When I first learned of this servant's entrance, I had to bite my lip to keep myself from snidely remarking the first thing that came to my mind.

Specifically, whose bright idea was it to put a tunnel under the city’s defenses and right into the heart of the center of power?

Why have walls at all then if you have a straight path into your government buildings?

The issue was not so much the fact there was a tunnel, but that knowledge of it was so widely known!

The Reichstag in Brun had a similar addition to allow the ministers and government officials to evacuate the building in times of emergency. The difference is that in Germania’s case, the passages entrances and exits were SECRET! Only officials with the highest clearance, and soldiers tasked with guarding them, knew exactly where the tunnels opened into the city proper.

But here? There is a fucking plaque on the side of a building in the neighboring district that read “Jade Palace Servants Entrance”! Why not just paint giant arrows from the city gates to this place with a banner overhead greeting any would be assassins!

But now that I had some time to think it over and having mulled it over in my head a bit, I realize that it was not as simple as my knee jerk reaction thought it was.

The servants’ tunnel was less a ‘tunnel’ and more a ‘maze’. There were very few points of note or directions along the length of it. Dead ends were common if you were not careful or not familiar with the layout. The paths themselves were long and winding. They almost never stayed even leveled, and almost always at a slight elevation. And at its widest extent, there was enough room for two people to walk side by side; even then their shoulders would scrape up against the smooth stone walls.

Now I can see that, given the technological limits of this world, this is far less the idiotic back door I thought it was.

Even without my prior life’s military education, I can deduce multiple ways to make a trek up these steps a nightmare for any attacking force.

Without knowing if caving in the tunnel would compromise the Palace’s foundations in some way, the simplest thing to do would be to pour oil or some type of lubricant down the steps. Given the upward nature of the trek, the smooth stones used in its construction, and the ever so slight angle the steps were at, any ascent up the would not be as simple as it might seem. It would be almost comical to watch invading soldiers try and fail to walk up the steps only to slip and slide crashing down to the bottom; taking any compatriots behind them down for the trip.

Of course, the lubricants used could also be flammable in nature for those instances where the attackers do manage to make progress. One torch later, and the defenders will not have to worry about invaders anymore.

Fire has always been one of those aspects of nature that man, no matter how advanced he gets, it will inspire fear in the masses. The sight of the charred fallen that any attacker must step over or crush beneath their feet should be enough to weaken the morale of any attacker.

But that thinking was for another time.

For now, I awkwardly shifted the clothes I was wearing, being careful to not dislodge the knife I have snuggly in my pockets.

While more comfortable to move around in than the dresses and other feminine wear that I was garbed in daily, that comfort of movement came at the cost of the fabric quality. Perhaps I was just growing soft, or perhaps I have gotten a bit too use to opulent luxury, but the fabric on these clothes felt off. Like a wire brush’s fibers rubbing against my skin. It didn’t hurt, but it was annoying; since I felt the sensation after ever step I took.

Maybe I have grown soft.

Or maybe I am just overthinking it. After all, the methods used to make these borrowed clothes, and the clothes I was given at the orphanage in my last life, are separated by over a millennium.

I should probably ask for some custom clothes made for me. Something I can move around in easily, but made with better fabrics.

Eh, I’ll worry about that later.

For now, the city!

And I was impressed and disappointed in equal measures.

On one hand, it was a fantastical city with fantastical elements. In my short walked I have seen no less than two different horse-like creatures being used to pull wagons. One looked like a horse sized mammoth, while the other was some oversized crocodile thing with six legs.

Additionally, I have seen no less than a dozen different humanoid races walking alongside regular humans on my trek so far. Goat people with little subby horns on their foreheads and reversed jointed hoofed legs. Avian looking bird-people with feathers along their arms and claws for fingers. A man with a horn long the ridge of his nose. Lizard people, with green scales and sharp teeth. Even a Tolkien esque dwarf hammering away at an anvil.

Then again, that last one could have just been a man afflicted with dwarfism….

The streets were also cleaner than I expected. Thought that could have been some bias on my part; I had assumed the city beyond the affluent areas would just be filled with filth and grime. Workers constantly swept back and forth along the main avenues and roads in a seemingly never-ending war to keep them clean. But the further I got from the center of power, the less urgent this war seemed to be; with large piles of trash sequestered in alleyways waiting to be picked up.

I also found the amount of graffiti grew steadily the further I walked.

As did the explicitness of both the art and words written to accompany them.

All this cleaning did nothing for the stench that hung in the air. My nose scrunched up at the first whiff of it. I even resigned myself to breathing through my mouth due to the foulness of the air. One of the benefits of living in a palace upon a hill I suppose is being free of this stench.

But to be fair, with all these people milling about in the hot sun, in the relatively confined spaces of a city, with all the beasts of burden that pulled carts and the waste they left, it was a wonder it didn’t smell worse.

I could only imagine the stench if Saderan culture lacked a practice of regular bathing.

----
----

Another hour later, and I had to plop myself down to rest on a small stairwell.

I was nearing the end of my body’s strength. My muscles were sore, and I was drenched in sweat. And still, I have yet to reach the Colosseum, the whole point of this excursion. Partially my fault. I had refused to go too far off the main roads in fear of becoming lost in the maze-like side streets and alleyways. No matter how curious I was, there was no point in exploring if I lost my way.

Despite myself, I knew I would have to turn around in short order. The sun was now high, and the summer heat was making any further trek unbearable to my unaccustomed frame.

The crier held out his hand expectantly to a boy standing below his podium; said servant took the tablet and handed him another to read.

“A slave woman from the household of the Honorable Senator Marcus Pal Albus, has gone missing,” his voice boomed over the crowds. With every gesture he made, to emphasize his words, the fatty folds on his face and arms jiggled. Even the fat on his throat moved about as he spoke. “Stolen or absconded. She is a demi-human of elven descent, with hair the color of spun gold, and eyes like sapphires. A generous reward to the citizen, or citizens, who returns her to her lawful owner.”

As with the first tablet, he dropped his current one and reached for the next placard held out for him. His eyes scanned over the words before continuing.

“In honor of Grand-Prince Aeteor's arrival to the Capitol, the far flung Principality, and vassal state of the Empire, has arranged for a banquet to be held in the grand forum one week from today. Festivities begin at noon. All citizens are encouraged, if able, to attend. Freemen, actors, and unwashed tradesmen are not welcome! No disorder will be tolerated!”

He paused for effect, and to take a deep breath, before moving onto the next topic.

“News from the northern provinces! The barbarian horde of Heathcliff Blood-Axe has sacked the Temple to the water Goddess Azuras! Nothing sacred nor holy was spared their vandalism. The barbarians smashed the icons and images of the Goddess, defiled the holy women in the most debase of manners before taking them to their long ships, and raised an altar to their dark God upon the smoldering ruins as they departed. In response to this barbarism, Governor Allus Az Pullo has raised his legions and marches to confront the northern horde along the banks of the Frozen Sea! All Citizens are urged to make offerings to the Gods for a swift victory against the barbaric horde!”

I heard about that the other day when I was walking to my magic lessons. Lots of murmurings at court after that was announced. Again, this is a moment where the upper class got a much more detailed account of the whole ordeal about the governor's response and how basically his whole career was riding on him pushing back the inclusion.

The crier picked up the last tablet in the hands of his servant.

“And finally, this week’s bread to the citizens of the capitol is provided for by the Cisalpine Guild of Millers. The Guild of Millers uses only the finest grain in their bread. True Saderan bread, for true Saderans.”

Apparently, product placement and advertising were concepts that transcended time and space.

Just as I was standing up to continue my little trek, someone called out to me.

“You!”

To my left I saw a heavy-set man, who I assume to be a merchant, leering at me.

“Fuck off boy,” he demanded.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t need your kind scaring away customers,” he elaborated. “So fuck off.”

“My ‘kind’,” my response spat forth before I realized what I was saying.

“Yeah, the kind who don’t buy nothing, but run off with something when I’m busy,” the man against gestured away from his stall.

But then I saw them.

Two cloaked figures approached us; obviously drawn by the man’s constant yelling. They blended into the crowds, but my experiences from the War gave me a healthy sense self preservation and awareness of my surroundings; even Being X couldn't take those away. I am sure I would have never picked them up otherwise.

The figures almost glided around the crowd, no pushing or shoving, as they approached. Almost silent. Swords clearly at their sides. Some kind of secret police?

“Are you ignoring me you little shit!” I was thrown to the ground by a strong shove from the man.

I got back to my feet relatively quickly, murmurings in the crowd grew at the sight. This was escalating too quickly.

And the figures were just about-

“There you are grandson.”

A hand landed on my shoulder.

Turning around, I saw an older looking man in loose fitting robes. His face was spotted with age and balding. Winkles creased across his weathered skin.

I did not need to deal with a daughtering old man in addition to all this nonsense!

“This one’s yours?” the merchant cocked a brow and looked at the two of us.

“My daughter’s actually,” the old man explained. “But you know how boys get, take your eye off them for a second and then they're off on their own little adventure.”

“I-“

“And I told you not to run off like that,” he cut me off before I could even protest. When he looked down to me, I noticed that his smile, while grandfatherly, had an edge to it; as did his voice. While he seemed cordial and affectionate, there was something off. His grip tightened for a split second as he pulled me close.

“But-“

“Now, now, none of that,” he bent down to my level. When our eyes met, I saw a sharpness in them. Not the sort of eyes a man who is losing his mind would have. “I think it’s about time we left.”

Then it hit me. This is not some doddering old man who had mistaken me for his grandson. He knew exactly what he was doing.

But what was he doing? Getting a kid out of danger by pretending to be their guardian? Or was this some kidnaping scheme in disguise?

So what to do? Deny I knew this man and throw myself at the mercy of the merchant and the cloaked pair of secret police that stood ready to scoop me up, or do I take the out that I was given; without the guarantee that it was genuine.

My hand wandered to the small knife strapped to my leg, just beneath my trousers. I subconsciously wanted to just feel that it was still there. That I had some means of defending myself in the worst-case scenario.

“I’m sorry grandfather,” I replied to the man, doing my best to sound as ‘guilty’ as possible. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Fortune favors the bold. An appropriate sentiment to hold in a fantasy Rome.

“Oh there’s no trouble,” he played along. “You just need to remember that I’m no longer the young man I once was.”

Before the merchant could interrupt my ‘apology’ the elder’s wrinkled hand , rough with callouses, clasped mine

“Come along now your mother is no doubt worried sick about you,” he pulled me away from the stall, down the road.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed the two cloaked men move in and grab the merchant; dragging him off into an alleyway. I did not hear any screams or loud noises as I was led around the corner so I could only guess what was happening to him. Given my previous experience in dealing with the Red’s NKVD, I could hazard a guess that the man will soon be wishing he was given just a beating.

After a few minutes of walking, towards the Imperial Quarter going by the landmarks, the man abruptly let go of my hand.

Looking over, I saw a completely different man then the one who ‘saved’ me. His hunched over form straighten up, and the small limp he had vanished. And his sharp eyes borrowed into me.

‘So, he was genuine then. I suppose appropriate thanks are in order.’

“Thank you I-”

“What were you doing there girl?” the man interrupted me. Gone was a soft, grandfatherly tone he had shown to the merchant. He was still soft spoken, but his tone had an edge to it now that was not there a minutes ago.

“I’m sorry?” My mind was racing at all the possibilities of what he was saying.

“While I may not be a noble myself,” he continued. “I do know that most noble women don’t dare leave the Imperial Quarter unless they are being carried in a lint and surrounded by a dozen retainers and attendants. Less leave their homes unattended. Fewer still would in the guise of a commoner. And do I even need to mention your age?”

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t understand what your talking about,” I played dumb, trying to buy time to formulate a proper response.

He sighed. “You might be able to conceal your accent for most of the populace, but I have worked long enough with the nobility to understand the lilts in their tones; no matter how well suppressed it might be. So please do me the decency of dispensing with the veneer of ignorance.”

“I could just be a servant who was taught to speak like this,” I replied I in a circumspect manner, no longer trying to keep my accent under wraps. I remembered an offhand comment made by Julia once. “Nobles do like it when their servants talk properly.”

“That they do,” he conceded. “But what they like even more, is when their servants are silent and demure. And you,” his eyes gave me a once over, “are seemingly neither.”

Damnit.

Then again, he has not tried anything. Yet I reminded myself. And the way we were walking, it was brining us closer and closer to the more ‘safe’ areas of the city. Every step made it seem less and less likely this was some overly elaborate kidnaping job. Especially since he sniffed out that I was a noble and, therefore, a very lucrative ransom. What would a child of the Emperor go for?

So, I decided to put all my cards on the table.

“So it was just my voice and body language then?”

“Not exactly,” he scratched his chin. “Had this been either the early morning or evening, I could easily have written you off as a servant that was off duty. But that cageyness in your eyes, the constant scanning of the environment for threats, a tension in your frame, it all gave me the impression that you felt as if you did not belong. Or more accurately, you were afraid of being found out.”

Shit. That is actually pretty accurate to how I felt in that situation.

“And if I wasn’t a noble,” I dropped the pretense of my situation being otherwise. “You would have just left me to those people? The men in cloaks or the merchant I mean.”

“No,” shaking his head. “I still, would have helped you. Good deeds and all that.”

“So simple altruism then?”

“Good things occur to those who do good deeds,” he shrugged at my question. “At least that’s what some of the priests say. Maybe there is a grain of truth in their words. Who can say?”

“That’s not an answer,” I countered.

“And yet that is all I shall say on the matter. You were in need, I helped. That is all there is to it. Though I must ask, what are you doing out on the streets like this?” He inquired, gesturing to Julia's clothes. “I doubt your running for your life given you seem to be content returning to your gilded life,” noting the closing distance to the walls of the Imperial Quarter. “So, what is it? Curious to see how the plebeians live? Or are you trying to see the boy you are swooning over, whose low station makes your love forbidden?”

I held back a gaging sound on the last point, even as he chuckled at his own words.

“A different reason all together,” I quickly dismissed the notion of being in ‘forbidden love’. “All I wanted to do was see the Colosseum.”

“So, a wanderlust for adventure?”

“Not adventure, just curious. I it out my window every day and thought to myself ‘why not see it in person’.”

“And,” he urged me to continue.

“And I didn’t,” I admitted. “Instead, I got accosted by a merchant for simply sitting near his stall and was saved by a very curious old man who asks a far too many questions.”

My barb made him smile, “fair enough. Though if I may be so bold, the next time you decide to galivant across the city, instead of playing a mummer’s game as a pauper why don’t we walk to the Colosseum together? I can always do with a good walk.”

“You’re certainly bold,” I commented. “Even ignoring the implications of an older man wishing to spend time alone with a young girl, we don’t even know each other’s names.”

“I’m insulted by the insinuation,” he didn’t sound insulted. “In any case, I am quite incapable of doing what you are presuming for two reasons.”

“Which are?”

“Firstly, I am a record keeper of some renown,” he said proudly. “Why would I risk everything by forcing myself upon a noble, when I can purchase as many bed warmers as I want?”

The way he said that sent a small shiver down my spine.

“And secondly,” he carried on. “The point is moot, given I was cut decades ago.”

“Cut,” I repeated. “As in castrated?”

“Pillar and stones,” he added as if commenting on the weather and not body mutilation.

“Why?”

“Now who is asking far too many questions,” he chuckled.

I bit the inside of my cheek, realizing he was right. Here I was commenting on his nosiness while also probing deep into his life.

“You are right about one thing,” the older man noted. “We have yet to be properly introduced.”

Stopping in the middle of the street, arms in the sleeves of his robes, he gave me a short bow.

“I am Gaius Rax, a pleasure to make your acquaintance Lady….”

“Tana,” I replied with the first thing that came to me and gave him a small bow of my own. No matter how enjoyable this conversation was, I was definitely not going to use my real name.

“Lady Tana….”

“Just Tana,” I firmly told him. “No offense but-“

“No, no, I understand,” he commented, he gestured to the side. “However I feel this is where we must part ways.”

Looking to where he was gesturing, I saw small building nestled between a small, upscale, market area very close to the wall that separated Imperial Quarter from the rest of the city. A small, gold, plaque rested beside the door: Record Keeping it read.

“My place of work,” he said. “Should you ever wish to take up my offer to tour the city, please do not hesitate to drop by. I trust you know the way back to whence you came?”

I nodded.

“Then off you go,” he gave an exaggerated shooing gesture. “Best to return home before your lord father notices your absence.”

As the man- Gaius walked into his abode, I could only think of how strange he was. Helping a noble yet asking for nothing in return; not that I had much on me to give in thanks, but still. And he was interesting to talk to. None of the badgering or the constant pampering I was subjected to on a daily basis due to my birth.

Walking away, still wary of the odd cloaked individual along the road back to the servant’s entrance, I could only think how I probably would take him up on that offer in the near future.

--
--

Gaius never considered himself a devout man. Truth be told, he was never that pious of a man either. In his youth he had more pressing matters see to than scripture. Sure, he said the payers under his breath on holy days, and had an icon hidden somewhere in his bedroom, but he was never a devout follower. He never had a problem giving offerings to the various Gods when prompted, even as dozens martyred themselves for not doing something in front of a statue.

Fools. A few words spoken before a statue was no more binding than if they were sworn to a pair of shoes.

When Emperor Altus cracked down on followers of the One God, his life changed very little. He watched as priests of the One were burned on their books or thrown into the many fighting pits with nothing but a prayer book as a weapon.

It was probably meant as a cruel joke to force a priest to use the words of their own faith to protect themselves from their opponents armed with steel. But Gaius knew from personal experience that some payer books were quite thick and hit with the same force as a well sized rock if properly used. And if you hit someone on the head with a rock enough times, they will die.

But that was a lifetime ago….

Even with Emperor Molt’s hands off approach to Monotheists, so long as they kept their worship out of sight and did not agitate against the other Gods, it was still a horribly difficult stigma to overcome if labeled as such.

Not that he advertised his faith.

He was a bad monotheist. He never raised his voice in defense of others who were being sent to the pyres, nor did he shelter those who ran from the hounds. All he did was watch.

‘Even still.’

This morning, he experienced…something that he still cannot properly explain.

He had just woken up, freshen himself up with a slash of cold water, put on his comfortable robes to read a book when he noticed a stay leaf land on another book of his.

Blown in from open window no doubt.

The book in question was an old, stained, thing. Ratty with age, and missing pages. Honestly, simply leaving it out on his desk, where any could see it, was a risk in and of itself. But sentimentality was a force even he had to bow before. It did save his life after all; just not in the way one would assume it would.

But when his finger touched the stained cover, to brush away the leaf, light blinded him, and a voice echoed in his head:

“Go to the market, the Empress awaits.”

And then all was normal, ignoring his racing heart and his sore ass as he hit the floor. He remembers tepidly touching the book again, as if fearing the sensation would happen again. Yet nothing did. He was alone in his room, as always.

To him, the situation was simple: he was going insane.

That was the only thing he could rationalize to himself as he gathered the book and tossed it back into recesses of his closet. Hearing and seeing things that were not there was one of the earliest signs of a sickness of the mind.

Gaius has no idea what compelled him to go for an afternoon stroll. Was it a desire for fresh air? Maybe he just wanted to know for certain that he was crazy; hearing things in his mind that were not real.

When he arrived at a market, he was not greeted by any guards or attendants carrying a lint, but a girl arguing with a merchant; and two of the Emperor’s Eyes moving in to gag them both for disturbing the peace no doubt.

He could have just watched and let it all happen; as he has done so many times before.

And yet….

Well…..

After simply talking to her, he could tell there was something different about her. She was far smarter than a girl her age should be keeping up with him quip for quip. It felt more like he was talking to a scholar rather than a child. Her eyes had a certain hardness to them. Like she was judging everything around her. As if the way the world was looked wrong to her.

And when young Tana, or whoever she truly was, walked off back whence she came, he knew there was far more to that message in his mind than simply the beginnings of insanity.

Returning to his room, he fished the book out of the closet once more.

This whole experience remined him of a simple phrase that has been passed down since antiquity. Words that were uttered when the One first spoke to the masses. A phrase that has been repeated ever since. And now it seemed more appropriate than ever before.

Deus Lo Vult indeed.