Magnum Imperium: The Candidate

     “Y

     ou’re quiet.”

     “Was I that obvious, Tasha?”

     The Skunk Acara rolled her eyes. “You’re my husband, Aidan. It would be concerning if I didn’t know.”

     “They’re going to interview Parfyón today. He’s the ninth candidate. What if he fails?”

     The sharp, angular lines of Natasha’s face softened. She disliked seeing the Pirate Ixi’s bright attitude dampen. “I know you care about His Excellency. Are you worried for his health?”

     Aidan nodded, “Yes, I am. He’s not getting any younger, and they need a twelfth member. He personally interviews the candidates before the rest do. That’s mentally grueling, and it can’t be easy on his body either.”

     Natasha stood and walked towards him. He had gone silent and was drumming the dining room table with his fingers. She gripped his right shoulder, “Aidan Casey, stop moping. His Excellency needs his assistant at his best.”

     Aidan smiled as he placed his left hand atop hers, “Thanks, Tasha. I needed that.”

     “That’s what I’m here for. Stand up. I’ll make sure you’re presentable.” She smirked. “This needs to look regal. Imposing.” She paused to stare at his wrinkled black and gold robes, the rumpled cape hanging haphazardly from his left shoulder, and the crooked double-winged fastener. “You look like you were on the losing end of a brawl.”

     “I’m sure I would’ve won if you had been there,” Aidan teased. “I may or may not have fallen asleep in them last night. I stayed late at His Excellency’s office reviewing Parfyón’s credentials. The others also wanted me to run some last-minute errands.”

     Natasha stopped smoothing his outfit to glare at him. “Aidan, you’re running yourself ragged. Learn to say ‘no.’ You’re His Excellency’s assistant, not theirs.”

     “They are also members of the Empire’s ruling body. I can’t say ‘no.’ My job is to serve.’”

     “How can you serve when you’re running on empty?”

     The Pirate Ixi bit his lip. She had a point. “I’ll do my best to be home on time.” He yawned, “I need to go to bed earlier anyway.”

     “I’ll hold you to it.” She smiled, “There. You look like an imperial mage now.”

     Aidan drew his wife into a hug and rested his chin on her head, “I’m looking forward to having dinner with you tonight. It’s been too long.”

     Natasha gave him a squeeze, “I’ll have your favourite meal ready.”

     Outside the Princeps

     Aidan figuratively kicked himself. Her hugs were the best; she always made him feel warm and safe. That is, until she told him he was running late. He had rushed out the door to the sound of her tickled laughter.

     His cape billowed behind him as he ran. “Man, oh man,” he groaned, “Almost there.” He stopped short of the Princeps’s stairs to catch his breath. “Thank goodness…I’m…a mage. Don’t have to…run regularly.” He dragged himself up the steps and leaned on one of the building’s twelve columns. They were supposed to be physical embodiments of strength, the pillars that held the Empire together. The image of a gasping Ixi using one as a crutch was a scuff on their sterling image, but they had certainly been through worse over the centuries.

     “His Excellency won’t be happy,” Aidan mumbled as he entered the building’s atrium.

     As if on cue, a sonorous voice rose above the general noise. “Aidan, where were you? You’re late.” The voice’s owner was a wrinkled Pastel Kacheek dressed in flowing, purple robes. He adjusted his thick spectacles and shook his head.

     Aidan bowed in greeting but couldn’t hide his blush, “I apologize Your Excellency.”

     “Natasha again?”

     Aidan turned redder.

     “I suppose that answers my question. Luckily for you, several others are also late. Apparently, leadership and punctuality are mutually exclusive.” He waved the Pirate Ixi towards him, “Step into the Duma and take your usual place behind my bench. I am expecting you to take thorough notes.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     Inside the Duma

     Aidan stared at the ceiling, resisting the urge to check for an echo. Soon, it would be business as usual.

     He smiled as he remembered the first time he’d been there. He had been a fresh-faced alumnus of the Neopia Potentia, the Empire’s military academy. This was where the graduation ceremony was held. He had gawked, mouth unashamedly agape, at the domed ceiling that seemed to reach towards the heavens. He’d sworn the lacquered wooden floor was trying to blind him. The jam-packed seats on the ground and balcony had given him a rare case of stage fright. Then, there were the concentrically arranged, elevated benches where the imperial leaders sat. And the full-body portraits of past members that lined the walls… It had been too much.

     Aidan chuckled as he remembered the next part. His bubble of sensory overload had popped when a certain Acara had literally shut his mouth with an index finger. “You’re a soldier, not a child. Act like one.” she had said. He was about to tell her he was a mage, but she had already walked away. It hadn’t been the greatest first impression, but she had still married him.

     “Aidan, the others are arriving,” the Pastel Kacheek warned. “The interview will begin soon.”

     Aidan nodded, “Yes, Your Excellency.”

     “There will be time for mirth after the interview.” With a grunt, he took his seat behind the central bench. The old Kacheek looked at the portraits of past leaders that lined the walls, “We are eleven now; let us be twelve after this.”

     The Pastel Kacheek cleared his throat and stood up. He thudded his Alabriss-head staff against the wooden floor.

     Thump, thump

     “Rise as the candidate enters the Duma,” he intoned. The other ten rose simultaneously as two door attendants pulled massive, golden door handles.

     Aidan released the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

     The candidate was an azure Blumaroo dressed in crimson robes that dragged on the ground as he walked. He met their eyes with calm confidence as he bowed.

     Aidan stared; the birthmark on his forehead was intriguing.

     “State your full name for the other members,” The Pastel Kacheek ordered.

     “Parfyón Leopold Kechi,” Parfyón announced.

     “State your age,” he continued.

     “I am 40,” the Blumaroo answered.

     Aidan nodded as he continued to gaze at the candidate. Parfyón’s voice was like music: a smooth bass with a lilting cadence.

     “State your magical competencies.”

     “Fire and Ice Magic,” Parfyón replied.

     The old Kacheek stared at the azure Blumaroo before speaking again. “Parfyón Leopold Kechi has been deemed suitable via preliminary interview. The floor is now open to further questioning.”

     Aidan glimpsed at the others. Perhaps he was seeing things, but he would’ve sworn a few of them had frowned. Was it over his preliminary interviews again? The Pirate Ixi barely restrained tutting in annoyance. What greater honour was there than an interview with His Excellency? He was the paragon of a civil servant, and his personal vetting was proof.

     “You graduated at the top of your class at the Neopia Potentia?” Rhinea, a Woodland Gelert, questioned.

     “Yes, ma’am,” Parfyón affirmed.

     Aidan yawned before hastily covering his mouth. How many times had he sat, er, stood through these interviews? You are an imperial mage; you need to act like it, he reminded himself. Wait. Why had he thought that in Tasha’s voice?

     “I also see you were the editor-in-chief of the ‘Civilis,’ the Neopia Potentia’s periodical,” she continued.

     “Yes, ma’am.”

     Rhinea tapped a writing quill on her bench. “I have thoroughly reviewed your credentials,” she began. “I cannot speak for the other members, but I am of the opinion you are one of the most capable candidates we’ve interviewed.” She leaned forward, “However, one thing is holding you back: your research and essays regarding elder magic. I hear you have also conducted experiments with it.”

     Aidan began wringing his hands.

     “I understand your reticence, ma’am. What you have been told is true, but I believe understanding this form of magic will dissolve the stigma around it.”

     Rhinea narrowed her eyes as the leaves on her delicate ears began to quiver. “I have no tolerance for any exploration into elder magic; it has been well established this magic is not for the living.”

     The Pirate Ixi scribbled furiously as he cataloged the back and forth between Rhinea and Parfyón. It was simultaneously gripping and anxiety inducing. Eventually, the Pastel Kacheek interjected.

     “That is enough. We are in the weeds, and further discussion is no longer conducive to these proceedings.”

     Rhinea instantly went silent while Parfyón did the same, bowing again.

     “The Eleven will take an hour recess to deliberate on the candidate’s worthiness,” the Pastel Kacheek stated. “Parfyón will be taken to another room where one of our attendants will see to his needs during the recess. I would like to remind the attendant to remain silent during this period. Impartiality must rule the day, even if the candidate initiates the conversation.”

     Aidan began to sweat as he saw the old Kacheek glance at him. Please not me. Please not me, he pleaded. He didn’t want to fall asleep at the dinner table again.

     To his relief, he saw another assistant follow Parfyón to the sequestered room.

     An hour later

     “The members of the Circle have had time to deliberate on Parfyón Leopold Kechi’s worthiness. Now, let your votes be known. Shall he sit among us?”

     Aidan grit his teeth.

     Then it happened: 5 ayes and 5 nays. A deadlock. His Excellency would be the tiebreaker.

     The Pastel Kacheek gazed at Parfyón. “I acknowledge the fact you are eminently qualified.” He shook his head, “But I cannot allow one who experiments with elder magic to sit among us. My vote is ‘Nay.’”

     Aidan’s eyes bulged as he stared at his boss. If fascination about elder magic was Parfyón’s disqualification, then what about his Excellency?

     To his credit, the azure Blumaroo didn’t seem phased, “Thank you for this opportunity, Your Excellencies.” The door attendants wordlessly escorted him out of the Duma.

     Aidan released another breath as other Circle members chatted amongst themselves.

     “Aidan, go home for a few hours. Eat lunch with your wife and report back to my office for a post interview briefing,” the old Kacheek ordered.

     “Yes, sir.”

     A few hours later

     Aidan paused in front of his boss’s office door, still flabbergasted at the day’s events. Perhaps His Excellency will explain, he thought. The Pirate Ixi knocked.

     “Enter.”

     Aidan hesitantly opened the door and stuck his head inside.

     The Pastel Kacheek looked up from the treatise he was reading and adjusted his thick spectacles, “No need to be shy, Aidan. Come in.”

     Aidan nodded, “Your Excellency, I’m here for the briefing.”

     The old Kacheek gestured to the desk chair opposite his, “Please, sit.”

     “Was it that noticeable?” Aidan asked.

     The Pastel Kacheek gave his assistant a rare smile, “I’ve known you for a long time, Aidan. You’re like family to me. That, and I could almost feel your stunned expression.”

     “I see.”

     “That’s what I wanted to speak with you about. I trust you and desire your feedback.” He looked at the notepad under Aidan’s right hand, “May I have those notes?”

     Aidan nodded, “Certainly, Your Ex—”

     “Please address me by my name,” he asked. “It’s just the two of us, old friend.”

     “Certainly, Xantan,” Aidan replied.

      To be continued…