Revolting Rose

Chapter 20/Part 2 - Coming Together

"Well, I think that's enough lunch for you lot," Saloonka said from on top of the sock pile. "Except you, Spots. Eat your cake."

Franz trudged up to join the fiend. "What are you going to do with him while we deal with the army? I don't I trust him not to do something incredibly stupid," he whispered with a wary eye on his father.

A group of peasants had accumulated around Nibbs, patting his back and chatting about the benefits of their new fingers. He did not seem all that interested in listening, but they waffled on regardless.

"Go and stick our flag somewhere the enemy will see it," Saloonka ordered without addressing Franz' concern.

A well-formed nose wrinkle changed that.

"Take Spots with you then, and make sure he helps. Just because he's a horrible fellow doesn't mean he can slack off."

"I will make sure of that," Franz nodded.

Saloonka reached into the socks and heaved out a surprisingly long pole. Eventually the flag was revealed to a chorus of cheers from the underlings. With a silver rose embroidered on black and blue stripes, it was a fine symbol for the revolting folk.

The cheering continued for as long as it took Franz and his father to carry it off into the slum tunnels. They were not easy to navigate with the length of their cargo, and his father's stray thoughts regarding the roses provoked a few thorny attacks along the way.

When they emerged, the emptiness of the city was rather unnerving. The merchants, servants, citizens, and artisans were given the choice of joining the rabble below or early retirement in the countryside. Most had been eager to join the cause after Vrye had met with them, by Saloonka's request, to discuss merchandising for the revolution. Franz was sceptical at first, but three first-edition Saloonka figurines later, he was quite the fan.

The guards had been equally easy to sway after a mere strut of the fiend through the Palace with Lord Kabech draped over his back. As for the aristocrats, Saloonka ignored Franz' proposal of a long exile in the Marsh of Sticks, and charged them instead with sentences of character building through moderate labour, which was no more than anyone else did without the need of enforcement.

"Do you suppose the Drakeward bridge would be a good place for the flag, or should we plant it outside the palace?" Franz asked his father as they reached the eerily abandoned markets, but he felt a sudden drop in the other end of the pole that suggested it may not end up in either place.

"You aren't actually going to do as he asked, are you? We have a perfect opport—"

He cut his father off with an exasperated huff, then folded his arms and tutted. "I don't want to hear anything you might have to say about turning against Saloonka. Help me carry this flag to somewhere that your army will see it, or I'll go back and find someone who will."

"Come now, you don't want to be caught on the wrong side of this. They're an army I trained myself against an unruly mob of peasants and goblins."

"Even if they lose, I'd rather die with them than live without." Franz tried to move the flag on his own, but the darned thing was too unwieldy for one set of arms.

"In that case, by the Drakeward bridge would be the better place," his father said and lifted the end of the flag again.

They hauled it to just beyond the hedge wall of Hereth and wedged it in the thorny tangle.

"Mind if we take a moment, before we go back?" Nibbs asked, staring out into the darkness beyond the bridge. "There is a unicorn for you in the stables. He was meant to be a gift for your birthday."