Chapter 714: Bullying Number 5 Once More

Kara didn’t let go.

If anything, she slid her hand further up, kneading the dense downy undercoat right where the tails met the small of Solenne’s back and letting that impossibly soft fur glide through her knuckles.

"They’re remarkably well-brushed today, Solenne," Kara said calmly, her face a picture of innocence as they kept strolling down the street. "The density is exceptional with very good airflow."

"T-T-That is... th-those are... please don’t squeeze so hard near the r-root!" Solenne’s voice wobbled like a broken clockwork chime.

She scurried along beside Kara, trying to pull her rear away, but every time she shifted, Kara’s fingers simply tightened and stroked the plush silver with slow shameless indulgence.

"People are looking, my Lord!" Solenne whispered frantically, hands clutched to her burning cheeks with her knees knocking together under her breeches. "They’ll think you’re using your Chief Artificer as a hand-warmer!"

"Let them think what they want," Kara hummed, her violet eyes twinkling with wicked delight as she grabbed a fourth tail and buried her fingers in the luxurious warmth. "A Lord has the right to inspect the quality of her territory’s assets so don’t be stingy, Solenne. You know how soft these are~"

"It’s not about being stingy!" Solenne whimpered, her tails twitching and coiling around Kara’s wrist, betrayed by their own sensitivity. "It sends weird tingles up my backbone! Ah... m-my Lord, please..."

A passing mercenary stopped dead in the street and stared but Kara looked back at him with a perfectly composed bored face then he remembered something urgent in the other direction and left.

They turned the corner onto the Grand Canal thoroughfare.

The avenue opened into a wide paved promenade beside a broad channel of dark churning water where freight barges were being towed by mechanical draft-beasts.

The sidewalks were packed with merchants in silk tunics, Lords and their people browsing weapon stalls, and couriers darting through the crowds on light skates.

Kara was just about to release the third tail and let the panting kitsune catch her breath when something tugged at the edge of her senses.

’A-ah... Finally!’

It was a subtle microscopic tear in the local air pressure which was the faint clean signature of folded space.

Silas’s eyes flicked right, toward the shadow of a stone archway under the overhead rail line.

A very small figure was walking along the edge of the canal, completely alone.

She wore a heavy traveling mantle of deep midnight-violet silk, the edges embroidered with platinum compass-roses that caught the morning light.

The hem brushed the tops of her polished boots, her cuffs were trimmed with fine silver wire, and a deep shadowy hood was pulled low over her brow.

Normally, that figure wore full mask or like back on Khemet, a half-moon porcelain mask of black and silver.

It hid most of her face and left only the sharp line of her chin and her dark unblinking eyes uncovered.

Today, the mask was gone.

The hood sat far forward, keeping her hair and the upper part of her brow buried in shadow.

But beneath that dark rim, her small chin was lifted, and her dark eyes were scanning the passing freight barges with cold detachment.

Silas’s eyes widened a fraction.

In the Khemet campaign, he’d seen only the lower half of her face and the dark terrifying void of her gaze behind that porcelain shell.

He’d never once seen her face in daylight without the mask... now it was right there.

Her skin was pale as polished bone, her chin was razor-sharp, and her face impossibly small, like an exquisite doll carved out of marble.

The only thing that spoiled the picture was a heavy weariness in the line of her mouth.

It was Number Five.

The Fifth Seat of the World Council, one of the ancient monsters who’d walked the earth before the First Apocalypse and outlived every empire that had risen and fallen since.

’And also who I needed right now.’

As of now, she was strolling down a common commercial canal like a grumpy tourist.

’Well, look who decided to take a morning walk,’ Silas thought.

As if she’d felt the weight of the gaze, Number Five’s head snapped toward them.

Her dark eyes locked onto Kara White’s suit, the black bangs, and the glowing violet irises.

For one frozen perfect second, the ancient Council Head went rigid.

Her eyes went round as saucers as the detachment on her small face cracked and collapsed into plain annoyance.

Her expression said it all, as clearly as if she’d shouted it down the canal.

’No... no... No!’

Number Five spun on her heel, grabbed the edges of her violet robes in both fists, and bolted down the stone path on foot as fast as her short legs could carry her.

SWISH!

Mid-sprint, her tiny right hand whipped out of her sleeve and started tracing a glowing silver rune in the empty air, trying to rip open a spatial tear and vanish across the city.

"Oh no you don’t," Kara muttered.

Kara let go of the tails and before the rune could finish its first loop, before the air had even begun to fold, Kara was gone.

Ten paces up the footpath, directly in front of the sprinting Council Head, Kara White appeared with her arms crossed over her chest and a slow wide smirk spread across her face.

"Going somewhere in such a hurry, Council Head?" Kara asked smoothly, violet eyes gleaming with open mockery. "You didn’t even say hello... That’s terribly rude for someone of your esteemed station."

Number Five skidded to a dead halt with her boots sliding three inches across the slick canal stones.

The spatial rune she’d been tracing sputtered and collapsed into nothing behind her.

She stood there with her chest heaving beneath the midnight-violet silk and her small fists clenched so hard that her silver cuffs rattled against her wrists.

Slowly, her head tilted up.

Beneath the shadow of her hood, her dark eyes glared at Kara with enough concentrated hatred to melt iron plate.

"Kara White." Number Five said. "I’m on an officially mandated observation recess... I’m not on duty so I’m not taking audiences and I am certainly not entertaining Lords who can’t stay in their own territories or fight monsters without running away."

’Ouch...’ Silas thought. ’You were the ones that were overworking me though.’

"An observation recess?" Kara took a casual step forward and looked down at her.

It was a bit of a long way down.

"That’s a lovely phrase for sneaking out... Did you sneak out of the chair meeting too? Word is Musvi sold you another one."

Number Five’s left eye gave a violent spastic twitch.

Her small jaw tightened, and when she spoke again the dry monotone cracked and her voice shot up into a sharp grating shriek.

"Do NOT bring that festering, grinning parasite into this conversation! He sold me a chair that dissolved... In front of the Council! And then he tilted his head at me like it was my fault!"

Heads turned all along the promenade and a passing barge-hand dropped his rope.

Number Five stopped. She sucked in a sharp, hissing breath through her teeth and dragged her voice back down into a cold flat drone.

"Step aside, Lord White or I’ll fold the space beneath your expensive boots and drop you into the sewage reservoir."

"You wouldn’t dare," Kara laughed.

She reached out with her one hand and patted the top of the hood twice, right where a head would be. "Aww... It’s so little."

"DO NOT PAT ME."

"Sorry. You were right there... It was the perfect height."

Number Five made a noise like a kettle being strangled.

Behind them, Solenne had finally caught up, panting, both hands clutching her satchel with nine tails still ruffled from recent events.

She took one look at the Fifth Seat of the World Council being patted like a puppy and her ears flattened against her skull.

"L-Lord Vespera," she whispered. "Is it... safe to do that to this child...?"

"Probably not," Kara whispered back. "Don’t tell her I said so."

"I CAN HEAR YOU!"

Number Five spun on her heel and bolted for the second time with her small boots slapping the stones and one tiny hand already clawing at the air for another rune however Kara reached out and hooked two fingers in the back of her collar.

Number Five’s feet kept running but her body did not go anywhere.

She hung there, a foot off the ground with her legs pumping furiously in the air like a very angry windup toy.

"Put me down!"

"You’re doing so well," Kara said warmly. "Look at those little legs go. Solenne, are you getting this?"

"I-I’m not sure I’m allowed to look!"

"Last time I held you like this you were five thousand feet up, and you were a lot quieter."

"S-stop..."

"You were a good listener... I miss that."

Number Five folded her arms and went limp in Kara’s grip, glaring at the horizon with a face of deep personal betrayal.

’Why are you the center of all of my troubles...?’

Kara set her down gently on the stones and straightened her mantle for her.

"Anyway." Kara clapped her hand to her chest and put on her most sincere face. "Running into you is a stroke of magnificent luck... I have a rather pressing legal matter, and it just so happens that I need a member of the World Council to make sure the ink dries properly."

Number Five’s eyes narrowed into slits of deep suspicion.

"A legal matter? You’ve been in this city for what, a few days? What could you possibly have gotten yourself tangled up in already?"

"Not me." Kara stepped aside and gestured at the trembling kitsune. "My Chief Artificer. Kitsuna Solenne."

Number Five looked at the fox beastkin.

She took in the nine silver tails, the dress she wore and a bit of soot smudge still sitting on one cheek.

"A mechanic," Number Five said flatly. "Fascinating... Did she drop a wrench on a magistrate’s foot?"

"Worse." Kara’s smile faded into a frown. "A local guild stole her masterwork blueprints three months ago... They copied her hydraulic design, simplified the safety valves, and started mass-producing it under their own banner... They’ve made millions of Spirit Credits off her work. She couldn’t afford the ten thousand just to book an audit with the Intellectual Arbitration Board, and the guild has senior arbiters on its payroll anyway."

Kara leaned down until her violet eyes met the ancient woman’s dark ones.

She had to lean a long way.

"I promised her the Brassbound Guild would return every stolen credit, and that their leadership would apologize publicly on the steps of the Directorate but arbitration takes weeks of paperwork... Unless a Council Head takes a personal interest in corporate theft."

"P-Please," Solenne squeaked. "It’s all true."

Number Five stared at Kara.

She looked at the tailored suit and the pinned empty sleeve.

She looked at Solenne’s wide hopeful golden eyes, she looked at the crowded promenade, and then at the clear blue sky, as if hoping it would open up and take her.

"I just wanted a quiet walk," she muttered. "One walk... I haven’t had one in ages..."

"You’re having one now," Kara said. "With company."

"I hate you."

"I know... Here, I brought you something..."

Kara reached into the empty air beside her hip.

FWIP!

A tiny folding stool appeared in her grip as she set it on the stones in front of Number Five with a flourish.

"So we’re on the same level," Kara said kindly. "Please... Sit."

Number Five stared at the stool.

She stared at it the way a woman stares at a snake that has been introduced as a cushion.

"...That’s an illusion," she said.

"It’s not though, aren’t you supposed to be the master of that kind of stuff...?"

"I don’t trust you."

"Aw~ What a harsh thing to say to someone you love~! You can’t tell me you don’t love me~"

"...Fuck you."

Solenne leaned toward Kara. "Is she okay?"

"She’s having a lot of feelings, I can’t blame her though... I’m really one of a kind, huh?" Kara said.

"I’M NOT HAVING FEELINGS!"

"Just sit on the stool..."

"No, I refuse to."

"Sit on the stool, Council Head, or I carry you to the guild like a purse."

Number Five went very still then, slowly, with the dignity of a woman walking to her own execution, she turned, lowered herself onto the stool, and sat.

...It held.

For three whole seconds she sat there, rigid, hands tucked in her sleeves, glaring at the stones and waiting for the floor to drop out from under her but nothing happened.

"...Hm," Number Five said quietly.

It was almost a smile though it vanished so fast that Solenne wondered if she’d imagined it.

She rose, kicked the stool into the canal with one small boot, and brushed off her mantle.

"I’ll sit on my own chair," she muttered. "In my own office."

A long bone-deep sigh escaped her, like a punctured bellows giving up on the world.

"The Brassbound Guild..." she murmured, sounding deeply annoyed as she pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose beneath the shadow of her hood.

"What Guild is that again...?"

...

[Three Hours Later.]

The corporate headquarters of the Brassbound Guild occupied the top four floors of a towering bronze-plated monolith in the Second Ring, looking down on the smelting yards like a smug brass crown.

The guildmaster’s private office was a monument to vulgar, uninhibited luxury.

Hand-woven wool rugs from the southern steppes covered the floor.

Polished black mahogany paneled the walls, lined with display cases full of gold-plated cogwheels, ceremonial runic calipers, and framed certificates of commercial merit.

A huge fireplace of carved green serpentine roared with enchanted coals, throwing warm light across a massive desk made from a single slab of petrified oak.

Behind that desk, lounging in a high-backed chair of deep crimson leather, sat the guildmaster.

Three months ago he’d been nothing but an executive scout, a glorified field agent who combed the outer slums for cheap patents and desperate inventors whose ideas could be bought for a handful of copper.

He’d worn a scuffed coat, carried a dented brass notebook, and spent his days dodging sewer grime.

Now he wore a tailored doublet of golden velvet trimmed with white ermine.

His pudgy fingers sported four heavy signet rings, and a thin, manicured mustache sat above a smug self-satisfied grin.

He took a slow sip of vintage spiced wine from a crystal goblet, swirling the dark liquid while his eyes drifted over the ledger open on the oak.

’That stupid, starving fox,’ he thought, chuckling low and condescending.

He still remembered the day he’d walked into that sulfur-choked cellar in the lower alleys.

He remembered how her golden eyes had lit up when he praised her clumsy little scrap-iron frame, how her hands had trembled when she handed over her journals, how easily she’d swallowed his promise of a five-year development grant.

...She’d handed over a lifetime of brilliant mathematics for absolutely nothing!

All he’d had to do was pass the notes to the guild’s dwarven draftsmen, tell them to strip out the expensive dual-stage hydraulic valves to cut costs, and slap the guild’s bronze seal on the chest plate.

Three weeks later, the Centurion Mining Automaton had taken the market by the throat.