The Four Kings

by Scott Spotson

  After one and a half years of explosive growth, the continental economy was now spiralling into a new recession. This looked bad. All vital signs were down, down. Unemployment skyrocketed up as the millions of laid-off government workers all added up to a critical mass. Productivity, after five quarters of incredible, eye-popping ascent, had levelled off. As the economy fully adjusted to the revolutionary bitcoin currency, the gross domestic product had skydived. Moreover, swaths of several cities continued to burn, as millions of newly enlisted Patriots, their passions inflamed by the botched Battle of Osborne’s Farm, had taken to civil disobedience against the Liberators.

  Amanda’s pulse quickened and she felt the veins in her neck bulged. The Liberators were going to be most displeased – even disbelieving – of these new statistics. And Regi was going to appear any minute now.

  Demus. Amanda had coolly avoided him, and told him as much – after his disastrous offensive in the battle. He knew he was directly responsible for one hundred and six total deaths and hundreds of injuries. He had sulked for the past two months, keeping a low profile. But Amanda knew Demus contained a lot of secrets which he’d be willing to share, as he still seemed obsessed with winning her love.

  Take it one step at a time, Amanda told herself.

  The queen on the chessboard had to be used sparingly. A step here, a step there – and checkmate. She’d deal with Demus pretty soon, and turn on her charm. She would win him back.

  But Regi – now, that was a man she wanted by her side, every minute of the day. She missed his eager voice, his curiosity, and his humble good manners. He acted every inch a gentleman, always allowing her to speak her mind, and never interrupting, as many guys were predisposed to do. And those eyes! His green eyes sparkled with good humor and a carefree attitude. He may be an arrogant wizard, but he was nowhere as nasty or as condescending as Demus.

  “Hi, Amanda.”

  Amanda blinked again. She had so powerfully envisioned that dreamy, hunk-like entity right opposite her, in that cute yellow-themed shirt, that she didn’t realize he had actually arrived and was sitting right across the table from her.

  Regi cocked his head, his face full of wonder. “Hello, Amanda? Are you there?”

  Amanda caught her breath. “Hi, Regi.”

  He chuckled at her. What did that mean? Did he have feelings for her, too, or was he just humoring her? Never mind. Time to focus on business.

  For the next two hours, minus a ten-minute popcorn break, they discussed the morbid findings of the current state of the economy, and Regi expressed astonishment and skepticism that their grand experiment wasn’t working as it should. They debated various economic theories: Friedman, Keynes, Schumpeter, and Smith. Amanda was in her element. She visualized herself back in the debating club at school; no wonder she had won the top debating awards in her class. Regi matched her point for point, gently directing her to theories she hadn’t previously considered. They wrapped up their discussions, staring at each other for clues as to their agreement and resolution of the major economic issues confronting North America.

  It was time for Regi to go. Well, maybe not just yet. Amanda didn’t want him to leave. She longed for him to stay around her. Hell, even if they were reading economic journals together, she felt strangely assured that he was in the background, somewhat protecting her. Someone to vocalize her thoughts to, no matter how silly they seemed.

  She’d sometimes steal glances at him, wondering how wide his chest was if that yellow shirt was removed. She thought about how she’d run fingers through that dark, short hair, and regretted that it would be too difficult to tussle his crew-cut. She visualized herself rubbing the back of her hand along his jaw, wondering if she could feel any stubble; for he always seemed so clean-shaven. It’d be so incredibly sexy for her to detect some roughness, like sandpaper.

  Again, that voice.

  “Amanda?”

  Startled, she alerted herself, and acknowledged Regi. “Hmm?”

  “Do you have anything more to add?”

  Oh yes! Damn it, I do. She visualized him holding her as she flew through the sky over the flaxen gold wheat fields of Saskatchewan. It was a cliché, but she so enjoyed being enclosed in his strong arms, feeling the air brush by her face, soaring through the clouds. No wonder Lois Lane loved Superman.

  “Regi,” she finally said, speaking from the heart, “can you stay a few more minutes?”

  “Sure.” He gazed at her with respect. “What can I do for you?”

  Amanda held her breath as she spoke. “I’m terribly sorry that I asked you were gay. I really didn’t think that way at all.”

  “Amanda,” Regi said, his eyes pleading, “enough.”

  Remorseful, Amanda barged ahead anyway. “No, honestly, I didn’t think that way. All I’m trying to say is –” She exhaled loudly. “– don’t you want love in your life?”

  Regi clasped his hands in front of him and looked down.

  “I mean,” Amanda mumbled, “someone who loves you?”

  Regi held up his hand, still downcast. “Enough,” he said. Amanda was frustrated that she couldn’t look directly into his eyes, so she could guess how he was feeling. He appeared to be thinking intensely. Finally he looked up to lock eyes with her. To Amanda, the connection was electrifying.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I do want love in my life, but –”

  He hesitated, and Amanda feared that he’d say something both of them would regret later.

  She interrupted. “Regi, I want you to know that I care about you, very, very much.” Despite herself, she extended her hand toward his, and slid her fingers over the back of his warm hand. To her sincere relief, he balled up that hand, letting it rest naturally under her curved fingers.

  He was silent, looking at Amanda from a sideways perspective. Too eager to fill in the dead space, she said “I could be that girl, you know.” She was whispering now. “Regi, you’re so sweet, thoughtful, and well –” She struggled for word to encapsulate how she felt.

  “Amanda…”

  “Yes?”

  Regi stood up slowly and walked around the table to her, prompting her to stand up out of anticipation. Her pulse quickened as he closed in on her. His face brushed by her.

  Amanda’s mind raced. Is he going to kiss me?

  “I do want someone whom I can love very much,” he spoke softly to her. “But I’m trapped. I’m a wizard.”

  “I understand,” she responded, desperate to change his mind. “I know wizards and Mortals are very different, but…” She swivelled so that she was now facing him.

  “No.” He shook his head firmly. “It has nothing to do between wizards and Mortals.”

  Amanda’s brain shifted into overdrive. “Is it because I’m your employee?”

  Tears ran down Regi’s cheeks. “No, that’s not it at all. This is very painful to me.” He gazed away from her. “It’s a problem we wizards have. Something we have to face alone.”

  Amanda gasped in astonishment. “What problem? Is this something I can help with?”

  Suddenly, he reached his hand up to cup her head gently, and then, he kissed her on the cheek. Some of his tear drops rubbed off on her face.

  Then, smiling at her, he vanished instantly.

  Amanda’s mind reeled as she fumbled around in the space where Regi’s warmth once occupied. She rubbed at the moisture left by Regi’s tears on her cheeks. What was that all about?

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  It was the next morning.

  Never before in a wizards’ council meeting had all five regular participants – the four wizards and Amanda – felt so grumpy and distracted as they awaited the opening of business.

  Indie and Justica, mortified by the rotten economic statistics, were sulking in their chairs, not caring to banter about. Demus, for one, was known by all to be in a major funk the past two months. He’d been ridiculed by his peers on the council a few times now, his love interest in Amanda wasn’t being reciprocated lat
ely, and like everyone else, he was devastated by suggestions from the real world that the wizards’ grand vision was facing stumbling blocks.

  And Amanda was distracted big time – she only had to glance back and forth between the red-attired Demus and the yellow-attired Regi, both of whom weren’t exactly on good relations with her right now. Millions of Mortals picked up the obvious visual clues and started the malicious gossip, which traveled across from coast to coast faster than light itself.

  Now it was three minutes past ten. Despite her melancholy mood and lack of desire to get anything done, Indie snapped at her. “Amanda?”

  Amanda gulped down hard and glanced at the time. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Indie retorted.

  Millions of Twitter accounts came alive.

  Speaking respectfully but in a haughty voice, Amanda addressed to her international audience, “I said I was sorry. Now we begin another Petition Day. First off the list is…” Amanda usually had every detail in her head, but today she was forced to glance down at her papers. “…Arthur Kellogg Walker, former President of the United States.”

  All the wizards snapped out of their gloomy moods and sat straight up.

  “Good morning, Mr. Walker,” Amanda now spoke more energetically, at the sight of her former leader. She felt a twinge of guilt. The image of the former President did show some age, and perhaps a touch of despair. He did not look as presidential as he used to.

  “That’s President Walker to you, Ms. Fullerton, and furthermore—”

  The image of the former president and one-time supreme leader of the world’s only true superpower disappeared very unceremoniously. It was Indie’s doing, obviously an unpleasant relic of the pre-Liberator era.

  “I think we’ve heard enough,” Indie she said with a scowl, clearly still in a funk.

  Amanda’s fingers raced over her briefing notes. “Oh-kay. Next up, is a guest who’s appeared with us before, Professor Adam Scully from the Economics Department of the University of Toronto in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.”

  The professor, now sporting sideburns and a goatee, chuckled as he appeared on the air. “Hello again to Regi, my fellow Canadian.”

  Regi couldn’t help but be cheered by the professor’s infectious energy. “Hello, Professor,” he said, sounding like his old self.

  “So,” Scully rubbed his chin, “you’ve had more than a year to evaluate the bitcoin economy. You recall we discussed that about eighteen months ago?”

  Regi recalled too well. “Yes, Professor.”

  “Well, I won’t bore with statistics. I’ll continue your incentive of using clear, plain language. I’ll speak like the customer at the local greasy spoon.” He chuckled, and like before, realized that no one else shared his sense of humor. He frowned. “Shall we say that your bitcoin revolution sparked a huge economic upswing, and now it’s starting to crash?”

  “Yes, Professor,” Regi dimly mumbled. He didn’t like the sound of this at all.

  “Do you agree that’s a fair assessment?”

  “Yes.”

  Scully held one hand up and drew in his lips, tilting his head as if to say something unpleasant, without shrugging. “Any idea why?”

  Regi stared straight ahead.

  “You’ve impressed me with your grasp of economic policy.” The professor leaned back, his arms crossed. “You must have had ample opportunity to analyze this from every theoretical point of view.”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  Regi’s face registered defeat. “We’ve tried everything. It fits no economic model. This is a revolutionary branch of economics that hasn’t been tested yet.”

  The professor nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He moved his hand up and down in front of him to make his point. “Let me suggest this. Productivity is based upon an improvement from the old benchmark to the new one, correct?”

  Regi nodded.

  “What happened, if I may put it this way, is that nothing has ever been achieved painlessly. You always needed know-how, labor, and entrepreneurship.”

  “Right.”

  “What you’ve done is accomplish a great deal – thousands of new infrastructure – with no pain at all. No construction workers. No lawyers to draft the contracts. No restaurant owners to feed the workers. No bureaucrats to approve safety regulations. No need for lawmakers to establish regulations in the construction industry. In short, nothing.”

  Regi clenched his mouth; the reality hit him hard.

  “You made something – out of nothing.” The professor shook his finger. “Is that economically feasible?”

  “I’m not so sure, sir.” Regi admitted.

  “I’m developing a new economic theory, thanks to you,” the professor said with a grin. “It’s called the economics of friction.”

  Everyone gazed at Professor Scully, spellbound by his delivery.

  “I’m going to formulate that we all need some friction in our economics.” He rubbed his fingers together, but his fingers were pointed downwards, indicating sand. “A bit of dirt, if you will, in the cogs of industrialization.” He paced sideways off screen, making it difficult for the camera to focus on him. “This friction comes from inefficiencies in the system. Like the mistrust of humans toward each other. Lawyers.” He held his chin up and started speaking louder. “Another inefficiency is the propensity of humans to make stupid mistakes and kill themselves. That’s why we had safety laws. This required politicians and bureaucrats to oversee the construction regime.”

  Indie hissed, but no one could hear her, fortunately.

  “Another fly in the wheel. Time.”

  There were puzzled looks all around.

  The professor grew excited. “You’re amazing! You construct huge facilities in one second!” He held up his finger and shook it vigorously. “One second! That means no one needs to be paid for their time!”

  There were murmurs of understanding.

  “Thus, no need to pay the construction workers. No skills. Ultimately, if no skills need to be taught, no school programs to teach construction skills. No teachers in the skilled labor courses.”

  He glanced at Regi. “Do you understand?”

  Regi nodded and appeared as if he were to burst out in emotion. “The multiplier affect… it upsets the kids, too, the neighbors, the husbands and wives.”

  “And spreads like a cancer throughout the economy.” The professor stood tall. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

  Indie hurried to her feet, full of anger. “This is all unproven!”

  “Oh, I know!” Scully said. “This is all mere hypotheses.”

  Regi sullenly stood up. “You’ve given us food for thought, Professor. We’ll have our economists study this new paradigm.”

  The professor winked. “There’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “The basic law of gravity.” Gleefully, he pointed his finger up, then down. “What goes up, must come down.”

  “I don’t understand, sir.”

  Scully grasped the lapels of his suit jacket. “Your popularity. You thought you all were superheroes and were immune to the laws of physics. But, ultimately, everything is politics.”

  Regi nodded. “I understand now.”

  As a dramatic finale, the professor held his hands up high, as if addressing a mass. “Welcome to the real world, wizards.” Then, he glanced off the screen, not saying anything.

  Amanda took the cue. Deeply troubled by the professor’s analysis, she nonetheless had to carry on with the show. Mustering her courage, she said, “Next up, Myles Bragg, private citizen.”

  Demus said, “Amanda, I didn’t hear the position that this person currently occupies.”

  Amanda appeared somber. “That’s because Mr. Bragg doesn’t have one. He’s unemployed.”

  “Nothing to brag about, eh, Mr. Bragg?” Demus shrugged.

  Amanda glared at Demus. That insensitive twit. Icily, she said, “Mr. Bragg,
you have the floor now.”

  An image of a desolate middle-aged man, with dark circles under his eyes, pudgy faced, and flowing light brown locks, appeared onscreen. He pursed his lips, then began apologetically, “I’m sorry to be here, I shouldn’t bother you with your time, given that you’re looking after so many of us and all,” he said, rambling a bit.

  Amanda did her best to make him feel comfortable. “Mr. Bragg, you’re an essential part of the democratic process. You’re important to us. Please, don’t hesitate.” Then she sat back to listen.

  “Well, thanks, Miss Amanda,” Bragg said, “You know, it hasn’t been easy ever since I’ve had to talk to different agencies. They’re trying to help me, but there are so many other people who deserve my spot, so I feel kind of guilty…” He trailed off, unable to compose his thoughts.

  “Mr. Bragg,” Amanda intervened, “Let’s start at the beginning. You said you’re now unemployed. What job did you have before?”

  The pallid man briefly held his chin up high. “I was a title officer in the land registry department for the city of Indianapolis.”

  “What happened?” Amanda gently asked.

  “Well, as you know, the government was all shut down, because you Liberators don’t believe in any government at all, and no taxes, that’s for sure.” He rubbed his scalp briefly. “I can understand where you’re coming from, like my job was paid for by your taxes, I’ve always wondered if that was a good thing, like some of my friends said it wasn’t a real job.”

  “Go on, Mr. Bragg.”

  He gazed more confidently at the screen. “But the job was real to me. I was proud to help landowners organize the title to their land. Over the counter, I met real people who asked questions about the title process, as they found it complicated. I’m proud of that.”

  “That’s good, sir,” Amanda encouraged him, “What happened after you lost your job?”

  “Well, as you know, a guy with land registry experience isn’t going to amount to much outside of government. Since all the government collapsed, I’ve tried to market my skills, as the buzzword went. I used the last of my savings to re-train myself, to pick myself up, as you say.”