Because Jessica spent so little time actually working in her office, as opposed to being in the field, this last year, being on a mission to St. Legier, the space was still rather sterile. She hadn’t bothered decorating the walls with artwork. The only modification to the furniture was a small sideboard Jessica had added to hold Marcelle’s antique coffee service, the altar that traveled everywhere with them.
Marcelle grinned at her as she worked to grind the beans with a hand-held rotary burr. The woman claimed that using a powered device cut the beans too fine and you ended up with a more bitter tone than you got with a coarser grind and a slow brew.
And Marcelle had spent decades perfecting the technique, since she first got Jessica addicted to the delicious outcome of her art.
Fresh honey from her uncle’s farm. Fresh cream that had been inside a cow on that same farm three days ago. Beans carefully frozen for transport and just now grinding, before they could thaw. A small vial of bourbon, hand-infused with a sliced vanilla bean and left to gestate for three weeks.
Jessica didn’t spoil herself with much, or very often, but her coffee was still the one indulgence she allowed herself. Especially today, when she needed to upend the entire galaxy again, and needed the assistance of the most dangerous pixie ever born to do it.
Marcelle checked her watch and plugged in the self-heating teapot. Not for her a battery-powered version, but another unit made to modern specs from an ancient design. Jessica had told her to fill it all the way today, which would be enough water for four mugs.
Three, and a refill if someone wanted.
A chime filled the room. Willow had approved of someone getting past her, and there was only one person on the list. Anyone else would have caused Jessica’s other bodyguard to ask. Or just turn them away.
The hatch opened and Moirrey entered.
Centurion zu Kermode. Lady Moirrey of Ramsey. The Evil Engineering Gnome.
Pint-sized.
“You wanted t’see me, ma’am?” she asked in a light tone, coming more or less to a semblance of attention. Maybe.
Jessica pointed at the chair on the left, farthest away from Marcelle.
“Sit,” she ordered. “Marcelle is making us coffee.”
Jessica looked at Marcelle and included her in the conversation.
“And make yourself a mug,” Jessica continued. “I would like your input on this topic as well.”
That got an arched eyebrow in response. Marcelle had spent a good portion of her life waiting outside in the hallway, protecting Jessica from people and problems, or standing quietly back against a wall in case her charge needed something done or retrieved.
Things were different today. They needed to be handled differently, and Moirrey might not have the cultural depth that Marcelle did, at least not yet, to answer this need.
They waited in comfortable silence as Marcelle committed art. Moirrey got the first mug, flavored just so. Jessica was next, enjoying an extra dash of cream just because it tasted of home.
Finally, Marcelle sat, eyeing Jessica through a squint that promised a sarcastic tongue when she finally got around to speaking. With Marcelle, that might be a while.
“We are most likely going to war,” Jessica began simply. “The Senate appears inclined to back us in our task, and to do so with a serious amount of support.”
She paused to let them absorb that. The deliberations had been mostly secret, but of course details had been all over the vid last night and in all the news magazines today.
“Rights,” Moirrey nodded sharply. “What’s ya needs to take’t t’the next steps?”
Jessica sipped her coffee and let the warmth fill her belly with comfortable.
Then she took a step off the cliff. That was always the risk, when asking Moirrey to color outside the lines, but she had never been disappointed.
“Bedrov went and decided to out-Roman us,” she said with a conspiratorial grin. “His cruiser designs are named after ancient Roman Legions. So I did some research into the deep archives last night. Ancient Rome, the Republic that birthed the famous empire that so much of our history derives from.”
Jessica watched Marcelle struggle to not roll her eyes. The woman had never been the bookish type, usually finding more trouble in bars and with boys and girls, where Jessica had preferred the dojo and the library. But that was part of what made them an effective team.
“Dunno them folks much,” Moirrey replied. “Ramsey were more Nordic folks ’long those lines.”
“Which is why I wanted Marcelle in this conversation,” Jessica said. “She can help with some of the cultural context that might not translate well. The word I want you to look up is fetial. Then I want you to build me a spear.”
“A spear?” Marcelle asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” Jessica agreed. “When you read the details, you’ll understand.”
“So nots just any spear,” Moirrey said. “Yer wantin’ som’thin’ big, right? Impressives.”
“I want 2218 Svati Prime, Pint-sized,” Jessica said simply. “This is going into the history books, one way or the other, so we need to make a grand, formal gesture. Aquitaine was at war with Fribourg in one sense or another for nearly one hundred and fifty years. Most people still think this is just a lull before we start everything up again, like last time. And we don’t have the formality about this sort of thing that Republican Rome did, opening the gates of the Temple of Janus and all that. I need Auberon’s Art Department to fix that for me, with a blank piece of paper, a history book, and a reasonable budget. You two tell me what you need, as I’m going to be in a hellscape of meetings until all this works out, and won’t have any time to dedicate to it.”
“That’s we can do,” Moirrey said, glancing over at Marcelle for confirmation. “Will that be all, ma’am?”
“It will,” Jessica said.
Within moments, she was alone in the bland, empty office.
War was coming. Best to do it right.