Steamed - VII

“We’re gonna be hearing that a lot, aren't we?” Munaku says.

Alemi leaves his bed, standing tall, and putting on his bedside coat. He's a strong-looking man. An Ineo, with greyish-white hair and a triangle moustache.

“Allow me to conduct myself properly,” he says. Without pause, Alemi plucks a sabre from the wall. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

His body is completely steady, forming a straight median. Just by his composure and stance, I can esteem him as a competent fighter.

Munaku chuckles. “Come on, Alemi. Surely, you can tell who the rodent before you is?”

“Gamoun.” The word leaves his lips like a curse. “I'd remember that face any day.”

“Are we acquainted?” I ask.

“Aye. The Battle of the White Hill. Twenty years ago. I was a Colonel at the time. You smashed through the right flank with your soldiers, and near-decimated the lot of us.”

His blade reflects light from the night sky, a glimmer of steel. I wonder if he’d like to use that weapon on me. If he feels some measure of anger, or resentment for what happened.

I speak up. “If I recall, you still ended up winning the battle. My side over-extended, and you ended up encircling us, and forcing a retreat in the end.”

“That we did. Though not without loss.”

“That goes for all parties in war.”

“True. But knowing that never does reduce the pain, does it?”

“No. In my experience, only the passage of time does. And even that remains far from an absolute cure.”

Alemi sits. Resting his sabre on a wooden table. He lets out a quiet exhale, but quickly stares back at us.

“Have a seat, Gamoun. Let’s talk. Like men. Like fossils pretending to be something other than what we are.”

I take a seat in front of him. Munaku chooses to stand. Standing with her back against a wooden closet. A few seconds later, the conversation begins.

“General Gamoun, am I right in assuming that you escaped from prison, rather than being released?”

“Quite so. I wasn’t exactly pardoned of my supposed crime, after all.”

“Supposed. So you say you’re not the one who killed Prince Jasi?” He sounds partially convinced. As if the notion’s suddenly gained just a slight bit of truth.

“I’m not. And let’s say that I was. What reason would I have to do so? Prince Jasi was an advocate of an alliance between Ineo and Lagnitia. Killing him would only have furthered tensions between the two countries.”

“There are multiple reasons. Perhaps you wished to elevate the Prince’s brother to the throne. Perhaps, you’re a man who simply wants to see the world burn, and war to be waged. Perhaps… you were simply ordered by Lagnitia to do so.”

“Enlighten me, Officer Alemi. Enlighten me, on what reason Lagnitia would have for such a command.”

“Have you heard of the treaty Prince Jasi drafted?”

“In passing. Perhaps. Only that it was a matter of great contention. Is it true?” I ask. “Has Prince Jasi drafted this treaty? Is it as bad as some innkeepers, fish wives, and merchants would have me believe?

If Alemi truly is a former counter-intelligence officer, it stands to reason he’d heard about it. So there's no point for me to withhold any questions.

“Whether it's bad or not is a matter of opinion. But I'm led to believe that there are some in your country who would think it… Perverse.”

“Perverse?” I repeat, leaning forth against the table. “Perverse in what manner?”

“Does it demand all Lagnitians open their legs?” Munaku asks. “Does it apply the other way around? Can I—in any shape or form, benefit?”

Alemi coughs. Maintaining an expression of utmost seriousness. “Well, I shall tell you. At least from what I know. Amongst other things, it would have entered our two countries into a clause of mutual defence. Various trade agreements. A public apology for stuffing one of your trade ministers fifteen years ago, and using him as chair. The such.”

“Wait,” Munaku butts in. “Aren't two countries defending one another a good thing? Or am I missing some context on how exactly it's a lewd nightmare?”

“Think of it as a promise,” I say. “If your friend promises you that they’d protect you, no matter what, it would usually be a good thing.”

My apprentice nods. “Uh huh.”

“However. What if a dragon were to appear? If your friend sticks by their promise, there’s a good chance they’d be burnt alive. And if they don’t, they’d risk their reputation.”

“Okay.” Munaku bobs her head. “I think I’m starting to get it.” She points a finger at me. “So, what you’re saying, is that a hypothetical dragon could risk the destruction of one of the countries in the alliance?”

“Quite so.”

Munaku, deep in thought, lets out a small ‘hmm’.

“So the dragon is a metaphor. It's supposed to represent a concept. A supposed third-faction disconnected from Lagnitians or Ineo.”

“Yes,” I answer.

“But pull back the metaphor and the verbal dressing. What country does the dragon actually represent? ‘Cause—” she chuckles, “My knowledge of geography is sorely lacking.”

There are seven other countries on the continent. Each built atop a great Divine Beast. Each with their own cultures, beliefs, and ways of waging war.

For a few seconds, I narrow down all the possible countries. For a few more seconds, I debate among those narrowed down. Yet, I simply do not know. There’s no country to mind that’s close or aggressive enough to invade.

I’m not a spy. I don’t have easy access to such information. If a country wants to invade. If a country wants to deploy its soldiers. All I can do is hope to pick up on small signs, and make my own estimation from there.

But when are those estimations correct? How often? Not quite, from what I remember. Not quite at all. Just like last time. Yes. Just like that fateful day all those years ago…

Pain grows in my forehead. I realise I’m feeling frustrated. Knowing that war might come again, and repeat itself once more.

“Hey, Gamoun. You uh—having a stroke?”

I look up. I realise Munaku is patting me on the back. I realise I'm leaning forward, resting against the table in some gesture of pain.

“Hey, Munaku. I'm uh—not having a stroke.”

“Good. Now where were we?”

My head starts to feel normal once more. I return to thinking over what to ask. We'd become so engaged in a matter altogether different that I almost forgot what I came here to ask.

“Officer Alemi. I came here knowing I did not murder the Prince. But I cannot say the same for your White Hands.”

His face is calm. “You think we were responsible?”

“You've men of talent in your employ. Soldiers. Assassins. Prince Jasi was killed by one such individual. And what's more, you White Hands oppose an alliance with Lagnitia, do you not?”

Alemi is silent for a moment, his dull grey eyes scanning every hair on my face.

“Aye,” he says after a moment. “But can you blame us?”

“I can and will. There's no justification for the murder of Prince Jasi. Least of all, hatred for Lagnitians.”

His eyes flash with momentary hate. “Could it be because those Lagnitians held the blades that killed our sons and daughters? That pillaged our lands, and broke our temples? Do you still think it absurd?”

For the first time, I detect a hint of venom in his tone. And for the first time, I think I know why.

I try to think of a counter-argument. Some measure of good faith I can use to quell his anger.

But I know men and women like Alemi. And I know hearing their enemy preach to them, can only give fuel to the fire in their hearts.

“I'm sure my soldiers have killed your friends. And your soldiers mine. But that doesn't matter. Gamoun. You know why?” He pulls down the scruff of his linen shirt. Revealing a cut down the right shoulder. “Because my own son took the sword that came for me. Carved from shoulder to groin. And by a miracle of fate—the Great Turtle has placed his killer in my hands.”

A suspicion hits me instantly. Alemi is perfectly still. His body unmoving. But a sense of ‘wrongness ’ throbs in my muscles, and it tells me something is coming.

Did Okuri lead me to this man for a reason? If so, for what reason? To lure me into a trap? To put my attention somewhere other than the truth?

“You were right on one thing, Gamoun. I do have assassins in my employ. And I’ve just bought enough time for them to come.”