It's quiet in the mansion today. Much like all the days, as the master of the household prefers it that way. Yet today, the Wooden Shekel restlessly paces its hardwood halls, noiselessly roaming from room to room, trailed by another Jingai – the latter appearing to be a small, winged garter with pale green scales. The garter-shiga holds a sheaf of parchment and a quill, and some sort of wearable inkwell, with a strap for the shoulder.
Months have passed since the great Temple heist, and yet Bambridge remembers it as yesterday. The position granted him by Faraon the Friend has indeed proven lucrative… and though he's only broken even for the most part, it's afforded him a rich lifestyle in the Empire. Establishing his position, maintaining contacts, upholding the fascade – all have taken time that he couldn't spare at the risk of everything he's worked for, however. But things seem at peace now, and the anxious burglar's mind turns to other things. More important things.
"The contraband run's passed inspection for another month, I think, Ripple," hisses Bambridge, stopping to stand at a window on an upper floor. He stares broodingly through the glass at the city outside. "Barring a surprise inspection by the authorities, it should maintain itself 'till the next inspector can be bribed. There aren't any more matters requiring my immediate attention, are there?"
"Ah … no, sir," the garter shiga says. "It would seem that you actually have some free time in your schedule for once, sir!" The shiga ventures a faint smile … though ready to snap back to a serious look in an instant if it seems his master isn't inclined to return the expression.
A weak little smile passes across Bambridge's face. "I dare say, it's about time. I can't imagine how many trails have gone cold since I've been here." With a gusty sigh, he clasps his hands behind his back, his traditional simple gray cloak gathering around his feet. "There's been a lot of dissension regarding the Emperor's mandate for Savanites. Blood's being spilled, from all sides, and I think it'll get worse before it gets better. Has there been any word from the City of Hands lately?"
"No, sir," the shiga replies. "I suspect that it isn't considered … safe … to maintain communications at this time. Except… " He lets out a sigh. "Word came to us from an unknown originator that there is displeasure among the … ah … 'More-Than-One-Hundred' … as to how to react to the latest goings on in the Empire. Some want blood, it would seem." He makes a wincing expression. "I think the cubs are the last straw, sir."
Bambridge's head turns slightly. "The… cubs?"
The garter-shiga bites his lip, then says, "Ah … sorry, sir. I thought you'd already … heard about that. The big debate going on, you know. You see, what with the part of the decree about how any Savanites born after the 'Freedom Date' are born free instead of slave … well … if the PARENTS are slaves … who's to care for them? And … "
The Wooden Shekel turns away again, not allowing his face to be read. "Yes. I see," he interrupts, his voice held a little too conspicuously level. "Yes, it is the last straw. I don't know that bloodshed is the way to solve it, but something must be done." He lets a long, uncomfortable silence pass, appearing lost in thought.
"Sir?" says the garter-shiga at last, breaking the silence. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"Yes, there is, Ripple," replies Bambridge, at length. "Drastic times call for drastic measures. First things first. You're going to found a Savanite orphanage. Support it with what funds we have; we should be able to last quite some time on what we have. It'll require more money as it goes, though, and I aim to get that. Spread to my contacts that I'm interested in some specific Savanites too. If they can bring them to the mansion, good. If not… then I'll attend to it personally when I return." He turns back from the window, his scales a grim gray in colour. "And finally, take enough money to book me passage on a fast airship. I'm going to the City of Hands."
After a journey northward across the Savan, a stopover in Safar, and then a secretive trip up the Xenean River, the multicolored Shiga arrives at the legendary City of Hands, accompanied by a well-packed trunk.
A wind blowing down the canyon sends the lizard's cape fluttering in a way that almost suggests wings. The overall effect is terribly dramatic for someone of relatively small stature compared to the tall cheetahs who meet him as the boat draws to shore.
A cheetah clasps his hand to his chest, then makes a sign of greeting.
Bambridge clasps his paws in the same manner as the boat slides up, his scales clouding to a pleasantly verdant green.
"Greetings, Rainbow-Scale. A place has been prepared for you. Shaman Weeping Blue shall rejoice at your return," a tribal-looking Savanite warrior signs.
"Excellent," replies the reptile's hands, with a brief pause as Bambridge holds out his arms to steady his boat disembarking. He lugs his trunk out as well, lays it on the bank, and signs, "How are things here? I have not heard news in quite some time, owing to the turmoil. Is Yellow Feather well?"
"Yes, Yellow Feather is doing fine," the warrior replies, helping Bambridge out of the boat.
A bit of chit-chat to bring the visitor up to speed on the welfare of the members of the Dusty Tear tribe that are out of captivity, and the Wooden Shekel is at last led to the palace. There are some delays, mostly taken up by various persons who wish to greet the Shiga who has done so much to help the Savanites (at least on a small but selfless scale), but at last he is granted an audience with Third-Vision (or Third-Eye), the Priest-Queen of the City of Hands and of those tribes allied with it.
She reclines upon a pile of cushions, fanned lightly by servants – even though it is not terribly warm in here, this being as close as the Savan gets to winter. The Shiga is offered a pile of cushions to recline upon as well, and his choice of treats – including several known to be weaknesses of the Wooden Shekel.
His bowing and formal greetings out of the way, Bambridge can't really keep a grin off his face as he helps himself to some honied locusts. Before he makes himself look too silly (and sticky-fingered), he signs, "Thank you for granting me this audience, your Highness. I wish I could have come under more favorable circumstances… but I'm sure you know of the conditions that the course of the Savanite freedom mandate has caused in the Empire."
The Priest-Queen nods sadly. "One could see the changes in the Nagai Empire as fortuitous … but others see it as too little too late. Change of such magnitude cannot happen overnight … without pain and cost."
"With any sweeping change, there are those who are swept to the wayside," returns Rainbow-Scale, arranging himself so he can sit cross-legged on the pillows. "And all too often, we have to pay in suffering to make any sort of gain. It's unfortunate, but I agree with you. However, something has been troubling me. There have been stirrings in the Empire, bitter feelings between Naga and Savanite, and my sources tell me that those feelings extend as far as the City of Hands. I'm concerned that the isolated atrocities and terrorism could threaten to turn into a full-scale fighting, and erase any gains we've made so far."
The Priest-Queen looks about the chamber, and nods. Several of the servants immediately get up and leave. She waits until they have left before looking back to the lizard.
"As you may know, the Twelve-Times-Twelve are from ancient times, when the Savanite Empire was supreme in the domain it ruled. That is the land they know and remember. That is the land they wish to see again. Some have come to accept the present reality. Some quietly or loudly hold to the old ways. And some are as yet undecided. If I had my way, I would not deal with them at all … but they would make powerful enemies … and as it is, they are indispensible allies. Without them, the City of Hands would not be. We would all still be slaves, or running for our lives from the slavers." The Priest-Queen carefully signs each word, keeping a serious gaze fixed on the lizard.
Bambridge's scales cool into a subdued shade of blue. "I was afraid of that. Well, I haven't come to try to change their minds. However, I'd like to try offering them a more peaceable option… or at least a hopeful token to pacify them for a little bit while things work themselves out."
"And that would be?" The Priest-Queen looks genuinely curious.
The Wooden Shekel takes a deep breath… then realizes he isn't using his voice to speak. It steadies him, at least. "Since I'm fairly well-based in the Empire, I've started an orphanage for the displaced freeman cubs of slave parents. If I can register it with the Imperial Bureaus, I'll house them until they're able to fend for themselves, or come here… but the latter will require cooperation from the City. Any sort of backing, volunteers, anything that can be done to help. If all goes well, perhaps I can influence the higher powers to require that freemen cubs too young to support themselves be processed through my organization… since it should make the government happy to calm things down a little, and your members of the Twelve-Times-Twelve a little more willing to go through conventional channels, I think this might have a good chance at success."
And thus it was that a most unusual plan was put into order, with secret backing … and the Wooden Shekel went from being Savanite adoptee to petty thief to master burglar to agent of organized crime … to headmaster of the first orphanage for freeborn Savanite kittens. And, of course, that was only the beginning of a new story…
