Enjoy this short story which expands our lore…

We Will Have Order!

Baris strode confidently across the deck of his ship as it docked in Le Arsenale. Checking that his uniform was in order and tightening the strap on his helmet, he waited impatiently for the gangplank to be dropped before setting foot in Venice. As the Chorbaji of the Venetian troops he had to set an example for them to follow.

“This city smells like a sewer,” Baris said out loud to himself almost in disgust.

Turning to the nearest dockhand, the janissary ordered his bags brought to the barracks as his bodyguard formed up in unison behind him. “Soldiers of the Ottoman Empire! We have arrived in this most corrupt, depraved city. In front of you lies every form of decadence and indecency imaginable”. Baris commanded, clasping his hands behind his back. Turning to inspect them, he saw the familiar zeal that he had grown accustomed to with his troops.

“Our Sultan is highly displeased. Word has reached our enlightened leader that some of our troops have turned to extortion, bribery and even worse, have abandoned their profession in favour of the perverse delights Venice has to offer! That, men, is why we are here. We will instil order within our ranks – discipline and control will prevail. Once we have weeded out the traitors we can continue with the Sultan’s grand vision for this once great city,” Baris said gravely.

With his speech finished, he turned and marched off towards the Arsenal’s barracks, marked with banners bedecked in liveries of blue and green. At the entrance there were two Janissaries stood on guard who promptly stood to attention and saluted as the commander passed through. Inside a clerk guided Baris to his office, where there were already people waiting to be seen. A woman dressed in a fine blue silk dress approached him and began to petition the commander regarding her husband’s stolen paintings. Without breaking stride, Baris pushed past her, remarking, “I am not here to solve menial crimes madam, the city has its own law enforcement”.

“But sir, the City Guard does nothing! They’re in the pocket of the Doge and the upper council members. You look like a man capable of restoring order in this city” she protested. Turning to his clerk, Baris sighed. “Put them in an orderly line and I’ll see them one at a time,” to which the clerk responded with a nod and with that, Baris shut the door behind him and took a seat at a large oak desk.

 

The audience lasted throughout the entire day and ranged from menial matters over stolen livestock, all the way up to unusual murders, where the victim was left as nothing more than exsanguinated husk. People and politics exhausted Baris, but at last there was one final task on his agenda for the day: to inspect the entirety of the Ottoman forces here in Venezia. He expected that some form of discipline had been lost in the ranks but hoped it wouldn’t take much to whip his soldiers back into one of the most formidable armies of the modern age. But the scene that greeted Baris as he stood on the balcony left him appalled. His critical eyes scanned across the ranks of the Ottomans, noticing everything: men wearing uniforms that did not fit properly; golden masks unpolished and scuffed; and weapons that had seen better days, unbefitting of a once revered army. Worse, Baris noticed that many of his men had sunken eyes and looked practically dead on their feet. Shaking his head, he turned away from the balcony and headed down to address his troops personally.

Exiting the barracks, he moved so that he was standing in front of the first rank, scowling at them as he addressed them. “What I have seen here shames me and his enlightened highness the Sultan. You were once the pride of the mediterranean, feared across the known world, including this accursed city,” he spat.

“What’s changed?  What has this damned city done to my beloved army?! Discipline has been lost in the ranks, sickness stemming from a lack of order at the top and believe me gentlemen when I say this…we will have order. To that end, ranking officers will stand forward at once to be addressed.”

With that a handful of men in uniform with an assortment of badges and ceremonial tassels stepped forwards so that they were in between the men and Baris. They looked more like naughty children, about to be scolded by their mother, not decorated soldiers. Regarding them cooly Baris continued, “you are responsible for this travesty. You were sent by the Sultan to bring order to this city so that our people might find prosperity. You remember what this Rent above the sky did to our capital? Most of our beloved Constantinople lies beneath the Bosphorous, yet our people have begun to rebuild.” The officers didn’t dare breathe as Baris berated them for fear of incurring his wrath further. “You were sent here to find the secrets of how Venice has been able to thrive and bring that information back. Our people are still holding out hope that you will return with cutting edge technological wonders so that our city might return to its former glory. What would they say if they could see you now?” Baris growled, grabbing an officer by his throat, noticing that he stunk of wine and piss.

“You are a disgrace – this might as well be treason. As the Sultan’s authority here in Venice, I declare this man a traitor, to be executed with immediate effect. This shoddy excuse for military discipline will no longer be tolerated; you will sort yourselves out or follow this officer into Hell”. With that, Baris drew his sword and, ignoring the whimpering protests of the officer, plunged it through the man’s gut. As the man fell into a writhing heap on the floor, Baris glowered at the assembled troops, daring them to protest. Spitting on the floor, he cleaned his sword on the coat of the fallen officer and returned to his office, ignoring the quiet murmurs that had arisen from some of his troops.

Stood at the back of the assembled troops earlier that day, Ahmet and Emir had watched in horror as their general executed an officer. They had preferred how things were before; Venice had given them much enjoyment since their arrival. They were able to taste all the delights the city had to offer and were even able to earn a decent amount of coin outside of their day-to-day life as a soldier. Not that any of the officers knew about their out of hours work… well, the devout ones at least. The Chorbaji was zealous to a fault, an idealist who believed in a city long lost to time and in a Sultan far away. No, Ahmet mused, this wouldn’t do at all. Walking alongside Emir who also believed in the new world order, they passed underneath an archway out to the courtyard of the Frari basilica, dimly illuminated under candlelight. The walk had taken a while, leaving the Arsenale and travelling across to the heart of the city in the San Marco district, over the Rialto Bridge, before finishing in the San Polo district of the city. Emir was on edge – what if they were missed at the barracks? The thought of being caught out by the Chorbaji didn’t bear thinking about. Sensing his fellow soldier’s unease, Ahmet tried to reassure him by reminding him of their goal. “Calm yourself, Emir. Remember, this meeting is more important than even our own lives. We must tell them of Baris’ arrival so he can be removed as quickly as possible before he gets a chance to change too much. Look we’re here!” He pointed to an old church, re-purposed as a hideout since the Rent’s appearance. Its decadence had long been stolen since then and the only reminder of this once prominent church was its stained-glass windows, which even in the gloom still held beauty. Ahmet knocked confidently on the great oak doors with three single but clear raps of his fist. A rough looking man in a hood answered the door, holding a spiked club in one hand and leaning on the door with the other.

“Password?” The man asked flatly.

Taking a second to think before responding, Ahmet responded, “saviours of Venice,” in little more than a whisper.

“Enter, friend. Close the door behind you.”

Ahmet opened the door further to allow himself and Emir to pass through, closing it as instructed. Looking around, it was clear that the church had seen better days; benches had been dragged to the edges of the Nave and a small fire burned at the centre of the Crossing. Cobwebs littered the rafters, and Ahmet could’ve sworn he saw a rat scurry through a hole in the wall. As the two strode towards the Crossing they noticed several figures hugging the shadows, watching them. Feeling uneasy, Emir tried to count them but couldn’t keep track as the figures moved about, seeming to blend in with the darkness. Behind the fire stood the Apse and, on the Altar, a figure sat watching the Ottomans. Masked and hooded in an off-white rob, Ahmet guessed that the figure was female, though couldn’t be certain for the only light in the room was the central fire itself. “What brings you to our humble abode, my eastern friends?” A feminine voice asked, startling the two men slightly. Ahmet cleared his throat before responding, “our commander from Constantinople, Chorbaji Baris, has arrived in Venice.” There was a short pause before the church erupted with laughter. The Capodecina shook her head. “And so what if one more Ottoman has arrived in our city? How many more of your people must we kill before you get the message?” She sneered.

“You…you don’t understand. Baris is renowned for being a stickler for the rules. He’s famous amongst the Janissaries – let alone the regular troops – for having an iron discipline. The Sultan loves him, but we hate the strictness he enforces. Baris won’t allow us out after hours, and he certainly won’t allow us to earn a bit of coin on the side. Last time I checked, we had an understanding, mutually beneficial, greasing your pockets as well as ours. The boys back at the barracks won’t be happy if they lose both their pleasure and their coin. Look, he’s going to be touring around the city tomorrow, perhaps we could strike then?” Ahmet pleaded.

The Capos’ voice grew cold. “I’ll ignore the underhanded threat as we’re friends but do it again and I’ll have your tongue. If you’re going to be a part of the Guild and enjoy its benefits, you must follow its tenants. I understand the problems that will arise with the arrival of this Chorbaji, don’t get that bushy moustache tangled up, I’ll have him seen to.”

“It won’t be that easy…” Emir began to protest.

“That concludes our business, now leave me,” the Capo cut in with a tone that signified the end of their discussion. “Oh, and you can leave your donation with the doorman.” Grumbling, Ahmet turned and stormed out of the church, throwing a small coin pouch at the doorman as he passed through. Fools, he thought to himself. He hated dealing with the Guild. No, not the Guild…her. She was insufferable, arrogant and far too overconfident for her own good. Had she but the sense to listen to them, perhaps they could make the commander disappear more easily together. She wouldn’t listen though – well, screw her then. Let her experience the Chorbaji first-hand and see how far she gets.

The following night, Baris thought he should take a tour of the city. Assembling a squad of Janissaries to accompany him alongside some other Ottoman dregs, they left the Arsenale at dusk. Following the main canal, the party bore right and headed towards the heart of the city. The Piazza San Marco glistened in the final light of the day before the sun set and the light of the Rent replaced the natural sunlight with a ghostly green hue. Walking around the Doge’s Palace and stopping to look at Saint Mark’s Basilica, Baris couldn’t help but think the city did have a charm to it, as much as it loathed him to admit this. Looking up at the stolen bronze horses that sat atop the balcony of Saint Mark’s, the Chorbaji was reminded that his city and Venice shared a long, bloody history. Not much has changed, he mused to himself.

Carrying onwards over the Rialto Bridge and into the San Polo district, Baris noticed that the city had gone quiet. Where there were normally civilians going about their daily business, now it was eerily quiet. The Ottomans moved into the centre of the district towards the Frari Basilica, again noting a distinct lack of life, save for the barking of a few stray dogs. Windows had been shut and the few doors that Baris tried were locked. Rounding the corner, the party was suddenly halted by an upturned cart. Turning to head back one of the soldiers shouted in alarm as another large cart was wheeled into place, blocking their retreat. Smart, Baris thought to himself, smirking as the first wave of the attackers approached them. There must be no less than forty of them, armed with a variety of weapons: clubs, knives and even the odd gun. Their attackers looked like regular citizens, only they donned masks. The surprise assault had caught several of the Ottomans by surprise, leading to them being dispatched with little trouble. Organising his Janissaries into a line to cover him, Baris pushed towards the cart that had been wheeled behind them. “We have to get this clear so we can retreat; if we stay here, we’ll be massacred,” he shouted to his company. Drawing his own mace, Baris blocked a wild swing from a man in a red jacket, before caving his head in and pushing past him. Ahead was the wagon with more citizens climbing over to get at the Ottomans.

“Janissaries, up with me. The rest of you wretches, defend behind us as we clear the way!” Baris ordered. At once the Janissaries moved alongside their commander, carving their way through to the cart, the citizen rabble unable to stand against the battle-hardened elite of the Ottoman army, and soon they melted away before their advance. Sparing a moment to survey just what was happening, Baris noticed a woman in white stood on a nearby rooftop, watching them. Turning away but for a moment to draw his pistol, he was surprised to see she had disappeared, as if never there at all. “Sir, the way is clear,” a Janissary shouted, bringing Baris back to his senses. “Men, fall back in good order!” The remaining Ottoman force followed his order, slowly falling back, blocking the odd knife thrust here or riposting with their own attack there. Realising that she had missed her chance, the Capodecina watched in horror as a Janissary threw something a small, round projectile into the mob. Before she could even react, a sudden loud bang sent her reeling, shattering nearby windows and killing several of her men and women. “Damn them,” she said through gritted teeth. “Turns out that Ottoman was right; it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. This Chorbaji is as tough as any I’ve seen and deserves our full attention. No doubt the prince will want to hear of this.”