Behind the Mask

There was a party at the Savant Estate a few evenings prior, a masquerade ball. Though I was invited personally by the scion himself, and endeavored to go, I found myself working late into the evening. If pressed, I would admit that I was not entirely keen on attending. I felt I would be a little out of place. I am, of course, of the Poets. At such gatherings, men of my caste are often sought to recite something topical, providing one of many diversions for the guests. At the moment, however, I am also the People's Magistrate of the city. The invitation was extended to that Szol of Ar, the fellow which wears that particular mask. I am between two worlds and the longer I remain there, the more out of place I feel in both of them. How does one attend a soirée for Ar's elite and continue to be regarded as the voice of the People? It always comes back to the concept of fact and appearance. It is as important to appear ethical as it is to actually be ethical. How would it appear to a Weaver or a Saddle-Maker or a Leather-Worker that is skipping a meal to satisfy the demands of the latest unjust levy if his 'voice' is supping on choice viands amongst well-heeled company? There are those amongst my constituency that already harbor doubt. "The list of the corrupt, does that include you, Magistrate?" The outward appearance, these days, seems to outweigh the inward truth of things. Circumstance presumes guilt.

The delka made an appearance again, this time in the chests of two men seen leaving the very party I declined to attend. While I can be reasonably certain that recent appearances of that mark in the Anbar and on the sheer face of the Cylinder of Initiates were painted by members of an anarchist faction, I would bet heavily against the Brigade having anything to do with the murders of Nero Bronte and Tiberius Vilios. It just goes to show that Scribes of Accountancy and a Poet named Szol are not the only people cognizant of the power of appearances.

Dogmatic

The zealots increase in number as the days pass, as the men of the White chant, ring their bells, collect their gullible adherents. The Initiates are just one more group of players in the political arena, always with their own agenda which is, like any other powerful group, the acquisition of further power. They seem to enjoy parading through the Great Square at the tenth or eleventh ahn when much of the city is seeking a midday repast and a bit of company with friends. All too convenient, all too calculated. They have no need to preach to the masses. Their very sight is enough to recruit the beguiled and fearful into giving their sermon for them. "Repent!" I have heard. Repent? What the fuck would I repent from? Or for, for that matter. Ring your bells, anoint your heads, and choke the city with the smoke of your incense. I am not of a mind to listen to you. And I will do what I must so others might think for themselves. Do not call me a heathen, nor a hypocrite. I am Szol of Ar. I am of the Poets. I honor the Priest-Kings. I honor the traditions of my city. I do not, however, subscribe to the pervasive dogma that systematically strips a man of his opinion, his free will, and his pride. I do not care if he is an Initiate or an Administrator. I do not care, even, if he is a Ubar.

We must expose and close the doors on those that try to strangle and mangle the truth.*

[*Zack de la Rocha]

The Science of Reaction

Once set in motion, the outcome of events are often unpredictable. Every action will prompt a reaction. There are theories about this phenomenon, claims that it is more than common sense, but an inevitability predicted by science. I am not a Scribe, but these ideas are not entirely beyond my ken. Most of the things people do or say, in fact, seem to be said or done precipitating a desired reaction. The neglected slave girl acts out that she will be disciplined, thus reminded that she is owned. In a dual, one combatant feints in hopes his rival will strike, thus opening his guard for an offensive attack. Such feints are used by men as readily in Kaissa as they are in mortal combat. Animals, too, are bound by the science of action and reaction. A larl will threaten with a fierce roar, done to strike fear into his prey's heart, thus freezing it in place for a swifter, more efficient kill. Certain predatory fishes, grunts and sharks, are said to show themselves at a distance, drawing one's focus to a spot in which they abruptly submerge, only to deliver the attack from directly below. I do not know if that is true, but it is a frightening thing to consider the intelligence of such beasts, the calculative ability, the innate, instinctive understanding of such sciences.

Men have fallen. More, I think, will fall. Their actions prompting reaction, some calling it justice, others calling it murder. One further thought; corruption necessitates collusion, but collusion predicates betrayal. Greed knows no bounds and breaks all ties.

Poetry in the Margin

Titus went swimming
In the Founder's sparkling pool
Lucid fountain waters
Spoke a cold and crimson truth
Just days before his anointment
His appointed bloody end
Two accountants lost their footing
Their last entries left unsent
Vengeance for the Isle of Filth
Or justice for a cause
Rumor rampant painted far
And wide upon the walls
And on the lips and tongues
Of people, dispirited not tame
Who falls next, they ponder
For whom the blade is named.

Equations of Corruption

It is just a ledger.
There are names, dates, notations, amounts of payments, amounts in arrears, accounts payable and receivable - in short, precisely what a ledger should contain. Not much is coded in the ledger and the code that is there is not so cryptic that it cannot be readily deciphered. It was in the lockbox left to me by Ibrahim, the large southern man I first encountered at the party for Bonnane. After the news of two more dead in the ranks of the Magisterial Offices, I was compelled to finally look inside the box. I wonder now what, if anything, I might have done. I wonder if I would have done anything. I think, perhaps, I should say something to the others that are named in this ledger. I do not think it is necessary, however, with Bonnane and the two that followed him into the City of Dust already expired. It does not take a mathematical genius to sort out the equation. Someone, an individual or a collection of individuals, has taken exception to the conduct of a select group that, unfortunately, happens to be counted among my peers. One would hope those that have this coming to them know precisely who they are.
It would beg the question 'why?' on several levels. Why was the attempt made on my life? If, of course, it was truly an attempt at all. Why was I given a front row seat to the execution of one Magistrate and what appears to be a guidebook to the next in line to fall? I have some of those answers. I have had them for some time. At least, I think I understand. The weather in Ar is regarded as temperate, but when it rains, it pours. Like any other city, great or small, the detritus, blood and filth accumulates in our gutters. Something has to wash it all away.
Coincidentally, just a few evenings prior, I spoke with my own provocateur. She has made progress and she, too, has a list of names, but I do not know if this list of names coincides with those in the ledger provided by Ibrahim. I will have to meet with her, speak with her in confidence. Something tells me this is beyond the scope of my Office, but something greater tells me it is not beyond the domain of my Citizenship.