“Loudest,” affirmed Justin. “At least in times of disaster. You see, you’re not aware of it because you’re part of the military—which often is the loudest voice and, hopefully, the reasonable one. But back in the fallout from the Decline? The military was fragmented. Hell, half of it wasn’t even in the country. You and I are lucky that our ancestors listened to the loud voices that joined up with Asian countries against Mephistopheles.” He paused to rethink his words. “Well, perhaps ‘listened’ isn’t the right word. I’d say some of them were forced to hear.”
“Not many.”
“More than you’d think. Your pretty blond ancestors bought their way out, but plenty of people opposed to ‘optimal genetic reproduction’ didn’t have that luxury. It was an ugly time—uglier than most people realize. But look at us now.” He spread out his hands. “The height of civilization. The jewel of the world. Meanwhile, the Arcadians listened to voices that said they didn’t have to swap out their population and mix ethnicities . . . and they let a theocratic government take over and push a new religion that keeps its citizens ignorant and is afraid to let their women show their necks.” Mae flinched in surprise as he gently trailed his finger along her dress’s collar. “So, you tell me, did our ancestors make the right call?”
She shook her head and noticed Lucian watching them across the jet’s cabin. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know enough about the intricacies of the Decline. My guess is they made the best decision they could at the time with the information they had.”
“As do we all.” Justin dropped his hand and reached into his pocket. Moments later, he pressed something into Mae’s palm. “Here. Put this on before we land. Not now, not while Lucian’s watching us.”
“How do you know that?” she asked. “I mean, you’re right, but your back’s to him.”
“I can feel it. That, and it’s no coincidence he picked a seat with a clear line of sight on you. Why sit there if he’s not going to use it to its full advantage?”
Mae looked at what he’d given her. It was a small wooden rectangle attached to a cord that was about the right length to wear as a necklace. Etched on the wood was a symbol that looked like a cross between an N and and H.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Haglaz,” he told her. “The ravens told me I could put it on a silver or gold chain, but that would violate Arcadian vanity rules, so I went old school. You should keep it under your clothes, but if anyone does see it, hopefully it’s crude enough to be ignored.”
“You made it?”
“Yeah.” He sounded more amused than proud. “You had no idea I was so crafty, did you?”
A few moments later, the full implications hit her. “Wait . . . is this something magical? Or supernatural?” She started to hand it back, and he pushed her hand away.
“It’ll obscure you as one of the elect. Unless you want the Arcadian equivalent of a beetle mob coming after you.”
She still couldn’t help but regard the necklace with suspicion— though she didn’t give it back. “I didn’t know you were involved with stuff like this.”
“Not happily,” he assured her. “But I keep my promises and look out for my own.”
Mae looked up to meet his eyes. “Are you claiming me as your own?”
He winked and stood up. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But humor me and keep it on for this trip. Actually, wear it when we’re back too. Now.” He glanced around. “Where’s the rest of the cham—”
He froze as his gaze fell on Mae’s ego. “What’s that?”
“Just refreshing myself on mission details.” The image currently shown was one of the high priest of the Arcadian religion. His title was the Grand Disciple, and he wore robes and a headdress that were almost comically heavy with jewels. In one hand he clutched a golden cup, and in the other, he held a short golden staff with an eagle on top. “I figured you’d know who this is,” she added.
“Of course I do.” Justin stared for several more moments. “Does that particular document say anything about the staff he’s holding?”
“Not specifically. It just says this is the Grand Disciple’s most formal regalia, worn for important services and holidays.”
With a sigh, Justin dragged his eyes away and stood up. “Wonderful,” he muttered. “I guess Geraki didn’t imagine it.”
He wandered off, leaving Mae puzzled as she clutched the necklace he’d given her. Putting it on seemed like an active admission of getting personally involved with the supernatural. But, as Justin had aptly pointed out, did she really want to advertise that she was one of the elect? When she’d asked him how Mama Orane hadn’t initially known he was an elect, he’d simply said that he “had ways to keep that under wraps.” Presumably, this was what he’d meant, and it had worked. Resolved, Mae waited until no one was watching and then slipped the necklace over her head and tucked the charm under her dress.
It wasn’t lost on her just how significant it was that Justin had actually made the charm himself. He’d told her the story of how, a long time ago, he’d been approached by a god who’d saved Justin’s life in the hopes of procuring his services and devotion. When Justin had related the tale, he’d made it sound as though he’d dodged any need to pay back the god . . . and yet, somewhere in the last few months, Mae had gotten the impression that something had changed. Justin wouldn’t talk about it when pressed, but this charm was a strong indication that—willingly or not—Justin was more involved with this god than he’d initially said. Mae could hardly fault him for keeping secrets, however, when she was sitting on her own knife-induced vision of the red velvet flag.
An hour before their landing, someone wisely put the champagne away, and the atmosphere grew more subdued. The Arcadians wouldn’t actually allow the plane to fly into their airspace, so Mae’s party was landing at a base on the Gemman side of the border. They would cross by land (and water, since there was a river along the border) and then be taken to the Arcadian capital, Divinia. Mae felt herself growing tenser as they neared their destination, and a glance at her fellow praetorians told her that they too were on edge as their implants warmed to the potential danger.
They received an enthusiastic welcome at the Gemman base, and Lucian paused for smiles and a brief talk with the soldiers there. After all, they were all potential voters who could influence their home senators to vote for him in the consular election. The soldiers seemed thrilled at the attention he gave them, but Mae was pleased to see them snap into business mode when it came time to escort her party to the border. Even with the water barrier, this was a dangerous post, and these soldiers had undoubtedly learned caution.
They took a military craft across the river, where a complementary Arcadian base awaited them—complete with a contingent of green- coated soldiers openly holding guns. Not counting the undercover women or base escort, Mae’s party had fifteen soldiers, most of which were praetorians wearing the regular gray and maroon military uniform. The Arcadian “welcoming party” had more than four times that.
“Senator Darling.” A large uniformed man stepped forward from the throng, once the Gemman party was on Arcadian soil. His jacket was bedecked with medals and marks of rank that identified him as a general. “Welcome to Arcadia.”
If Lucian felt any nervousness at the situation he was walking into, he didn’t let it show. “You must be General McGraw. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He strode forward confidently and extended his hand, which the general shook without hesitation. Unless Mae was mistaken, there was a collective sigh of relief from both sides. So far, so good.
“Well,” said McGraw, “the real pleasure won’t begin until you’re in Divinia. I’m here to dispense with some necessary evils, which I’m sure you can understand.”
“Absolutely,” said Lucian. “Let’s do what needs to be done.”
The “necessary evils” referred to a series of identity and security checks of every person and his or her luggage. The Arcadians had received advanced n
otice of the names of those coming in the delegation and first ascertained that everyone matched their dossiers. Mae’s picture and name were accurate, but she’d been given a fabricated bio to hide her true profession. According to the records the Arcadians had, she was a professional pianist. In Mae’s eyes, that was a generous estimate of her musical abilities, but she could understand that her people would fabricate a background with some connection to reality, and she had studied music in her tertiaries.
The Arcadians merely glossed over the bios, however, and put their main effort into searching the Gemman military who were staying in the country. Atticus had explained that the Gemman soldiers could bring arms that they’d be allowed to carry at certain times—which he’d read as “never.” And as Mae watched the Gemmans turn over their weapons, she could understand why they’d chosen to bring out-of-date models. No one wanted to give the Arcadians a tactical edge by letting them study advanced weaponry while it was in their “safekeeping.” It made Mae a little uneasy to know their party was unarmed, but that was to be expected. Even with their weapons, their soldiers were outnumbered. It was up to her and the other praetorians, who were weapons in and of themselves, to handle defense if needed.
Once the soldiers were cleared, the Arcadians did a more thorough check of the Gemman diplomats and “concubines,” scanning them with both metal detectors and physical pat-downs. Mae had a moment of fear that they’d pick up her implant on their scanners, but, as she’d been assured in the RUNA, the implant was buried too deeply in her arm and contained a small enough amount of metal to slip by. Her knife, however, was a different matter.
“What’s this?” demanded the Arcadian soldier who pulled it from her boot. The Arcadians spoke English with an accent that drew the vowels out more than the Gemman dialect did.
“Mine,” she said, momentarily stunned.
“Why would a woman need a knife like this?” he demanded. “Actually,” said Justin, moving to her side. “It’s mine. I gave it to her.”
The soldier turned his incredulous gaze on Justin. “Same question. Why would a woman need a knife like this? This is a weapon.”
Mae felt her heart clench, and the implant spun her up into flight- or-flight mode. They’re going to seize it, she thought in a panic. It’s my only guide to my niece, and they’re going to take it from me.
Justin, however, remained remarkably calm. Derisive, even. “Why? For protection. Don’t think I didn’t see. You enjoyed that pat- down a little too much. I don’t want anyone coming near my woman if I’m not around. We haven’t even been here an hour, and you’re already leering over our women.”
Mae’s gut instinct was to chafe against “my woman,” but a wiser part of herself warned, Just stay still and be quiet. He’s getting you out of this.
And apparently he was. Mae hadn’t thought much of the pat-down, but the sudden crimson in the soldier’s face lent credence to Justin’s accusation. McGraw, having overheard the exchange, strode forward and took the knife from his soldier. “Here.” The general handed the knife to Justin. “You keep it, not her. Your women have nothing to fear while under our hospitality.” There was something in the tone of his voice that made Mae think that last statement was more for the Arcadians under his command than the Gemmans.
“Thank you,” said Justin, slipping the knife into his coat as though he did it on a regular basis. When the attention was off them, Mae gave him a small nod of thanks that he returned in kind. The dagger was still accessible to her, at least.
When all the security checks were done to McGraw’s satisfaction, the soldiers from the base departed, and Mae’s party was truly on its own. She and the others were escorted onto a large, armored bus with narrow windows that reminded her of something used to transport prisoners. It had enough room for all of the Gemmans, as well as several armed Arcadian soldiers. McGraw came on board to see them off but wasn’t riding with them.
“It’s about three hours to Divinia,” he said. “These soldiers will make sure you arrive there safely for your welcoming festivities. It’s been a pleasure to meet you all, and I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.” With a curt salute to his men, he departed.
“Really?” murmured Val, sitting with Lucian in the seat in front of Mae and Justin. “That wasn’t the welcome? Can you imagine the media spectacle this would’ve been if the situation had been reversed, and we were receiving them? There’d be champagne fountains and dancing girls.”
“I’m sure they have plenty in store for us,” said Lucian pleasantly, never losing that camera-ready smile. But as Mae studied his profile, she could see the lines of tension and knew that no matter his glib talk, he was well aware of the possible danger if this trip went badly. Keeping him as a hostage could be a powerful bargaining chip for the Arcadians, if they wanted to force something from the Gemmans. Mae wondered if that put the rest of them—who weren’t as important—in better or worse positions.
“That’s right,” said Justin, loudly enough for some nearby Arcadian soldiers to overhear. “Rest up on this ride. I’m sure the hospitality and wonders of Divinia will be overwhelming.”
“Divinia,” repeated Mae. “Was that always its name?”
“No,” said Justin, making himself comfortable in the stiff seat. “Before the Decline, it was called Birmingham.”
CHAPTER 9
Cultural Adjustments
Justin couldn’t help but keep thinking of Val’s comparisons of how things would have been different if it was an Arcadian delegation visiting the RUNA. She was right about the media spectacle. There would’ve been more journalists than the Arcadians had soldiers, documenting every mundane aspect imaginable, even before their guests’ feet hit the ground. No one would’ve been smuggled around in an armored bus, and while the Gemman security would have been just as thorough, they would’ve done so in a more discreet and tactful way.
We would parade them around, Justin thought, because we love novelty. That, and we love to feel superior, and every single eccentricity of theirs that could be shown on-air would serve as evidence for how much better we are than everyone else.
Are you saying you aren’t? asked Horatio.
Of course not, said Justin. Ours is the superior civilization. The Arcadians want their people to believe the same of their country, and their tactic is to do so by not offering—or showing—them any other options. Their media, such as it is, is highly censored. Whatever gets broadcast about us will be full of propaganda and make us out to look like the immoral country they think we are.
At least the Gemman media portrayed you pretty well, offered the raven.
It doesn’t matter, so long as something positive comes out of all of this diplomatically. That’s the point of it, Justin reminded him.
Horatio was skeptical of that proper response. I thought the point was to get on Mae’s good side.
Justin glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. They’d covered her up in that smock of a dress and hidden most of her hair under the hat, but there was still no concealing her beauty. She was on good behavior for the Arcadian soldiers, face serene and hands folded elegantly in her lap as she looked ahead. Her gaze seemed to be focused on nothing in particular, but Justin knew she was taking in every detail and braced to spring into action if needed. The praetorian women had been strictly told a number of times that in the event of an altercation, they were to participate only as a last resort if their uniformed countrymen were present. Justin wondered how well Mae and the other women would adhere to that. Following orders was second nature to them . . . but so was defending others.
Signs of urban civilization eventually began to show through the slitted windows. Buildings appeared and grew closer together, though their state of repair varied wildly. The roads smoothed out. Then, the scenery grew rural again as they passed out of the city proper, and the bumpy bus ride at last came to an end. The Gemman delegation was escorted out and found themselves standing in front of a wide, colonial estate house that w
as certainly among the nicer ones they’d passed. Its pillared porch was crowded with people, and despite the house’s upkeep and affluence, it didn’t exactly feel modern. Glancing around, Justin saw a number of other buildings on vast, dusty acreage and realized they must be at the compound that was hosting them, the one Atticus had shown them satellite images of. The people on the porch were mostly men, all in suits and wide-brimmed hats, and from their sweaty skin and clothing, they looked as though they’d been standing there for a while. All of the men in the front, on the porch’s steps, were Justin’s age or older. Those in the back were younger, some even children. Also in the back, slightly apart from the others, were about a dozen women, wearing the long dresses and hats favored by Arcadian women in public.
A portly man in his fifties, with thinning hair and a bushy white beard, took off his hat and stepped forward to shake hands with Atticus. “Mr. Marley,” the man said, “it’s a pleasure to receive you at my home.”
“It’s a pleasure to be back in Arcadia,” returned Atticus warmly. “And to be truly in Arcadia, not just skulking on the border in clandestine meetings. This is the kind of get-together we’ve needed for a long time, if we truly want to make progress.” He stepped back and ushered a politely-waiting Lucian forward. “Senator, may I present our host, Carl Carter, Director of the Committee of Foreign Affairs and Special Assistant to the President. Director Carter, this is Lucian Darling, senator now and possibly our future consul.”
“Just Carl will do.” Their Arcadian host vigorously shook Lucian’s hand and seemed sincere in his enthusiasm. “I’m delighted to welcome you on behalf of our president and show you our great country’s finest hospitality. You’ll get to meet him tomorrow when you tour the capital. Tonight, we thought you’d like to rest a little outside the city.”
Lucian was in full show mode. “It’s an honor to be at your home, and I look forward to whatever you have to share with us.”