Summoning America

Author’s Note (Story and Patreon Updates):

If you like Summoning America, you'll love Manifest Fantasy!

NOTE: Manifest Fantasy (rewritten) is available through RoyalRoad. 

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/75057/manifest-fantasy 

Note 2:

Chapter 165 is now out for all Tier 2 Patrons and higher! Tier 2 Patrons and higher will be able to read one chapter ahead!

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd 

——

January 8, 1641

Shirakawa Port, Thearchy of Gahara

Under a sullen winter sky, the port of Shirakawa bristled with life. Merchants hawked their wares with the vigor of men who knew the cold bite of poverty, and fishers flaunted their catches, diverse scales glistening like coins in the sun. Tharazim, a tall figure cloaked in the guise of a merchant, hunched over his stall, his wings concealed by the enchantment woven into his broad mantle. It was uncomfortable having them compressed in an unseen grip of magic, but he paid it no heed.

“Fine silks from the southern lands!” he called out, his voice finding a home amongst the marketplace’s din. It was an unremarkable declaration, but his eyes, a sharp contrast to the earthy tones of his wares, scanned the crowd with discreet vigilance. 

Verashta, less imposing but no less intent, arranged their textiles with ease, her movements indicating nothing of the discomfort that came from her own concealed wings. She caught the eye of a local – a wiry man with a threadbare coat who browsed the wares with scrutiny until finally selecting one. Relief. It was simply an interested customer.

“Is this dye resistant to the rain?” a woman inquired, holding up a piece of fabric.

“As enduring as the wind dragons that protect your fair city,” Thazarim responded, a practiced smile curling at his lips.

She reciprocated the smile, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “I’ll take a set of five, then.”

Thazarim completed the transaction, securing a handful of printed bills from the local. It bore a likeness to the American currency, but the paper was of cheaper quality. As Thazarim pondered the influence exerted by the technological giant to the east, he was approached by another customer. It was here, amidst the commerce and chatter, that Thazarim wove himself into the background of Shirakawa. He bartered, he laughed, he haggled – each action crafted to build the facade of a traveling merchant.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Thazarim felt the familiar twinge of unease that always accompanied the folding of his wings. They itched like a mendicant’s rags. All these hours and the contact was yet to appear. How much longer?

The twilight began to settle, leaving them to wonder if they accidentally gave the contact erroneous information. Packing up the unsold merchandise, he noticed a lone figure approach from the corner of his eye – a tall man dressed in an American suit. Shit. How? How did an American find his way here, now, amidst their delicate operation?

“We’re closed, good sir,” he called out, voice steady despite the alarm bells clanging in his mind.

The suited man halted, his stance casual yet calculated, a half-smile playing upon his lips as if privy to an inside joke. “Apologies for the intrusion,” he began, his tone betraying no hint of his origin, “but I am in search of a rather unique item. Perhaps you’ve come across fibers from the Spinthra Silkmoth? Exclusive to the Branchel continent, I hear they are.”

A relief washed over Thazarim. That was the code. The Spinthra Silkmoth, a creature of legend, its silk stronger than mithril and as elusive as the morning fog. This was no agent of American interests, this must be Tatsukai.

“Ah, a collector of fine materials,” Thazarim replied with a knowing nod, the merchant facade slipping back into place as easily as a well-worn glove. “I believe we can assist you with that, but such discussions are best held away from prying eyes and open ears. Follow us.”

The tension in Thazarim’s shoulders ebbed away as he and Verashta led their contact through the twisted alleys of Shirakawa, away from the Bazaar’s residual bustle. The trio navigated the town’s streets until the flicker of a lantern sign heralded an inn with an integrated tavern, its sign swaying in the evening breeze.

Inside, the inn was a mosaic of murmurs and shadows, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced ale. Tatsukai led them to a secluded corner, away from the other patrons. With a wave of his hand, an innkeeper approached, a silent understanding passing between them as drinks were ordered without words.

Once settled, Tatsukai’s guise of formality fell away as he leaned in, his voice a mere whisper amidst the tavern’s ambient noise. “The Gaharan vault is as you thought; the beacon lies within. However, there is more at play here than just the treasures it holds. Time is a luxury we no longer possess.”

Thazarim’s fingers traced the grain of the wood table as the innkeeper returned with their drinks. He gave the man a thankful nod, waiting for him to leave before he spoke. “What do you mean?”

“The Americans have hastened their pace,” Tatsukai divulged, his eyes flickering to the door before settling on his companions. “They’ve been in advanced discussions with the Gaharans for a few days now; their delegates are trying to obtain the beacon.”

Verashta’s hand paused mid-motion, her glass suspended an inch from the table, her expression betraying the surge of concern. “How’d you find out?” she asked, her voice equally subdued.

Tatsukai’s hand slipped into his suit jacket, retrieving a slim notebook, edges worn. “I was the only one with a suit in Foreign Affairs, so I became part of the negotiation staff,” he grinned. “It’s more than fashion; it’s a shield. Among the Gaharans, it’s exotic. But to the Americans, it’s a mirror. It makes me one of them – unremarkable.”

Thazarim received the notebook, opening it and skimming through the delicately procured information within.

Tatsukai continued, “They’re closer than we like. Days, not weeks. Perhaps sooner.”

A muscle ticked in Thazarim’s jaw. He glanced at Verashta, who shared the same look. “So, we must move now,” he stated.

“Yes,” Tatsukai confirmed, flipping the notebook to a page marked with a tiny crease. “Their lead negotiator, Ambassador Snow, has been in talks over the beacon. I’ve convinced the Gaharan lead to pursue a greedier deal, which should buy some time.”

The tavern cacophony, a mingled symphony of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional boisterous shout, receded from Thazarim’s focus. His mind latched onto the words, turning them over.

“The Americans don’t suspect anything?” Verashta asked, taking the words right out of his mouth.

“Suspicion is a shadow that falls on many,” Tatsukai replied. “But not on me. As the Americans might say, I’m ‘hiding in plain sight.’ The suit makes them comfortable – lowers their guard.”

Thazarim’s gaze drifted to the other patrons, none giving the trio a second glance, lost in their own affairs and booze. “Keep your ear to the ground. We need to know their every move.”

Tatsukai leaned back, taking the notebook back. “My end of the deal covers information on the vault alone.” He placed his hand on the table, palm up. “Constant monitoring and information about security will cost more.”

Verashta swirled her glass, the amber liquid within catching the light. “It’s a risk,” she murmured, her gaze locked on the shimmering surface, “but perhaps not one without its rewards.”

Thazarim leaned forward, the low light casting deep shadows over his face. “Tatsukai, the extra cost… it’s not unexpected. But we need the whole board in view; not just the pieces you’ve uncovered so far.

Tatsukai’s eyes, sharp as flint, studied Thazarim’s stoic expression. “And what do you bring to the table?” His question wasn’t a challenge, rather a businessman confirming the terms of a critical deal.

Thazarim nodded at Verashta, who placed a briefcase on the table. She slid it over to Tatsukai, who opened it and subtly scanned the gold bullions within. Strengthening his arm with a soft blue glow, Tatsukai lifted the briefcase and placed it on the floor beside him with a muted thud. “We have an accord,” he stated flatly, offering a handshake.

Thazarim shook the man’s hand. “Then it’s time we lay out the groundwork. What can you tell us about security?”

Tatsukai flipped to a page in the notebook. “The guards consist of Gaharan samurai. Lethal, disciplined, but spread thin.” He paused, eyes meeting Tharazim. “They do their rounds in pairs, changing every six hours. There’s a small window at dusk and dawn – shift changes. That’s your entry.”

“And the detectors?” Tharazim interjected, his mind already mapping out the implications.

“Antiquated by your standards, but numerous. They’ll sense strong magic – so whatever you do, it has to be subtle,” Tatsukai cautioned. “They’re placed at all entrances, the vault door, and scattered throughout the corridors. A patterned grid. It’s sketched here on this page,” he said, flipping to a map.

Verashta finished her drink .”And the Americans, how do they fit into his? Have they implemented their systems here?”

“Unlikely,” Tatsukai responded with a shake of his head. “Their relations are cordial at best. The Gaharans wouldn’t allow full American technology in their sacred vaults, nor do they have the infrastructure to support cameras or computers. I have not been able to venture too deep, but there is a possibility that the Gaharans have integrated advanced mechanical locks and perhaps simple alarm systems. If you are spotted by a guard, the entire complex may erupt in alarm.”

Thazarim analyzed the map. Not only did it include the sensors, but it also included patrol paths and timing. His money – or rather, the Resurrection Management Agency’s money – was being put to good use. He traced a route using his finger, mentally calculating the speed of the guards and lines of sight.

They had access to mana field dampeners, so they would be able to use magic within a small radius without being detected. Entry wouldn’t be an issue, but they still had little information on the vault’s locking mechanism, nor a way to deal with the guards permanently stationed in front of the vault without revealing their position. Thazarim looked back up. “Is there any other entry into the vault? Ventilation systems, windows, underground?”

“No,” Tatuskai said. “The vault is completely sealed. The walls, doors, ceiling, and floor are made of wood or metal – you will not be able to manipulate the earth to create an entry point. I couldn’t inspect the vault up close, but I saw two slots for keys.” He reached into his suit jacket again, this time producing one such key. Sliding it over, he continued, “I managed to grab one from my boss’ office. The other one might be there or on his person. If you try to steal the other key, it’s only a matter of time before he will realize it's missing. Alternatively, you can try to use magic to force your way in, but this will trigger the sensors.”

Thazarim’s hand hovered over the key, analyzing its intricate grooves before pocketing it securely. “One key’s a start,” he murmured. “But without the second, this is half a chance.”

Verashta looked at Tatsukai. “Your boss, what’s his routine? Any vulnerabilities?”

“He’s careful. His schedule’s packed outside of sleep, and breaking into his home might be difficult,” Tatsukai admitted. “I have no information on his home at all. But he’s a creature of habit inside his office. A safe there – he keeps his most valuable items locked away.”

A slow smile spread across Thazarim’s face. “Safes can be cracked.”

“We need a layout of his office, guard rotations, everything,” Verashta said.

“Consider it done,” Tatsukai replied, hand nearly petting the briefcase. “Give me until nightfall tomorrow.”

Thazarim nodded. “And we’ll need a cover for the theft. Something that won’t point back to the vault.”

Verashta leaned in, her voice a low whisper. “An attack elsewhere, perhaps? Something to draw the samurai away?”

“We brought some explosives with us. We’re not going to need them to breach the vault. The bazaar, perhaps?” Thazarim suggested.

Tatsukai raised an eyebrow. “Risky. But it could work. It’ll also work if you want to delay the Americans: any sign of danger, and they’ll immediately fall back to their embassy.”

“Good,” Thazarim approved. The timeline would be tight, but all the pieces were already coming together. “We infiltrate the office as soon as you collect the intel.”

Tatsukai closed his notebook with a soft snap, his part complete for now. “I’ll leave you to plan the details. Contact me with a time and place for the next step,” he said, handing them a slip of paper with his manacomm address on it. 

As Tatsukai vanished into the shadows outside, Thazarim turned to Verashta. “Tomorrow, we recon the vault, make sure Tatsukai’s intel is good. Then, we act. Ready?”

Verashta nodded. “May the Ancestors guide our endeavors.”