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Archivist
“Fuck this is hard!”
“Language.” Entering the room, his gaze across the room to where six of the younger orphans gathered. The deck of cards Niha managed to smuggle out of the Lusty Mare seemed to be fully occupying them. He just wished she hadn’t gone to Lusty Mare at all.
“Royal flush bitches!”
“No way! You’re totally cheating!”
He also wished she didn’t teach them to gamble.
“Oi!” he yelled. “Language. Don’t let Father Goma hear you, or it’ll be the soap.”
They muttered and grumbled and he kept his ear out for any more swear words. He turned his attention to Niha. Her chocolate skin exposed itself through a small top and a pair of remodeled shorts. She sat with her legs crossed on the top bunk, papers and scrolls scattered across her lap. A quick drag of a bedsheet with his right hand obscured it all.
“Hey! What the fu –”
“Language.”
“Blow me.”
“First. That’s gross. Second, language. Third, you’re a girl – there’s nothing to blow.”
“Like you would know.” A cocky smirk landed itself on her lips as she made crude gestures involving her tongue, cheek, and rolled her eyes until they were nothing but white.
It made it easier for him to slam the pillow into her face. Perhaps with more force than strictly necessary.
“Ow!”
“You’re a horrible influence.”
“No, you’re just boring Mr-Play-It-Safe. Take some risks once in a while and live a little.”
The unspoken accusation stung. “You mean like following my best friend into joining the AAA on a whim?”
She rose her hands slowly in surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying if I was the one there and couldn’t change Juma’s mind, I wouldn’t just have stood by and watched.”
“No, you’d have followed him, because you think jumping into a river with your hands tied behind your back is the same as helping your drowning friend.”
“Royal Flush again fuckers!”
He grabbed the pillow, spun on the balls of his feet and slammed it into the person who swore, before barking. “I said watch your LANGUAGE!”
The group of gamblers quickly gathered their cards and raced out of the room. “Kuri’s on a rampage again! Quick, hide anything fun!”
He retracted his extended arm, muttering softly under his breath as he picked up the pillow he’d used as a projectile, and turned back to Niha who let out a soft whistle. “Someone needs to unwind.”
“If I unwind, you’d turn this orphanage into a cesspit of booze and debauchery in hours.”
Niha placed her hands over her chest, looking scandalized. “I’m offended that you think I’d need hours.”
He resisted the urge to say something terribly biting, and instead, slowly began counting down from ten. 10, 9, 8 –
“Relax Mr. Inquisitor.” Niha said. “I can’t make shower the world with my awesomeness today. I’m busy.”
He rose a skeptic eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use those words before.”
She stuck out her tongue at him. “I’ll let that slide because I really need your smarts for this.” She ruffled the papers atop her bed and grabbed one that was yellowing from age. “Just listen to this: Naturally mined from deposits of high concentrations of mystical power and/or nightmare essence, reminite is one of the major reasons for the geometric rate of growth experienced by the Alhamis Empire in the last two centuries. Discuss.”
She ran her hands roughly through her auburn hair and raised her hands in exasperation. “Then there’s this one: Mysticism is the art of manipulating the fundamental forces of nature governing the world of Alamir. Some have argued that there are no limits to the specialties of Mystic Arts because it was given to us by the Prince and his Nine. Others claim the lack of limits is inherent to the boundless possibility of human ingenuity. Using relevant examples, make a case for both arguments.”
He stared. No, he openly gawked.
“I know I’m fucking hot but you can stop staring now.”
“Language.” He said automatically. The use of the swear word brought him back to what made him stare in the first place. “Those are COMMA exam questions.” He said. “Why do you have exam questions from the College of Mysticism and Mystic Arts?”
“I’m going to enroll.”
As with everything Niha did, there was a certain passion and certainty to it. As though the possibility of failure did not occur to her. As though the consequences and risks where irrelevant and meaningless.
“Your MAT scores are worse than mine.”
“I know – I know – but –” she began, “COMMA will accept people who create a new field of Mystic Arts... or people who place really, really high on their auxiliary examinations for the provisional courses.”
“You mean the Stop Courses.” He found his voice slowly rising. “For the Sycophant’s sake, why is everyone around me so desperate to die?”
“I know it sounds bad –”
“It’s nicknamed the Stop Courses because people who enter it usually stop living!” He yelled. “You willingly want to sign up to a place that once created Night-Witches?” he whispered. “A place that uses human suffering as a source of Mystic Arts?”
“Those are just stupid rumors.”
“Rumors don’t start without reason Niha!”
Niha growled. “This why Juma and I hate telling you about shit.”
“Language.”
“Fuck language! And fuck you! I asked for your help, not to sit down and listen to you fucking go off on another tantrum.”
“I’m the one throwing tantrums?” he asked. “I’m telling you the risks.”
“Because I’m too stupid to read about the fucking risks right?” Niha scoffed. “This is what you do – this is what you’ve always fucking done. We’d pitch an idea, and you’d be the first person to shoot it down because you think it’s bad, or you think it’s not safe, or you can find a million fucking reasons why it won’t work, or some other condescending bullshit, but you never – ever – come up with anything of your own.”
His throat felt tighter than it should have. Niha leapt down from her bunk, grabbing her papers and books and he found himself reaching out. “I– I just don’t want anyone to die or get hurt.”
“If you really wanted that, then instead of always fucking telling us how shit can’t work, you’d help us find ways that it could.”
She shoved him aside, and papers tossed into a rough satchel as she slammed the door behind her. The sound of it caused him to flinch a second time. The words played back over in his mind and the first thing he felt was incredulity. Why can’t they see it?
That positivity – that belief that things would somehow work out for them – they did not realize how naïve it was. Things didn’t always work out. People made mistakes, and some mistakes were costlier than others. This wasn’t the stories told to them by Father Goma about the Fabled Era where heroes and righteousness won the day. This was real life – and in real life – bad things happened to people with good intentions.
She wanted him to help them? Help them? Help someone charging headlong into something destined for catastrophe? Someone was willingly attempting to swallow poison and he was expected to make the action somehow more efficient?
Incredulity gave way to a slow burning in the pit of his stomach and a heavy lump stuck in his throat. Like Father Goma said, when you feel heat, count forward. 1, 2, 3, 4 –
He let his body move on its own. He left the room still counting, forcing his mind to focus on nothing but the counting. 21, 22, 23 –
Fine. It was fine. If Niha wanted him to help her damage herself, he would do it. If Juma wanted him to help in killing himself, he would do it. They would consider him as a better friend for it, and that was what they wanted, right? His support?
31, 32, 33 –
Making his way past the Orphanage, past the church and onto the streets, he kept counting. He would help them – since that was what they wanted. He’d get books and do as much research as he could and give them the information. He’d go to the Annals and checkout all the materials he needed to help them.
46, 47, 48 –
He found himself reaching the Annals of the Middling District. The large building dwarfed most things around it, the walls were white and pristine, and mystic scripts could occasionally be seen glimmering around it. His increased his pace as he felt the sting return from remembering how many times he came here with Juma. How many hours was spent here, perusing books about the world? Researching random topics? Finding more clues to the stories told to them by the Fathers?
63, 64, 65 –
He felt himself pass the first Mystic Ward, the sensation of coldness washing over his skin as he approached the counter.
“If it isn’t my favorite little orphan?”
Just like that, he began counting faster. 77, 78, 79, 80, 81 –
He refrained from insulting the bespectacled Archivist in front of him, slipped his hands into his pockets and reached for a handful of coins.
The second he began counting the stipends he’d gotten from Father Goma, he lost his initial count. He lost his initial count, and the full weight of the lump in his throat was heavily discomforting.
He placed the coins on the counter. “I’m not little. Haven’t been in years.”
The Archivist grabbed the coins. A smile drew itself on her freckled face and revealed dimples on both cheeks. “So you keep saying. I’ll have you prove it one day.”
He restricted his first instinct again. He could not tell if there was a secondary meaning to those words, or if it was Niha’s influence making him read into it. Juma once said that he always felt the woman’s eyes linger on them. He dismissed the feeling. Was that, again, another moment where he failed to support his friends?
“You’re one manna and twenty-five vittles short.”
Not enough money. You always had just enough money... “I’ll pay the rest next time.”
“You know the rules Kuri.”
“I know, but... I need to enter – I need –” He stopped himself. Never beg. That was their motto. Sycophant Orphans Never Beg.
“Never mind. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
The Archivist gave him a lingering gaze. “Did you have a fight with your friend?”
He stopped to stare at her. “How did you know?”
“You usually covered the costs together.”
Oh. He realized. She’s talking about Juma.
“No – I didn’t fight with him. He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Gone.” Kuri said. “Enlisted in the AAA.”
There it was, the slight widening of eyes behind her oval shaped glasses. “Another young orphan joins the AAA. Another youthful soul protecting all of Alhamis from nightmares and savages and the Floater. You must be very proud of him.”
Was he? Should he have been? No – he spent his time believing that Juma threw away his life. No, not believing – he knew. He knew it was a bad decision. Perhaps the Archivist understood as well?
“Was that you being sarcastic?”
The Archivist straightened up. “I’m not being sarcastic. The AAA is to be respected. Every single member of the AAA deserves our respect.”
“Until they desert.”
“Well, yes.” The Archivist admitted. “Anyway you don’t have the entrance fee Kuri. I can’t let you in.”
“I understand. Sorry for wasting your time.”
The Archivist’s gaze lingered on him. She had a gaze that he often saw whenever a Penance was held and the deserter was someone that piqued interest. A deserter that stared at the crowd with apathy often drew speculation. One that laughed often drew curiosity. The Archivist’s gaze was a mix of both speculation, curiosity... and the last one. The one drawn by deserters with sensual bodies, rich breasts or large cocks. Father Goma called it lust and he preached against it. It made Kuri uncomfortable seeing it directed at him. Especially by someone older.
“What is it you want to know so badly?” she asked. “You came in here with a really serious look on your face.”
“It’s nothing to bother yourself over. Just... some personal matters.”
“Girl trouble?”
“No.” He was waiting for her to give him back his money so he could leave. Leave and go where? Juma and Niha where his only friends. The Orphanage and Church were his only home. The Annals were the closest thing he had to a hangout.
“Alright – I can tell when someone doesn’t want to share –”
“My friends are doing things that has a high chance to get them killed or maimed, and I feel like I’m in the wrong for not supporting them.”
“You’re talking about the AAA?”
“And joining COMMA’s Stop Courses.”
The Archivist frowned. “That’s intense.”
“How am I in the wrong for not wanting them to risk their lives – for not helping them risk their lives?”
“Did they or are they going to do it if you don’t help them anyway?”
Juma did. Niha most likely would. “Yes.”
“And what are the odds they die if you don’t help them at all?”
“Very high.”
“And the odds they die if you tell them what the dangers are, and help them prepare?”
He found the words making him pause. “It’s still high.”
“Is it as high as it would be if they went at it blind, alone and unaware of the dangers?”
There was no need to answer. The answer was obvious to both himself and the Archivist. The freckle-faced, bespectacled woman smiled at him. “A lot of times in life, friends or family people will make choices that we do not understand and cannot fathom. Still, it is their life, and as their friends, if we are aware of the risks and dangers, the least we can do, is make them prepared to face it.”
“No matter how seemingly stupid their choices might be?”
“No matter how much.” She confirmed.
“I don’t think that’ll work in all situations.”
The Archivist laughed. “That’s the thing about advice – it’s not all-encompassing.”
The throb in his chest and lump in his throat was still present, but he knew the Archivist’s words had merit. They were logical. Even if his chest didn’t want to admit it.
“...thank you for the advice.”
“It’s the least I can do for my favorite little orphan.” She said. “Or not so little as he likes to say. How old are you anyway?”
The reminder of his age brought him a slight feeling of discomfort. “Too old. I have four months left before I’ll have to leave the orphanage.”
She adjusted her glasses, slowly. “You’ll be sixteen in four months?”
“Seventeen.” He said. “We – my friends and I – pleaded with the Fathers to give us an extra year in exchange for less meals, more chores, grunt work, supervising the younger ones...”
Not that Juma and Niha helped much in that respect. Somehow, the role of supervision and order fell to him and they just did whatever he instructed them to. If it were up to Juma – the kids would never bathe or do chores. If it were up to Niha... he shuddered to think of the amount of innocence that would be lost.
“Do you have something planned for when you leave?”
He winced. “I... requested for nine apprenticeships across the Middling District, two in the Apparent District, and one in the Prominent District.”
“I’m... sorry, did you that with actual belief that you’d be accepted, did you just want to see how a fancy rejection letter looks like?” The Archivist said. “I’ve seen your scores Kuri.”
“I hoped at least one would accept.” He admitted. “Twelve letters for apprenticeship to blacksmiths, bakers, and artisans, and I didn’t get one offer.”
He turned his gaze to the side, and muttered a bit under his breath. “If I don’t have something in four months, I’ll probably head to one of the Warehouses and do tedious labor. It’s not the highest paying or the safest job but... it’s a living.”
“Or you could always attempt a life of crime.” The Archivist chuckled. “It’d be a short one, but a good one.”
He gave her a long look. The risks of crime were far higher than the rewards. The Eminency of War, Eminency of Progress, Eminency of Culture, Eminency of Penance, the Eminency of Espionage and the AAA were all involved in ensuring that the general rate of crimes committed in Alhamis was about the price of bread – two manna, fifty vittles, or 2.50%.
“I was joking, in case that was not obvious. Don’t – actually, enter a life of crime. The last thing I want to see is a group of obese men sodomizing you like they did to those deserters three months ago.” She said.
He grimaced. The Archivist handed over his coins, placing them softly into the palm of his hands, before slowly grabbing the palm. Her hands were warm and soft and he could feel an uncomfortable heat begin to rise to his cheeks.
“There are other jobs, you know. The Double E is always looking for new companions.”
“I don’t think prostitution is my calling.”
“That’s not all they do.” She clarified. “You people make it sound like the Eminency of Espionage is all about sex and sex-craved people who join because they’d have the chance to seduce and fuck as much as they want.”
“Language.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“Sorry – it’s... a habit. Whenever I hear someone swear it slips out.”
“That’s the cutest thing.”
He coughed and ignored the rising heat on his cheeks. “The Double E – isn’t it all about debauchery?”
“It’s what they want you to think.” She said. “They take refuge in audacity. At realizing that the Eminency is a brothel with an orgy going on, most people flee for the hills, not noticing they’re being tailed by six agents who’ve profiled them, know where they live, know who they have the hots for and what tickles their fancy. And they will be paying a visit past midnight.”
Kuri found the information... odd. “How do you know this?”
“Before I became an Archivist, I worked at the Double E as an amanuensis for a really annoying prick of a Prominent.” she said.
He only managed to prevent himself from slipping out the word: “Language.” The Archivist’s lips twitched.
“Anyway, there are other jobs than just the seducing and sleeping around. Only, it depends on how much you can stomach the smell of dead bodies and the sounds people make when tortured.”
Kuri found himself looking everywhere. Thankfully, no one seemed to be leaving the Annals, and there was no one approaching it either. He thanked the Sycophant for the small mercies.
“Are you... allowed to tell me that?”
“Only the AAA is sworn to secrecy. Besides, the Em-Pen does commercialized monthly torture exhibitions of AAA deserters and criminals, so I don’t think telling you that the Double E tortures people is much of a big deal. It’s just torture. Doing it for information rather than fun doesn’t make it any more interesting.”
“I don’t think torture is interesting... or fun.”
The Archivist gave him a smile. “That depends on what end of it you’re on.”
He wanted to say that he’d feel the same on both ends. He could not see himself possibly finding it ‘fun’ to drive nails into someone’s fingers and needles into their tongues. Except, he, and most of the people brought up in the West Sycophant Church were the outliers. Father Goma’s methods of teaching provided them with a different view than most.
“How about this... I’ll write you up a formal introduction to an old friend in the Double E. If you impress him enough, he’ll take you under his wing. Benefits include better pay than you can get from Warehouse grinding, a place to live, and some training in diplomacy and foreign relations. I think it’s a generous offer.”
It was generous. More than generous. So generous that he was starting to get suspicious. “What’s the catch?”
The Archivist smile returned. “I like church boys. I find your innocence... refreshing.”
“I – er – I mean –” she gave solid advice, yes, but this? “I’m not – I don’t –”
“Want to sleep with an older woman? I’m not that old you know. Just entering my twenty-ninth year.”
“Could you simply help me without me having to sleep with you?”
“Oh sweet little orphan Kuri. I am helping you. You’ll have to learn sooner or later that no one gets anywhere in Alhamis without having to do things they would rather not.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
There was a certain weight that was held to those words that Kuri did not wish to bring up. For as long as he had known the Archivist, he never knew anything about her. She was merely the one on duty at this Annals on weekends. For five years, he’d seen her, greeted her, and entered to peruse more information and stories to expand on the ones Father Goma told him. For five years, she’d been here. He wondered how long she’d had her eye on them. He did not want to know.
“If... If I agree...” Kuri began. “You’ll have to give me something.”
“That’s cute. You’re negotiating.”
“You’re an archivist.” He continued unperturbed. “And you worked at the Eminency of Espionage. You must know a lot about things. About Alamir, about the AAA, about Mysticism and how Alhamis rose to power...”
“You want me to teach you?” The Archivist frowned. “You’re sweet and all, but I’m already helping you more than you are helping me. What do I get for playing the role of teacher?”
“My loyalty.”
“Adorable, but it doesn’t have real value to me.”
“If I rise up the ranks in the Double E, wouldn’t it be great to have a loyal spy who can tell you all the important news before anyone else?”
“I already have contacts that do that.”
Kuri pursed his lips. “I’ll give you ten percent of whatever I earn.”
“A noble sentiment, but I don’t need your money.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I already have what I want. You, however, need more. So, you need to figure out what it is that I could possibly want that you can trade with me.” She winked at him. “First lesson: in a negotiation, never let it be known that you have no idea what the other person wants.”
At the words, first lesson, Kuri was forced to stop. He gave an unsteady look to the Archivist, and found her smiling. “You’ll teach me?”
“Now I didn’t say that. It just slipped. It seems things like that tend to slip out of my mouth from time to time.”
Kuri was a lot of things, but he was not slow on the uptake. He didn’t question it. He knew it was better to not question it. Instead, he nodded, slowly. “The letter of introduction you mentioned –”
“Sixth house on 14th Bard Street. Red gates, blue door. Come by with a nice outfit, I’ll have it for you.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. Would thanking her be appropriate? Would it be inappropriate? He decided it was always best to follow Father Goma’s teachings on gratitude.
He bowed formally. “Thank you.”
“You do realize I’m extorting you?” she frowned a bit. “Are you sure you should be thanking me?”
“You gave me good advice. You’re helping me solve one of my problems, and whatever little I learn from you can help keep my friends alive.” He bowed again. “I’m grateful for all of that. So, thank you.”
“...Now I feel guilty.” She sighed. “And somehow that makes me want you more. Church boys are my weakness. Everyone has a weakness.”
He walked away, faster than he had approached, if only to get away from the awkward silence that followed her statement. Had he stayed, perhaps even thirty seconds more, he would have noticed the woman’s expression rapidly shift from melancholy to stone-faced flatness in seconds. He would have noted the transition, and more than that, he would have seen the man that arrived in a cloak of shadows directly beside her.
“Report.” She intoned.
“I have a message from High Eminent Hoplite.”
The Archivist nodded. “Operation F.E.A.R. was a success?”
“Confirmative. The newly minted Lance Brigade are under the impression that they live only by whim. Prominent Lance, now dubbed Prominent Archer is ready to resume his duties in the Espionage Corp. High Eminent Hoplite sends his thanks.”
The Archivist nodded again. “And Operation D.E.P.E.N.D.?”
“High Eminent Sophos’ unintentional condescension is slowly convincing the Takumians of our Empire’s technological prowess. They are undergoing a tour of the Warehouse 9, the Sacrosanct Arms Factory, as we speak. Several of the Prince’s servants are currently receiving Class A treatment at the Lusty Mare. More information about Takum should come within the day.”
“Keep at least one agent on the Takumian Prince at all times. Have two lilies on standby as well.”
The shadow nodded. “As you command my lady. But if I may?”
“Yes?”
“That orphan boy –”
“He is one of three special children raised by Goma and Shiga. I have an interest in him.”
“Despite being raised by such people his FLT and MAT scores were below mediocre?”
“Are you doubting the value of my investment?”
“No, my lady. I could never doubt Pochteca the Perspicacious.”
“Flattering. Return to your post and keep me updated on the Takumian situation. Their presence is surprising, and I profoundly hate surprises.”
“As you command, your eminence.”
