Amelia’s camera focused on the temple square which overlooked the Harbor of Teurastus, she exposed for the reflective light on the cobble streets, and the broad shadows of the Phanist Temples cast the fountain in the center in shadow. She stayed opposite the temple in the square. Along the chain link fence on the perimeter of the docks, families stood in line, waiting to get to the doors of the temple for a hot meal. It was early in the afternoon, and the clouds had begun to clear after heavy rains in the morning. The symbol of an ax was on the face of the Phanist temple. Amelia took a few photos, then turned around for a shot of the line. Dozens of faces, tired, poor. She crossed the wet blue cobblestone streets.

  Amelia’s camera shuttered, and light burst from the flash. She lowered the camera, letting it hang around her neck. She turned to a woman in line, “I’m a reporter for the Emerald Gazette. Do you mind answering a few questions?” Amelia said. The woman shook her head, and Amelia moved along down the line. Very few were in the mood to talk.

  She stopped looking for sources and took a seat on a bench that looked out at the docks. She watched longshoremen unload ships filled with heavy cargo, walking along thin gangways. Some of the workers looked very young, fourteen, maybe even twelve.

  Amelia opened her notepad and started writing her own observations when she heard the sound of heavy engines roar down the street. Militiamen held on at the back of trucks with machine guns. They passed the temple, their guns pointed to the sky. She was reminded of Agrippa, and remembered that Greene’s Cafe was only a few blocks away. She finished scribbling her notes and got up. She walked down the street, passing an old convenience store, a boarded up restaurant, and a post office when she came to the storefront. She peered through the window and saw Nicholas June come downstairs and greet a man at a table. He was a short, fat man with a driver's cap on and a tiny cup of espresso in front of him. He stared into his cup full of heavy dread. Nicholas took a seat across from him and ordered a cup of espresso for himself. He glanced at the newspaper which Francis had picked out, Amelia saw that it was a copy of the Emerald Gazette. The two men began to speak to one another.

  She looked to the door and saw a man with a rifle standing guard. The guard looked back at Amelia, “I'm a reporter,” she said, “I was hoping to ask the candidate for an interview?”

  The guard watched her carefully. Amelia stepped closer, the guard said nothing, so she went inside the cafe and took a table beside the window, eavesdropping on the two men.

  “He’ll stop at nothing to see me hanged, that’s just par for the course…” Nicholas chuckled, a waiter brought Nicholas his cup of espresso, he thanked the waiter and turned back to the other man, “I’m sure you don’t have a lot of time, what can I do for you?”

  The longshoreman spoke with a nasal voice, “Well, uh, Mr. June I’ll cut right to the chase. Our pay has been cut by twenty percent, and hardly any of us can get work. We can’t afford to live like this anymore. I’m running out of options, Nick. I can’t keep telling people to sit tight until you and your folks figure its convenient to do something about this. I’ve got somebody whos wife is sick, she could die.”

  “I understand. I know it’s been uncomfortable in the past few weeks, has the mans wife seen a doctor yet?”

  The man shook his head, “They know they can’t afford the drugs they’ll need for it.”

  “Alright,” Nicholas said, “I’ll call our senator friends and see if we can’t figure something out for your folks.”

  “Thanks, Nick. Anything helps.”

  Nicholas got up with the longshoreman to shake hands. Nicholas took out a small envelope and put it against his chest,” for the woman who's sick… The longshoreman thanked him then left the cafe, and Nicholas sat back down to finish his espresso. Amelia approached his table, “Nicholas June, my name is Amelia Graves.”

  “From the Gazette?” Nicholas asked, “Are you his daughter?”

  Amelia shook her head, “No, Atticus Graves is my uncle,” she said, “I have been interested in speaking with you, to see if I could write about your campaign.”

  “And who’s idea was that?” he asked.

  Before Amelia could respond, staffers around the cafe broke into a panic. A truck roared by the cafe with men aiming rifles at the windows. She dove to the ground beside Nicholas when gunshots followed the commotion. A window shattered, and glass showered the cafe. She watched the truck fly down the street. The men were in green uniforms, she immediately recognized their uniforms.

  The shooting ended as quickly as it started, people still hid under the tables and chairs. Amelia slowly peeked her head over the table to get another glimpse of the culprits. Nicholas waited another moment before he got up, “Is everyone alright?” he asked. Nobody appeared to be hurt, staffers got up and brushed themselves off. Some rushed up to the window to get a look at the culprits as they raced down the streets, “Are you alright?” Nicholas asked Amelia. Amelia didn’t feel any pain, only shock, she nodded, “I think that you ought to get home, its not safe here ma’am.”

  A man and a woman carried the armed guard into the cafe, the man wailed in pain, clutching his abdomen. Amelia sat upright and watched them carry the guard to a table. Staff of the cafe ran to the telephone to call the police. Voices shouted every which way, Amelia's eyes were focused on the blood dripping from over the table.

  “Somebody get a car, we need to get this man to a hospital!” Nicholas shouted. Amelia looked at her hands, blood flowed between her fingers, cut by small shards of glass which she carefully took out of her hand. She wrapped her hand in a tablecloth and climbed up to sit in a chair. The man on the table lost consciousness, Amelia watched them look for signs of life, pressing towels on his wound. People were gathering outside, Amelia could hear pedestrians asking one another for the story.

  Nicholas held the guard close, and the woman said something to him, then helped Nicholas gently rest the guard on the table. Nicholas walked away from his dying comrade and sat down at a table adjacent to Amelia, “It isn't fair,” Nicholas said.

  “I… I know,” Amelia said back.

  Nicholas looked at her, “Who sent you here?”

  “No one, I came on my own. I was hoping some longshoremen might be here to answer questions about the Queen’s soup kitchens.”

  Nicholas laid his head down on the table, “You’ll have to come another day.”

  Amelia nodded, the white tablecloth in her hands was turning red, “Has anyone made threats of violence before?”

  “Who hasn't,” Nicholas said, “It was a week ago, I think, that an old man came… He wanted us to get someone armed outside, just in case.”

  “Wolf Bourgeois?”

  “How did you know?”

  “My uncle has friends in the Renaissance Party. I heard that he was seen around here before. I only know he's old.”

  “Word gets around faster and faster,” Nicholas said, “He was leaving for Temples, going north. I told him to be ready for the heat and he said the same to me…”

  Amelia stood up, noticing her camera lay broken on the ground. She took out a card and gave it to Nicholas, “If you decide you'd like to talk, please don't hesitate to call.”

  ***

  The ceiling of the senate chamber was painted blue, depicting a giant eye of the Lord Phantom, overlooking men and women who worked in silk robes loyally in his iris. It was a wide rectangular room lit by sunlight coming from the windows on the right wall. On the floor were one hundred wooden chairs organized around the Speaker and Prime Ministers high rise desks. The Speaker was presiding for the debate concerning Olivia Apollo’s veto of the Fair Trade and Labor Relations Act, Finch was yet to be seen. Above the senate chamber was a peanut gallery filled with lobbyists, economists, businessmen, and other statesmen. Olivia watched from the royal observation room, a small wooden room blocked off from the rest of the peanut gallery. The Tykan flag at the back of the room hung from a pole mounted on the chiseled marble walls, its faces white with green crosses. The flag leaned crooked, rightward.

  Mangled voices shouted over one another in the room, the speaker swung his gavel again and again. Chairs scuttled around as senators rose to speak or insult one another. The floor was supposed to be dedicated to Harlem Gunther for his opening argument. It was at that moment that Alfred Finch swung open the doors to the senate chamber. The chamber fell quiet. The speaker swung his gavel once more, “Gentlemen, the Prime Minister has entered the Senate Chamber, and it is Harlem Gunthers designated time to speak.”

  Finch stepped up to his desk and sat below the hanging flag. Senator Gunther stood at the front row of seats, “Gentlemen, I think we all know that this veto is a waste of our time, it doesn’t have any legal legitimacy, the law saying she can do this is forty years old!”

  Kane Bell stood up, “It was the will of Lady Adeline!”

  “Lady Adeline did not make the Senate, why should we abide by her laws which have not been ratified by this body?” Gunther said. He threw up his hands, “What more do I need to say?”

  “Kaiser Xavier Apollo had entrusted her majesty with the duties of the Kaiser in his stead while he fights in the Southern Peninsula. He was acting in accordance with this law, it’s clear that the Apollo’s believe this law is still in effect,” Senator Kane Bell said.

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  “We haven’t heard anything from Xavier about this, he’s gone silent, who are you to assume he is okay with ultimate betrayal from his spouse? Because that is exactly what this is, Mr. Bell. I hope the rest of your party can put aside their political agenda and prioritize the stability of this senate.”

  “He left her majesty in charge in his stead, that is all,” Bell said before sitting down. The speaker slammed the gavel and Gunther continued.

  “Did you not hear me, senator? We shouldn’t ignore the recent news that has come about regarding her majesty Olivia Apollo,” he raised a copy of the Emerald Gazette. It’s front page plastered with a photo of the Queen and a headline reading, “OLIVIA APOLLO ACCUSED OF SEX SCANDAL.” Gasps filled the senate chamber from the gallery, “Is this a person we should allow to run things? We should never tolerate this kind of whoring from a Kaiser!” he said before sitting down. The room fell silent as the doors swung open once more, the Chamberlain of the Apollo house entered the room. He carried with him a copy of the FTLR and an envelope with the Kaiser’s seal. The speaker called out to him, “Chamberlain, for what purpose are you entering this chamber?”

  The man held up the copy of the bill, revealing the signature of Xavier himself, “I have been ordered to deliver this bill, signed by the hand of our sovereign. He has asked that I also read aloud a letter addressed to the senate.”

  Finch gestured to the center of the chamber, “The floor is yours, Chamberlain. What words does our have for us?”

  The chamberlain stepped up to a podium and turned to face the general body of the Senate. He held the letter in front of himself and read aloud, “Gentlemen of the Second Imperial Senate, I address you through this letter as your sovereign, Xavier Apollo the Second. Along with this letter I have sent my copy of the Fair Trade and Labor Relations Act with my signature and royal seal. In times when our legislation frays and we begin to struggle to find a way through, it is the duty of the Kaiser to promote progress. By overwriting this veto, the Apollo family recognizes my sovereignty over the Tykan Empire. In the interest of cooperation, the Kaiser shall not interfere unnecessarily in the affairs of his people's elected government, which is why I believe this veto was a mistake. My regards, signed by Xavier Apollo the Second…”

  Immediately as the chamberlain lowered the letter the senate erupted into chaos. Half of the room pounded their fists on the table with glee, the other shouted condemnations. Olivia’s heart sank. she thought. She noticed Finch was looking up at her, she scowled at the Prime Minister. Then she watched Senator Kane Bell stand up, “We have a legal process, Mr. Speaker!” he shouted, “We must follow our own procedure!”

  The speaker swung his gavel, “Silence! Order!”

  Olivia felt dizzy, and she got up from her seat. She left the observation room behind and sat down on a bench in the hallway just outside. She thought. The senate surely would have to debate the subject further, there was no telling when they would finally come to a conclusion…

  ***

  The White Clovers held their meetings at a coffeehouse in West Yorkshire. Amelia left her apartment at five o’clock and got on the subway to the West End Station. The train arrived at its destination forty five minutes later, and Amelia took a taxi to the “Coffee Kytekia.” It was a large building, taking up nearly an entire block. There were armored vehicles and men in full militia uniform with rifles, they leaned against the brick wall of the beer hall and smoked cigarettes. Amelia got out of the cab at the front of the beer hall. The guard at the door nonchalantly lifted his rifle, it pointed at her abdomen.

  “I’m here to see Rickon Agrippa,” she told the guard, there was a look of surprise on his face, he gently lowered the rifle, “My name is Amelia Graves.”

  The man looked at Amelia’s hands which were wrapped in bandages, then back up at her eyes, “You write for the Gazette?” he asked, Amelia nodded. The guard nodded and opened the door, “Welcome to the Coffee Kytekia, madam.”

  Amelia walked into the building and found a wide floor space filled with round tables seating at least seven people each. Nearly two thousand people could fit in the room. Pillars on each wall of the beer hall supported galleries and the roof, which several art-deco styled chandeleirs hung. At the far end of the hall was a small stage, she saw the Senate candidate for the Renaissance Party, James Knowles, giving a speech.

  Green banners with the Renaissance Party symbol hung from the darkwood pillars behind him. Many of the gentlemen in the room wore tricorn hats with shamrock plumes and listened attentively to the candidate, “The Tykan nations interests should never be determined or controlled by outsiders, no foreign nation should have that right. Colslavia is for the Colslavs, Cryta for the Crytins, and Tyka to the Tykans!” The room erupted with applause, and Amelia walked behind the pillars slowly around the hall, moving toward the stage. At the front of the room, just before the stage, she noticed Captain Nolan and Agrippa at a table together.

  James Knowles continued, “The working classes know this, but the liberals in our Senate continue to deny this fundamental truth. Our people are being suffocated by the failings of our elected leaders, there must be a change. And I will say what the liberals are afraid to: Something must be done to stop this ongoing invasion of alien nations!” another break for applause, and Knowles continued, “You are seeing the results of a weak leadership not only here in our senate, but the tragic example of the Colslavs. They believed in their liberal regime, and now the Wherric menace has raped their women, killed children, babies have been ripped from their mothers arms. The case of Colslavia should teach us that this year we must make a better choice. The barbaric Wherrics and the parasite of the Calvish must be expelled from this nation in totality! Above all, as the literal meaning of the term already indicates, Tykan culture is exclusively Tykan; it is not Wherric, it is not Calvish. As long as we hold our nation with the high reverence it deserves, then the Tykan nation will benefit all the more. May the Lord Phantom protect us, everything for Tyka!”

  “Hurrah!” the men shouted, raising their glasses of ale. Amelia found herself in the corner of the house, only a few feet from the stage and the table with party officers. Knowles pointed to Agrippa, and the man got up from the table. He stepped onto the stage and shook the candidates hand, they turned to the crowd and Agrippa raised Knowles hand in the air. “I want to give a warm welcome to our friends from the Renaissance Party. I’ve watched what the communists are trying to do. They’re in these streets and they’re scheming…” the hall was quiet, “I don’t mean to ruin the mood, we should have pride in our own strength, but we cannot lose sight of the importance of humility. Despite any of our values, no matter who is right or wrong in a fight, the guns and dollars decide. I believe the Renaissance Party knows this fact. Our families have worked hard their whole lives to build up our beautiful nation. So, we must be ready. The communists have antagonized us by taking up arms in the streets. One of our brothers were injured recently on patrol beside the communist headquarters. We promise that these red thugs will not attack us as they did at Greene’s cafe.”

  Amelia thought, Nevertheless Agrippa continued, “I believe we found a valuable ally in the Renaissance Party. Men with our values must be appreciated and supported, especially when they are in a contest with some of the darkest evil we have yet seen.”

  After Agrippa finished his speech, which took the better part of half an hour, they served the entire militia a hot meal, paid for on the dime of gentlemen such as Eugene Perry, Alfred Finch, and Ricard Agrippa’s inheritance. While the staff entered with dozens of plates at a time, Agrippa stepped off the stage and walked up to Amelia, “Hello darling! I didn’t expect to see you here, how has your reporting been?” He noticed her hands, “What happened to you?”

  Amelia held her hands together, “I uh, fell on broken glass.”

  Agrippa’s eyes widened, “You poor thing, are you alright?” he asked without waiting for an answer, “Everyone is seated over here, come with me.” He took her arm and she followed him to their table at the front of the beer hall. He pulled out a seat beside him and she sat down among the officers. “Amelia!” Captain Nolan said, “What brings you here?”

  “I came to see Ricard…” she faced Agrippa, “I was hoping to have a word in private.”

  “Is something wrong?” Agrippa asked, his voice low, he looked into her eyes for reassurance, of which he found none. The officers of the Renaissance Party continued their conversations about the world series, the war in Colslavia, and the scandalous stories coming out of the Apollo. Later that night, the Renaissance Party men went home, and Agrippa left the coffeehouse with Amelia. Together, they walked back toward the West End station under street lamps and past storefronts. Agrippa lit a cigarette during their walk, and Amelia turned to him. “You mentioned in your speech that there was a fight at the cafe.”

  “We were attacked.”

  “You were attacked…” Amelia said, she thought for a second. Agrippa stopped walking.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, nothing’s wrong.”

  “You look upset,” she could feel his hand move down her wrist, he touched the bandages softly, “Whatever it is, I want to talk about it. We don’t need to keep secrets.”

  “Who shot first, at Greene’s Cafe?” Amelia asked, and Ricard’s face spelled confusion.

  “We were attacked, Amelia,” he said with an awkward laugh, “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again. Amelia nodded, she continued walking toward the station with him. Agrippa chose to change the subject, “What stories have you been working on?”

  “I’ve been researching some of the Prime Minister’s private assets. It was brought to my attention that he is holding onto a significant amount of wealth. Money he shouldn’t have.”

  Amelia looked to him for comments, yet Agrippa said nothing.

  “You said you work for Mr. Eugene Perry, correct?”

  “Sure, but what does that matter?”

  “I think he may play a part in all of this. They’ve appeared together in public many times along the campaign trail. Finch seems like he has a personal relationship with some of the big businessmen.”

  “He’s the Prime Minister, of course he would.”

  “But I don’t know how one would explain his new ranch on Skalchi Island. He bought up millions of dollars worth of land.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Amelia turned her head toward him, “When you took me for a drive in Perry’s car, what job were you supposed to be doing?”

  “They’re just errands.”

  “Why do you run errands for Mr. Perry, then?” She asked as they reached the station entrance. Agrippa stopped at the top of the steps on the sidewalk.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, he grabbed her by the arm. Amelia grabbed his wrist and he tightened his grip, “What are you writing? For who?”

  “The Prime Minister is in trouble, he’s going to face an investigation and they know you may have something to do with whatever happened.”

  “Who?”

  “The liberals, they know something is wrong, and I’m trying to put—“ she was interrupted by a slap to the face, she winced with pain and ripped her arm away from him.

  “You’re buying into conspiracies now? You dumb bitch.”

  “I’m not the one launching anything. People already suspect Finch, but you can still change.”

  “Change?”

  “They’ll subpoena you, I can’t change that fact. I came because I wanted to help you, you could cooperate.”

  Agrippa turned away from her, his hands reached to the back of his head and he took a deep breath. He watched the traffic pass them on the street, and people began to exit the station, passing between the two of them. Amelia touched him on the shoulder, “You have to believe me, powerful people will come down on the Prime Minister. You won’t want to be caught in this mess.”

  “Have a goodnight, Amelia,” he said without looking at her. Amelia nodded and went down the steps into the subway station. She went back to her apartment, sat before her typewriter and put her bandaged hands to the metal keys, she winced in pain, tendons still sprained and cut apart, she pushed the typewriter away.

  The telephone rang, and she heard his voice, and she found a pen and paper and struggled to write legible notes from their conversation.