Disclaimer: The Vision of Escaflowne is owned by Sunrise and Bandai Entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended by this not-for-profit story, although the author would like to point out that this doesn't mean that others can freely copy this text and claim it as their own!
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Dryden left Palas that very afternoon. Perhaps coincidentally, Meiden Fassa left for Zaibach on a business trip the following day. Carenza did not give up her plan to spy on their father, however. In his absence she made an appointment to see his accountant, on the grounds that her twenty-first birthday was approaching and she wished to check on the progress of her investments.
Her father's mercenary approach to life was demonstrated in this, as in so many things. Part of her allowance was earmarked for investment, to provide a dowry for her when she married. Until she was twenty-one, the funds had to be administered by her father or one of his authorised representatives, but after that it was her own responsibility. One thing she was determined to do was to move the money out of any morally dubious ventures. Perhaps she would invest some of it in Dryden's business instead. She smiled to herself at the thought of how annoyed her father would be by that.
The accountant had offices in the business quarter of the city, some distance from the palace, so she took a carriage rather than walking as she generally preferred. She was shown into a large chamber with mint-green plaster walls and dark wooden flooring. A dingy oil painting of her great-grandfather hung over the empty fireplace. At the far end a small, rodent-like man perched behind an enormous desk piled high with bundles of documents. A pair of uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs stood on the near side of the desk.
'Ah, Miss Fassa, how good of you to come. Sit down, sit down.'
She crossed the echoing floor and took a seat on one of the chairs. It proved to be as hard on the backside as it had looked. She hoped this wouldn't take long.
'Now, then, what can I do for you, Miss Fassa?'
She craned over the piles of documents at the accountant, who peered up at her through grimy spectacles.
'I thought I had explained in my note,' she said, a little too loudly. The room trembled with the echoes. Lowering her voice she went on, 'I wish to examine my investments so that I can more effectively manage the fund myself when I come of age.'
'Ah, yes, of course.' He rummaged amongst the piles of paper. 'Dear me, I was sure I asked my assistant to look them out for me. Please excuse me.'
He hopped off the chair and disappeared through a door that had been painted to match the walls. Carenza suppressed a shudder. He really was very small and whiskery; she had half-expected to see a long hairless pink tail protruding from the seat of his trousers.
She took advantage of his absence to flick through some of the piled documents, but could see nothing more contentious than an eviction notice for a tradesman who had failed to keep up the repayments on a loan. A few minutes later the accountant returned with a sheaf of papers tied up with string.
'So refreshing to find a girl, ah, I do beg your pardon, a young lady, who is interested in the details of the financial world. Still, I do hope you know what you are doing, miss. It would be a dreadful pity to end up destitute,' he spoke the word with a relish that made Carenza's skin crawl, 'through unwise investment.'
He handed her the documents.
'Please do not hesitate to ask me if there is anything you do not understand.'
She nodded.
'May I take these away with me? I don't wish to take up your valuable time...' In fact the sooner I get out of here, the better.
'Yes, yes, of course. I dare say it will take you a while to get to grips with all the details. Not that it makes much difference...'
'What do you mean?'
'Oh, I'm sorry, I have spoken out of turn, please forgive me-'
Carenza strode round to the accountant's side of the desk. The little man cowered on his chair.
'What makes no difference?' she said slowly and clearly.
'Well, I suppose you'll find out soon enough,' he quavered. 'The master is in Zaibach to secure you a husband.'
Folken sat at his desk and surveyed his new office. It was larger than most citizens' entire homes, taking up almost half a storey of one of the towers of the imperial citadel. One long side of the room was an unbroken expanse of full-length windows looking out over the city, though the black velvet curtains were currently drawn; Folken preferred his visitors not to be distracted by the view. The blue-grey walls were bare apart from a portrait of Emperor Dornkirk draped with the Zaibach flag on the far wall. The underfloor heating had been turned down to a level which was not quite cold enough for discomfort. All in all, it did exactly what it was designed to do: promote an aura of power around the Strategos, a position newly created by the emperor for his young protégé.
The door opened, and Folken immediately turned his attention to the paperwork on his desk. A man in the short black robe of an initiate of the Third Circle approached, bowing low.
'Meiden Fassa, a delegate from the Asturian Guild of Merchant Adventurers, is here to see you, Lord Strategos.' The sorceror could not quite keep the tone of contempt out of his voice when he named Folken's title. The former prince of Fanelia's rise through their ranks had been meteoric, and his promotion to Dornkirk's right hand man still rankled with many of the old guard.
Folken nodded but did not look up from the document he was scanning.
'Show him in.'
When the sorceror had retreated to the door, Folken put his paperwork to one side and sat erect in his chair. He knew he made an intimidating impression, even seated, with his body wrapped in the high-collared cloak of a Sorceror of the First Circle and his already great height exaggerated by his spiked hair. It gave him no pleasure to control men through fear; it simply spared him the more unpleasant task of punishing them, since they were too afraid to disobey him in the first place.
A thin bearded olive-skinned man in voluminous robes shuffled in, bowing and clutching a red fez to his chest. He was accompanied by a pale round-faced man in clerk's robes, carrying a pile of small boxes.
'My Lord Strategos, such a honour to meet you,' the merchant murmured, making as if to kneel.
'You may stand,' Folken said. 'I like to be able to see a man's face when I talk to him.'
He straightened, and Folken had the feeling he had seen him before, but could not say where or when.
'Lord Strategos, please accept the greetings and good wishes of His Majesty King Grava Efud Aston of Asturia, and with them these paltry tokens of my government's esteem.'
He gestured sharply to his companion, who held out the pile of boxes. The merchant handed them one by one to Folken, who politely lifted each lid and expressed his appreciation for each item.
'This last,' said the merchant, taking a small box from the folds of his robes, 'is a product of our own manufactories in Palas. As you may know, we have a long tradition of fine glassmaking, and the adoption of your innovative mass-production processes in our own workshops has been of inestimable value to our balance of trade.'
Folken accepted the box. It was very heavy for its size, which was hardly bigger than his left fist. He placed it carefully on the desk in front of him and lifted the lid. Nestling in red velvet was a sphere of glass, with a minute model of the royal palace of Asturia at its heart.
'This is of course a unique piece, made especially for your lordship. A paperweight, you see; both decorative and useful.'
'So I see.' If one could call such a tawdry bauble decorative.
'I thought your lordship would particularly appreciate the fine aerial view of the palace,' the merchant added.
Folken examined the paperweight more closely. His military training immediately took in the high walls, the impressive water-gate - and the wide courtyards, ideal landing spots for the new flying guymelefs he had designed. He looked back at the merchant, who smiled back ingratiatingly.
'This is a handsome gift, indeed. You perhaps hope for some favour in return?'
'Oh no, Lord Strategos, the thought never crossed my mind. Though now you mention it, there is something - though it would be as much a gift to you as a favour to myself-'
'Get to the point, Asturian.'
'Lord Strategos, I humbly suggest a political union between my house and the mighty Zaibach Empire. My daughter is...'
Folken stared at him. Beneath his cloak he unconsciously clenched his mechanical hand into a fist.
'Marriage? Is that what you are proposing?'
'I-it is traditional, my lord-'
Folken laughed; a hollow, bitter sound.
'Marriage is out of the question.'
'My lord-?'
'Get out.'
'Y-yes, my lord.' He backed away, bowing low.
'Wait! What did you say your name was?'
'Fassa, my lord. Meiden Fassa.'
Folken nodded, and gestured to the man to leave. The merchant and his companion shuffled out, bowing almost to the ground.
'Shall I show the next visitor in, Lord Strategos?' asked the sorceror.
'Give me a few minutes alone. I have important matters to consider.'
'Of course, my lord.' He bowed and left the room.
Folken shrugged back his cloak and rested his mechanical arm on the desk, using the fingers of his good hand to massage the muscles around his collarbone where the device clamped to his flesh. Fassa, Fassa. Where had he heard that name before?
...my name is Carenza Ailea Fassa...please, just call me Carenza; I'm not a noblewoman, only a merchant's daughter...
Gods, no. Could fate be so cruel? The girl whom he could not marry when he was a prince of Fanelia, now offered to him when he was no longer fit to be a husband? His steel-clawed hand closed around the glass paperweight, crushing it to powdery fragments.
Later, when the pain of old memories had eased a little, he went back to his research notes. Perhaps there was something in his fate equations that would explain this peculiar coincidence. He recalled a science book from the Mystic Moon that had found its way to Gaea; it described a theory that the presence of an observer changes the thing observed. Could he be the source of his own twisted destiny? It demanded further investigation.