[Sidequest] Hall of the Beetle

As the squid pressed through the grate,

Together we cried,

For it sealed our foolish fates,

As much as we tried,

Temple decreed our failure,

Ne’er to know truth…

The greeting hall of the Beetle was magnificent. Flying beetles held up the rafters, escorted by all of the other holy animals. It was carved out of marble and, after a brief funding issue, a minor amount of slate in the paving stones. Great columns rose, each carved with different images of the empire as it had been built and fought for. Hundreds of pews waited for the public to listen to the Baron’s every word. It was a marvel of the developed world. When the Baron had just been a boy, he’d come here at night just to stare at the way the candles illuminated the gold on the chandeliers.

Today, he hated the entire construction.

He leaned his face onto his jeweled hand and tried not to look too despairing at the shrieking of the harp in front of him. The singing and the playing sounded like a dying cat combined with a cart accident. The perfectly-designed hall only accentuated it. The perfectly made stained glass windows illuminated the man’s face in pinks and yellows as he opened his mouth to create the worst sound the Baron had ever experienced.

He had climbed to the pinnacle of the church, fought with other priests, gained the positive view of the beetles and seen the future of the world…. For this? “Can someone shut him up?”

The secretary- was his name Duilius- leaned into Baron Vindex’s ear, trying to whisper over the horrible wailing of the harp. The man played louder in anticipation.

“He’s, uh, not responding to our signals, sir. He said this was of premier importance.”

The Baron couldn’t make out anything over the screeching. He was fairly sure he was suffering internal damage. “If the squid failed him, how is he here?” he muttered. It wasn’t polite to put his hands over his ears in public (besides, it would dislodge the hat of office) but he very much wanted to. “Someone ought to put him back.”

“I apologize, sir. He was nominated by the-”

“Whoever it was, lower their importance. Actually, take them off of the agenda for the next ten years.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And tell him- what now?”

“He’s asking for a boon.”

“Will the boon make him leave?”

The man had stopped playing, at least. He was crying. Had he started crying at his own harp playing? Maybe it was proximity to the damage. Like a bomb. The Baron ushered him forward. At least if he was speaking, he couldn’t be singing.

“What? Speak fast.”

“I wish only for a moment of your time, honored Beetle, King of All Gods, Whomst I honor-”

“Get on with it!”

“My sponsor to this council, the honorable Herminius, has been struck by a horrible and possibly permanent affliction-” probably the harp playing- “and has not woken since he was attacked in the temple.”

The Baron waved him on. “Yes, yes?”

“It was due to a horrible northern menace,” said Gnaeus. “Death. Danger. A woman with manacles that tied the gods to this world and created ghosts of their blood.” Behind him, some other man was nodding vehemently. Did they just let anyone in these days?

The Baron began to dismiss him, but his secretary leaned in. “We do have a task force to deal with the northern issue, my lord,” he said. “They have been asking for funding.”

“Why should I care? I already hosted them last summer. They were the ones with the stupid glasses, weren’t they? Cultish ones. Can’t be sending them too much money. They’ll get ideas above their station.”

His secretary leaned in a little further. The Baron traced little shapes in his throne. He hated speaking to the public. It took time away from his beetles. He could have learned about dozens of futures in the time he had wasted speaking to this horrible harpist and learning about his delusions of grandeur.

“Sir,” said his secretary, “If you give the task force more money, you can tell this man this issue has been dealt with.”

“Yes?”

“And then you can refuse him further entrance to the chamber.”

The baron hired geniuses. He leaned forward and gestured the man forward. “My great harpist,” he said. He racked his brain for other comments. “Uh, your unique music has inspired me.”

He stared at the massive chandelier so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact. He had counted all four hundred of the different beetles by the time the man stopped thanking him. Why did they always have to kiss his rings? It took the Baron’s servants hours to sanitize them properly, and the Baron hated putting them on afterward. He always thought about how many lips had been on them.

He looked down with disgust. “I have… decided… to reward you.”

“Really?” The harpist was crying again.

The Baron really, really didn’t want to do this. He cleared his throat. “But you must promise this is all you will ask of me,” he said. “Ever!”

“Of course. Your honor is-”

“Good, it’s a deal. I’m sending- what’s a good amount of money? Ten million gold?”

“That is… very generous, sir,” said his secretary.

“Double it. And send a ship of mercenaries up there,” he said. “Whoever’s the most violent. We’ll kill whoever did this to your master. How’s that?”

He wasn’t going to listen to this man, ever again. The harpist nodded rapidly.

“I’m going to compose an epic in your honor, my lord,” he said. “Everyone will sing it. It will fill the halls-”

“No need,” said the Baron. “In fact, I think you should give up the harp. Someone take him out of here.”

He leaned back and put a hand over his face as the harpist was escorted out. “How fast can we get this northern issue dealt with? Can I put more mercenaries on it? Does it cost extra to have one set that harp on fire?”

“Sir,” said his secretary. “Try to smile.”

“What?”

“We still have thirty common people to see,” he said. “You’re being personable today.”