The Ever Lord: The Rubbed-Off Mask

Kasta’s life was paper.

As Quill-servant in the Ever Palace, his very life’s blood was the bureaucracy, and his heartbeat were the lists. Lists of words. Lists of numbers. Organized. Categorized. Itemized. His penmanship was prayer and his holy cant was procedure.

The Five Worlds of the Ever Empire were connected by paper. What did a knight’s death or a peasant’s wedding matter to a noble on another world? It might as well not have happened. But if the event were written down in a letter or report, the event becomes real. That was truly what the Hall of Record was to the Empire of Ever and Always; a place where the Five Worlds became real.

Kasta dabbed gently at his forehead with a square of cloth, carefully inspecting it in the candlelight after doing so.

There were entire wings devoted to payment of debts. There were records of usurpations, treaties, marriages, deaths, anything that could ever be considered significant. If there were ever a question as to which House started a blood feud or which family had right to a suddenly vacant throne, one could crawl back through the collection of scrolls to find out.

It wasn’t just events of significance that were recorded; everything found its way to the Hall of Record eventually. Letters from nobles and merchants from across the many worlds of the Empire crossed the Librarian’s desk. Letters of consolation, platitudes, and pleas for money. Letters of apology, notification, and propriety. Missives from merchants and spies, peasants and knights.

One of the truths of the Empire was while the gentle fingerprints of the Ever Lord were everywhere, the heavy footprint of the Empire did not tread so softly. Servants required orders and guidance. Leaders needed information and service. Both required communication, and messages could be forgotten or misspoken. The only truly reliable method was the written word.

Kasta gently pressed his cloth into his face, careful not to rub. After a moment, he pulled it away again.

One of the most common calls for Quill-servants was to mark the arrivals-to and departures-from the Golden Port. When the foot of a Monarch, Duke, Marq, Graf, Count, Baron, Knight, or peasant touched the stonework of the Ever Palace, the event was captured in ink and sealed in the Hall of Record for generations to come. Finding a single noble among the entire Empire would be nearly impossible without the continued forebearance of the Quill-servants.

Kasta dabbed his brow again, carefully studying the white cloth for color, and then inspecting his hands. It was quite hot, this evening.

The soft footfalls of the Imwii servant met Kasta’s ears, alerting him to the woman’s approach. She entered the small waiting room with a gentle smile, and gestured towards the open door. “His Most Honorable Lordship will see you now.”

Kasta nodded his thanks as he stood from the soft chair he had selected to wait in. The servant ushered him through the Tithe Master’s chambers — those who held office in the Palace of Ever and Always were also given rooms in which to eat, sleep, and relax. The Marquis Yuris Ka-Melan, as befitting his station, had been given large and lavish chambers, but his natural inclination had turned the rooms into cramped and barren cells filled with books, paper, and other tools of his office.

Yuris’s study was smaller than Kasta expected. Instead of bookshelves and cabinets, the room was full of statues and strange objects on plinths. The wall behind the Tithe Master’s desk was dominated by a large fireplace, the burning flames silhouetting the old man’s large chair.

Kasta hesitated before stepping into the hot room. Too hot.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Kasta waited for his superior to address him, keeping as still as possible as the fire’s heat beat against him like a summer wind.

At long last, Yuris set aside the paper he was staring at and raised his eyes to meet Kasta’s. “Sir Illibran. I find it curious to see you now. Usually, when someone has the courage to defy me, they also have the wisdom to avoid me.”

Kasta felt his face burn even hotter at the Tithe Master’s words. “Forgive me, your Most Honorable Lordship. I intended no defiance.”

“No?” Yuris slowly stood, the dark silhouette of his head slowly rising above the back of his chair like an evil sun. “And yet you demanded the time to pray, rather than obey without question. For a servant to place themselves above me is a defiance not only of my will, but of the will of the Ever Lord. As if your prayers would give you a different answer than my own? A better answer? This is not the Virtue of Humility.”

Kasta could already feel the sweat beginning to bead under his brow. He swallowed hard as he bowed his head low. “I can only beg your pardon. The Deceiver is clever with his tricks, and we all of us must be ever vigilant that the Law of our Ever Lord does not become the Deceiver’s tool.”

Yuris gave a dry chuckle. “Well…Very cleverly said, Sir Illibran.” Again, he stressed Kasta’s House as if he doubted his own tongue. “You are here, and so you must have taken on my duty. What did you find?”

Kasta took a deep breath. Until this point he had acted only in intent. If he opened his mouth, there was no turning back. He was about to place himself as a piece among the game played by the nobles of the Empire. Was Yuris a better player than the others? Would he protect his faithful pieces? There was no way to know, and no certainty Kasta would ever be given the opportunity again.

He raised his head to look Yuris in the eye.. “Seventeen House Velvet-Craft departed from the Ever Palace’s Port Tower after the day you mentioned. Of those, three had arrived no more than four days earlier.”

“A short time indeed, to visit the heart of the Ever Empire,” Yuris placed a finger on his chin. “Who were these nobles?”

“Grand Duke Li-Schan Kalne, Raugraf Tania Maar, and Bulquis Renner Torvis.” Kasta stared hard at Yuris as he gave the names, searching for some sign of recognition, some twitch of emotion. Was he distressed to hear the names? Elated? Enraged?

There was nothing. Not a flicker. “No others?”

“No other nobles, no, my Lord.” The heat was already sending sweat down his cheeks and brow. Kasta silently begged for his makeup to hold fast.

At first Yuris appeared satisfied. Then, his head shot upright. “I am not a fool to not hear when a servant answers without answering. You are trying to be clever again. What else did you note?”

Kasta winced in his heart. Why had he spoke thus? His duty was to answer the questions the Tithe Master had asked, not suggest answers that he guessed the Tithe Master wanted to know. But it was too late; Yuris had heard Kasta’s hidden thoughts. “A small Chariot left the same day as the others, carrying the head-servant of House Tharghem. The Archduke was not present on the vessel.”

“Curious,” Yuris cocked his head, “but not unique. Surely there are many reasons why the Archduke might send his head-servant away. Some crisis among his lands, perhaps, which requires the Archduke’s proxy.”

“Perhaps,” Kasta admitted, “but the Chariot was not a liveried Chariot of House Tharghem.”

Now Yuris looked interested. “Not of House Tharghem? Who piloted the vessel? Was it a public carriage? A borrowed vessel from one of House Tharghem’s filial houses?”

“One of the Tithe Freighters from the Third World, returning to its home after delivering tithing,” Kasta answered.

Now Yuris’s face split into a strange rictus, a mix between suppressed laughter and choked-back anger. “One of my Velvet-ships?” He coughed and shook his head. “Such audacity, one must almost admire it. Now, why would the head-servant of House Tharghem not use one of their mighty fleet?”

Kasta did not answer. There were hundreds of possibilities, but none that suggested anything other than the servant wanted their journey to be kept secret — or as secret as anything could be in the Ever Empire. A drop of sweat fell from his chin.

After a moment’s thought, Yuris took a deep breath. “You have served me well, Illibran. I am not ungrateful. You are dismissed.”

Kasta gratefully ran from the hot room, stopping only after he had crossed the threshold. His heartbeat slowed, and he took a deep breath before turning back around.

He couldn’t leave yet.

Yuris looked up. For a moment, Kasta thought he would repeat his dismissal but the man simply nodded. “You wish to remind me of my promise.”

“I serve the Ever Lord,” Kasta said. “It is not for your sake alone I told you what I found.”

“Boldly said, and true. You desire my aid in winning the hand of Lady Polaris?” Kasta bowed his approval as Yuris slowly walked around his desk and towards the doorway. “I suppose you would not object to more, would you? A more permanent relationship between us, perhaps? Your ambitions are plain, Illibran.”

Kasta bowed low again as Yuris stood next to him. “I have no ambition, my Lord, save to serve the Ever Empire, loyally and faithfully, as a true servant.”

“I am sure.” the Tithe Master’s voice was soft and kind. “Many noble-servants come to the Ever Palace, filled with ideal hopes and a mind full of virtue. But time takes its toll, and ideals lose their luster. Temptation comes to all, especially out there,” he pointed with two fingers to the chamber’s outer-door, “in the halls of our Ever Lord. You would do well to consider what will be like to lure you from your piety. Roast pheasant and braised fish from the most distant lands of the Empire, all on your plate when you wish it? A meal to covet, yes?”

Kasta’s stomach churned. “I am no glutton, my Lord. When you have…lived as I once lived, the meanest roots are a feast.”

Yuris didn’t move. Kasta could feel his breath tickle his chin. Then, slowly and with a steady hand, Yuris reached towards Kasta’s face.

Kasta tried to jerk away, but Yuris’s hands were swift. Gripping his hair, Yuris pushed two fingers into Kasta’s brow and rubbed from side to side. He pulled the fingers away and Kasta could see them stained with makeup.

They stared at each other, silent. Then, Yuris walked to his desk and pulled a small handkerchief from a drawer. He held it out casually, as calm as if Kasta had just sneezed.

It was done. What choice did he have? He took the cloth and rubbed at his face, pealing away the makeup from the markings underneath. When he was finished, Yuris stared at him, finger at his lips in thought. “Stria.” The man spoke at last.

Kasta glanced at his still covered hands. It was over. There would be no wedding. His future was ended. At best he would be banished from the Palace, and he would have to start over as a peasant…and at worst…

Yuris spoke again. “You suffered the Wasting?”

“When I was young,” Kasta admitted. “I was saved by a wandering carnival troupe. Actors. At my mother’s begging, they plucked me from her arms and fed me from their meager pantry.”

“And the rest of your House?”

It had been the first thing Kasta had looked up when he had become a Quill-servant. “The Wasting was cleansed with Holy Fire, my family’s House excommunicated.”

“Hm.” Yuris tapped his fingers together. “And now you take this excommunicate name for your own. Perhaps you think yourself above the Church? I thought you were a clever boy, but you are simply a liar. You lie with your actor’s paste, you lie with your name, your very presence in this palace is a lie.”

Kasta felt the words tumble from his mouth like a waterfall. “I shall leave, your Most Honorable Lordship. I shall slink away into the alleys, travel to one of the other worlds, none shall ever see me if you spare my life and let me leave.”

“Spare your —” Yuris rubbed his forehead with two long fingers. “Yes. Yes, I shall spare your life if you remain still and silent.” Kasta closed his mouth and stood as still as he could while Yruis thought. “You are fortunate,” he said at last. “Your stria are light to be so easily hidden with actor’s paste and powder. Yours was a petty House?”

“I was young,” Kasta said, “and I do not know to which House we were filial. The actors who took me in said my parents were Barons whose impiety destroyed the Barony’s crops, and our liege refused to send aid.”

Yuris nodded. “And now you are a Quill-servant. I could believe a palace servant was once a Baron’s son, but a shamed one? To say nothing of an actor…Ah! I have it. A ruse of some kind, yes? A method of lifting a spot of coin or valuable from some petty Lord. You were given the part of a palace servant — a foot-servant, most like, able to run fast and far with an important message? And by foolish fortune, you were spied by some other noble, who commanded your service in turn. When it is revealed you can read and write, you are made a Quill-servant.”

Kasta nodded. “I have served our Ever Lord ever since.”

“Have you?” Yuris smirked. “A Baroner’s boy turned actor and bearing the stria marks of the Wasting. There is no clearer mark of corruption of the blood. I am certain I am the only one who knows, as you are neither destitute nor dead.”

“No one,” Kasta felt his heart leap, “save you, my Lord, and I will offer much to keep it that way.”

“Ha!” Yuris crossed back to his chair and sat down with a casual flop. “You seek to bribe me? I doubt you have anything worth my attention…but perhaps…” he leaned forward with a scrutinizing eye. “Quill-servants of the Hall of Record are forbidden to wed. You will be removed from your position and placed elsewhere…perhaps you were thinking to be a scribe to House Polaris? I wonder if instead you would consider being a scribe to the Tithe Master.”

Kasta opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “A scribe to you, my Lord?”

“Do not do that,” Yuris waved his hand. “Do not repeat what I have said in a vain attempt to remain cautious. Ask your questions, lad. If you have half the mind I think, you have several.”

He had thousands, all of them swarming about in his skull like hornets. Kasta cleared his throat. “I am a Quill-servant, my Lord, and it would be improper to discuss different employment.”

Yuris waited for a moment before looking back to his papers. “I see I must give you a minute. To be clever.”

Kasta did not need a minute; he knew that the great Yuris Ka-Melan was not asking for a list, he was asking for Kasta. But why?

Kasta felt the world shift under his feet. Hours ago, everything had felt so stable; his future was assured to be secure. Now, but for following the command of the Tithe Master, his greatest secret was laid bare, his future uncertain, and the greatest threat to his life now sat smiling at him, offering to return the security that had been stolen.

Why him? Was Yuris testing him for disloyalty? Perhaps he thought Kasta was an easily turned puppet for House Ka-Melan, an agent in the Ever Palace who could provide gossip and subterfuge.

Kasta knew his duty. He knew the bureaucracy of the Ever Palace. He knew the Five Virtues, and practiced them every day. He had plotted, yes, he had planned and schemed; but always to ensure he survived, and the Empire of Ever and Always found him a useful if not vital cog.

Was there more danger in saying yes or no?