magician
Samantha
“You’re so stupid,” said Agarma. Samantha didn’t react. “You could’ve been well-positioned after Reimond died. You could’ve been an aspiration! An unruly princess who tempered herself in study, in service of creating new technologies to improve everyone’s lives.” He glanced to Claire, holding a paper. “Acknowledge?”
She fumbled with her sleeve. “Acknowledged. Time is, uh, 8:56, No, 8:57, sir. It incremented as I was speaking,”
Agarma closed his eyes. “Y’see, Samantha? Easy golem replacement. A lot of P₇ and P₁₂.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Claire.
“Don’t… we’ll talk after, Claire. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Samantha sat simply on the floor, leaning against the wall, legs out. “Are you really going to execute me?” she whimpered.
“Yes.”
Her heart fell into the abyss. She slumped. “Why?”
“Besides your unruly behaviour? Besides the awful example you set? Besides that your behaviour landed one of our best pupils in a cell?”
“What was that last one?”
“Say yes.”
“Yes what.”
“‘Yes, besides all that.’”
She slowly cast her gaze up. “Yes, besides all that.”
“For Anisa. She’s wanted an excuse to permanently get rid of you for a long time.”
Adrenaline swelled. “That’s not true. Ask her. We’re a team! I know, I may be impulsive, but I make people’s lives better! I do paperwork! I discuss bylaws! I run pancake breakfasts! I figure out what needs improving in Felkner, and I find people who can do it! And I just found a way that everything can be improved, and I was trying to bring someone who could do it back with me! You know that! Please, please, I’m useful, I’m trying.”
His assistant(?) side-eyed him. “Yes, I know,” he said. “I almost admire your impulsiveness. I love you too, Samantha.” He paced. “You’re cute, too. God, everyone is so cute.” He paused. “Your brain is worth at least 10 peasants.”
“More like 50,” muttered Samantha.
“Granted, 50. You don’t see farmers being so secure in their delusion that they’d kidnap and brainwash a teacher.”
“Dad was.”
He grit his teeth. “Granted, father was delusional. But he was more than that. He was kind. He would listen when his compatriots told him he had bad ideas. Samantha. Sa-man-tha. Do you know the word ‘co-operation’?”
Blink.
“…‘Co’, as in ‘together’, and ‘operari’, as in—”
“Yes, you have a dictionary in your head. Give it a rest. You thought the impropriety was worth it. Assault, robbery, kidnapping, all in service of a better world. Samantha, if, through those means, you get a world that’s ‘better’, it’ll still be worse than the one with ‘co-operation’. A world founded on force, on assertions that you’re better than everyone else, even if it’s true, is fragile. You don’t have anyone, Samantha. They all hate you. Because you’re awful.”
“Anisa doesn’t hate me. Woah, wait, this is rich, coming from—”
“Awful! She does! And so does your guild, who sent a letter—” his assistant handed him a piece of paper “—ahem, ‘request[ing] the execution be delayed until [their] arrival’.”
“Oh. Will you?”
“No. I might give them your heart, when they arrive. I’m keeping your head. And that stupid, cute, smile. Point is, they didn’t ask for it to be stopped, or claim I’m unreasonable. They want it just as much as I do, just as much as Anisa does.”
“You really should wait for them. I know, uh, they may offer you something in return if you let them watch.” Maybe someone would get her out of this still.
“I’d like to give you an offer. We execute someone in your place, and I keep you alive in my dungeon, forever. I’ve done the calculus, Samantha. The world can keep your wondrous (albeit redundant) ideas, but it can lose you.”
Blink.
“What does dad think?”
“Nothing. I can’t imagine the restraint Anisa needed to not rip father’s head off when he declared me heir, ha. If I were her, I would’ve killed him.”
“You keep talking about her as if you know her…”
“I intend to propose,” he said, ignoring her.
“Propose what.”
“To her. A partnership. Prior to your execution. The future of Brune is guaranteed, then. I can’t wait to hear of her tax policies.” His assistant glared and glared.
“Policies which I helped create.”
“And I thank you for your contributions.”
“I feel like you’re not listening to me.”
“Not really. You’re a net negative, and your voice is annoying.”
“So what was the point in seeing me, then. What was the point in any of this, if you just wanted to hear yourself talk. I know a good glassblower, if you need more mirrors to speak to. Too bad that information would die with me.”
“Shut up. Ah, yes. Just before this, I was reading Vincent Whiteclaw’s arrest testimony.”
“Why was he arrested?” Though she was annoyed, she continued to deflate.
“Took evidence without proper authorization. A certain stipospace backpack. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“…I mean, it’s my backpack, I don’t know why he’d do it.”
“Shame, we might have to execute him, too.”
“Don’t… don’t do that. He’s good. He’s smart. It’d be a waste.” Gray and passionless.
“Anyways, I saw you talking about being a fool, and him being a fool, and I thought, no you’re not. I thought I’d give you a tarot reading, myself.”
“Okay.”
“The deck, Claire.” And his assistant handed him a deck.
He drew a card. “Ah, inverted magician. How fitting.” He placed it on the floor in front of her.
“That’s not inverted, you idiot, that’s upright.”
“I’m the one doing the reading, so it’s from my perspective.”
“Your perspective is stupid and wrong.”
“Inverted magician represents restlessness and manipulation.”
“I know what it means,” said Samantha.
“Wouldn’t it be funny if I actually drew a fool? What are the odds of that?”
“With minor, modal and major, 1 in 86, minus 1,” said Samantha.
“Ah, close, it’s 1 in 85. 1 in 86 minus 1 is negative 85 out of 86. You should’ve stayed in school.”
Samantha had long since broken eye contact, eyes unfocussing. She didn’t bother moving her head or glaring.
He drew another. “Ah, wheel of fortune. Wheel of fortune…” he looked up, but Samantha was checked out. “You know, Penrose was a big proponent of Fortuna. He got executed, too.”
Blink.
“Ask me who Penrose is.”
“Nah.”
“Okay, inverted magician, wheel of fortune, and…” he drew a third card. He frowned. He frowned.
His assistant glanced over. “Oh, we must’ve shuffled a second deck in. Sorry about that.”
Samantha brought her eyes up. “What is it.”
“Invalid,” said Agarma. He crumpled it up and threw it back. He drew another. “There. Seven of Swords. That makes more sense.”
“Did you kill Quincy?”
Blink.
“Yes.”