The cold pierces while the sun burns, anyone with a functioning brain would seriously consider staying inside during this hot weather. Bath is a nice way to cool yourself up, but for some women getting a tan is a sign that you are no longer attractive for the market, like a fruit being left to rot on top of a dining table. The air does not suffocate, just plain dry with some dust and fine sand floating around. Cars, bicycles, and even horses with or without carriages, all carry the same thing. The news is I just got discharged. I knew that dying is not in my vocabulary, but having accelerated healing can be a bit exhausting. It's been five days, my legs are stiff while my muscles lose some of their density, however I do appreciate the serenity a long rest could offer. You could say that I'm a little addicted to it, but the world revolves around with or without you, hence the hierarchy for rest is nothing but momentary, just like everything else. Besides, although the system behind the flesh appears to be stable, the cuts and bruises still sting.

  Maybe I should have called an Andong. I can not believe that I'm riding bareback because someone damaged my saddle. The way home unfortunately feels a bit longer than usual, everything hurts and I cannot wait to strip myself off of any uniform plus whatever bullshit my body has on. Despite the rare occasion, I have no recollection of any important meeting in the house, not even from Miriam's schedule. A carriage pulled by four brown horses, the Kingdom has rules regarding the horse roster for carriages, so from the carriage and horse combination itself, you could easily tell who is who. Brown wooden colour paired with gold, with an 18-carat gold crown on the top of the carriage. Imported from the Netherlands. Well, in this case, someone with a high royal status. Bejo welcomes me as I jump down from the horse.

  "Raus (arrival)?" I said, asking if the King himself had come to visit.

  "It's the Queen Consort"

  "The fuck she wants?"

  "She came with Noni Miriam"

  A tea party huh? How did Miriam end up befriending the Queen anyway? She's an accountant but this sounds a bit too fishy and out of place. Pretty sure she has female friends in the office, why bother befriending a Queen? Unless it's a direct order from her higher-ups, I don't think Miriam would care about being a socialite in a local forum. Cold gaze from the guard while I circled my way to the backyard just to enter my house. A faint hint of bergamot oil and dried tea leaves came from an open porcelain jar on the cabinet. As I take off my boots, Miriam enters the kitchen. She looks happy, must have been quite some fun conversing with the Mother of the Nation, politics or whatever the topic was all about. The Dutch woman puts down a tray on the dining table before approaching me.

  "I see you're trying to get into politics," I said while bringing the boots in.

  "Well, that pretty face of yours certainly has seen better days. And what happened to 'how did you know her'? I guess classic Herjuna is normally served cold"

  "I'm a soldier..."

  "Of course. Let me help you"

  "It's fine, I'm going to say hi to her and be on my way"

  "She's leaving"

  Weird, I don't mean to be rude but if she has other things to attend to then who am I to stop her just for lame formality. At least Miriam had fun, and nothing is negative about it, I should ask her about it later.

  "How's work?" I asked her while she gently stripped me off of my uniform.

  "Took a day off because I need to keep an eye out on my husband. Did someone steal your saddle?"

  "Stable boy tore the hobble strap. Someone will deliver it after the repair"

  I let out a small hiss when she tried to unbuckle the belt along with some sash around my waist. She is gentle but every crack and bruise makes me sound like I'm overreacting. When the belt is off, every inch of my abdomen breathes easily, but the thorax prefers minimum movements and more restrictions on breathing.

  "You're a bit way too warm, don't you think?" she asked while touching my forehead.

  "I'll survive"

  "Promise me you're not going to do another foolish hero saga"

  "Some reading won't hurt. I'll be in the study"

  -------

  Dusky orange sky, the heat is dim, those narratives do not feel favourable on my skin. Surely it's because of the fever, a normal person would certainly pick cold over heat due to the nature of fire itself. But this time I don't really have a choice. 5 hours of sitting down, rummaging through papers, papers, papers, folders, and then another papers. It's like last time, I believe I missed something between those pages. But this time, there is no prize to catch or pests to exterminate. No particular objective really came to me, even though the hunch told me something was missing, and I had to find the red threads. Scanning it is, everybody knows that scanning is not the real deal of reading. Was it really the hidden alibi and potential of my family betraying the two Kingdoms ruling Yogyakarta? My fever does not clear the fog inside my brain, and I'm sweating arctic water. I don't know what I'm searching for, but I call it grasping the mist. Just as I was about to give up, three knocks

  "You have guests, Den. I know you're unwell, but perhaps the guests share the same concern as I do"

  "At this hour? Who are the gentlemen?"

  "The doctor and his son"

  Did I forget my painkillers? Quite certain that I put it somewhere inside one of the saddlebags. On top of that, why is the kid dragged into this thing? If it was just a regular check up Wahidin himself should be enough, even if he needs someone to carry me on a piggyback to my room, pretty sure Bejo alone can do it.

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  "Let them in..."

  Only future can reveal the answer.

  Bejo left the room to invite the guests in. Two figures in casual clothing, one with a brown set of trousers and a white shirt with short sleeves. The other wears local garments without a head covering. The son and the father stood in front of the doorway, waiting for the man of the house to let them in.

  "You have one hour," the father said before leaving his son.

  The boy steps in and politely closes the door behind him, making sure that nobody listens.

  "What a pleasant surprise, Airlangga. What omen has occurred to you that you need to drag your father just to see a crippling old man?"

  "I have foreseen your doom, your contract wouldn't let you die easily"

  "Fine, let's get to the point. Surely time would not let you expire, but they keep on rolling under normal circumstances"

  "Peace talks at Fort Rustenberg in two days"

  What? How did he know? With a rank as low as Airlangga, he's not supposed to know any deal about diplomatic events. There are possibilities; first is Joseph, second is the prince, and third is that he himself obtained the news through his own connections. It is not impossible for him to gain intel from his father, but knowing Professor Soediro's stance about his son's fate, he'd rarely give in to keep his son away from all this underworld meddling. The Professors and the University huh...

  "Who are they inviting?"

  "King, Prince, and the Lieutenant"

  Of course, the King is naive, easy to persuade on top. If we can somehow eavesdrop on the event, it would be easier to prove Airlangga's prophecy. Although that talk itself would not be enough to drag him out of his chair, provided that he's truly guilty. One thing I can assure you is that this diplomacy is regarding the guerrilla war led by Diponegoro, imprisonment wouldn't be sufficient so I suppose this is going to be an exile or a bounty on the Prince's head.

  "If we're trying to find a silver lining, perhaps we could learn a thing or two from Prince Pujokusumo," Airlangga suggested with an empty look on his face.

  Right, this might be our lead. I doubt he would try to convince the King about getting friendly with the Company, but with the incident at the sugar refinery surely the King does not have the leverage to stay a nationalist. People's income was taken away by the incident, and the only way the crown can make everyone happy is either to open the royal mill for all or convert forestland to plantation assets for the Dutch. Pujokusumo would never sleep under the same blanket as them so it would only make sense if the alleged traitor were presented in the same room to provide a wider 'perspective'. I have to, this might be it, totally. The concern is one and maybe a few things

  "The walls are listening in the palace. We can't send an invitation to the Prince without risking any intervention," I said, while reaching for my cigarette box.

  "Would first-hand information be useful?"

  First-hand? You mean as we watch the negotiation being held while being unnoticed by those white people holding guns? It's risky, but maybe not so hard to execute. We don't want a human proxy because it might trigger suspicion from Haryono and Pujokusumo. Some magic, and it should be a familiar one.

  "We're going," I said while picking up a beskap from the coat rack.

  "Who are we seeing?"

  "A veteran whom Pujokusumo and I used to know. She used to be my mentor, but is now only an old lady who sells sweets and snacks at Ngasem Market. She has a debt to settle"

  "Should I send my Father home?"

  "Switch your clothes with Bejo, and tell him to escort your father. He will know what to do"

  ————

  Afternoon feels like a graveyard if you're going to the market during this time of day. Most of the things are sold, and even if they're not, it isn't as fresh as you'd get in the morning. Empty stalls are filled with commercial residue, and stray cats with their mischievous offspring. Days ago, Herjuna and I agreed to cooperate in finding the truth of the revelation I had. When I say first-hand information, I could try to ask my Dutch friends for information because their fathers work in the fort. But he has another idea of his own, and if it's more convenient, I do not mind them. Although sometimes his methods are questionable, as happened at Madukismo. The man walks into the depths of the market only to find an old stall, no name or anything, just a straight wooden table with sweets and snacks covered with a cheesecloth on top of it.

  "Nyi (Milady)," with a head nod and a slight smile behind his mask, Herjuna greeted the old vendor lady.

  "Huh??? Le (boy), you have to speak louder than that!! You youngsters are very soft and well-mannered, but my ears are older than both of your ages combined"

  "I don't have to. Truth always speaks the loudest, Nyi"

  The lady smiled. Pretty sure the deafness thing was just a decoy or hint for the password. Slowly she rises from her seat, walking towards the other side of the market that neighbours the Bathhouse. That's it, she left her stall with no one guarding her commodities, it seems like she does not even worry about people or kids stealing some munchies. Her fragile fingers began to search out a certain stone on the white wall, but a blink later, a staircase heading to a concealed basement was laid before your very own eyes. There's not much to talk about; the descent itself is quiet, with the air getting humid as you get close to the Earth's core. The wall underneath is fortified with red brick from Sokka, a local company that supplies most of the demand from the Dutch market. It explains how powerful a femme fatale she is, or she used to be, not by her own strength but by status and wealth combined. After a few minutes of walking through a damp passageway, a wooden double door stands proud in guarding whatever is behind it. Shrieks, along with their reverberation, announce the arrival of the door master. Dark, but enough for the eyes to get familiar with the environment.

  "I see that the saviour has finally accepted his destiny," the lady said while gently taking a seat.

  "Partially," I commented

  "Sincerity can catch up with the deed. What matters most is that you progress. Please, be seated..."

  It's humbling. The fireman said that she used to be his mentor, which led me to speculate that the lady was in the Secret Service somehow. Just a speculation-

  "I am terribly remorseful for once more dragging you back into the Secret Service's business. The weight is heavy, but we need to expose the mole that has been living in the Royal Garden. We ask for your help, Nyi Ageng (Great Lady) Ratih," Herjuna opened the talk in a heavy amount of honorifics.

  It only confirms my suspicions.

  "The weight of this world is sure heavy, right. I am ready to answer the calling, but you have to know, the unwanted offspring of Pakualaman, you would be the one responsible for my death"

  The fuck does that mean?

  "Herjuna?"

  "I accept," the man blatantly accepted his fate

  "The fuck are you planning? Are you even listening to her!!"

  "Young savior, no need to raise the tone. I'm merely old, and using magic for one last time means that my end is in mere seconds"

  "I plan to use Nyi Ratih's power to conjure something as our proxy to the peace talks. It's not going to be something humanoid, so it's going to be easy on us. On top of that, Pujokusumo is familiar with her power, so-"

  "You demon"

  The silence is loud, and indeed, I am baffled by his thought process alongside his logic. In between those words, how could he explain anything without a single guilt in taking someone's life, especially when they partake in your growth. Has he forgotten about boundaries? Is this the real Herjuna who's willing to sacrifice anything and anyone for the sake of justice?

  "Aren't we all?"

  "I'm not. Stop including me in your bullshit classification..."

  I left the underground, feeling the urge to clear my lungs from mould spores.