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AMBYSSUS | Ch. 4 - The Herald
🕑 Added 2023-07-23 09:57:11 +0000 UTCYou can support me by following the novel on RR and leaving your honest review. If you wish to do so, click here. Thank you.
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“Please, keep half of the lots of 265 right here in the auction house. The rest, ship here as per my instructions.” Geoffrey sent batches of different quantities to different storehouses he owned throughout the city—an added layer of security to keep his anonymity.
“Yes, sir. How do you plan to pay for all of this?”
“I'll write a check.”
This was probably the biggest check this woman had ever seen—a check for two hundred and three thousand crowns. Geoffrey picked up his pen and scribbled a signature. He felt strangely calm despite the considerable risk he was taking here. He'd always been collected and confident, but he felt that he should be feeling something different from what he was now.
“Thank you, sir.”
"Can I count on the auction house's discretion?"
"Of course, sir," the cashier seemed offended at the notion that the auction house would fail to deliver things in the utmost secrecy.
"Very well. Have a good day."
Geoffrey smiled as he left one of the many private offices where buyers could discreetly make arrangements to deliver their purchased merchandise. Everything was going according to plan.
For things to succeed, anonymity was essential, but he knew he could count on the oil market to keep a tight lid on his identity. Soon, people would come sniffing around, trying to find who had bought out the stock of sirenia.
Since he'd been a small child, the oil market had been at the center of many tales and legends. One of the most famous was the story of a corrupt auctioneer.
Legend had it that, a hundred and fifty years ago, it was discovered that an auctioneer was bribed into passing information on the oil purchases under the table to one of the pirate lords. The punishment had been extremely severe. According to rumor, the auction master had a conversation with the man that destroyed him. No one knows what the corrupt auctioneer heard that day, but he was a broken rag of a man who rotted the rest of his life in jail.
The city's folk must have embellished the story, but one thing was sure, no one could mess with the oil market. It was sacred ground, similar to an embassy. Even if the mayor's office or the president knocked at the door, they wouldn't get anything out of it without risking a huge international accident.
Geoffrey’s next stop was the New Lisbon Bank. For convenience, it was situated right next to the market. Unlike the golden bright look of the market, the bank was a greyer building. It had multiple lions sculpted in rock, standing watch over the passersby walking the street below. They were so well made that Geoffrey ensured he walked on the other side of the road until he could cross the street and head straight into the door.
Before he crossed the street, his attention was momentarily diverted by the newsboy’s shouts. The boy was entering puberty, and his voice had started to change. His voice was cracked and would sometimes change in tone. He shouted as if he was a grown, fierce adult, though.
“Extra! Extra! Green comet sighted last night! Read all about it!”
Out of curiosity and because he already had gone through the time-critical stage of his plan, Geoffrey took one of the newspapers from the boy and handed him a quarter. He briefly skimmed through the front page article.
"LISBON HERALD
New Lisbon's Celestial Spectacle
New Lisbon's night sky was graced with a visit from the heavens last night. The observatory spotted a cosmic wonder never witnessed before. The telescope spotted a long-tailed giant green comet. In an exclusive interview, Dr. Ludwig, a distinguished astronomer working at the observatory, explains the latest theories about the nature of comets.
"Comets are celestial bodies composed of dust, rock, and volatile compounds, often called 'dirty snowballs.' As they journey through the cosmos, they can become visible to the naked eye when they approach the Sun, and the solar heat causes the release of gases and dust, forming their characteristic glowing tails."
Regarding the recently sighted comet, Dr. Ludwig revealed, "Last night's discovery is extraordinary because it appears to be a new comet, never cataloged before. We are tracking its trajectory and analyzing its composition to understand its origins and characteristics better."
Comets have been admired throughout history, and some cultures treated their sightings as omens and harbingers of significant events. "Comets have held cultural and scientific significance for civilizations across the globe. Like our ancestors, we study these celestial visitors to expand our knowledge of the universe and connect us to the stars," he added.
Astronomers and enthusiasts are eagerly awaiting further revelations about this newfound interstellar wanderer. Dr. Ludwig's research team remains vigilant, tirelessly analyzing data to unravel the mysteries of this cosmic traveler and, in doing so, bring us one step closer to understanding the mysteries of the universe."
There was also a featured article in which one of the major producers of wine in the region talked about comet vintages. An enologist explained how some of the best wine in history was associated with a cosmic event such as last night's. He was pleased with the sighting of the comet and was confident that a great vintage would be coming this year.
No, it won’t, thought Geoffrey. Not from this ‘comet.’ Geoffrey paused and searched his feelings. How was he so sure? He was no expert in enology. In fact, he was more of an apple cider kind of guy. Although he had some working knowledge of astronomy, he was not as knowledgeable as these two fine gentlemen. He just knew. He dismissed the strangeness of this foreign certainty and made his way into the bank.
*
The city had woken up, and the increased traffic made driving the tank more daunting. Mr. Finley was doing a good job at looking unperturbed, but Joey didn't miss how tightly he hung to his seat.
"So... you are the son of the great Jebediah?" Finley asked in a voice loud enough to pierce through the noise of the tank.
"Yes," answered Joey, proud that his father was still so well-known after being dead for 20 years.
"It must have been difficult for you. I remember reading the article in the Herald. I was shocked."
The semi-shouted words took Joey's thoughts to the lake estate. Playing in his room, he heard things breaking and falling in his father's studio. As he arrived to check what had happened, he found his father lying lifeless on his desk chair with foam in his mouth. Joey also found his mother convulsing on the floor. His screams had alerted the staff at the house, but he could still remember the panic, the broken shards of glass on the floor, and the warm tears rolling down his cheek.
A tram came around the corner, and Joey had to swerve abruptly to dodge it. His breathing was heavy, and he felt the blood drained from his face. Finley's shouts brought him back.
"...attention! That was close."
"Sorry."
For the rest of the ride, Mr. Finley did him the favor of not disturbing him anymore with tragic news from his troubled past. Joey didn't care if it was out of consideration or fear of having an accident, but he was grateful nonetheless.
As he drove the locotank, he felt like he was in a fencing match with his mind. The exhaustion and stress of the day were making it harder to keep his inner demons away. Every time he looked at the rearview mirror of the tank, it was as if he were looking into his past. Flashbacks of hours of investigation, trips to his mom's doctor and his therapist.
*
Geoffrey entered the large building under the studying gaze of the guards at the door and headed toward the atrium. The atrium of New Lisbon Bank had high vaulted ceilings that reminded Geoffrey of a cathedral. It didn't seem so long ago that he had come here for the first time and had been kicked out of the bank because he didn't look presentable. It was only when old Mr. Jebediah returned with him and told the bank he'd be the guarantor that they treated him with respect. He'd come a long way since then, and no one looked down on him now.
The tellers were impeccably dressed in waistcoats made of sirenian leather, as was custom and culture in the city. Everyone wore the material proudly as if it was the city's uniform. Everyone worked around sirenians or had family who did, and wearing the home team's colors showed support for the city's economy. The fad had caught on, and many cities in this part of the globe had succumbed to the New Lisbonite fashion.
The echoes of the conversations between tellers and customers, the occasional typewriter, or whooshes and clangs of the pneumatic tubes produced a unique melody characteristic of the bank.
Geoffrey joined a short line of people and soon was called on. He didn't recognize this employee.
"Welcome to New Lisbon Bank. How can I help you today, sir."
"I'd like to see my account manager, Ms. Shirley. Is she in?"
"Sure. You can go to meeting room number 3. I'll send her a pneumessage and she'll join you shortly. Geoffrey left the teller area as he inspected the network of brass pneumatic tubes crisscrossing the ceilings. He tried to imagine which would be transporting the message to his account manager. He had looked into how much it'd cost to set up this type of system in his estate, but the price was abysmal. He reckoned that the bank used it more to flaunt its wealth than to save time.
As Geoffrey stepped into the meeting room, he spotted a kettle and went to pour himself some tea. As the freshly brewed tea aroma flooded the room, the door opened, and Shirley stepped in.
*
It had taken thirty minutes from the city hall to Balaena Market. It would have probably taken twice as long on horse or public transportation. Joey managed to get his emotions under control and was again focused on their mission. He helped Finley exit the vehicle, and both rushed toward the oil market.
"Do you think they'll agree?"
"I don't know, constable. The oil market is an entity regulated by over two hundred countries. The auction master can be quite inflexible."
"Do you think he has to ask for permission from every single member of the Energy Union?"
"Let's hope not."
"The first auction of the day ended a while ago. How much do you think they'll have in stock?"
"Hard to say. A thousand, maybe?"
At the market door, the constable flaunted his badge to be allowed entry, and when that didn't work to call the auction master, Finley respectfully showed his credentials and the mayor's signet. They sat down in a waiting room.
"Would any of you gentlemen like to have some coffee?"
"No, thank you.".
"I'll take it. Two sugars, please."
Even though Joey desperately wanted a coffee, he refused to have anything to drink. Memories of his dead father fought to resurface, but he quieted them down. As Finley drank, Joey tapped his foot nervously. He tried to keep his mind off his memories and started conversing again.
"When did the producers start arriving at the city hall?"
"At around nine-thirty. It's still a long way from the lake to the city."
"This is crazy."
"Oh, yes. I've never seen the mayor like this."
"Good morning."
Joey and FInley stood up at once and respectfully greeted the auction master. Master Ulysses was a man in his fifties with thin ginger hair and a stocky belly. His suit was made of silk and not sirenian leather. Joey didn't miss the meaning of the choice of wardrobe. The auction master did not want to seem like a citizen of New Lisbon, but as what he was, a foreign emissary in control of a commercial embassy.
"Gentlemen, what seems to be the matter that requires the attention of the oil market."
Mr. Finley took the stage.
"Master Ulysses, there's been a problem at the lake. The lake has flooded, which will likely negatively impact the extraction of sirenian oil. We were hoping that until we conduct further studies on the subject, you'd be willing to hold on to the sirenian barrels in your possession. What do you say?"
"A lake flood? That hasn't happened in over 100 years."
"Yes, many of the extraction facilities have been ruined and will require extensive maintenance before they can be used again," Finley added.
The auction master grunted and stared into the distance, lost in his thoughts. "That explains it," he whispered.
"What is it, Master Gulliver?"
"We sold out our stock of sirenian oil today." Joey and Finley exchanged panicked looks.
"What do you mean? It sold out?" Asked Joey.
"Who bought it?" Asked Finley, evoking an angry stare from the auction master.
"You know better than to answer that question, Mr. Finley. You know that the identity of buyers is sanctimonious and inviolable. I can not; I will not disclose a buyer's identity. So, I've sworn."
"But master, you can surely understand the repercussions of the oil being sold out. We're talking about prices skyrocketing, hysteria, panic, a market crash."
"I understand, but I'm afraid I can't do anything. There have been crises before. Things always sort themselves out. The oil market has a reputation to maintain. Do you think we would have a good reputation if we'd go about sharing secrets?"
"But, sir..."
"Enough! You have the oil market's support in capping the sales of barrels until the situation sorts itself out. However, I've done nothing unlawful; neither has the buyer. And that's that. You'll have to contact the Energy Union if you want anything more than that. If you'll excuse me, I have important work to do."
Joey watched helplessly as Mr. Finley stood up, and he followed. There was little they could do against the oil house. It was an organization similar to the Science Academy. It was under the direct control of the World Senate. They marched gloomily toward the locotank. They had to bring back the bad news to the city hall.
*
“You did what? A check for two hundred thousand crowns? Are you insane, Jeff?”
Shirley had been his liaison with the bank since he started his business. She was a careful conservative investor who appreciated order and despised uncertainty.
“That’s precisely why I came here, Shirley. I want to make sure the check won’t bounce. How much money do I have in my account?”
Shirley took out a ledger and consulted Geoffrey’s account information. “Jeff, you only have thirty thousand crowns. There’s no way you can afford this expenditure.”
“I would like to ask for a loan, then.”
“I seriously doubt that the bank will loan you this much money. Unless you bring forward some serious collateral.”
“So be it. I'll send you all the documents later today. It’s of paramount importance that you can guarantee this loan, Shirley. I'm willing to put up my personal locomotive, house, shops, and herd for collateral. Everything, except for my estate on the lake, do you hear me?”
Shirley nodded in agreement. “Jeff, this is not like you. You're always such a cautious investor. Why are you in such a rush? You don’t look like the same man I know. Is everything OK?”
Ambyssus’ grief. “Yes, Shirley. Everything is alright. Just having a very eventful day, that’s all.”
*
Joey hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours. Others would have collapsed, but Joey stood tall next to Commissioner Fabius all day. They had accompanied the mayor as geologists, weathermen, biologists, economists, ranchers, and city officials came in and out of the office. The mayor had tried to understand the reason for this catastrophe and the possible implications for the city and the district.
New Lisbon was the district's capital and had a duty toward its satellite cities and towns. High-speed couriers and even zeppelins were all deployed to ascertain the situation of all coastal towns scattered throughout the lake shores and islands.
Joey had missed most of the technical and eloquent jargon thrown around the office, but he understood one thing. The situation was dire. Eighty percent of the world’s sirenian oil production was in Lake Grassum. Nowhere else did the sea cows gain weight and breed so quickly. Naturally, other countries had gone high and low to develop oil operations of their own, but none could beat the conditions of Lake Grassum.
After all the experts were heard and a plan had been drafted, the mayor called all the lake ranchers and asked them to attend an emergency briefing meeting at City Hall. Even though ranchers’ estates and wealth came from the lake, most of them lived in the city, so it hadn’t been difficult to gather so many of them here on such short notice. Those who hadn’t been in the city had traveled here as fast as they could once they heard the news.
Several other police officers now stood at attention inside the city hall's biggest conference room. As businessmen came, a buzz of disquiet, murmuring, and complaining filled the place. The fashion this year was manatee leather capes dyed in dark purple. Amid the waving purple fabric stood Joey. The commissioner had told them to stand still like a stoic statue and look as official and angry as possible. Whenever people gathered, individual minds quickly became a herd mentality, and it was essential to keep this crowd in check.
Businessmen nodded respectfully as they entered the room and saw Joey greeting them. Joey made an effort not to smile as he saw that the fire of complaint in some of these men’s eyes was immediately cooled at the sight of a police officer eyeing them menacingly.
Joey recognized many of them. They probably didn’t recognize him because they had met him as a child, a toddler who played in his father’s office. Those had been different days, however. It wasn’t tricky for Joey to look mad and menacing. The circumstances around his father's death pointed toward one of these men being involved in his father’s murder. He had no clue who had done it, but he felt furious at the notion that one of these wealthy men could be his father’s killer.
“Joey? Is that you?” asked a familiar voice.
Greeting Joey was a man his age, early thirties. He was taller than Joey, and the enlarged belly and slumped shoulders gave him away as a white-collar worker who spent many hours hunching over a desk. His attire suggested prosperity but not luxury. The boots he wore still had some spots of silt and a line showing that they had been submerged today and then dried as the day went on. The untamed yellow curls of Geoffrey’s hair and the scruffy shadow of an unshaven bear contrasted with what was meant to be a professional look. The man seemed not to have slept for as long as Joey.
“Jeff! Long time no see!” Joey stopped himself from going for a hug when he recalled where he was and what kind of image he was trying to pass. He caught himself in time to only reach his hand to shake Geoffrey’s.
“Look at you. You look fantastic in a uniform. Fantastic, indeed. Your old man would have been proud. Yes, very proud,” sincerely complimented Geoffrey.
“Thank you, Jeff. And look at you, all businesslike. It’s quite an upgrade from wearing shoes with more holes than Swiss cheese.” Both laughed at the joke and the comfort of familiarity from speaking to an acquaintance.
“This is quite the situation, hey? Who would have thought that we’d have to all get together like this,” happily said Geoffrey. Joey felt something was off about his friend. He couldn’t tell what it was.
“You almost seem happy about it,” protested the constable.
“Now, now, Joey. Why would I be happy about a disaster? If there is any joy in my remark is because we could all get together here so soon. Yes, very quickly, indeed. The good mayor did a good job getting us all here tonight. We all have to stick together, no matter what.” After some thought, Geoffrey added, “What about your father’s estate? The one near the lake?”
“It should all be OK over there. You know that Pop always played it safe, and he was the only one back in his day who built all his estate on high ground just in case something like this happened. But you know I can’t bear to go there. And I just can’t come down to sell it either,” sadly remarked Joey.
“Of course. Of course. What about your Pop’s pens or his parlor? Are any of them still active?”
Again, Joey felt something was off. Why the sudden interest in his father's old estate? “No. Getting it all up and running again would take some serious work. You know how sensitive the equipment in the parlors is. That and the lake's salty water gets in the equipment no matter how much you clean it. After being abandoned for so many years, I think pops would have just wanted to sell what it’s left for scraps and buy a new one.” Joey said this with some embarrassment. His father’s estate was always a soft spot for him. He knew how careful his old man was with the facilities. Joey realized with sadness that his father would have scolded him for letting the estate fall into such disrepair.
“I see. I see,” Joey shied at the giddiness in Geoffrey’s voice. He first thought that maybe Geoffrey was looking for a place to vacuum his herd, but he seemed thrilled instead of sad at the news. “Well, my friend, it was good catching up with you. I will find a seat. Why don’t you come down to my estate one of these days? We could have a drink or something?”
“I think I will take you up on that offer. Marie and I talked the other day about how long it's been since we last got together."
“Good. Good. Let's arrange it once this dreadful storm blows over. See you around, Joey.”
“See you, Jeff.”
Geoffrey walked away. Joey felt that something was wrong with his old classmate. Several warning bells were ringing in Joey's mind. Perhaps it was how relaxed and happy he seemed during such a tragedy. Or maybe it was the weird interest in the condition of his father’s estate. Joey quieted down his instincts. His wife had repeatedly told him to turn off his investigative mode when he talked to friends. Joey had more than once upset his in-laws because of his obsessive hypervigilance.
Maybe he is just as tired as I feel, thought Joey. He went back to staring down the arrivals.
