key off the coffee table. Handing it to Pallas, he pointed to the clock, stating the time to be quarter past twelve.

“Duke Thosmodeus will see you at half past twelve. When that time comes, head up the staircase to the right of this room and you’ll be directed to the Duke’s audience chamber,”

“Right, thanks.”

The two staff disappeared out of the room, closing the door behind them before the party could say anything else.

Pallas and Soleiman were floored by the magnanimity of the whole situation. Having an entire private waiting room suited for the decadence of the upper-middle class- with a clock to boot, just handed to you for having a simple appointment with the Duke was something uniquely Porthopolitan, and not once in their ventures across the rest of Minerva did they behold a spectacle of this scale.

Or perhaps it was just that the rest of Minerva stood so low in comparison to the bustling merchant city that even generous hospitality came across as a show of opulence. Qingxi sure seemed to prove that point.

“Want some tea?” she said, her bag already resting by the table and her hands already on the tea set placed atop one of the room’s short drawers.

A couple of cups of soothing herbal tea fetched from the mountain passes of Shafraturriyah later, and the gang found themselves standing before the door of the Duke’s audience chamber.

Qingxi patted down the folds of her gi, Pallas gulped slightly and Soleiman cleared his throat as pushed the door in gently.

As the door gave way, the full view of the Duke sitting imposingly on his velvety plush throne came before them. Arms resting on the masterwork of a desk before him and his face locked in a stone cold display of pure stoic energy, he eyed down the three of them stood awkwardly in the door, though his gaze was more understanding than judgemental.

They stood in silence for a moment, Pallas and Qingxi eyeing Soleiman with bewilderment as the introduction he had planned during their little tea party fell apart in the face of the Duke himself.

“Duke Thosmodeus! I, uh, we’ve… I-”

“Come from Lady Rei?” he said, voice rumbling, but not deep- like the feeling of rubbing a rock against gravel.

“...Yes.”

“Have a seat.”

The three of them sat themselves on the three stout chairs before the desk, settling into the soft embrace of their cotton-filled cushions.

“I’m Soleiman,” he said, gesturing to himself, “And they are Pallas and Qingxi.”

The two girls each nodded in acknowledgement.

“...Uh, Lady Rei sent us on her behalf to secure ourselves safe passage to Ahdi Minerva. She said your Majesty would help us accomplish this?” he winced slightly as the last few words left his mouth, without any semblance of tact or grace or dignity in the face of such exalted nobility.

“Yes, that you are right. However,” he shifted forward in seat, continuing, “There have been some changes to the plan.”

“What?” Pallas said.

“Circumstances have developed not necessarily in our favour, unfortunately. I’m sure Lady Rei has explained to you about the census?”

“Oh,” Pallas collapsed slightly, the air leaving her lungs in defeat.

“Yes, well, we’ve just recently received word from the Princess’ Palace regarding the implementation of the census in this city. And it’s to come into effect immediately.”

Qingxi looked over to her fellows, their feelings of dread infecting her as she saw the looks of doom dawning on their faces.

Duke Thosmodeus sat upright in his seat.

“So, to ensure you leave safely, we will be escorting you onto a boat that you will sail yourself tonight.”

The three of them sat in bewilderment. Pallas couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“We’re going to row ourselves across the strait?”

“Sail. You’re going to sail across the strait.”

“Wait wait wait,” Soleiman cut in, “Your Majesty, I do apologise, but, is there really no way we could get any assistance with the voyage?”

“Given the census, no. That being said, rest assured, you will be well equipped for the journey.”

Soleiman’s gaze was distant, though his eyes were fixed on the map before them.

“Hear me,” the Duke said. “The census system is designed to minimise movement between cities and to completely halt movement into and out of the Kingdom. Even so much as sending a few of our sailors to sail you across the strait will raise the alarm for the Gravitas.”

The Duke shifted forward in his seat again.

“We guarantee your safe departure. The strait’s waves are calm enough for small vessels, and the current plan for your entry into Ahdi Minerva remains unchanged.”

…

“Any further questions?”

“What will we be given on the boat?” Soleiman asked.

“Everything you’ll need.”

…

“Listen, I’ll call on you again later tonight when we’ve sorted things out. You’ll know exactly what you’ve got, where you’re going and when you’ll be leaving when that time comes, understood?”

The gang sat in silence, Soleiman and Pallas lost in consideration of the changes to the plan.

“I can sail,” Qingxi said, tilting her head slightly as she gave her fellows a reassuring look.

“You can?”

“A bit. I learnt white water rafting when I was younger.”

They didn’t seem very reassured.

“Don’t worry about that. You’ll be briefed on how to work the ship upon departure. For now, get some rest. We’ll meet again when night falls.”

The three of them remained sat in silence, minds too preoccupied with processing the gravity of the situation to be able to formulate any further questions. Except Qingxi.

“Duke Thosmodeus,” she said, waiting for his gaze to lock with hers before continuing. “We’d like to report a… uhm…” she trailed off, failing to find the specific words she was looking for.

Pallas perked up in her seat, the whole debacle at the Big Man Diner surfacing once again in her ocean of memories.

“A case of worker abuse, your Majesty,” Pallas said, filling in the blanks.

“Do continue.”

“We came across a waitress earlier today, her name is Rumi,” Qingxi resumed. Her hands now coming to life, she gestured using them with a sense of urgency. “She works at somewhere called the ‘Big Man Diner’. We sent her to the almshouse not too long ago because of an accident, and there she told us about how her employer’s been abusing her for her performance.”

“Oh my. Did you happen to catch which Shrine she’s affiliated with?”

“Shrine?”

“This ‘Rumi’. She’s a Kitsunite, is she not?”

“Uhm…”

“No, your Majesty,” Pallas responded when Qingxi paused. “She’s a Solean- judging by her hair at least.”

Silence fell over the room.

“So-”

The concern on the Duke’s face slipped and splattered all across the floor, its fading compassion naught but a slight soggy warmth against their feet.

“Ah. Rumi- the Roman. Of course,” he shuffled in his seat slightly, scooting it slightly forward. “More likely than not, you three, she’s working as a slave for the Big Man Diner.”

Pallas and Soleiman widened their eyes slightly in shock, though their reactions paled in contrast to Qingxi’s.

“What?” she said, her voice raised.

“Qingxi, dear, as a foreigner you may not know this but…” he trailed off, eyes wandering slightly as he picked out the words he’d use to explain the understandably bewildering situation. “A decade or so ago, when she and her fellow Soleans invaded Minerva as part of the 5th Edenberry War, they sent civilians over to help govern conquered territories- giving away our land and people in landed estates.”

Qingxi slowly sat back in her seat.

“They were so confident in their assured victory that they’d begun the process of integrating our lands even before the war ended. These civilians,” he said, gesturing his hand to imaginary mini figures on the empty desk, “They were instrumental in the exploitation of our people. In moving Edenberries back to the Solean heartland.”

She slowly leaned back, the hunch in her back disappearing along with the shock in her face.

“So when their war effort suddenly collapsed, and they failed to evacuate these governing families in time, they ended up in the hands of the Arkalaios. In the Princess’ hands.”

He paused for a bit.

“And she punished them. Sentenced each and every one to work the rest of their lives as slaves to our people in repayment for their and their Imperium’s excesses against our people,” he said, leaning back in his seat- the assault finally over. “Rumi is one of them.”

…

The slavers became the enslaved. Pallas realised, her mind swirling.

“But, Duke Thosmodeus, she's so young- she couldn’t have known what was happening.”

“It’s how it has to be, Qingxi. Mercy doesn’t deter the greedy.”