Realizing the situation is different than expected, Thalia's eyes turn pitch black and the colors around her drain for a moment as she outlines one of the men with stardust. This gives Mel a clear target to shoot, firing a bullet into his side. "Argh! Dammit!" he curses, badly injured.
Lucien leaps into the cabin to find a brown-haired woman bound with rope at the wrists and ankles. A gag hangs around her neck, though she has managed to dislodge it from her mouth. "Help me!" she cries. The tiefling grabs her and hauls her out of the carriage.
The two men fire on Melanae, but neither hit. Arrows streak through the fog to strike the glowing man, and he goes down!
Thalia makes the second kidnapper glow!
"Thalia, that's great!" Mel calls as she aims at the second kidnapper.
Lucien simply drags the woman out of the carriage, not wasting time on niceties like untying her first.
Melanae barely manages to land a glancing shot on the kidnapper's shoulder. He draws his sword and rushes at the eladrin, but she dodges his strike. Then an arrow whizzes into the man's back, and he falls!
"You have nowhere to run!" comes the voice of one of the men on the ridge. "My men are even now moving in to flank you. Surrender and give us back Morena!"
"Renard! I'm here! I'm safe! These people rescued me! Stand down!" the bound woman shouts.
With a horrible creaking noise, the carriage finally rolls off of the ledge, plummeting thirty feet down to the road below! It shatters into splinters!
Thalia dismisses the cloud of fog, revealing that indeed, two more men in leathers have approached with bows drawn.
"What is going on here?" Lucien asks, not moving to untie the woman just yet. "It is always a pleasure to rescue une femme in distress, but one likes to know why one is doing the rescuing..."
"Those thugs belong to a thieves' guild run by a man named Lorcan Kell," Morena explains. "Somehow they got it in their heads that they deserved a cut of the profits we make from banditry here in the Cloudwood. The dispute got out of control so they decided to kidnap me and try to run off. Maybe they thought they could ransom me back to Renard, but my boyfriend wasn't about to let them get away with that! Now, will you please untie me?"
You untie the woman, who happily rushes into the arms of the lead brigand. Renard thanks you for your help, then orders his men to drag off the dead thugs as they head on their way.
You finish ascending to the henge where Nevard Sechim lives. A small cluster of homes lies at the top of the hill. Past this, a ring of stone plinths stand in a grassy clearing. Normally empty during the day, now a tent sits at the edge of the clearing, and a half dozen caretakers sit outside, waiting for their leader to pass.
Nevard's tenders are wary of you, but when Thalia introduces herself as a skyseer, they allow you to enter the tent. Inside the tent, the light from smoldering incense sticks is dim, to spare the old man’s eyes. A faint stench of withering cloys the air, not quite masked by fragrant scents of cinnamon and cloves.
Nevard Sechim is an ancient human man. His skin is drawn and he labors to take in deep breaths, but his eyes are clear and alert. "Welcome," he wheezes. "To what do I owe the privilege of this visit?"
"Bonjour Monsieur." Lucien says, offering a courteous bow. "We are members of the Royal Homeland Constabulary, investigating a murder. We were told that the woman in question, Mademoiselle Nilasa Hume, was an... adherent of yours and that she may have had links with some radical groups. We seek information Monsieur, that we may avoid any more loss of life."
Lucien fixes the old man with his gaze, watching carefully for any sign of falsehood.
"More specifically, we are hoping to get in contact with Gale," Thalia says gently. "We believe she has information vital to our investigation. Your nephew, Heward, sent us your way."
Nevard turns his head to regard Thalia. "You are a deva! How amazing it must be to live so many lives. Regrettably, I have but the one, and it is almost at it's end. But I digress...
"You want to speak to Gale, eh? That woman has been causing mayhem in Flint. Indeed, she has come to me several times asking my guidance. She hasn’t listened to me much, of course!" Nevard chuckles.
"But the last time she visited, she said she had followed my advice and had found a mutual threat that even the people of Flint would take seriously. I might not agree with Gale’s tactics, but I like her. After all, she’s one of the few beautiful women who’ll give an old man like me more than polite conversation, and she always is accompanied by the sweet music of birds. I hope she’ll be able to get people to listen to her warnings, and I would like it if you could help her, but I am wary of betraying her trust. I will only arrange a meeting if you can grant an old man his dying wish..."
Nevard pauses to judge your reactions. Lucien can sense only earnestness and hope in his voice.
"That depends on the weesh." Lucien replies. "We are officers of the law, there is a limit to what we can do. If it falls within those bounds however, then yes, we will."
"It is not illegal, but it is dangerous," Nevard wheezes. "I want to go to the peak of Cauldron Hill, the highest point in the city, with the clearest skies and the strongest font of magical power. There, I might be able to pierce the strange veil that seems to have fallen over the vision of the skyseers. I desire to find a path that can let people like Gale and those pushing for industry walk together in harmony.
"But Cauldron Hill is firstly restricted, and only Reed Macbannin, the mayor of the Nettles district and a mage skilled in the defense against the dark arts, can grant anyone access. Secondly, the reason it’s restricted is because it is probably the most dangerous and cursed place in the country, so even if I can go there, I'll need protection.
"My dying wish, then, is for you to arrange for the four of us to climb to the peak of Cauldron Hill and spend an evening. It’s not unprecedented; Macbannin and some of his apprentices go there to keep eyes out for threats before they get out of hand, and occasionally the military trains elite warriors atop the mountain. With the right wards from Macbannin, it could even be safe. Do this for me, and I will give you your meeting with Gale."
"What is this veil you're talkin' about? Is it endangerin' skyseers?" Mel asks. "What do you mean by cursed as well? Just suspicious talk or actual magic?"
"You also say its your dyin' wish but you can't predict that you're gonna die just after so it might seem a lil suspicious." Mel adds, not at all subtly.
"The veil is not a new thing, alas," Nevard sighs. "In the past few centuries, the skyseers in Risur have struggled to divine much of import from the stars. Our visions, never precise or clear to begin with, failed to foresee the rise of Danor’s industry, failed to avert scores of natural disasters and man-made tragedies. Our influence has faded, and few young people today aspire to join their once-prestigious ranks.
"Cauldron Hill's curse is a literal one. Centuries ago, a coven of witches took up residence there, tearing a hole in the veil between this world and the Bleak Gate. Eventually the witches were defeated when King Lorcan allied with a Crisillyiri godhand and led an assault during a lunar eclipse. Ever since, the peak of Cauldron Hill has been rife with haunting and spirit activity, and one of the key tasks of the district mayor has been to keep daring fools from ascending the mountain and coming down possessed."
Nevard pauses for a lengthy coughing fit. Eventually, it subsides. "Make no mistake about it, young lady, I am dying. No single ailment is killing me; my heart is weak, my kidneys failing, my bones brittle, my blood thin. I may not die tomorrow, but it won't be much longer than that, and I should like to try this one last thing before I go..."
"No offense, but this veil is probably why I don't know much about this skyseer business."
Mel sighs, even though she can be a little gruff, she always still means well. "We will certainly help you with this wish Nevard. Thalia here spoke highly of you before we spoke to you."
"We will create a plan on how to get there, and will let you know the deets. If there is anythin' else you think we should know, please do tell us now."
"There is one thing," Nevard says. "When the time comes to ascend Cauldron Hill, we will first enact a ritual. It binds the life forces of one or more people to the spell’s target, so that one person can share the health and vigor of the others. With your approval, I will temporarily bind myself to one or more of you to help me make the journey."
Thalia is grateful for the chance to help Nevard and volunteers to partake in the ritual. "Shall we seek an audience with Mayor Macbannin now to request permission to climb Cauldron Hill?" the deva asks.
Lucien nods in acceptance - this whole mission does not make him happy, at all, but if that's what it takes to stop a terrorist then it will have to be done.
"So, we make the request - emphasise that Monsieur Nevard is assisting the Constabulary in an effort to stop a terrorist attack and needs to climb ze mountain to attempt a vision?" He asks as they head downwards. "He will be accompanied at all times by us as members of the constabulary etc. 'Ave I missed anything?"
"I think that's about it," Thalia says. "With luck, Macbannin will be amenable to the request."
The district known as the Nettles consists of a small spur of the mountains of the Cloudwood that cuts into the heart of Flint, and for most of the city’s history these hills were home to druidic rituals, or simply let romantics witness wondrous vistas of the beaches from on high. The traditional name came from an old commander of the Flint fort, who saw them as a thorny barrier against attack from the north.
The greatest achievement of the previous district mayor was constructing a highway across Humble Hill to make travel across the city easier, but in the past few decades the district, even the base of Cauldron Hill itself, have grown thick with slum housing, as more and more people flock to Flint hoping to find work in the factories. The broad switchbacks of the highway are cluttered with shacks, often with two or three families sharing the same building. Poorly crafted houses cling to the sides of slopes, and they have become a nightmare for local police to patrol, giving a whole new connotation to the name “The Nettles.”
The current district mayor Reed Macbannin has been unable to halt the new arrivals, and he hasn’t been helped by the common prejudice that the factory workers are prone to crime, laziness, and general mayhem. Despite this, he has managed to earn passing respect from the people of his district; few are trusted with the stewardship of Cauldron Hill, and he has leveraged his office to get city tax money for the poorest of the poor.
Any person who sits as mayor of The Nettles must have the approval of the previous mayor and the city governor. He is not elected to his position. A lattice of wards, assembled over centuries, protects the rest of the city from the dangers of old witchcraft, and whoever oversees these wards must be skilled in defensive magic and be trusted not to be corrupted by undead spirits of the witches who once ruled there.
***
The one quality road in The Nettles curves around Cauldron Hill, heading up to the manor of Mayor Reed Macbannin, located a thousand feet up the twenty-three hundred foot high mountain. Here the gentle slope of the lower mountain turns to a steeper and rockier rise of stone, making Macbannin’s rich manor the gatekeeper between the slum homes of thousands and the cursed mountaintop. The compound’s high iron fence surrounds a manor house, servant houses, a stable and a track for horses, a carriage house, a red-brick gardener’s building, and overall beautiful landscaping with myriad flowers.
When you arrive and state your intentions, the manor's butler asks you to take a seat in the garden in front of the house while he goes to speak to Macbannin. While you are waiting, another middle-aged man steps into the garden for a moment. He lights a cigarette--known as leaf of Nicodemus--and nods to you. His gaze is drawn to the slums stretching out across the nearby hillsides, and he shakes his head as he exhales a huff of smoke.
“Can you imagine what it’s like to live down there?” he asks, almost rhetorically. “Chaos, that’s what it is. The mayor,” he nods his head back toward the house, “he could come up with the most brilliant plan to help those people. He could get all the money in the city’s coffers. He could do everything right, but he’s just one man. Not a cog in a machine, but a pebble on a beach. Chaos.”
He takes another draw on the cigarette, then smiles. “It’s beautiful, what people can create out of chaos. But I’d gladly give it up to stop their suffering.”
"Money and a plan would help a lot more." Mel replies matter-of-factly. "Pretty words are great, but the governor and the king have plenty of those. The mayor needs to be the man who actually gets things done on the ground."
A groom comes up, guiding the man's horse, but the man holds up a hand to forestall him as he regards Melenae. "Indeed. What would you do, then, if you were in charge? What would you change to make things better?" He takes another long drag from his cigarette.
Lucien stays out of this conversation, as a noble and a foreigner he knows that this is probably not the best place for his input.
"We need to focus on the livin' conditions of those that need it most, not continue to put money in the hands of those who already have a s$*t tonne. Providin' a road is all well and good, but those houses that they're all livin' in is just unacceptable. How can we expect these people to contribute to our society if they're treated like c*£p. Build some decent communal housin' provide it at decent prices. Make sure they can use transport to get to their work."
Mel clearly is passionate about this, her hand gestures become more animated and tone more pressing as she continues. "And what's with allowin' all those factory owners to do what they're doin' anyway. Its criminal. The city needs to step in but has been so quiet on the issue." She turns to Lucien, realising she is dominating the conversation and takes a deep breath as she has always practiced when she feels herself getting riled up.
"Eet is leadership that is needed." Lucien adds. "People standing up who are willing to do what is necessary for the majority - not just for ze owners who have ze money." He shrugs. "Eet is hard, but you can look at Danor to see what 'appens if it is not done. My kind were ze lowest of ze low, and now we run the country. We do it well too!" He adds in a flash of patriotism. "Leaders Monsieur. With the right leaders things could be improved greatly."
Mel looks at Lucien as he is speaking, a smile appearing as she considers his response.
He'd make a fine leader himself. I wonder if he would every consider it?
"Where is this mayor anyway?" Mel asks, looking around. "We have an important request."
The man smiles at your words. ”Well said, both of you. If only more people of action like you were in charge, perhaps this city would be a better place.” He finishes his cigarette and stamps it out before moving to mount his horse. ”Mayor Macbannin is inside. Farewell!” He lights up another cigarette and departs.
A few minutes after the enigmatic man rides off, the butler returns to escort you into the manor proper. Macbannin invites you into his office, its rear window facing the higher slope of Cauldron Hill. As you sit down, the butler serves whatever you desire from the mayor’s supplies of tea, wine, coffee, and sweets.
”Mayor Reed Macbannin, at your service, constables,” the mayor says, offering his hand to shake. ”Now, what can I do for you?”
Mel clears her throat and tries to speak a little clearer than she normally does. "We're looking for access to Cauldron Hill. Unfortunately, the Seer Nevard is entering his last moments in life and his dying wish is to visit the tip before he passes. He has asked for three constables to join him to ensure his safety and Lucien, Thalia and I have been chosen to do this. Would you be willing to give us this access, given how little time the man has left?" She asks, hoping it is as easy as that.
"We have evidence, Monsieur La Mayor that a terrorist named Gale is attempting to lead an attack against the city. Monsieur Nevard will facilitate a meeting for us but only if he is able to climb to Cauldron Hill and attempt a veesion. We need your permission Monsieur, to do so."
Macbannin listens to your request with a grim expression. ”No, I don’t think I can do that for you,” he says solemnly. A moment later, though, he breaks into a grin. ”Kidding! I’ll be glad to help. This could be good if Nevard is actually able to avert further attacks by Gale. It will help my district if people know that I helped make it happen.
“I’ll allow you to spend one night on the mountain, but I insist that they come through my manor on the way up and the way down. You should ascend during the day and make camp at the peak before nightfall. You’ll need to be prepared to defend yourselves against the dark arts. I will provide you each with a slightly rusted iron amulet, which you must wear to protect from possession by evil spirits. I’ll also give you four kegs of goat’s blood, which you must use to paint a ring of red around wherever you make camp. Spirits are distracted by blood, and the color red in general. They will likely smell you, but when they spot the blood they’ll believe they’ve found the trail of a wounded animal, after which they’ll mindlessly walk in circles since they’ll never find the end of the ring.
“It’s not flawless. If you don’t stay out of sight, the denizens of Cauldron Hill will pay more heed to a moving creature than a trail of blood. Also, while a dim fire will be useful because of the supernatural chill on the mountaintop, I would suggest you surround the fire with stones to hide its light. The weather should be clear for the next few days, so you won’t have to worry about rain washing the blood away, but you should be careful not to mess up the ring yourselves.
“And on the way down, you should come back through the manor. I’ll have a purification ritual prepared so I can clear away any dark energy that might be clinging to you.”
Macbannin nods. ”That should about cover it. Any questions?”
"That seems most clear, merci Monsieur." Luciens says with a bow. "What sort of spirits would you except at ze top of ze mountain? Also, zere was a man here when we arrived, smoking a cigarillo. Who was he?"
"The witches of Cauldron Hill wore thin the barriers between this world and the Bleak Gate. All sorts of undead shades and shadowy fiends now slip through the veil at night. Nasty spooks, all," Macbannin says.
"That man you saw was merely a messenger. He brought word of other happenings across the city."
"Interestin' happenin's I hope?" Mel asks giving up on her posher pretense after he tricked them for a second.
"How many people have been there recently? Have they news to tell about the Hill that might help us keep the seer safe apart from the preparations you told us about above? Maybe somethin' nicer than goat's blood?"
"There are always interesting happenings in Flint," Macbannin confirms, though he does not elaborate.
"Only myself and my men have been up to Cauldron Hill for quite some time. And they all have been specially trained and loaded down with wards and charms to prevent possession. Unfortunately, there's not much else I can tell you but to follow my recommendations!"
"Then our thanks, Monsieur La Mayor." Lucien says with a bow. "We will return tomorrow."
The sun has begun to set by the time you depart Macbannin’s manor. As you leave, Thalia turns to you. ”It’s probably too late to begin inquiring after the doctor Nilasa met with, but perhaps we should pay a visit to the Thinking Man’s Tavern? We can see what her associates their know about her illicit activities.”
"Sounds like a plan Thalia. We can sure have a drink whilst we're visitin' too!" Mel says, perking up at the idea.
Before setting off, she makes sure that they remove all signs of the fact that they belong to the constabulary from their clothing. "I think for this, we will attract more information from gossip about her death and people talkin' 'bout her rather than demanin' information."
Depending on who you ask, the name Bosum Strand comes either from the boatswains who frequented its taverns, or from the harbor’s more traditional name, which translated to bosom of the sea. In either case, the docks along the east shore of Flint Bay are the heart of the city’s trade, culture, and crime.
Hundreds of warehouses serve Flint’s merchant fleet, and dozens of bars, taverns, gambling houses, and brothels serve its dock workers. Craftsmen, artists, and money changers own shops surrounding several scattered public squares throughout the district, and the district’s mayor Griffin Stowe has strong-armed property owners along major streets to ensure that when the wealthy and influential travel the strand they are not forced to see any of the district’s uncouth underbelly.
This is why, of course, the dockers make a point to perform on as many street corners and squares as possible.
The district is currently clearing out tenants and demolishing buildings for a freight rail line. The station is already under construction, and once complete it will speed delivery of raw materials and natural exports. More importantly, it will let Flint share its industrial bounty with the rest of the nation. Unusually, many local druids have been recruited to speak with the spirits of the land and appease them so they will not disrupt the building process.
***
The Thinking Man’s Tavern lies a few streets off from the main docks of Bosum Strand, memorable for the cobbled-together statue that stands by its entrance, an assortment of flotsam and jetsam assembled into the shape of a sitting man deep in thought. Dozens of patrons crowd the tavern's common room, drinking and carousing. The crowd is a generous mix of performers, revolutionaries, intellectuals, and poseurs to the same.
When you enter the tavern, the place shakes a little bit. Patrons freak out as glasses topple off tables and crack. An orc sailor from Ber cries out, “Earthquake!” but the tremor stops almost immediately.
People are momentarily nervous until a middle-aged man speaks up from a table by the bar, loud enough for the whole place to hear. “Don’t listen to the porcine panic. Flint has been geologically stable since it was founded. We could no sooner have an earthquake than a blizzard! It was probably just the ground settling.” Soon, the clientele return to their drinks and food.
Melenae walks in confidently and takes a seat at the bar, patting the stall next to her encouraging both Thalia and Lucien to join her.
"Evenin' three ales please and whatever you recommend for dinner." She asks the bartender. She takes off her jacket and stretches. "Long day today." She says, to the bartender, trying to start some small talk.
Tall like a ship’s mast, the bartender happily pours you your drinks and calls back to the kitchen to start preparing your meals. ”Tell me about it! Well, you came to the right spot to blow off some steam. Name's Tad Hilly. What brings you to my tavern?”
Lucien shuts up - his accent would stick out like a sore thumb here, so he drinks and does his best to look besotted with Thalia so as to explain his being so quiet. Luckily that's not too hard.
"Oh just lookin' for a good meal. Had the place recommended by a friend a while back and I was in the area, so why not and I for sure needed some company so that I didn't have to remain the third-wheel with these two. " She adds, gesturing to Thalia and Lucien. "So, busy day at the tavern today?"
She continues her small talk with the barkeep for a few minutes before leaning forward slightly, as if ready to share a secret.
"Did you hear the news that Nilasa gettin' impaled on that spike? Crazy huh? Heard from my friend that recommended this place that she came in here all the time."
Tad is happy to engage in small talk. He tells Mel that he bought the tavern after he retired from a twenty year career as an "adventuresome pirate." He brags about outwitting the king of the mer-fey and outwrestling his pet kraken.
When Mel mentions Nilasa, Tad frowns. "Bad bit of business, that. I didn't know her that well, but Barb did. Hey, Barb! C'mere!"
An older barmaid makes her way over to you, going on sixty. At first impression she seems little more than wrinkles, a toothy smirk, and two handfuls of silver rings, but she has a natural charm that effortlessly makes you feel at home.
"These folks are asking about Nilasa," Tad says.
Barb sighs and shakes her head. "Poor girl. She was such a bright light around here. Luminous, really. I had no idea what sort of trouble she was getting into. Were you friends of hers?"
"No, not friends, just acquaintances. Did she get into a lot of trouble round here then?" Mel asks, trying to look curious about gossip, but not too keen.
"Oh, no, not here!" Barb says. "She was a wonderful girl who would never hurt anybody! I simply can't imagine what happened that lead her to such a grisly fate." She sniffles and wipes at her eyes.
"Nilasa had recently made friends with the Professors over there. They're a group of 'professional students' at Pardwight University." She points to the end of the bar where several middle-aged men and women are drinking, smoking pipes, and sharing papers and books. Among them is the man who decried the tremor. "They might be able to tell you more about her."
Mel looks over at the professors. "Oh, what're they students of? You know?" She says, downing a little of her drink. "I might just go talk to them for a bit of gossip until my food is ready."
Mel gets up off the bar stool, leaving Lucien and Thalia to whatever they think they're up to and heads over to the Professors.
"G'day gentlemen, how're we all doin' ?"She asks. "Barb over here said you knew Nilasa? Nasty business what happened to her."
”Most of them have been students for decades, so they’ve got a lot of majors between them,” Barb says. ”Hennet’s their leader. He’s a student of both archaeology and philosophy and won’t shut up about either!”
The Professors are cagey as Mel approaches. ”You certainly have been asking a lot of questions about Miss Hume,” Hennet says. ”If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were a cop or constable. Hmm... Indulge me in a bit of a thought experiment, will you? And for the purposes of it, let us say that you are, in fact, an officer of the law.
“In any society there are rituals of interaction to establish authority and mark the passage of one stage of life to another. You as a law officer must be familiar with these rituals, particularly the one where you ask questions, the suspect claims he knows nothing, and you by turn explain how you will punish those who do not cooperate.
“But this is an old tradition, and we live in modern times. We live in what some call an age of reason. A few of the ladies and gentlemen in this fine establishment would prefer if it were an age of revolution. And like a revolution, reason requires us to turn our thoughts. Always approach a problem the same way, with the same ritual, and you miss other possible paths to satisfaction.
“So I pose to you an assignment. Rather than convincing us that your authority is mighty and that we should quail at the thought of disobeying it, can you give us reason why your authority is legitimate? We can leave for another day the discussion of whether it serves our interest to let watchmen hold us to account for actions when we are arguably individuals of free will. Today, though, just tell us why you think you have the right to enforce the law.”
He takes a drag from his pipe and sits back to await Mel’s answer.
At the bar Lucien's ears prick up. One odd side effect of his dreams has been a distinct increase in the quality of his hearing and the 'student' has posed the most interesting conversation he's heard in ages. This is Mel's moment however so he turns to look at Thalia again, although the deva can see that she doesn't have anything like the tiefling's full attention.
Thalia spares a few glance at Lucien as she sips her drink. Her owl perches on the bar, cracking peanuts with his beak.
The deva looks like she might say something until she sees the tiefling listening intently to the other conversation, so she remains silent, just giving Lucien a warm smile.
Mel, not the kind to be interested in such a question, shrugs her shoulders.
"Y'know, I'm not that interested fella's. I was just lookin' for some gossip and I cannot be arsed with all this foolin' around. My friend over there might be interested, he's a bit of a thinker, but not me."
She shrugs again. "Hey, Lucien, drag your eyes off her for a sec and come over here will you?" She calls across the bar."This man has got a puzzle for you." Mel turns and walks back to the bar as if to solidify her 'disinterest' in the whole subject and trying to assure others she was just looking for gossip and is not someone hot on Nilasa's trail.
"So Monsieur," Lucien says, taking Mel's place at the table. "Regale me with your question." Once the philosopher has repeated it Lucien sits back to consider the problem.
"So, we assume zat I am an offeecer of ze law." He says, over playing his accent for effect. "I am also myself non? So still Danoran. Eet eez certainly true zat Risur has long relied on threats to ensure co-operation, eet is a shame, but perhaps necessary in a country with such economic disparity. Ze rich, who benefit most from ze law, have no moral authority and zo zey must rely on force, which zey can purchase, to make their case for zem. But I am wandering, pardonnez moi. Well, eef I were a law officer I would plead ze greater good. I would say zat I seek information not for my own profeet, but for ze good of ze city as a whole. No doubt I would speek of a crime or plot and ze damage and destruction zat would arise. I would assume zat, as theenking monsieurs e madames you wish to zee society ordered, razzer zan in revolt. So I say I am ze thin line between ze life of a comfortable scholar and ze fury of ze poor on ze streets, ze mob who would tear away zose comforts and you wiz eet. I am afterall Danoran - we know ze price of revolution all too well."
He offers a smile. "An intriguing hypothesis indeed Monsieur. Allow me to propose one of my own. Eef you, a man of free will, were hypothetically to be questioned by myself, ze hypothetical officer of ze law, what reasons would you 'ave to refuse zat help? We make no presumptions of guilt or innocence, I would simply like to 'ear ze reasoning behind your response, or not."
"I could think of several reasons one might be reluctant to respond to an officer's interrogation," Hennet says. "To avoid implicating oneself in an unrelated crime, to protect the individual the questions were about, or perhaps just out of a general disregard for authority figures, just off the top of my head.
"You say you would plead the greater good. But whose greater good? If you're part of a governmental structure endorsed by society as a whole, what size society is necessary for a group to claim it is separate from that whole? And if you’re protecting us from harm, what makes you better arbiters of what is harmful than any of us?"
"Surely ze greater good stands for eetself as a simple calculation, non?" Lucien replies. "Your own philosopher, Monsieur Bentham, said that. Ze greatest good for ze greatest number. As for your seperate group surely eet is not a matter of size but of partaking. Ze government offers many things - protection, medical care, ze protection of ze law. Eef you partake in zese things zen you are subject to zat government. I am sure we all agree zat ze bonds of obligation go both ways non?"