The Assassination War (4)

Londinium hosts periodic meetings.

If passersby were asked to identify the most crucial gathering prior to the war, nine out of ten would have cited Parliament. Currently, the strategic conferences held by the Ministry of War would likely split opinions evenly.

Yet those privy to such matters unanimously concurred, echoed even by most parliamentarians:

“The time for the next one approaches soon.”

“One wonders what directives shall be issued this time. That individual’s intentions remain inherently unpredictable. Though hopefully not politically burdensome like the previous occasion.”

“Excuse me, might I inquire about something?”

“Hmm?”

“You mentioned an imminent meeting, but is Parliament convening an emergency session soon? I have not received any such notification.”

“Surely you don’t mean… Ah, my apologies. You are merely Councilman Anton’s secretary, not a parliamentarian yourself.”

“Yes, which is why I wished to clarify if I was unaware of anything…”

“Aah, then pay it no mind. Your superior is undoubtedly informed already.”

“?”

When Freugne initially experimented with disseminating instructions via letters, issues promptly emerged.

During the fledgling stages with fewer correspondents, this approach posed no significant hurdles.

While her hands still numbed from penning missives all day, she could manage up to twenty or thirty concise letters.

However, as the organization expanded, requiring administrative personnel and necessitating revisions to issued orders, the incoming mail volume escalated correspondingly.

“Parliament attempted passing a bill, but unexpectedly conflicted with existing legislation, necessitating alternative approaches. The collaborators within seem somewhat disgruntled by this measure too. So please clarify what should be done now.”

“Ugh, should I purchase legal tomes from nearby bookstores…?”

“…Yes, I would appreciate that.”

“Hnnngh, at this rate, I can only reply to half the incoming letters today, hiiing.”

“No urgent matters pending, so we can postpone the rest until tomorrow. I have classes, so let’s stop here for today. You worked hard.”

Even enlisting Sithe’s assistance proved ultimately unsustainable for handling this entire workload single-handedly.

Ull lacked familiarity with such tasks to provide meaningful support, while hiring new personnel risked inevitable security breaches.

Fundamentally, the fewer privy to the future, the fewer variables.

Yet even with minimized variables, so many complications still arose – indiscriminately recruiting passersby was unfeasible. While Ull and Sithe had been effectively ‘recruited,’ Freugne had personally educated them from infancy, silently excluding them as special cases.

Those permitted awareness invariably remained occupied.

Most organizational affiliates were either upstanding entrepreneurs, distinguished mages, executives of major investment firms, or the metropolitan police superintendent.

“They seem to be unavailable currently.”

“Well, it is during office hours. But this needs prompt delivery to address subsequent issues…”

“Proceeding thusly will become increasingly cumbersome.”

Hence, she opted to schedule periodic meetings for comprehensive briefings,

Subsequently addressing any emerging concerns individually via letters or telephone calls.

“It cannot be helped. Let us convene regular meetings then.”

While never officially acknowledged, those closely attuned to the organization’s internal affairs knew the leadership simultaneously took leave on specific dates for ‘outings.’

These gatherings lacked any formal designation – Freugne simply referred to them as the modest ‘regular meetings,’ belying their gravity.

Lacking an official organizational title itself, nicknames like ‘Clover Alliance,’ ‘The Unnameable Organization,’ or ‘That Organization’ circulated interchangeably through contextual inference.

Regardless, this ‘Supreme Conference’ – so dubbed by participants disdaining excessive formality – rotated venues to avoid potential unpleasantries from revisiting the same location repeatedly.

This meeting’s chosen site was a nondescript edifice on Londinium’s outskirts.

Originally used for investor presentations by nearby factories, its very obscurity rendered it an apt choice.

Upon arriving, Freugne surveyed the surroundings before beckoning a passing operative.

“It seems we have one vacant seat?”

“Ah, that would be the Earl of Norton’s. He has not registered his attendance yet.”

“Did he perhaps convey any delays separately?”

“No. He always notifies us promptly, so the distance may be causing unexpected delays – his residence is rather far from this venue.”

“I see.”

Freugne furrowed her brow slightly.

The earl, whose profession hinged on split-second decisions, was typically punctual regarding schedules.

For appointments, he either arrived preemptively to chide latecomers or sliced entries with military precision.

While mildly surprising, Freugne rationalized that even he could err occasionally as a human.

His tardiness during such a pivotal juncture seemed concerning, but a subsequent verbal reminder would suffice.

His delay seemed comprehensible too.

The venue address disclosed via Freugne’s personal invitations only manifested the preceding day, potentially hampering preparatory efforts.

---

Inside, operatives scurried about making final arrangements.

“The seating layout has changed slightly. Place those chairs at the far end – fetch two more.”

“Right away, sir!”

“Here, the podium has shifted slightly rightward. Re-center it neatly. Understood?”

“Yes!!”

The modest attendance hardly necessitated expansive accommodations.

I had retreated backstage, reclining in a chair while Freugne provided me with an impromptu script in real-time. Sensing my gaze, she met my eyes and flashed a wordless smile.

For a ‘Supreme Conference,’ who would participate without the leader’s presence?

Ordinarily, Freugne would have presided from the primary dais to facilitate proceedings.

‘Auntie, might I request a favor?’

‘Of course, as long as it’s not like that previous occasion. What is it?’

Recalling her prior request to fraudulently alter her family registry, I left an escape route before acquiescing to at least hear her out.

‘Could you perhaps pose as the boss during the organization’s upcoming regular meeting instead of me?’

‘…Me?’

‘You’ve done so frequently already. Your socially authoritative presence would lend more persuasive weight than my statements. And well…’

Pausing briefly, Freugne continued with a faint smile.

‘If I were to relinquish the boss’s position, you would be the most eligible recipient.’

‘Is that something so easily bestowed?’

‘Why not? We may become inseparable to that extent eventually… Don’t you agree?’

An ostensibly upstanding factory mage yet also a ruthlessly exploitative parent conscripting his daughter into the dark organization’s messenger duties from infancy.

Freugne, assiduously nurturing said clandestine syndicate since an age where peers attended school or commenced entry-level employment.

Considering which retained more pragmatism, the choice was self-evident.

My words would undoubtedly hold more sway in convincing others of being the organization’s boss.

And:

‘This might actually benefit Freugne’s security too.’

By revealing my involvement, would it not render Freugne safer?

If anyone attempted undermining the organization – a near-certainty against the Dark Lord – confronting me would prove more survivable than her.

While Freugne constantly verified her safety through future visions, the world’s unfolding remained inherently unpredictable.

“All set! Just read this for your opening statement. If any questions arise, answer based on your knowledge – the operatives are unlikely to pose challenging inquiries in any case.”

“Then allow me to reconfirm: this meeting’s objectives pertain to solidifying military oversight and the provisions we supply, correct?”

“To be frank, you would answer better regarding the developments you spearheaded directly.”

No cause for concern existed.

She had glimpsed sufficient futures assuring prolonged security.

---

-Rustle-

“…Hm?”

While idling near the venue’s entrance, Sithe raised her head upon detecting faint rustling, abandoning the pebble she had been kicking aimlessly.

Figures obscuring their faces with hats and cloth slowly converged towards this very meeting hall from various directions.

Sithe’s eyes narrowed.