"What is it that you expect from a monarch? They're all the same. What incentive do they have to do good by the people they govern, when they enjoy the support of the few elites who control the resources? Did anybody ask you if you wanted to pay double the taxes you did last year? And why is it that you have to pay less than your neighbor and more than your colleague from work, when you all live within three streets of each other? Do you think the king can answer that? What about the Finance Minister? Does he even know you exist? Well, then, you who are shaking your heads right now, you know it is up to you to make it better for yourselves. Is this the world you want to leave as a legacy for your children? How are they worth any less than noble-born children, or royal ones? If you starve them all, will one side die sooner than the other? If you cut them, will they bleed differently? If you abandon them now, will they thank you later for giving up? Do not look at me as if I've taken leave of my senses. In your hearts, you know what you want. I only ask that you think, outside of the code imposed on you from the day you were born on the wrong side of the palace walls. Do not look at them for salvation, but within yourselves."

As he finished his speech, Steppo ducked out of habit, but there were no overripe vegetables thrown at his head this time. He once again gazed around at the gathered crowd, trying to judge their reaction, but those who had watched him with unwavering attention just a few seconds before had dispersed back into the market streets when it became apparent that Mistress Honga's pies had run out.

That was the method employed by Steppo to determine how much time he had available to get his point across. Twice, or even three times a week, he would set up a crate at a busy crossroads, right next to a small stand offering free homemade pies to those who stopped and listened to him for a few minutes, no other obligations attached. For as long as the pies lasted, he got to live his fantasy of being the hero who inspired action into the weary population, guiding them towards victory and freedom.

Of course, that was not entirely accurate. While he did allow himself to indulge in his waking dreams at times, Steppo didn't fool himself into believing he was the star of the show. He might be the one standing on a crate, speaking with pathos to the world at large, but his was only a supporting role. The main attraction was, of course, Mistress Honga, whose fresh warm pies were irresistible under normal circumstances, but when handed out for free...

Steppo couldn't be more satisfied with his decision of making the sweet, old woman his Chief Recruiting Officer. Ever since they'd switched to this strategy, their little organization had seen a noticeable influx of new additions, particularly young men. Other aspiring rebel leaders tried the 'nubile young woman' approach, but Steppo had long ago concluded that good food made for the most steadfast of commitments.

As he stepped off the crate, still bewildered that he wouldn't have to change his suit again, a strong arm clasped him in a brotherly hug around the shoulders.

"Well done, Speaker!" enthused Addi. "I can see that you've gotten through to most of them."

Steppo smiled warmly at the ever-optimistic man.

"Thanks," he said. "Now let's help your mother pack up the stall before the guards show up."

They busied themselves with the collapsible structure - one of Meyo's own designs - and were on their way in less than five minutes.

"You were amazing today, Officer," said Steppo as they entered the main thoroughfare of the Academic District, nudging Mistress Honga playfully and grinning at her bashful reaction.

"I am happy for the good that we can bring about," she replied dreamily. "Even by making someone's day a little bit brighter, that means we've made our nation's heart happier."

Behind them, Addi labored beneath the combined load of the stall and Steppo's crate, but Steppo knew better than to offer to relieve him of his burden. He'd done it once, and the man had been so upset, not even a new edition of Rebel's Digest could lure him out of his depression. It had taken Steppo promising him extra shifts in the Catering Department to coax him back to life.

"Do you think," gasped Addi, "they finished already?"

"I hope not," said his mother. "There's a little bit of chilled pudding left in that bag, and I refuse to bring it back home."

Steppo didn't pick up the pace, no matter how tempted he might have felt. He knew from experience that whenever the Senior Staff got together for a serious meeting, they tended to get sidetracked by mundane preoccupations and forget about the critical agenda that kept their enterprise running.

Theirs was a sound system, one that Steppo had spent most of his academic years developing. The organization's funds were secured via monthly income-proportional contributions of titular members, paid either in money or supplies. Since Steppo was by far the wealthiest member, he had to scramble every month to pay what he had set himself for, including the rent for their headquarters, where they were now heading.

"There was someone I wanted you to meet," said Mistress Honga. "I hope you'll make a little time for us after the gathering."

"Of course," replied Steppo automatically.

The Academy walls had just come into view, and he contemplated what they'd have to prioritize this time around. The bookkeeper's wife was pregnant again, and the man's measly salary from the failing inn he was employed at could hardly cover the cost. Then there were the two families who had been displaced following a destructive fire in the blacksmiths' quarter. And finally, the seven-day-fever was sweeping through the outer neighborhoods of the capital, taking down small children as its main prey. It wasn't a life-threatening disease, but patients required expensive medication and constant care, which were difficult to come by when their parents had to work twelve hours a day for barely any wages. Several of the families subscribed to their organization had been afflicted, and Steppo couldn't bear to see them struggle, even if he had to redirect the money from other departments.

All things considered, it appeared their emergency funds had to be bolstered, and the Recruitment and Training Programs cut down. Again.

Steppo ground his teeth in frustration, but couldn't bring himself to regret his choices. He'd set about building a revolutionary army for himself and had somehow ended up with a community. A tight-knitted one of amiable and intelligent people, albeit of little financial means, who supported his vision in their own way and were always there to help others in need.

"Cook made stew!"

The words shook Steppo out of his gloomy thoughts and brought him back to his surroundings. They had entered the Academy courtyard and were heading for the small, one-story building they dubbed "headquarters." The mouth-watering smell coming from one of the side-windows was unmistakable, and Steppo smiled at Addi's unbridled enthusiasm.

"Why didn't you tell me you were hungry?" chided his mother. "I could've saved you some pies."

Addi shook his head, and his whole load trembled with him, but he didn't so much as stumble.

"Those are for our new recruits," he said stubbornly. "We need as many as we can get, and every pie - and man - counts. Isn't that right, Chief Strategist?"

Addi beamed at Steppo, who felt the onrushing heat of an uncharacteristic blush. He had many titles in the organization, since they had yet to gather enough people for each to have a unique role, but he didn't mind the additional workload. He'd known what he was getting himself into, and until the time was right, he'd remain their Speaker, Strategist, Budget Manager, Training Officer, and Chief Pool Cleaner. Addi had tried wrestling that last one away from him, but Steppo wouldn't hear of it.

At last, they stopped before the low double doors beneath a narrow sign, which read in bold, bright letters "Liberty Pies and Pool", and Mistress Honga stepped forward to knock the secret sequence. The latch slid open almost immediately, the door pushed aside just a crack, and a shrouded head peered out suspiciously from the narrow space. Tense eyes took in their apparel, then settled on Steppo's face and relaxed visibly.

"Welcome back, Speaker," greeted a muffled voice, and the man stepped aside to let them pass, holding the door open.

Steppo let Mistress Honga and the overburdened Addi enter first. Just as he stepped into the hallway, the guardian clutched at his sleeve, and he halted in mid-stride. Turning a questioning glance towards him, Steppo waited.

"There is a stranger here," hissed Garuvv. "She is not one of us, I do not know her."

Steppo nodded, considering his words. Garuvv was indeed a skeptical one, never to give anyone his full confidence, doubting everything, and making out conspiracies out of every shadow, but his concerns were not to be dismissed. In his official capacity as palace floor scrubber, Garuvv had access to dozens of pairs of eyes and ears, not to mention the opportunities to witness events for himself. To meet someone he was not familiar with must have been a shock.

"If it's Mistress Honga's new apprentice," he ventured, "I believe there's little cause for concern. She wouldn't have brought just anyone in."

"Little cause is still cause enough," muttered Garuvv.

He strode down the hall towards the high archway leading into the main bathing chamber, but stopped abruptly just a few steps away and turned on his heels to face Steppo again.

"I suggest we have a peephole installed on that door," he said. "It's not right, opening it up for just about everyone, to see what they want."

Steppo adopted an understanding smile and nodded again, but that didn't appear to mollify Garuvv. The man walked away again before Steppo could utter a reply. Shaking his head in resignation, he followed the others into the Main Council Chamber.

The sight that greeted him might have appeared jarring to a newcomer, but Steppo had long gotten used to it: the long table set up on the central pathway between half a dozen shallow pools, the scattered chairs left every which way after members had congregated for impromptu discussions, the blindingly spotless floor, but most importantly, the people. This meeting seemed to have attracted more than half of their number, and Steppo couldn't be happier. Important decisions had to be made with the assent of the majority, and the more members made their views known, the better the system could cater to their needs.

"Speaker!"

Many heads turned to watch him, and several figures detached themselves from their respective groups to go to his side. Chief Blacksmith Ferd was the first to reach him.

"Welcome back!" he called out. "You've had a bountiful expedition?"

"Mistress Honga thinks so," replied Steppo. "I confess I got too distracted at one point to notice the proceedings."

Ferd chuckled, crossing his bulky arms and shaking his head.

"That's how you get when you put your heart into it."

"My lord!" called out a shaky voice, whose owner had just skidded to a halt before Steppo, almost bumping into him.

"Have a care, Narin," growled Ferd. "We'd have to stay overtime to clean up if you fell into the water again."

The Second Auxiliary Officer bobbed a curtsy and mumbled apologies under his breath, casting furtive glances at Steppo.

"About the budget..." he began hesitantly.

"I was just about to tell him," interrupted Ferd. Turning to look at Steppo again, the blacksmith's easygoing features morphed into iron cast seriousness. "We've reallocated the money."

Steppo nodded slowly, struggling not to betray his apprehension at learning of the Council's decision. His fingers just yearned to clutch at something, and his whole body wanted to fidget, but he could not allow them to see his loss of control. Almost a dozen members surrounded him now, including some of the Council, all closing in on him and his immediate reaction.

"We've also disbanded the Civil Relief Department," continued Ferd, and Steppo's immediate thought was that he hadn't heard the man right. His eyes growing huge, he opened his mouth to argue, but the blacksmith didn't give him the chance to object.

"There is precedence, of course, and with two clear directions we will have a much more straightforward approach."

Steppo stared at the man with undisguised incredulity. The first and only time they had disbanded a department had been at Steppo's own insistence. He'd presented the case before the Council that there was no longer need for a Propaganda Department, seeing that leaflets and posters were unlikely to attract their target members the way warm food was bound to, and the higher born crowd who might have actually read the things was sure to scoff at the ideals the organization promoted, or even worse, rat them out to the authorities. Steppo wasn't unduly worried about himself if that occurred, but he didn't want these people to suffer for his own lack of foresight, since the Academy's protection could only stretch so far.

Now, however, things were different.

"But," he protested, "we need an emergency fund! We have emergencies right now, we have them all the time!"

"That is not our mission statement, my lord," came a gentle voice from his right.

A chorus of similar observations convinced Steppo of the decision's support among the members, but he couldn't quite bring himself to understand their reasoning. He had made certain that they couldn't trap him into becoming a member of the Council, the administrative heartbeat of Liberty Pies and Pool. They were the ones who made the resolutions concerning their organization as a whole, and Steppo didn't want his own views to sway the votes one way or another. He already had undue influence within their ranks, and they all still deferred to him for even the most trivial issues. He was the Founder, true, but he was also the only noble-born member, and their deference rankled when he considered the precedence of rank in the society they wanted to fight against.

"You don't have to explain," he said quickly. "I'm just worried about all the attributes that fell under that department."

"You only need to worry if you choose to leave us," said Ferd, a wide grin splitting his rough features. "Because from now on, that entire fund will be covered by your monthly contribution."

Steppo found himself staring again, but the blacksmith simply went on.

"Don't you think you'll have time to see where your money goes. Garuvv has kindly agreed to spare some of his ranks to direct those funds, and you'll have your arms full."

"We're bolstering up Recruitment and Training, with emphasis on Training," said one of the Council members in their group, a vegetable stand owner and representative of the Small Merchants' Association of Upper Kassi. "You'll need to train our recruits to be in their best shape, regardless of who we're up against."

"War waits for nothing but supper!" called out a booming voice from the side of the room. "So come and get it!"

The general hubbub following Cook's invitation did nothing to appease Steppo's confusion. When the rest had already drifted away, he seized the blacksmith's tunic and pleaded with him to wait.

"What about your house, Ferd? And Kreden, and the children?"

Ferd patted Steppo's arm, and he immediately thought of his father, but the memory of their last discussion made him banish the image immediately.

"Garuvv found temporary accommodation for us."

Something in the man's attitude gave Steppo pause, and he considered the rest of the Council's decision.

"Why insist on Training?"

He knew it was the right thing to ask when Ferd clenched his jaw and pressed his lips into a concerned line. He hesitated only a second before answering.

"Garuvv says factions are on the move. Our streets might shake with the clashing of blades sooner than we might expect."

"What has he heard?"

"Fractions of rumors, but he also suspected as much. There's something wrong at the Jebrils', the Terevansians are smelling blood like always, and the king can't handle the ministers."

"Maybe they're all just waiting to see who will be crowned queen."

"Maybe." Ferd eyed him carefully, a glimmer of suspicion entering his gaze. "He's keeping a close watch on those proceedings, since there are many interests involved. The daughters of the Inner Council members, and of some ministers and other nobles."

Steppo schooled his features into studied calmness. He understood what the man was implying, but he couldn't acknowledge as much. Even though he was sure everybody in the organization knew who he was, Steppo had never been addressed by his real name, which was perhaps the members' attempt at protecting him where he couldn't protect himself. He liked to think that he was careful in his dealings, but he lacked the subtlety demanded of someone who truly wanted to keep a secret. He tended to jump headfirst into situations one should consider carefully at first, analyzing them from all angles. Such was the case with his ill-timed revenge on his sister, whose first trial must have ended only a few hours before. Steppo regretted talking to their mother about the whole business, but he couldn't turn back now. His only consolation was that Tahni stood no chance of advancing to the later stages, and so she'd be out of harm's way soon enough, if she hadn't been eliminated already.

"I know there's a certain level of uncertainty," he said at last, "but the chances still favor those daughters of the Inner Council. Let them fight it out amongst themselves."

Ferd inclined his head.

"That is the sagest way of dealing with one's enemies." After a brief pause, he cracked a toothy smile. "Would you like something to eat now?"

Steppo relaxed and followed him to the small kitchen, where a considerable line had formed as Cook doled out the portions. People protested her miserly ways, but those who wanted seconds always got them.

"I don't suppose there were any cuts to the Catering Department?" asked Steppo while they waited for their turn. Ferd laughed heartily, and several heads turned to study them curiously.

"We wouldn't dare," he admitted.

Steppo nodded. Anyone who valued their peaceful existence would do well not to attract Cook's ire. When he finally came face to face with the woman, he smiled as he put his bowl forth.

"How'd you manage to sneak out?" he whispered.

"How did you?" retorted Cook, scooping a portion of stew into a wooden ladle.

"Your prison is far stricter than mine."

"I don't go out much, but I couldn't miss the General Assembly. Don't worry, it will not get out."

"If the smell can get out, so can the word. You're just too good at your job."

Cook spluttered, struggling to hold back a proud grin.

"You're holding the line, you bootlicker. Move along now!"

Steppo smiled knowingly and picked up a small dessert plate laden with pudding before moving on to the dining area. This consisted of hastily arranged auxiliary rooms, where ordinary pool goers could store their everyday clothing. Now, small tables and foldable chairs lined the walls, with members mingling and chatting in the aftermath of the meeting.

Steppo smiled as he received several offers to join different groups around the room, but he knew he'd already decided to settle somewhere else when his eyes landed on the lone figure seated at the smallest table in one corner, as far away from everybody else as possible. In truth, he'd seen her as soon as he'd stepped into the room, and she seemed to have spotted him as well, but now that he was approaching, she pretended to be looking somewhere else.

As Steppo studied her, Garuvv's words finally sank in. This woman was certainly not one of them.