The World's a Stage

[Potenza]

OOC: This will be a kind of a supplement to my Womb of Time thread, except whereas that focuses mostly on the nobility of Potenza, this will focus on the commoners and their leaders. While I recognize many may not read this as much as Womb because of the monarchical slant the forum's RP has, I'm doing this for two reasons: 1) for myself, so I can develop the internal machinations of Potenza; 2) for those who might be curious what it's like day-to-day inside the nation.

 

[Potenza]

If there was one good thing a person could say about San Salvo, it was that when the darkness descended across the Grand Duchy, the city finally came to life. The historic district saw famous buildings such as the Ponte Vecchio, San Salvo's famous bridge, or the Cathedral of the Annunciation, the headquarters of the Archdiocese of San Salvo, lit up so that their ancient architecture weren't dimmed by the passing of day into night. In the newer areas, with the many night clubs, bars and restaurants below or beside tall business buildings, various shades of blue, green and red flew up into the sky and against the streets, illuminating the ground which those night creatures with their high heels and black, polished shoes.

Inspector Luca Montalbano sighed as he waited in his black car at the stoplight. His partner, Andrea Zingaretti, sat in the seat next to him, looking at the people of various ages going about their night life. He especially noted Andrea's attention towards the young ladies, most of whom were wearing skirts that were only as high as their necklines were low. Luca reached into his jacket pocket, taking out the small case that held his pipe and tobacco.

"Could you fill my pipe with tobacco for me?" Luca asked, holding the case out to Andrea.

Andrea snapped out of his people watching stupor, seeing the case and knowing the routine. He opened up the case, taking the pipe cleaner out of Luca's pipe and taking tobacco from the pouch into the bowl.

"You should find yourself a girlfriend," Luca said casually as the light turned green.

Andrea handed the pipe back to Luca, setting the case on the dashboard, "I don't have enough time. Otherwise I'd have one."

"You're young, tall, dashing, I'd think you wouldn't have to do searching."

"Yes well," Andrea sighed, laying back in his seat and looking out the window, admiring the Ponte Vecchio as they drove on the modern bridge parallel to the historical one, "the only ones I've encountered recently are dead ones."

Andrea and Luca were both investigators in the Ministry of Law Enforcement's San Salvo branch's homicide department. Luca had been in it for almost fifteen years now, while Andrea was approaching his fifth anniversary. They had been working for almost a year and already got along well. Contrary to what most movies or television shows depicted, their cases mainly involved domestic disputes turned sour or violence between gangs in the outskirts of the city. They were easily solved, and if they didn't arrest the suspect, some Carabinieri on patrol usually nabbed them for speeding by sheer coincidence.

"Did you hear about the Morosini duke?" Andrea asked, the car stopping atop the bridge as traffic came to a halt.

"The one that beats his kids?" Luca asked.

"That's what they're saying, he's denying it." Andrea yawned, "I wish I were home right now."

"Supposedly they were talking of removing him from his throne," Luca said.

Andrea shut his eyes, laying the seat back, "I'm just glad I'm not a duke."

 

[Potenza]

Prime Minister's Office
San Salvo, Potenza

"Come in, come in!"

The excited voice belonged to Prime Minister Gaetano Merlino himself. Under his arm was a rolled up map, and in his hands were various map tools and a pen. Behind him was the Minister of Economy and Finance Vincenzo Visco and Minister of Defense Sergio Mattarella. The words were spoken to Minister of Foreign Affairs Franco Frattini, who had been called to the prime minister's office to discuss some of the latest events. Frattini followed the men into the prime minister's main office, where Merlino immediately rolled out the map and knelt down on one knee. What it revealed was a map of the city of Caen, in the province of Wissemandie, recently incorporated under the control of the Engellexic government. Frattini was well aware that the Engellexics had granted the Potenzan government joint-control over the city, in particularly access to the port.

"All this is ours," Merlino said, waving his pen in a circular formation about the city, "I've already talked with our counterparts in Engellex, and they're ecstatic about our plans."

"What plans?" Frattini asked. "I don't think I was quite informed about specific plans."

"We're rebuilding the city," Visco replied, "almost from the ground up. Well maybe that's an exaggeration, but we are changing the shape of the city."

"We're going to make it the jewel of Gallia," Merlino said, smiling at his foreign minister, "you see, there will be two sections of the city - the inner rim, near the port, that will be the business sector. The outer rim will be the residential center. They'll be divided by a massive park that circles the city."

"How are we going to afford this?" asked the foreign minister.

"It's a joint venture with the Engellex government," Visco explained, "also, we'll see some interest from some businesses desiring to open up here and take advantage of the new location."

Frattini studied the map, trying to picture all this in his head. Ever since Visco had become minister of Potenza's economy, he had become rather ambitious, and Frattini worried a bit about what lay ahead.

"This is all astounding," Merlino said, "we didn't fire a single shot in this war, and yet we're coming out of this conflict with more than we ever imagined!"

"What will you do about the people living in the future commercial zone?" Frattini asked.

"They'll be moved easily enough," Visco said, "we're building the residential zone first. They'll have plenty of places to move."

"I highly doubt they'll be too happy to move. Are we funding their move."

"No, of course not," Visco replied, "but we'll be providing them with opportunities when they are asked to leave."

Given this train of thought, Frattini asked the next logical question: "And how will we provide security for all these endeavors?"

"We've also spoken to the Engellex government about this," Mattarella said, "and I've already taken care of it. An auxiliary unit made up of native Montelimarese will be recruited and serve as a security force. They'll have no real jurisdiction outside of Wissemandie, but they'll answer to us."

"The best part is the access to the port," Merlino said, waving his pen in a circle around the port area, "I've been speaking with the Mazzio Corporation, and they plan to begin the initial shipping lanes of the Potenzan Merchant Fleet. With this and the Danish city of Fredrikshavn, we'll have two good points of operation for this to begin."

"Precisely," Visco said, "we'll be expanding Potenzan business even outside of Gallia. Once again, we'll have influence across the seas."

"We'll see," said Frattini, "let's just pray it goes as well as you gentlemen believes it will."

 

[Potenza]

Luca Montalbano hated it when his cell phone went off during his dinner break. It was always someone at the San Salvo department of the law enforcement ministry, and it was always a request for him to return as soon as possible. The call had come in while he was enjoying a sandwich at a small cafe in downtown San Salvo, trying to read the latest bestseller. He had barely gone in half a sandwich and half a chapter when he felt the buzz in his cell holster. Sure enough, it was the homicide division, and a request to return to the department. That meant there had been a reported murder, and the powers that be believed Luca was the only one really up for the investigation.

Sure enough, Luca was directed to the Opulento suburb of San Salvo. It was strange for a homicide to be reported there, as it was a middle class neighborhood that rarely had crime. As he drove there, he pondered what the issue could be. Crime was not unheard of in that subdivision, but tended to be domestic violence between a wife and husband who found out one was cheating on the other. They would only call Luca if something peculiar had happened - what exactly was waiting for him as he drove through the neighborhood and was let in past the police barrier by the young Carabinieri. He parked his car just before the driveway of the marked house and got out, sighing just a moment before stepping on, bracing for what awaited him.

Nothing in his wildest nightmares could have prepared him for what he found inside. As soon as he had entered he saw a trail of blood leading from the kitchen into what seemed to the be the living room. Or what was once the living room. The couches had been overturned and torn, the chairs overturned, and tables tossed aside. There was dried blood smeared across the carpet and on the walls around the fireplace. There, pinned to the wall like a sick mockery of the crucifix, was a man, stripped of his clothes, with chunks of his flesh torn from his thigh and stuffed in his mouth and stab wounds on his torso. A woman was below him, likewise stripped of her clothes, with ligature marks on her neck and pieces of her stomach and thighs ripped off and stuffed in her mouth.

"Inspector Montalbano?" a Carabinieri asked, stepping up. He was a fairly young man, probably just fresh out of the academy, promoted highly because of his intelligence rather than experience. Luca could tell from his pale face and his pained expression that the sight had made him nauseated, and he was trying his hardest to make certain that he didn't turn around to see it again. "Dispatch told me you were on the way...you're the one who handles this kind of thing?"

"In a way," Luca replied. Montalbano was often chosen for the sicker crimes because he seemed to have a strange way of solving them in a reasonable amount of time...and most of all, he seemed untouched by them. Sights like this one would drive other investigators into an early retirement, but in the dark underworld that many who lived in San Salvo

"We uh..." the Carabinieri took out a handkerchef, coughing into it, obviously attempting to keep back vomit, "...got a call from neighbors about ten o'clock. There was some worry when they weren't answering the door, with both cars back. A patrol came by and managed to get in, and found...well...found this."

Luca nodded and walked in, eying the despicable carnage with a nonchalant look. He eyed the blasphemous crucifix for a while, then down at the violated woman for an equal amount of time. Taking out a pen and beginning to tap it on his palm, he walked around the room, studying every small detail as if he wanted to memorize the scene in his head.

"No one's touched anything right?" Luca asked the officer.

"No! No sir," the Carabinieri replied, an eagerness in his voice as if proud of that fact, "I made certain of it. I even made sure they didn't step on the blood on the carpet."

"Good," Luca said, "make certain forensics checks for fingerprints on the TV when they get in."

"The TV?" the officer glanced over at the corner of the room, where a nice flat-screen television rested atop a small credenza. The television was tilted at a slight angle.

"This killing definitely happened last night," Luca began, "their clothes are here behind the couches, obviously torn off their bodies. It's late night gear - slippers too. There are broken mugs with what appears to be coffee stains. The television is tilted at an angle - too imperfect for so pristine a house where everything else is set just right. Is the back door broken?"

"Yes sir, looks like someone broke in the back."

"I thought it would be. They broke in the back, at night, probably through the small patch of woods behind the house." Luca pointed towards the man pinned to the wall, though the Carabinieri looked down to avoid sight. "The man probably stood up to stop them - they killed him first. There's bruises on his face and body that suggest a struggle. The woman just has signs of suppression. They killed him first by stabbing him in the torso probably, then subdued his wife. Her vagina is spread, suggesting group rape. They probably killed her afterward. When they pinned the man in her sight or after they were both dead, I'm not certain. They turned everything over to the side - furniture and all - to make room for the deed. Their flesh was torn off and stuck in their mouths. The man is pinned to the wall like Christ on the cross. Of course..." Luca turned to the Carabinieri, pointing to the scene the officer refused to see. "Take, eat, this is my body. It's a distortion of the Lord's Supper."

"Think it was a mafia hit?"

"No, this doesn't show any signs of any known mafia tendencies. Not even the Cosimo would get this sacrilegious. No...this is some kind of sick ritual. Any way, I'd better contact my partner and let him know."

Luca began to walk out, and the Carabinieri stepped out with him, asking:

"Will he be coming soon?"

"No," Luca replied, "I don't want him seeing this. The pictures will be enough."

"Um...sir?" By now the two men were outside the house, Luca pulling out his pipe pouch and already stuffing some tobacco into the bowl. The inspector turned and looked at the young Carabinieri, who was smiling a bit more and showing some more color in his face, now that they were outside of the house of death. The officer continued to smile as he asked nervously, "W...I mean if you don't mind me asking...what inspired you to become an investigator?"

"I was a street policeman like you," Luca replied, taking out his lighter and puffing a few times before continuing, "they saw I was good at figuring things out, so they transferred me."

"Oh...that's it?"

"Yes," Luca replied, and he could easily read the disappointment on the officer's face. It was the same for everyone, be it a school asking him to speak, a journalist interviewing him, or even a fellow law enforcement official. They expected him to answer like a movie or television show character: he had his parents killed and the killer was never found; he was raped as a kid and the rapist was never brought to justice; anything dramatic or scarring that makes for a good back story. People were often disappointed when they found out Luca was just a regular man who had a knack for discernment and investigation that had been appropriately promoted to a better position, but that was the truth. In fact, Luca was happy that his back story was bland - a more dramatic history wouldn't give him the psychological strength to endure the things he saw or experienced.

"Any way," Luca said after a period of silence, "I need to head back and wait for the forensics reports. Like I said, make certain they check the TV. The killers probably turned it off before they went about their business, so it may be the only hunch we have on anything."

 

[Potenza]

There were times when one just had to be alone, to think and ponder, to focus on nothing else except what the mind had to offer when it was permitted to run wild and free, and without the confinements of daily life. This was such a time that Luca Montalbano needed as he sat on a small porch at the top of the homicide department, which was sometimes used for station events but otherwise was unoccupied. Luca had his pipe let and was puffing quietly, leaning against the railing and looking out at the city below. The millions of residents of San Salvo were going about their daily business, going to work, going to have a meal, or engaging in their businesses which detailed some interaction with the street. In the distance the investigator could hear the honks of thousands of cars, the screeches of a few crazy drivers, and finally the bell of the Cathedral of the Annunciation striking the hour.

The door opened and Luca turned, seeing his younger partner Andrea Zingaretti step out, wearing a nice shirt with sleeves rolled back to accommodate for the heat. Andrea smiled and said:

"Hey, figured I'd find you out here. They told me you were already at the scene earlier."

"I was. Did you get the pictures I left on your desk?"

Andrea reached the railing and leaned over with one arm, "I did...sick stuff. I've never seen anything like that. What about you?"

"Something similar," Luca turned his pipe over, tapping it against the railing to let the burnt tobacco fall to the concrete floor, "it's probably a breaking and entering last night, husband killed first, wife raped and killed second, and a weird ritual done sometime around there."

"Do you think it's a cult? I did a quick Google search, and couldn't find any weird group that listed those kinds of acts as part of their motive...well, except for a few weird fetish sites I hope to never run across again..."

"It's probably underground," Luca said, "there's some degree of intelligence in all this. They knew when to strike, and how to strike. They'd be smarter than doing open recruitment on a website the police could track. Did forensics send a report yet?"

"They did, that's actually why I was looking for you. They checked for fingerprints everywhere, and couldn't find anything except those belonging to the murder victims. That is, until they checked the television like you suggested."

"Oh?"

"Yes, and I searched our files, and we got a match - a former sex offender, got out of jail about a year ago. I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me to pay him a visit."

Luca took out his little pouch and put his pipe back into it, "That's what I was waiting for."

 

[Potenza]

Prime Minister's Office
San Salvo

Prime Minister Gaetano Merlino sat on the couch of his office, waiting patiently for his expected guest. He was working on perhaps his third glass of scotch, though he was, as he often told people, "yet to defile himself." He had taken off his tie and unbuttoned his top few buttons, adjusting to the heat that had enveloped the countryside in the past week. When heat hit San Salvo, the concrete and pavement shot the heat right back up, making matters worse. Air conditioning could only go so far.

The doors opened and the foreign minister, Franco Frattini, stepped in.

"You wanted to see me," he said, matter of factly.

Merlino smiled, "Yes, good to see you, Frattini. Sit down, please. Have a seat."

Frattini gazed at the glass of scotch, tempted to ask the prime minister if he had been drinking, but held his tongue. He took a seat in a plush chair behind the couch, stroking his mustache a moment before saying, "I've heard that you are displeased with my service."

"Well," said Merlino, putting the glass of scotch on a nearby table, a moist coaster already ready for it, "not displeased, but worried. I wanted to send a message to Altai to meet with the Altaic Chancellor Alen Karin...but I gather you were hesitant to do that?"

"Hesitant is a polite word," Frattini said, "I wanted to meet with you and discuss this further. What are your hopes in meeting with the Altaic chancellor, especially given our friendly relations with the Talemantine?"

"Well," Merlino lifted up the glass of scotch, having a rather large gulp of it, "they're in speedy recovery since their war with the Talemantine, and are looking to expand their influence, both in foreign affairs, military and economics. I say, why not take advantage of that?"

"Because it may offend our more traditional allies," Frattini said.

"Just the Talemantine, perhaps," Merlino said, waving a finger and giving an assuring wink, "but we can handle that. It's not like we're signing a defense pact with Altai, just increasing relations. If we can relax control, we can spread our economic influences across the Talemantine border, and further throughout Himyar. Imagine Potenzan goods and services across the continent."

"You're too much of a dream, prime minister," Frattin said, suddenly becoming frank, "and your dreams are turning your eyes to imperialism, I think."

At those words, Merlino pursed his lips and gazed at his glass. He nodded a moment, then said, "Is it that I'm turning towards imperialism, or am I turning away from your grand duke? The only reason Potenza has been kind to Talemantros has been the royal ties with the House of Visconti and their imperial family - what about the rest of the nation? We're not all Visconti."

"I'm not saying we limit ourselves, but we can't be careless. Have you forgotten we accepted the independence of Zamosk-"

"You did," Merlino replied.

"The foreign affairs ministry speaks for the nation," Frattini added, "so we accepted Zamosk to respect the nation's allies. Do you think Karin is going to want to see the prime minister of a government that accepts the independence of a region they consider taken from them?"

"If that issue comes up, I'll handle it."

"And how will you handle it?"

"That is none of your concern, Frattini. It will be handled prudently. For now, I would appreciate it if the foreign affairs ministry would comply with the desires of the government. Any way, that's that."

Frattini recognized those simple words - "that's that" - meant Merlino was finished with the meeting. It also meant the alcohol was getting to him, and he was growing agitated. Frattini stood up and bowed slightly, "Prime minister..." He walked out of the office, thinking to himself as he made his way outside to the waiting vehicle. He knew what this all meant. There were rumors and talks at the foreign affairs ministry that there had been individuals from the prime minister's office seeking potential candidates to replace Frattini, if push finally came to shove. Frattini had continued the policies he held under the grand duke, and refused to be too distracted from them. He wasn't like those in Law Enforcement, Defense, or Economy and Finance, who accepted to cooperate with Merlino and his active plans for the nation. Frattini was the sour apple, and he worried that this possible visit to Potenza by Chancellor Karin would be the proverbial nail in his political career's coffin. Perhaps he should begin calling those who owed him favors, readying for a job after government...?

 

[Potenza]

Prime Minister's Office
San Salvo

Foreign Affairs Minister Franco Frattini did not like the feeling when he was last summoned short notice to the prime minister's office. He didn't like it now. He especially didn't like it when he was shown in and saw Gaetano Merlino speaking with Defense Minister Sergio Mattarella. Merlino glanced and smiled slightly, motioning for Sergio to hold a moment, walking over to Frattini.

"Come up with me," the prime minister said, leading him into his main office. As with last time, the prime minister permitted him to sit before getting down himself.

"What is this about?" Frattini asked bluntly.

Merlino smiled, pouring himself a scotch, "Yes, well, I have some unfortunate news, Frattini. As you know, I met with the Altaic chancellor the other day..."

"I know," Frattini interrupted, "I wasn't invited."

Merlino downed a rather hefty gulp of his beverage before continuing, "Yes, well, I'm getting to that. As you know, Potenza is moving forward, and making a name for herself on the international scene. That means certain sacrifices have to be made..."

"You want me to retire," Frattini interrupted again.

A silence came over the room. Merlino puffed his cheeks out a moment before letting out a slow, steady exhale, "I'm sorry, Frankie. I know you would oppose any move forward on this."

"It's because you want to deny the independence of Zamosca now," Frattini said, "even though you agreed to it earlier."

"No, no, you did," Merlino said, "while you were still under the auspices of the grand duke. Right now we need to reshape our foreign politics. Talemantros is trying to branch out. That's conflicting with our closer allies. We need to change this. We need to let the world know Potenza doesn't just play both sides."

"Don't we?" Frattini said. "That seems to be your status quo."

"That will change. In the meantime, yes, I'm afraid I'll need to ask you to retire."

"Do you think the Grand Duke will approve of this?"

Merlino smiled, leaning back in his couch and sipping his scotch before continuing, "That's no concern to me. You're my minister now. He handed you over to me. I can do with you as I so wish."

"And who will take my place?"

"Gian Lombardo, your vice minister. He's already agreed to all my concerns. Him and I see much more eye to eye."

Franco sighed and crossed his arms, looking down. His look wasn't one of anger or frustration, but rather of sadness and despair.

"Please don't be upset about this," Merlino said, "you knew you weren't going to be in the ministry forever."

"I'm not concerned about me," Franco said, "I'm concerned about where you're taking the nation. You're too happy to see her get powerful without restraint. You're letting the monsters within her grow without control. Do you know what happens when you lose control of your monsters?"

"I'm doing none of that," Merlino said, finishing his scotch in a few heavy gulps.

"Indeed? What are you talking to the defense minister about?"

Merlino waved his hand as he put the glass on the table with a rather heavy thud, "Nothing really. We've considered organizing a special forces in the navy. Potenza needs a decent special forces, and the navy does little else."

"What next? Secret police?"

"Franco Frattini, I did not ask you to come here to belittle me. I've made my intentions plain to you, face to face like a man. If you dislike it, you can go tell the press, but I would like your resignation made public first."

Frattini nodded and stood up, bowing slightly:

"Good day, prime minister...enjoy your grand duchy..."

 

[Potenza]

Prime Minister's Office
San Salvo

Count Niccolo di Grimaldi did not quite know what to expect when he walked into Gaetano Merlino's office, but the Potenzan prime minister casually sitting on the end of his couch with his legs crossed, a calm look on his face as if he were watching television was not quite had he had in mind. Even more peculiar, there was no scotch or brandy before him, something the Count of Turin quickly noted.

"Ah, your royal highness," Merlino said, turning and smiling towards Niccolo, "there you are. Your people called me to let me know you were coming. You wanted to speak to me."

"Yes," Niccolo said, shutting the office door and putting his hands behind his back, "it deals with the history of our government."

"Oh dear, is there a royal coup approaching?" Merlino joked.

Niccolo pursed his lips a moment, "No, but perhaps a common one. I understand you are desirable to mobilize the Potenzan army in the face of the alliance against Boliatur, but the grand duke stands in your way. Have you considered protesting him?"

"We have, actually."

"We?"

It was then, and only then, that Niccolo sensed another presence in the room. He turned, and there, seated near the door, up against the wall, was Duke Guido della Torre. The young duke was seated with his good leg over his fake, his hands resting on the exquisite designer cane that Niccolo himself had given him as a gift.

"Why yes, Count Niccolo," Guido said, before Niccolo had a chance to respond, "the prime minister and I had been talking about the dilemma. He trusts my advice as well as yours, as you know."

Niccolo blinked, but showed no sign of shock or worry, "Of course. Better your advice than many others. In either case, the Grand Duke will not surrender the mobilization of the army without a fight. If that happens, the people of Potenza will surely turn against him as being too weak. If he had not initiated his silly policy of neustrema earlier, this may not be an issue - but the people are fed up with it all now. But I propose something else."

"What's that?" Merlino asked.

"Declare a vote of no confidence in the grand duke," Niccolo replied, his words rolling off his tongue without any hesitation or quiver, "remove him from power and grant the sword of Alexandria to another. Then, call for the drawing of a constitution."

"A new constitution?" Merlino said, "that might cause quite a stir. Would the entire government be disbanded?"

"No," Niccolo said, "but it would define the positions of grand duke and prime minister better. Place the grand duke as head of state and yourself as head of government, with greater powers over the ministries. In this manner, the nobility of Potenza will survive, you will placate the growing republican movement by granting more power to the people, and you will secure your grip over the ministries once and for all."

The prime minister raised up a hand and let it drop on his thigh, "Sounds simple enough - if I can get the people in the Chamber behind it. The left wing parties, however, like the grand duke - they'll protest it, and I doubt I'll have the majority needed to remove him from power. Besides, it would be the first time a Potenzan Chamber ever did so."

"Many of those left-wing parties come from Turin or Cremona," Niccolo explained, referring to the duchies, "if they protest your move, their inhabitants will turn against them, labeling them as monarchists. They will lose support from their constituency. Once they feel that pressure, they will cave in."

"Astonishingly good idea," said Guido, not moving any other muscle save in his lips, "a big gamble at that, but then again, our friend Merlino here is not unused to gambles."

"Not at all," said Merlino, "what do you hope to come from this, Count Niccolo?"

"My interests are simple," Niccolo replied, standing a bit taller as his boots came together, "mainly, the dignity of our government, our power abroad...and the preservation of the Potenzan nobility."

"Very important, I agree," said Guido in a rather sardonic tone, "what would we be if we were out of the job? But in all seriousness, I think we should speak about who takes the grand duke's place. Do you think his son should?"

"Isn't he an idiot?" Merlino asked, rather frankly, "And the other son a vagrant."

"Both are idiots," Niccolo said, in perfect agreement with the prime minister's frankness, "and his daughter, while loved by the people, can't hold a conversation let alone can we expect her to hold a grand duchy. If I may speak frankly..." Niccolo paused her, realizing what he was about to do. He had known for a long time that Guido had aspirations, as many Torriani had before him. He wanted a Torriani once again on the throne in San Salvo, in their rightful place. How far would Guido go, however? How far did his aspirations rise? Niccolo wasn't quite sure, but he knew what Guido was doing with all this, and he realized he might have to be the one to give it fruition..."I think our good Duke Guido della Torre would be a prime candidate."

Guido smiled broadly. This was a surprise, but he would not contest it...how could he? "If the prime minister approves..."

"I approve very much," Merlino replied, standing up and walking between Niccolo and Guido. He held his hand out, "Shall we make a pledge, then, gentlemen, as the Ancient Tiburans did? To the future of the Grand Duchy."

Niccolo found this all childish, but how could he resist? He held his hand out placing it over the prime minister's, "For the Grand Duchy."

Guido leaned forward, being the last to place his hand...but the one with his hand on top. "For the Grand Duchy..."

 

[Potenza]

Prime Minister's Office
San Salvo

"Well, you've put your foot in it this time."

Those words were spoken by Duke Guido della Torre, who was once again in the prime minister's office at the Grand Duchy's capitol. Over the past few hours they had been going over the letter sent by the Duke of Nonsuch, sent from Potenza's large, powerful, and recently aggressive neighbor, the Engellexic Empire. The letter said in stern yet polite words that if the Chamber of Ministers forced Eldizio I to abdicate, Potenza's economic interests would be in jeopardy. It wasn't an embargo, nor would Potenzan businesses be expelled, but they would cease to have priority over the areas of Montelimar under Engellexic control, as well as Engellex itself. Merlino had told his new foreign minister, Gian Lombardo, to send strong terms back to the Duke of Nonsuch. Now, however, Merlino was in counsel with Guido and Count Niccolo di Grimaldi about what to do with the "Engellixic Problem."

"You'll look brave before the people," Niccolo explained, "if word of this goes public, but you'll see your economic interests in Montelimar go sour."

"I'm aware of that," said Merlino rather grimly, "it might be a necessary sacrifice, though."

"It's an unnecessary one," Niccolo continued, "as this situation is completely rectifiable. The Engellex have had their finger in Potenza for the past few centuries because of their support for the Visconti family. They're worried that if Eldizio goes away, they'll lose that grip, and Potenzan-Engellexic relations will become drastically changed."

"What do you advise then?" asked Merlino, already aware Niccolo was leading up to something.

"Quite simple," the Grimaldi count answered, motioning towards Guido, "we send our Grand Duke-Promotable to Engellex to restore relations, show them that Potenza doesn't want relations soured, and both nations move on with life."

The three men agreed on this, and Guido left with Niccolo from the office, heading out of the building towards their respective vehicles.

"He almost ruined it for us all," Guido said, "if it became too public that he was standing up to the big mean Queen-Empress, he'd be the hero of this whole event, and the populace would have found less and less trust in the nobility."

"Yes, well, we don't need that," agreed Niccolo, "we're already walking a tight rope. Eldizio almost destroyed the nation's confidence in the monarchy, and Merlino almost made people love the elected government too much."

"I think we can both agree," said Guido, smiling towards his now firm ally in political matters, "that we have a far better grasp on what the nation needs than the common people do."

"Oh, by all means, we are agreed."

 

[Potenza]

Folgore Command Base
Duchy of Treviso

Maggior Generale Fausto Macor watched through his office window as a squad of Folgore (airborne) soldiers gathered around a tall pole that rose high into the air. One of their own was wearing a drawn parachute that was tied to a rope, and now that rope was pulling him up into the air, all the way to the top of the pole. As soon as it reached the top, the rope let go and the soldier began to descend down. It was airborne training as usual, preparing the soldiers for the drop they might have to make some day for real. They used the pole to practice their landing technique, and later on would get on a plane to practice the real thing.

Macor received a notification from his maggiore that someone from the press was here. The general knew, of course - the other general in the 4th Corps, Francesco Ronco, had notified him that some tabloid newspaper was making the rounds of all the military high command to see if there was anything juicy to dig up about the conflict between the Chamber of Ministers and the Grand Duke in San Salvo. The man who entered Macor's office seemed sleazy enough with his greased hair, smug grin, and casual dress that said more about his youth than his seriousness with his business.

"General Macor!" the reporter said, opening his hand.

"Major General, yes," Macor replied, shaking the hand. "Please, have a seat. I heard you wanted to ask some questions?"

"Yes, I won't take too much time. I'm sure you're busy. We're just curious at my publication about what all the higher ups in the military think of the events in San Salvo."

Macor shrugged, pursing his lips, "Standard democracy in Potenza in action. What are you looking for specifically?"

"Well, there have been some rumors of a possible coup - do you know if that's true?"

Ah yes, "rumors," Macor thought to himself. One analyst says one stupid thing, and suddenly there's a "rumor."

"No one in the military has any political aspirations," Macor replied, "we're career officers. We serve our country."

"But a Visconti have been grand dukes for two hundred years," the reporter said, "aren't any of you worried about that getting changed?"

"What does the chorus of the army's anthem say?" Macor asked, and then suddenly sang:

Over the hills and over the main
Through forest, mountain, sea or plain
The duke commands and we obey
Over the hills and far away

"It just says 'the duke,'" Macor said, returning to his normal voice - he was actually well known among some of the officers for his surprisingly good singing voice, "it doesn't say which duke. We serve the grand duke who is in office. He's our commander in chief during peacetime and war."

"Oh?" replied the reporter in a rather haughty tone. "What if you had an immoral duke? What if the next grand duke is an immoral one?"

Macor raised an eyebrow, then said, "Are you aware of what Count Scipio di Morosini said regarding a Potenzan officer's duties?"

"Nope."

"I didn't think so. He said a Potenzan officer's first duty was to the Grand Duke. If he failed him, his duty was to the nation. If that failed him, his duty was to his superior officer."

"What if his superior officer failed him?" the reporter asked, interrupting Macor and clearly digging for a slip up that could be printed.

Macor paused before responding, "...then his duty was to his men. If all else failed, his duty was to his own men."

The general stood and walked over to the window, where one could still see the Folgore practicing their drops, "Do you see those men out there? They're training right now. They're training to do rough things, because rough men exist out there that could threaten the Grand Duchy's way of life. Now, I don't care if you're someone sitting in a palace or you're sitting in an apartment, you have a right to peace of mind for yourself and your family. And the duty of the Grand Duchy's military is to secure that peace. That is what those men do. And that is why I love them." Macor turned towards the reporter now, "Have you spoken to General Ronco yet? Him and I have something in common. We're both fairly close to our soldiers, and many times we've been told by a few that we're like fathers to them. I've had a few of my men, and perhaps a woman or two, tell me that I'm like their father. But it's different with Ronco, you know why?" Macor walked over and sat down at the desk, staring at the reporter intently. "It's because in the Scipio's Own division, filled with the rejects of society, many of those men don't have fathers. They never knew what it was like to have a male role model to look up to. They never knew someone who could hold them accountable, discipline them when they mess up, or praise them when they do well. They love and respect him because he's the only man twice their age who ever gave a damn if they lived or died."

The reporter seemed at a loss, but Macor continued, "Now, when you go back to your paper, you tell them that the Potenzan military is doing what it has always done since the Grand Duchy was born: we're making ourselves ready so that, no matter who runs the country, the people of all classes and statuses can know that rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf. And her officers are ready to lead those men into battle, and if possible die with them. Any other questions?"

"I don't think so," the reporter said, smiling and standing up, making a fake salute that caught Macor off guard, "I suppose I'll see you around, gen."

"Just a moment," Macor had caught him at the doorway. The general stood up, walking over to where the reporter stood, and added:

"Just one more thing. If I see you around base bothering my soldiers - questioning the men, flirting with the women - I'll blow your head off."

The reporter's eyes widened when he realized that Macor's expression showed he wasn't kidding. The Beretta-model handgun holstered at his side probably didn't help either. As an awkward pause entered the room, Macor suddenly smiled and raised a finger:

"Oh yes, I almost forgot - don't print that, strictly off the record."