8. A Little Birdie Sung

Sinnika stood behind his desk and wrote the recent events into his history books. He tried to be quick about it, worrying that Empero might enter and read it. Since losing popularity, the emperor wasn’t in a particularly good mood. Sinnika’s whispering fell on deaf ears.

I told Empero not to rebuild his palace larger, and certainly not on the ashes of other animal’s homes. And CERTAINLY not including a “singing hall” that was larger than all temples in Amor combined. It was rude, it was extravagant, it was selfish. But he didn’t listen to me anymore. This was how it started with Gatagrip too: he started ignoring his mother’s whispers, and not long after he gave the command to murder his own mother!

Yes, I spoke with the messenger. The one who delivered that dreadful message. The one who saw, with his own eyes, how Empero’s experiments with thunder caused the Great Fire. One of many who heard the mad emperor SING, as if nothing was happening, while the inhabitants of Amor struggled for their lives!

I have been a tutor, a mentor, maybe more to Empero almost his entire life. As can be read in my earlier writings, I care for him like he were my son. But I fear I have to move against him. They offered me the throne, but I am not worthy and I honorably declined. Still, we need to act against this mad tyrant—

The door opened. Empero barged in; Sinnika instantly turned around and shoved the pile of papyrus away.

“I think I’ve figured it out,” said Empero with a smile. “Oh, Sinnika, you will love this.”

“Figured what out?”

Empero frowned. “Why the energy was different at the top and the bottom of the thunderstrike. Why, Sinnika, it’s all I’ve been thinking about these past few months!”

He slammed Alix’ heavy book, which he could carry much more easily now, right on top of Sinnika’s writing. “Alix talks a lot about heat energy. About fires. About how those tiny particles, which make up everything, vibrate faster when something is hotter.”

“Yes, yes, I read it myself.”

“Well, the Great Fire of Amor was caused by thunder, wasn’t it? I redirected thunder straight at homes of innocents, and watch how easily they burn! Ha ha!” Empero’s tail pointed at the candles hanging from the wall, the only light in the room. “I thought that thunder was just light energy. But no, it’s also heat! Once the thunder has reached the ground, a lot of its energy has evaporated as heat, perhaps scorching the grass. That’s why the energy left is less on the ground.”

Sinnika stroked his beard. “Alright. And what does that mean?”

“It was as you always said. Oh Sinnika, you’ve always been the wisest person I know!” Empero presented his theory with a flourish. “I propose that heat energy and light energy always appear at the same time.”

“Hmm. But if they always appear together, aren’t they just the same energy? Light-heat energy? A mixture?”

“No. Maybe. Light and warmth certainly feel like different things, right? I don’t know, I need to do more experiments. For Alix. For progress! I’ll make everything right and be the best emperor ever!”

“Good work, boy. Please don’t set Amor on fire ag—”

Empero left. Sinnika finished his writings, then immediately moved to distribute them among the most powerful Elite.

With most of Amor either ruined or being rebuilt, Tresmo received a fourth functionality: meeting place. It was the only location mostly untouched by the fire. It was in the middle of all the destroyed districts, and close to where Empero was rebuilding his larger palace.

He woke up early each day from Commonfolk sharing food, materials, or advice on how to build a stronger home. He fell asleep late each day surrounded by homeless animals.

It had been a while since he’d interacted with so many animals. The cage of eternal fire around him had isolated him for too long, and he enjoyed the flocks of birds settling on his branches now.

“A little birdie told me,” twittered a bird, “that it was Empero who set Amor on fire himself!”

“We mustn’t stand for this,” chittered another bird. “An emperor who burns his own city? And is laughing and singing as it burns? He can’t be trusted anymore.”

“We should’ve seen it coming,” replied another. “He murdered his own mother! He is clearly mad.”

“What will he do next? Poison all the Senators? He is just like his mother. Only out for power and vengeance.”

Tresmo was appalled to hear this. It did not match all that he had personally seen from Empero. He wanted to interrupt, but couldn’t get a word past the hundreds of chatting, tweeting and chirping birds.

“Well,” whispered a larger bird conspiratorially, a word which here means “he whispered to make sure nobody overheard, not because he had a sore throat”. He continued: “A little birdie told me that we’re not alone in our thoughts. We have found a soldier among Empero’s staff who shares our concerns. We plan to convince him to … you know … remove the emperor tonight.”

“You mean to … make the emperor permanently sleep?”

“Yes … yes … Empero shall be dealt with …”

“He will be … struck off the list?”

Tresmo wanted to interrupt again. The same thing as always. Another plot. Another assassination. Another emperor kicked off the throne through foul means. It was never going to change, was it? He had seen the cycle for a thousand years, and he imagined he’d see it happen until he died. Or could he stop it?

But no, his interruption was lost amongst the clouds. His slow and deep voice was no match for hundreds of birds singing over each other.

“But who will take his place? He has no children. Gatagrip has murdered all close family.”

“Oh, the Senators are fighting it out,” said the very conspiratorial bird. “A little birdie told me that their eye has fallen on Empero’s tutor, Sinnika. A wise fox. Served well all these years. We have his writing to thank for the truth coming out. He always listened to the needs of the Elite, and you might even say he is one of them himself.”

“A little birdie told me,” said another species of bird, “that he already accepted! And I think he’s a great choice, yes, yes. Finally a good emperor.”

“Then let’s wait no longer.”

From all that Tresmo heard, he concluded that this plot against Empero was not actually a secret plot. The Commonfolk had quickly changed their opinion of their beloved emperor. The Elite didn’t even need to do anything!

That night, a band of very Common boars, badgers and birds planned to deal with Empero. They didn’t want a mad wolf on the throne any longer. They really, really frowned upon killing your own mother and your own city.

They were all slaves, but they were freed slaves. A phrase which here means “thanks to Empero’s laws they were able to sue their owners and gain freedom again”. Freedom that would now be used against him.

As the moon hid behind Empero’s favorite tower, perhaps scared of what they might see tonight, the beings snuck towards the entrance. The emperor could be heard singing high above. The corrupt soldier, a massive wolf in plated armor, stood guard.

“Step aside,” said the birds impatiently. “And pretend you didn’t see anyone enter tonight.”

“What’s in it for me?” responded the guard.

“Justice. An honorable mention in Sinnika’s history books.”

The wolf shifted on his feet. He focused on cleaning and sharpening his sword. It was a bite-sword, a common weapon for quadrupeds. The middle was made of tough rope and leather, while both ends were sharp, and wolves could use them by taking the middle part between their teeth.

Empero’s singing suddenly stopped. Everyone held their breath. Then he continued.

The guard looked at the assortment of Commonfolk. They were so Common that they carried no weapons, except for some sharp twigs and random pieces of metal they could collect. They relied on the guard to actually murder the emperor—without that, they were powerless.

“I wonder …” said the guard slowly. “Will history speak of me honorably if I kill the Amor emperor? Or will it mention me favorably if I uphold the law and do what I’m paid to do?”

“They don’t pay you enough,” tried one of the freed slaves.

“Gatagrip murdered all her rivals, and look how often she’s mentioned in Sinnika’s writing,” tried another.

“You will help us,” tried a bird more soothingly, “you know it’s right in your heart. Empero is not a good influence on Amor anymore.”

The guard raised his sword. It was unbelievably sharp now, evidenced by its glint in the returning moonlight. He shifted before the entrance, silent for a long while, until he waved and went inside. “Follow me.”

The freed slaves grinned at each other. They were quick to race after the guard, up the stairs, up again, as the guard tapped the walls with his sword.

In the end though, dear reader, the guard was right. The reason he’s mentioned in this story is because he upheld the law and did what was right. If he had murdered the emperor that night, this story might not even have been written.

On a higher floor inside the tower, more guards were stationed. As soon as they entered the floor, the “corrupt” guard jumped and positioned himself behind the group. They were now trapped on both sides by armored guards, high in a tower, and their only defense was a bent metal pipe.

Needless to say, they were captured and punished.

Empero did it himself. He had heard it all happen and came down the stairs. When he saw how close he’d come to being assassinated, something snapped inside of him.

“I didn’t set Amor on fire!” he yelled. “It’s a lie! Someone is trying to hurt me, to get me murdered, to get me off the throne! What did I ever do to you? Have I not been a good emperor?”

Silence.

He studied the freed—but now recaptured—slaves. They wore pendants, necklaces, or clothes that marked them as Krystians. Ever since the incident with Krystians, the one that caused him to finally exile his mother, he’d hated their guts. He’d expanded the area of the Amor empire where only one faith was allowed, namely that of the Amori Gods.

“I will tell you who set Amor on fire,” he said, slurring his words in anger. He ripped the bite-sword out of the guard’s teeth and walked away, as if he were marching into war himself.

“It was the Krystians! They believe their fake gods told them to set Amor on fire! They have been a plague to Amor, and this is the final straw! Yes, yes, I would never hurt my beautiful city, but Krystians would. And look at the devastation they brought! A city in ashes!”

As he left his favorite tower, he barked one final order. “I want all Krystians rounded up, dragged from their bed, so I can publicly execute them before the week is over!”