Shadows and Whispers in Saroyan

Iordera found sleep elusive. She sat outside the grass hut, lost in thought.

Sophia approached, extending a hand towards her. “This was found in Awang’s pocket,” she explained.

In her palm lay five small birthday candles, burnt down to mere stubs. Their blackened wicks still seemed to radiate a faint warmth.

Iordera, in turn, opened her own hand, watching the tiny candle remnants settle quietly in her palm.

Sophia, growing impatient, pressed, “What do you intend to do?”

“They aren’t isolated incidents. They’re working for someone,” Iordera stated, carefully tucking the candle stubs into her bag. “The same group ambushed us when we targeted Dogget. They will return, determined to silence us.”

“Then, can we… find an opportunity to deal with them?” Sophia ventured.

“We could, but it wouldn’t be very effective.” Iordera shook her head. “They are merely pawns; someone else is pulling their strings, and more will surely follow.”

She glanced back at the grass hut, her voice dropping to a low, resolute tone. “I mean to root them out entirely.”

Both women understood the implications: this matter ran far deeper than it appeared.

****

A sudden unease settled over Sophia. “Iordera, if it’s about fighting these people, I’ll be there to help you immediately. But if you dig deeper, if you uncover others…”

“I understand,” Iordera interjected swiftly. “Your willingness to help is already more than enough; I haven’t even properly thanked you for saving my life today. As for digging deeper, I’ll handle that myself.”

She knew Sophia’s secrets, knew the young woman carried heavy burdens and could not afford to antagonize powerful figures.

Sophia mumbled for a long moment, finally letting out a dejected, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Iordera said, rising to her feet. “Daybreak is near; let’s head back.”

The safe house was exceptionally well-hidden. The gang wouldn’t find them there, not unless they ran out of food and were forced to enter the city, risking exposure by contacting others.

Days prior, Iordera had discussed this with the old woman. Once inside the safe house, they would remain hidden for at least two weeks.

During this fortnight, much would depend on Iordera’s actions.

****

The incident on West Street that evening caused a minor sensation throughout Saroyan. Tales of the brawl and the ensuing explosion spread like wildfire, growing more fantastical with each retelling.

Fear and anger simmered among the populace. For the first time in many years, such a brazen act had occurred in broad daylight in Saroyan.

And on a main thoroughfare, no less, before countless witnesses!

“We must condemn this vehemently! Such an event happening in our district before sunset is an utter disrespect to us all.”

“Where does that leave the safety of our people?”

“Explanations! We demand answers!”

Newspaper reporters and renowned bards from every community gathered before the Governor’s Mansion, placards held aloft, clamoring for attention.

Governor Busius of the East District, however, swiftly stepped forward to address the crowd. He announced:

“Our investigations have concluded that the incident on West Street was a gang conflict. They misjudged the timing, initiating their battle prematurely, which we deem a highly egregious and provocative act. We are currently dispatching soldiers to severely punish all involved parties.”

With this official statement, the bards, satisfied, happily returned to their homes.

Yet, the common folk continued to discuss the matter frequently over their meals. Even within the Academy, tea parties often revolved around the topic. The young lords and ladies, living in their ivory towers, couldn’t help but marvel at Saroyan’s vibrant energy, where something new seemed to happen every day.

Bypassing the tea party hall, Iordera quietly ascended the stairs.

She had questions, questions for which she needed guidance.

Hecate?

Hecate might have been useful, but in Saroyan, within the United Academy’s library, there was someone even more suitable.

This individual possessed a deeper understanding of Saroyan’s recent affairs. Furthermore, they specialized in certain areas, making them a more fitting source for particular inquiries.

“Good afternoon, little Iordera.” Mrs. Lailila smiled kindly. “It’s your first time specifically coming to my office; is there something urgent you need?”

Iordera carefully produced a small tin of tea, purchased along the way, from behind her back and offered it to her. “Nothing urgent,” she replied. “I merely wished to visit you.”

Mrs. Lailila accepted the tea, setting it aside. “Very well, then. Shall we simply chat?”

“Yes, Curator,” Iordera quickly seized the opening, pressing on. “When I arrived, I overheard students at the tea party discussing the West Street incident. Have you heard anything about it, Curator?”

Mrs. Lailila nodded. “I’ve heard a little.”

“What do you make of the official statement? Do you believe it to be true?”

The Curator smiled, thinking to herself, ‘This child is still a bit young, speaking with such haste.’

“To be honest, I don’t pay much heed to such matters. ‘Opinion’ is too strong a word.”

She paused, building anticipation, then abruptly shifted the topic. “However, there is a very simple way to judge.”

Iordera’s emotions surged and fell like a small boat on a tumultuous sea. “What method?” she asked eagerly.

“It’s quite simple. You’ve been in Saroyan for some time now; you must have visited the night market, haven’t you?” Mrs. Lailila said. “You should be familiar with how the officials handle certain situations.”

She pulled over a stool, gesturing for Iordera to sit and listen attentively.

The deployment of city guards and soldiers typically signifies a public and large-scale event. Otherwise, the efficiency of their operations tends to be quite low.

Iordera sat down, nodding her small head. “Yes, I’ve heard people in the night market mention that.”

The night market has grown so extensive that many capable individuals prefer to work as freelance mercenaries, which means the standard of official low-ranking soldiers is generally mediocre.

Moreover, intelligence concerning city soldiers is highly sought after in the night market, making it prone to leaks.

“Therefore, if they truly intended to resolve the issue,” Mrs. Lailila said, stirring her tea with a spoon, “they might, perhaps, consider posting a bounty at the night market, allowing bounty hunters and mercenaries to handle it. That would likely be more effective.”

Iordera nodded silently.

Mrs. Lailila’s implication was clear: the Saroyan authorities had no real intention of solving the problem; they were merely putting on a show.

“Curator, are you suggesting that Saroyan officials might also be involved in this matter?”

“That’s difficult to say, and I didn’t imply such a thing,” Mrs. Lailila replied with a light chuckle. “Unless you can find those individuals, it would be impossible to uncover… I mean, to confirm such a bold speculation.”

“Then how would I go about finding them?”

Iordera blurted out the question, then, sensing her eagerness might be misconstrued, quickly added, “Of course, I’m merely hypothesizing, not actually planning to do so.”

Mrs. Lailila seemed unperturbed, smiling gently. “Haven’t we just discussed it?”

“Eh?”

“At the night market, all clients are equal; there’s no distinction between you and a Saroyan official,” Mrs. Lailila elaborated, her tone instructive. “How the Saroyan officials *should* address this matter, I’ve already told you.”