The low chime of bells sang low and solemn in the night. Still, after all this time the morning for the dead king continued. And fear for their prince, who rumor would have it had crawled back to the capital barely alive. Some had whispered in hushed tones, low so as the guards would not here: he came in on the back of an ass, like a drunkard; poisoned as if he had imbibed too much alcohol. To Semiane, this represented a sharp change in the story, in his expectations. Walking through the half empty streets outside he listened to the low chiming of the bells and the mutterings from the door frames. All up and down the streets the citizens laid out tokens and totems in solemn observance of the dead king's passing. Men and women, mortal and immortal alike who had believed that they would have lived under the auspicious and immortal gaze of an age-old wise king – even if he would not rule forever – made silent processions through the streets holding up paintings and portraits of the dead king as if he were a saint.

	Many too had decorated their images as if religious icons. Among the human cattle they hoisted great oil portraits of the ivory white emperor, the frame draped in heavy bolts of black and purple cloth as they joined in chorus with the bells, singing lamentations and sending prayers to the kind. The Vampires seemed to done hooded cloaks and walk about cutting their palms with long knives and letting the blood spatter on the cobble stone; there was an overwhelming smell of blood and tears. Some of the middle-dead mourners even chimed brass bells and sat beside wooden icons of some generic ancient king and acted as if they spoke to the statuettes as if they could hasten their words to the departed immortal.

	Whether or not they would ever like Edward, there was the recognition that he was their only chance for salvation in what seemed to be a dire time. Rumors were aflood on the streets that Baron Ulrek had finally mobilized his armies. The strength of these frightening tails seemed to take on a strength in validity even when they did conflict that sustained them by the silence of the royal court to confirm or deny anything. They burned like fire in a dry forest, burning all the brighter and all the more terrible all the day. To Semiane who had not yet gotten an audience in the royal court, this frenetic terror at the least paid for his crossing over as he reached out to the lower nobility who resided in the city and the aristocracy who found themselves most troubled; after all, what sort of terrifying future was there for them if Ulrek took the city, or what might happen if the terror incited the peasantry to rise in open revolt?

	In the past twenty four hours he had signed a the bills and contracts for one-hundred-twenty minor nobility and merchants alike for the recruitment of mercenaries to be recruited by Semiane number on average a hundred men per unit. He had not specified who or from where these mercenaries would hail from given the short notice and nature, but had issued his captain a blank check to return home with and recruit who he may at which ever price. The upper classes assured them to the deepest part of their being, to their very souls that they would repay Semiane twice the price of whoever was willing to compensate the foreign merchant's lost capital.

	Likewise, he had signed bills of sale for another dozen families and even for moderately well off commoners in the city for arms and armor, of which he promised the most modern and the best; matchlocks from over seas, sturdy armor, and sharp swords for their own protection. For this he had exacting prices he could demand on the spot and they paid or sought out loans to pay for it. All in all, as it was on the street an economy for war was brewing as the fear gripped the hearts and minds of the populace. But there was still one lingering issue.

	“The king is dead, how will I get to the court?” Semiane cursed under his breath as he stood in the middle of a open court. Strings of lit lanterns ran every which way and that bathing the square in a soft green and blue light from the stained paper that encased the candles within. At the center a massive obelisk rose crowned by a clump of swarming bats manifested in marble. Townhouses and merchant's businesses lined the outside of the court, their darkened doors and windows framed behind the vaulted archways of the pillars supporting the overhanging structures. High above them, looming dark and daunting atop its spiteful butte loomed the Gothic palace of the imperial family.

	“I would hate to suggest it, but I'd suggest simply going to it.” said a young vampire, a replacement companion for Semiane's missing captain who had sailed back for brighter shores clutching the forms for hundreds of contracts and a payment for the job. For all intents and purposes now, Semiane was alone but he did not feel the least bit uncomfortable.

	“That's preposterous.” exclaimed Semiane, “Incredibly impolite.”

	“It may be the only way at this point.” the vampire said. He was about the third the age of Semiane. His face long, chin protruding. He accentuated his deep set eyes with black eye liner and he looked absolutely skeletal. He also dressed in a modest way, deceiving for his otherwise high stature but overlooked by most of his family, he stood clutching the hilt of his sword.

	“I don't doubt you are a fine gentleman, but I know in my experience one doesn't normally barge into a monarch's palace. That so much I have learned in my time. Have you ever been there?”

	“I have.” the young vampire said with a smug smile, “For galas.”

	“Those are invitation. Not going there on one's own free will.” Semiane huffed, he felt impatient.

	“Who said I was invited?” the young vampire said with a smile, showing his long sharp front teeth.

	Semiane looked at him stunned, “Munchsin, what are you saying?”

	“On and off I have often walked in. Sure I'm stopped by the guards who ask who I am. Under normal circumstance: sure they might turn me away. But I'm sure now with all courtesy turned aside you could announce yourself and go in. With the prince down you may not be speaking to him. Some steward or high courtier perhaps, but once he's awake and crowned: there is no reason they can't inform him you would like an audience. Or you might insert yourself in the palace right away. The kingdom is operating on regency, and who ever is regent now would have the power of the King until the new king himself awakens from his supposed coma.”

	Semiane sighed, “I suppose you might be right.” he admitted, it was painful to do so. “So I suppose, I guess: lead the way.”

	The young Munchsin smiled and bowed. “Very well, this way.” he said.

	Semiane cast one last look up over the roof tops as he went towards the palace. Tonight would be the night, he supposed.

	[hr]

	Semiane stood at the gates of the palace. Far below him a wide and winding stone cut path climbed its way back down to the city. From this high perch he looked out to the sea, and saw the celestial scattering of the lights, heard the distant lamentations of the mourners, and beyond that the sheltered bay and the more distant sea. From up here he smelled the salt of the sea, and the dankness of the air. A storm was coming, he could sense that.

	Ahead of him a large iron gate stood guarded by an entire company of soldiers who stood at attention with their halberds. One armored hand hooked into the belt of their livry. Their heads turned to watch the guests with silent sharpness and a repressed agitation. The whole structure was tall, far and above what Semiane had expected from the ground and he felt imposed upon, daunted. But casually and with firm purpose he strolled up to the gates and with Munchsin announced his presence.

	“I am Semiane Munch Strige of the House of Vrykolas. Former Baron of Transavonia, current a high-valued financier. I come here to the palace in search of lending my services. I offer to the prince my broad network of contacts, financial resources, and personal capabilities and would like an audience. I sought one with the late king, but it appears in these last days he was too busy. I respect that he had no time to speak to a worm such as my self. But in these trying times I come to petition personally. May I enter?”

	A soldier stepped forward from the gate, the captain. He wore no helmet, and his bald head was as dull and bruised as a naked skull. He tilted his head as he looked at him, a heavy hand resting on his sword. He seemed to be studying him. Shrugging he said, “If that's so, I'll send for a request. We'll see.” he said. Turning, he gestured to his men and whistled.

	“I'm on it.” said a voice.

	The captain nodded, “And now we wait.”