Chapter 7
Chapter 7
The Downstream sky was perpetually ash-gray, the meager sunlight leaving every interior dim, even the meeting room of ‘Big Cat,’ the one who ruled this land.
Fortunately, Isaac preferred the sharper bite of tobacco to sunshine. He tapped the cigarette nestled between his knobby fingers, ash falling onto a crystal ashtray—a genuine piece, a rare sight in Downstream, etched with the remnants of previous indulgences.
“That concludes the report, sir. Fifteen men have been assigned to guard the ‘Hazard Investigation Team’ arriving from Upstream.”
Isaac’s lips pursed slowly. He drew deeply on his cigarette, cheeks hollowing, before exhaling a long plume of smoke. A glimpse of sharp canines and a red tongue flashed within. “Fifteen? Double it.”
“Double it…?” his subordinate echoed dumbly.
“Yes.”
“May I ask why?”
“I hear the Marquis’s eldest son is joining this team.”
“….”
“Such a high-born guest deserves… special treatment.”
An uneasy silence followed. Though none dared openly challenge Isaac’s directive, the four subordinates exchanged bewildered glances.
“Why the silence?” Isaac took a final drag, crushing the spent cigarette butt in the ashtray with a hiss.
“No, sir! Nothing, sir!”
“You seem to have an objection.”
“No, sir.”
“Ha.” A savage laugh, devoid of humor. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “How many times do I have to ask before I get an answer?” His voice, laced with menace, swept over the four like a chilling wind. Their necks and shoulders stiffened, a tremor running through them.
“Well, sir… we don’t think such… excessive measures are necessary.”
“You don’t? Why?”
“The moment their airship lands, they’re subject to Downstream’s rules. That’s… the ‘Peace Agreement,’ isn’t it?”
Isaac chuckled, a surprisingly hearty sound, devoid of the earlier malice. Emboldened, the subordinate pressed on. “Such courtesies will only encourage their arrogance. They’ll act as they do up there, entitled and unrestrained, just because they’re nobles.”
He danced around the real issue, careful not to offend Isaac directly, but the underlying message was clear: the increased security felt like a humiliation. Whenever those from Upstream visited, they carried a subtle disdain, a stench of superiority the Downstream dogs could smell all too well. Why protect those who treated them like insects?
‘Let them fend for themselves. Let them break Downstream’s rules and die.’ Resentment and hostility were etched on the subordinate’s face.
Isaac picked up his whiskey glass, the half-melted ice clinking. Liquor was an intriguing substance, cool to the touch, yet burning the moment it hit the tongue. A duality. Much like Isaac’s decision. The seemingly generous increase in security was, in fact, a doubling of watchful eyes. But instead of explaining, he swirled the amber liquid. “What are Downstream’s rules?”
The subordinate, mid-rant, faltered. Because Downstream’s rules…
“What I say, are the rules, aren’t they?”
“….”
“Am I wrong?”
“N-No, sir.” The subordinate’s voice was barely a whisper. “That’s not what I meant.” Fear choked his breath. Isaac’s gaze was unwavering.
“Ronset, thirty men isn’t a significant loss. The gifts they’re sending are… substantial this time.” Gamon, Isaac’s right-hand man, interjected smoothly. Wiry and sharp-eyed, he possessed an innate talent for reading Isaac’s moods, like a snake sensing shifts in the air. Apparently satisfied with the warning delivered, Isaac leaned back, taking a sip of his whiskey.
“So, thirty guards, two thousand five hundred doses of hallucinogens and tranquilizers, thirteen prisoners, and finally, the bio-core…” The scribe was recording the agreed-upon items when—
‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’
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