Falifey,
The Five Provinces, Sombreland
Alomel Tark was a priest of Thon, god of purity, and he had sat in a tiny mountain top shrine, subject to wind, rain, chills, the terrible sun, the ache of his fasting belly and the dryness of his throat from limited hydration for nearly a month before he came up with a solution to the Wenchuan Refugee problem. The people of the Five Provinces must purge the Wenchuanese from their land.
"The first thing," he said to a gathering crowd in the great market of Falifey, "We have to do is understand why. Do we want to purge them simply because they have slanty eyes and yellow skin?"
"Yes!" cried several idlers who had come excitedly to see the ragged figure in his yellow tattered robe and tattered green shawl, surrounded by similar men, speaking with a loudspeaker.
"No!" he shouted. The idlers were taken aback. They were eager to go trash a Wenchuanese shantytown, and then scuttle off before police descended on them.
"Listen to me, worthy fellow Sombrelanders! It is not enough that they look different! It is not enough that they cook with oil that smells strange, or use a strange language, or eat with sticks! These reasons are not enough! It is not enough that they write backwards! It is not enough even that they have invaded our labour market, attempt to sleep with our women and shout when they play board games! No! It is that they have brought bad ideas to Sombreland! They want to undermine the caste system! But does Thon? No! Thon wants us to purify the caste system! They want to change our government to be a thing called socialism, and distribute everything equally. But does Thon want this? No! Thon wants everyone to get what he deserves!" He pointed a fierce finger at a member of the crowd who was wearing a delivery truck company's sweater. "You! What does Thon reward people for?"
"P..purity?" gasped the man.
"Purity! For Thon will descend like a bolt from Heaven, and purify the world one day! And those who are not pure and ready will be consumed! But the Wenchuanese do not worship Thon! They don't even have ancestors buried in this country! They will unbalance the harmony of this country if they stay. And so, I say: throw them out! Throw them out!"
Roog Tark (Roog is a title of priests governing a region of the faithful among the Thonists) had a very good voice, along with blazing eyes, a lean face like an axe, and a lean body under his flapping robes, and so many people were impressed with him and began raising their fists in the air, chanting "Throw them out!" Because of this, any Wenchuanese nearby quickly slunk away, even, if need be, dropping their errand burdens or abandoning their food deliveries. However, there were others in the Great Market who didn't like all these displays of fervor for a particular deity, even if was Thon. They did not like that the market business and traffic were being disrupted. It began spilling away from where Roog Tark had been speaking to people shouting and menacing a delivery service that was mostly worked by Wenchuanese; they threatened and shouted outside a Wenchuanese restaurant, and broke into a recycling factory, scattering cans and bottles and smashing the glass bottles. They chased Wenchunese prostitutes, gaudily made up in foreign fashions, and scared away the students from a Wenchuanese school. When they began to descend upon a bread factory that had mostly hired Wenchuanese workers, angry people who were angry because they were undermining labour wages descended upon them. There had been incidents in the past, brawls between strikers and workers, insults at bars and public events, but this was a growing ugly feeling.
By this time, they were confronted by the efforts of a nice fat policeman named Jayon Gruel.
Police Prefect Jayon Gruel, who had a round pleasant head and a round pleasant belly, had been relaxing after finishing his lunch, which had four courses and pushed at his belt and his buttons and required him to slumber on a nice couch after drinking an antacid drink. Then he was wakened by telephone calls, urging him to do something. The Thonists were revolting! He did not even give in to the temptation to make a joke, but began to call his Police Inspectors, and he found that in several districts of the city, there were riots going on. He sighed and had to tighten his belt after departing to a private room to dispense with certain private personal activities that made his stomach feel better. Then he gave instructions for some of the inspectors to deal with the rioting, break them up and restore order. But he himself would go to the factory, for the riot had not yet fully reached it, and he had heard that Roog Tark was with them.
In Sombreland, police officers are the lowest rank of the military caste. They are, in a sense, the youngest child, loved, and charming, but the parents have grown so busy that they are at times forgotten by the courtly caste. Not so with the artisan and common castes. They more often see a police man than a soldier, unless their service is directly near a military base, and so Prefect Gruel was considered the "Perfect Prefect" as the saying went.
First of all, he was fat. And when he got out of his car facing a line of officers who had rushed to the scene, brandishing riot shields and riot batons, he could see that the crowd approaching were impressed, and some called out his name. For a fat policeman, in Sombreland, is seen as a well fed policeman, and one who is reasonable and not starving for more funds. He is more concerned with matters of law and custom than with bribery or feeling cheated in his lot in life. He has learned how to make the best of things.
Second, he was the highest ranking police officer in the city, and was still fat. So he was not worn down with un harmonious thoughts, instead, he was content and had time for seconds at lunch and dinner, maybe even breakfast.
Third, it was the Perfect Prefect! And what he wanted above all was no trouble. Was he not known for advising his officers to avoid assigning tickets and fines where a warning would do.
So when he stepped forward before the line of riot police, the crowd slowed down, and their shouts became a bit less aggressive.
At the same time, though, the he could see wariness and muttering among his officers. This made him frown. He knew there were men among them who loved the god Thon, and wanted more purity, and could not wait for the great Temple to be finished in Galador, and they really did not want to punish the Thonists in the crowd.
Nevertheless, they were here now. "Dear Roog, and subjects of Sombreland in our dear city," he said in a loud voice, "Why have you come here so angry, so unharmonious?"
Roog Tark cried out, "Noble Prefect! We have no quarrel with you! But why, noble Prefect, do you stand in our way? There are Wenchuanese in that factory beyond! They take money from honest Sombreland common men, unguilded caste men who need jobs, and you are standing in the way of them asserting their rights!"
"Yes! They have no right even to be here! They've overstayed their welcome!" shouted a man shaking a big fist.
"Throw them out! They don't deserve to be here! They are impure and dis-harmonize Sombreland!" yelled another, backed up with affirmative, encouraging shouts and shakes of the fist and of improvised weapons.
"They have a point, sir," muttered the district inspector, nearby him.
Prefect Gruel spoke into his megaphone. "Yes, yes, I see your complaint! But this is no way to go about it! I have heard that you have all been blocking off streets, frightening people and making a mess of shops, schools and other places! A fine thing! And you all Sombrelanders, a fine people! Shame! Just imagine what the Governor-General or..." he paused and became very reverent, "The Princess-Regent?"
People began to lower their hands, their faces began to be ashamed. While there were others, especially Roog Tark, who were not happy with this, the crowd seemed to be simmering down. Tark said, "Prefect, you see what I am saying is true though, do you not? Do you know, Prefect, why there is soil erosion troubling our country? Do you know why there are labour strikes, why there are radicals plaguing our schools and cities, and they there is strife pitting Sombrelander against Sombrelanders? Because of the Wenchuanese. It all started with that." He looked from police officer to police officer, and back to the Prefect again. "Do not stand against us, noble Prefect. Join us."
"The Princess-Regent..." began the Prefect.
"The Princess-Regent! The Princess-Regent is the noblest woman of the courtly caste! How could she be against us?" cried Roog Tark.
Prefect Gruel looked at him, and then looked at his men. He knew that it was just going to be like trying an unfamiliar dish at a banquet; sometimes you just had to stick your fork in and try. "Inspector, for m them up to receive."
Then he turned his back on his men and faced the Roog and the crowed, which outnumbered the police possibly two hundred to one, and waited, at attention, his great belly like that of a warship's sail full of the strong sea breeze, as he heard the inspector blare into his megaphone, "Attention! Make ready! Present!"
He heard, to his great relief, the sound of clicking heels and then a shout of many men shouting, "Ha!" He looked calmly at the Roog, and said, "I beg you, Roog, do not try to pass us. You know that if my orders result in harm to you, I will have to kill myself. Do you want my blood on your hands?"
Roog Tark gave him a long look. "Today, Prefect, you have won. We have made our point for now. But it does not end here. I will confer with my brother Roogs, and then with the council of Feroogs, and then we shall see. Good day, Prefect."
He then turned to the crowd, crying out, "Good men! We have made our point for now! We do not want to fight good men of Sombreland, and I will confer with my fellow Roogs and with the Feroogs, and then we shall see what we shall see! Let us sing hymns to Thon! Let this gesture, today, fill the Wenchuanese with fear, and let them think of going home before things get worse! This Sombreland is our sacred land! Sombreland is ours, and does not belong to the Wenchuanese!"
The men departed, singing a hymn of purity. Prefect Gruel dismissed his men and went home, and for once did not have an appetite, even for the little spicy sausages and roast potatoes he normally dearly loved. Nothing his wife did could tempt him.
And news spread of the event...