They figured they’d replace the hat once a year. Keep things fresh, interesting. It wasn’t the official unveiling yet, but the artist had let Wax and Steris come to see it. Fences kept others away as they promenaded along the Field of Rebirth at the very hub of Elendel. The knoll where people had first emerged after the remaking of the world.
The statues of the Ascendant Warrior and the Last Emperor were just far enough away that if Wayne’s had been alive, he could have hit them on the backs of their heads with an occasional thrown pebble. That seemed appropriate.
Steris knelt down to read the inscription.
“‘You’re meant to be helping people,’” she read, then noticed a second, smaller inscription plaque at the bottom, near the base. Wax winced as she read this one too.
“‘Ain’t no fellow who regretted giving it one extra shake,’” she read, “‘but you can bet every guy has regretted giving one too few.’ I can’t believe you used that quote.”
“The lower plaque can be removed,” Wax said quickly. “We’ll change it up now and then too. But … well, that quote was something he explicitly asked for.”
She stood up and shook her head, but he could tell she was already thinking this would be a good place to put some of the more choice quotes she’d recorded.
Wax remained standing, looking up at the visage of his friend. The dull ache remained. Always would. But Wax had been living his life. He, Steris, and the kids were preparing for another tour of the Roughs. A political tour, to drum up support for their bid to become a province in the changing face of the Basin.
Two years of hard work had staved off civil war. Real progress had finally led to a national assembly for the cities of the Basin. The Roughs were next. Some there wanted to be their own country; he hoped to persuade them they’d be better united.
The gate to the fence slammed, and shortly Marasi stepped up to the statue, wearing Wayne’s actual lucky hat. Wayne had left it to her. A last-minute addition to the will, they’d been told. At first, Wax had thought he hadn’t been left anything specific. Then certain items had started … showing up.
He held up the latest one for Marasi to see.
“A desiccated frog?” Marasi asked.
“Taxidermied,” Wax said. “Was in my coat pocket this morning. Along with a note apologizing. Apparently the instructions had been for a live frog, but they hadn’t quite been able to bring themselves to do it.”
“You ever find out who he paid to do this?” Marasi asked, taking the frog by one leg.
“I assume it’s the men who handle his estate,” Wax said, “from how polite and apologetic the notes are. I haven’t had the heart to confront them about it.”
“You should just let it keep happening,” Steris said.
He frowned as she stepped up to him. “You don’t think it’s gross? Last time was half a sandwich.”
“It is obviously gross,” she said. “But … well, it shows remarkable planning on Wayne’s part. It’s the sort of thing we should encourage.”
“He’s dead,” Marasi pointed out.
“It’s the sort of thing we should respect, then,” Steris said.
Marasi eyed the frog. “They say that in gift-giving, it’s the thought that counts. So … um … how do we interpret this?”
Wax sighed. “I’m sure they’ll run out of items on his list soon enough.”
Both women stared at him.
“Did you know Wayne?” Marasi asked. “When in his life did he ever let a joke die?”
It was … a fair point. And from what they’d learned about Wayne’s remarkable finances, he’d had the money to keep this joke going for a long, long time. And, well, things like the frog were aggravating. And endearing. Both at once.
Just like Wayne had been.
“Are you ready for your trip, Marasi?” Steris asked.
Marasi grimaced. “Physically? Yes. We’re packed. But mentally? Emotionally?”
“You’ll do wonderfully,” Steris said. “You’re going to be the best rusting ambassador the damn Basin ever had!”
Marasi cocked her head.
“Using respectful language,” Steris explained, looking up at the statue of Wayne, “considering the location.”
“She’s right,” Wax said to Marasi. “You’re exactly what we need. A Basin woman with a Malwish partner. A distinguished public servant with a record for being fair but tough. The leaders of the Southern nations will listen to you.”
Marasi nodded, her expression firm.
“Have to be honest,” Wax said, broaching the topic, “I’m a little surprised to see you leaving the constabulary behind. A part of me thought you’d never walk away. It was your dream.”
“No,” she said. “My dream was to do more. Always has been.”
“I suppose you can do that as ambassador,” Wax said.
Marasi smiled, arms folded. He was happy to see how confident she’d been lately.
“You’re planning something,” Wax said, finding himself amused. “What is it, Marasi?”
“I realized a while ago that there was something I wanted to do, something I wanted to accomplish,” Marasi said. “But I needed experience I didn’t have yet. I think becoming ambassador will help.”
Wax frowned at that, trying to pick out what she meant. But before he could press further, Steris spoke.
“Hopefully you can calm the tensions,” she said. “If anyone can get them to start opening up trade with us again, it will be you.”
He agreed with the sentiment. Wax hadn’t been in the meeting where the Bands had been brought out and found drained, but it smelled of a setup to him. Unfortunately, since the events of the detonation, relations had grown increasingly tense. The Basin felt the Bands had been taken unjustly, and the Malwish claimed that the Basin had shown aggression by even considering using them.
But the Bands were merely a symbol. Part of a larger power play. A new faction in Malwish — the one in control of their unification — kept talking about how Northern disasters had caused them so much hardship over the centuries, and warned that the discovery of these bombs was only the next step. They saw the North as chaotic, unpredictable.
Listening to this group, the Malwish Consortium had forbidden things like tourism and even most forms of trade between continents. Most importantly, they’d forbidden any transfer of harmonium to Northern interests.
No harmonium meant no airships. And no Investiture bombs, though trellium was the rarer component of that particular device. Unfortunately, the Basin had enough of both metals squirreled away to be dangerous. And despite his arguments against it, the Basin had been looking into developing weapons using those remnants.
They’d entered a new age. War was one of the main disasters Steris had to spend her time preparing for. It wouldn’t come to that. Hopefully. If only he could figure out who had drained the Bands …
Don’t go down that path, he thought.
Yet if he didn’t ask those kinds of questions, who was he? Lawman? Father? Senator?
Questions were part of who he was. He just wished he knew for certain that the choice was his. Though, as he considered — his old instincts working on his behalf — he thought maybe he could piece together what Marasi was planning. Judging by the way she was glancing back at the line of political picket signs in the grass nearby. By the way she’d strategically chosen such a high-profile appointment.
She said she needed experience. Negotiating, perhaps. Soothing egos. Trying to get people to get along …
“Rusts,” he said, pointing at her. “You’re planning to run for governor.”