NationStates Jolt Archive

The Western Atlantic was not a crowded region of dozens of different nations but rather a geographically large region lightly populated by the standards of other terrestrial regions in contemporary times. It was also inaccurately named as it contained a few islands in the Pacific and in the Eastern Hemisphere.

Pantocratoria was, without question, the giant of the Western Atlantic in terms of economy and population. It was half again as populous as its closest competitor in the region. Pantocratoria was located on the island of, well, Pantocratoria and also possessed a number of other islands in the Pantocratorian Archipelago which were essentially coastal in nature.

The Confederated Peoples, on the other hand, was the geographical giant. It seemed to be practically everywhere, comprising islands in the Atlantic and the Pacific and the bulk of Vasconia and Ambara. This diverse and somewhat dispersed population had advantages and disadvantages. The primary disadvantage was, of course, that the Confederated Peoples had security concerns throughout the entire region and had a smaller population base with which to deal with them than Pantocratoria had to protect its single island.

Ambâlieva was Xirnium’s foothold in the region, a semi-self-governing polity within the Eternal Republic. It was an island located in the north of the region. Despite the arbitrary regional lines, it was actually located closer to Xirnium proper than it was to some other parts of the Western Atlantic.

Kaitan-Leagran was a troubled island, tiny in size and population and located in the Gulf of Vasconia. It was virtually surrounded by the territory of the Confederated Peoples and it was also beset by internal sectarian strife just now being addressed by the Provisional Government. It relied heavily on development and peace-keeping aid from the rest of the Western Atlantic.

Abt was sizable nation in the northeastern corner of Ambara. Its original settlers came from Taraskovya but they had set up an independent nation with both the Confederated Peoples and Taraskovya as guarantors of their sovereignty. They were a militant people who took defense, security and independence very seriously but they were also a people of goodwill towards those who treat them with respect.

Pantocratorian Ambara was a self-governing nation within the Pantocratorian Empire. It was settled largely by people of Pantocratorian descent but it also had a large African-Ambaran element in its population. Its government and society was similar to that of Pantocratoria except that it had no significant and active aristocratic element.

However, between all these nations, there remained islands in the Gulf of Vasconia that no one had yet claimed. They were mostly islands located in the eastern part of the Gulf, well away from the others and projecting into the Atlantic. They were called Actadeos, Bolarctand, Castaseos, Danysona, Ebaea, Germuarya and Lithanius. Lithanius was by far the largest and most fruitful. As it was, they largely sat unnoticed. The nations of the Western Atlantic had given little thought to the idea that they might be the cause of potential tensions, obvious as it seemed.

In its history, the Empire of Tartarus had done many things, most in the name of the reigning Emperor, in its bid to grow and become powerful. It had gone from being a single nation many centuries before and had grown to the status of Empire, swallowing other nations in its path, the traces of all still evident in the various parts that make up the whole.

Each proceeding Emperor had yearned to add to the Empire’s glory until they felt satisfied that they had all that they needed. Of course, it was not always a matter of not wanting more, but the inability to get it. As nations grew stronger, the ability to walk over others waned, and soon it was that the Empire had reached the apex of its growth, and from then remained unchanged.

Under the Emperor Erebus it had withdrawn from its international neighbours, keeping mostly to itself, the paranoia of the man silently closing the doors on many of its neighbours.

On the death of her father, the Empress Gehenna once more opened the door to international relations, and soon had a good relationship with many nations, using every means available to become acquainted with like nations, and even a few that were not. So high on her agenda was promoting Tartarus that she took the unprecedented step in Tartarian history and made a formal alliance by joining the NDA, which in itself seemed to open doors to more and more nations.

Trying to break the mould that her father had created for the nation, Gehenna took another step in a direction that would have been frowned upon by the last emperor, but one that would have been look upon fondly by those that came before him, while at the same time, keeping with the new image of the Empire, not one of might but one of diplomacy.

Having been given the go ahead by the head of state, the HIMS Glory’s Eye, a Tartarian survey ship began its journey towards Vasconia, its crew all focused on the job ahead. They were travelling in peace, and were proudly displaying the Tartarian flag.

The man in charge of the mission was Captain Richard Cacona, and it would be his role to complete the mission. The journey took many days, and the hearts of the men aboard were relaxed, despite the reception they could face. Of course, they were not worried, as a support group were manoeuvring into position as back up, though their mission goal was just to ensure that no harm came to the survey ship.

At the end of their journey, near the uninhabited island of Lithanius, the HIMS Glory’s Eye stopped and began the first part of its task. A helicopter took off from the ship, containing three members of the crew and a civilian.

The Empire made its first territorial expansion in over one hundred years, when the island was officially annexed by Tartarus when Lieutenant-Commander David Clough RN, Sergeant Henry Forrester RN, Corporal Gary Montagne RM and Edward James, naturalist landed. They hoisted the Tartarian flag, staking a claim for the Empire.

A week later, the Admiralty made the following announcement. “By authority of Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Gehenna of Tartarus, and in accordance with Her Imperial Majesty’s instructions dated the 13th day of May, ****, a landing was effected this day upon this island of Lithanius from HIMS Glory’s Eye. The Tartarian flag was hoisted and possession of the island was taken in the name of Her Imperial Majesty.”

On the island, near the point of landing, as plaque was erected with the same words written upon it, signed by Richard Cacona, Captain of HIMS Glory’s Eye.

The Empire of Tartarus and its people waited for any comeback that would arise from these events. Diplomats were busy preparing for a backlash, and the Foreign Office was busy sending out confirmation to the other inhabitants of Vasconia that the arrival of a colony of the Empire in the region was meant to be nothing but peaceful in nature.


[ooc: I hope this is okay, if not, please contact me and I’ll make changes. This is meant to appear peaceful, but having never claimed land before, it might not look as non-aggressive as I had hoped. The landing is based upon the UK’s claim of Rockall.]

The Republic’s Government was convened in an emergency session at the news of the Tartarian expansion to the north of Abt. The Imperial claim of the largest of the Vasconian islands did not go unnoticed and, taking into account the authoritarian style of Tartarus’es government, stirred quite a hive of activity. And considering that Tartarus was not even in the region to begin with, the claim came in rather inexpected.

The Ministers were busy exchanging views and opinions, the Republic’s President listening intently to what they had to say. Aorin did not yet make any intervention, pondering all the pros and cons.

“The question, gentlemen, is what exactly is there for us to do?” the President finally asked, looking at his Cabinet, one man and woman at a time. “Is the Republic capable of launching a counter-colonisation effort in the Vasconian isles?”

“It is always possible to colonize islands, Sir. After the Confederals dropped those millions of colonists in Sahor and cut off our expansion plans in Ambara, the closest expansion we could undertake would be in Vasconia,” the Minister of Economy, Ruslan Valin, spoke. “Whether any of our claims would be taken seriously is another question.”

“Any military solution is out of the question, Sir,” Mstivoy Panev, the Minister of Defence, intervened. “With our comparatively small Defence Force, we would not be capable of asserting any claims by force. Lithanius appears as good as gone for us. We cannot possibly envisage a military confrontation with the Tartarian Empire…”

“And not only because of the smallness of our armed forces,” Foreign Minister Igor Kostromskoy continued. “We must remember that High King Owain is married to a cousine of Empress Gehenna. We are not sure as to how much this detail could influence anything, but it is surely not to be omitted in any plans.”

President Aorin pondered on the course to plot ahead for the infantry company that was Abt in the arena full of armoured divisions that were the other players. There were the Confederals, whom had to be treated with on a careful basis as to not give them the idea that they are Abt’s “big brother”. Then there was Pantocratoria, which would surely like Abt off Ambara.

There were others, of course, but these were treated as the most powerful players in the region, considering they also sat on Ambara. The appearance of an authoritarian Empire within Abt’s reach could only worry.

The Abt Republic Defence Force was small compared to others. Of course, it was a very advanced and highly technological force compared to most of those countries Abt dealt with, but still not sufficient to go against great odds. It could be beefed any time, what with Abtians being “Taraskovyans, but independent” and, thus, sharing the same love of warfare and all things military.

But the problem still was there. To be taken seriously, Abt would need to parasite either on the Confederal Peoples, risking of giving the view of a small child running to his mommy, either on Taraskovya, risking undermining the very notion of the independent Abt Republic to begin with. Going in “cavalier seul” was out of the question, not until the ARDF was seriously beefed up.

And even then, expanding into Vasconia was not necessarily wise. The unclaimed islands were far away from the Republic, with Confederal territory in between them and Abt. Having an island exclave was not what Aorin deemed best for Abt. He in fact wanted the Republic to grow further into Sahor, negotiating territorial additions with the Confederals later on.

On the other hand, having additional land in Vasconia could later on be a good trump card in negotiations, namely to exchange it against some territory on Ambara. Not that he really expected any such trade to be easy, but having as many jokers in your hand as possible was always best.

“Hm. We shall have a parachutist company establish an official Republic’s claim on one of the bigger and more fertile islands,” Aorin said to the Defence Minister, before looking at the Foreign Minister. “In the meantime, we shall issue a neutral Foreign Ministry statement on the Tartarian colonization. We neither approve nor disapprove. You know better how to word it.”

The two Ministers inclined their heads in understanding. The Cabinet then got to deciding on what piece of land to “claim” best and how to proceed and a myriad of other questions.

- - -

[OOC: 1) Since I don’t know what islands are where and how big they are, just consider they went for Island #2 in quality after Lithanius.
2) Only idiots do not change their minds.
3) Might still prove to be a trump card in the future. Because I decided to not give up my plans. ]

Somewhere off the coast of Lithanius
The Gulf of Vasconia

Silent as a ghost, the XNS Valdälimbä, “Avenger of the Murdered”, glided serenely beneath the dark and unfriendly, choppy surface of the sea, utterly unseen and unheard. A strategic nuclear submarine, it had now been on training manoeuvres in the West Atlantic for nearly two months, and would by the end of next week be well on its way home to the Eternal Republic. Its commander, the daughter of a former captain in the mercantile marine and a member of the navy’s old guard, represented what had become a dying breed of Xirniumite sailor, lofty and aloof, ascetic with respect to her duties, intensely proud of her ancient motherland and grim in countenance.

At three o’clock on Sunday morning, slow-speed ship screws were passively detected near one of the Vasconian islands, very faint, moving slowly away and at extreme range. Nothing about this was particularly eventful, for the Vasconian Gulf saw much freight and passenger traffic, in addition to not infrequent military movements. And yet something was curious here. Lithanius was an uninhabited island, and the unidentified ship’s course appeared to be towards it. After consultation with her executive officer, the captain of the XNS Valdälimbä ordered a rise to periscope depth and a brief contact report was transmitted to the Admiralty. The incident was promptly forgotten.

Owing mainly to a number of inefficiencies that had crept into existing communication channels, the event was not to be reported to the Foreign Ministry, and linked with the subsequent Tartarian annexation, until several hours after the official declaration. This failure became the subject of a minor inquiry and resulted in changes to reporting procedures within the Xirniumite military. The crew of the XNS Valdälimbä, of course, learnt nothing more of the incident until they returned to Xirnium.


The Palace of Faëdaryávë in Naèräth
Seat of the Xirniumite Ministry of Foreign Affairs

Clasping the carved ivory head of his long black umbrella, Dórian Balthôrn frowned as he entered the Foreign Ministry through one of its smaller north-west entrances, glancing briefly at its monumental gilded bronze doors. It was a miserable grey day, cold and wet, and a thin, freezing drizzle had been falling constantly for most of the afternoon. Although barely more than a quiet whisper, the day’s icy breeze was sufficient as to cause people to draw their cloaks more closely about themselves and to tighten their scarves around their necks, forcing them to hurry quickly along the pavement. Dórian was certainly glad to be back indoors.

Massive cardinal red porphyry columns adorned a vast, echoing entrance hall, the Argäduränt, or Hall of Sighs. Their great, sable coloured bases and capitals were ornately decorated and intricately carved, featuring gilded sprays of foliage, stylised acanthus leaves and sinuous scrolls. The wide, spacious floors of the Hall of Sighs were elegantly paved in rare veined marbles, whilst its walls were finely dressed in ashlar beautifully brecciated with specks of silver and gold. An enormous vaulted ceiling with lancet clerestory windows roofed the yawning expanse of the great hall.

The Argäduränt greeted Dórian as it always did, with the sad murmur of his echoing footsteps. This entrance hall was less traversed than most in Faëdaryávë Palace, something that was perhaps not so surprising when one considered its curiously depressing, rather grim epic, quality. Today it was mostly empty, with only a few officials crossing its gleaming marbled floors, all trying to look busy but really just waiting impatiently until the end of the day.

‘My dear Balthôrn,’ cried a man some distance away from the civil servant.

This new individual was cold and stern in appearance, a thin man with austere features. Like Dórian, he had just come in from the rain and wore a black frock coat, glistening with fine droplets from the drizzle outside.

‘A splendid day, is it not?’ asked Dórian with an attempt at a sardonic smile.

The civil servant paused and waited beside a massive scarlet column articulated with reeding and fluting as Eugène Amánem Näphärin rapidly crossed the space between them. The Argäduränt murmured restlessly as each footfall echoed about the cavernous hall.

‘Indeed so, indeed so,’ frowned Eugène, pulling at a silver watch fob to check the time. ‘Anything new from the Queen of Hearts?’ asked the man, referring to the foreign minister by her popular soubriquet amongst the bureaucratic staff.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know, I only just returned from lunch myself,’ explained Dórian with a small shrug, indicating that he had been out for a number of hours. In the civil service they called it “achieving an appropriate work-life balance”.

‘This whole sordid business in Vasconia... I tell you, Dórian, that must be what put her into such foul a mood,’ opined Eugène.

‘The latest from Ambassador Nienindë is that the Resurgent Dream was as surprised by these developments as we were,’ explained Dórian as though merely picking up the thread of a previously suspended conversation. ‘I’m somewhat doubtful as to whether the Queen of Hearts believes that, though.’

‘No indeed,’ frowned Eugène. ‘I think she sees the shadows of Kaitan-Leagran everywhere now.’

‘She’s right to be wary, though. The expansion of an imperialist autocracy into Vasconian waters should concern everyone,’ said Dórian. ‘What is Empress Gehenna playing at, do you think? She must have realised that such a move, entirely unannounced, without informing anyone, would provoke concern.’

‘Unless she did inform others, just not us,’ pointed out Eugène.

‘Perish the thought,’ replied Dórian as he leant on his umbrella. ‘Baseless conspiracy theories don’t help us, my dear Näphärin. There has been no Yalta Conference for the Vasconian Gulf. The very notion is preposterous.’

‘Still, though... the Confederated Peoples is a nation that can’t decide whether it wants to be a monarchy or not, they’re certainly not to be trusted,’ argued Eugène. ‘The Pantocratorians even less, but, well…’

‘Well what?’

Eugène sighed and smiled grimly. ‘The Pantocratorians might resent the colonisation efforts of another powerful empire so close to home. Unless, of course, they have already come to some manner of... of prior arrangement with Tartarus.’

‘Something like that could not have escaped the notice of Lady Elfriéde,’ declared Dórian with great conviction.

‘You’ve rather more confidence in the baronetess than I have,’ Eugène frowned and looked grave. ‘For my own part, I see strong connections with Kaitan-Leagran, and that does not bode well. There is little for us to gain from this, less than can be lost from doing nothing.’

‘Well, no. Our economic interests in the region must not be compromised,’ argued Dórian. ‘I daresay you would be surprised by the tonnage of Xirniumite shipping that travels along the Vasconian sea lanes every year. We should be concerned with stability in the region.’

‘And what do you make of these recent Abtian actions?’ asked Eugène.

‘A dangerous business, Näphärin, a dangerous bloody business,’ Dórian mused, his features becoming gloomy. ‘I fancy that I can still recognise a nation flexing its military muscle when I see it. And yet, one can’t help but feel some measure of sympathy with them. They, at least, are not unwelcome strangers to the Gulf.’

‘They have also shown their hand in the matter, I think,’ Eugène replied. ‘How else can their annexation be viewed except as a challenge to Tartarian expansion? At the least, they are suspicious of Empress Gehenna’s motives. This makes them a potential ally if any controversy develops.’

‘Pantocratoria and the Resurgent Dream, by contrast, have been quiet so far,’ Dórian noted.

‘Quite so. As have the Amestrians, but actually that’s an interesting matter…’ Eugène said, his voice trailing off.

‘Yes?’

‘Well I spoke earlier with the minister-counsellor at our embassy in Amestria,’ explained Eugène. ‘She mentioned that the ambassador had already chatted with President Liscel, and briefly touched on the issue in Vasconia.’

‘Did the president say anything interesting?’ asked Dórian, adjusting his cravat and picking up his umbrella.

‘Not particularly. Oh, the usual noncommittal stuff,’ replied Eugène as he also prepared to leave. ‘There was one thing, though. Quite amusing, actually. Apparently she didn’t think much of Empress Gehenna’s stunt; it didn’t particularly impress her.’


Further political developments...

Later that evening, the Xirniumite Foreign Ministry contacted the Tartarian and Abtian Governments and asked them to clarify their future geopolitical and military intentions with respect to the uninhabited Vasconian islands. In particular, the Government of the Eternal Republic wished to know if plans existed for any further expansion in the region. Xirniumite shipping in the Vasconian Gulf represented a not insignificant portion of export trade, and the Government desired to be notified of relevant developments that might affect such vital activity, in the interests of preventing any misunderstandings or anxieties.

In parliamentary Question Time the Foreign Minister was generally evasive on the topic, but expressed concern at the prospect of a new race to colonise the remaining unclaimed islands of the Vasconian Gulf, and particularly at the possibility of increased militarisation and heightened tensions in the region. Eléanor Sabëlinà counselled an approach of open dialogue and discussion on the issue. A quick scramble to claim every available scrap of land above the sea in Vasconia could only endanger economic and trade interests in the area, threatening stability, and should be of concern to everyone. Nations and stakeholders in the region could cooperate with one another for the purposes of formulating an effective multilateral framework with which to address all of the various issues raised.

The Xirniumite Navy mildly increased its routine patrols along the Eternal Republic’s economically significant trade lanes in the region. In addition, two of Parliament’s new Type XIIIG class nuclear attack submarines, XNS Narwéninqë, “Unceasing in Anger”, and XNS Ailúrovêrduri, “Jealous”, were diverted from their existing tasks in the area to more closely monitor the situation in the eastern Gulf.

Upon hearing of the Tartarian annexation of Lithanius, Monsieur Jean-David Bourgeois, the Amestrian Ambassador to the Tartarian Empire, sent the Tartarian Imperial Government a simple diplomatic note, straightforwardly asking:

1. Why has the Tartarian Empire claimed the island of Lithanius?

2. Why has the Tartarian Empire acted in a manner that is completely unilateral?

3. Why did the Tartarian Empire keep its plans to annex the island of Lithanius secret?

4. Does the Tartarian Empire plan on making any additional annexations/claims in the Gulf of Vasconia?

5. What are the Tartarian Empire’s development plans for the island of Lithanius?

6. Does the Tartarian Government plan on constructing military facilities and stationing military forces on the island of Lithanius?

7. Would it consent to a fact finding mission being sent to the island of Lithanius?

The Amestrian Foreign Ministry and Government were otherwise quiet.

New Amsterdam
Capital of the Resurgent Dream

Viscountess Kairis sat down, taking a moment to get the feel for her chair. It was the first time that she’d actually gotten the opportunity to make it to her new office and sit down since the opening of the Confederal Agora. Like the other confederal councillors, the president had a main office in the Confederal Council building and another office at her own department; in Kairis’s case, the Department of Foreign Affairs.

The office of course had been designed and decorated according to her personal specifications. It was a large room with a stately cherry desk behind which the president sat. At the other end of the room was an elegant glass coffee table flanked by two armchairs with stylised dark blue upholstery. Behind the coffee table was a matching sofa. The walls were lined with oak bookcases containing historical and philosophical works, mostly in English and Greek, although a few books of great cultural importance to this or that heritage group were also included in their original languages.

The room’s large windows looked out over a lovely garden. There were two tasteful paintings displayed on the walls, the work of local artists depicting Truth and Justice. In one corner was hung the sword General Bakirdzis had used during the Danaan Civil War and the one General Goodman has carried in the Lanerian Civil War. The overall impression was intimate, welcoming rather than imposing. The president decided that she was satisfied.

Kairis had barely been seated for ten minutes, and was just getting ready to do some deskwork, when she was buzzed by her secretary.

‘Madam President, the Xirniumite ambassador to see you.’

‘Send her in,’ Kairis said.

The person who entered was a rather severe looking lady in her mid fifties, thin, elegant and tall. She was finely attired in an extremely expensive, fashionably tailored suit; worn with a lovely frilled white silk blouse, a high, sombre neckcloth and a very narrow, straight pencil skirt. Her complexion was fresh and sanguine, her countenance proud and finely cut. Cold blue-grey eyes peered eagerly from behind their gold-rimmed glasses, and were capable of effecting the most piercing of stares. Hers were evidently lips not usually wont to smile, but when they did they revealed a range of the whitest and most even teeth describable. The ambassador’s features were stern but not exactly unkind, preserving exceedingly well what must have been startling beauty in their youth.

‘Good afternoon, President Kairis,’ announced Dr Erzsébet Nienindë. She briefly cast her eyes about the room, smirking a little to herself as she adjusted her glasses fastidiously. ‘I see that you have much work to do, I trust that this is not a bad time?’

‘This is the most important part of my work, Madam Ambassador,’ Kairis said in slightly accented, Bilbtorian English as she rose from behind her desk. ‘Would you like something to drink?’

‘Ah, thank you. Yes. Tea would be lovely,’ Nienindë replied. ‘No, actually... I think I should prefer some coffee,’ she corrected herself, a small smile spreading across her lips. Something, evidently, had amused her. ‘Yes, a strong black coffee would be grand. I do hope I’m not imposing.’

‘Not at all,’ Kairis said as she pressed the intercom and ordered coffee for both women. She then moved gracefully over towards the armchairs on the other end of the room, gesturing for her guest to sit first.

The ambassador took her seat and crossed her legs, peering at the president with her ascetic blue-grey eyes, their impenetrable nature giving nothing away. Nienindë sat with practiced self-discipline, her posture perfectly straight. One could not be certain whether she felt comfortable or not, but in any case she seemed well at ease.

‘Doubtless you have been made aware of recent developments in the Vasconian Gulf,’ began Nienindë without preamble as she removed her glasses and cleaned them with a fine, scarlet cambric handkerchief.

Kairis took her own seat, crossing her legs with a sort of languid, aristocratic grace. The president regarded her rather rigid guest with a small smile as she folded her hands over her knee.

‘Yes, I am quite aware of them,’ Kairis said. ‘And also of Xirnium’s statements... and actions.’

‘Part of the reason for why I am here is to learn of your Government’s reaction to those very statements,’ Nienindë explained with a patient movement of her hand.

The president arched a brow slightly. Around that moment, a smartly dressed, younger woman came in and served the coffee, interrupting the conversation with the sound of clinking porcelain. If the ambassador had noticed Kairis’ expression she did not show it, but turned instead to the newcomer and allowed a small smile of thanks to flash across her grave lips.

‘Thank you, Femke,’ Kairis said briefly before returning her attention back to the Xirniumite. ‘That all depends. Xirnium’s statements so far have been commentary. What does Xirnium actually intend to do?’

Nienindë stirred her coffee absentmindedly.

‘What we intend to do, Madam President, is advocate that the parties affected, as well as those involved, engage in broad multilateral collaboration, in the interests of preventing the possible development of any threats to the stability of the status quo. I feel I need hardly illustrate what form these political and economic threats might take,’ the ambassador added, with a strange look in her eyes that wondered if perhaps she might. ‘Suffice it to say that imperialist competition to colonise the remaining islands of Vasconia might raise concern for numerous commercial and trade interests in the region.’

The president’s polite smile couldn’t help but seem a little amused. She raised her coffee cup to her lips and gently took a sip, setting it back on the table in silence. She uncrossed her legs and then re-crossed them the other way.

‘It was inevitable, of course,’ Karisi said, ‘and, strictly speaking, they have every right to their claims under international law. The situation is in many ways similar to that surrounding Abt’s own settlement.’

‘Madam President, I’m not talking about the international law,’ said Nienindë, concealing her irritation as she adjusted how her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose.

‘I know you’re not,’ Kairis said patiently.

‘Of course you do,’ agreed the ambassador. ‘We are of a like mind then, I take it, that a broad, collaborative multilateral approach is required here, as it seems the international law is not in and of itself sufficient to prevent the possibility of… of some unpleasantness resulting.’

‘I suppose so,’ Kairis said evenly, even as she studied the other woman carefully and quite expectantly.

It was the ambassador’s turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m certain that the foreign minister will be thrilled to know that she has your Government’s support and agreement,’ remarked Nienindë, adding some more sugar to her cup and taking a small sip. She still was not quite satisfied with it.

‘My agreement to support a broad, collaborative multilateral approach as such,’ Kairis said.

‘Precisely. Of course, the foreign minister already knew that she could count on the Resurgent Dream. Our interests, after all, are one and the same,’ explained Nienindë. ‘Indeed, this matter affects your country far more than mine,’ pointed out the ambassador with an ironic smile.

Kairis smiled slightly at the ambassador, even as she inwardly felt more than a little insulted and annoyed. She waited for a moment, letting a pregnant pause hang in the air. The ambassador did not seem particularly bothered by the silence, and returned to her project of trying to get the coffee right.

‘You said that you were supportive of the foreign minister’s desire to see collaborative discussion involving the nations involved and third parties affected in the region,’ Nienindë recalled after a moment. ‘I wonder if your government has yet approached any other nations about the possibility of arranging some kind of international conference where such dialogue might occur?’

Kairis uncrossed her legs and pressed them together, shifting forward slightly in her seat as she set down her cup with a light clink.

‘Madam Ambassador,’ the president began, ‘I had assumed that such an idea would be discussed in this meeting. It is vital for both of our nations, and for all nations in the region, as well as for commerce and for the safety of individual travellers, that international security prevail in the area. The only way to achieve this is through stable and universally recognised borders. We cannot allow the attitude, so common in much of the world, that territory is something to be lost and won, as if in some sort of game, to prevail; but instead insist that the territorial integrity of each nation is inviolable, and that attempts to win the territory of others are not a legitimate competitive activity but a threat to international stability.

This furthermore depends upon the understanding that international relations are not a zero-sum game but rather an area where mutual security, commerce and cooperation can guarantee better circumstances for all. All of this is premised, of course, upon mutual recognition of sovereignty and legitimacy which can only be established by all-party regional negotiations which would, more or less of necessity, have the following aims: The permanent settlement of all border disputes, the status of all unclaimed land in the region, recognition of all parties by all other parties, the normalisation of diplomatic relations across the board, the mutual guarantee of the territorial integrity of each party, the joint guarantee of the safety of legitimate commercial traffic on international sea and in international air and a common understanding of the law of the sea.’

The ambassador could not suppress a look of amused incredulity at this strange display, this breathless spiel of frothy sentiment and lofty goals. Thus far the president had appeared extremely reticent, unwilling perhaps to show her hand; now she preached to her guest with didactic fervour. If all of this had been intended as some kind of insult, it did seem to have its required effect. When she finally spoke, the ambassador’s voice was as confident and measured as before.

‘Those aims are certainly laudable and, I agree, they would need to be met for any useful international cooperation to occur on the matter,’ replied Nienindë. ‘The salient issue though, I think, is with respect to the status of the unclaimed islands in the Vasconian Gulf. These are, of course, at present unclaimed by any sovereign power. The most useful result that could come from any regional summit would be the formulation of a clear framework to guide their peaceful use, development and colonisation, if at all.’

‘I believe that such is merely the most immediate issue,’ Kairis said. ‘But it is, of course, included. I do however think that mutual recognition is at least as important. The refusal of an important state to recognise the sovereignty of a nation can be extremely destabilising, especially when other states follow its lead. It essentially strips the local government and the territorial integrity of the nation of legitimacy and also endangers the legitimate claims of the citizenry abroad. It makes cooperation in all of the other areas I mentioned far more difficult, if not impossible, and creates lands which raise as many legal ambiguities, at least for those denying recognition, as unclaimed lands.’

‘Mutual recognition is, of course, the most fundamental prerequisite before any cooperation can occur in international affairs,’ said Nienindë, shifting slightly in her seat and removing her glasses again. ‘Nothing at all follows without this crucial foundation. Forgive me, Madam President, but I was unaware that sovereign recognition was a point of controversy in this situation?’

‘That is because you seek to address the situation of two specific claims in the Gulf Islands, rather than the general lack of security in the region from which those claims cannot be separated,’ Kairis said. ‘In my opinion, this comes both from an exaggerated view of the significance of these claims, and from a failure to appreciate the seriousness of the lack of mutual security, cooperation and the general framework of international law and treaties in the region at present.

‘The current situation is not a crisis, nor even a great threat to shipping lanes or to the territory of any nation. Nothing in our intelligence indicates that either power has the intention of invading another state or attacking shipping at any point. However, the large element of indeterminacy in relations between the nations in the region creates the perpetual possibility of a crisis,’ Kairis went on to explain.

The ambassador bristled defensively, feeling clearly insulted and moreover confused. Replacing her glasses she regarded Kairis flatly, pursing her lips.

‘Madam President, I can assure you that the general lack of security in Vasconia is, and has been for quite some time, of great concern to my nation’s Government,’ Nienindë explained firmly, her voice slightly rising. ‘I feel that you are suggesting that we have somehow been alarmist or even hysterical on this matter before us, and that is most unfair. Our position is quite balanced and calmly reasoned, no one is talking about the threat of hostilities and no one is suggesting that this is in any way a crisis. Insofar as the other points you have raised are concerned, on the topic of jurisdiction on the high seas, on territorial limits, on the continuity of states, there is a wealth of material in the law of nations, in the... commonly subscribed to international norms… which deal with…’

The ambassador’s voice gradually trailed away. In her mind she rapidly played back their conversation.

‘Oh,’ Nienindë said softly. ‘Oh, I see.’ The ambassador stopped talking and replaced her cup and saucer on a conveniently located coffee table. A weak smile spread across the ambassador’s lips and she regarded the president with new interest.

‘Well, on reflection I think that there would be some advantages in pursuing a broader scope for discussion,’ agreed Niniende, blinking rather stupidly. The ambassador blushed a little, and she had not been made to blush for a very long time.

Kairis nodded slightly, settling back in her own chair and re-crossing her legs as she brought her coffee once more to her lips.

‘A general settlement, I think, makes it easier for people to agree on things like this,’ the president explained. ‘It decreases polarisation and mediates direct conflicts between individual parties. We would, of course, be willing to support having such a conference in and chaired by Xirnium, to make clear Xirnium’s importance to, and leadership in, the region and the world. Xirnium would be involved in the settlement at the highest levels, provided that the conference was inclusive.'

‘Ah, well I imagine that the foreign minister would desire that it be the Resurgent Dream that first suggests such a conference, and its possible venue,’ said the ambassador, still not having yet entirely recovered her previous confidence.

‘If Xirnium agrees to host in the manner I’ve described, we will make the announcement and use all of our diplomatic connections to get as many of the nations in the region to attend as possible,’ Kairis promised.

The ambassador picked up her cup again and took a long sip. She smiled broadly at the president, but her eyes were cold once more and devoid of friendliness. When next she spoke, her voice had recovered all of its self-assurance and returned to its imperious tone.

‘That sounds most generous indeed, Madam President,’ explained Nienindë. ‘I shall be certain to pass on to the foreign minister your proposal, although of course I would not presume to know with certainty what she will say,’ she added. ‘We all expect that the advisory subcommittee on the Vasconian question shall pass down its recommendations very soon, any day now in fact, for it is long overdue, and I am given to understand that it should clear up certain legal matters of relevance. Should the advisory subcommittee’s findings confirm our expectations, as I have every confidence they will, I don’t anticipate that your proposal will encounter any significant difficulties.’

The Office of Foreign Affairs had been on high alert since the declaration, everyone preparing for whatever backlash would come from the Vasconia region. Announcements had been dictated and were ready for release. Should the need arise, members of the ministry were on hand to leave on immediate notice and all ambassadors stationed at the nations involved in the region had been prepped.

Foreign Secretary, Emma Sarie moved quickly through the hallway towards her office. No one stopped to speak, other than a brief greeting, as all the people working in the ministry knew that potentially the mud could be about to hit the fan. The last thing they wanted was to cause any major problems with the relationships they had with the nations in Vasconia.

Walking through the door at the end of the corridor, Emma smiled at the man sat at the desk, stationed outside her own office. “Good morning, Dane,” she greeted her assistant. “Anything that I should be aware of?”

Dane, who had arrived in the office an hour previously, gathered some papers together and looked at his boss. “Good morning, Ma’am,” he replied in greeting, as he rose from his chair and followed Emma through to her office. “It appears to be pretty quiet at the moment. We have received word from Amestria, asking us to explain our reasons, mostly the usual questions.”

Placing her briefcase on her desk, Emma popped open the catches and nodded her head. “That is reassuring, at least.” She ruffled through some of the papers inside, before laying them on the surface of the desk. “Have we heard anything from the Imperial Office?”

“It would appear the Palace has received no more word than we have,” Dane reassured the Foreign Secretary.

Emma, who had given up on her papers, turned to look at her assistant. “I’m hoping this all goes down with the least amount of fuss possible and without causing undue harm to the relations we have built up, especially with the Confederated Peoples, who we have had the most contact with. I know that Her Imperial Majesty does not wish to upset that particular boat.”

It was not Dane’s place to question the actions of those above him, but he could not understand why the Empire had been so quiet about its plans. “Do you think it will be long before we hear anything?”

Walking around her desk, Emma settled herself into her chair. “I’m expecting a response from the other nation in due course. I do not think we have merely seen the tip of the iceberg. We need to make all the preparations for the reactions of the other Vasconian nations, I do not believe that they will remain silent for very much longer.”

“And the reply to Amestria?”

Emma pondered the question for a moment, then shook her head. “Send word that we are working on a public statement and that we will answer their questions then.” She paused and looked at Dane questioningly. “Anything else?”

“Nothing that cannot wait until you’ve settled in.” He smiled and left the Foreign Secretary to prepare for the day ahead.”

* * * * *

A low sigh escaped from her lips, as High Queen Marissa once more began to pace back and forth across her room. She felt more than a little uncomfortable about the course of action taken by the Empire of Tartarus and knew that there was likely to be some repercussions felt from Vasconia.

“Oh, Gehenna, what are you doing?” She asked the air for the hundredth time, before once more stopping and lowering herself down onto the side of the bed. The last thing Marissa wanted was there to be tensions between her new home and the country she was born.

The room was not a particularly impressive one. It did, however, have a desk with the President himself seated behind it. And on it, was a display screen in which was none else than General-Poruchik Georgiy Zarin-Soresskiy, Commanding Officer of the Western Atlantic Command, part of the Home Theatre of the Taraskovyan National Defence Forces. Zarin-Soresskiy was on a direct encrypted feed from his headquarters in Spanjaboria.

“Aorin, you are seriously overestimating the Tartarian capacity to threaten the well being of your little Republic,” Georgiy said with a sigh. “They have no assets in the area and they do not have the capacity to wage warfare this far away from home without having forward operation bases. And I do not believe any of the nations around here would provide such bases to operate against Abt. Unless you have already dissed the locals so much they want you out.”

“You have to admit, Georgiy, that of all the countries in the world, we expected Tartarus the least in here,” Aorin replied, his face showing no emotion. “They are not known to be particularly democratic, I shall not even speak of religious freedom. My people are worried.”

The President of Abt knew the officer he was talking with since childhood years. Both were cadets in the same school, went on to become yunkers together. After base service, Georgiy decided to go into career, while Aorin became a mercenary. They did, however, keep contact and it was very fortunate for the head of state of the small republic that his highest link in Taraskovya was relatively close around.

“What do you wish exactly from me, Aorin? My tasks around here consist in planning out…” the officer paused before continuing, stressing the next word. “…operations in support or against the locals should any be necessary. Also in carrying out such operations when they are engaged. Tartarus is not of my concern until they establish a sufficient military presence here.”

“You have direct access to the Minister of Defence and, thus, the Government. I would like to know the Grand Ducal stance on the Tartarian move. Aside from any potential official statement, which I’d get if I went through the official channels.”

“I shall prod around, but I do not think I shall get anything sensational,” Georgiy smiled. “Vasconia is not at the centre of Taraskovyan attention. However, from what I understand, if Tartarus suddenly goes berserk and decides to invade Abt, we shall defend Abt. But you also have to remember that the ties between Taraskovya and Tartarus are evolving quite dynamically, trade is blooming.

“You also have to remember that the Tartarians are smart and cunning. They are not blunt land hungry aggressors. As such, yes, they are not a fluffy democratic republic like Abt, but you shall have to live with them in the vicinity. Unless, of course, you dislodge them. But I do not think the Confederals will approve of that.”

“I do not think they will. And what with them sitting all around our borders, have to take them into account,” Aorin sighed. “How is Marina and children, anyway?”

“Great,” Georgiy said cheerfully, happy to change subject himself. “Anton’s wife gave birth to a boy a week ago. So I am granpa now.”

“What about Lena?”

“Ah, she and her friend had some difficulties. She’s currently staying…”

The talk continued on for some time more in a more private manner, between two old friends and not between the President of Abt and a Taraskovyan Commander.

After her conversation with the Xirniumite ambassador, President Kairis instructed the Confederal ambassadors in Otiacicoh, Kaitan-Leagran, Amestria, Abt, Pantocratorian Ambara, Pantocratoria, Knootoss and Tartarus to inform their host governments that they should expect a formal invitation from Xirnium asking them to attend a conference regarding regional affairs, especially with respect to recent events in the Gulf of Vasconia and in the Pantocratorian Isles. The ambassadors were to inform their host governments that the Confederated Peoples strongly supported this conference and urged attendance by all the nations of the region and, furthermore, than the Confederal government would consider any resulting agreement definitive. The Confederal ambassadors were also to inform their host governments that the Confederated Peoples provisionally recognized the Tartaran claim to Lithanius and the Abtian claim to Actadeos pending the results of the conference but that the Confederals were claiming a provisional zone of exclusive interest over the other five unclaimed islands, also pending the results. The ambassadors were to explain clearly that the Confederals had no interest in further expansion and intended to make no long-term claim on these five islands at the conference itself. They would merely hold them in trust until the conference could decide what to do about them and other unclaimed lands in the region.

The next day, Force A, which had been docked in Santiago, went out into the Gulf although it did not proceed towards the unclaimed islands, limiting itself to adopting, at a distance, a defensive formation just in case things went sour. The deployment of actual naval forces in the immediate area of controversy would have hurt more than it would have helped or at least so thought the Confederal Department of Defence and the Confederal Navy. Commodore Gutman and her ships were holding back.

Instead of Force A, a hastily created JTF 1 was sent to the island. This consisted of vessels, aircraft and personnel voluntarily placed in Confederal service by the Navy Civil Defence Forces of Achi, Costa Brava, Ocampo, Quisqueya and Santiago. They were essentially coastguard vessels, designed more for policing than for combat with foreign ships. They were sufficient to temporarily secure an area but little more and that was exactly what they were meant to do. JTF 1 sent a small party aboard each of the five islands in the provisional zone of exclusive interest to set up a small headquarters and raise the Confederal flag. The entire operation was under the command of Fleet Captain/Capitán de Navio Efraín Galdarres of the Ocampan Navy Civil Defence Force, headquartered on Bolarctand.

For President Kairis, for Efraín Galdarres, for Corinna Gutman and for the many others whose lives would be immediately effected by the situation in the Gulf of Vasconia, there was now little to do except to wait for the formal Xirniumite invitation and to see how the nations of the region responded to the invitation and to the Confederal position. For President Kairis, this was just one among several worries as the situation in the Pantocratorian Isles also continued to worsen. In fact, in the President’s estimation, there was a much larger chance of a general war with Allanea or Prussia than with Tartarus which she continued to view with a friendly eye.

For Owain ap Cunedda, concerns about the Gulf of Vasconia touched at the heart of his own family life. The High King of Dana, Emperor of Nabarro Abarca and King of quite a few other Confederal Members, stood quietly in his wife’s doorway. He had been watching her with a faint, worried smile as he reflected upon the situation she must be in. He finally decided he had been watching silently for long enough and stepped into the room. “You seem rather distressed, Your Majesty. I don’t think there’s as much cause to be as you believe. Your cousin has no reason to be hostile. Not over anything on Lithanius anyway. As long as this is handled tactfully, I’m sure everything will turn out fine.”

Marissa looked at her husband, her worry disappearing from her thoughts as smiled. “I know that I am worrying over very little, Owain,” she replied, before resuming her walk a little in his direction, before stopping once more. “I am not concerned that Gehenna will do anything drastic. One of the reasons the Empire is a member of the NDA is because it does not like to attack without good cause.”

Continuing towards her husband, she did not pause again, until she was standing just before him, her hand reaching out for his. “My concern is that the situation could cause problems between the two nations that I love. Both are very fondly held in my heart and I would feel uncomfortable having to...” Her gaze fixed to Owain’s, as her eyes lost their worried look. “I feel better talking to you.”

The Queen wrapped her fingers lightly around her husband’s, knowing that things would feel less strained in her mind once the official business was dealt with.

Ceulën III Neúvenärta-Teútabêth Line, Above the River Elendarä
In the Northeast of the Eternal Republic of Xirnium

From afar it resembled a delicate thread of gossamer hair, perfectly straight and silver-white. Evenly spaced along its span were a series of tall, slender pillars; with a little imagination, not dissimilar in appearance to a number of sewing needles through which the aforementioned thread was passed. This elegant viaduct, for so it was, carried a cloud-obscured railway three hundred metres above the valley of the River Elendarä. It was a marvel of engineering, a glorious work of modern art. Against tonight’s wonderful backdrop of brilliant, glittering stars it seemed especially other-worldly.

Leafing through his evening edition of the Neúvenärta Courant, Isidóre Alythônion scarcely noticed as the train began to race across the bridge. It was his wont to read the paper in the evenings. For some bizarre reason, a reason which he stubbornly refused to ascribe to bureaucratic incompetence, Isidóre found he tended to stay much more up to date with world news by reading the paper than by waiting for Foreign Ministry emails.

Isidóre was a member of Countess Eléanor Sabëlinà’s personal staff, and the foreign minister’s direct liaison with the Vasconia Group, a newly-expanded department responsible for relations with the nations of the gulf. This latter distinction was unfortunate, or so Isidóre reflected as he wondered at the time. It was in fact the very reason why he found himself now on the second of July in the middle of the Eldâliéna Mountains, on a high-speed train bound for the north.

Beginning in late June, a most curious change seemed to sweep across the Eternal Republic, spreading rapidly throughout the cities and gripping everyone in its wake. Work had become even more tedious than usual; all of a sudden, the thirty-five hour week seemed far too long and a return from lunch at three thirty much too soon. Parliament went into recess, halls of residence were vacated by their students, and an air of restless anticipation settled over the country.

It was, in fact, the arrival of the annual celebration of midsummer, one of the most dearly loved holidays on the Xirniumite calendar.

As the summer solstice loomed, the nation’s urban centres were progressively depopulated, with millions of Xirniumites abandoning the great cultural metropolises for the clear and open countryside, with its alpine forests, woodland pastures and moorland lakes. Most would not return to the cities for at least two months, and Naèräth especially would be a lonely place indeed until September.

One of the few urban centres to actually experience a surge in population during the summer months was Teútabêth, northernmost of the leading cities of Xirnium. Located upon the delta of the River Elsinòre, this sublime metropolis spread across almost four dozen different islands, spilling onto the adjacent mainland floodplain of the Bay of Veulêssa. It was an ancient city, incredibly beautiful by virtue of its unique mediaeval architecture and the northerly latitude of its location. For about three weeks every year, it experienced the spectacular white nights that had lent it its enduring appeal, nights during which the sun would not descend far enough below the horizon to completely banish the evening’s twilight. Until early July the midnight sky would glow a pale purple, its eastern edge rimmed with fiery gold, the Elsinòre and its bay turned the colour of freshly spilt blood.

For Isidóre, the first hint that the train was nearing its destination came not from any change in landscape, but from the sky above. Gradually, very gradually, the stars winked out as the heavens brightened by almost imperceptible degrees. Darkness had fallen shortly before the Elendarä viaduct, but as the train raced onwards to higher latitudes light slowly returned, a midnight dawn. By the time he reached Teútabêth, even a glimmer of the sun’s dying flame might be discerned along the eastern horizon.

Teútabêth was occasionally called the City between the Towers, although in fact only the old quarter of the metropolis could thus accurately be described. At either end of the delta two ancient flamboyant Baroque towers stood, the Amärthäloth, or Tower of the Unyielding Flame, and the Nargànost, or Tower of the Everlasting Frost. Isidóre could just see both landmarks as the train, now silent as a ghost, glided to a smooth stop at its terminus. Only the latter tower, however, was visible from the ornamented battlements of Castle Faustárial, an aristocratic hunting seat which was situated in the wooded rolling hills of Teútabêth’s eastern outskirts. It was here that Isidóre must go.

A strong, solitary dark fortress, Castle Faustárial had been in a state of near crumbling ruin when first purchased by House Numêsalquó in the late eighteenth century. Since that day it had been extensively restored and meticulously cared for; no building could be more picturesque. Standing on a slight eminence, the handsome hunting lodge was surrounded by a dark, thick forest dominated by pines, yew trees and firs. An old, narrow country road passed in front of its elegant drawbridge, which spanned a wide, mirror-like moat covered with innumerable white water lilies and home to teeming schools of greenish-red perch and a great flock of gorgeous white swans. By the light of Teútabêth’s midnight twilight the moat seemed almost a sparkling ribbon of fulgent gold.

A sleek and gleaming, dark blue motor vehicle now made its way slowly towards the castle, the sound of its tires dying away as it drove through masses of fallen leaves. The car slowed to a stop in front of a forbidding high gateway, its bars fashioned from wrought iron in fantastically intricate tracery, and after a brief discussion between the vehicle’s driver and the warden of the lodge the gate swung open noiselessly. Isidóre sunk back into his seat and sighed. The narrow, mile-long drive was full of rich colour made eerie in the twilight, flanked by swathes of lovely daffodils in yellow and cream. Eight monumental towers, ancient and crenellated, rose grimly above the trees ahead. Owls hooted sadly from their slender spires.

Castle Faustárial was a tremendous cream-coloured stone structure, with high roofs, gables and dormers, round turrets at the corners, and a rectangular courtyard surrounded by walls, patched heavily with lichen and ivy. Originally constructed in the Gothic manner, it had evidently been refurbished some several centuries after in an early Renaissance style. To the former, the hunting lodge owed its grand sense of lofty verticality; to the latter, its classical adornment of slender pilasters and rounded archways. Isidóre observed that grey smoke rose gently from the castle’s high chimneys; something that he had entirely expected, of course, for he knew that it was currently being used.

Inquiring at a helpful liveried footman near the building’s main entryway, Isidóre learned that the countess was to be found outside in the frosty castle grounds. He was shown to a set of stables that were weather-bitten with age and constructed out of black granite, with many-mullioned windows, trellising thick with climbing vines, and a high, steeply angled roof. Outside were gathered a number of nobles, laughing and conversing with some excitement. Evidently the group was about to embark on some kind of midnight hunt, for horses had been saddled and several of the aristocrats held in their possession antique shotguns or arbalests. Chasing stags by Teútabêth’s famous twilight was in fact a well known ancestral tradition of House Numêsalquó.

It did not take Isidóre very long to locate Eléanor. In appearance the foreign minister was a lady of an exceedingly aristocratic type; slender, graceful and tall, with a high and slightly aquiline nose, large, clever brown eyes, a pale, keen face, and languid yet perfectly refined manners. Her features were proud and pleasingly defined, her skin beautifully translucent. The long, golden auburn tresses of Eléanor’s lightly powdered hair descended in a profusion of ringlets to her waist. Both her lipstick-painted lips and neatly-manicured nails were a dark cherry red in colour.

Eléanor was dressed elegantly in a narrow scarlet riding coat with gilt buttoned lapels and gold-thread embroidered turnback cuffs, under which she wore her tightly-laced satin frock stays. At her neck was a white cravat with ribbon bows, and on her crow a sable-coloured top hat. Eléanor’s skirts were long and flowing, although with a rather short train. Around her slender legs swarmed a pack of splendid bloodhounds, all pure-bred animals of the finest pedigree.

‘Oh Isidóre, hello,’ exclaimed the countess, her lips bursting into a smile of amusement as one of the hounds jumped excitedly against her thigh. ‘Sit down, silly,’ she said to the hound, her lovely voice quiet but firm, its euphonic tone conveying a mingled hint of affection and annoyance.

‘Good evening, Minister,’ smiled Isidóre politely. A number of the dogs had taken to barking at him.

‘Shh, shh!’ Eléanor commanded sternly, and her hounds quickly stopped baying. ‘Good evening. I didn’t expect to see you here,’ the countess explained, a fair hand fondly stroking the pointed ears of one of the dogs.

‘We spoke earlier and you said that it was imperative that I meet with you today,’ Isidóre reminded the foreign minister. His heart sunk, and he wondered if perhaps his superior’s instructions had been made whilst in one of her all too frequent states of opium-induced euphoria. Such had happened before. ‘You also said that it absolutely could not wait until tomorrow.’

‘Oh yes, yes I did,’ Eléanor seemed to recall, a frown briefly darkening her features. ‘But I thought we spoke this afternoon. It’s past twelve now,’ she pointed out with a hint of irritation.

‘I... I came from Neúvenärta, Minister,’ explained Isidóre. Perhaps the foreign minister might not think anything of squandering ministerial resources to have her subordinates follow her about the country, but fourteen hundred kilometres was still fourteen hundred kilometres.

‘Oh,’ Eléanor replied, her mixed expression conveying some doubt as to whether she though Isidóre’s excuse really sufficed. ‘And where exactly is Izabétha?’ she asked, referring to her principle private secretary.

‘I haven’t been able to reach her,’ confessed Isidóre.

One of the nobles glided over, a playful look of annoyance on her countenance. The lady bore a remarkable resemblance to Eléanor, with the same mass of long Titian curls, the same pale skin and fey demeanour. Her signet ring confirmed her identity as one of the countess’ younger siblings.

‘Eléanor what’s going on? When are we setting off?’ asked Lady Lucíllia Sabëlinà. She knelt slightly and petted the head of a bloodhound, which began to make affectionate whimpering noises.

‘Isidóre, you know my sister of course?’ the countess asked, somewhat absentmindedly, as her sibling straightened beside her.

‘How do you do?’ replied Isidóre. The man courteously kissed Lucíllia’s hand.

Eléanor looked helpless and irritated. She considered asking Isidóre to wait until after the hunt. No, it would be too late; they would not be back until after sunrise, and anyway she would be in no mood for business afterwards. Tomorrow, then? The prime minister had impressed on Eléanor her extreme dissatisfaction at how slowly she had been dealing with this issue; no, it really could not wait until tomorrow. It would have to be now.

Lucíllia peered at the countess inquisitively.

‘We’ll ride in a minute, dear creature, I’ve something to take care of first,’ Eléanor explained to her sister. ‘Um, come with me, I guess, Isidóre.’

‘Oh, Eléanor!’ the noblewoman pouted sulkily.

‘I shan’t be but a moment!’ the countess promised.

‘Never mind that, Lucíllia,’ declared another giggling lady, an exquisitely gorgeous looking creature who was standing beside a sorrel coloured horse. With her exceedingly fine, white muslin gown and lavishly applied cosmetics she appeared remarkably out of place in the crisp country air. ‘Show me how this wretched thing works,’ she said, fiddling with the mechanism for drawing back a crossbow’s string. ‘I’m afraid Alfréd seems as lost as I am.’

‘Oh he’s hopeless, isn’t he?’ laughed Lucíllia.

Stepping inside the castle, Eléanor called for spiced mead and turned into one of the sitting rooms off the main hall. The Feldäfautä, or Cygnet Parlour, was a large and lofty room; with an ornate, vaulted ceiling, decorated in gilt stucco mouldings and silver stars on a pale pink background. The sitting room appeared elegantly furnished, and a cheerful fire already crackled in the hearth. Pre-Raphaelite paintings depicting the romantic Saga of the Swan Maidens adorned the oak panelled walls, as did a small number of splendid stags’ heads and ancient weapon trophies.

‘Tell me about the Lithanius situation,’ Eléanor sighed and she perched herself on a Rococo chair. In mere moments she had lit an opium cigarette and blue smoke was already beginning to swirl around her.

Isidóre briefed the foreign minister on what had transpired in the gulf, which admittedly was not very much. It was mostly in his files, of course, but Eléanor liked to hear it all the same. The Tartarians, she learnt, had not yet condescended to reply to the Foreign Ministry’s inquiries, something that did little to improve the countess’ mood.

‘Well we really have three options,’ the countess explained. ‘We could of course do nothing, a choice of action not without its own intrinsic appeal. We could also issue some form of statement, but that would just be foolish. What would we say? We could protest, I suppose, but I should think that rather an overreaction to a relatively minor issue. In any case, it would just be ignored. At least, I would ignore it. Let us wait.’

‘Their conduct is insulting though,’ observed Isidóre.

‘Of course it’s bloody insulting,’ said Eléanor, becoming a little annoyed. ‘But what do you expect from a feudal autocracy? Unfortunately, I am scarcely in a position to appropriately reward their conduct. Anyway, I believe that the Amestrians asked similar questions too, did they not?’

‘That is my understanding,’ replied Isidóre, checking his notes.

‘And they were as unsuccessful as we were,’ Eléanor noted, not without some smug satisfaction. ‘Well, what else is there?’

‘Um, sorry, Minister... so was that do nothing regarding the Tartarians?’

‘Yes, yes,’ repeated Eléanor with tested patience. ‘Yes, we will wait, I said. Actually, send quiet word gently reminding them of our inquiry; I suppose it’s not impossible that our message might have been misplaced. If their Foreign Ministry is anything like ours I should think it a distinct likelihood...’

‘And the Abtians?’ asked Isidóre.

‘Pardon?’ blinked the countess.

‘We conveyed a similar inquiry to the Republic of Abt...’ Isidóre reminded the foreign minister.

‘Oh yes, of course we did,’ Eléanor mused, flicking grey tobacco ash from her cigarette into a conveniently positioned ashtray. ‘The same approach with them.’

‘As you wish, Minister,’ nodded the private secretary.

‘Which island did they annex, again?’ asked Eléanor. ‘There’s so many. Danysona or Germuarya or something?’

‘Actadeos,’ explained Isidóre.

‘Right.’

The private secretary then finished describing regional developments, informing Eléanor of the Confederal move in landing troops on the remaining unclaimed islands. It was not until he described their diplomatic efforts that the countess suddenly began to pay attention.

‘They did what?’

Isidóre checked his notes again. ‘Confederal diplomats informed the governments of Pantocratoria, Amestria, Knootoss, Tartarus and Otiacicoh, among others, that they should expect to receive a formal invitation from the Eternal Republic, requesting their attendance at a regional conference.’

‘How dare they?’ Eléanor exclaimed, obviously upset. ‘Whose idea was this?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ explained the private secretary, shaking his head.

‘You don’t know. Why don’t you know? Find out!’ ordered the foreign minister, raising her voice a little. ‘Who do they think they are? Since when do the Confederated Peoples announce Xirniumite foreign policy?’

‘Minister, I’m sure it was well intentioned…’

‘Hah! Well intentioned?’ asked Eléanor disbelievingly. ‘It is presumptuous, Isidóre. It is a liberty that they have no right to take. I announce Xirniumite foreign policy. I dictate Xirniumite foreign policy!’

Isidóre felt increasingly uncomfortable in his seat, and took a quick sip of his sweetened mead to stay his nerves. When the countess was upset like this, it was usually best not to present oneself as an obvious target for her to direct her wrath at. Isidóre’s position was thus quite dangerous.

‘Minister, I’m sure the Confederated Peoples did not mean to attempt any usurpation of your authority,’ he began in a reasonable tone. ‘We, or I should say the ambassador, came to an arrangement with them, and setting up this conference is merely pursuant to that arrangement. You yourself agreed to the arrangement.’

‘I did not agree to have Minerva and her government direct her allies to attend a conference that I haven’t even indicated my public support for yet!’ Eléanor replied angrily. ‘How do you think this looks, Isidóre? It looks as though all the initiative lies with the Confederated Peoples, and that they’ve won us over to their side and have us in full agreement with them. It looks as if they are influencing us.’

‘I’m sure that is not what people will think…’

‘Oh, you’re sure of that… but you aren’t sure of whom it was that directed the Resurgent Dream’s diplomatic service to do this in the first place,’ the countess sneered.

‘I didn’t realise it would be an important issue,’ Isidóre confessed.

‘No doubt,’ laughed Eléanor cruelly.

‘I can find out for you,’ the private secretary said.

‘Do so, then.’

Eléanor stalked to the mantelpiece and retrieved another opium-laced cigarette from a silver tin. With slightly trembling fingers she lit its end. Brushing hair away from the left side of her face with a delicate hand, the countess tilted her head to look at Isidóre.

‘No I can’t allow this. This is not acceptable,’ she declared.

‘Minister, I beg you to be reasonable, we have made an arrangement with the Confederals,’ the private secretary said. ‘It would undoubtedly harm our relations with them if we were to renege on our promise.’

‘And what good are our relations with the Resurgent Dream, Isidóre?’ sneered the countess. ‘The Confederals are useless, unreliable allies. They are a tiresome bother. If it weren’t for Heather I would be rid of their company tomorrow.’

‘Minister, it’s late and you must be tired...’ the private secretary spoke gently.

‘Don’t tell me I’m tired!’ shouted Eléanor. The foreign minister sighed and rubbed her eyes. ‘The problem is that, basically, what has happened here implies too great a commonality of views between our nations. Some commonality is good, of course; we are allies after all and we should be of like mind on important matters of principle. Too much, however, is problematic. From that one might erroneously deduce a play of influence. The Confederals do not influence this Foreign Ministry. It merely so happens that, from time to time, we might share substantially similar an opinion as to make collaboration in geopolitics worthwhile. We must let the world know this distinction.’

‘I’m sure they already do, though,’ Isidóre opined, replacing his drink on a pedestal table and crossing his legs.

‘Regardless, we shall let them know all the same,’ Eléanor decided. She inhaled the smoke of her cigarette and gazed upon the burning logs. ‘I want the Foreign Ministry to criticise the Resurgent Dream. I don’t care what we criticise, anything will do I suppose. We can say that they foolishly and hastily lent provisional legitimacy to the Tartarian and Abtian claims. They should first have waited for all the facts to become known. If we say that, we must make sure that we phrase our criticism so as not to raise any implicit or explicit scepticism, for our own part, as to the sovereign legality of the annexations. We must continue to maintain our former stance with respect to making no committed response. Actually, maybe we should criticise the Confederal landings instead. Yes, have them called misguided and unhelpful; more likely to raise tensions than secure stability.’

‘Is it not reckless, Minister, to publicly criticise an ally merely to express our displeasure with them?’ asked Isidóre.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ the countess shrugged. ‘It’s unlikely to do any lasting harm. They have, after all, already committed themselves to supporting our conference. And, after this, it will look like more like our conference than theirs. Anyway, constructive criticism is helpful in a healthy alliance.’

‘But, surely... I mean if there is no substantive basis for our criticism…’ the private secretary said.

‘Well then we must find one,’ Eléanor explained. ‘Anyway, that’s not the main problem. I don’t think it wholly unreasonable to argue the case that suddenly raising one’s flag on five different islands might not be entirely the best course of action when one wants to prevent a modern resurgence in imperial colonialism. No, the big difficulty is that it is rather hypocritical to criticise what the Resurgent Dream has done when we said nothing about Abt and Tartarus.’

‘The media, at least, will surely pick up on that,’ Isidóre opined.

‘I suppose so, but one can’t have everything. Carry out my instructions,’ the countess ordered.

‘Yes, Minister. Which one, precisely?’ asked the private secretary.

‘Both, I suppose,’ mused Eléanor. ‘We shall voice our misgivings about the unilateral and rather gung-ho approach that the Confederated Peoples has just adopted and criticise its merits, not out of spite but constructively. We shall cite it as a further reason for why discussion and open dialogue is preferable.’

‘It is possible that the Confederals might not understand so subtle an indication of your displeasure,’ Isidóre suggested. ‘These are not Xirniumites. They require things spelt out for them.’

‘I should think that the fact that we are attacking them from a hypocritical perspective should make it abundantly clear that they have done something to displease us,’ Eléanor remarked. ‘Quietly, Erzsébet might suggest the true reason to them. But I don’t want it leaked to the press.’

‘Yes, Minister.’

‘I want to emphasise that point, Isidóre,’ the countess said. ‘I am sick of all the leaks in the Foreign Ministry. I have a confidential meeting with the Board of Under-Secretaries and find a record of the proceedings in the papers before the minutes have even been circulated to my office! I’ve had quite enough. If our Ship of State was actually to be put on the water, with all the leaks it seems to have, it would surely sink straight to the bottom.’

‘I shall endeavour to keep everything entirely under wraps,’ Isidóre promised.

‘See that you do,’ Eléanor said. ‘Now, using the Resurgent Dream as an example of how we think this problem should not be tackled, we shall recommend a conference of interested parties with the aim of working out these issues via open multilateral collaboration. We will also offer to have it held here, in the Eternal Republic. Xirnium is a responsible member of the international comity, after all, she does not shirk her duties to humanity. I guess we can make a few other suggestions for possible venues, although not the Confederated Peoples since they are no longer a disinterested party to the dispute. We could say Otiacicoh for example. It doesn’t matter though, since it will be held here. This is all just for the public.’

‘Very well, Minister,’ murmured the private secretary, scribbling her instructions down.

‘I want this done tonight, Isidóre. If there is any discernable reaction from the Resurgent Dream I should like to learn about it tomorrow over breakfast,’ Eléanor said. ‘Also, from now on Nephéle will be handling this issue. It bores me to tears. I don’t want to hear about Vasconia anymore. And find out where Izabétha is.’

‘Should I have the Foreign Ministry immediately inform you of any reaction within the Confederal government upon learning of your displeasure?’ asked Isidóre.

‘What? No, don’t bother. I’ll just read the newspaper,’ Eléanor decided. ‘It’ll be quicker that way,’ she added with some bitterness.

OOC: I can explain why Abt has not responded. I simply missed the one line about the query in the big post of yours. I hope the reply will not come too late ;)

* * *

ABT REPUBLIC
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MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS

Official Position
of the
Abt Republic
On the Status of the Vasconian Isles

The Abt Republic is a sovereign and independent state which has set for course the pursuit of neutrality and resolution of conflicts through use of diplomatic and political means, offering undeniable privilege and precedence to negotiations over use of any aggressive means what so ever. In the execution of its foreign policy, the Republic follows the consensually accepted principles of international customs and traditions and the obligations it took upon itself on ratification of international bilateral and multilateral treaties in its capacity of sovereign state and independent actor of the international community.

The Vasconian Isles have been, until now, a land without law nor master. Under the terms of international law and customs, such land is called terra nullius, “no man’s land”. The conceptual difference between the very notions of “empty land” and land pertaining to a state is that the former can be claimed, annexed, occupied by all and any. No international regulations exist on the matter, no procedural codes outline the process of claiming terra nullius.

However, some general traditions do exist in the domain. As such, “empty land” can be claimed by establishing some sort of visible presence or symbols of authority on the land, namely a flag, a fort, a garrison. To further elaborate on the subject, when does a “no man’s land” begin to have a master? When does the national jurisdiction of the claimant extend over the claim? The question is precarious at least, for according to the empirical experience, all claims had, in the end, to be defended through use or demonstration of force or, which is a means that has the backing of the Republic, through negotiations with regional or interested powers to define mutual zones of exclusive interests.

But this does not mean that the Abt Republic shall not defend its core national interests so relatively close to our shores. The status quo we have enjoyed in the Vasconian Gulf has been voided by the move of the Empire of Tartarus to claim the Isle of Lithanius. The aforementioned move is, as explained previously and according to the current standards of international law and custom, fully legitimate in absence of any consensually recognized cause of illegitimacy. The Republic does, however, issue certain reservations as to the exact manner of the move in question and the failure by the Empire of Tartarus to notify preliminarily the regional interested powers.

We understand first hand that to appeal for a return to status quo would be foolish and would not represent the true state of things in the present situation, namely the changed geopolitical context and the entry of an additional player to the Western Atlantic regional scene. Therefore, the Republic can only support a similar outcome of the Vasconian Question to that of Sahor, namely the definition of areas of exclusive interests among the participating powers in order to avoid any unnecessary complications in the fabric or regional relations and to prevent any even hypothetic tensions from arising. Abt was, after all, founded on a terra nullius itself and we are well placed to know all the intricacies of the process of claiming and holding on to a territory.

There is also a point the Republic wishes to make clear and certain, as to avoid any future misunderstandings on grounds of ambiguity. Whatever the outcome of any partition of the Vasconian Isles into spheres of exclusive influence and interests, the Republic shall strive to attain an equitable result in relation to maritime commercial shipping and trade interests, including fisheries and mineral exploitation rights. In the light of the latter, the Republic also expresses reservations as of the Confederal move to place the larger bulk of the Isles under its “protection”. A similar move in Sahor has led to the theoretically free land being incorporated fully and unequivocally into the Confederated Peoples, which can explain our interest as to the exact position of New Amsterdam vis-à-vis of the Vasconian Isles.

In addition to the all of the above, the Abt Republic is adamantly opposed to any military escalation what so ever of the dispute and shall not move additional forces to Actaedos, unless compelled to by the changing context of the military and geopolitical dynamics. In the light of this, the Republic also desires clarifications as to the moves undertaken by the Confederate Peoples in the area. We find such actions to be surprising, to say the least, given the friendly relations enjoyed by the Confederated Peoples with hre regional neighbours, and can only regret not having been informed beforehand. The Republic hopes that the consistent lack of communication between all parties be mended to avoid any misunderstandings.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Abt Republic remains open for contact on all levels and stands ready to clarify the Republic’s position as well as on working in concert with our partners in the region for a fair and equitable resolution to the Vasconian Question.

The late afternoon sun cast its glow across the lawn, causing long shadows to stretch their fingers over the grass, as if they were trying to grab the small group of people making the most of the warmth. A cast iron table surrounded by six chairs, a third of which were taken up by people, was the setting for an informal meeting and a little afternoon tea.

“And where do we stand at present?” the youngest of the three people asked, lowering her cup back into its saucer with a little clink.

The Foreign Minister smiled a little, as she turned towards the Empress of Tartarus. “From what we can tell, our actions have caused a little fuss, but the reaction from those nations in the area seems to be nothing more than a request to know what our attentions are.” She looked down at the dossier in front of her. “It seems that they may wish for us to attend a meeting, unless of course, you would prefer just to send a written statement.”

Gehenna paused in thought for a moment, her blue eyes appearing to almost look in on themselves. “No,” she finally answered. “If the occupants of the region wish for a verbal reply, I am more than willing to send a representative to answer their concerns. You will, of course, attend, being our most senior representative. I want to show those present that their concerns are important to the Empire.”

The older of the two ladies nodded her head, her hand scribbling a few notes as the conversation continued. “Once we receive official word that a meeting has been arranged, I will reply personally.”

“No,” Gehenna responded immediately. “I will reply. If you inform Alex the moment we hear anything, I will sent the official acceptance. I would like you to respond to Xirnium, so that they know we are not ignoring their request. I would hate for us to start off on a bad footing. We are not intentionally trying to upset our new neighbours, after all.”

Emma lowered her pen, then leaned forward and picked up her cup, taking a long sip of her tea. It had been a long day and she was making the most of sitting for a while, especially outside in the fresh air. She lowered her cup, cradling it in her hand.

“It would seem that our actions, though announced, have not been met with less resistance than I thought,” the Foreign Minister stated.

The Empress nodded. “It is not as if we took anything that belonged to another nation, we merely claimed some uninhabited land as our own. And we did so without force. I truly believe that the other nations in Vasconia have no reason to be more than a little interested in our actions.”

“It appears that is all they are,” Emma replied, silently thinking that they might have had even less fuss if they had announced their plans in advance, but at the same time, that could have caused more resistance to their actions.

Picking up her own cup, Gehenna smiled. “Once all the fuss has died down, we can begin to work on the important aspects of this whole endeavour, building up colonies and establishing ourselves in the region.”

Both women settled back in their chairs, their conversation moving on to other foreign concerns.

When no public statement from the Tartarian Ministry of Foreign Affairs was forthcoming, Ambassador Bourgeois resent his list of questions. The language in the diplomatic note was rather curt, the Ambassador expressing clear feelings of annoyance.

It does not take much effort for a Foreign Ministry to notify others as to their Government’s intentions.

******

In Amestria, the events underway in the Gulf of Vasconia got very little media attention, owing to the various other issues and controversies dominating the nation’s newspapers, magazines, and television channels. The one exception was Le Figaro’s (The Barber’s) editorial page, which, undoubtedly speaking for the government, complained of an intentional diplomatic insult on the part of the Tartarian Foreign Ministry.

In Xirnium, Ambassador Adéle Roussin asked the Xirniumite Foreign Ministry how much of the upcoming conference would be devoted to the mere ratification of decisions that had already been made in New Amsterdam. “Is this conference being held merely to repeat the word yes over and over again?” she at one point questioned.

In New Amsterdam, Ambassador Louis Puchot posed similar questions to the Confederal Foreign Ministry.

The Foreign Office once more reacted to the note from Ambassador Bourgeois, with the same reply that the previous set of questions had been given. To save other nations sending further word, the same reply was sent to all nations that were in the Vasconian region.

The message, signed personally by the Foreign Minister herself, once more made the point that a formal announcement would be made shortly. It also stated that the Empire of Tartarus was not against answering questions put to them by interested parties, but that it would settle all matters raised by all nations at the same time. It also stated that it was not the Empire’s desire to appear aloof in this matter, but that it would ensure everything was covered in its announcement.

At the same time, the Foreign Office was preparing for face to face briefings with each of the nations that were calling for an explanation. These would follow the official announcement made by the Empire of Tartarus during the meeting in Xirnium to answer any other queries that might be raised.

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The State of Kaitan-Leagran
Press Release of the Provisional Government Committee for Foreign Affairs

The Provisional Government of Kaitain-Leagran wholly and completely condemns the actions of the Empire of Tartarus. We, together with other members of the community of nations, had mistakenly assumed that the age of territorial expansion and imperial domination had died out. In this sense, therefore, the Provisional Government was unfortunately mistaken.

Let no nation or power be under the impression that the opposition of Kaitan-Leagran is, like some states, a question of semantics or the protection of shipping lanes. We, after all, are one of the few islands to possess citizenry and, crucially, one that was claimed by no power. It should not be forgotten that, just over a year ago, Kaitan-Leagran possessed no centralised government or any other institution that could be considered a 'state institution' or even a 'quasi-state institution'. Claimed by no one, Kaitan-Leagran was adrift in the waters of Vasconia.

And though such trials and tribulations are now, by the Grace of God, matters of the past, none should be so willing to forget the lessons of the recent past. Kaitan-Leagran was claimed by no power, and barely possessed sufficient unity to claim even its own sovereignty. Any power, according to the provision of International Law, claimed such an island and made it its own. Any policy, therefore, which seeks to legitimise territorial acquisition, must be tempered, thusly, with the sure knowledge that the colonisation of an empty island is not so very different from the colonisation of an island with native peoples who are unable to defend themselves and for whose wellbeing no other nation would spill its blood. The islands of Vasconia are free, and must be free, for it was on the promise of the liberty from the repressive dictates of home that drove the Kaitan-Leagrans to this island. We would ask all governments to respect the rights of the next generation of settlers to do the same.

Our concerns over the actions of the Empire of Tartarus have, of course, been forwarded to her Foreign Ministry. We are not so foolish as to believe that our enquiries will be answered any more speedily then those of our fellow nations, yet it is a task that we have endeavoured to undertake nonetheless.

A Conference on the above points would be welcomed, and any such occasion would warrant the presence of a delegate from our fair isle. It is our wish that our concerns are not ignored due to the relative youthfulness of our nation or its governing structures, but that firm commitments are made to the future development of these islands, free from the domination of larger powers.

“Abeille wanted me to formally condemn the Provisional Government. So did Piñero and especially Tavoularis.” Viscountess Kairis, President of the Confederated Peoples, said absent-mindedly to Lambert Maccaux, one of her senior policy advisors. The two were sitting aboard the diplomatic jet reserved for the use of the President in route to Xirnium for the upcoming conference regarding Atlantic affairs. Both were dressed in dark but elegant suites suitable for affairs of state. They were not sitting in the rows of seats typical even of first class commercial flight but in the President’s in air office.

“If I were her, I would be too. She hosted the conference that arranged this whole Provisional Government affair and this is how they repay her. All this non-sense about Kaitan-Leagran being one of the few inhabited islands (as if there weren’t dozens) and about the islands, regardless of the will of their people, being naturally free, whatever that’s supposed to mean. It insults the legitimacy of the free and democratic governments of the Confederal Members in the Gulf, especially those like Hipolis which have been inhabited centuries longer than that insolent, ungrateful rock.” Maccaux said heatedly. “I’m still not unsure I understand why exactly we decided to just let it slide. Not only have we given them the aid they needed to rebuild and helped to negotiate their peace, but we agreed to let Xirnium take the lead regarding this Gulf incident solely to secure formal recognition for Kaitan-Leagran from the whole region, something they seem entirely uninterested in. This statement by their government is either a calculated insult upon the legitimate, democratic governance of millions of Confederal citizens or it displays idiocy far too great to be tolerated in a government responsible for matters of life and death.”

“That’s not for us to decide.” Kairis said with a small shrug. “Besides, you are right about one thing. This is a Xirniumite affair. As soon as we accepted Prime Minister Gilda’s invitation, I determined not to discuss it with foreign governments in any other place than at the conference and I have kept my resolve as far as that goes.”

Maccaux shrugged slightly. “I would be more sympathetic if the Xirniumites didn’t seem constitutionally incapable of every actually doing anything. They couldn’t even announce their own conference. We had to do it.”

“I remember.” Kairis said with a small shake of her head. She had found that rather dumb and the fact that she’d heard the Xirniumite foreign minister had later felt insulted because the Confederals had done as the Xirniumites had insisted only increased her disdain for that policy. “We’ll be at the conference soon and then it will be time to break our silence. I suggest we begin discussing what exactly it is we want to happen.”

“Are you sure you want to subject the status of the five islands provisionally claimed by the Confederated Peoples entirely at the disposal of the conference? We could just as easily actually claim them.” Maccaux mentioned, not for the first time.

“No. Whatever the conference wants to happen with regard to those islands we consider unconditionally binding.” Kairis said. “Now I think we should go over the list of other attendees again…”

Further political developments...

For quite some time the only indicator that Xirnium had even remembered the controversy in Vasconia was that of the intermittent noises of displeasure emanating from the Foreign Ministry, criticising the Resurgent Dream’s dramatic land-grab. Less frequently, suggestions were made that the various nations of the region meet to discuss the implications of the latest events.

On Thursday a regional summit was announced, to be hosted in Naèräth. The Foreign Ministry quietly reacted with insulted hostility to Amestrian suggestions that the conference might constitute something of a rubber stamp for the Resurgent Dream’s, or indeed any other nation’s, external policy. In fact part of its purpose, the Foreign Ministry insisted, would be to see that the Confederated Peoples permanently withdrew from their recently seized possessions.

It was with great pleasure that the Xirniumite Government pointedly avoided inviting Kaitan-Leagran to the summit. The troubled island was currently under the control of an illegal junta regime, and thus it seemed inappropriate to fulfil this the Resurgent Dream’s only request of Xirnium. The foreign minister could not have been happier.

The final matter was by far the most puzzling. The People’s Fiefdom of Otiacicoh, well recognised by the Xirniumite Government for its unique and tirelessly proactive approach to regional stability in the Vasconian Gulf, was invited to co-chair the conference.

Naèräth, capital of Xirnium

Day dawned grey across the great, sprawling vastness of the Xirniumite capital. Flocks of softly cooing pigeons deserted their night-time roosts and took to the wing as the city’s ancient belfries mournfully chimed the hour. The rising sun soon doused the unnatural lights of innumerable, quietly humming streetlamps on their tall iron posts, and the morning air, still crisp and chill, seemed almost aquiver with the troubled movement of furtive, fleeing things.

Like any of the great metropolises of the Eternal Republic, Naèräth was a city of the wealthy, of idlers, of the bored and the sophisticated. A caricaturist would have portrayed it as populated by fops, wits and dandies, young people in love, society ladies and bluestockings, courtesans and rakes; all the colourful denizens of a polished, courtly world. Of course the greater majority of the city’s inhabitants were of the bourgeois. Thus Naèräth might also have been described less flatteringly, as a city of clerks, of civil servants and of the lower middle classes.

In one of the lesser affluent districts of this ancient city there stood an old apartment block that must have appeared grand in its day. If one cared to look one could still find little hints at a noble past; lovely gables ornamented with statues and urns, richly decorated cornices, a sombre facade in dark brick and sandstone. From its peculiar blend of Gothic architecture with fashionable Renaissance styles, the apartment block could be dated with some certainty to the later seventeen nineties. It was a vast, time-worn building. By the morning light, in its melancholy, it seemed to be asleep, lofty and dark, showing all the signs of centuries of creeping decay.

The feeble northern sun was still quite low in the sky, and so the apartment building was wrapped in shadow and expectant silence, its ancient edifice cold and uncared for. The lane that it fronted onto linked two different streets and seemed to have been forgotten by time, for it was paved with weather-beaten stones, sodden from the rain, and illuminated by the pale glare of gas jets. The stairs that served the building were lit by the same antique hissing gaslights, and balustraded in intricate wrought iron. A middling civil servant named Hórace Anaurônen and his unhappy, middle class family were tenants on the building’s second floor.

That the family was an unhappy could only have been expected given their gloomy financial situation. The rent here was moderate, at least for Naèräth, and suited a couple that had struggled for several years in the paying of various debts. All things considered, the apartment block was not so very far from the Foreign Ministry, where Hórace worked, or from the central business districts of Naèräth, at least not by public transport. A series of disastrous investments on the stock exchange had greatly impoverished the family, had rendered them déclassée, and their remaining fortune had been squandered away during the years of expensive litigation that followed. Of course, when they had first arrived here the family had not intended to live in their new apartment forever, and yet for the next six years they had made the place their home.

Inside the second-storey apartment little details hinted at the ill fortunes of the family. The patterned velvet fabric that covered the Biedermeier furniture in the drawing room seemed faded and dull, the wool damask curtains in the bedrooms were dusty and discoloured, and the carpet in the hallway now seemed more than slightly tattered and threadbare in the places where it had been most frequently trampled. Looking after the entire apartment was but a single servant, a young Pantocratorian lady from Subeita named Thérèse Fournier. It was she who had placed fresh new flowers in the antechamber last evening, but little efforts like hers could do little to hide the gloomy indifference of both husband and wife.

The latter, it seemed, had only just sat down to breakfast several minutes ago. A lady in her early forties, Agáthe-Flórentine Wendëlbêth had quietly taken her seat without a word to her husband, indeed without looking at him, or even seeming to have noticed him. She absentmindedly nodded her thanks to Thérèse as her coffee was brought in.

‘Thank you, my dear.’

Her face was thin and pale, her skin of such transparency and clearness that one could almost perceive the delicate threads of tiny blue veins around her eyes, about the temples, and along the slender line of her excessively white throat. Long, pale golden hair was worn thickly plaited and twisted up to coil over her ears. Although she possessed large grey eyes and features crafted with elegant correctness, the expression that Agáthe-Flórentine wore was wont to be severe rather than tender. Hers was a type of loveliness much admired in Xirnium, a loveliness both cold and doleful, as of the icy North itself.

‘That’s three quarters of rent we will owe tomorrow,’ Agáthe-Flórentine remarked from behind her coffee, her voice cheerless and distracted.

‘Perhaps I can speak to Julián about the possibility of having part of my wage advanced,’ suggested Hórace with a doubtful frown, making a determined effort to study his morning paper and hoping that his wife would soon change the subject.

Agáthe-Flórentine responded with a sound like a snort and reached for a cheap cigarette, lighting it with a metallic snap before drawing an ashtray closer towards her.

‘I really wish you wouldn’t do that at the table,’ Hórace grumbled with annoyance, not lifting his eyes from the paper. Agáthe-Flórentine merely shrugged her narrow shoulders and continued smoking.

‘So do you know yet if you’re going to make the honours list?’ she asked after a while, something like a sneer tugging at the corner of her mouth.

‘I’ve told you before, only the minister and permanent secretary get to see the list,’ Hórace explained to her in a deliberately reasonable tone. ‘It’s a restricted document.’

‘Oh, well in that case doubtless the entire department knows,’ Agáthe-Flórentine replied. ‘Are you on the list or not?’ she pressed stubbornly.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ demanded she.

‘Obviously it mustn’t yet have been my turn,’ Hórace explained with a shrug that attempted to conceal his disappointment.

He could tell that Agáthe-Flórentine must be waiting impatiently with some biting response, but for the moment at least she seemed to hold her silence. Hórace allowed himself to return to his paper, but as soon as he did Agáthe-Flórentine spoke.

‘Tell me something, darling,’ she said quietly, flashing a rather unkind look at her husband, ‘do you intend to remain a lowly principal all your life?’

Hórace refrained from answering, or from pointing out that he was in fact a senior principal, not a principal, and tried instead to resume his reading in what he felt was a dignified sort of huff. He could not hide, however, that he was now in even darker a mood than before.

‘Maybe I should just visit the landlord this afternoon and persuade him that we need more time,’ Agáthe-Flórentine suggested with an airy tone to her voice, almost as though thinking aloud, and frowned as she touched gingerly at the corner of her lipstick. ‘We had such a lovely little encounter last time, I thought we connected so well. He was so very understanding.’

This riposte, this reminder of Agáthe-Flórentine’s unfaithfulness, was intended to hurt.

‘If only, my dear, you had shown the same thoughtfulness last week, when you insisted on all those bottles of claret that we can’t afford,’ Hórace replied. He refused to show any signs of jealousy at his wife’s allusions.

‘I’m perfectly entitled to treat myself every once in a while,’ Agáthe-Flórentine responded defensively, touching at the elaborate gilt ivory head of a scented hairpin.

‘And to treat everyone else, it seems,’ Hórace observed.

‘Oh how very droll,’ Agáthe-Flórentine sneered. ‘I don’t seem to recall you raising any objections at the time!’ she hissed.

All this time the Pantocratorian housekeeper had hovered uncertainly in the background, careful to remain quiet but not really bothering to hide her interest. Thérèse was a pretty young lady, in her mid twenties at most, with abundant, long, bluish black hair, fine hard eyes, and a swarthy peasant’s complexion that seemed to suggest an ancestry along the sun-burned Mediterranean. She had come looking for work several years ago, claiming an ability to sew and embroider, but without any real references or a letter of recommendation. As the two Xirniumites lapsed into silence, Agáthe-Flórentine seemed to notice her again.

‘Thérèse, dear, would you make sure that Cornélia is getting ready for school?’ she asked a little curtly.

‘Of course, Madame Wendëlbêth.’

Agáthe-Flórentine needn’t have worried, for her daughter entered the dining room only moments later. Cornélia was in her final year of secondary school, and had celebrated her eighteenth birthday last month. She was like her mother in appearance, although with a reddish tint to her hair, and unlike her mother she had had to pay for her milky white complexion with freckles lightly dusted across her nose and cheeks. For a Xirniumite lady the latter was an incredibly embarrassing affliction.

‘Good morning,’ Cornélia announced vaguely, kissing first her mother and then her father before sitting at the table.

In front of her, Thérèse had placed a breakfast of well-buttered toasted bread rolls, various creamy cheeses, peach and nectarine fruit jams, and dandelion coffee. Cornélia took a small sip from the hot drink.

‘Take those glasses off, dear, I’ve told you before,’ said Agáthe-Flórentine irritably.

‘Please, mother, I hate contacts,’ Cornélia complained.

‘Nonsense, you just aren’t making any effort,’ Agáthe-Flórentine replied. ‘You’d look such a pretty girl without your glasses, I wish you’d listen to me.’

‘Father, can you say something?’ asked Cornélia, a look of exasperation on the young lady’s face. An appeal to her father always showed the final desperation of her argument, and Agáthe-Flórentine briefly looked triumphant.

‘Your mother is only thinking of your best interests, darling,’ Hórace explained from behind his paper. Cornélia looked furious.

‘Now let’s see your pretty face without those ghastly glasses,’ smiled Agáthe-Flórentine.

Cornélia reluctantly removed her glasses and looked extremely sulky as she drank from her porcelain cup, averting her mother’s eyes. The young lady had always thought her unsightly freckles even more obvious without her glasses, so she doubted that her appearance had much improved.

‘Isn’t that much better, my angel?’ asked Agáthe-Flórentine smugly.

The silence at the table was total, so that a faint grinding noise was heard as the springs in the room’s clock made their slow turn and it proceeded to strike the hour. Cornélia seized this opportunity.

‘Excuse me, mother, I’m going to be late for school,’ the young lady said, scraping her chair as she stood to her feet and putting her glasses on defiantly.

Cornélia threw her dark purple school blazer over her shoulders and did up the first two gilt buttons, remembering to kiss her mother and father again before flouncing from the room with a little swish of her skirt. She did not spare a glance for Thérèse, who was left to clean up after her.

‘Really, dear, that wasn’t very nice,’ spoke Hórace after his daughter had left. He reflected sadly that Cornélia likely wouldn’t talk to him for a week.

‘Don’t be absurd,’ replied Agáthe-Flórentine. ‘She looks absolutely ridiculous with those glasses and you know it. No wonder her classmates tease her.’

‘They don’t tease her,’ Hórace said gently.

‘Well then why doesn’t she have any friends?’ demanded Agáthe-Flórentine.

‘Because she’s perfectly happy on her own,’ Hórace replied.

‘Well I’m not,’ Agáthe-Flórentine said. ‘A pretty, clever girl like Cornélia should have lots of friends. It upsets me that she doesn’t. I worry about her. And I don’t like you taking her side whenever I’m trying to help her!’

This last comment puzzled Hórace. ‘But darling, I didn’t,’ he said.

‘She looked to you for support,’ Agáthe-Flórentine complained obstinately.

‘But I agreed with you!’ Hórace exclaimed, quite obviously bewildered.

For the next few minutes husband and wife sat at the table without speaking. For her own part, Agáthe-Flórentine refused even to look at her husband. Thérèse suppressed an amused grin, but busily fled the room after a stern look from Hórace.

At last he spoke, his voice quiet but insistent, his hand firmly clasping her slender gloved fingers. ‘Agáthe-Flórentine!’

‘What do you want?’ she asked wearily, finally turning to face him with an irritated expression, like an annoyed princess.

‘I think you look quite adorable,’ he said, kissing her fingers.

When she didn’t reply Hórace lent closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, and began to kiss along her warm neck. Agáthe-Flórentine sighed as she closed her eyes and he became increasingly amorous, gently squeezing a soft breast.

‘Oh, leave me alone,’ she said coldly, pulling away from him and fixing her hair before stalking from the room.

Left feeling rather frustrated and annoyed, Hórace decided that there was little point in lingering about the apartment. Doubtless his wife had come to a similar conclusion, he thought, for he distinctly heard the front door bang. Hórace left for work somewhat earlier than was usual, but did not arrive at the Palace of Faëdaryávë until almost an hour after his expected starting time. Hoping that he might be able to slink up to his office with his lateness unremarked upon, Hórace was surprised to find the building remarkably empty for a weekday, its long corridors only sparsely occupied.

The south-west wing was reached without his being spotted by a single superior, and by only a handful of subordinates whom he knew, all of whom greeting him with the usual polite deference and an air of feigned activity. Ascending a marble staircase decorated with great vases filled with bouquets of powdered flowers, bound with silk ribbons, he found the hallway outside his office mercifully empty, and even his private secretary seemed to have momentarily left her post. Quickly, Hórace took out a key from his frock coat and entered the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Hórace then sat immediately behind his desk. An instant later he had jumped from his chair and paced about the room, his eyes absentmindedly following the silver glints running across the weft of the carpet, before he thought to check for any messages.

There were none; his in-tray was quite empty.

Perhaps no one had noticed that he was late, after all? He would have to ask his secretary, but she had yet to return. Hórace waited impatiently for the lady to appear, distractedly watching the hands on his clock chase each other around the hour. Now feeling quite certain that no one was looking for him, and consequently that no one could have been aware of his lateness, Hórace sallied forth from his office in search of her.

The Palace of Faëdaryávë was an enormous structure, and the notion that one could just wander aimlessly about it in the hopes of stumbling into someone was absurd. Its many long corridors were labyrinthine, and it would take almost an entire afternoon to search them all. Hórace, however, had formed a slight inkling as to the reason for his secretary’s absence from her desk, and on this he proceeded to tour the various different entrances to the Foreign Ministry. In fact he made for just one in particular, and waited there expectantly.

Barely fifteen minutes later he found his intuition rewarded. Trying to look invisible, something that never really works all that well, Séraphine Elyádmërthë had just entered the Hall of Sighs through its monumental bronze doors, shaking her silk umbrella free of the rain. It was not until she spotted Hórace that she realised the mistake of attempting to arrive by means of the most infrequently used gate, the one used invariably by latecomers or troublemakers. The secretary expected a reprimand, but was surprised instead to find that Hórace merely wanted to know where everyone had got to.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘Well I imagine that they’ve all found excuses to loiter about the various international conferences. I hoped, I mean I thought, that was where you might be.’

Hórace recalled that the Foreign Ministry had scheduled no fewer than three different conferences for the day. Diplomats were meeting at the Palace of Blue Flowers, or Valdâthòrien, to attend a summit over recent developments in Vasconia. A climate change symposium of some description was being held at the lavish fairytale retreat of Castle Vânyanarórë. Most attractive-sounding of all was probably the eight day international word processing conference being held at the famous sixteenth century resort spa of Fimbúlwingë.

‘You know actually, Séraphine, the conferences completely slipped my mind,’ said Hórace as the two began to walk back to his office. ‘Rather a shame, actually.’

‘Well, we could still go,’ the secretary suggested with a smile like a sphinx.

‘Perhaps after lunch,’ Hórace agreed.

It was an established fact that midday, and the break that accompanied it, always seemed to come much earlier than noon for civil servants. Just after eleven, therefore, the two left the Foreign Ministry and made their way to the Vasconia conference. The government’s Palace of Valdâthòrien was located on the outskirts of Naèräth, built in a style blending late Baroque with Rococo. Everything about the building exuded decadence. Lovely white stucco decorations and gilt ornament contrasted with creamy walls. The air trilled with the rich, euphonious birdsong of trained nightingales and skylarks. In its gardens, ornate musical fountains flowed with watered wine, pouring forth in torrents of dark purple or blood red.

The main talks were to be held within the Palace of Blue Flowers, whose adjacent lands would be discretely patrolled by the sentries of the Special Branch. A turreted baronial hotel in close proximity would provide the necessary accommodation for the staff of the visiting delegates, whilst a consular village of luxurious manor houses would host the dignitaries themselves.

Most of the delegates had already arrived yesterday, to be greeted separately with all the pomp and circumstance appropriate to their status. At anchor upon the River Vättana, their great white sails billowing gently in the wind, the seventeenth century, three-masted, hundred-gun ships of the line “Disdainful” and “Shattered Jewel” took turns in rendering booming salutes to visiting heads of state, premiers and ambassadors. Brass fanfare greeted the dignitaries as they disembarked from their aeroplanes, as did the quietly flapping regimental pennants of the 17th/19th Parliament’s Own Grenadier Guards.

The main conference room had walls plastered and panelled in gold and creamy white, set of with pale green, with a wide floor boarded in oak. The room was well lit by the tiny gas flames of great crystal chandeliers. As with any Xirniumite conference, the conference table was set with flagons of wine.

Viscountess Kairis arched a brow slightly at the wine which had been provided as she took her seat at the conference table, representing the Resurgent Dream. She was sporting a dark blue designer suit by Cajatano La Rocca with black stockings and heels. She wore her hair naturally, parted just to the left. She seemed to be in good spirits and was smiling as she took her seat.

The man who sat to her left was, however, not smiling. Kari Raab was a stocky man in a well tailored but rather plain brown suit. His hair was almost entirely gone and he wore a pair of thin spectacles on his nose. He carried a briefcase full of papers which he spread out before him for reference during the conference.

Klera Haas, on the other hand, was the very image of pleasantness. She was a plump woman with dark brown hair. She was dressed in a red sweater and a light blue long skirt. Her good natured, round face wore a bright smile. As she sat down, she took a moment to make eye contact with the other people at the tables, inclining her head politely to all of her colleagues.

The Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Abt Republic, Miloslav Govorilov, headed the Republic's delegation at the upcoming conference. He was a former Taraskovyan politician of Rosso-Serbovian origins and came to prominence in Abt where he headed the Ministry responsible for the Republic's foreign policy.

‘What a lovely day it is outside, it’s far too nice to be stuck in a conference,’ remarked the countess of House Numêsalquó with a wry smile. ‘I should have gone to the international word processing symposium.’

‘Eléanor,’ managed a surprised Nephéle Veldâthuën, who politely surrendered her seat and greeted her superior with pleasant kisses. ‘I was under the impression that you were going to take an arm’s-length approach, what are you doing here?’

Brushing aside her colleague’s question with the vague waving of an embroidered lace glove, the foreign minister sat at the table and appraised the various delegates. Her brown eyes gleamed with the filmy dull gaze of a laudanum addict.

‘You know, I never suspected that the president was a teetotaller...’ frowned Eléanor with distaste, having spotted Minerva’s expression.

‘Oh... is she?’ asked Nephéle. The countess ignored the question and filled her glass with a spicy liqueur shimmering with fine specks of gold. She drank deeply, touching briefly at the corner of her lip as she put the glass down, her eyes sparkling with an inner fire.

‘Could we please have all the non-essential diplomatic personnel wait outside? Most of the lawyers? Thank you, that would be splendid,’ spoke Lady Eléanor Sabëlinà. She had not raised her soft voice very much, barely at all, but now it carried with an imperative tone to every corner of the room.

Most of the Xirniumite delegation quietly left their seats and proceeded to the exits. The countess waited until there was silence.

‘I am given to understand that an agenda and procedural rules have yet to be agreed upon for these talks,’ Eléanor continued, still speaking rather quietly. ‘This is to be an informal, pre-conference discussion group. As such I trust you will forgive my forgoing of the usual courtesies... national anthems and the like. I should like it if we could work towards reaching some type of basic agreement today.’

The countess paused and drained her glass.

‘Doubtless all of us have had the appropriate briefings from our advisors and received detailed instructions from our respective governments. If we could hammer out a general understanding now that would be just marvellous,’ she said. ‘Our diplomatic staff could collaborate on joint statements this evening and we could turn to the conference proper tomorrow.’