Ordo Divitiarum and the Cookies of Joy
- Enekos
- Aug 15, 2023
- 9 min read
‘Parsnip! Prepare my carriage’ are words that carry more meaning than regular people could comprehend. For Parsnip, the long-serving manservant of Quietus Alpharious, this meant asking the stables to prepare eight horses; ensure their coats were brushed and harnesses attached; clean the carriage inside and out; prepare snacks, assorted beverages and napkins for the long road ahead; tell his apprentice (Rain – yes, like the weather) to pack enough clothes, both formal and not-so, plus associated cleaning and grooming products for two weeks; prepare two covered wagons with two previously brushed horses (see above) each to convey his master’s luggage; order the captain of the guard – yes order: Parsnip may be a manservant, but he was also a manservant of higher rank than the captain. So, order the captain of the guard to prepare a squad of twenty elite corps bodyguards to escort said carriage (and wagons); order (yes) the postmaster general to send geese to towns along the route to Veraku to obtain exclusive lodgings for one night each, as relevant, another goose to the Queen’s equerry to confirm that one Quietus Alpharious would be arriving in the city three days hence on personal business – but should her majesty require his presence, then he would make every effort to oblige, and a final goose to the captain of the Behemoth that simply read ‘see you soon.’
A reader can unpack this statement and wonder why Quietus Alpharious would only seek to ‘make every effort to oblige’ a request by her majesty. Well, this was out of respect for rank and not because the Queen’s power extended to Quietus Alpharious who was… well, let’s say ‘a little more influential’. You may also wonder why Parsnip had an apprentice called Rain? Well, that’s down to his mother. She believed in naming all her children after the weather on the day they were born. He liked it. His sister – Fog – planned to change her name the moment she turned 18.
Quietus was from old money. That is, his land and properties, art collection and antiquities had been in his family for generations and – for each of those generations – the Alpharious family held a significant shareholding in the Golden Bank which, with its motto ‘Aurum Est Potestas’ or ‘Gold is Power’, had funded everything from wars to trade, more wars, castles, bakeries, taverns, more wars, the goose postal network and gave personal financial advice to the wealthiest members of society – including the secretive Ordo Divitiarum: the Order of Wealth, an elite club for the most successful in society.
And now the criminal underworld had reached out requesting parley on one of the most-feared ships in the Blue Sea.
Parsnip knocked on the ornate office door belonging to Quietus Alpharious, waited for the single word ‘cormme’, opened the door, entered, nodded, and simply said, “Everything is ready mi lord.”
Far from the world of gold, the newspaper rustled. “It says here, Mabel, that it’s been two years since the fire?” Mabel Crabtree stopped cleaning for one moment and turned to the voice sat in the auburn leather wingback chair. “Which fire, mi lord?” The newspaper rustled once more. “The big one: the one in Veraku.” Mabel Crabtree gave him a puzzled look. He lowered the newspaper, peered over the top of his glasses, “The one that started in a warehouse, the one with all the commotion.” Still puzzled. “Someone saw someone slide into the warehouse from another roof, knock over a candle, there was some commotion because some woman was being held captive, they thought, and things got out of control and the fire spread to a dozen other buildings before reaching the tar works then things got really bad.”
“Did they?” Mabel Crabtree had sat down now. This was becoming very fascinating.
“Yes, umm, well tar is very hard to ignite, but it does produce a lot... And I mean a lot of dark smoke that makes it almost impossible to see or breathe. So, it’s in the early hours of the morning, you have multiple warehouses on fire. People are in bed; the fire watch are mostly drunk and now there’s this thick black smoke moving very fast in narrow alleyways no thanks to some crazy town planners. When people do open their eyes, well they shut them damn quick again and luckily for everyone it started raining. Well lucky for the owners of the wooden warehouses, but not so lucky for the tar fire.”
Mabel Crabtree had a look of fascination merged with a lack of comprehension. She shook her head and offered the only piece of wisdom she had, “That newspaper’s three months old Mr Horatio, sir.”
The fire had made news across Veraku and the wider world beyond. The Golden Bank’s ledgers showed three warehouses and one dwelling with death deed notes attached to them. Enforcers would be despatched to secure the land. Two years on, the newspaper noted, the identity of the figure seen to be sliding into the warehouse… the one who knocked over the candle… was still unknown. Ms Ethel Bingham, a lady who saw fit to walk those streets carrying a red lantern had heard a commotion near the barn and saw several figures including a woman in a white billowing dress screaming “Strewth, why does that keep happening to me?”
Horatio sighed, neatly folded his paper, stood and nodded to Mrs Crabtree who responded, “Good day Mr Horatio, sir,” before returning to her cleaning. Horatio walked through the doorway and into the street. His mind had been distracted enough and lost in those thoughts bumped into the boisterous Van Bastardo coming in the other direction. “Good morning, General, sir. Going to count the bricks in my kitchen. Will let you know later…”
It was always a strange day with the recruits at the academy. He needed a break. A long one. A very long one. Perhaps he could find some new adventures in Veraku. It certainly seemed lively enough reading ‘Ye Olde Thymes’ newspaper and certainly better than teaching battle strategy to some people who never got beyond the beach. Veraku sounded like a good idea. He could offer his services to the fire watch, and he already knew a few people there. The thought rolled over in his mind.
Far away in Veraku, the day was coming to an end and a young lady paused on the steps of the temple – a pantheon to all the gods of Veraku. A sandstone statue, one-hundred hands high, depicted a bald man, his eyes wrapped with cloth where a buzzard had plucked his them so long ago. One arm clutched his edict: “Mind Masters” close to his chest, the other was outstretched to the distant stars.
Yes, that temple.
The temple of the blind monk - the self-proclaimed patriarch of Veraku, stood across the square from the Ordo Divitiarum. The blind monk saw himself as a living god, a benevolent benefactor to those who loved him, and a ruthless and cunning foe to those who opposed him.
The young lady opposed him.
She took a deep breath: her heart beating ever faster as adrenalin began to course through her body. Being caught was one thing; a night in the cells another. But to happen to someone of her place in society – well that was something entirely different.
The young lady came every night, as the lanterns flickered and fewer witnesses to stumble upon her deeds. As ever she greeted the temple guards, speaking briefly to them. Sometimes she brought them a treat to help pass the night. This time it was a small bag of cookies.
They thanked her and she wandered off to kneel at the base of the statue and surreptitiously insert a small wax plug into each ear. She offered silent prayers, or so the guards believed and let them believe whatever they want, she thought to herself. She removed the small tool from her tunic and began carefully scraping at the mortar between the stone slabs.
During the day, Veraku’s central square is a bustling marketplace, but by night it’s all about the music coming from the Cider House tavern on the east-side, the beat of the drums, the liveliness of the flute and pipes and the wonder of magic weaved by one Bubbli di Brescia.
Bubbli was known for many things, her fabulous wealth, her kind spirit, her love of wines from the i-milos vineyard, and her ability to take any object and turn it into music. Here was a rare treat for those in the Cider House: a new instrument she called the Fidlyra – tuned to be more fun than the Vielle or Rebec, oft-heard in the Queen’s court.
Bubbli di Brescia played her Fidlyra with such a force of merriment that it became impossible to sit still. You beamed in happiness and suddenly you were dancing in a complete haze. It was as if the diablo himself had come to visit. He had…
The music carried beyond the open windows of the Cider House, and reached the ears of another Veraku citizen and invaded his soul as he weaved between people – or rather their pockets and purses. The odd silver thimble or gold coin fell briskly into his small sack – and every time he’d make conversation, share a smile and bounce between people with such joy, it more than made up for their eventual sadness. Johnny Sacks was a thief like no other.
Which was a strange way to live, considering that during the daytime, he worked behind a desk in a dusty office reviewing and suggesting changes to law manuscripts which would – by unseen hands and unknown voices, reach the ears of the Queen herself. And while this gave him some sense of pleasure, he never once made suggestions to make laws that would help him in his nefarious lust for danger beyond the confines of his windowless office.
Of course, the acquisition of wealth by impure means, ensured his life would become complicated. Eyes were always upon those who make laws and sudden changes in personal wealth were viewed as suspicious at best. Any such changes often brought magistrates into the equation and Johnny Sacks certainly wanted to avoid any complications. No, he was thinking bigger…
But tonight, was all about the music from the Cider House and it was infectious – drunks in the alleys around the Veraku Square, laughed even as Johnny Sacks picked their last pieces of silver.
Bubbli di Brescia took a deep breath and really began to play. The effect was the musical equivalent of a tornado that swept everyone up in intense moment of happiness and the desire to show it. An astute person would think witchcraft was involved.
At the temple of the blind monk, the temple guards felt the music grow intense enough for them smile, and break out into a small jig, locking arms and spinning themselves into a joyous frenzy… Although that may have also had something to do with the specially baked cookies…
The mortar around one slab at the base of the statue of the blind monk was now loose enough for the young lady to chance a look towards the temple guards. They were caught up in merriment, so she carefully lifted the slab which concealed open pipes that led under the statue. From her tunic she took out a small vial of liquid and a green powder, mixed them together and poured them into one of the pipes.
Another glance at the guards.
Bubbli must be close to finishing now, she thought. She carefully laid the slab down and sprinkled some of the mortar dust around the edges. Now all she had to do was wait for the rain…
Satisfied, the young lady rose serenely, bowed he head and disappeared into the night. Her route took her past the open window of the Cider House tavern, briefly catching the eye of Bubbli who nodded and brought the tempo down as the patrons began to collapse from exhaustion.
The young lady passed through the alleys and if anyone got too close, they soon regretted it. More than one drunken fool soon found themselves on their knees. Eventually, she reached the ornate-iron fencing, where a heavy-set guard saluted as she approached, drew a key from his pocket and opened the gate.
“Thank you, Jarvis….” she offered.
“Right, you are Lady Euph,” he responded as the young lady entered the gardens, climbed three-wide steps, and passed into the Ordo Divitiarum.
It probably makes sense to stop for a moment and explain the Ordo Divitiarum – one of the oldest orders in Veraku. The order represent the wealthiest and most influential people in the known world. Most… no, all… have blood on their hands. Quietus Alpharious was such a member with his vast personal wealth and position of power. He’s currently travelling to a parley with a captain – one Jean Flint, who’s also a member of the Ordo Divitiarum. And then there’s Lord Hok – owner of the gambling dens of Veraku Isle. Mr Mear is a member and, by the time you read this – Fedaloup himself will have become a member.
The order is very private and very exclusive. Deals are brokered, trade is organised, wars are funded, alliances are formed. And the only way to become is to reach billionaire status.
Night became day and on the far side of Menavariyam, Horatio broke the news of his extended holiday to Mrs Crabtree. There were tears, but he soon regained composure and assured Mabel Crabtree that she may continue to live in, and take care of the house. He would send her an allowance every month for food, cleaning supplies and front row seats at the theatre: something she loved, but seldom could afford. And with that, he secured a ride on a trade wagon and headed for the big city.
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