Keeping the Fire: The Whale and the Weatherclock

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Before he had been murdered, Polena met with Coralm once a week, and in careful secrecy. Tayva, she now met with openly, but did so only in breaks in the Minister of the Keepings vigorous schedule of duties and social obligations. If she wished to meet with Mage Alembic she would have to catch him, and this always required at least a day's work. Delhay the Whale seemed to be ready to meet her before she even knew she wanted him. As member of the Knights of the Nine Hours Watch, he was given over to security of both King and Fortress. This was the true sort of warden's work, the ugly, thankless, or brutish tasks of keeping the Edgaran state safe. He met with her every day, almost, and always seemed to have something new to offer or ask of her. Most vexing was his place here. While he made his role clear, a man given over to the solving of “problems,” his rank was less obvious. He had the privileges of a knight, though laughed off her attempt to call him by sir. Every member of the watch seemed to know him and could tell you where to find him, yet, when they did it was with low voices. There was a deep respect for the man but it's source seemed to be something unclean.

He met with her the Third Hour over her lunch at a small winter garden just outside of the Archives. The place was high up, open to the sky above, and had a rare view of the rooftops of the Fortress, something usually only seen from the Watch's towers. It had taken Delhey only two days to figure out who the man who tried to abduct her, the one calling himself Dama, had been. He was a bandit and thug for hire who ranged between the Fortress and the Dehali valley below and Delhay laughed to say that he was called Dama Night-Eye.

“Would you believe that he would pick so stupid a name for himself? Or worse, that he would tell you it?”

“Remarkable,” Polena mused, trying to ignore the irony of this burly man who openly called himself “The Whale” finding another person's name foolish. He snagged and ate a fingerling potato from her lunch with out her offering.

“I have standing orders to take him next time he comes to the Fortress or runs afoul of the Watch in the valley. He is careless. I'll make him sing when I get him. No word on your assassins yet, they were well planned and well paid enough to vanish. I think, though, that we will have word on that false Luminary that disappeared like some spirit trick soon enough.”

“You told me many people saw him, but no one saw him leave the Fortress.”

“That doesn't mean he didn't. I am looking into those that did leave that day. He might have been disguised. We keep records of all that leave and part of the King's tax on inns is that they record who stays in them. We'll have something there.”

“It amazes me how tightly the Fortress keeps it's walls,” replied Polena, digging in to her kale and salted mutton before she lost these as well to Delhay, “The Alliance keeps record of many things, but they way it is done here is something beyond us.”

“It is by need.”

“Aye, no doubt that.” The conversation lagged a bit and Delhay sat back as Polena finished her food. Elsewhere, one could hear a bell ringing for a ceremony of the Goddess, a crier calling that a Cathedral had been built by Fiedjan in the Protectorate of Concordance to the north and west, and a hawker promising the best of Weimadji dye at his stall. Everywhere, it was the sign of the Proper ascendant.

“Delhay, why is the King helping me? Besides the obvious.”

“The King isn't. I am. But I thought you would know this. You are weak. Westa and Flin are strong. We go to the weak side always.”

“I am new to this still. Say it plain.” Polena asked. Delhay smiled.

“Want me to hang myself with my words then? Heh, alright fair enough. When our King Jacalm took a wife he had at least a dozen Flinish suitors, two or three girls, and I do me girls, sent as gifts from Free Westa and one pureblooded princess that would have brought his line close enough to High King Westa to kiss him. Instead of any of them, he married Queen Sil aup'Delen. My people, we Delen have been the ugly secret of the Fortress since the Great Migration. Edgar took the mountain and built the Fortress there. The rest of the lands he gave to our people. Some, like those in Dehali, married into Niccanoran blood and became closer with the Fortress. Some of us, we Delen, kept the old ways. We still hunted and wandered long north of the Fortress. At times we have been persecuted by whoever claimed to own the land we lived on. Every generation or two the Flinish, the Khage, more recently the Fiedjan occupiers try to kill us off. But they never get us all and my people proudly breed like rats. By marring a Delen queen our King was able to win favor with the Free Westins, who respect the plight of the old landless folk, and offer both Flin and Fiedjan a threat. It says: cause problems for me, and I will “defend” the Delen and take back lands from you where you can least afford to fight over them. This is how we live Luminary. Support the weak so that the strong must stay on their toes.” Polena looked on wryly.

“There's more. You want to do this don't you Whale? A man with a name like that knows that a name has power. I have seen whales in Meeda's bay. You have never seen one. It's the Weatherclock, isn't it?” Delhay smiled his wide, broken grin.

“I saw a picture of a while once. A fish as big as a ship with a wolf's head. That suits me. Polena, there are at least three people that claim to be the Weatherclock. You know how folk here started wearing those red beads, the kind they make at the Temple in Iiss to show their devotion to the Hinquoqwa Ness? People say the Weatherclock started that. In truth, a merchant from the region had a wagon load of the things and spent a fortune convincing the Priestess here that they were a sign of devotion. He earn four fold of what he spent selling the beads. When something happens and people don't know the reason, they blame the Weatherclock. When folk already have a good hand at manipulating the Fortress and they want to put the fear in their servants or the fire in their lovers, they say they are the Weatherclock.”

“So it is a ruse then?”

“No. It's a legend.”

“Ah, that is something more powerful. But is there one, Delhay? Is there really a Weatherclock?”

“Wouldn't you like to find out?” his grin faded and he fixed his thick mustache. Polena could see what was hidden in his eyes though. Delhay was an evil man. He got his information from fear, intimidation, and torture. Worse, he had made it plain that he came from a persecuted people. Polena had no doubt that he enjoyed doing these awful things, that it was some sort of thrill to him to feel powerful. Yet, in the Weatherclock there was something else. For this crass, brutal, and wicked man who did everything with the cynicism of a dungeon's warden, here at last was something mysterious. Until it was solved, Polena was certain she could trust him. She only prayed that she would never be on the wrong side of Delhay the Whale's grin.

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