Chapter 7: A Proposal

Lito studied the parchment in front of her, detailing the list of charges against her soldier, Dane Wrickon: drunkenness, brawling, and the like. Wordlessly, she handed it to her counselor, Elaene, who was working next to her.

Elaene groaned, and buried her face in her hands.

“That was my first idea, too,” Lito said. “I take it your conversation yesterday did not go well?”

“It went better than I expected,” Elaene said. “I could see instantly that Dane had a problem with his temper, so I decided to play things brash and confident. I had hoped that this would get him angry and say things he otherwise wouldn’t.”

“Did it work?” Lito said, idly turning the parchment over and over in her hands.

“I learned more about him than your guard counselor ever did, so yes.”

Lito studied the paper again. “But you didn’t get results.”

Elaene stared at her. “A man struggles with alcoholism for close to ten years, and you want results overnight?”

“I suppose not.”

They returned to their work. Elaene was trying to assist the other priests and priestesses in Cael Proper in coordinating some safe activities for the upcoming Solemn Vigil—or, as the common people called it, the Night of Revels.

The gods paid the most attention to their followers on Gift Day—the full moon. It was for this reason that the people offered generous oblations, to earn their favor and trust, in the hopes that the gods would assist them as needed in the future.

The majority of these needs revolved around the Solemn Vigil. Once a month, all the gods would assemble at the King in the Deep’s silvery halls, and judge all the men and women who had died since the last Solemn Vigil. If a person had dedicated themselves to one of the lesser deities, and had faithfully offered sacrifices throughout their life, they could expect a favorable recommendation from that god on their behalf to the King in the Deep. If they had been wavering in their devotion, no such recommendation was given, and their prospects were far more dire.

Because people could switch deities during their life, follow none at all if they chose, and just generally exist as complicated individuals, it was said that the deities got into spectacular fights on some of the more controversial souls.

All of which added up to the following: one night a month, the gods were busy with the task of judging all of one’s recently deceased friends and relatives. It was considered beautifully pious to pray for them during this time.

What it actually meant was this: one night a month, all of the gods were busy elsewhere.

Hence, the Night of Revels.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Elaene and Lito had continued to work, picking up their discussion on Dane or the previous day’s events from time to time. Elaene had managed to figure out what happened to Raeden Clamore, and the sad news hadn’t surprised Lito in the slightest.

Elaene had departed soon after that, having finished her work for the day. Lito continued to work into the night, waiting for Dane Wrickon to get off duty and talk with her. An hour or so after the sun had set behind the Wall, he arrived, with a sour expression on his face.

“I can’t imagine your shift was pleasant,” Lito said, by way of greeting.

“It wasn’t.” Dane agreed. “Have you ever had your head stuck in a vice? Me either, but it probably would feel a lot like this.” He slouched against the wall, and began to explain himself.

Lito cut him off. “Dane, you should know by now that I will, under no circumstances, accept any excuses. I am not a clever woman, and I can accept that most of my guards can out-think me any day of the week. They can come up with perfectly plausible lies in a minute that would take me an hour of checking to debunk. I have never and will never listen to them.”

“It was worth a shot.” Dane had his head leaned back against the wall.

“Do you know why you haven’t been sent to the Drain yet, Dane?”

“I don’t,” Dane said, his eyes closed.

Lito choked back cold anger. She forcefully reminded herself that anger wouldn’t fix this problem, had never fixed her problems, and she could think more clearly in a normal temperament.

“Dane, my counselor, Elaene, talked to the King Enclosed a few days ago. The King was shocked to hear that there was a soldier in his guard which was blatantly drunk several times a month.”

“That’s nice.”

She stood up. “Dane, there are two reasons why I haven’t shipped you down the river-- yet. First, when you put your mind to it, you’re a pretty good leader. The rest of the men listen you, although I can’t figure out why, and they certainly like you. I think if you ever got your life figured out you could accomplish a lot. Second… I’m thinking the unpleasant parts of your life could become an advantage for us.”

Lito’s flattery, although it had been more or less genuine, hadn’t elicited a response from Dane. Her second point did.

Dane’s eyes snapped open, and he practically jumped off the wall. He had understood her meaning immediately. “That’s a death sentence.”

“You would prefer the Drain?” Lito said.

“Yeah, you know what, I would.” Dane stood up. “It would solve a lot of the problems I’ve been having— you can’t get ale at the Drain, it’s parceled out closely and in small amounts during Revels, and the like.”

“You could get as much ale as you wanted from your fellow prisoners in trade, breaking whatever limit they have in place. Don’t underestimate yourself, Dane, I have full confidence in your ability to completely wreck yourself in any situation.”

 Dane opened his mouth in indignation, and then closed it again. He walked over and sat in Elaene’s chair, and started to laugh.

“You’re quite right,” he said. He nodded, slowly, and repeated himself. “You’re quite right. That’s exactly it.”

“You have friends in taverns all over the city,” Lito said. “They know you’re… not exactly a model soldier. And I’m willing to bet that you’ve met people who work, directly or not, for the Carpenter.”

“And get myself killed in some spectacularly gruesome way? I think not,” said Dane, still smiling.

Lito put her head in her hands. “I hope you’re not under the false notion that your insolence is amusing, Dane. Rest assured, I have other possibilities for agents. I don’t need you. I’m offering this chance to you as a gift, but I would have no qualms about sending you to the Drain.”

“A gift?” Dane repeated. “I would much rather spend the rest of my days in the Drain than, say, having venomous snakes slid up my nostrils because I poked my nose where it didn’t belong.”

“What’s your end game here, Dane? You think the gods will be pleased that you’ve wasted your life chasing after one thing? You think the Crone will take pride when she presents you to the assembly? ‘He found happiness in drink’, she’ll say, ‘at least in the first four.’ She’ll barely want you; none of the other gods will care, although the Lady of the Soil might hate you for making such a mess of your duties. And Aigean will send you to the sunken hells.”

She had watched Dane’s face grow darker and darker during her rant. He had lost his whimsical smile, and his eyes were wary.

“You must have been talking to Elaene,” he said. “That’s what I told her yesterday, with a dusting of your own charming sensibilities.”

“That’s true, I did talk to her.” Lito admitted. “But I disagree with you on one point—the Crone at the Cliffs won’t vouch for you, especially if you go to the Drain. And you know why? I’ll put it in a soldier’s terms, so that you’ll be sure to understand. Going to the Drain in order to solve your drinking isn’t a victory, it’s a retreat— you haven’t found a way to control yourself, to fix yourself, you’ve just removed yourself from the situation.” As she said this, something about it seemed… uncomfortable and just sort of wrong to her, but she couldn’t quite say why.

She continued. “You haven’t won, you’ve just stopped fighting. What kind of soldier does that?”

“Well, retreating is sure a lot better than losing, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think you’re trying to lose,” Lito said, finally.

“I’m not,” Dane said. “But you won’t deny that I am, currently, losing.”

He took a deep breath. “I know you don’t like excuses, but I’ll give you some anyway. Every time I go out drinking, I have a new set up to try to stop at the appropriate time. Yesterday, it was this crazy dice scheme.”

Dane went on to explain buying the dice from Callador’s Curiosities, and the complicated system of rules he had come up with to rig the drinking game. He continued to describe his symbol system, the ever-constricting bracelet, and the countless other mechanisms he had tried.

Lito sat there for a few moments after he had finished, hard in thought.

“Have you tried talking to the tavern keepers and asking them to cut you off at a certain point?”

“I did, early on. I always ended up going to another bar.”

“What if you asked all the tavern keepers?”

Dane laughed. “Every single one in Cael Proper? I’ve considered it, but never gone through with it. I can’t imagine how long that would take for preparation, and I would need to pay a lot to keep the taverns to their word. It’s bad for business if they stop their customer’s from buying drinks; I would need to offer some compensation. What promises and rewards could I offer by day that I couldn’t beat by night?”

Dane leaned forward. “You put your argument in terms that a soldier would understand, allow me to do the same. What would you do if you were fighting an enemy that had every intention of breaking you? This enemy is not as smart as you, but he has a desperate cunning about him in addition to perfect knowledge of your traps, techniques, and weaknesses. If you leave an opening for him, he will move in, if your plan has a single flaw, he will ruthlessly exploit it.”

“And you need to win, at all costs,” Lito said. This seemed all too familiar to her as she thought of Raeden Clamore and her ever-dwindling resources.

“I will tell you,” Lito said. “You keep working. You keep trying other avenues of attack, and keep shoring up your weak points. Maybe your enemy is clever, maybe your enemy is ruthless, but your enemy can never be as patient as you.”

Dane cocked his head to one side. “That… doesn’t really fit in with the analogy. The enemy is as patient you, because… Oh. We’re not talking about me, anymore, are we?”

“I suppose not.”

“I would rather just… stop fighting, than lose again, night after night after night.” Dane ran his fingers through his hair. “I hope you can understand that.”

“Even with the eternal consequences?”

“Well…” Dane gave a wry grin, and shrugged. “That’s not my problem right now, is it?”

“I’ll tell you what to do,” Lito said. “Maybe your fight against alcoholism is a lost cause, I don’t know everything you’ve tried and can’t really comment on it. I will tell you that it can be beaten, you don’t see other people struggling with it all the time.”

“Lito, please never become a counselor; that was as far from comforting reassurance as you can get.”

“I’m not trying to reassure you, you self-absorbed, slick-tongued, weak-willed, miserable excuse for a member of this guard. I’m saying you should stop fighting just this one battle. If you can’t march up one valley because the cliffs are too high and the water too deep, then you pick a different valley. I’m offering you a chance to do something meaningful with your life, to defend this island and its king, to keep the people safe from the brutality of the Carpenter, to finally be on the offensive again. I’m telling you to pick a different method of attack, and go in there and gods-damned win.”

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