Luce II: The Unfortunate Orator

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“…and so we thank you for gathering here today. Please prepare yourself for an address from your new governor, the Prince of Crescents, Overseer of Ortus Tower, of the blood of the Great Binder, Prince Lucifer Charles Grimoire!”

Luce took a deep breath, as fast as he could manage. Then he took four more, trying to steady himself.

A sea of people stretched out before him, writhing and pulsing en masse as waves of movement rippled through them, amplifying even the slightest shift as it made its way down the line. The sound alone was almost deafening, a discordant, unintelligible buzz boring its way into his skull.

The old opera house surely hadn’t been designed to hold this many people? It was a safety violation, for one thing, probably a fire hazard. And in a closed space, they could run out of phlogiston to breathe. I mean, it’s not an airtight building, so logically that shouldn’t be an issue here, but it sure feels like I’m not getting enough air. Who approved this?

Simon and Leclaire stood at his side, each holding onto one of his arms. That was probably intended to comfort him, but it just felt like they were trapping him there on the stage, stopping any chance of him running away.

“Uh… Maybe we should just call this off. Or someone else could give the—”

“No.” Leclaire removed her arm. “Stop complaining and do what you have to do.”

“Just show up, act like a basically competent, sane person, and tell them things are going to be alright,” Simon added, removing his own. “Just think of it like a class presentation.”

“I always just did an extra credit assignment to get out of—Hey!”

Leclaire pushed him forward, out of the curtain’s comforting veil and into the center of the stage.

As one, the amorphous mass of people turned to face him, and he felt a thousand eyes upon him.

She is evil.

Luce glanced back, but she had already ducked back behind the curtain and was now staring at him expectantly, her hands open, eyebrows so high they looked ready to depart her face.

Why couldn’t that pirate have just stabbed me?

“H-hi Malin. Hello!” He gripped the sides of the podium, trying to ground himself. “W-we find ourselves in…” He could only croak the words out, flattened by the weight of his task. Still, they carried through the room, designed to project sound from this spot across the entire hall. I never really studied acoustics properly, did I? A shame, that. It was all technically physics, anyway. It wouldn’t have been completely unrelated to his field. And—

And I have to focus, now.

Digging his hands into the wood, he reached once more for the words he’d wasted so much of his valuable time memorizing and practicing. “We find ourselves in a crisis unlike any seen in the last century. One hundred and eighteen years ago today, Khali’s rampage—” Wait, fuck! “Or rather, not one hundred and eighteen years exactly today, of course. That would be a ridiculous coincidence. Although, I guess we can’t accurately say; dates from when darkness fell aren’t really reliable since the sun and stars were blocked out and it went on for so long. That’s why they had to start a whole new calendar with the ‘AG’ Age of Gleaming schema, in order to reset to a new start date that could be firmly verified…”

Luce risked a glance back to the sides of the stage, where Simon was burying his face in his hands. Leclaire was badly failing to hold in laughter, but she at least had the decency to cover her mouth when she caught him looking.

Alright Luce, you’ve botched projects before. Nothing to do now but finish it out and hope it’s at least passable, just like back in college.

“The point is that a disaster of this magnitude has passed from living memory.” Get back to the script. “None of us can truly anticipate what will happen next, but thanks to the tireless efforts of everyone at the Governor’s office and many Malinese—Malinois, rather—just like you, we have managed to ascertain some important facts about the situation, which all of you have a right to know:

“Khali has not returned. All evidence points to her still being safely sealed in Nocturne. No great battle of good against evil will be needed to end this, nor the grievous costs that it would entail. Rather, the Sun Spirit, Soleil, has perished. By what means, we do not yet know for certain, but the lord’s portion of the blame doubtless lies with Lord Aurelian Lumière, High Priest of the Sun and former friend of Avalon.” Camille had added that part gleefully, and Luce hadn’t seen much harm in it. This sort of thing was exactly what sages were allegedly supposed to prevent in return for their blood price, and even if the lord were entirely innocent of this, he was guilty of mass human sacrifice, including citizens of Avalon during the Foxtrap. “Certainly, he has failed us for the last time.”

Blank stares greeted that. Do they even know who Lumière is?

“Whoever’s hand it was that slew the sun, they will suffer for the crime, for they have betrayed not just Avalon but all of humanity. Not for ending the life of a monster, but for ignoring what it would entail for every human alive on Terramonde. I assure you, justice awaits them.” That statement was greeted by a smattering of applause, dying down again so quickly Luce almost thought he imagined it. “But this too shall pass,” he added, using one of Father’s old sayings. “When the morning comes, all of this shall be naught but a bad memory. Even now, the process has begun to replace the sun, and once it is complete, light will shine in the sky once more.” Whenever that is.

“Until then, it falls to us to persevere. We need not defeat this apocalypse, simply outlast it.” He forced a smile, though it was hard to be sure how many of them could even see it. “And what have the brave people of Malin done so well these last seventeen years, if not endure? You’ve survived!” You’ve survived war my grandfather brought, exploitation my father lent his power to, and the brutal whims of Perimont and his ilk.

But he couldn’t mention any of that.

“The task before us now is to wait and hope, to preserve what we have, that we might see the dawn once more. It will not be easy, and not a person in this city will make it through without making sacrifices—” Wait, did Camille write that? It’s an awful choice of words. Somehow it had never occurred to him until now. “—but we will persevere.

“And to ease that burden, I have a few further announcements.” This time when he smiled, it was real, fueled by doing something he’d wanted to do for his entire adult life. “First, some of you no doubt already know that I’ve repealed Governor Perimont’s conscription mandate. Even now, Guardians are taking down the red flags of shame planted on uncooperative households. Effective immediately, I have also allowed any victims of this measure to sever their contracts and return home. Any who wish to serve the remainder will see an increase in pay, as compensation for their hardship. Everyone’s help is needed right now, but it must be given willingly.”

Finally, that got real applause from them, not the scattered excuse for it from before.

It was a bit surprising, though. Repealing conscription had been one of the first things he’d done after ousting Perimont, before all of this sun business. This should have been old news by now. Did they somehow not know about it? Had someone kept the news hidden, or minimized it?

“Second,” Luce said once the applause had died down. “As the temperatures grow colder, firewood grows ever more important. I’ve had the Forresters supervise the gathering of a stockpile, drawing on nearby woodlands, and it grows larger every day. I must also thank the woodcutters swinging the axes to gather it, and helping transport it back into the city. If you wish to add to their numbers, the Governor’s office would be delighted to contract you for the work. Please see one of our recruiters on your way out.” No clapping there, but that wasn’t the end of the world. The goal there was manpower, more so than approval.

“These supplies will be distributed to every household in this city. No one within my walls need freeze.” That brought it roaring back, far greater than any before, warmth and laughter and smiles. Gratitude. It was almost intoxicating. “Finally, as a thank you for listening to my words, I have partnered with Clochaîne Candles and Tender Flint’s to provide every person in this room with a candle and tinderbox, to help keep your path bright in the days to come.” He took a bow, electricity tingling on his skin. “Thank you all!”

The cacophony returned as he took his leave from the stage, the loud conversations and thumping as the room began to empty out. It only got worse once he made it off the stage and saw people begin to swarm around him, a flurry of insincere congratulations and empty praise, all simply because his position made them feel like they had to. Some, by the sounds of it, were trying to get clarifications for their journals, but given how much he’d managed to stumble over scripted words, talking to them would just be courting disaster.

It reminded him of presenting his capstone project, lifting the coverings of the new windmills and watching in horror as the still day’s weather failed to move them. They’d barely even been visible, in the fog, and as far as anyone there was concerned, didn’t even do anything.

And they’d applauded anyway. Uproarious, thunderous applause, filled with shouts of praise and feigned wonder. Harold had been the only one decent enough to show his true face, to sympathize at the failure of the demonstration instead of rejecting reality to substitute a more flattering one.

Father hadn’t been there then, but he’d said something similar, years before, at another presentation of one of his projects.

“As my son, yours is a privileged existence, Luce. Moreso perhaps than any other boy around. It’s easy to simply accept it, assume that they’re telling the truth, but that’s moronic. That little volcano of yours is cute enough, but it’s no better than any other nine-year-old could manage. It’s unremarkable, and beneath us. You didn’t do anything to earn their praise, not yet. You have to rise to the occasion.”

“That was an atrocious start. Did you not practice or something?” Leclaire pulled him off to the side, away from the din.

“One thing to practice in private, another to—”

“It’s fine. The rest was good enough to save it, I think. And at least you announced the policies. I was worried you’d take Simon’s advice about allowing the market to dictate prices.”

Luce scoffed. “What are we even here for, if not helping with stuff like this? Besides, we need everything we can get.”

“Yeah.” Leclaire bit her lip, staring past him into the darkness. “You know, I was pretty nervous my first time in front of a crowd. I wasn’t a stuttering mess like you were just now, but I felt that way on the inside. It does get easier.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Of course, I was eight at the time.”

Luce narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, come on! You’re a prince, you should have been preparing for this just as early. I still can’t believe you didn’t do it all the time back in Cambria. Weren’t you the ‘Overseer of the Tower’?”

“I’m impressed you remembered my list of titles enough to pick that out.” He shrugged. “Operations there demanded secrecy. Operational security, and the like. There was never any need to address the whole building, let alone the public.”

“Well, you got an easy one to start with. Good news certainly goes down easier.”

“Yeah…”

“Your Highness!” The sound made Luce jump, turning back around to see the source of the noise. A sandy-haired girl, by the looks of it, her muscles bulging out of her Territorial Guardian’s uniform, as if it didn’t fit quite right.

“I’m sorry, do you need something?”

“Ah, if I could just have a word with you…” She glanced towards Leclaire. “In private?”

Leclaire shrugged. “I wanted to get in a word with Clochaîne anyway. Go ahead.” She walked back towards the stage, leaving the two of them behind.

A silent moment passed, until Luce folded his arms. “Well? What?”

The girl gulped. “Your Highness, my name is Charlotte. I’m a bronze-class officer in the Guardians.”

Luce squinted, trying to remember their arcane ranking structure. “That’s like, bottom rung, right? You’re a… like a peon, or a grunt?”

“I’ve served for two years, Your Highness! I was even dispatched to aid Sir Gerald Stewart in investigating the bombings that destroyed your father’s ship.”

Right, Sir Gerald… Ugh. That was not going to be a fun meeting. “I assume you’re not here to read me your resume?”

“Uh, no, Your Highness. I’m sorry. It’s… Recently, I was dispatched on a mission to find Lord Perimont’s missing pigs.”

Khali’s curse. “I’m not intimately familiar with the Guardian’s command structure, but I believe you have a superior to report these findings to, do you not? In case you didn’t notice, Lord Perimont is dead. I don’t think the fate of his pigs is weighing heavily on his mind.”

“No, of course not, Your Highness. But in the course of my investigation, I found bones washed up on the shore. Pig bones, Your Highness, and enough of them repeated that I’d guess the entire drove drowned. And that got me to thinking about who would steal a bunch of pigs just drown them, and that pointed to—”

“Camille Leclaire.”

Charlotte blinked. “I was going to say Lady Carrine, the sage from Guerron you were just talking to. If she’s stealing animals to sacrifice, then she hasn’t renounced her ways. Not even temporarily while staying here. If she’s willing to lie about that, who knows—”

“I do.” Luce clicked his tongue. “You are way out of the loop, here. But that’s not your fault, and it’s an impressive deduction, getting that far from just a few bones. You said your name was Charlotte?”

She nodded.

“Why didn’t you just report this to Captain Whitbey?”

“Well, uh, Your Highness, the Governor—Lord Perimont, I mean—he said that Captain Whitbey would be his choice to… discipline me, for failing to catch the harbor bomber. If it weren’t for Sir Gerald’s intervention, I might have been executed already. I didn’t want to risk prodding at a sensitive subject.”

Fucking Perimont and his fucking sadism. And now they’d found the body in that train, which meant enduring his funeral too… “Look, Charlotte, I don’t do things that way. But I completely understand. Thank you for coming to me with this. I appreciate the thought, even if it isn’t new information.”

“You knew she stole those pigs and sacrificed them?”

“Well, I knew it was pigs, anyway. I don’t love that she stole them, but it makes sense.”

“And—Wait, you’re saying that she’s Camille Leclaire, too? She, what, faked her death?”

“It didn’t sound like it was on purpose. More like ‘almost died and then didn’t correct anyone’, I guess. That’s what it sounded like anyway.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “Then why isn’t she in a cell right now? You can’t trust someone like that.”

“Of course not!” He waved his hand dismissively. “She had a snake insignia sewn onto her dress. I don’t trust her. But she’s useful, and she’s agreed to help.”

“Useful?”

Luce gestured to the black sky. “Energy is at a premium right now, and she has a way to get it that no one else in this city can duplicate. Anything more detailed would probably go over your head, so I’ll leave it at that.”

Charlotte inhaled deeply. “I didn’t want to bring this up, because it’s not nearly as firm, but…” She held out a hand, a blue earring sitting in her palm. “This was given to me by Leclaire’s companion, found in Guerron. Apparently Lord Simon found a matching one on the beach here, right in the aftermath of the explosion. It suggests a connection, loosely, I know, but I can’t ignore—”

What the fuck? “That’s my earring. My brother got it from Simon during his trip here, and gave it to me when he got home. And then the pirates… Was the one who gave this to you tall and thin, with long black hair?”

“…Yes. How did you know?”

He grabbed the jewelry from her and placed it in his pocket. “Because she and her girlfriend stole it from me when I was kidnapped. And I got it from my brother, who got it from Simon. It seems like this thing just changed owners so many times it confused things.”

“…Oh.” She bowed her head for a moment, clearly crestfallen, before jerking it back up. “Alright, true information is good information, even if it destroys your argument. That’s the foundation of investigating.”

“And of science,” Luce noted approvingly. “If there really is another earring out there somewhere, maybe it does point to the bomber. Who knows? It’s something to keep an eye out for, at least.”

“Speaking of keeping an eye out, I still think you need more eyes on this sage. I could tail her for you, watch her every move to make sure she isn’t plotting against you.”

Luce scratched his chin. “I appreciate the offer, but I need to verify your ability more first. This is an impressive start, but we did just meet two minutes ago.” I’ll probably talk to Simon and Whitbey, see if they know of her. “I’ll reach out again if I have anything for you. In the meantime I’m counting on your discretion.”

“Of course. And Leclaire? Maybe the bombing was a stretch, but she’s clearly up to something. You can’t trust her.”

“Don’t worry, I know.” Luce smiled. Leclaire might have been in her element with this politicking, but he’d done some studying of his own. “I have a plan.”

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