Sajani Tails

      “It was just a paperwork error,” Simon repeated. They were now clear of the city, riding a pair of magic horses that Simon had summoned. They appeared to be made of solid shadows. While just about any practitioner of the arcane could summon such a steed, they were often associated with con artists and mountebanks. Simon never cared, but he was what some thought of as an almost respected con artist. He was more a showman than a cheat. “You know how persnickety those dwarves can be with their paperwork.”

      “Actually…” she said in a slightly quieter voice. “I don’t. I always assumed that what I heard was more allegorical than real. Kind of like any ability you might happen to display.”

      He took her comment in stride, as he always did her playful taunts. “In this case… no.” He said with a laugh. He then started speaking to her like he was a professor of political science, something he’d probably pretended to be at one point or another. “If anything, the dwarven preoccupation with their Great Engine is far closer to theological than it is allegorical. They don’t worship the machine, per se, but they do revere it and put a good amount of their personal safety and trust into it. It’s not something that many of the Eastern Continent can even pretend to fully understand.”

      “You’re doing it again, Simon.”

      “Doing what?”

      “Talking to me like I’m a mark or something. Just answer the question.” He’d been talking like this, on and off, for the last hour and it was getting tiresome.

      “Ha… a mark?” He sounded like she’d accused him of a grievous sin. “I don’t know what that’d be like. I never ‘mark’ anyone. You say that like I’m one of the worst of scallywags.”

      She stayed silent and allowed irony to fill the emptiness.

      “A small paperwork error. That’s all it was. Apparently a single hole had shown up, probably just through normal wear, in a place on my punch card where it shouldn’t have been, and the Engine opened up a restricted door for me. I was found in a part of their city they felt I shouldn’t be. While they sorted it out, I had to spend a little time in their jails.”

      She stayed silent, hoping that he’d continue on his own.

      “Nice jail really. I’ve definitely stayed in worse… Worse places that is. It’s the only jail, I’ve ever stayed in, of course.”

      Well, that last part’s a lie, she thought to herself, but it was all she needed to hear. From what little he’d said, and what she’d seen written on Benayle’s face, it was obvious that at some point the old actor had been on the Western Continent doing something for Benayle—something that required him to enter a restricted area and do… what? The dwarves didn’t really have anything the vykati wanted, at least not as far as their former Minister of War was aware. It was impossible to predict what Benayle could want. The old dog was meticulous in his planning and very protective of his people, but he was hardly the sort to care about espionage against a friendly nation. If he wanted, he asked. He wouldn’t have resorted to spying. He’d have left that to his Minister of State and stayed out of it.

      And she could be sure that was all Simon would divulge. The only reason that she’d gotten any information from him at all was because he valued their friendship. Someone less close to him would have been completely stonewalled. He was very good at his craft: whatever you cared to call that craft. She couldn’t resist trying to rile him at least a little, now that she had all the information she was going to get.

      “Prince Rameum didn’t seem convinced…”

      Simon smiled, obviously aware that she was taking a new angle: one that made more use of their usual moral banter. “Ah,” Simon sighed. “The good prince was never convinced of my innocence. He was under the impression that the extra hole seemed rather deliberate and lodged an official complaint to the government of Rhidayar. They of course had never heard of me.” He noticed her raised eyebrow and quickly added. “He thought my ship was registered there at the time. You know I keep more than one registration on the Wisp, so don’t try your moral high ground on me. It’s what’s making our trip possible.”

      “Who were you working for?”

      Simon placed a hand over his chest and put on one of his better hurt looks. “Working for? My dear, I was ‘working for’ no one. I was there on vacation at the time—just taking a little time off from my normally high stress profession.”

      Sajani laughed. “From being a gong farmer?”

      “An actor’s life can be extraordinarily stressful, my dear tin-headed soldier.”

      “Because if you don’t keep shoveling, you’ll be in over your eyes in no time.”

      “There she is!” The cry was from a uniformed male vykati further up the trail. Simon bolted, but Sajani held her ground. They were part of the Vharkylia Army.

      “You idiot!” she shouted to Simon when she recognized the soldier ahead. Colonel Lahnk was near his retirement in the wolf pack, the unofficial name for the Vharkylia Army. He was covered in gray fur and wore his white hair pulled back in a totally non-regulation ponytail. The cuffs of his uniform were frayed. Once he'd made as high of a rank as he thought he’d make, he stopped trying and no one seemed to care.

      The colonel smirked, “Should I send a soldier after him, Lady Gen…er.. I mean…my lady?” Simon continued to flee.

      “No Colonel,” Sajani replied with a smile. “My gallant bodyguard will no doubt return to protect me if the need arises. I’m sure he’s just getting distance for a good charge.”

      The colonel and the three soldiers accompanying him, in that time-honored tradition of the military, managed to only laugh on the inside. “We were worried sick about you, My lady. Your letter said you’d be here after your resignation became official and would need fresh mounts. You said…” The look of surprise on Sajani’s face wasn’t lost on the colonel. “Sergeant Tess. Do you still have the letter?”

      A very young and curvy gray vykati reached into her leather satchel and pulled out a letter with a large wax seal at its base. She looked like she wanted to say something but held her tongue. The sergeant presented the letter to the colonel who handed it over to Sajani.

      It was a short and direct letter.

 

      “Colonel Lahnk,

      “I’ll be retiring from my post and expect Benayle to accept my resignation tomorrow. I plan on traveling to Zenache to better assess the threat.

      “There’ll be an airship waiting for me two hours past your station. I’ll require two fresh mounts waiting for me at your outpost.”

 

      It was dated three days prior. Something that was supposed to be her seal was affixed after it, but the stamp tilted to the right and was missing the date at the bottom that signified her start of service as the Minister of War.

      Colonel Lahnk shot a look at his sergeant and answered. “Yes. I noticed the seal was tilted the wrong way, but assumed you were in a hurry.” The sergeant rolled her head slightly as if prompting him to say more. “And I suppose I should have noticed that if you were retiring, you wouldn’t make a request like that without mentioning it was a favor and not an order.” At this point the sergeant’s eyes looked like they were about to bore a hole in the colonel’s head. “The messenger was wearing the colors of Benayle though, so it all seemed pretty official.

      “When you didn’t show up yesterday, I got worried and when there was still no sign of you this morning, I..” a slight smile broke across the sergeant’s lips as he said this, “or rather, Sergeant Tess thought it’d be prudent to come looking for you.”

      Sajani didn’t answer, but slowly worked a claw under the wax seal. It wasn’t Benayle who did this, but she was supposed to think it was. The old wolf knew she was leaving before she did, that much was sure, but he could have sent anyone with the message and made it seem like it came from anyone.

      “Ugh,” Simon’s voice came from behind her. “Any act of forgery should be well worth paying enough to get it done right. I didn’t realize my eight-year-old niece was doing government forgeries.”

      And that summed up exactly how Sajani knew that Benayle wasn’t the one who did it.

      Humans who aren’t obese look gangly when next to vykati. Simon, though human, tended to look rather gangly next to skinny humans, and so, he looked unnaturally sapling-ish in the vykati capital. He was tall and well dressed in a maroon colored suit that included lace cuffs and a top hat that accentuated his least positive feature. While he was tall for a human, he’d be called average as a wolf. Sajani stood much taller than he did.

      As he was indoors, the hat now sat idly in his left hand. His Vandyke was immaculately trimmed and he greeted Sajani with his characteristic charm. Others trying to mimic him would’ve sounded very insincere, but there was no noticeable insincerity to the man now.

      “Ah, my lady General!” he gushed as he saw her. “I didn’t know that you could look as beautiful out of uniform as you look intimidating and powerful in uniform. It’s wonderful to see you again after so long.” He took her left hand in his right and bowed deeply, sweeping his left hand and hat out to his side. The action thrust his cape open and gave a splash of crimson color.

      As the saying goes, wolves don’t blush, and neither do vykati. “Sir Simon,” Sajani returned almost regally. “It’s good to see you. But ‘Lady Sajani’ will do nicely from now on in public.”

      “Ah, then Lord Benayle graciously accepted your resignation? I’m so glad to hear it!”

      She did laugh inwardly over the ‘Lord Benayle’ comment. She’d never heard anyone other than Simon call him that. “Of course,” Sajani returned, the irony in her voice especially clear to one who specialized in irony. “He wouldn’t dare challenge my reasons.”

      “Marvelous,” the showman preened. “We’ll need to take my shadowy chargers for the first couple hours, but then…” He stopped when he noticed Sajani’s slightly raised eyebrow. “I’m so very sorry my lady. I tried…”

      “I’d rather not…” she began.

      “I know,” the man said in his most pitiable voice. “And I’d rather not make use of them so near the vykati capital, but Benayle has closed the borders to all foreign craft and I couldn’t bring the Will o’ Wisp any closer to the city. I was lucky enough…”

      “Closed the borders?” Sajani asked. “I didn’t close the borders.”

      “No, my lady.” Simon said. “Benayle did: yesterday.”

      The old vykati leader would never have done something so drastic on his own. He always acted through her in matters of defense.

      Unless he knew she was leaving. Unless he knew she was so tied up in her own plans she wouldn’t have time to see to it herself. She’d been much more distracted than usual the last few days.

      The latest he knew she was leaving was yesterday? More likely he’d known at least a couple days sooner so as to have time to put everything in order. She’d only made up her mind a few days ago. The memory of everything that just happened came back to her. Benayle knew she was leaving. He’d never even opposed her. How could she miss that?

      A trumpet sounded from the top of the palace steps and uniformed troops formed two rows, quickly flanking each side of the stairs. They were armed, but Sajani knew the rifles and sabers were of the ceremonial variety, not the standard issue for combat. The bugler played a fanfare announcing the arrival of a dignitary. Just as she started down the steps, Benayle appeared at the main palace entrance already dressed in a set of simple but somewhat regal robes of state. Sajani wondered how the old dog managed to change so quickly but banished her own question as she realized that his complete hatred of such things often enabled him to make changes back and forth on a whim. He was probably still wearing the leather harness with a local sport team’s insignia that she’d seen him wearing earlier. The robes would’ve completely hidden it.

      The coach that approached the palace wasn’t one of mere surface looks. The four gray horses pulling it pranced a delicate step that bespoke of rather cruel training at a younger age. Each horse had its mane worked with small braids and the tails were also worked with several small braids. Each braid was tied off with a small yellow ribbon and all the individual braids of the tail were tied off with a single large white ribbon. The coach was laid over with gold. At first Sajani thought it was simply electroplated, but the areas where the most wear would’ve taken place failed to show a metal base and the wheels, even with the heavy steel shocks, stayed firm and forced the wagon to ride low. It was a heavy coach. What wasn’t gold (or functional steel) was white, and with how much opulence the coach displayed, Sajani deduced it was probably pure ivory and not painted wood.

      The door had the figure of a right hand, palm out, fingers and thumb spread. Over that was a hammer. The whole symbol was, of course, done in gold.

      “Odd.” Sajani heard Simon say to himself. “Why here?”

      “You know who that is?” Sajani asked.

      “Yes,” the fraudster said quietly. “I might have spent a little time in his jails.” He had the presence to look shocked at the glance she gave him. “Just a little misunderstanding, a tiny dispute really.”

      A vykati soldier opened the coach door and a very old dwarf stepped out. His beard was white and reached almost to the ground. It undoubtedly would have if the end wasn’t turned back up and held in place by a large and plain looking gold ring. His suit was white with gold trim shining through in pleats.

      “You know how dwarves can be with their paperwork.” Simon finished.

      Honestly, she didn’t. She’d never had direct dealings with dwarves. That was a state issue.

      “Time for us to depart, my lady.” Simon said quickly as the dwarf turned towards them. Simon tried to shove her away but settled with only hiding his face in his hat as the dwarf turned from the approaching Benayle and instead began walking towards her. The poor actor went very pale and nearly tripped over himself when the dwarf called out.

      “Lady General Sajani!” he shouted.

      As she turned to look at him, she noticed the slight grin that Benayle threw at her. Somehow, he thought this was really amusing. He altered his course to meet up with them. As the dwarf got closer a look of confusion crossed his face, and he turned to Benayle as though for approval. “My apologies, Mr. Benayle. I thought there must have been some mistake.”

      “No mistake, Prince Rameum,” Benayle said smoothly, “May I introduce you to Lady Sajani Adida, our former Minister of War. Lady Sajani, this is Prince Rameum of the dwarven principality of Rahar. I believe, your Grace, you’ve met Simon Francis before?” Simon regained his composure quickly and managed a well-intentioned and deep bow.

      “Then this is indeed the Lady General… but former?” The prince nearly shouted. “I don’t need to tell you, Mr. Benayle, this isn’t the time for drastic changes. And in such company as this man, why he…”

      “My people are all about change, your Excellency.” Benayle interrupted smoothly, placing an arm on the dwarf’s shoulder. “We have our traditions that we love and hold fast, like bones to flesh, but change is the blood of our being.”

      Sajani nearly snorted. Benayle had just quoted a line from a play that was very popular right now: one that she knew he couldn’t have been to see, at least not with the proper protection he’d have needed from her organization. She shot him a glance that he totally ignored.

      “I was under the impression I’d be meeting with her this evening, concerning the matter with Zenache…”

      “I’m sorry if I gave that impression, your Excellency, but Lady Sajani won’t be present at tonight’s state dinner.” With a completely straight face he added, “She doesn’t really care for cake” as if that explained the entire matter.

      Based on the look the dwarf adopted from the statement, Sajani guessed he assumed such a statement must be some sort of vykati idiom. “But that one…” he began, motioning again to Simon.

      Benayle interrupted him yet again, and said in sotto voce, “I can’t tell you her current duties without committing a grievous sin against the security of my state.”

      “Well,” the old prince sighed heavily, “that might explain why she’d be seen with a nearly convicted…”

      “ut ut uh!” Benayle chided in an almost playful voice. “You mustn’t compromise my state secrets!”

      Now Sajani was curious, but there was no way to question the old wolf now. The prince turned to her and bowed deeply. “My lady, I’m glad to have had the opportunity to meet with you.” His voice then dripped with venom, “Simon.” Both tentatively bowed to each other looking more like wrestling opponents waiting for a bout to start. He then turned back to Benayle, who seemed to be beaming with enjoyment over the near altercation. “I won’t detain Lady General Sajani from her important mission any longer.”

      The two started up the steps talking animatedly about an upcoming rugby match. Sajani shook her head slowly and glared over at Simon. “State secrets?”

      “Very kind of him to fib like that on my behalf. It was becoming a rather awkward exchange.”

            “You’ll need a better answer than that you old gong farmer.” Sajani said tersely. “But not here. Later.”