Chapter 64

Minds from Beyond

“When I met him, he was not ensconced within Light; he was but a barely-breathing, dirt-trounced man clinging on the straws, begging.”

Sealed Diaries

Asandra watched in silence the man by her side as they paced casually back to his chambers. He was humming a low, unknown tune, up and down, a rather pleasant, at least for her. A faint smile hung on his lips, his expression spirited and alive, reflected in his body’s candor, unlike most other times. She’d just witnessed this seemingly silly-looking Dacent convince a Princess of the Kingdom to brace and shuffle herself over onto the frontlines to meet the Kindled. Usually, when one would tangle themselves in such a feat, they’d be nervous, even ill from fear of being found out. Yet… nothing.

A thought streamed into her the moment they left the Princess’ chambers, a thought so dangerous she didn’t dare utter it out loud. If a Princess were to trust anyone unconditionally, and that someone wasn’t the King or the Queen… it had to be them. The edified.

“… you’re dying to know, aren’t you?” he glanced at her with a sheepish grin. As always, he read her. She found herself unable to hide anything from him; it was as though her thoughts were written out on her forehead.

“… I wouldn’t call it dying,” Asandra replied with a helpless smile. “More like… faintly suffocating.”

“What do you think of my plan?” he asked instead of answering her.

“… it’s crazy?”

“Yeah, of course, all my plans are crazy,” Noah shrugged. “I’m asking whether you think it will work.”

“… I do.”

“It was a good glimpse into your future, wasn’t it?”

"Oh, so, at some point, you'll send me out to face a swarm of Wights all on my own so you can promote my image as the savior of the Kingdom?" she asked, smiling.

“… why do you think I didn’t include you in this one?” he asked. It almost felt like when she was a young girl, and her Uncle was teaching her the art of swordsmanship, the wit, and the quill.

“It would split the attention,” she replied. “And I imagine there is no immediate benefit for me living in the limelight alongside the Princess.”

“That,” he nodded. “And that there will be others to battle.”

“Others?”

“Make no mistake,” he sighed as they reached his chambers, entering. “My plan might be the craziest of the sort, but plenty more will cohort to profit from the chaotic times. You should know that.”

“…” Asandra nodded; rather than trying to end them as quickly as possible, chaotic times were ripe with the 'inspired' trying to make the most out of other people's suffering. He made a beeline for his desk and capped open a bottle of wine, pouring himself a cup, and another one for her, indicating she sit down. She followed as she felt a drink could help her process a lot of her jumbled thoughts. "How do you plan to go about that?"

"… we strike first," Noah said. "That's why I had her already start preparing. We make the most noise. We suffocate all others trying to open up their voices. And… we play both ends."

"… play both ends?" Asandra arched her brows, slowly piecing together his plan.

“We’ll play the system,” Noah explained. “I’ll put one of my slaves in charge of collection donations that will go to ‘bettering’ the situation on the frontlines. It might be like dew dripping against the parched lips, but, eventually, it will torch it wet. We’ll use those donations, then, to fund ludicrous loans that others will try to use for profiteering. At the same time, I’ll approach most of them with offers to elevate their stories, naturally asking for Crowns as the form of the ‘helping hand’.”

“…” she felt conflicted, listening. This was what was scary about him – he didn’t mind leeching from both the poor and the rich, and playing both sides equally and simultaneously. “At least… at least some of those donations will make their way over to the soldiers… right?”

“… you’re quite a kind one, huh?” he chuckled, taking a sip of wine, staring deeply into her eyes for a moment. “Some will, yes. Rather, the amount is inconsequential,” he added. “Most of the reason donations rarely help is not that they were not enough, but that they were terribly used by the people in charge. Tell me this – in two scenarios, one where you have the option to feed a family of four for a month with fish for twenty Crowns, or in the second where you teach them how to fish for forty Crowns, which is the better option?”

“… the second?” Asandra mulled over it for a moment and replied.

“Yes, but why is the first scenario almost universally used?”

“…”

“Because it’s easier, and because there is direct proof to it,” he explained. “You can show people that you’ve helped that family, that will go back to starving and begging within a month. But it’s their problem then, not yours. There seems to be an almost self-evident notion that the best, and really, the only way to help people, is to give them shit. However… what happens when you run out of things to give?”

“… I’m getting a headache from the riddles and dancing,” Asandra sighed, taking a sip of wine. “Just tell me what you’re planning.”

“…” Noah grinned for a moment, a glint of understanding flashing through his eyes. “You’re getting it.”

“I’m not nearly the idiot you think I am, I’m afraid.”

“I never considered you an idiot,” he said. “If I did, I’d have never asked you to be my personal guard, no matter how well you swung that hunk of metal.”

“…”

“Rather than buying beds and tents and swords and arrows,” Noah said. “We buy raw materials and have the people who currently don’t have jobs make them for far cheaper. In this scenario, not only do we have something to show for those donations, but we also create the possibilities for dozens of people to improve their craftsmanship. And, who knows? Perhaps, by the end, we find a few budding stars that we can then hire for ourselves. In the end, the soldiers get their essentials, but we avoid attaching the merchant-run guilds and shops in the equation that would bleed us dry. Plus, you know…”

“… we get to pocket some of it?” Asandra smiled queerly, shaking her head.

“Not a bad deal, eh?”

“… won’t it be difficult, though? To play from so many sides?”

“Why?” Noah shrugged. “I’m not building a mansion out of broken branches. I’m tricking dumb people thinking themselves clever into doing dumb things. I can’t think of anything easier in the world, save for perhaps the leaking bum after some really bad food.”

“… that was remarkably disgusting… and unnecessary.”

“Eh. I think it added some color to it.”

“The worst color of the bunch, though.”

“It’s not fun if you play along…”

“I didn’t want it to be fun,” she grinned. “I already realized I can’t encourage you too much.”

“… perhaps you’re too smart for me,” Noah said, stroking his chin. “Did I make a blunder?”

“… I’m flattered you’d even entertain the thought,” she said. “But… how do you go about any of this? I imagine you don’t want to exactly be in the limelight.”

“I won’t be doing most of it,” Noah said. “We have the jester on our side who’ll be responsible for tossing the bait to the rich-and-clever, and we have slaves to go around the city and the Kingdom to collect the donations. Though, I must say, we are lacking one, key element.”

“What?” Asandra asked, curious.

“A really good bard. Specifically, one who couldn’t care less about the truth, and would sell his mother as a whore in the song for a coin.”

“… you know,” Asandra exclaimed softly, arching her brows as a queer grin wound her lips up. “I might just have someone perfect for you…”

Lo’kret sneezed, his body jerking; a whole crowd of dirt-strewn men and women glanced at him strangely, as it was a rather queer sneeze – almost a mixture of a child’s and a woman's, coming from what appeared to be a fully grown, albeit a rather feminine-looking man. He wore a brown gown threaded with silver linings depicting musical notes and wore wooden sandals covering his bare feet. A somewhat handsome face peaked from beyond the rather long, dirt-stained and artificially-dyed blue hair, with a pair of gem-like yellow eyes embarrassingly looking away from the crowd.

“Khm, khm,” he coughed in a deep voice, setting himself back up against the chair, lifting his canvas-like dyed gittern against his chest, plucking at the strings. “The story continues…” he said as the moment of silence fell before he started playing the instrument, the melody finding its way into the hearts of the onlookers quite easily. “It is for certain, as the story would have told; Duke Drath’s daughter Freya is a massive whore; from Nomadic barbs to the nameless Lords; hundreds swear that she had tasted them all. Lest it be said that Lo’kret is lying; I must attest I also wound up trying; I flashed her a smile and in nude she appeared; Mother! Dear Mother! My eyes have never seen such a thick beard! ‘tis was as I feared, our Lady was a whore; by Light I think she would have fucked a boar; she clawed at me while on all of her fours; I ran and sprinted for Mother told me to never touch a whore! And, as it happens, she would know the best; for the Mother from cocks never had a rest; and I swear—”

“LO’KRET!!!!” a roaring voice came storming from beyond, startling the crowd and the bard who shot to his feet with terrified voice, quickly picking up the small, wooden bowl half-filled with glittering coins, shuffling them all into the inner pocket of his gown before tossing gittern over his shoulder.

“Forgive me my little lambs, but this bard must now go! They keep trying to silence me, but I fear them no more! Spread my story, and prepare some more coin! Lo’kret will be back so until then heat up your loins!” as his half-singing, half-talking voice began fading, all the group saw was the back of the bard vanishing in the dust, ducking into the alleyways, disappearing like the wind. No, even quicker than the wind.