Sadly Sings Destiny

7

Verona was in shock as she read the reports coming from Rachedale. In the days following her meeting with Astrid, she had continued to work with Martha on printing her pamphlets and gaining support for her movement. Most of those who had joined her and shown support in the streets had been men, but there was also a growing number of women, though they never gave her the support that the males did. She was able to start holding meetings where they voiced their support and even marched on the keep a time or two in peaceful demonstration. It was in one of these meetings that Martha told her the news that had been coming down in certain circles from Rachedale. Martha pulled her to the side before she was supposed to take the podium and lead her meeting.

“Rona, the Welfare Minister, Elena Thatcher, she was found dead,” Martha said in hushed tones to her friend. Verona’s eyes went wide. She had heard for days now how the Minister had been talking about the corruption in the ministry, and there had been the constant bashing from the Minister that suggested the Queen was behind the disappearances of some lower members of the ministry. Verona had been using these reports and allegations to fuel the flames of her own followers, which she had used to have them write letters and make public demonstrations in the name of equality and for lower taxes and less social welfare.

“What do you mean Thatcher’s dead?” Verona said, jumping internally at the news. She thought that a report on the level would help her, that it would fill her with joy, but something inside was screaming in fear. It suddenly seemed far more real than it had before. Had someone working in her name decided to take matters into their own hands? Was this something that could be traced back to her? Would she be standing in front of the Silver Queen as a criminal? It wasn’t the first time she felt like she was in water deeper than she could swim.

“They say Thatcher killed herself, the papers even published her suicide letter, look,” Martha said, forcing a newspaper into Verona’s hands, already open to the propper page. Verona paced the small room as she read the article and the letter. The letter seemed like it was written in the same way that Thatcher’s other letters were written in different newspapers and publications that had come out recently, but there was something to it that didn’t seem right to Verona. It was nothing in the letter itself, but it was the timing of the message and the death. There had been plenty of reports of other deaths, even the death of the Defence Minister, but this one was too public. It was too convenient. Verona could see through the veil that suicide note was supposed to shrowd around the matter. She couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t revel in the death of another person, but she did know when one of those deaths could be used to her advantage, and it wasn’t as if the people in the corrupt Welfare Agency were entirely human anyway.

“I think this is good for us, Martha,” she said through her smile and slapping her friend on the shoulder. She left the room and went into the park where her followers had been gathering for the meetings she held. She stood in front of the two hundred or so people who had come to hear her. She looked over and was happy to see new faces, and many of those new faces were feminine. She knew she needed the men to give her movement the muscle it required, but she required women for her campaign to be taken seriously.

Verona held the suicide letter in the newspaper over her head with a triumphant smile and a showman’s flourish to the cloak she wore. She spoke to those gathered with a voice magnified with a simple hex. She read to them the suicide note that was published across the country, along with snippets of the article she had selected to further the rhetoric she had been preaching for weeks. She knew she was butchering the report to serve her own purposes, twisting the words that had been printed. She turned them into a blatant attack on the Crown and on the Agency and on anyone involved with those two.

When her speech was finished, she burned the paper, more out of symbolism than anything else. She may have had her doubts going into this gathering, but that always happened. Most of her time, she was a ball of nerves and anxiety. She doubted whether or not she was able to lead a revolution, she wondered if she was even in control or if she was forced to the front and pushed along like driftwood in the ocean surf. But after hearing people affirm everything she said on stage with hundreds of cheers after she had received their ovations and heard them chant her name, she felt like she was already the Queen of Lotherania. Tomorrow, she decided, tomorrow, she would take the first steps to march against the Crown in truth.

The next morning saw Verona and Martha walking into the city side by side in their black cloaks that had become the symbol of Verona’s revolution. Verona had pulled Martha out of bed with the rising sun and urged her to get dressed and follow her into town. Verona was still riding high on the feelings of triumph from the meeting she had led the night before. Martha had plied her friend with questions as she got dressed, and the other had promised to explain everything on the walk to the city center.

“Do you remember school?” Verona said as she led the way with enthusiastic steps.

“You let me cheat off enough of your tests to know I didn’t,” Martha replied, sleep still tinging her voice, “And I assure you I remember even less now.”

“What about the parts on Sabbistahn history?” Verona asked, glancing over.

“You know damn well I skipped class for that. It didn’t matter to us.” Martha said, annoyed by her friend’s desire to build suspense.

“You know how that country started, right?” she asked, the smoldering look she received in response pushed her to continue what she was saying, “Astrid Glass, she took out a loan from the Bank to finance a civil war. She used those funds to pay soldiers and buy equipment and so on and so forth. She fought against… Kayxerstahn? I don’t remember who, but she won her war and became Queen.”

“Alright then, Great General Rona, but doesn’t the bank own Sabbistahn?” Martha said half teasing and half interested.

“Well, yea and Astrid was banished, but that’s because she didn’t pay back her loan.” Verona said, her shrug may not have been visible, but Martha could hear it in her tone, “If we get the loan, we can hire Sabbistahni mercenaries and equip our volunteers, strike Rachedale hard and fast and take the throne. Then, we can finagle the tax code to promote business, but still give us the income we need to pay the icy bastards back. They might even support us in the sheer interests of getting their gold back.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea. Until you pay them back, you’ll be under their thumbs.” Martha said with what almost sounded like concern. Verona’s lip twitched at the sign of weakness. She didn’t need weakness at this moment, it would only bring her back into her self doubt, and it would do far more harm than anything else could.

“Look, let’s try this idea once, and if it doesn’t work, we can fight the old fashioned way. But the faster we gain the throne, the faster we can save people like my father.” she said, putting emphasis on the last words, “And isn’t your father on a whaling ship in the north seas for the same reason my father was in that thrice-damned mine?”

“Alright, fine.” Martha said, throwing up her hands, even though Verona couldn’t see the action, “I see your point. Why do you need me?”

“I need a co-signer on the loan.” Verona said, stopping and turning around in front of the main doors to the Grand Credit Union building that she usually worked at, “Get ready for a Sabbistahni marriage.” The two of them went to the third floor of the building and waited for the assistant to get the chief banker for them. When they were allowed into the office, Verona gave a warm smile as she sat across from the same executive who had assisted in her raid on the Welfare Offices some time before. He saw her and recognized her, and gave her a light-hearted chiding for not being at work that day in the strange, icy way Sabbistahnians considered humor.

Verona smiled and mimicked the humor the best she could before she started to outline her plans to him. The executive leaned back in his chair the way his countrymen did when they were interested and focussed on a conversation, and he seemed to like what he was hearing. When Verona finished her long-winded and well thought out speech on how much gold she would need and on how she expected to pay back the loan, the banker smiled and looked at the ceiling wistfully.

“Thank you for your presentation, Ms. Conroy,” he said after a few minutes, “I can’t approve the amount of gold you need in this meeting today. Why don’t you and your little friend fill out the paperwork my assistant will give you, then I can get on the wire and see what I can do for you.” Verona smiled as she stood and bowed before leaving with Martha. She had worked for the bank long enough to know that the interest on the amount of money she had requested would be enough to make any Sabbistahni coin counter’s mouth water. She and Martha worked through the forms that the assistant had provided with help from the assistant to put all of the required information into Sabbistahni letters to speed up the approval process.

The two of them left in high spirits that day. Verona was pleased that she was finally doing more than yelling at crowds of people gathered before her. She was setting the machines in motion, and it was a motion that none could stop if everything fell into place the way she believed it would. When the two of them returned to Martha’s rundown home, they worked at putting out a new pamphlet that described in unabashed detail what she hoped to achieve. Verona was so sure of herself that she didn’t care if Andretti herself came to one of her meetings. She smiled brightly and genuinely as she passed out the new pamphlets around the city. The cycle was going to bring about change, and she was at its head.