Exploits

Aleondros's day had been an interesting one. It had been six days since he had left Silence aboard the Shroud and returned to the surface of Golarion with only half of his normal entourage. Weylin had taken the experience well, in his opinion, but Aleondros had still given him a few days off to recuperate. The battle with Quel and Vil had been extraordinarily taxing, and their time in space perhaps even more so.

He had considered simply Reverting the man, but he could see potential value in having someone in his inner circle who had been aboard the Shroud. Weylin had an impressive memory for certain details that Aleondros himself often overlooked. He had plans to interview him later this week, once this list of initial problems had been dealt with.

He hadn't slept at all for these past six days, which meant that he was due for a reckoning. The Everwake Amulet he'd been wearing since returning to the Citadel was running low, and it felt like there was still so much to take care of. Not that he had ever taken Silence for granted, but it really was *much* harder to get by without her around helping. Moreover, he now needed to hire a new bodyguard to fill her place, which wouldn't be easy. Tim had removed his top five candidates from consideration by somehow exempting them from his precognition, which made the task doubly frustrating.

Milan and his sandworms, at least, seemed to have been defeated for now, and neither Quel nor Vil were anywhere to be found. He doubted very seriously that they had been destroyed in the blast that had leveled Sandstone, but it seemed that without an eclipse overhead, they were not nearly as prepared to fight him face-to-face. He had checked with a local astronomer on day one, and learned that he had fourteen weeks to kill them before they got another power-up like that, assuming they didn't have any more starships big enough to blot out the sky.

He wagered, conservatively, that he could have it done in a week, if they were still anywhere in Qadira. He had already put out bounties across the region; if they survived long enough, it would be a task for next month. He would *not* give them another opportunity to end him like the one they'd had in Sandstone. He had his doubts that the world's most powerful Conjurer would be around to bail him out a second time.

Losing Tim was a tragedy that he was still reckoning with. The fuse on *that* particular bomb was still burning down, but it wouldn't be too long before Geb's aristocracy learned that he wasn't around to force them to behave. He couldn't say for sure what would happen after that. Tim had eradicated *most* of the worst parts of that social hierarchy; maybe he had built something that could persist beyond his absence.

But Aleondros had started the process of sourcing his region's food from Taldor within six hours of his return. He couldn't risk starvation against the very *real* chance that Geb was about to implode. He had seriously considered taking Tim's phylactery with him on the way back down, but he had to believe that there was a good reason for Tim to be up there on that ship. Hopefully they'd see the benefits of leaving him up there after he regenerated.

It was nighttime, and he was busy writing messages in his office. There weren't many people to talk to or meetings to hold at this time, so this was when he fit in all the writing he had to do. Getting in touch with old contacts, sending updates to his party across Qadira, and generally preparing for the absolute worst. The Writhing Host had finally retaliated after their failed attack on the Minatory Isles, although the initial attack had been easily repelled. He didn't especially fear the Host, but if Quel and Vil could dominate it and join forces with Milan, their combined power might pose a serious threat to his rule.

This was an inflection point in the creation of his budding empire, and he would not let it be undone by two freaks with a grudge, nor by six million worms in a trenchcoat. So, picking at a bowl of dried dates with one hand, he scribbled away at parchment after parchment with the other.

He became aware of the beetle at the edge of his table sometime after midnight. It was small enough — perhaps the size of a knuckle — that he had missed it on his initial look at the upcoming night, but now that it came to his attention, a *tidal* *wave* of new possibilities crashed over him. He quickly observed that he survived all of them, and finished writing this letter before he turned his attention to it fully. Its shell was mottled in shades of white and gray that evoked thoughts of curdled milk. Under the circumstances, it was a very distinctive color scheme.

He first considered just smashing it, this tiny fragment of Cardinal West. He was capable of doing so, but the aftermath was less than stellar for him, and so he wiped away that timeline and started over. He considered ignoring it, too, but the box had been opened now that he had turned to face it. It was *going* to get his attention, whether he liked it or not, and so he decided it was better to just get it over with.

He pulled a piece of blank parchment off of a stack on his left and spun it over in front of the beetle, stopping just short of sweeping it off of the table. Then he took his inkwell, flicking the lid closed, and clapped it down on the table beside the beetle, just narrowly avoiding smashing it flat. The beetle was not capable of speech, it seemed.

"My people reported that you left Qadira, Cardinal," he said with a vague politeness. "Is there something I can do for you?"

The beetle skittered into action — rushing up the side of the inkwell, pushing the lid open, and plunging into the ink without a sound. Aleondros looked on with muted fascination as the ink began receding into the depths of the inkwell. After a moment or two, it sank into the shadow cast by his deskside lantern, and another moment or two passed before a faint *slurping* sound could be heard, like that made by sucking at an empty cup through a straw.

Then the beetle emerged, thoroughly soaked in ink. It was nearly the size of his palm, now, its abdomen swollen almost to bursting with swirling black ink. The inkwell toppled over as it teetered on the edge, and the beetle spilled out across the parchment. It left a streak of black where it tumbled onto the page, but soon righted itself and waddled up to the top-left of the paper.

It vomited a small amount of its ink, spewing a fine mist of black that strained Aleondros's gag reflex. Then it staggered over top of that area and began working its feet through the pooled ink as it soaked into the page. A moment later, it moved to the right and repeated the process. Working from one side of the page to the other, it left letters in its wake. They were difficult to make out, scratched into each spray of ink. But if he focused, it was *legible*.

*Tim says, Let's break some rules, Baron.*

Aleondros raised an eyebrow at that. "What rules are we breaking, Cardinal?"

*My fragments can communicate across any distance, through any barrier.*

He understood quickly. "So Tim can pass messages back to Golarion through you."

*Yes. But it mustn't be done, because others seek the ship and any communication one way or the other can be followed. Tim will not risk the Shroud until he has no other choice.*

He understood again. "Very well. Tell Tim that I accept. Let's talk."

*I will speak as Tim henceforth.*

*Baron, what is the name of the wizard who is said to have lived at the Wizard Tower north of Sandstone?*

That was still fresh in his mind, actually, which he supposed was why he was being asked. "Octaulis."

*How many identical wizard tower/library combinations are known to exist in the Inner Sea, and where are they?*

He maintained his expression carefully. Would Tim think he would know that? Was he being manipulated here? "There are just two others that I know of," he lied. "One in Andoran and one in Korvosa."

*It is very difficult to know if Cardinal West is playing with me, Baron. Their communications should not be able to penetrate the ship's systems, and I find it very alarming that they can do so at will. Restart our conversation and send the following code via the Cardinal:*

*081X19048X21190X1922939E44492EX019202312837X981E23-0981.*

Aleondros allowed his mind to decouple from that timeline, and copied it painstakingly from one sheet of parchment to another. When he was done, he discarded the first timeline and returned back to his desk with the mottled white beetle on its edge. He pushed over the inkwell and the parchment he had just written on, and said, "Send this to Tim."

Much of the same events repeated in this fresh timeline, and soon the beetle was scribbling words anew.

*As Tim henceforth:*

*Well fuck me. Tempted to just wipe the ship clean of them. I hope you understand the risk I'm taking by choosing not to, Baron.*

"I can't imagine what reward you think is worth taking that risk, Tim. Cardinal West could lead the dogs straight to you. Would you even know in advance?"

*No, the ship cannot detect Cardinal West's telepathy.*

*CW Note: I think this is untrue. Tim would surely not risk this, otherwise.*

"The Cardinal thinks you're lying. But for all I know, they could be lying about this whole thing. Tim, what is the term that Silence would use to refer to her own condition?"

*Silence is Soulshriven.*

Silence *was* Soulshriven, that was true. He had killed a lot of Silences in aborted timelines to figure that one out. Since she could not communicate that name with other people, it was very unlikely that Cardinal West would have known that; but it had been just as unlikely for Tim, which made getting the correct answer back very curious. It was, at least, something that he happened to know couldn't be read out of his mind, if the Cardinal had somehow penetrated his defenses.

"What is the origin of your name?"

*Utnapishtim is a name found in the mythology of an ancient culture called Babylon, from a distant planet called Earth. He is one of two survivors of a great apocalypse.*

Believable, but not necessarily true. The name 'Earth' was known to Aleondros — some dimension-hoppers from Irrisen had been known to travel there, before the Disavowment — but then it was surely known to Cardinal West as well.

He needed something that would *definitely* be known to Tim, but which was almost certainly *not* known to Cardinal West. Unfortunately, the Cardinal had little beetles just like this one scattered across the world, keeping their finger on the pulse of the entire planet so that they'd know where to find the next big disaster. Cardinal West was one of the most knowledgeable people *in all of creation*, which ought to have made this quite difficult.

However, he happened to know that the ship Tim was sailing on had advanced technology that could do, among other things, very fast math. Faster than some insectoid hivemind could, he was pretty sure.

Over the next hour, he retrieved some texts from his personal library as references, and worked out a calculation. Then he copied them backward again, to the point in the conversation where he had left off, and slid that scrap of parchment over to the beetle.

*Factorize 3099146198735429,* he had written on it.

A few seconds later, the beetle was writing again.

*10061461 times 308021489. Clever.*

"All right, Tim," he said, satisfied with the answer. "What's so worth the risk of leaving Cardinal West aboard your ship?"

*This connection is one-way. I can get information to you, Baron; you cannot get information to me.*

"Yes, the Cardinal has already made that clear to me."

*I've had time to review what happened aboard the Shroud on the day of the Disavowment. You need to be ready for a war, Baron.*

He was about to ask "A war against whom?" — but that timeline terminated abruptly and without explanation. It suddenly dawned on him that he was probably in way over his head here. He might have been treading water well enough, but that didn't mean he could handle the sharks in here with him.

"Prepare how?" he eventually settled on asking.

*You could start by stopping this little game you have with your associates in the region. Get them together and reunify Qadira.*

He narrowed his eyes. Had Tim figured that out himself, or had Cardinal West told him?

"Until we establish complete control, it's better that our neighbors don't realize how unified we really are. There are still a few pockets of hostility in the region that we haven't pacified yet."

*You're playing a game, Baron, and you're drawing it out because you find it enjoyable. I'm telling you that it's time to stop the bullshit and finish the job. I don't care how you do it. You need to have an army ready to take the field by the time your enemies make themselves known.*

Narrowed eyes transformed into a full-blown scowl, but he didn't refute what Tim was saying. Ever since Milan's attacks had started, he had been wondering if he wasn't taking things seriously anymore. Things had just been so *boring* since they'd started conquering Qadira, and it was taking a toll. Tim's accusation wasn't new to him, but it was the first time he'd heard it so clearly articulated. It stung.

On the other hand, it sounded like what Tim was proposing was a *real* conflict against *real* opponents. And he found that...*appealing*. A faint excitement blossomed somewhere deep inside him, and he concealed it on instinct. He missed the old times, where each new day promised only the uncertainty that he and his friends would survive until sunset. He *craved* it.

"Fine," he said coolly. "I'll do what I have to."

*And you must not kill Quel or Vil.*

"Absurd!" he exclaimed. "You cannot tell me to raise an empire from the ashes of Qadira while forbidding me from dealing with its greatest threat."

*If the day comes for you to take the field against the threats I foresee and you don't have Quel and Vil on your side, you will perish. I guarantee it.*

"They will never fight on my behalf," he protested. "They are duplicitous and vengeful. They cannot be trusted not to betray us."

*I mean this with every ounce of respect you are due, Baron, but you need to figure it the fuck out. You've come to a point in your life where you can't just kill your way out of every problem; welcome to rulership. I turned all of Geb's aristocracy to my side without killing more than a fifth of them; I ask only that you manage to turn two people to yours without killing either. It is a solvable problem.*

"Anything else?" he asked, gritting his teeth a little.

*Geb's High Council almost certainly already knows that I am gone. Given the way my presence is now concealed from their divinations, they will probably infer that I am dead. Expect nothing good from them; without someone powerful enough to crush them into obedience, the worst among them will likely win out.*

"Noted," he said, hiding the satisfaction he felt at having seen that one coming.

*I have nothing else that you shouldn't already know. Cardinal West will be available for you to conduct a new conversation every evening at sunset. I recommend you check in periodically, at least — there's a lot of data to go through here, and I may have more for you as I progress through it. Do you have any questions for me?*

Aleondros didn't bother sending anything back. Instead, his mind receded from that timeline as he swept it aside, returning once again to that point just before he had passed ink and parchment to the tiny curdled-milk beetle waiting on the edge of his table. There was more he planned to ask Tim, after he'd had time to sleep on it. He wasn't about to cross proverbial swords with someone so cunning while a week's worth of fatigue was bearing down on him, even if he didn't have to live with the outcome.

"I'll see you tomorrow at sunset, Cardinal," he said blithely, concealing his frustration. And then, as the beetle skittered down the leg of his table and away across the floor, he pulled another sheet of parchment and began drafting a new version of the bounty he had put out on Quel and Vil.