It took a few days to arrange a time to meet with Wella Hanez after the eventful wedding day. As expected, none of the guards were able to turn up any leads after Soot’s attack. At least the Councillor had survived. Wella’s schedule seemed full of meetings with the wives of other city officials, or ladies of import themselves, but she managed to find an opening on the 8th and invited Aralim for tea at a waterfront brewer’s.
They sat on a terrace overlooking the river, surrounded by blossoming vines and colourful tapestries. Rema’s river was a hub of activity, as busy as any seaside harbour Aralim had seen—and he had seen many. The boats were reasonably smaller, but made up for it with their numbers. Passenger rowboats navigated along the waterfront district, while many supply barges were navigated by sturdy, shirtless workers. The warehouse zone on the other side of the Ake’ma was far smaller than the cityside neighbourhood. That region’s matte colours were muted in comparison to Rema proper, but the clustering edge of the jungle compensated for it.
The sun was starting to set over the Yurna Mountains while Wella and Aralim spoke. They had conveniently been seated perpendicular to the line of the sun, so neither was blinded. They began with pleasantries, of course. Congratulations to Hayan and Arith on their marriage—though the couple was absent.
Aralim rephrased a question he had asked Wella’s husband. “So, as you can imagine, it’s taken some time to adjust after a year away. What do you think the biggest change has been in Rema? As someone who’s been here the whole time?”
Wella pursed her lips. “That’d have to be the rise of this anonymous gang and the fear it has instilled. The Emperor’s guards used to pass in the streets and you’d feel, ‘This is good. Nowhere is safer.’ Now you worry that the guards might draw an attack.”
“The gang problem is a mystery,” Aralim said, with a nod. “It’s increasingly becoming a personal interest for me—as a matter of the Path more than the government.”
“Anyone who cares about the future of Rema feels the same way,” she replied.
“The people causing this mess likely believe they care about Rema as well. Not that that justifies their crimes.” Aralim sipped his tea and then asked, “If you had unlimited resources, what would you have done about it?”
“Unlimited resources?” she asked, then paused briefly. “I’d triple the size of the army and saturate the entire city. No one would be able to leave home without it being recorded.” She smirked. “Obviously impractical.”
“You’d get along well with Vanra. But if you swarm the streets, have you really won?”
Wella’s smirk turned into a smile. “I Just mean in order to catch them. The General can’t, because we don’t currently have enough soldiers to guarantee that such a strategy would be successful.”
Aralim remembered the Aura swarming the attacker on the Iron Palace, over two years ago. If the Emperor had wanted to risk lives in such a strategy, he doubtlessly could have made it successful. Aralim lowered his teacup. “But you would do whatever it takes to stop these people?” he asked Wella.
She nodded. “Yes of course. There are ways to play the game, to pursue ambition, even to covet what others have. But this gang isn’t taking over Rema—it’s destroying it. That serves no one except the delusional individual behind it.”
“And what connections do you have,” Aralim asked, “that could aid the cause to stop them?”
Wella smiled playfully. “You think that my connections are not already trying?” she asked, coyly. She took a long sip of tea and looked out over the river.
Aralim rubbed his scruffy chin. “I’d like to think so, but Rema has a habit of keeping secrets and sideways conversations.”
Wella looked back at him momentarily, then looked down at the tea kettle, a squat plaster vessel with a painting of a cat chasing its tail. “Soot mentioned that he met you recently,” she said. “I think you should speak with him if you’re looking for a more direct conversation. I’ve never been comfortable speaking as candidly as he.”
Aralim began to smile and raised his cup. “You are so much better to talk to than your husband,” he said.
She clinked her tea against his, and with a laugh, said, “The things we do for love. Like marrying that oaf.”
“Love of what?” Aralim asked.
“Success,” Wella replied.
How Path-like, Aralim thought absently, and looked across the river as he took another sip of his tea. Time to visit Soot, I suppose.