Metaworld Chronicles

There were hungry, carnivorous reasons why Mages avoided travelling at night, even across Green Zones. Once past Humanity's ordered lanes, the mana signature from a Mage's delectable organs tingled the senses of the Core-bearing Wildland critters like honeycombs to sweet-toothed toddlers.

Luckily for Gwen and Yue's party, they had a bigger and badder bodyguard in the form of a foraging Golos, who stopped now and then to pluck sweetmeats from the screaming woods. And they were trailed by a tragic turtle, followed by a depressed duck looking to vent.

Thereby, for the poor residents of the Wildland between Auckland and Wellington, the dozen or so Mages, plus Gwen's pets, passed like a natural disaster, dog-bothering every existence under the sun until they reached the Halfling city of Hamilton.

Gwen stowed her Familiars near the border to avoid inciting the city's defenders. Likewise, in consideration of Auckland, she told Golos, Dede and Zippy to circle over the ocean, leaving only her human companions to follow Yue into town.

In her old life, Hamilton had played home to the set of the Shire for the grandfather of all fantasy fiction. Therefore, in this world, it was only natural that its rolling hills, verdant brooks and golden rye fields would house the Demi-Elemental cousins of Humanity, the Halfling-race

At first, hidden by distance, Hamilton looked no different to the one in her memories. However, as the crack of dawn peeped over the misty hills, Gwen sighed appreciatively for seeing the "Shire" from yore.

As folk with a great affinity for nature and a natural Affinity for Elemental Earth and Water, the Halflings lived both above and beneath the tamed hill-scape of Hamilton, carving the tableland into asymmetrical farmlands dotted with sheep, cows, and other domesticated beasties. As an agricultural community, the city's citizens were early risers, rousing from their labour to wave hats and pitchforks at the unusual Mage Flight frightening their barnyard animals.

The Halflings themselves, Gwen observed, possessed the height of children but were closer to Dwarves with their stout lower bodies and stocky shoulders. She noted that the main difference in garb was a love of gumboots and suspenders over steel shoes and light armour. She also pondered the curious lack of heavy equipment on the farms, which bellied the enormous scope of the agricultural operations.

"I can see the town hall," Yue reported. "Come on. I'll shout us a cuppa of the best damn coffee on the island. Nothing like that brown water you shouted in Northern China. Christ, that stuff almost made me piss myself."

Tea! Gwen wanted to shout at her friend. That was priceless, Fur-Peak tea!

And it's called Detox!

Are "Yue" even Chinese, Yunnie?

Hamilton's town hall was a white sandstone building constructed to accommodate humans and the locals. Around it, the business district was more like an open market than a commercial centre, consisting of animal yards, warehouses, and loading hubs for lorries. Unlike human or Dwarven civil construction, the architecture was more practical than aesthetic, quietly declaring the Halfings' humble, unassuming nature.

The group descended from the air into an open square, watched by thousands.

"This way." In these parts, Yue was an old dog, leading Gwen and company like horses to refreshments.

The coffee shop owner was a Halfling with a face Gwen felt she had seen somewhere before, which Yue affirmed by introducing the half-bloke as Rona's half-brother.

"Roni," the Halfling presented himself, his face ambiguously young and wisened at the same time. "Strewth, the Devourer of Shenyang herself, in my shop!"

Gwen exchanged greetings; the group ordered, then took up most of the outside seats, becoming instant topics of conversation among the meandering farmhands and farmers.

"It's a shame what happened to Wellington. I hope my niece made it out," the shopkeeper passed a dozen mugs from a tray twice his size, which he effortless arrested with one hand. "Yue, you fellers retreating to Auckland now? How deep inland do you think the Shoal will foray?"

The group gave the man unexpected grins.

"There's no more Shoal to menace the city," Yue chuckled as she took a sip, watching the man's expression transform from sorrow to surprise.

"You don't mean…" he looked toward Gwen.

"You guessed it!" her friend resoundingly slapped Gwen's leather-wrapped thigh like a butcher proudly presenting a prized cut. "Our Magister here took care of it all."

While Gwen grew flustered, Roni took a careful step back from the woman who had devoured a thousand kilotons of living, talking, man-eating fish. From her waist, he bowed at her knees. "You have my utmost thanks, Magister Song."

"It was well within my duty," Gwen said while giving her friend a disapproving stare. "And please, there's no need for formalities."

"The information isn't privileged, I hope?" Roni glanced at his other customers, who were already gossiping like sheep in a hot barn.

"Not at all. Tell the world if you care." Yue laughed.

"Coffee is on the house!" Roni declared with a reddened face, shouting out the window as he clambered onto a stool. "EVERYONE! Wellington is now safe! The Shoal there is dispersed!"

A resounding cheer roused from the space around them as the news spread, growing more and more riotous with each passing moment. Before Gwen could finish her coffee, a celebration had broken out in the town centre and rapidly spread through Hamilton.

Like their Dwarven cousins, the Halflings were folk of great emotional honesty, which meant there was no stopping the impromptu festival. No longer at peace in an early morning inundated with crows, moos, baas and the sound of laughter, Gwen turned to her friend with deep suspicion.

"Why do I feel the whole reason we're here is cuz Roni would shout us coffees?" She demanded of Yue.

"Hee." Yue shrugged, returning her accusation with a smug shake of her shoulders. "What of it, rich bitch? You think salaries grow on trees?"

The party left after an hour, refreshed and stocked up on caffeine, with the Cambridge grads mightily impressed by the quality of farm to table morning tea offered by the too-generous Halflings.

Perhaps as another one of Yue's calculated ploys, dozens of folk she knew accosted them at the coffee shop, asking if they could ferry supplies of fresh foodstuff to Auckland Tower for friends and family, which Gwen could not refuse thanks to the free feed.

When finally Auckland came into sight, they spied the Tower hovering north of Port Jackson, some fifty kilometres from its usual nest of criss-crossing ley-lines.

As for the city itself, the damage caused by the deterred tsunami was self-evident. Auckland was a city that sat on a verdant headland, allowing access to the Tasman Sea to the south and the South Pacific to the north. From a dozen chimneys of smoke rising from the city's edge where many sounds met the sea, Gwen saw that it had undergone a baptism of Mermen. The banks of the Tamaki River, which Gwen recognised from its half-moon entry into the city, had flooded over into the residential districts, drowning the low-lying apartments. Nearer the harbour, a few industrial zones were likewise was up to their rafters in ocean water, with seaweed visibly hanging from the street lamps, acting as bookmarks for the Mermen's ingress.

Nevertheless, the city marched on, for Gwen could also see the traffic jams, the workmen, the barges clearing the debris and the aldermen screaming at the labourers. The city kept its calm and carried on in an all too human manner, heedless of the multi-million predators lurking just outside its Shielding Barriers.

As they passed a Barrier Station, the party broadcasted their mana signatures, attracting the attention of a Mage Flight on patrol. Once verified, the worshipful Mages guided Gwen and her party northward, passing a ten-storey sinkhole, once the home to Auckland's "Sky Tower".

Their guides soon arrived.

The presiding Magister introduced himself as Wa Mātaatua. Gwen knew of the man, whom Aria had briefly noted as the Chief of a prominent Maori Clan and a rival to Te Wherowhero. He was one of the "Ten" in her Master's old title as "Master of the Ten" and the presiding leader of Auckland's Militant Faction.

The two shook hands, Magister to Magister, dressing down one another with their eyes. Mātaatua was a short but stocky bloke, well-endowed with the ocean-fairing fortitude of the Maori folk. From the choking coverage of Ta Moko turning the man's olive complexion into near-jet, she could feel an aura of Enchantment that exceeded Petra's.

Mātaatua informed her that he had been sent to await their arrival, as Tower Master Hildenbrandt had been more than keen to hear the good news of Wellington's liberation from the horses' mouth.

Gwen knew she wasn't on sound footing with the Militants and tried to break the ice by asking about the city's fortifications.

"The harbour would be our final stand," Mātaatua explained as they passed the buzzing centre of the city's business district. "There aren't enough ships in all of Auckland to evacuate everyone. Outside of the city, the Green Zone ends at Hamilton. Therefore, what you see is what we have."

Mātaatua meant that even if the city evacuated en-mass inland, there wasn't near enough infrastructure to keep the refugees housed safely. Likewise, without the port and its supply of materials from Oceania, the local manufacturing industry in Auckland could not keep up with the city's complex upkeep.

Presently, the port was stowing its tankers and freighters. Atop the gangways, construction Golems operated by NoMs were working with Mages to transform the ships into makeshift barriers against the entry of super-size Demi-humans. Considering what she had seen in Wellington, Gwen saw sense—for any vessels that failed to outrun the Shoal would only wash into the city and become a Mermen battering ram.

"Where are the War Golems?" Gwen asked their guide. How could a city's defence be complete without War Golems? If Sydney had not been ambushed, its harbour would be lined from San Sousi to Port Botany with patrolling Golem engines. They wouldn't be new, but neither would they be few.

"We'll be seeing them soon," the Magister assured them. "Our party will be passing the inner islands in a few moments."

As the harbour grew minuscule, the volcanic archipelago of Rangitoto, Motutapu and Waiheke grew in size. Gwen performed a double-take when she saw Rangitoto, for the island's base was bare of all vegetation where the last pyroclastic flow had bubbled across its surface. Furthermore, energetic fumaroles between the capped vent and the ocean steamed and hissed, sending forth waves of wafting sulphur.

"Is that active?" Gwen demanded of their guide. Considering what she'd seen in Shalkar, her faith in the volcano's continued irrelevance in a time of crisis was non-existent.

"Rangitoto will unleash the occasional high-tier Fire Elemental now and then," Mātaatua's tone was possessed by frustration. "I understand your concern, Magister, though I am happy to say that the next eruption shouldn't be for another six months. Besides, the Fire Elementals are existentially opposed to the Mermen, and they usually never leave the vicinity of Rangitoto's mana-rich ash-layers."

"Did your Diviners predict this?" Gwen's mind turned to another suspicion.

"Auckland is far too removed to have a Diviner of that magnitude," the Magister gave her a strange look. "Not even Master Gunther's Sydney has such a boon, certainly not to our knowledge."

"Sorry, I misspoke," she made up her mind to speak with the Tower Master regarding the island. There wasn't too much that could be done—but even being mentally prepared for trouble was better than being surprised mid-siege.

East of Rangitoto, its sibling islands reminded Gwen of two kicked over ants' nests. The dense forests covering the lowland had been trimmed into barriers funnelling attacking Mermen into kill zones, taking advantage of the uphill slops and loose volcanic shale making up the jagged landscape. At the saddle, two dozen War Golems, Cromwell MK Is by the looks of their dated design, were fed into dugouts, behind which were hundreds of crates of HDMs for their mounted siege Spellswords.

"That's... not a lot of Golems," Gwen mentioned to Magister Mātaatua. "I can see long-range Spellswords, but where's the artillery?"

She focused her eyes. "And those Militia men, where are their Wands? There's one between two at most?"

Additionally, she could see that the troops were unused to whatever they were doing. Half were meandering here and there while the other half worked.

"Perhaps it is best if you directed those questions to our supplies officers in the Grey Faction," Mātaatua half-answered her.

As they passed the dugouts, she could see the shame in Mātaatua's face. During the Purge of the Triffidus, the Shard and the Royal Marines had fielded twice as many second and third-generation units, each with higher rates of fire and overall suppression power than the MK Is.

Already, she could see that the Mermen Tide had tested the inner island's defences. Up north, corpses six-deep in pre-dug mass graves were being piled up and covered by crawler Golems with their scooped, shovel-like limbs.

"Is Auckland holding up okay?" Gwen asked, suddenly worried about Wellington.

"Better now, thanks to your team's Purge of the Wellington Shaol," Mātaatua was forthright. "At the very least, you've dimmed the chaos in the council since those with relatives there are no longer clamouring for justice."

"Justice?"

"The Greys wished for Paladin Te to split the Mage Flights and save WETA's Mages. They say that if WETA and our forces combined, we'll stand a better chance at holding the Shoal at bay."

I don't think that would have worked, Gwen wanted to say. Shyvaphyr would have ripped Wellington in half and taken a dump on WETA's walls if not for herself.

"Yeah-Nah, that wasn't going to happen," Richard chimed in. "The Greys should leave the fighting to the ones doing it, eh?"

"Thankfully, that's what the Tower Master said," the gruff old Chief affirmed her cousin's analysis. "Only there won't be much fighting, not with that lot holding the purse strings."

Heeding the Magister's loaded words, Gwen's attention returned to the defences. The stratagem of the city's defence aside, she was reeling from a sudden realisation. Five years ago, she couldn't walk around Sydney Tower without an escort—now—Magisters who wouldn't have given her the time the day was deferring to her. The difference was slowly putting her "Magisterhood" into perspective.

But there was little good news to purr over.

From Auckland's bulwarks, she could smell the same stink as she had sensed back in Sydney. Something was rotten at the heart of its management. Something that reminded her of the paralytic infighting that culminated in Walken's catastrophic error.

After Sydney, Gunther had exorcised that rot with laser precision—but what of Auckland? To her knowledge, Auckland's status quo had remained unchanged since the late 80s.

Once they were past the trio of islands, the hovering silhouette of Auckland Tower became fully visible against the curved horizon of the South Pacific.

She had a public duty here, compounded by her heartfelt desire to help Whetu's hometown and Yue's home away from home. She was Auckland's consultant sent from London. And as any consultant worth their salt would know, the opposite of an organisation actively evolving to meet new changes is not paralysis but regression.

"Auckland thanks Magister Song for her service to Wellington!"

After yet another round of applause, Richard was positively sure the welcoming ceremony was dragging on.

The converted ceremony room took up a modest section of the Tower's upper decks. From the tapered gangway entry, the room gradually grew in size until it met an impressive pane of curved glass stretching from floor to ceiling. Plates of steaming food sat on heated dollies serviced by the low-level Mages while NoM attendees brought refreshments.

Richard found ceremonies cumbersome, especially when pointlessly given to show gratitude. In his opinion, tangible rewards like HDMs for the recipients were superior.

Still, he knew that Gwen was a sucker for the superficial and that the same knowledge had filtered into the ear of whoever had arranged the fanfare. Merely watching her expression, which resembled a cat being stroked from head to tail, was enough to inform any observant schemer that shallow praise was Magister Song's guilty pleasure.

Before they boarded the Tower, Gwen had expressed her worries for Auckland. And so, as Gwen's second, it was his duty to navigate the masquerade while making a mental list of her foes and friends.

While Gwen worked her charms, he had a Faction to bribe and resources to gather, just as Petra had Golems to inspect and Enchanters to visit. Unfortunately, to execute their intentions subtly, they needed the information collected by Aria Ravenport, Gwen's aide from Cambridge.

Yet, even with Aria close at hand, the Magisters and Maguses surrounding Gwen like Shark Mermen circling a bleeding porpoise had kept her politely and wholly occupied since their arrival.

Lulan had expressed her willingness to make a scene on their behalf an hour earlier, but Gwen had vetoed the notion. Though not the organiser, the Tower Master was their host-in-name, and it would not do to embarrass Whetu and his Master before they could plumb the depth of Auckland's half-hearted defence.

Not wishing to waste more time, she had excused him from her circle, then distracted the others by regaling the tale of her defeat of the Shoal.

Freed, Richard quickly found his target, one of the "Oceania Ten" Gwen's Master used to toot on occasion, the Ta Moko Enchanter-Transmuter who was their guide from earlier. And who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here during the ceremony.

Wa Mātaatua was the Magister's name, looking a little lost among his bevy of mates in the Militant Faction, all grumbling at the meddling members of the Tower's peace-drunk pacifists.

Though the truth had to be confirmed with Aria, Richard confidently suspected that the Militant Faction's waning was an unintended consequence of Gwen's meddling. A part of it had to do with the record profits posted by the Grey Factioneers riding off the coattails of Gwen's port authority reforms or the investments on the Isle of Dogs. Another was likely tied to the bankruptcy of Militant backers in the wake of her victory over the Hollands.

That Gwen's greed in London could ripple across the Mageocracy like a tsunami was a sobering thought, a realisation that made Richard shiver.

He emptied his flute of wine in a single gulp.

"Magister Mātaatua," Richard projected a sense of total ease as the unfriendly gaze of the Militants swept over his unwelcomed body. "If I may borrow a minute of your time?"

"Of course," the man broke from the group after glancing at his mates. "How can I not make time for the saviours of Wellington? Magus...?"

"Huang," Richard replied. "From King's College. Magister Chandra and Milford have often spoken of your time there, Magister Mātaatua."

"Oh-ho?" the Mātaatua's expression softened, relaxing the contours of the frightening Ta Moko around his chin and brows. "You're an alumnus as well?"

"Still enrolled," Richard laughed sheepishly, then bowed his head. "My good lecturers would be pleased to know that I've met an old friend from their adventuring days."

"Would they? Even though I am a Frontiersmen?" The Magister snorted cynically in his direction. "I can read you like a book, boy. Alright—what is it that you want?"

"To render some much-needed aid, Sir." Richard was delighted that the Magister read him precisely as he intended to be written.

In the straightforward manner of military men, the Magister directed Richard a curt distance from his crew.

"Out of respect for Magister Song, I'll bite," the man said. "What is it, Huang? Do you need a favour? Why not ask the Greys over there fawning over her?"

"Sir, we're here to gift you a favour. As you have heard, our party managed to defeat the Shoal of the Elemental Prince Shyvaphyr. Interestingly, Paladin Te Wherowhero did not mention that the retreating Elementals had gifted us a subdued Dragon Turtle among our winning spoils."

The Magister's eyes widened only a micron but could not help the slight dilation of his pupils.

"As the presiding Element of the Dragon Turtle is Para-Elemental Steam," Richard continued with his guileless grin. "Our first thought was how useful its Spirit might become if bounded to the right Mage—such as Lord Benedict Thomas of House Holland."

"The inheritor of the Golden Blood," the Magister looked parched. "Yes. I could imagine he would be interested in such a thing."

"I imagine he would be well pleased. Pleased enough to send a wealth of resources down to the antipodes," Richard addressed the Magister's intense, demanding gaze with smiling eyes. "As you can tell from Gwen's popularity, we can only hold onto our spoils for the short duration of Magister Song's stay in Auckland. Would you be so kind as to contact Lord Holland and deliver my cousin's goodwill gesture?"

Following his rhetorical question, Mātaatua's mien returned to its impassive, intimidating state. "We're far from London, Magus Huang, but I still read the papers. Why should I trust you or your mistress in delivering this rare and undeserved prize? Have you not done enough for our Faction?"

"Lord Thomas is but one of the many admirers of milady. Their grievance is no more serious than a lover's spat—not that they're lovers, despite what's been widely circulating." Richard made up his mind to gift the man a few editions of the METRO. "Besides, a foe of only yesterday makes for easy friends when a common crisis lies in ambush, don't you think so, Magister? The Frontier is a large and wealthy prize, and Magister Song is a Frontierswoman. Her friends and home lie here in Oceania. She holds privileged knowledge of the troubles to come. And as a survivor of Sydney, she understands very well her priorities."

"A Dragon Turtle, you say?"

"One that could rival Lord Golos," Richard lied with relish.

"That's one bully Spirit you're selling, then." Mātaatua's tone softened.

"The bulliest," Richard assured the man. "And it fought our Mythic-Dragon trained Transmuter to a standstill."

"Is that impressive?"

"I was certainly impressed." Richard beamed with supernatural confidence. "And this is coming from me, who watched our Magister Song choke a Soul Flayer with her dainty little hands."

There was a brief moment of silence; then, the Ta Moko Enchanter tensed up. "You're very well-spoken," the Magister looked at him unhappily. "Has the Grey Faction offered you membership yet?"

"I deemed myself unworthy of the offer," Richard confessed to his greatest sin, humility. "By my Astral Soul, this one is content as a Magus secretary under the sky-smothering wings of our Magister Song."

The two men regarded one another.

"Tell me, boy—is she a good Chief?"

"A boy from the Frontiers could not beg for better," Richard replied.

"I see," the Maori Chief seemed satisfied with his answers. "Very well, I will deliver your message through our secure channels. Should Lord Thomas accept…"

"We will have the Spirit ready for taming," Richard said. "The Lord will need to supply a retinue and the necessary resources. We're only equipped for repelling the Shoal."

"Understandable," the Magister said. "Leave me your Glyph. I will contact you as soon as we receive word."

"Understood."

"How would Magister Song like to be paid?" The Military man asked, then thought better of his curiosity. "—No, don't have to answer that."

"That would be between Lord Holland and Magister Song," Richard revealed nothing as he patted himself on the back for a job well done, simultaneously sending out his Empathic feelers for Lea's mark, which he'd left on Gwen. "I dare say, Chief Mātaatua, that our Magister will have her work cut out for her."

On the other side of the formal room, Gwen mulled over the second act of the Third South Sea Conflict.

The soprano was Gwen herself, around whom the city's brass encircled. She was joined by her aide-de-camp, Aria Ravenport, who introduced each of the Maguses and Magisters, ofttimes appending their names with juicy little details of which Faction her admirers belonged.

Opposite and in opposition stood the leadership of Auckland Tower, headed by the silver-haired Tower Master Esther Hildebrandt, a contemporary of her Master's for almost two decades, flanked by Te Wherowhero, Auckland's Maori Paladin.

Yue naturally represented Sydney, joined here and there by Melbourne and Brisbane Tower's representatives.

Over the last few hours, Gwen quickly realised that she had vastly underestimated the scope of Cambridge's Magisterial trial. The naive part of her had anticipated something of a repeated Wellington involving a top-down attack on the Shoal, supported by the might of Auckland Tower.

Instead, the atmosphere in the converted Officer's Mess reminded her of the unpleasant disarray her Master had concocted in neglecting Sydney's political infighting.

Presently, the praise had dried up, and the discussion in the room had moved from the crystal clarity of victory at Wellington toward something mired in mud.

"We've reached an acceptable parity," one of the Magisters Aria had attributed to the local Grey Faction was leading the charge. "Thankful as we are to Magister Song, let us not lose our heads. A Mermen Tide is something to be outlived, not repelled. Magister Mātaatua's Magma Element might be boiling over at the prospect of harvesting more Core from the Shoal, but at what cost?"

"Hori has a point," another voice affirmed the first. "The Shoal's lost its momentum, and now we have Magister Song on our side. Auckland can and will survive this Shoal, just as its survived every other invasion. The Expedition from London will arrive in six months to relieve us even if the Mermen does not retreat."

"Aye, Auckland isn't Sydney—even if we win, the cost to our sorcerous resources will make our next stand against the next Shoal nigh-impossible," another voice echoed the sentiments of the first.

Zero escalation, Aria had informed her, was the predominant view of the Grey Faction in Auckland. When properly repaired, a well-run defence war was a profitable venture in materials and experience, meaning many in Auckland held the fragile hope of coming out of the invasion stronger than before. Their longing, Gwen supposed, wasn't without merit, for Gunther had proven beyond doubt that Sydney had emerged from "The Fall" stronger when it was under Henry's stewardship. And Gunther was now Sydney's sole benign dictator. If the same could be achieved for Auckland, what was not to like?

To deploy herself into the Shoal—and to have her fight with her back against the Tower, would absolutely constitute an escalation of the zenith degree, triggering the trickling tide into a sea sprout of fish flesh.

Of course, the militants were adamant that repulsing the Shoal would ensure a decade of peace for Auckland, not to mention opening up enormous swaths of the South Sea to fishing and explorations.

"Facing the Shoal is inevitable," the lonely voice of a Militant adherent had paid little heed to the Grey Faction Mages as he spoke with Gwen. "The South Sea Expedition will need to Purge the region from here to the pole regardless. It would serve your purpose better to conduct the Purge while the Tower is active."

"Tua, need I remind you that the Tower is a defensive structure?" Te Wherowhero shot down the man's suggestion that they should park the Tower atop the Shoal and let Gwen get to work.

"You would expend the lives of our Mages to disperse a Shoal that would leave anyway?" The Greys weren't having it insofar as the city's warmongering went. "Give it two months from now, and it will starve. A Shoal of that size has to feed, and there's only so much food between the coast and the Barrier Islands for Merman to forage."

"Every Merman we let live today will return twenty-fold!" the Militant snarled at his contemporaries. "With Magister Song on lease to Auckland, we have only this opportunity."

"Sure, we have Magister Song," a Grey Faction Magister mocked the man. "But who will pay for the Tower's expenditure? That's millions of HDMs, Tua. Millions. Will your Faction pay for it? Are you even able to? Even if you sold all the Cores you harvest, will it be enough? What about the damaged port? The ships we'll lose? Who will pay for those? Mātaatua? Your bosses from Sandhurst? From the Shard? How will they compensate Magister Song for her time?"

The party, Gwen sighed, was becoming bothersome. She understood very well that this too was a part of her training as a Magister, but she felt sickened by the redolence of fungi in the room. So many words were being spoken, and yet so little was done. It was a stark difference from her experiences in London, where the folk she had crossed wands with all possessed the power to make the changes they desired. Lord Ravenport was one such example; the Lady of Ely was another. The Chinese got their shit done, one way or another. Hell, the Dwarves she had met could commit to action within minutes or fist-fight for consensus. Even with the Elves, refutations were firm and final, allowing her to make alternate plans.

But this was word vomit, conflict without resolve, kicking the can down the lane.

I should take a trip up to Sydney. Her mind wandered in the midst of her polite silence. I should visit Almundj.

When finally, the droning debate became something resembling white noise, Gwen looked around the room to see what her friends were doing.

Yue was the wisest of them, for she was gone no sooner had the arguments started, immediately securing a place for her followers closest to the seafood buffet.

Richard was floating beside Mātaatua, laying foundations, while Petra and Lulan stood by their lonesome selves, projecting such palpable auras of desired solitude that none dared to approach.

"War is money," the representative from the Greys made his case. "We're not rich enough to sink the current Shoal and afford the next one. No hard feelings, Tua."

"Is that your opinion, Tower Master?" the Militant Factioneer scowled at Gwen's host.

Like herself, the Tower Master had remained silent while her subjects played out their parts. As the first among equals, her presumed neutrality was the correct position to assume. In many ways, Gwen was learning very shockingly just how peculiar and tyrannical her Master had been in his tenure as the "Master of the Ten".

"Magister Song," Hildebrandt turned to Gwen for an answer. "What is the Shard's preference?"

It felt strange to Gwen that though she was Henry's heir, her position beside Aria Ravenport acknowledged her as the voice of the Shard. By now, she was well aware that her default position in the eyes of Auckland was an expensive insurance policy—one Auckland loathed to claim for fear of next year's increased premium.

She gave the room her best smile. If her only recourse were to wait for Nyrlesvinyr to come to her, she wouldn't complain. However, she had plans of her own.

If Auckland were anything like Sydney, there would be work here that only herself, as a London Magister in the Frontiers, could do. From what she had seen of the Golems and the conditions of the city's Militia, somebody somewhere was making HDMs hand over fist. Thereby, for the success of her expedition in six months and to build enough trust in Auckland to deal with the fallout of what she might find on Mount Erebus, she must exercise a different kind of power.

"Well—" her voice bounced from the enormous pane of glass overlooking the bay and the Shoal below. "I am perfectly happy, whatever they may be. If not offence, then allow me to aid in every aspect of Auckland's defence."