Somewhere Someplace

A tall-ish building at the front of what was more of a campus than a single facility, surrounded by extending fences which defined strict boundaries. Sizable yet tight and quite compact, warehouses and depots occupied the free area within, connected with two wider streets flanking left and right with appropriate gates; wagons of all kinds, full and empty, arrived and went. Air-balloons, likewise, so gently floated down and up, towards and away, in almost regimented harmony. Drums and drills also echoed out, as did the sounds of commanding shouts and firing drills.

At the front of the building proper was a plaza of sorts; one of trees, grass, and smooth pavement with a fountain at the center. Waving with power and glory were seven flags, six poles split between two columns of three running parallel across the path, converging upon the single most prominent vexil: that seven-striped flag of the United Central Trade Company.

Indeed, this apparent compound was the headquarters of the United Central Company’s operations within not just Strawberry or the eastern bulge, but effectively the entire rosefield plains and most things east of the Dividing River; a connecting nexus that served many functions, both commercial and diplomatic, and had a permanent garrison of Company hired or borrowed men.

Such factoids, of course, were none that Antica had known prior; they were but amongst the many…such things her so-called ‘guide’ had so splurged on about—she had asked only one simple question, and his mouth began to noise-make without pause.

“Well, that right yonder is it… Don’t know how you missed it and ended up lost on the whole other side of Strawberry, missy; this city ain’t Megaberry, not that large… And it’s not that too far from the city center; it’s whither most of the incoming wagons end up heading…” thus spoke the denizen who had so helpfully…and informatively…guided her hither.

“I give thanks…” Antica just thanked.

“Anywhat, I won’t ask what you’ve got with them… Though you are wearing one of those masks, aren’t you?” the guiding denizen so remarked.

“I am not a ‘whore’, if that is what you imply” she plainly stated; indeed, she still remembered her time as a tavern waitress and the remarks therefrom…

“Not many other reasons they’d employ a lady, to be honest… Not any of my business, anywhat” the guide replied; “Well, best I be back on me way now; long walk behind..” Thus, with a wave, he began to return way back whence they had come… Only to pause and quickly turn; “By the way, I’d recommend staying around these parts… A Far West gal like you shouldn’t be alone in those parts wherein you found us…” he warned; “You’re lucky that we actually work with the Company and have good hearts… His Son our King above knows whither the wrong man would’ve led you and what he’d’ve done…”

“It is understood…” she just acknowledged… Her past feigning charm had yet to return; frankly, she had not any the idea as to how she had even managed to maintain such a persona for as long as she had.

Yet with that guiding denizen departing off and away, Antica stood there… She stared at the fence and entry gate, the towering—at least relative to the others around—building in the near distance in front.

Truly, given how…pronounced of a presence this compound seemingly had, she would have had no doubt eventually stumbled upon it herself had she continued wandering aimlessly; albeit, of course, her being guided was significantly faster.

Nevertheless, having finally arrived, Antica promptly headed for the main gate.

-||-

An office room of sorts, one not too large nor too small. Just good enough for what it was. Red carpet was imbued with the ground, with two historic paintings of sorts hung on the walls parallel to each other, and a single marble cutout of a headless angel atop a marble pillar in the corner. Besides these few decorative objects, this room was strictly utilitarian… And, as there were no windows, there was no natural sunlight; illumination came only the light from the lamps, creating perhaps a…bleakness.

At the center of this room, of course, was a large desk flanked behind by two indoor flags; two chairs were on one side, a single more comfortable chair on the other; seated upon which was a militarized gentlemen, waiting for quite the some time yet also attending to other matters at the same time; the feathered-pen in his hand was so scribbling away upon a document—next to which was a stacked compilation of other such documents.

Abruptly: knock, knock, knock.

Knocks so courteously knocked on the door, before being gently opened as an old head peeked in. “[Sire…]” the peeking head, a civilian administrator of sorts, thus spoke; “[Your requestee is here…], Nilia de Relevancia…”

“[Excellent]” the gentlemen so replied; “[You may leave us. She may enter freely.]”

The administrator nodded, his head withdrawing as the door gently closed. “Now, thou behave thyself therein, woman” his voice echoed from beyond before footsteps departed off.

A few moments passed before that door, finally, again sprung open; promptly stepping within was…

Antica halted in place as the door shut behind, her mask-obscured eyes scanning around, identifying details…

The only thing she had been told upon her…perhaps more time consuming than not…entry into this Far Western building of marble and carpeted flooring was that she was to report to the room labeled ‘RGE-13L’; all that which the Company staff knew was that, should a ‘Nilia de Relevancia’ character appear, they were to guide her thither.

Thus, she knew not the nature of this ‘meeting’ nor with whom it was to be.

“Ah… The masqueraded Nilia de Relevancia, to finally see you in person…” thus spoke with such fluent and…perhaps even elegant accent, he who sat upon that chair behind that desk in front; “Well, do now: come, come; take a seat!”

Antica’s sight shifted, analyzing.

Blackish colored coat uniform that was more—so locally prescribed—‘formal’ and ‘gentry’ than standard infantry, with a bicorn hat seated on the desk… Unmistakably a Company military officer, she identified; this one seemed similar to the ones she had seen in Coastfield, yet…not quite. He lacked that cape, and there were rather shiny silver-colored embroils on his uniform, in addition to ornamental shoulder…thingies—she had not the descriptors—colored in kind.

Such were amongst many other contrasts… Indeed, despite the similarities, this aged yet not too old officer seemed different from the others.

“…or stand if you wish—just come closer” he requested, courteously gesturing.

Antica finally…approached, somewhat cautiously, halting before the two chairs situated in the desk’s front; she opted to stand.

The officer’s potent hazel eyes stared her down as if a feline in shadows. He hunched himself forward, hands’ fingers interlocked; “My, my… I must say, considering everything I have heard, I was not expecting you to be with such petite-esque femininity… Quite fetching, I must say, and I have yet to see your full face; though, I can tell, it is as much a beauty” he so…complemented.

“Uhuh…” Antica had not the internalized social cognitive frameworks to feel anything from such remarks, besides…being further reminded of her time as a tavern waitress—which perhaps…did make her feel…less pleasant, frankly.

“However,” yet the officer began to add, “I know you are no real woman in spite of your appearance and womanly aura, but rather…something else altogether…”

“Uhuh…” Antica, again, had not the frameworks to feel anything comprehensive, besides that… She had thought she was, in fact, what the locals would categorize as a ‘woman’ considering she was mechanically female. Yet here this denizen was excluding her from that categorization, no doubt due to social-cultural abstractions and normative expectations extending beyond her bluntly being a generic humiform…

Nevertheless… “You are speaking as if you are familiar with me” she finally remarked.

“ ‘Familiar’, now that is a strong word…” The officer withdrew his lean, back touching his chair; “I am…aware, at the least; aware of some, ignorant of others” he thus spoke, voice relaxing. “The United Central Company, after all, maintains an interlinkage amongst itself in this continent through which words spread, and speedily; one of my duties is to keep and track, amongst many-many others…” He, again, leaned in with fingers interlocked; “And you, my dear, are a woman of renown within the Company, albeit by means of disjointed and severed accounts seemingly separate but evident by connection…”

Oh, so now she was a ‘woman’? Truly, so worthless these abstracted categorizations were to her. Though, regardless… “…what do you mean?” she inquired.

“Well, for starters, there is the most obvious…” The officer’s eyes pointed at the Company armband she presently donned; “For… What was it now? One? Two? Months… You had tirelessly worked in the relief of Coastfield in service to the United Company’s interests, and Captain Renard only had positive things to remark—and he was not the only one; it is rare for a woman to gain any such lauds…”

“I see” Antica plainly acknowledged… Frankly, she felt she did not do enough…

“Then, of course, there is the most recent” the officer continued to tell; “Words from our Candlelight subsidiary bring tellings of a lone infantryman who survived a most terrible incident, having confiscated a horse and rode his way to his flighting half-platoon, only for the horse to be struck and him left for dead—were it not, of course, for a nameless purplish-cloaked magician whose powerful sorcery came to his rescue…”

“I see…” Antica, again, plainly acknowledged… Yet she did nothing for the others killed.

“And, speaking of bizarre cloaked heroics,” he thus went on, “the Company occupational garrison in Coastfield speak of hearsay from the natives of a ‘cloaked diviness’—eyes reported to have been a vibrant teal—who came to the aid of hundreds, rallying the relief with her presence before mysteriously disappearing with the winds…”

“I…see…” she…just…acknowledged, though perhaps a little more…awkwardly. Such were clearly exaggerations of her actual contributions, rumors spread by far too many distorting mouths.

“However, even predating those events,” the officer still had more, “earlier this year prior to that horrific attack, words from our then-headquarters in Coastfield spoke of the majority of our specific goods-retrieval contracts with the local Adventurers branch being completed well-before their estimated expectation dates and in quite the mass; although the Guild never specifies by whom to their clients, they did remark that our ‘quests’ were completed by a single aspiring adventurer, to their own amaze…”

“Uhuh…” Antica was by no means aloof to the fact that this officer had not made any explicit reference to her being the active agent in any of this, and that he was conveniently omitting as to how he knew that such was all even her. “You said that these are ‘disjointed’, no? But you think that all of these persons were me?”

“Oh, I do not think. I know. And I have known.” The officer was blunt; “I shall be transparent: I know of your strange mysteries and peculiarities, madam de Relevancia. I know of your curious sorceress eyes, of your alien dialect of romantic tongue, of your bizarre sorcery, and that are you with many the equally bizarre instruments and ‘gear’.”

“I see.” This ‘transparency’ did not improve her already non-existent trust, frankly.

“And, needless to say, I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival” the officer thus needlessly said.

“Well, here I am. Thus, why am I here? What is it that you want?” Antica bluntly inquired.

“Well, you are here for many reasons, and I want many things” the officer so replied; “However, beforehand: happen a chat, would you?”

Antica tilted her head ever-slightly… “…a chat?”

“Myes. A chat.” the officer repeated, voice relaxing. “Considering your tardiness, you must have doubtlessly done some exploring… So, tell me, madam de Relevancia… What is your sense of this…city of Strawberry…so far? If you had a single word, what would it be?”

Antica’s attention…drifted down… She genuinely contemplated this inquiry, reflecting on what she had seen throughout her…aimless wandering. “Tense…” she finally answered, mask-obscured eyes returning; “There is a…tension here…”

“ ‘Tense’…” the officer repeated, leaning himself back against his chair again… “Indeed, tense…”

“I heard that this ‘Strawberry’ city is with the great ‘prosperity’, which means resource abundancy, rightly? However, it seems to me that there is a failure in the distribution…” Antica thus began to recollect; “There are neglected sections, and many seem to be not getting…what they need; I heard the complaints of the bread’s and other foods’ prices being excessive, and there appears to be these ‘flighters’ who are receiving unfair treatment—in particular, I heard of animosity towards the ‘elves’ due to…largely paranoid reasons…”

The officer leaned forward again, his focused eyes clearly interested.

“I noticed also,” Antica continued on, “rousers are spreading dissident words, and I saw the presence of these ‘flags’ with a common symbolism and persons wearing the similar armbands… They did not seem to be associated with the governing…people of this city, but I saw more of them than the guards; they seemed to be antagonistic, so I interpreted these as the signs of an…organized collection of…unhappy peoples… However, I could be incorrect…” Indeed, her limited observations were…ultimately small-scale—hardly macro or comprehensive.

“Hm.” yet the officer merely mumbled; “Most certainly, madam de Relevancia, you are an astute observer—limited only by your vocabulary” he thus remarked.

“I had nothing better to do but to observe and listen…” Antica frankly replied…

“Doubtlessly…” The officer leaned himself back, as if reflecting in mind… “Myes… Strawberry is a fascinating place, truly… This county is rich with history, and this city is rich in general… The council of bourgeois burghers who govern this city have done an immaculate job in fostering an environment conducive to profitable commerce and business, and the present trade boom has doubtlessly filled their purses from the sales’ taxes—which is their scheme in leu of tariffs…” His voice was oddly casual, almost as if speaking offhanded.

And Antica could already predict…that this was going to be rather the long ‘chat’…

“But…, as you observed, this city is experiencing rising prices in almost every essential produce, becoming unaffordable for too many…” the officer sighed; “I shan’t bore you with every detail of the whys, from the continued regional shortage of grain, rice, and the like from the last year being unproductively dry and this year seeming exceptionally dryer; to this county’s obsession with exclusively growing their ever-lucrative one-of-a-kind strawberries and consequential dependency on imports; to the simple paradox of having far too great of an influx of coin entering circulation…” he spoke more as if bemoaning…

“Uhuh…” Antica, frankly, just tried to roll along…

“And not to mention the influx of ‘flighters’ from the war attracted to this city’s reputation; the combining demands for supplies and the like from both Grandberry and the count for his own rising armies…” The officer again sighed, almost as if ughing; “Most doubtlessly, a thesis could be composited of all the problems compounding atop themselves to create even more problems… Yet, alas, the count cares not so as long as his dues are paid, and the bourgeois council opted to simply blame the flighters and, more particularly, the affected have taken to tossing their anger at the elves and their ‘fairies’—native nonsenses, truly…” he so lamented away.

Hmm… There was something about his tone that Antica not help but feel was… Indeed, as if there were intentional exaggerations or dramatizations in his affect.

The officer’s eyes refocused onto her; “Make no mistake, however: this city is a developing powder-keg, and the United Company has the foresight of our own recent history to know the direction this is going… And as our warnings fell to deaf ears, we opted to take matters into our own hands…to prevent outcomes most unprofitable…”

“Hence those balloons…” Antica remarked.

“My handy work, in fact…” The officer admitted; “Though, besides that, Company affiliates in Humbleberry are seeing to the shipping of surplus grain once their harvest is completed; that is our…only hopeful reprieve…” He, again, so sighed; “Oh, sincerest apologizes, it appears I have used your alluring womanliness to bemoan as for why I was dragged to this accursed city… This is completely irrelevant to the purposes of your being here”.

Purposes Antica doubted he was going to immediately transition into…

“Although, speaking of your purposes, that brings me…” Indeed, unsurprisingly, the officer continued… He leaned forth with extra focus; “Tell me, madam de Relevancia, you were plucked by the Adventurers’ Guild for this…joint-venture of ours… How would you describe your experiences thus far working alongst them? If you had a single word, what would it be?”

Antica’s attention drifted down… Once again, she genuinely contemplated his inquiring… “…confusing…” she finally said, attention returning; “It is confusing and vague…”

“ ‘Confusing’… Indeed, confusing…” The officer, yet again, so casually leaned himself back against his chair… “The ‘Bureau of Scribes and Documentation’…not even the mainland has such a monstrosity… Theirs is a spider whose web has become so spread and sprawled, its threads are entangled with contorted knots… Confusion and vagueness, consequentially, are part of the game they play…” he casually remarked, as if speaking offhanded; “They try to maintain such a strict and tight control over the ‘knows’ and ‘know-nots’… They seek to control every part and piece of their web—trust, of course, needing never apply; only utility…”

“…control?” Antica repeated… That word…stuck out to her; it felt intentional.

“Myes. Control…” the officer reiterated; “Or, maybe that is too strong a word… ‘Devour’ might be better…” His voice remained mundane; “The Ravens, after all, were once a free-roaming society of wanderers whose eyes and ears were often enlisted by the Guild’s bureau of documentarians… But, of course,”—his eyes looked into her—“as you have doubtlessly seen, Ravens are anything but ‘free’… Having become so caught in the web, they were entirely subsumed by it: now inseparable, amongst many pieces…”

“Hm…” Antica just mumbled… For whatever reason, these words were…making her start to…reflect, indeed…

The officer paused his words, as if he too was reflecting… “The ‘Dark Guards’, have you heard of them?” he casually inquired.

“…no” she…replied.

“Not surprising considering their relevance has diminished. But they were once a martial culture of raiders and mercenaries, to whom the Bureau had become the top customer… But, of course, they were far too useful; eventually, they too were subsumed, now the Bureau’s exclusive instruments…” he thus spoke; “Certainly, all throughout the Guild’s history, their bureau of scribes and spies has been riddled with this tendency: all things entangled in their web are inevitably consumed by the spider weaving; they prefer things most useful to be theirs most exclusively…” he remarked as if offhandedly.

“I see…” Antica just acknowledged, her mind only further falling into…contemplation…

The officer, relaxing more, tapped his fingers away as if he too was reflecting in thought. “Tell me, Nilia—if I may use your first ‘name’… You have doubtlessly been quite the object of fascination to the Bureau… Thus, I am sure you have noticed or experienced…oddities?” he thus casually inquired, eyes focusing.

Antica’s mask-obscured eyes withdrew down and away… She was actually contemplating this question… From her prohibition in engaging in combat without permission or even speaking and interacting at all with anyone, to…that change in Novea after Uppeberry… Indeed, she placed everything experienced so far into reflection…

“Well, I mean not to intrude, of course… I shall leave you with your thoughts…” The officer leaned himself forth; “But, undoubtedly, your handlers did not particularly fancy these disjointed rumors spreading about of your exploits, recent most especially… They doubtlessly want to keep every detail of your…peculiarities…exclusively to themselves and are striving to ensure that not a single extra word could spread appertaining thus…” Yet, abruptly, his peering eyes became more sharply focused, his posture tightening; “However, theirs is ultimately a ship so fat and bloated, its crew cannot possibly find every leaking hole…”

“…‘leaking hole’…” Antica murmured in repeat… Such was not merely a metaphor; it felt intentional, again… Indeed, for this officer did know…far more about her than he ought to.

Nevertheless, the officer casually sighed…as if on her behalf; “Needless to say, and I mean not to be overly presumptuous, but…by now the thought must have entered at least once… That your potential usefulness is being misallocated; that your talents are being squandered… All in the vain attempt to keep the string as tight as able…” There was a growing insidiousness in his voice, Antica felt…

Indeed… “Hm.” Antica’s reflections began to turn to this very conservation… For she was not completely naive to what was evidently being attempted… “Ah, I see…” Her attention snapped; “You imply that the Bureau wants to control me, then? But…is that not what you want to do, also?” she plainly accused; “You began this ‘chat’ with something pointless to exhaust me; now, these words are spoken to confuse me and make me question; all to make me more inclined to your favor… To control me…”

“Confuse and make more inclined, perhaps, I admit… But control? That implies desire and intent, and I have neither. And I cannot make you question what you doubtlessly already have.” the officer simply replied; “You do not need to be controlled; it would be redundant: you merely need to be reminded.”

Antica’s sight only became sharper; “What do you mean ‘redundant’ and ‘reminded’?”

“You might be an enigmatic mystery, my dear, but I have a sense for the type of…personality you might have, considering you stand with attent more befitting a soldier than a fine lady.” the officer thus spoke; “You do not thrive in an entangled web of vagueness, disorderly interests, and perpetual distrust. You prefer order and structured chains; trust and reliability; clarity and directness.”

“And you are not being direct.” Antica bluntly stated.

“No, but I am being transparent. I have been setting the frame; I have been differentiating us from them.” the officer simply spoke; “We do work differently, after all, and our priorities deviate quite, as I hope this chat has somewhat shown.”

Antica’s head was starting to spin by this point, truth be told… “I have had enough of this ‘chat’… Just speak the point already.”

“Myes, this has been most fruitful, but you are right: time for business…” The officer straightened himself and fixed his posture; suddenly, he was no longer so casual—quite the opposite, in fact. He cleared his voice; “Nilia de Relevancia, I wanted to make this explicitly clear without any space for doubts: no matter what, no matter where, no matter whom, you are ultimately a member of the Volunteer Service Corps of the United Central Company’s collective armies. Your involvement in this joint-venture between us and the Adventurers’ Guild is and always has been by our consent and on our behalf.”

Sharp and direct; authoritative and stern; the officer’s tone had so abruptly shifted.

“And, for reasons I shall specify, we consider the Coastfield succession matter to be largely handled, and I consider your direct participation to be no longer necessary. It is of my view that your…demonstrated skillset and capabilities would be far better suited in addressing another…more pressing matter..to the United Company’s operations and, I dare say, continued future…”

Indeed, no longer casually ‘chatting’, the officer went straight to the point.