Calder had never heard the man so animated. He was striding around the room, making broad, sweeping gestures with his staff, orating as though to an audience.
He glanced over his speech. It seemed heavy on reassurance, and light on any actual content. “The problem is, it seems like we caused the crack. Fighting near the Optasia. But I don’t know what it is or how to fix it, so anything else I say is going to sound empty.”
On its own, he didn’t mind empty speeches. That was what people most often wanted: someone to feed them delicious lies. But today, Calder would be somewhat more reassured if he had any idea what was happening.
Maxeus gestured to the speech in Calder’s hands. “We’ve written out everything you need to say. Stick to your notes, stay calm, and we’ll be able to say we were the first to handle this crisis.”
“I don’t remember the Emperor ever holding any notes,” Calder said.
Teach shrugged, which in her layers of armor sounded like an avalanche of steel. “More than you would think. He wrote the words himself, usually, but he managed to hide notes in his sleeves or on a desk.”
It was Maxeus’ turn to look at the clock. “And we have a podium for you, don’t worry, but you should get to it. It’s less about what you say, and more that you said something.”
“But stick to the script,” Teach added.
Cheska Bennett poked her head in, red hair tied back behind her. Unlike Calder, she hadn’t been forced to dress up for the occasion, so she wore a patched-up jacket and pants that would have been at home on the deck of a ship. “Or don’t. Scripts are more trouble than they’re worth. Tell them not to worry, that we’re handling it, then drop the curtain.”
Teach started pushing Calder toward the door, Maxeus following along. “This isn’t the time to make trouble, Captain Bennett,” Teach said. “People are scared.”
Cheska laughed, following Calder as he allowed the human tide to take him out into the hallway. “I noticed you didn’t let me write him a speech.”
“You weren’t even invited to this event,” Maxeus noted.
“Harbor’s right next door, and so is my ship. Thought I’d pop in and give our new Steward some advice.” She made sure she had his attention before continuing.
“Lose the script. Look confident, tell them you’ll solve it.”
Teach shouldered her out of the way as she herded Calder into the next room. “Thank you, Captain Bennett, please take your seat.”
Never had Calder felt more like a sheep.
The building was a former opera house turned into a banquet hall. The seats had been removed, the floor leveled, and round tables filled the space. Around those tables now sat the great and powerful of the Capital; nobles, bankers, favorites of the Emperor, high-ranking Guild members—even a few from currently disgraced Guilds, like at least one Greenwarden—and people Calder didn’t recognize but who were obviously rich. Their small talk was deafening, but as soon as Calder entered the room, silence followed him. Every eye took him in: his clothes, his bearing, the papers he had half-hidden in his sleeves, his two Guild Head companions.
And Calder recognized an opportunity when he saw one.
“Thank you, General Teach,” he said, stepping out from her shadow. “Guild Head Maxeus.” He walked on his own, unescorted, to the center of the former stage. The curved walls and the Intent of the building should carry every word he spoke to the farthest corners.
Cheska raised her fist to him, a gesture of support, and then leaned back in her newfound chair and propped her heels up on the table. A pair of Witnesses looked scandalized, but they couldn’t say anything to the Head of the Navigators. From her grin, she’d been counting on it.
Calder glanced down at the script for a prompt. Briefly, he’d even considered actually reading it. He was acutely aware of everything—and everyone—that he didn’t know, and a misstep here could haunt him for the rest of his life. The people in this room were frightened, no less than the average person on the street, and they needed answers for their own peace of mind. The script would give it to them.
Or he could do it himself.
Most of them would never know the difference, but he would. And he felt more comfortable improvising anyway.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, crumpling his prepared speech. “You may have noticed a new addition to the beautiful Capital skyline.”
No one laughed. In the back of the room, Maxeus leaned more heavily on his staff. Teach put her head in her hands.
“I can promise you that the full resources of the Imperial Palace are currently dedicated to addressing this event and ensuring that it does not pose a threat to Capital citizens.” That line was almost word-for-word from his speech, but the next wasn’t. “It’s no secret that the Guilds have not been fully cooperating with one another these last few years. But we have the absolute backing of the Blackwatch and the Magisters, both of whom are working tirelessly to protect you.”
“So it is a threat?” someone shouted.
“Not to you,” Calder said immediately. That didn’t sound like something the Emperor would have said, but he was falling into a rhythm, so he forged ahead. “Let me tell you something about my history. I’ve spent the last ten years in the Navigators, crossing the deadliest parts of the Aion Sea hundreds of times, but I started in the Blackwatch. Whatever you know or think you know about the Blackwatch, you should remember that each and every Watchman is sworn to protect you from things that you would not believe. Things that you will never see. Are they a threat? Yes, they are. But not to you. To the people standing in front of you.”
Calder scanned the audience, making eye contact with as many people as he could. “My address to you will be brief tonight, but I assure you that I’m not trying to replace the Emperor.” Yet, he added silently. “A steward is a caretaker, a protector, and as Imperial Steward, I am trying to do one thing: to take care of you. To make sure that, when the Great Elders move, they’re moving against me. Not you.”
That was the job the Emperor should have done, before he lost sight of the value of a human life. Not that he could say that now. “So when I tell you not to worry, I’m not telling you there’s nothing to be worried about. I’m telling you that there are people handling it. We, the loyal Guilds of the Empire, will protect you. That, you can rely on.”
Then, amidst a growing wave of quiet whispers, he left the stage.
Calder heard all the opinions on his speech for the rest of the day, through the night, and into the next morning.
“It wasn’t a disaster,” Teach was saying. “You reassured them, you emphasized that it was the remaining Guilds who were protecting them and not the Independents. But you should have just read the script.”
He took another bite of his fruit sandwich. It was a Vandenyas-style breakfast, which tended to be heavy on bread and fruit, but he’d been up most of the night fielding visitors. Apparently the highest levels of the Capital didn’t feel like he was worth visiting until after he’d made his first public appearance.
In mid-sentence, Teach cut herself off and turned to face the door. Calder hadn’t heard anything, but he still reached beneath his absurdly oversized robes for the hilt of his cutlass. Just in case. Teach had her hand on Tyrfang, so there must be at least some kind of threat.
An old man in an Imperial Guard uniform burst through the door an instant later, gills flapping on the sides of his throat. He didn’t wheeze or pant with exhaustion, though he leaned his hands on bent knees. “Guild Head. We’ve just confirmed the report. Mekendi Maxeus is dead, and one of his properties has been burned to the ground.”