At nearly two in the morning, I just remembered I hadn't posted this yet. I'm tired, cranky, and badly in need of that nine-day vacation I'm just about to start. Be glad I finish these things ahead of time.

At least, it was two in the morning when I uploaded this to the doc manager. I never posted the chapter. Whoops. Blame my 2AM brain. But hey, on the bright side, you won't have to wait as long for the next chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Stormclouds

The moment Cardin sat up in his bed, Russell started and went for the door. Cardin didn't stop him. A few moments later, Dove looked him over and followed after Russell. Sky looked tempted to go with them, but instead, he took a deep breath and sat on his bed, facing Cardin.

"So, what happened yesterday?"

Sky might be working for Cinder, or for any other of the Dukes, but he decides it's safe to tell him. "Long story short, I'm screwed. Cinder doesn't have any use for me anymore, and she told me to my face that she'll have me killed."

Sky's eyes widened, and he went pale. If he really is working for Cinder, he far underestimated his acting talent. "What are we going to do?"

Cardin felt his eyes narrow at Sky's self-inclusion. "Nothing I can do at the moment. I don't think my father will be in any position to help, and she has every politician in the city under her thumb." He snorted and said, "The only reason I'm still alive is she wants to make a game of it."

With a furrowed brow, Sky leaned over and rested his chin on his hands. "There's no point to a game if you can't lose. Maybe there's a way you can beat her."

Suspicion squirms in his gut like an eel. He's half-tempted to pin him against the wall, but he probably shouldn't have done that with Russell. Nothing to gain from it. "People like Cinder don't care whether or not the game is fair. She wants to win, so she'll make rules that guarantee it."

Sky nods and stands up. "Want breakfast? I can bring something up for you if you want."

Anger and suspicion flare up in him. It must've shown on his face for a moment, as Sky suddenly backed away from him. The anger vanished, as he realized that poison would hardly be a spectacular death. Whatever Cinder had planned, she wanted to make a show of it, and Sky's suggestion to bring him a meal was likely his attempt to help Cardin avoid assassination.

"Thanks. I'll take you up on it."

Sky smiled uneasily. "Anything you want?"

"Just pile it with whatever. I skipped dinner last night, right?"

"Yeah." The smile vanished, then appeared again. "I'll be back in a few minutes. And, uh, I'll tell Russell you just need some space."

Cardin nodded. While he was waiting for breakfast, he took out his Scroll. He had two message, one sent at around four in the morning from Jacques, the other from an unknown number that came an hour later. Jacques' message had a veritable treasure trove of data attached, not only the raw logistics, but broken up by teams. When he scrolled down to Team CMEN, however, he found himself disappointed. They had only requisitioned a couple clips for Emerald's submachine pistols, an extra case of rounds, and two Dust motors.

The motors, however, caught his eye. They were too big for any kind of weapon, but too small for most machines. On that list, Jacques had a note directing him to a different file. It contained a picture of the specific motor, along with the prosthetic leg it powered. Another note directed him to medical records for a Marcus White, but the attached photo looked like a younger version of Mercury. The age and date of operation roughly lined up with Mercury's age.

Sky came back with breakfast. While wolfing down scrambled eggs and bacon, he browsed the rest of the files, but found nothing of interest. Once he encrypted the files and moved them next to the rest of his data, he deleted the message and all its attachments. Only then did he notice the second message.

It was from General Ironwood, a request to meet him in his flagship for a game of chess. A Bullhead will arrive for him at ten. With some trepidation, Cardin checked the time. Nine-fifty. He bolts out of bed, throws on the nearest clothing on hand, which happens to be his armor, and sprints through Beacon grounds, using his Semblance the whole way there for the extra speed.

At the docks, a taller version of Weiss stood in front of the Bullhead, tapping her foot and checking a watch. She looks up and frowns as he approaches.

"You're late," she said.

"Apologies," Cardin said between breaths, "Just got the message."

The woman tsked and waved for him to enter the Bullhead. Cardin follows after her, and his hackles rise when he sees six security droids, the new Atlesian Knight-200 model, sitting at ease around two seats. Their plastic exteriors shine in the morning sun, and their guns are rigidly slung over their shoulders. Empty black faces stare forward, swiveling left to right every five seconds.

The woman took one empty seat and gestured towards the other.

"This seems like overkill," Cardin said.

"I agree, but the General insisted that I escort you to the battleship as a matter of courtesy. You are, after all, a Ducal heir, so every courtesy should be extended."

Cardin blinked. "No, I mean the Knights."

"Oh. Well, you never know what the White Fang might try to do."

As they approached the battleship soaring over Vale's outskirts, one of the docks slid open, and the pilot carefully navigated inside. Once the Bullhead was latched into place and the dock was sealed, the Bullhead doors swung open, and the Knights filed out. They line up at attention outside the Bullhead, and more 200 models join them, extending the rows of robots to a door at the other end of the room. The woman led him past the robots, through a security depot where he was forced to leave behind his armor plating and his belt, and down a series of narrow corridors towards the front of the ship.

General Ironwood's room is right below the bridge, with a window that looks down at the landscape in front of them. His desk, the chairs, bookshelves, planter, light fixtures, and window frames are all done in stark, gleaming steel, rigid, straight lined, every surface meeting at right angles. Even the fern growing next to the window is immaculately trimmed and ramrod straight. Cardin's eyes flit over the book's titles, mostly an index of military protocols, but nearer the bottom there's a few biographies of past generals, some history books, and a guidebook on chess theory, written and signed by Ozpin, thicker than any two books combined.

There are two chairs reserved. The woman took the one in the corner, leaving Cardin the seat directly opposite Ironwood. As he sits, Ironwood takes out his chessboard, a metal case with squares etched into its surface, and sets up the pieces, giving Cardin the black.

"I enjoy chess quite a bit," Ironwood said as he nudged his king into the exact center of its square, "But Ozpin is… a futile opponent. It's always a pleasure to play against someone that doesn't win the moment I move a chess piece."

Cardin pushed a pawn forward. "I doubt I'll be much of a challenge for you. I know little more than the rules and the general strategy."

Once the pawns and knights are pushed forward, their bishops start darting back and forth, probing for an opening. When Cardin's forced to retreat, Ironwood castles, and Cardin mimics the move.

As they traded pieces, Cardin debated telling Ironwood everything, Cinder, the aura transfer machine, the rigged Vytal Festival, which might get him more information about the secret project and why Cinder wanted it, but he had no proof to back up his claims, and even if he did, he doubted Ironwood would let him have international secrets. Cinder might also accelerate her plans if word spread about her ultimate goal.

So instead, he asks, "How has the deployment gone of the new models?"

Ironwood smiles a bit and pushes a rook forward. "The 200s have been fantastic. No more creaking and clanking for the soldiers to complain about, and there's been surprisingly few glitches given they're using a new operating system. They're also connected to a terminal on board, so any software problems can be resolved by the team here."

Cardin nodded and pinned the rook with a bishop, but Ironwood moved a pawn within striking distance and forced the bishop away.

"I watched your battle against ALMD. Well done."

Cardin shrugged. "Kind of a let down. They wasted all their Dust, and they were unskilled."

"Still, that was a well-timed strike against their leader, as if you knew from experience how long Gravity Dust lasts in a battle."

With a smile, Cardin asked, "What, asking for Gravity Dust wasn't enough of a hint?"

Ironwood chuckled and put his king in check. "Don't worry, I don't intend on telling my teams. They need to learn for themselves how to study an opponent and use that knowledge to that advantage."

Cardin wasn't sure if it was a subtle dig on his perusal of confidential documents, but it wasn't worth confronting. Two of Cardin's pawns fell in quick succession, but Cardin managed to swap his last knight for one of Ironwood's rooks.

"Penny seems quite impressive," Cardin said. "I expect to see her in the singles bracket."

Ironwood tensed, a reaction that Cardin noted and wondered about. The General said, "She has met every expectation we had, and I look forward to her continued success."

"I won't hold back against her."

"And I wouldn't ask." Ironwood forced himself to relax, leaning back in his chair and scanning the board. After some hesitation, he brought out his queen. Cardin harassed it with a bishop, but he couldn't keep it under fire for long.

Another ten minutes goes by as Cardin and Ironwood trade pieces. Though the game is a far way from over, Cardin can feel himself slipping farther and farther behind as he loses on the exchanges. Soon, he's down to a flimsy wall of pawns, a lone rook, and a pinned bishop.

"If you don't mind my asking, what is your take on the current political situation in Vale?" Ironwood pushed his queen down to check the king. "I've heard Ozpin's take, but he doesn't have the inside look on ducal politics that you have.

Cardin pushed his king out of harm's way, which let a knight gouge a hole in his pawn wall. "In a word, ugly. I'm sure you know Cinder's been pulling the strings lately."

Ironwood grimaced and took another pawn. "She pushed to have Atlas troops stationed here, then scattered them across Vale. I'm getting eaten alive by the press back home for it."

Without any protection on his rook, Cardin was forced to try to check Ironwood's king, only to lose the piece a few turns later.

"I don't know exactly how much influence she has." He moved his bishop back to protect his king, knowing it won't be enough. "Duke Orgen's in her pocket for sure. Morado, Virdt, and Aurem appear to be going along with her plans. Cirilian and Montblanc are working with her, but I suspect that would change depending on what happens with the Winchester title.

"Do you think there's a way to break the Dukes apart?"

"As things stand? Not a chance. If one were to fall out of line, the others could crush them through Council votes. If the tariff on iron dropped, for example, House Virdt would be ruined. They would have to break away together, and arranging that without alerting Cinder and giving her time to counter it would be impossible."

General Ironwood frowned and looked at the board. His fingers trailed on a few pieces before he pushed his king forward. "Well then, what can we do?"

Knowing that checkmate was imminent, Cardin focused on forcing a stalemate. He sent a pawn forward, forcing Ironwood to take it. "Find out what her plans are first. She has a goal in mind, and we can't stop her from getting it until we can learn what steps she'll take." He sent the king forward, aiming towards the center of the board.

Cardin holds his breath and watches Ironwood closely, hoping for a hint of unease or suspense to give away knowledge of her plans, but the General remained impassive, plotting out his next move. He sent his king closer to Cardin's planning to push Cardin's piece to an edge. "Easier said than done, I'm afraid. I don't have any sources in Vale, and Ozpin hasn't had any luck either. She has far too many resources and too few collaborators to question."

When Cardin was forced towards an edge, he picked the one where a bishop sliced the far column in half. If Ironwood wasn't paying attention, Cardin might be able to force a stalemate.

Again, he feels tempted to tell what he knows, but what would they do? Their machine is evidently well-protected if Cinder, with all her resources, can't find it. Perhaps part of her plan was to force him onto Ozpin's side and expose him to whatever secrets he had, or perhaps she was hoping to catch some change in Ozpin's security.

"I can't help there either. My father and I can't move against her without risking the destruction of our family."

"Then we're at a standstill." Ironwood's rook and king forced Cardin's last piece farther and farther back, until he could only move sideways. He kept his king close to the bishop, waiting for a single mistake.

"I was hoping you would have some way to break that standstill."

The General chuckled and leaned over the board. After some thought, he slid his bishop aside, blocking Cardin's stalemate plan. "Funny, I was hoping the same thing. Still, I appreciate you coming forward and offering your assistance, albeit through a roundabout channel."

"I needed a way to make this discreet. I had justifiable reasons to call Mr. Schnee, and even then, I was watched." After a pause, Cardin said, "Cinder knows about this meeting. I don't know exactly how, but I was discovered."

"A Semblance, maybe?"

Cardin shook his head. "She had a recording of one of my messages, and I wasn't on speaker. I suspect I was sold out by my teammates."

Cardin kept count of each time he slid his king. He had only gotten up to twenty when his king was forced into the corner. He made his last move, and the rook slid into place, securing the checkmate.

"Well played."

"You're just saying that to be polite."

The General reached under his desk and took out a metal case. "Well, how about a consolation prize?" He unlatched it and revealed two phials of purple Dust, gently glowing through the glass casing. Cardin hefted one and turned it in his hand. Jacques must have sent the specs of his other acquisitions to Ironwood, as the phial was a perfect fit for his mace.

"Are you sure you want to give a student from another academy such a powerful weapon for the tournament?" he asked in jest.

In a grave tone, Ironwood said, "I have faith in my students' capabilities. It will take more than some Dust to defeat them."

"Well, don't complain to me when I win." He closed up the case and stood to shake Ironwood's hand. "Thank you for everything, General. I will stay in touch."

The Weiss-like woman was still standing outside of Ironwood's office when he opened the door. She gave him a low bow and fell in behind as he made his way back to the Bullhead.

"Winter," Ironwood called, "While you're at Beacon, could you get the revised security detail for the Colosseum? Ozpin forgot to send them to me."

"Yes sir. I will inform him at once."

Cardin turned around for a closer look. "Winter?" he asked. "I feel like I've heard that name before."

She frowned. "I am an Atlas Specialist serving directly under Ironwood. You may be thinking of someone else."

Once the Bullhead returned to Beacon, Winter bid him farewell and went back to the flagship. Cardin lingered in the docks, watching the sun climb over Beacon's tower, strangely reluctant to return. He scuffed his feet on the stone tile, watching students stroll across the campus grounds in pairs and packs.

"Is there something you're looking for, young man?" the pilot called out. Cardin turned and faced the old, thin man with wispy gray hair. His forehead was scrunched up, as though he were deep in thought, but his eyebrows were up near his hairline.

"I think I want to head into town," Cardin said hesitantly. "Maybe take a bit of a stroll."

"Ah. Getting nervous for tomorrow?"

"Not really." He couldn't stop the question from being answered honestly in his head, that all bets were off, Cinder was rigging the games, and if she wanted to make a spectacle of him, where better to do it than in Amity Colosseum, with a live audience watching all over the world. "Just got a bit of energy to burn."

The pilot chuckled. "Ah, to be young again. Hop in, I'll take you straight there."

Cardin felt himself at ease in the crowd. Perhaps it was in knowing where Cinder intended to set her stage, or maybe he was starting not to care anymore, but he didn't wait for a knife to his back, he no longer had his ear cocked for the whisper of cloak and dagger, his eyes roamed around, drinking in the cacophony of colors and bodies as people from all nations jostled and bustled in the thoroughfares, munching on street food and gawking at trinkets commemorating the Vytal Festival, not once watching for the glint of steel in a sleeve.

As the hours passed, he found himself straying into a less-travelled area. The crowd thinned, and the din of peddlers hawking their wares and conversations clamoring over one another faded to a distant buzz in the back of his ears. It wouldn't be for long, servers in aprons were setting up chairs and tables along the riverside, and porters were hauling barrels of ale and beer into the taverns, preparing for the night's festivities. Garbagemen were sweeping the last remnants of the previous night out of the alley, kicking awake any sleeping bodies they found and calling morticians for the odd blood-stained corpse. From the nonchalant way they swept around the blood, it hadn't been the first they'd come across, and with the way the Vytal Festival was being drawn out, it wouldn't be the last.

After another hour of ambling through the area, Cardin came to a sudden stop. It wasn't until he looked up and saw the unlit neon sign proclaiming "Junior's" that he realized why. A quick glance at his scroll showed him it was just past three, hours before the nightclub's doors would open, but the doors were propped open, and two tuxedoed men were watching through their red-tinted glasses as more goons hauled barrels into the club. Another stream went in through the back, carrying crates of more expensive liquor.

All the overhead lights were turned on, fully illuminating the nightclub. Without the lines of red Dust-light, the floors lost the illusion of levitation, showing instead they rested on clear fiberglass pillars. A full cleaning crew in suits vacuumed the carpets, mopped floors, hauled trash bags out the back, and brushed the upholstery. More men stocked the bar, or cleaned the restrooms, dusted the lights, and ran checks on the acoustics.

Junior was in the center of the club, directing the flow of booze and cleaners. When he spotted Cardin, he said, "Hey, we don't open until–" The objection died on his lips when he recognized Cardin. His shoulders tensed, and he nodded towards the bar. Junior poured him a whiskey on the rocks, and Cardin admired the perfect sphere of ice in the glass before draining it in one swallow.

"What brings you here?" Junior asked.

"Honestly, I don't know. My feet, I guess."

Junior drummed his fingers on the bar. Several goons walked up to him, asking about orders and catering, but the mob boss waved them off.

"How's business?" Cardin asked.

"Awful. I've got more people in here than ever, but all the side business has dried up. You'd figure that, with all these people here, it'd be a perfect time for some robbery, but with all the Huntsmen here, the police aren't swamped like they should be. Worse, all the infighting between houses has stopped cold."

Cardin's hand tightened around the glass. "All of it?"

"I haven't had a request for info in weeks. No bribes, no blackmail, no intercepted letters or nothing." With a sigh, Junior took a glass out from under the bar and wiped it with a rag. "Well, at least the gang wars have stopped too."

"Since when?" Cardin asked, with a sinking feeling in his gut.

One of Junior's eyebrows rose. "Willing to pay for that info?"

Cardin slapped a few lien cards on the counter. Junior scooped them up and eyed them disdainfully. "Really? That doesn't even cover your shot."

"I'm the only one buying info, right? Supply and demand."

Junior grumbled as he put away the cards. "I suppose it's no secret. Cinder scooped up every last one, though what she did with them, nobody's telling. All I know is they aren't in Vale anymore."

"What about yours?"

Junior shook his head. "She asked, but my boys were too smart to take her money." With a chuckle, he added in a whisper, "Or too stupid."

"Maybe they just like their boss."

"Maybe. Gods know they've stuck around far longer than I thought. Even the twins are still hanging around, though at this rate, I'll be closing doors by the end of the month."

"It's really that bad?"

Junior snorted. "Kid, do you have any idea how much it costs to keep a hundred gangsters employed?"

"Then go legit. Downsize and just be a nightclub."

"I have too many enemies. Even with all the gangs gone, one of the Dukes would sweep me under the rug given half the chance, what with all the dirt I have on everyone." He shook his head. "Everyone except the one person that matters anymore."

"Cinder."

"Exactly. I tried digging up what I could, but every paper trail goes cold in Mistral or Atlas. It's pretty obvious her papers were forged, but whoever did it made it impossible to prove. Birth certificate, school records, doctor visits, it's all there."

"Same dead end I ran into."

"And what's worse," Junior went on, "I can't even figure out how she's got the Dukes on a leash. I mean sure, Montblanc and Cirilian fell in line after the big four made their allegiances plain, and the smaller Dukes after them, but how did she get those first four?"

"Through Duke Orgen, I think." Cardin settled into the chair and gestured for a refill. Grumbling to himself, Junior obliged. "I first met her at a dinner party months back, as a guest of Duke Orgen. It wasn't long after that she rose to power."

"And she's tied to Duke Orgen, how exactly?"

"No idea."

"Great." Junior poured himself a whiskey from the same bottle, no ice, and sipped at it. "So, you're really not one of hers, are you?"

"Not anymore. She's decided she has no further use for me." Cardin grimaced. "She probably found that transfer machine on her own."

"Wait, hold up. What transfer machine?"

After Cardin explained the theory he and Jacques Schnee had shared, Junior came around the bar and sat down. He drained his shot in one go and poured another, leaving the bottle within Cardin's reach.

"Damn. Who the hell knows what she could do with something like that. Could she absorb one Semblance? Two? Ten? Fifty?"

"And she's willing to flood the city with Grimm to get her hands on it."

Junior contemplated the rippling surface of his whiskey and rubbed at his short, stubbly beard. "Remember how I said none of my boys went with her? Well, I sent a few."

"You wanted to see what she was doing with them."

Junior nodded. "I wasn't sure if I could tell you or not. If word of this got out, I'd be a dead man for sure."

"Welcome to the club."

Junior cleared his throat. "Anyways, I had some bugs and tracking devices placed on them, but they all went silent a few days later. I thought at first that they had got caught, but then I noticed where the signal had vanished."

Cardin's hackles rose, and he uneasily stroked the side of his glass. "Where?"

"The Grimmlands," Junior said in a dry, sour voice. Shaking his head, he added, "Needless to say, none of those boys returned. I never even got a word out of them. Just, gone."

Raising the glass to his lips, Cardin slammed the whiskey shot, clenching a fist as the liquid seared its way down his throat. He set the glass down with a hearty thunk, upended his wallet, letting the lien cards spill all over the counter, and left.