PUTER (II)
Puter crossed his arms as he watched Bolgo assess the work needed on the city hall entrance steps. Having just received notification of a message, Joob had been sent to the communications office to pick up a fungal articulation xenogram, or FAX. Puter decided to wait in the entrance area with the stonemason for his assistant’s return. He was unsure whether the message would bring good news, bad news, or meh news. FAX communications were few and far between in recent months. When they did come, usually, they were official notifications from the Rix’s Court, although it wasn’t unheard of for a picture of an unsavoury body part to turn up during festival periods when FAX officers at other sites had been on the ale. FAX was the swiftest means of sending messages in Caputan. It had been in use across the realm for three decades since young researcher, Lana Tames, first placed a piece of paper with the word ‘hello’ on the eye-like fruit body of the fungus, Magnuntius tamesi, stimulated it with a mixture of salt and sugar, and produced an image of the word on other fruit bodies of the same organism in different locations. The fungus’ hyphae stretched underground for hundreds of miles beneath the surface of the realm, meaning messages could be immediately shared between fruit bodies across long distances. Lana Tames received fame, glory, and a tenured position at the prestigious University of Luxatrev as the FAX system was appropriated by the government for official use; and, specific channels between cities, towns and hubs were designated, all redundant fruit bodies were destroyed, and FAX officers were assigned to each location to manage the sending and receiving of messages.
But the nature of the FAX message wasn’t Puter’s immediate concern, as he watched Bolgo with a mixture of interest and trepidation. The rotund stonemason huffed and wheezed on his hands and knees as he measured the steps. Despite his very physical trade, he didn’t seem like a healthy man. Joob vouched for him, but Puter still didn’t trust the stonemason, and while people tripping and getting hurt because of the wonky steps were not a huge concern, what he really didn’t want was for the steps to appear crooked and poorly structured – particularly as they faced the pristine Prime Domol steps across the street.
“All we need are simple, even steps that don’t look like they were crafted by a drunk,” Puter said, with visions of the monkey sitting on a cake firmly in his mind. “Nothing elaborate, right?”
“Right you are, Chief,” Bolgo said, straightening and pulling up his loose trousers.
“And stop calling me Chief, will you?”
Bolgo nodded a response and blew through his lips. “Any idea who put these steps together in the first place?”
“No, that was well before my time. Place was built years ago. Is there a problem?”
Bolgo laid down on his front again, seemingly staring between the cracks in the stone. “Foundations look off. Reckon the old mason did a shoddy job of it.”
Shoddy job, Puter thought and he glanced around at the building. Before he could comment, someone cleared their throat, and he turned to see Joob sheepishly grinning at him with something in his hands.
“Sir, the FAX is from the Rix.” Joob unfolded the piece of paper.
“From the Rix? Glad to hear it’s not those High Pass jokers sending pictures of their arses again. What does Cousin have for me today, I wonder? It’s been a while… Read it to me, Joob.”
“Certainly, Sir.” Joob cleared his throat. “For the attention of Meyor Bones only. Recent insurgent activity in the North has led to the deployment of Regum Guards in Robutrev and in the borderlands of the Kragmons. The risk of all-out war is escalating, and maintaining order is critical. Intelligence suggests northern revolutionaries have been tracked to Trintan where meetings have taken place with known separatists and radical factions. The Rix’s Court wishes to stress how crucial it is to retain law and order to ensure the pestilence of terrorist ideology does not spread and infect other peaceful parts of the realm. Regum Guard reinforcements have been sent to the Central Garrison near Cagwynt. Any concerns – FAX your response promptly. Do coordinate with the Cognati Committee and take whatever action is needed to ensure control is maintained throughout the region of Trintan. With the blessings of the Sacred Family, the Court of the Rix.”
Puter stroked his chin. “Northern insurgents are growing in strength. Cousin’s afraid their ideas will spread and if the factions join forces, then he could be facing civil war. It’s been on the cards for a while. People are being pushed too hard – they’re angry.”
“Pain points are financial, Sir. No need to peel back the layers of the onion on this one. Wars in the East have emptied the treasury’s coffers and moved the goalposts. The Court is having to reassess key priorities.”
Puter narrowed his eyes. What did I say about talking like that, Joob?”
“Sorry, Sir.” Joob’s head dropped.
“Though you’re right, conflict costs money,” Puter said. “But it was the Rix who started the wars in the East. My cousin is greedy. He hasn’t changed since he was a child. I remember once – when we were boys – him taking my favourite toy, a wooden Regum Guard I’d received for my natal day, and named Hermo. He had nine copies of the same toy already but wanted a tenth to make a full patrol. I complained to my mother, but couldn’t do a thing because he was the Rix’s heir, and whatever he wanted, he got. He set up all ten in the palace grounds in battle formation and made me watch as he blew them all up – Hermo as well – with firecrackers.” Puter rubbed his eye and cleared his throat. He hadn’t thought of Hermo in a long time, and he briefly felt an aching in his stomach. But that soon changed as he realized Joob was staring at him with sad eyes, and he snapped out of it by remembering his position and duties.
“You faced such challenges growing up, Sir. You’re a credit to your family. Should His Majesty ever pass without an heir, he has a worthy successor right here.” Joob winked, and a stupid smile extended across his face.
Puter rolled his eyes. Joob was right, of course, but Puter didn’t want to waste time on his assistant’s sycophancy. “Anyway, a show of force won’t help. It might just push more extremists and radicals over the edge. Especially here, where the ruddy Committee have been left unchecked for too long and getting away with murder.”
Bolgo had got up and was striding towards Puter, without much concern of the serious conversation underway. “We’re done here, Chief.”
Puter sighed. “Just give us a moment, we’re in the middle of something.”
“No probs, Chief.” Bolgo stepped away, turned around and began whistling with the melodic elegance of a breeze blowing through a flag.
Puter tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t. “In the name of the Sacred Father, Bolgo. We’re trying to discuss state matters here. What do you want?”
Bolgo looked sheepish. “I want to know when we should start on this job.”
“Now, ideally,” Puter said. “And get it done by the end of the week.”
Bolgo took a small diary from his pocket, started leafing through the pages and chuckled. “Oh, it won’t be this week, am afraid. Or this month. Probably looking at starting it in Junus.”
“Junus? No chance. I need this done, yesterday.”
“Well, yesterday won’t be possible, Chief. It’s in the past, see? Besides, I was busy then. Took Mrs Bolgo out for a picnic. Quite romantic, I am.” The big man gave Puter and Joob a big smile.
Puter took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “You’re really pushing it, Bolgo. Now, let me say this again. I want the job finished this week. If it’s not, I swear you’ll be on the next ship to Moros.”
Bolgo’s eyes bulged. “Whoa. Moros? No need for such threats, Chief.” He frantically rechecked the pages of his diary. “See, there we are. Reckon there’s a gap we can use. I’ll get it done on time…”
“This week?” Puter said glaring at the stonemason.
Bolgo’s pale round face had seemingly lost even more colour, and he nodded emphatically. “Yes, Chief, sorry, Sir, Chief – er – Boss.”
Puter, feeling a sudden surge of power and authority, waved him off and turned his attention back to Joob. “You make sure this joker delivers on time, Joob. I don’t want any more of his bullmuck.”
Joob shrugged. “Very well, Sir.”
“Now back to the matter at hand. The Rix said, to take whatever action is needed to ensure control is maintained. This is an opportunity, Joob. The Rix is scared, and we can use that. We can claw back some power from the Familists and get the damn Committee in line.”
“How do we do that, Sir?”
“First things first, Joob, let’s deal with the deviant.” Puter rubbed his jaw. “How can we get Turbert behaving properly – according to the expectations of his role, faith and oaths – and not like some randy Gumbridge sailor on land leave?”
“We could send him to the country, Sir?” Joob said. “Up into the hills or across to the Gardelas? Perhaps some time away from the city and its temptations, as well as some missionary work in support of the faith, may help.”
Puter felt his cheeks pulling his mouth into a smile. “That’s brilliant, Joob. Let’s put him to work. He can help the rest of his minions dishing out penance to paupers and making farmers feel guilty for not growing enough bush. After he’s out of the way, we can tackle the others.”
“And how soon do you propose we do this, Sir?”
“Straight away, Joob. Summon Arch-Cognatus Pervert – I mean Turbert. Let’s see if we can have him on a carriage to Cagwynt by the evening.”
“Right away, Sir.” Joob dashed out the building towards the steps, and somehow tripped near the top and rolled down the rest of them, yelping and howling until he reached the bottom.
Puter remained where he stood, cocked his head slightly, and watched with mild concern as he considered whether another assistant would be needed.
“It’s alright – I’m fine, Sir,” Joob called out before getting up and dusting himself off. He limped away across the road and between the passing carriages towards the Prime Domol.
Meanwhile, Puter started grinning. Not because of Joob’s fall – well, maybe partly because of that – but mostly because of the growing realization of the opportunity presented to him. Turbert of course was the easiest of the five Committee members to deal with, but even getting him out of the way would’ve seemed impossible before he received this message from the Court. Tackling the others would be more challenging – they really were the most devious bunch of backstabbing and slimy muck-eaters the Sacred Mother ever had the displeasure of birthing. How they had all serendipitously managed to come together within a single leadership unit within the faith was beyond Puter. Perhaps it was in the job description. Puter tittered as he thought of the ways he could deal with them; this really was a golden opportunity.
