[h3]James E. Carter[/h3]

Carter kept his head slightly down, the streets felt longer than they should've been, his wet jacket slung over his good arm, he finished the last bite of the sandwich as he walked. Pork and mustard, he couldn’t complain, he’d been colder and hungrier before.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and kept moving.

The directions the fishermen gave him were simple enough. [I]Straight up then park with the kiosk, Foreign Quarter to the left[/I]. He repeated it in his head while his boots slapped the stone streets.

It didn’t take long before he realized how badly he stood out. His clothes were damped, dried blood stained his arm despite the rag. The people here wore pressed coats and polished shoes, women carried parasols and men walked with canes they did not need. All the while he wore a blood stained white shirt while dragging a similarly stained blue jacket with him, not the best look. 

A couple paused mid-conversation to stare at him, one woman drew her child slightly closer.

Carter didn’t break stride however, he reached the park a few minutes later.

It was clean, with timmed hedges and a fountain at the center, large kiosk adorned the edge surrounded by iron benches. There was a bandstand further in and families moved lazily through the pathways. 

And there, exactly where the fishermen had said, a sign posted sidewats facing the road against the main park entrance, it read [I]Foreign Quarter.[/I]

Before he pressed on he noticed two policemen standing directly across the street from the parks entrance, their caps low as the pair watched traffic without appearing to.

Near them, a candy vendor worked a bright spinning machine. Cotton strands building into pink clouds on paper cones. Several well-dressed children waited in a neat line, their parents hovering close.

Carter crept out of sight at that moment into a corner.

He began thinking things our. Cross there and he’d be seen, the cops were close enough to notice him. The kids would point, parents would shout and he'd be caught. The park was too open.

He turned away casually and slipped into a narrow alley less than a block away from the park. 

Five boys stood there, older than the children by the candy stand. Their clothes were patched and their faces grimy. One of them shook dice in his palm over a crate.

They spotted Carter immediately, two of them stiffened like they might bolt.

“Hold it,” Carter said quickly, raising a hand. 

They hesitated.

“I’m not here for you.”

One of them narrowed his eyes, noticing the man's holster and bandaged arm, “Then what are you here for mister?”

Carter jerked his head toward the corner, “See those two officers?”

The boys exchanged glances.

“I need them busy.”

Suspicion deepened.

“And why would we help you?”

Carter dug into his pocket with his good hand and pulled out a handful of coins.

“Ten coppers each,” he said, “You cause a distraction and get them running.”

The boy holding the dice tilted his head.

“Twenty.”

Carter stared at him as if baffled, he had very little choices left. 

“Twenty..." the boy repeated, calm.

Carter exhaled through his nose.

“Fine.”

He counted out the coins carefully. His hands weren’t steady, but he made it work. The boys watched the money more than they watched him.

When he handed it over, their mood shifted instantly.

One grinned.

“Watch this.”

They ran past him.

The boys burst from the alley like a pack of feral dogs. Two ran directly past the officers, shouting nonsense. Three veered straight for the candy machine.

One shoved it hard.

The spinning bowl tipped and sugar exploded outward. The vendor shouted in outrage as pink strands collapsed to the pavement.

Two boys grabbed handfuls of cotton candy and ran.

The officers reacted immediately, one swearing loudly as they chased after the fleeing kids.

"Halt, halt at once!" One blurted while another sounded a whistle loudly. 

Within seconds the corner was chaos.

Parents shouting in upload, the vendor yelling in frustration and children crying. The policemen sprinting after the boys down the street.

The crossing stood momentarily clear and Carter stepped out of the alley.

“Money well spent,” he muttered.

He crossed at a fast walk that turned into a jog once he reached the far curb. He didn’t look back, cutting left rapidly and following the road toward the diplomatic quarter. As he moved he noticed blood pouring through his bandage, a few drops of blood stained the ground beneath him.

The buildings grew taller ahead as he adjusted the rag on his arm and kept moving.

[hr]

[H3]Itzi Ku[/h3]

The Langford rolled slowly around the diplomatic quarter, engine humming low.

Itzi watched every passerby.

After a moment she glanced at Ambassador Crane.

“You said diplomatic channels are slow,” she said, “What does that actually mean?”

Crane did not answer immediately. He tapped ash from his cigarette out the window.

“It means,” he said evenly, “that Mitteland is presently preoccupied with the war brushing against its own borders. An airship incident involving foreign nationals is… inconvenient, but not urgent, unless the Inburians make it urgent.”

He shifted slightly in his seat.

“Speaking of Inbur,” he continued, “they're not especially inclined toward cooperation.”

“Because?” Itzi asked.

“Because we have not been especially accommodating to them of late,” Crane replied evenly, “The war has not been kind to Commonwealth investments. Evig had contracts in Inbur; shipping, rail extensions, warehouse financing. Some of that capital has… evaporated.”

The car turned another corner.

“When losses accumulate,” he continued, “creditors become attentive. There have been discussions about repayment schedules, deferred obligations. Inbur’s government does not particularly enjoy being reminded of such matters.”

Itzi frowned faintly, “So it’s money, you're demanding money while they're at war.”

Crane raised an eyebrow, "The Commonwealth’s firms operate abroad on the assumption that agreements survive political turbulence so when they do not, confidence erodes. And when confidence erodes, so does future investment.”

He gestured with his hands as of giving a lecture, he pretty much was. 

“We trade with the Old Continent. Our firms insure shipments, finance ports, build engines but we are not obligated to underwrite every war that disrupts a balance sheet.”

“So you stand by and watch?” Itzi asked.

“We observe,” Crane said calmly, “And we safeguard our nationals and our interests where prudence calla for it.”

Crane glanced at her, “The Commonwealth’s first responsibility is to its own stability. Prosperity at home requires predictable routes, reliable partners, and markets that do not erupt into artillery fire.”

He continued. 

“The Evig Trading Company,” he added, “employs tens of thousands of our citizens. Its ships, its rail contracts, its banking arms, they form the backbone of our export economy. When the Old Continent destabilizes, shipping rates spike, insurers panic, capital hesitates and that ripples back home faster than most voters realize.”

Itzi studied him, “So you’re protecting trade.”

“We are protecting continuity,” Crane said. “War between Inbur and Calaria disrupts more than borders. It interrupts contracts, it freezes port and makes every shipment a gamble, I'm sure the company you worked with likely had Evig capital sponsoring it, now lost to a pointless war.”

He paused, choosing his words, "When firms of that scale begin expressing concern, it informs policy discussions.”

The car slowed briefly at a crossing.

“The ideal outcome,” Crane continued, “is that this conflict burns itself out quickly. A contained war with limited escalation. Trade then resumes and there's no entanglements.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Itzi asked.

“Then we'll do what we must to secure our interests and pull them out, as I said, no entanglements.”

He leaned back.

“We have no desire to be drawn into another continent's war. Tensions with the Confederacy are tense as is..." 

“And what if the Confederacy joins the war?” Itzi pressed.

Crane scoffed, “They know better than to try that, we nearly wiped them out in the last war." 

“That's not what I heard...” Itzi said with a dismissive frown, the ambassador raised an eyebrow. 

The Langford rolled forward again.

“Be that as it may,” he concluded calmly, “we're ready, and for now our priority is securing our citizens and their interests, that includes Mr. Carter.”

Itzi turned back to the window, scanning every face that passed as the car continued its circuit.