The Long Thaw

[Thaumantica]

I.
Blackmail
Government Office Suites,
Vesper, West Engell Republic​

The Commissioner to be Edwin Grafton was a tall gentleman with a balding head of thin black and silver hair, born with shimmering eyes of green or blue depending on the lighting. Without a majority in the Republican Legislature, and lacking only one vote, he was now preparing to correct the misbalance democracy had struck him with by applying leverage on some of the weaker points of his opponents.

Two binders rested beneath his eyes containing damning dossiers concerning the members of the two opposition parties that until this evening claim they will under no circumstances name him Commissioner of the Republic. The Winterhearth Mutual Benefit Party’s dossier was hugged by a crimson binder, the contents within cataloguing all manners of financial misdeeds such as money laundering and collusion with some of the Republic’s most infamous gangsters. In the black folder held ghastly evidence of some of the Pioneer Party’s entrenched elite having sexual conversations or relations with underaged boys and girls; their perverse preclusions ran the gambit.

Grafton stood up and handed the binders to the two party leaders, Ms. North of Winterhearth, and Mr. Jamesson of the Pioneers. The uniformed woman from Winterhearth MBP quickly flipped through the pages of financial records and pictures of her or associates with organized criminals with a defensive smile and laughter, nodding in understanding that this blackmail should and would work on most politicians. Mr. Jamesson conversely shook his head angrily and threw the binder across the room after seeing a security cam picture of himself and a clearly prepubescent child without dress.

“And what Mister Grafton?” North asked flatly, “The Bureau will not consider any of this, well . .” She hesitated and sent daggers with her eyes at Jamesson who had balled his hand into a fist, “This filth you have conjured on me will not stand in court, the finances are clean - we have better lawyers than you - and these picture of me with private business owners, who donate legitimate and accounted for money is hardly legal. Some of us in Vesper actually socialize, but you wouldn’t know anything about friendship would you darling?” Ms. North said with a practiced wink and smile.

“Perhaps you will introduce me to these enterprising friends of yours in time,” Grafton replied without returning the wink, “as to your friends Mr. Jamesson?”

“You’ll have our fucking votes!” Jamesson screamed. “I will,” Grafton agreed as he returned to his seat, leaving the pair to stand awkwardly before him, “All of them from you sir, and five from you Ms. North?”

“Two!” She offered with a reprised grin. “Four?” Grafton queried. “Three it is sir, good day!” North exclaimed before promptly turning and speed walking out of the room, tucking the red binder to her side like a football with no intent of fumbling.

The two men remained staring at each other intensely, Jamesson struggling not to shout again or use the fist he had made on his rival. “Our parties have a spanning history of cooperation,” Mr. Grafton reminded “but the shoe is on the other foot now . .”

“Your bloody Republican boot is on our neck now isn’t it?!” Jamesson interjected. “If you choose to see it that way that is your right sir, now see yourself out before embarrassing yourself any further” the future Commissioner suggested with a great sigh. Many such meetings remained with the head of the National Investigation Bureau, a crossdresser apparently, and the Chairman of the Economics Office who was predictably siphoning money from the Republic and hiding it all over the world in island banks or worse: Catholic Monarchies!

 

[Thaumantica]

II.
Republican Supremacy
Grand Lodge of the Legislature
Vesper, West Engell Republic

Edwin Grafton could not help but grind his teeth and grimace at the sight of the Winterhearth Socialists throwing themselves up and over police barricades only to be tackled by uniformed officers or ripped to the ground by their hounds. These people were a problem for his predecessor and were disrupting things in Charleroi, Sylvania down south to a greater degree at this very moment. Security personnel formed human walls on either side of him and funneled him directly inside of the Grand Lodge of the Legislature.

Waiting patiently within his Republican compatriots stood in silence, twenty-nine men of similar elder age bundled in black coats, slacks, and loafers. As Grafton unbuttoned coat, the accompanying party followed by doing the same, placing personal items on assigned hooks and poles with their names and hometowns engraved on silver plates. The Republicans then entered the Hall of the Lodge where the Winterhearth and Pioneer Party members already sat or stood in an irritated silence. Interim Commissioner Hubert Hogan stood at the center of the circular shaped hall with the very musket Wilbur Rydell carried during the Sylvanian War for Independence, the rifle was passed ceremonially from one Commissioner to another through succession of power.

“I Edwin Grafton stand to lead the West Engells into prosperity, security, and supremacy of Republicanism in the North!” Grafton declared as he positioned himself in the center of the hall. Gasps from the Pioneers and murmurs from Winterhearth followed immediately, “Supremacy of Republicanism in the North?” Winterhearth Party Leader Veronica North questioned, “I have something to say about that quite naturally, sir . . This Republic sits in the north most assuredly, yet we share the region with stateless Pohjanmaa, and the quasi-socialist Two Kingdoms. How will you achieve Republican Supremacy with the West Engells shamed in the eyes of NoCRER, SoCRER, and Beautancus?”

“With a sound economy to start, something you should have nothing to say about Madame,” Edwin answered to muffled laughter, “We will end this era of wasteful welfare for Engells or interlopers who will not work or create a family. I call for a family wage for men to support their families, you can support that surely, but we must cease yearly monetary support from petroleum and mining industries to ensure profits are put towards future technologies and infrastructure for a growing population of productive Engells. The time of subsistence for useless interlopers is over Madame North!”

The Winterhearth Leader stood again to interject, but Grafton continued on: “The previous Commission’s failure of diplomatic finesse with Kinsmen and Allies brought about the Engellpox Massacre. I will not allow such a fundamental failure of my personnel or policy to happen again. The Foreign Office must be gutted and replaced by captains of international industry who have real life relations with our allies, instead of theoretical adversarial ideas about how to enter conflicts they cannot possibly exit alive. This brings me to the armed forces, we uniform thousands of redundant men and arm them with century old rifles with scars from the War in Pohjanmaa in nineteen-thirty. Tomorrow’s conflicts will be won with half the men, tanks, or ships - a digital information crusade and propaganda war faces us. If we as West Engells intend to survive we must secure allies within our Kin, real alliances with nations who actually possess the modern military hardware we do not and likely never will. For every five armed soldiers we will train at least one programmer to secure and expand our digital frontier.”

“We are disorganized and wanting this winter, which means we have failed. Every moment we waste not planning for summer and stocks for next winter means the deaths of Engells and growth of our enemies, so once again - I stand for Commissioner of the West Engell Republic, who stands with me?” Grafton demanded. The predetermined number of thirty Republicans, and a mix of Pioneers or Winterhearth sacrificed after pressure duly stood. Without waiting for the official count Hubert Hogan happily placed the rifle in Grafton’s hands, “Finally I can get back to business,” Hogan said with a sigh, ready to return as owner of Hogan Mining Co. - the largest of said industry in the Republic. “Don’t get too cozy Hube, I’ll be calling on you and the gentleman from North Star Petroleum to plan corporate missions for the south” the Commissioner said with rifle in hands.

By the time the two turned to meet the gaze of legislators they found that half were gone and the other half were shuffling out in haste. “Working for or working against, they all work for you now Grafton” Hogan said with a wry smile. Edwin nodded and began to study the rifle more intimately, he would only hold it again if he achieved re-appointment next year, or somehow achieved a more permanent arrangement.

“Mister Commissioner, you have a security brief on the West End in twenty. Will you be late?” a secretary named Evette Mayweather inquired, Grafton shook his head and returned the rifle to the master of arms in the Great Lodge. “No Mrs. Mayweather, let the games begin.”
​

 

[Thaumantica]

III.
Operation Do Little
Governor's Mansion
Bearskull Junction, Engellachia

"Three Himyari's, a pickup truck, and a rifle or two to shoot out some power lines," Governor Doolittle pleaded over the phone. "Hell, teach'em how to mix and pour cement, and these Himmies could derail a whole train outside of Haaga!" Doolittle suggested with nervous chuckle. The other end remained silent save the clicking and purring of Cussian multi-generational bugs ticking and purring; their successors were silent now, but all West Engell leaders had grown accustom to the telltale signs of Pan-Engell spyware and tended to recognize them wryly in every communique.

"You know we lack permission from 'THEM' for that type of action," Commissioner Grafton replied finally. "Regardless, tell me how precisely you plan on keeping your refugees contained; Himyari men marauding the hinterlands of Engellachia shan't spell well for either of our election bids come next winter . ." he said before erupting into a disturbing coughing fit.

"Hope that's not the Pox, eh Ed? Heheh, put it on the Pohj if you have it. God damn! Hey, you know what Ol' Felix Ilchester told me the other day?" Doolittle jested. Grafton had unofficially banished Ilchester to obscurity in the farthest northern reach of the republic; still he wanted Ilchester dead, and hated to be reminded of the traitor's sayings or theories. "He told me to defeating Post-Delegationists takes fighting on their terms. 'Look at the Long Sea sink' he said, and he's right Ed - your friends in Dulwich and Welmonton have already proved we don't have defensive army, navy, or air force."

Grafton cleared his throat and interjected, "And how do a few thousand Himyari factor in to this plan of yours, or should I say his, Orvie?"

"Half of one in a hundred factor in," Orville replied frankly, "I'm asking the Natalians for their meanest and most deranged, but these poofing Aurarians want women and children. Aurarians want the boys for their reasons, I want the boys for ours: have you seen what barbarity these bushmen are capable of with some machetes and boomsticks?"

The Commissioner Edwin Grafton let out another round of coughs before replying, "So Ilchester in exile and yourself in liberty are reading declassified Cussian intelligence manuals together . . Do you suck each other off between interrogation transcripts?". For the first time Edwin let out his own ghoulish giggle.

"How's that economy sitting, Mister Commissioner?" Doolittle rebuked, knowing he sat pretty upon untapped billions of oil and metal reserves that Grafton and the rest of the republic were clinging to for survival.

"For ever hundred Himyari you want," the Commissioner replied, "I have a thousand Ostjutes agitating over Grasserism and a handful of actual Ostmarkische oligarchs bitching how their damn funds were seized in bloody Ostmark last month."

"What can you tell me about Lord Drake?" Governor Doolittle asked as he could be heard over the line cracking open a can of Engellbrau.

"In a race such as ours," Edwin replied, for the first time regaining some of his confidence, "an Engell is always ready to replace the lieutenant in front of him. Succession, secession, we're backwater cousin fuckers as Snyder likes to say, who are we to know the difference?"

Doolittle pounded his desk and laughed, "Do you have your eyes on Underwood? I hear the Vesplander's are dedicating a Cult of Seraphine in the Viscount's absence, it's absolutely Nativist!"

"Siward's not even a lame duck, there's not a feather on her body . . now Seraphine, Vesper sees a swan there. A swan song? I can't serenade a Senecan for banknote these days, but yes I'll try!" Grafton blurted.

"If you can get her dancing the Charleroi in Vesper," Doolittle shouted into the phone, "I can get bloody Himmies in Pajamas hacking and shootings until Haaga, or heck: Gøthehavn!"

 

[Thaumantica]

Bye-Bye-Baldwin's
A Vesper Dance Club, West Engell Republic

Men, women, and the greatly confused fanned out for her as she marched in high heels, khaki trench coat, and large sunglasses indoors and indeed at night. Madame Veronica North had not only her style in mind, but the trends of the whole audience frolicking freely. This was a place of powerful pheromones and auditory invasion, where previously prude Vesplander's could smoke, drink, and even depart to private rooms for sexual exertion.

Extending her index finger, Veronica North pushed her sunglasses down to get a better view at the performers on stage: a tan skinned woman painted with mustachio, belting out a long note in a Vaquero Free State Uniform. The erotic spectacle of a southerner broke the scene of a typical Vesper evening, and the crowd was spinning excitely in a wheel of dance.

"Let's offer that Vaqueran, if she is that even, a residency here" Ms. North instructed a dapper male assistant, himself a dark skinned Himyari from the Natal.

A moment later a cork of champagne shot past Veronica and into the cheek of the gentleman on her left. "Uhnngtss" he groaned. "And pour that man a gin on the house, he looks like a policeman - so float him a dancer too if he doesn't know one yet."

Shuffling past scantily clad women and men covered in formal wear, Veronica North eventually slid a nearly sound proof door open and closed to reveal a small hideaway concealing a table and three fellow socialist agents of the Winterhearth Society.

"You're late, darling" Vadim Lubadov jested, a Kadiki insert going as Maxim Vitner on paper. The other gentleman was a college friend, Petty Admiral Willard Jepsen, and the young lady Ms. Hannah Harewood. Hannah was a spitting image of Madame Seraphina Underwood of the Southern Constituent Republics, yet taller, tighter, and lacking training or seasoning of an elite.

"We are all late, isn't it clear?" Veronica demanded. "We've thrown men at Ms. Underwood already, you two think it's the venue or John?". The Winterhearth Socialist shook her head, "No, Ms. Underwood is diving for another cave - I have reason to believe this . . and soon we will dispatch beautiful miss Hannah Harewood here to bait again, excuse me Hannah".

"I just need to get away from Vesper, Ma'am. I don't care if it's some other rich cunt like yourself, or some rich dick that takes me out of here!" Ms. Harewood declared.

Veronica shuffled through a thin folder before pushing an adorable picture of Ms. Harewood's son into everyone's view. "You haven't seen your son Leo since your rehab, have you?". Hannah shook her head before dumping a shot down past her lipsticked mouth. "We want you to take this target for yourself," Veronica reminded, "for the precious love between Engellexian Women," she said with a wink and a nod, "and the realization of a Socialist Thaumantic Union!"