The Emperor's Edge

The Emperor's Edge Ch. 1 Pt. 1

 Corporal Amaranthe Lokdon paced. Her short sword, night stick, and handcuffs bumped and clanked at her thighs with each impatient step. Enforcer Headquarters frowned down at her, an ominous gray cliff of a building that glowered at the neighborhood like a turkey vulture, except with less charisma.

 Amaranthe drew her pocket watch and checked the time. Where was her partner?

At the soft squeak of boots on snow, she looked up. A narrow side street expelled a squat, burly man in enforcer grays. Morning light glinted against the large brass rank pins crowding his collar: four bars under two crossed swords, the mark of a district chief.

Amaranthe fought back a grimace and straightened, heels clicking together. The chief’s dark gaze latched onto her from beneath shaggy gray eyebrows that crashed in the middle when he scowled. He was scowling now.

She swallowed. “Good morning, Chief Gunarth.”

“Lokdon,” he growled. “Does the city pay you to loiter in front of headquarters? Because if the capital city of the Turgonian Empire, the most powerful nation in the world, pays its enforcers to loiter uselessly in front of my headquarters building, I’d think somebody would have mentioned it to me.”

Amaranthe opened her mouth to give him an obedient “yes, sir.” Or was it a “no, sir”? She had lost the question in his diatribe. “I’m waiting for my partner, sir.”

“It’s five minutes into your shift. Where is he?”

“He’s...” Hung over, still asleep, trying vainly to find a uniform that isn’t wrinkled…. “Investigating some suspicious activity at Curi’s Bakery.”

The chief’s already-lowered eyebrows descended further. “Let me explain something to you, Lokdon.”

“Sir?” Amaranthe tried to look attentive.

“Your first loyalty is to the emperor.” He reached above his head, demonstrating a lofty plateau. “Your second is to the city, and your third is to everyone above you in the chain of command.” His hand descended in increments as he spoke until he finished with, “Way down there by your boot is your loyalty to your partner. Understood?”

“Emperor, city, you, boot. Got it, sir.”

“Is that a joke, Lokdon?” His tone made it clear it had better not be.

She sighed. “No, sir.”

“If you can’t remember where your loyalties lie, better you take up a shop like the rest of the women in Turgonia.”

Amaranthe forced her face to stay neutral, ignoring the heat warming her cheeks. “Yes, sir.”

“Now, I ask you again, where is your partner?” The chief’s tone had grown soft, dangerous.

She lifted her chin. “Investigating suspicious activity at Curi’s.”

Furrows like canyons formed across the chief’s forehead as his scowl deepened. “I see. I’ll remember this when I’m filling out the extra duty roster.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Start your patrol without him. And when he catches up, tell him if he can’t arrive at work on time, you can both sleep here. In one of the cells.”

“I will, sir.”

Amaranthe trotted away before the chief could spout further threats. She crossed the wide boulevard in front of headquarters and jogged around a lumbering steam tractor obscuring ice with sheets of salt. Snow piles framed the ancient cobblestone alley she entered, its walls close enough to touch with outstretched arms. She almost bumped into a man and woman coming out of a temple that had been turned into a bookstore. Bundled in fur caps and parkas, they saw her uniform and stepped out of the way, joining a headless statue in one of the recessed nooks by the door. At the turn of the last century, Mad Emperor Motash had declared atheism the state religion and ordered all statues depicting deities beheaded. A hundred years later, the locals still called the seat of the empire, “Stumps.”