The Spider Dances

[Nosuchthing]

Benoit Hilt was exquisitely well dressed, Benoit Hilt was always exquisitely well dressed, his sword cane, exquisitely crafted, clicked on the floor, at odds with the clicks of his exquisite shoes. If you have not already guessed, Benoit Hilt was an exquisite man, he set the fashions for the city, despite the nobilities arrogance and sense of superiority, they still followed him like the dull sheep they truly were. Still, for now they fulfilled a purpose, and he was not one to discard useful tools before the had lived out their usefulness. He strolled casually into the great hall of the Senate, his sword cane clicking loud above even the hubbub of the other senators.

He paused for a moment at the centre of the great hall, taking the time to gaze around at the supposed seat of power within Elendel, and to all intents and purposes it was. In this room was the single greatest concentration of wealth on Scadrial, and as it always had, money allowed it’s possessor to wield an awful lot of power. Not that it was the only form of power, merely the only one every man in here could wield. Power came in many forms, but the truth of those forms was known to only a few, and understood by fewer still. He glanced up at the Lord Protector’s throne, Lord Highland Venture was one of those few, but then he had pulled considerable strings to obtain his current position, and from there had wielded the influence necessary to gain complete control of Atium. It was an intelligent move, and Benoit would have done the same had he been in the position to do so.

As it was he was in control of the vast majority of the cities allomantic metal supply, through a number of dummy corporations of course, there was no reason for the rest of the senate to know just how deep his influence ran, especially considering the popularity for misting or Mistborn bodyguards. Even Highland Venture did not quite understand the true scale of his control, but then that was as it should be.

The meeting was called to order, and Benoit gracefully ascended the central podium to take his place, settling into his chair and crossing one leg over the other, the cane balanced daintily over his legs. He inspected his gloves for imaginary dirt, and then looked inwards towards the Lord Mistborn’s throne.

The Lord Protector, as always, cut an imposing figure, it was something about the way the old man held himself, and the steely resolve in his icy blue eyes. He was the polar opposite of Benoit, where the merchant was small and slight, Venture was tall and still holding much of the muscle of his youth. Where Benoit wore extravagantly cut and coloured clothing, Highland dressed in stiff, formal suits, utterly immune to the whims of fashion. Where the younger man was warm and welcoming, the older was cold, dismissive and unfriendly. Where Highland Venture had a strict sense of honour, Benoit had no such thing.

His eye’s flicked to the bottom of the opposite section as he espied movement there, a tall, almost anorexically thin man had unfolded jerkily to his feet. “Lord Protector, I wish to raise an important matter with the senate, and most importantly, with yourself.”

He paused for a moment to acquire the most dramatic moment, Benoit resisted the temptation to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation, then the man continued, “Atium production has fallen far behind the predicted yield, when you took control of the operation, you guaranteed that such a thing would not happen, and yet it has. Why have you fallen behind on your promises? And…” the man gestured to the entire Senate chamber now, “why should we allow you to remain in control when you have quite obviously failed in your duties?”

Benoit raised an exquisitely cultivated eyebrow, then glanced towards the Lord Protector’s throne, situated just below that of the Lord Mistborn. Before Highland could react however, Benoit was already on his feet. “If I may Highland.”

His voice insinuated its way through the air, warm and supportive, before he turned back to the assembled Senate. “Ladies, gentlemen, Atium is, in this day and age, still relatively new, there will no doubt be some delays in its production from time to time. Not to mention the location of the Pits. The Roughs are a dangerous place, even at the best of times.”

The man frowned, “that is beside the point Mr Hilt, the Lord Protector guaranteed…”

“Yes Vincint, and you guarantee your contracts, but three of yours are late.”

The merchant coloured, then sat down without another word. Benoit smiled at Highland like an old friend, “the floor is yours Highland.”

The spider sat at the centre of his web, and watched and waited while he made others dance upon his strings.

[Two McMillion]

Highland took his seat and called the meeting to order with a pounding of his gavel. The Lord Protector's official duties were somewhat limited, given how grandiose the title sounded, but Highland performed them with matchless efficiency. Some might have suggested he hand these sort of jobs off to a younger man, but Highland trusted no one else to do them properly.

He glanced around at those assembled, making mental notes of which political factions everyone fell into, where they stood on the issues of today's business. His eyes rested for a fraction of a second longer on Beniot Hilt. Highland did not fear anyone present in that room, but Hilt he detested more than anyone else. The man lacked either honor or scruples and paired both with a keen and cunning mind. Keen and cunning were one thing, but a man without honor was liable to bring the whole city down with him if he fell. It was not an opponent that worried Highland- it was a man of low morals.

Highland put those thoughts from his mind as the first of the merchants spoke up. Highland bore the complaint with a neutral, longsuffering expression, but inside he was gritting his teeth. This again! The merchants saw only a chance for more coin every chance they could; they knew nothing of the logistics involved in the atium operation, nothing of what the demands they themselves placed upon him for doing. They demanded he produce more and then railed against him for working his workers too hard; they demanded he treat his workers better and then were outraged when their pockets were not fully of atium. They taxed atium and were shocked that the price rose. In short, they were half fools and half misers and Highland was, frankly, sick of it.

But he said nothing. It was below his dignity to speak out of turn or lose his temper, and before he spoke Hilt spoke up. Highland looked him through narrow eyes but permitted him to speak. What was his game? Hilt was far from friendly with Highland, even if outwardly courteous. Highland did not appreciate the words, they smelled too much like a trap.

Highland crossed his arms and was silent for a time before speaking.

“It was the merchants, as I recall,” he said, “who demanded promises from me about the atium. Never mind that the Words of Founding themselves state that it is my family's birthright. They wanted promises the workers would be housed and well fed; this I gave them. They wanted promises of involvement in the transport and sales; this I gave them. They wanted money for the government from the sales; this they voted in. And now they are not happy with these very things. Your trains are late, Vincint- what do you think atium travels to the city from the pits in? Orolan, you wanted your mistings to be security for the pits. You wanted contracts, you wanted promises. May I ask why the pits have been attacked by both robbers and koloss in the past month? I did not shake the ground, gentlemen; you may take up that incident with Harmony if you wish. As for this shortage, I can walk to any licensed vendor I please and buy atium if I wish, not to mention the atium on the black market. In short, Vincint, what you call a shortage I call the work of greedy winning out over reason. Not that it matters. In a month, I believe you will quite satisfied with production levels.”