Tales from Kalgachia - 28
"Octavian Centre, Quiverbane One is flight level three five zero and heading one eight zero, three hundred clicks north of Schlepogora. Request transit."
"Quiverbane One, Octavian Centre. Radar contact. State transit codeword."
"Octavian Centre, codeword is GRANDOLA. Quiverbane One."
"Quiverbane One, codeword accepted. Descend flight level three zero zero, expect vector right heading two two zero at flight level two five zero. Standby Oktavyan Approach on one one two decimal three five."
"Descending two five zero, expect two two zero at flight level two five zero, standby to one one zero decimal three five. Quiverbane One."
For the very first time, a large gravimetric airship of Shirerithian origin slid serenely over the Kalgachi border. The spectacle did not meet with a hail of assorted weapons as it might have done, but the prospect of an instinctive small arms response with occasional MANPADS by the trigger-happy partisans of the frontier regions had caused the ship to be vectored into Kalgachia at a safe height until it was almost atop its destination, whereupon it would sink rapidly to the ground. The population of the Kalgachi capital, Oktavyan, had at least been informed that an unusual craft would be arriving during the day and that panic was not necessary, much less the cracking open of weapon caches across the city's constituent Parishes.
As the city had been precluded by geography from operating an international airport, the visiting ship was directed to make its landing at a trailhead beneath the north face of Mount Octavian itself, possessed as it was with a gravel parking lot large enough to accomodate the craft plus a sizeable reception committee for its principal occupant. There had never, in fact, been any foreign visitor to Kalgachia of such stature as the man who now gazed through a porthole at Mount Octavian's snow-caked summit which obscured the sun as the ship descended into its shadow. As the ground loomed ever closer he noticed hundreds of people arranged in neat lines and squares - troops in parade dress, robed religious clerics, suited officials of various types and a troop of mounted cossacks whose horses stirred in nervous agitation at the sight of something so big displaying such unnatural defiance of gravity.
At the head of this welcoming party stood a red-haired Nezeni by the name of Rubina Yastreb, recently appointed Lady Lieutenant of Oktavyan for the sin of having impressed more of Kalgachia's ruling Council of Perfecti than just its chairman, one Xantus Yastreb, who happened to be her father. In this instance Xantus, whose jolly temperament had never really recovered since Rubina's mother had died in childbirth, expressed only the most cursory acknowledgement of Rubina's adaptability in caring for the survivor of that birth, her young brother Falcifer - but the other Perfecti had apparently seen something special in Rubina's conduct and pressured Xantus into granting her one of Kalgachia's most prestigious state offices, the very last thing she desired. It was an easier role than she had expected, however - the Lieutenancy of Oktavyan attracted the cream of the Kalgachi civil service and Rubina had inherited a well-oiled bureaucratic machine from her predecessor in the post, which troubled her with little more than an in-tray full of documents to scribble with her signature each morning. The only part of the job she truly disliked was chairing meetings of the Lord Lieutenants' Council, and that was only because the Lady Lieutenant of Lepidopterum happened to be her father's despicable slut of a mistress. All things considered, a chance to get away from that tangled web of intrigue had given Rubina a sudden and uncharacteristic tolerance for public events, of which the visit of this giant airship promised to be a fine example.
Normally her interest in aviation would have drawn her eye to the various components and flight behaviour of the airship itself, but the nature of the dignitary within was more prominent in her thoughts - for he was none other than King Ryker of Goldshire, an Imperial State of Shireroth whose territory was several times larger than Kalgachia. To Rubina that was only of passing interest - more important was the fact that she was in an amorous relationship with King Ryker's adopted son, one Roy Stone, who had been exiled to Kalgachia for some years to protect him from Ryker's political rivals in Shireroth. Ryker had not met Roy for some time, and Rubina had never met Ryker - since his visit was first drawn up under a veil of secrecy, Rubina wondered how the sight of Goldshire's King would match the vision planted in her mind by Roy's many stories about him. It was public knowledge that Ryker had suffered a botched facial surgery and wore a mask to spare his subjects the sight of his horrifically-deformed visage - but aside from Roy's overly-subjective experience of the man, Rubina knew little of the true King Ryker. He was allegedly a biological immortal and had been promoted into power by Rubina's own ancestors in Shireroth, which went some way to explaining why her father had consistently lobbied in his favour, despite the favoured King hailing from the very lair of archonic hierophancy they called the Imperial Advisory Council of Shireroth. The other Perfecti had intimated to Rubina that they were suspicious of the relationship and sought to advance her political position as a hedge against it - a disturbing revelation as the Council of Perfecti was supposed to function in a state of absolute honesty and trust. The fact that Rubina was being groomed in opposition to her own father, or that Ryker's adopted son was the love of her life, did not seem to worry her sponsors among the Perfecti - in their eyes the Urchaginka badge pinned on her lapel seemed to banish all possibility of her loyalty being compromised. Her resolved objective, inasmuch as she had one, was to reconcile these divergent interests without undue tumult. She had read the history books and agreed that most who fell under the spell of Shirekeep's perfidious scions were condemned to have their souls sucked dry by chaos, disenfranchisement and relentless anguish - Kalgachia's very existence was proof of the fact. But she loved her father, she loved Roy and it was entirely possible that she would like King Ryker too - even if, as was rumoured, he had a face like a prolapsed anus.
The mental picture which might have resolved itself into unpleasant detail was thankfully expelled from Rubina's mind by the sudden onset of music from an assembled band which brought her back into the moment. The airship's gangway had been lowered, revealing a group of uniformed officials within who shuffled around and eventually parted aside. Between them a figure stepped forward, clad in the smart but unabashedly peculiar dress which marked out the Shirerithian nobility. The concealment of his face by a respirator-looking mask revealed him to be King Ryker himself - the waiting Kalgachi troops snapped to attention as he made his way down the gangway steps with an asymmetric gait, the inscrutable eyepieces of his mask directed left and right to survey his surroundings. Having made his way through the military honour guard, he reached Rubina who stepped forward to offer him her hand.
"Welcome to the Garden, Your Majesty," she said as he took it. Peering into the semi-opaque eyepieces of his mask, she was disturbed at being unable to see anything resembling eyes.
"Lady Yastreb!" came the King's surprisingly clear reply, faithfully reproduced through some kind of voicebox in his mask. "Gods it's been a while since I met anyone with that name. I gather you've been keeping my Roy warm at night?"
Rubina, momentarily taken aback by his informal tone, flashed a bashful smile and bashfully averted her eyes. "I've looked after him as best I can, sir." she said. "And might I say he's acquitted himself well."
"Good," said Ryker. "Can't wait to see him." He looked around at the assembled dignitaries. "Is he here?"
"Your Majesty will meet him in due course. In the meantime..." Rubina turned to indicate the people behind her. "Permit me to introduce Your Majesty to Abbot Ossiphus of Oktavyan City... General Batty, Chief of the Defence Force Staff... Deputy Chief Emissary Bubbles..." she led Ryker down the line of dignitaries, thence toward a column of waiting limousines where he was heard to utter an offhand remark about the natives' peculiar names. He and Rubina were ushered into different sides of the same limousine by white-gloved soldiers as the cossacks wheeled their horses around to take up positions at the head and tail of the motorcade. Within a minute the whole procession was crunching steadily across the trailhead gravel and onto the firmer asphalt of the approach road. With its departure the band abruptly stopped playing, their music replaced by the click of camera shutters as unidentified officials made their way forward to photograph the parked airship from all angles.
An untold depth beneath Mount Octavian, the click of opening doors broke the murmur of conversation within the Council of Perfecti's chamber. Behind them stood the elderly, robed Nezeni who had served as the Perfecti's herald since the birth of their state. As familiar as ever, he glided into the chamber and offered the Ketherist backward bow before speaking with a well-practised gravity which had only been enriched by his age:
"My brother sovereigns... the King of Goldshire."
At the sight of Ryker's silhouette proceeding through the doorway, the nine Perfecti made the unprecedented gesture of rising to their feet before him. As he emerged into the light of the chamber proper, his masked face regarded each of the Perfecti in turn - in accord with the persistent rumour, he identified Xantus Yastreb stood at the Chairman's seat although this was no surprise. More interesting was the sight of Konstantin Rufin, Kalgachia's first Chief Emissary whose presence in public life had inexplicably ended some years previously - now it was clear why. Ryker could not identify the other Perfecti, although the complexions of most bore a distinctively Nezeni hue.
Xantus nodded in acknowledgement of his visitor. "It's an honour to have you with us, Your Majesty," he said. "I trust I need not introduce myself," he added with a smile.
"Not at all," said Ryker. "You Yastrebs can pump yourselves with Deep Singer genes all you like, but those Lunatic eyes still show through."
Xantus smirked. "Well everyone has to come from somewhere," he said. "Has my daughter treated you well so far?"
"Very well indeed... she seems to enjoy flying aeroplanes. She talked about nothing else on the way here."
"You have my apologies for that," chuckled Xantus. "Her conversational repertoire isn't exactly broad. You may find better talk from my sovereign brothers here." He indicated each of his fellow Perfecti in turn. "May I introduce my brothers responsible for spiritual cultivation, national defence, internal security, public works, labour and economic planning, education and outreach, health and public welfare... and of course those realms we call the tumultuous wastes. You're the first foreigner to visit us in session."
"Well don't stay standing on my account," said Ryker, watching the assembled Perfecti sink back into their seats with mutters of gratitude. "Might I ask what you've been discussing today?"
"Well," said Xantus. "I've spent most of the day grilling my brother responsible for national defence here, to make especially sure that all of his air defence units were briefed not to shoot at your airship. But as you appear to have joined us in one piece, I shall hassle him no further."
The individual responsible for national defence, clad in a well-decorated but slightly shabby officer's uniform, offered Ryker a mischievous wink.
"He has to make it home yet," said the invididual responsible for internal security, jabbing his uniformed companion with an elbow.
The other Perfecti laughed, with the exception of Xantus who offered an apologetic smile. "Brothers," he said, "please remember His Majesty is accustomed to sitting on the Imperial Advisory Council in Shirekeep. I doubt they have any respect for our flavour of banter, if they have any sense of humour at all..."
"You'd be surprised," said Ryker.
"Is that so?" said Xantus.
"Yep," said Ryker, earning Xantus' respectful grin at his refusal to elaborate.
"Well I hope you can tolerate our tomfoolery at least," said Xantus. "You must understand that one cannot deal with the issues this country faces without letting off a little steam during proceedings... or else we'd all end up like my great uncle Stellus. You knew him well enough, I gather."
"As well as one could know a man of his... affliction," said Ryker, witholding the full extent of his opinion on the man who had ordered one of the most important libraries of his Kingdom burned to the ground in a fit of psychotic pique. He elected to change the subject. "Say, I hope Roy's kept himself out of trouble while he's been here," he said. "Your daughter spoke well of him."
"He's a worthy guest of the Garden and a resilient fellow," said Xantus. "If he can survive the attentions of my daughter, he can survive anything."
"He wrote me just the other day," said Ryker. "Says he gets along well with Falcifer too."
At the mention of Xantus' son, the eyes of all the Perfecti glazed over and avoided looking at either Ryker or Xantus. Xantus himself stared down into the table in front of him, searching in vain for a way to ignore the direct mention of a son whose very existence he could not bring himself to accept. Noticing the uneasy pall descending over the chamber, Ryker shifted in his shoes and could have sworn he felt the ambient temperature drop by a degree or two.
In the end they were all saved by the accomplished diplomat Konstantin Rufin, who exploited the heightened awkwardness to assail Ryker with marginally less-awkward questions about life in Shireroth. Which faction held the greatest sway over the Imperial government these days? Would the Imperial Advisory Council be in a position to defend its veto on Fall Endsieg when (not if) the Nationalist-Humanists seized back control of the bureaucracy? Was the Kaiser really the morally-impotent neurotic that he seemed? Was there any truth to the rumour that Shireroth was incentivising the Republic of Inner Benacia to cause trouble on the frontiers of Kalgachia and Kasterburg? Did the Shirerithians know anything more than the Kalgachi about the individual known as Mondo? Had Shirerithian esotericists detected the same disturbances in the Transbatavian reality field as their Kalgachi counterparts...?
Most of these questions Ryker could not answer, either because he did not know or because they concerned classified information. In return, seizing the moment, he addressed the Perfecti with enquiries of his own - just how big was Lapivril? How much military technology had Kalgachia passed to Jingdao? Did the House of Yastreb sympathise with the Warriors of Toxoplasmosis in Blepia? If not, did they still like cats in general? Just how many Assayers of the Goldshire type had gone to work at the Reserve Bank of Kalgachia? Was there any possibility for Kalgachia to revive the trade in Froyalanish Community Service Workers from Wintergleam...?
To most of these questions Ryker also got an unsatisfactory response, but it got him past the Falcifer subject and opened up an affable conversation about a wider assortment of public and private matters, to the point that a bottle of gin and a salver of cold mutton slices were summoned to the chamber. In the end the meeting settled into Ryker's regaling of Xantus with all manner of imperfectly-remembered anecdotes about the latter's pre-Minarborian ancestors. Only the visible, creeping boredom of the other Perfecti provoked Xantus to wrap up the conversation with a final round of pleasantries. For Ryker too, it was time to be getting away as his visit to Kalgachia's rulers, as unparalleled an honour and as interesting a revelation as it had been, was not the main purpose of his arrival in the country - he was here to see his adopted son.
The Reserve Bank of Kalgachia, which Ryker had identified as a nest of exiled Goldshirian Assayers without complete inaccuracy, was also the workplace of Roy Stone - his was a largely sinecurial position involving the reagent sampling and spectrometry of Kalgachia's newly-smelted gold bullion. The job, although relatively simple once the basic routines were estabished, was far outside Roy's natural expertise and appeared to have been offered to him purely because of his Goldshire heritage. He had been inclined to reject the job until it occurred to him that it was no further from his natural expertise than any other occupation, except for the painstakingly-honed skill of locating nearby toilets which had only been forced upon him by the the lifelong necessity of his delicate innards.
Meeting his adoptive father in the Reserve Bank's underground vaults and assay laboratories, deep beneath Oktavyan city, had been Roy's own idea - a direct demonstration of proof that he had not been freeloading, idling or otherwise slacking during his life in Kalgachia. His superiors had accepted the honour of meeting the King of Goldshire and personally vouching for Roy's conduct which had been untroublesome, if a little underproductive. This they would do at the end of Ryker's visit, but for now they had given up the Reserve Bank's own boardroom - a sanctuary of teak-panelled, chandeliered splendour beneath a kilometre of granite - for Roy to receive the King in private. Having arrived to wait, Roy had already wiped his fifth freshly-picked lump of congealed snot under the rim of the mahogany table when the doors finally opened at the far end of the room and the unmistakable form of his masked benefactor swaggered into view.
"Roy, my boy!" said Ryker as he threw up his arms in recognition. "You are looking well, aren't you?"
"You too... I assume." Roy allowed himself a grin at his own quip.
"I see the local wit has rubbed off on you a bit then. Good. We'll make a diplomat of you here yet."
"You've caused a real stir around these parts lately. I think the Assayers thought you'd give them a hard time."
"They have fallen from grace haven't they?" Ryker gave a disapproving nod and let out a small chuckle. "Had the whole state on a leash then one cocky bastard decides to try his hand in battle. Now look at them. Still picking up the pieces, and at the discretion of their former toy-rulers no less."
Roy shifted uneasily in his seat at the slight towards his colleagues before deliberately clearing his throat, "Err- anyways, how do you like the place?"
"I'll be completely honest with you Roy." Ryker leaned in, "It drives me up the feckin' walls. Everything's so damn perfect here. Do you have any idea what I'd give to have the security your Rubina does? A small mountain kingdom full of gold and ancient infrastructure to build on. Can you imagine a more ideal place to rule?"
"Well I don't know about all that. I mean, it still has it's share of-"
"You know what I do to keep the peace in Goldshire? I keep everyone busy. Busy building walls. Busy training with the Regulars. Busy colonizing Apollonia. Busy leaving Apollonia. Do you know how many railway gauges Goldshire uses?" Ryker paused in his rant, looking to Roy for a reply.
"You've told me it'll be five once the wall's built. Makes invading supply lines inconvenient, right?"
The old King recollected himself somewhat and gave an affirmative grunt, "You know... it'll all be yours one day."
Roy stared, jaw tightened, at Ryker, "I know."
Though it had never been so blatantly put, he thought.
"Take's a toll," Ryker continued, "You need to know that. Hell, you probably understand it better than most given the people you've known."
Roy thought about his biological father, dead after a miserable existence and of the king-turned-slave Villy, who had helped him slip away to Kalgachia some years ago.
Seeing the young man's ponderous state, Ryker slowly reached behind his head. There were two soft clicks and and the mask loosened.
Roy looked at the mask as Ryker fidgeted with the many straps and latches holding it in place, made to avoid unfortunate incidents at public and governmental functions.
Ryker gave a deep sigh of relief as the musky interior peeled from his skin, smooth and white with scar tissue. He looked at Roy with his lone eye and performed his best approximation to a smile. "It's unfortunate that the medical staff that saw me like this had such a disposition to toilet humor." his voice was like gravel without the audio filter inside the mask. "Though I guess it is to be expected from those who specialize in proctology." He wiped some collecting drool from his mouth with a handkerchief. "Well, what do you think?"
"You- you look nice." Roy's tongue stumbled for words.
"Oh piss off." Ryker waved his hand genially before using it to replace the mask while the other refitted the back fastenings. "Did my point get across?" his voice returned to the realm of familiarity.
"I- I think so."
"Dandy! Now, tell me about little Falcifer."
"He's a good kid," said Roy. "A little quiet. Kinda lonely. The old man wants nothing to do with him."
"Yes I got that impression," said Ryker, his earlier faux pas making an unwelcome return to his recollection. "Still, neither did yours so you've got something in common."
"So Rubina keeps telling me."
"What's he into?"
"Reading. He reads books all day. Or magazines. Or his mother's work papers. Anything written. Sometimes me and him play a game where we don't talk to each other all day and just pass notes instead. Only thing is... sometimes he uses words that aren't in the dictionary. Trog words."
"Trog words?"
"Words that only the Troglodyti use. You know, the wizard types who run the show over here. They tend to make up words to grease their spooky rituals along, or for really fancy ideas. Falcifer just pulls them out of his butt like it's nothing. I have a pal called Arben, he's with the Trogs. Always telling Falcifer off for using words he's not initiated to understand. Says he'll guide the kid into the Mysteries of the Garden properly, when he's old enough."
"Mysteries of the Garden? Sounds... mysterious."
"Sounds like a whole lot of crap to me," said Roy. "But people seem to take it real serious around here. Falcifer loves it. And he reckons 'it'..." he threw up some finger quotes, "...loves him back."
"What does Rubina think about it?"
"She says she was the same at his age, before she got into aeroplanes and stuff. She thinks he'll grow out of it. I'm not so sure."
"But he's a nice kid, right?"
"Right."
The conversation meandered through other subjects and drifted on to the specifics of Roy's job at the Reserve Bank, whereupon he hopped to his feet and led Ryker on an impromptu tour of the place. Beginning at what Roy called his 'office', which resembled more of a storage closet converted into a small laboratory, the tour finally ended up in the office of the bank's Numismator General - a man evidently descended from the Goldshire Assayers on account of his drab brown waistcoat and a tenor so laconically dour that it seemed to suck every last atom of joy out of the room. He received Ryker with visibly uncomfortable and ill-practised words of polite deference, keeping to the driest and most technical language possible when detailing Ryker's work and the Reserve Bank's overall operation. Ryker, being well accustomed to dealing with Goldshire's Assayers, took the man's flat countenance in his stride and for his trouble received the gift of a Kalgachi-hallmarked gold bullion bar in a presentation case. Ryker's palace in Goldshire had several such bars in its vaults already, but he refrained from saying so as he shook the Numismator's reluctant hand and proceeded with Roy and his entourage to the grand elevator hall whence he had entered the premises.
In the elevator itself Ryker fell into conversation with Roy about Goldshire and all that had occurred there in the absence of the latter. Roy's ears wove Ryker's words into the apparent promise of that Kingdom's inheritance which was replaying in his mind. In his mind's eye he anticipated Rubina's pleased reaction at the news - blissfully unsuspecting of the horrified pallor which would, in fact, fall across her face at the irreconcilable maelstrom of dilemmas it entailed for herself, her family and and her homeland.
