Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave stood on the coast of the south Great Chu, another towering figure with him for a private meeting. “The bottom line is this—before we can assault the sky tower, we need to take the Palace of Heaven,” Argrave said, staring up at one of Law’s Justiciar’s. “And you… I want you to be prepared for a direct assault. It’s central.”

A robust agreement, a few more exchanged words… then the next god, Rook.

“The bottom line is this…” Argrave began identically as he spoke to Rook, who wore wholly black. “We need to take the Palace of Heaven. And you… I’ll need your subterfuge capability for that. It’s central.”

“The bottom line is this,” Argrave spoke next to Almazora, defending Vasquer from continental siege in Dirracha at the perfect center of the kingdom. “We’ll need your magic to take the Palace of Heaven.”

Next, he looked to the wizened Lira. “The bottom line, Lira, is that we’ll need your connections to take the Palace of Heaven.”

He came to the young blond boy that was Anneliese’s patron, speaking all too-familiar tones. “Bottom line, Yinther, we need to know the Palace of Heaven completely to take it.”

“Bottom line,” he began time and time again, for each and all god involved in his plans—even Hause, though her conversation was far removed from the others in light of her stay-at-home role.

And after telling each and every deity of the Blackgard Union the ‘bottom line,’ Argrave told each god that they were central to his plans. Each and all conveyed the same message—that the Palace of Heaven was their goal—but each was simultaneously different enough that they could isolate which deity was the weak link.

Stain, meanwhile, their contact, was supposed to occasionally speak to Governor Zen and see if any of that information had made its way to him. Governor Zen seemed to make a habit of letting them know what he knew, but even if he didn’t, Elenore could easily apply some pressure to get that information from him. With that set as the background, their plans unfolded.

Commander Yuan’s discharge from command by the imperial court, without any proper severance or due honors granted, was the perfect excuse to enact something of a rebellion in the armies. The remaining commanders that they had under sway were instructed to emerge from lockdown and take the armies on strike. It put them in an incredibly treacherous position, but nonetheless each and all obeyed without question. From there, Governor Zen and his family played their role.

Zen Ming, Gold Scribe for the Grand Imperial Bank, and a few other of Zen’s children and grandchildren, used their position to enact a fabricated order from the imperial court. That order was simple; suspend pay for the rebelling soldiers, and refuse to transact gold or silver notes for them and all their family members. Debanking entire armies was an incredibly alarming and overt move for all soldiers in the army nationwide, and news spread like wildfire of this ‘excess by the imperial court.’

But Zen Ming hadn’t truly suspended pay. He instead redirected it to each of the four commanders that were taking their armies on strike, making everything appear as normal in the Grand Imperial Bank. These commanders then distributed this pay to the soldiers, claiming it came from their personal vaults. That was a suspicious move, granted, but in time Argrave intended to validate that suspicion with yet another fabrication; he would claim Emperor Ji Meng had been paying the soldiers, biding his time while he established himself in the south.

Governor Zen fomented mass unrest using his vast array of family and business contacts. His commander and grandson, Zen Da, publicly and loudly spoke about the imperial court and Grand Eunuch Hao dragging this regency on for extended periods of time. This brought no suspicion—his nephew, Ji Meng’s son, was ostensibly in line for the throne. This bid for succession brought other dormant actors to life, and the gears of the Great Chu machine lagged.

But just as the gears began to grind to a halt, the imperial court attempted to oil them. The first thing done was a thorough audit of the Grand Imperial Bank. To their credit, they did isolate Zen Ming as one of the troublemakers. Anticipating this, Governor Zen extracted his grandson long in advance. In response, the imperial court issued a bounty on Zen Ming’s head and spread it in every metropolitan area.

But then, they’d been hoping for that.

Posing as a whistleblower targeted by the imperial court because he intended to spill key details, Governor Zen platformed his grandson and spread ‘news.’ Nationwide bounties were rare, so this information received special attention. It was a complete fabrication—Zen Ming claimed that the precious metal reserves of the Grand Imperial Bank had been discreetly recalled since the regency began, and that several branches of the banks in prominent cities didn’t even have half of the money necessary to cover withdrawals. The second was somewhat true—banks, by nature, seldom had money enough to cover one hundred percent withdrawals. The first, however, was a blatant lie meant to discredit the trustworthiness of the bank.

Naturally, some few paranoid people went to the bank in a rush to withdraw what they had, or exchange notes for precious metal. The action of these few caught the attention of many, and paranoia bred like disease as people contemplated the possibility of the bank genuinely losing all of their money. If there was ever a line at the bank, after all, the prudent thing to do was merely to get in line. Bank runs were a phenomenon as old as banks.

The imperial court was alert enough to realize what could happen—banks might receive more withdrawal requests than they had money on hand, and banks across the nation would become insolvent. To counter this, they decreed a nationwide freeze on non-government bank accounts within days. Despite the fact soldiers, as government accounts, could still withdraw money, the already-sown animosity between the army and the Grand Imperial Bank ignited fiery support for the army’s strike against the imperial court. But more than the army, the people felt that something was seriously wrong.

The court had ample countermeasures prepared. They, too, spread news of their justification behind Zen Ming’s nationwide bounty. They released public figures of the quantity of precious metal in reserve, and several prominent figures announced they’d be adding to the precious metal reserve from their own stores. But most prominently of all, they announced a successor: Ji Bu. His coronation was intended for a week later, whereupon the imperial court would step down.

Following that announcement, Argrave and Anneliese once again sat with Emperor Ji Meng for talk. They delivered to him the news of the past few days, alongside his successor.

“Ji Bu?” The emperor repeated his son’s name, almost as though it sounded unfamiliar on his tongue. “He was always martially gifted. But emperor? I don’t think he’ll be any legitimate threat. It’s still the court behind him. Then again, I suppose it was always going to be this way.”

“It’s time for your debut in a few days,” Argrave looked at Ji Meng. “The emperor, returned to quell this madness that’s arisen in his absence. Recovering from a wound, and so relying upon his Grand Commandant Sun. Even still… how are you at speeches? I expect some good ones.”

“Then you’ll get good ones,” Ji Meng promised. “I do question if what you’ve stirred is going to be enough to win over the whole of the Great Chu relatively bloodlessly. Even if we declare the imperial court traitors to the emperor…”

“Governor Zen deliberately made succession the key issue,” Argrave explained. “Most rival factions are claimant factions—factions that cease to be valid when the true emperor returns. Your empress has let the harem run a little free with claimants and schemes the past while, but now she’ll bring it all back in line. And besides, Governor Zen won’t immediately switch sides. He’ll remain with the court for a time, deliberately sabotaging things before switching sides when it’s most prudent.”

“You seem to have it figured out.” Ji Meng looked up, his face deadly serious. “King Argrave. Queen Anneliese.”

Argrave straightened his back, brought to attention by his strange formality. “What?”

“How does a fruit destined to be juiced preserve itself?”

Argrave blinked in stunned silence. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly—did you say juiced?”

Ji Meng held his arms wide. “In order not to be juiced… the fruit must never run out of juice.”

“What?” Argrave gaped, at a loss. “I think every fruit runs out of juice at some point. They don’t exactly pick and choose how juicy they are. If this is a metaphor, you’ve lost me.”

“I refuse to elaborate.” Ji Meng picked up his cup and drank the whole thing in one go, then set it down with some vigor and exhaled loudly. “Ahh… I feel good. At ease, for the first time in months. I’m looking forward to things, King Argrave.”

Somehow, Argrave felt he lost this conversation. He looked at Anneliese and saw some the same confusion mirrored in her features. Nevertheless, the imperial stage awaited.