Gentleman & General

originally posted June 5, 2005

In retrospect, I would have preferred to wait; to allow the pot to simmer a little longer. It was beginning to boil, however. I needed to lower the heat. There were too many cooks in my kitchen.

First, there was the southern gentleman; he of the burnoose, the kaffiyeh and agal. I believe he was well intentioned enough, but good intentions do not change the fact that his ladle was in my pot. He stirred too quickly as if the ingredients were not to be carefully added. He spiced the stew with a tablespoon, not pinches to taste. Worse, he was attracting precisely the wrong customer; a customer that would not be satisfied with the special of the day. He did not want the blue plate. He wanted all the plates. And the cupboard. Whispers about the General abound through the streets of Ar from the Sul District to the Metellan to the Tabidian Towers to the Street of Brands. Now he was being spoken about in the Anbar; ambitious, diabolical and, if rumors bore true, unstoppable. He wanted no less than the throne of Ar and was cutting a wide swath through any and all who opposed him. A small company of soldiers, loyal to a fault, carry out his will. Dangerous, the man had walked into my investment, bypassing the kitchen altogether, to help himself to the coffers of the Boarding House. It was coming full circle. In the Anbar District, the place that was to be the origin of my fortune, I watched from the sidelines as it all trickled away. As the pockets of the southern gentleman and the pouches of the General swelled with coins, my visions of a villa in Venna were fading fast.

Then the word of the Contract of Assassination became known. A stroke of serendipity. An intervention of fate. Without so much as a push or a shove between one another, gentleman and General were doing what I could not have done on my own; creating an opening. Let the larls dance, I thought. Their drama was not of my concern. I had business to tend to. It was time to let my woman, The ‘Lady Trini’, a former slave called Arjentia in the garb of a peasant, know my intentions.

“Mistress,” said the girl, Sana, addressing her from a chaste kneel, proferring up the links of a chain, “I am instructed to tell you to clip this to your person. It will go easier on you that way."