The Shadow Throne

CHAPTER EIGHT

MARCUS

Marcus had a distinct sense that he’d been here before.

The trappings were different. He was in his office in the Ministry of Justice, instead of the vast, ruined throne room of the Prince of Khandar. The incomprehensibly formal Khandarai had been replaced by furious Vordanai, and the elaborate gilded wigs by floppy-brimmed hats with one side tied up, as current fashion apparently demanded. But the air of outraged privilege was the same, the sense that the world had been rocked out of its normal, comfortable course, and that someone was going to have to do something about it.

“I want his goddamned head-you hear me?” shouted a middle-aged count with a florid face, who had apparently fortified himself for this meeting with several bottles of wine. “Damned merchant”-he pronounced the word as though it were something vile-“thinks he can put something over on his betters! Well, I’m not going to stand for it!” He was waving a paper, too fast for Marcus to read, but from the gilt edging he assumed it was a Second Pennysworth certificate. “If the king was well he wouldn’t stand for this nonsense!”

There was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the nobles, about a dozen or so of whom were packed into the office. They had a certain sameness about them, partly because they were all dressed almost identically, and partly because they were all cousins or second cousins twice removed or something similar. The fat, drunk one had nominated himself the spokesman, by virtue of being willing to say out loud what all the rest were thinking.

“My lord,” Marcus said, “as I’ve said before, we are investigating the matter, and I assure you that-”

“Investigating? Investigating! Damn you, I want to see a hanging by sundown!”

“If I may, Harry?”

A young man with a good deal more composure touched the fat count on the shoulder. He subsided a little and shuffled out of the way, allowing the young man to step in front of Marcus’ desk. He was a handsome fellow, with a neatly trimmed beard and immaculate dark hair. The fashion that made the others look faintly ridiculous actually gave him the intended air of nonchalant daring.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, Captain,” he said. “I am Count Alan d’Illphin Vertue.”

“Captain Marcus d’Ivoire,” Marcus said, a little warily. He was staying behind his desk for the distance it provided, and the opportunity to duck behind it if they started throwing things. “Forgive me for not offering you a seat, my lord, but-”

Vertue waved a hand graciously. “And I likewise apologize for the demeanor of some of my companions. Obviously, yesterday’s events have left tempers a bit high.”

“Perfectly understandable, my lord,” Marcus said. “I hope you understand that the Armsmen are doing all they can in the matter.”

“Of course.” Vertue smiled coldly. “Under ordinary circumstances, Captain, I would positively insist that the normal affairs of commerce be permitted to take their course. This is Vordan, not Imperial Murnsk, and we cannot expect royal intervention every time the vicissitudes of the market produce a minor catastrophe.” The tiniest flick of his eyes at the fat drunk, who was now muttering quietly to a couple of the others. “However.”

“However?”

“What we have in this case does not fall within the ordinary bounds of commercial activity, Captain. This man, this Danton, has engaged in a deliberate conspiracy to undermine the soundness of an otherwise reputable financial institution. He has produced a panic through tricks and inflammatory rhetoric. The markets are unsettled, and rightly so, for who knows what his motives are and where he will strike next? If the Armsmen were to take the matter in hand, it would be greatly reassuring to everyone.”

“By ‘take the matter in hand,’ my lord, may I assume that you want me to arrest Danton?”

“It seems the most expedient method,” Vertue said. “At the very least he should be detained until his true motivations are determined.”

Marcus gave a “my hands are tied” shrug. “Unfortunately, my lord, we must operate according to the law, which dictates that it must be the other way around. If we believe Danton to be guilty of a crime, then of course we will arrest him, but until then. .”

Vertue smiled, but it was a thin smile, stretched like rubber pulled to the breaking point. I wonder how much he’s on the hook for, Marcus thought.

“Surely,” the count said, “under the circumstances, extraordinary measures are called for? Especially given the uncertainty of the political situation.”

Meaning that nobody knows when the king is going to drop dead. Marcus put on a bland smile of his own. “Extraordinary measures are not my prerogative, my lord. I suggest you speak to the Minister of Justice and the rest of the Cabinet. If my lord the minister issues me instructions to proceed, I will certainly carry them out as swiftly as I am able.”

There was a long moment of silence, broken by the muttering in the back ranks. Vertue eyed Marcus, as though assessing whether there were any other levers he could apply. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “As you say, Captain. I will do as you suggest.”

“I wish you every success, my lord.”

Vertue turned, and after some effort was able to corral the rest of them out of the office. There was a distant shout from the fat man-“His head, damn you! His head!”-that was cut off when the door closed behind them. Marcus blew out a long breath and counted to three. There was a knock at the door before he got there.

“Eisen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come in.”

Staff Eisen entered, a thick wad of papers tied with string under his good arm. He shifted awkwardly, unable to salute, and Marcus waved him forward with a slight smile.

“Did you hear most of that?” he said.

“Couldn’t help it, sir.” Eisen deposited the papers on the desk, straightened up, and offered a belated salute. “Apologies for eavesdropping.”

“The way they were carrying on, I imagine half the building heard. What did you think?”

“I was impressed, sir. Where did you learn to talk to nobility like that?”

“It was on the syllabus at the War College,” Marcus said. “I think I’m a bit rusty. I feel like I’ve been washing my mouth out with soap.”

“Won’t Vertue go straight to the minister?”

“Let him. He won’t get in to see him today, that’s for certain.” He tapped a sheet of paper on his desk. “Count Vhalnich is meeting with the Cabinet, and requests my presence. I doubt he’ll be up to receiving guests. I’ll make sure he knows Vertue is coming.”

Eisen nodded. “He won’t be angry with you for putting them off?”

“I doubt it,” Marcus said. Janus was capable of many things, but Marcus didn’t think he’d hang one of his subordinates out to dry. Not unless he had a very good reason, anyway. “By the way, I haven’t heard of this Count Vertue, but I feel as though I should have. Or at least he acted as though I should have. Any idea why?”

“No reason you would have, sir. They’re not a military family.”

“Important, though?”

“Very rich, which is more or less the same thing. Their lands are in the Transpale, on the northern coast. About as far as you can go in Vordan before you get to Borel. Young Vertue’s half Borel on his mother’s side, and he’s married to one of them, too.”

“And I imagine they have banking interests.”

“So I’ve heard, sir.”

“That figures,” Marcus said. He turned his attention to the files. “What have you got for me?”

“Service records and incident reports, sir. For the men who were on the scene the night of the fire, and. . uh. . the vice captain.”

Eisen squirmed, obviously uncomfortable. Like most of the Armsmen, he had a deep respect for Giforte, and going behind his back like this obviously made him uncomfortable. Having looked through a few years of records already, Marcus was beginning to see why. Giforte’s attention to detail and sympathy for the men under his command were apparent in his reports, and his steadying hand had guided the Armsmen through the chaos of court politics and short-term captains. Hell, I would have been glad to have him in the Colonials.

It wasn’t the man’s character he was looking into, though. He needed something-either something to tell him why the vice captain had put off the investigation, or else something he could use as leverage to make Giforte tell him. The latter prospect made Marcus deeply uncomfortable, but not as much as the alternative. Sometimes he thought he could feel Adam Ionkovo staring at him through three stone floors, waiting for Marcus to take his bargain.

“Sir?” Eisen said.

“Hmm?” Marcus had untied the string and idly flipped through the first of the files.

“I’m certain if you just asked the vice captain-”

Marcus shook his head. “Not yet.”

“What if he notices the activity in the archives?”

“If he asks you directly, you don’t have to lie,” Marcus said. “Otherwise, you’re just doing private work on my direct orders. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Yes, sir,” Eisen said, unhappily. Marcus sympathized with him-confusion in the chain of command was every soldier’s nightmare. But I have to know. And since Janus doesn’t seem inclined to help me-the colonel hadn’t found the time to come and speak to Ionkovo himself, or even send Marcus any instructions-I’ll use whatever I’ve got at hand.

He picked up the stack of files and unlocked the cabinet under the old oak desk, where the rest of the material he’d gathered was collected. Once the new acquisitions were secure with the rest, he dusted off his hands and stood up.

“I’ll go through these later. Right now I’ve got to attend to His Excellency and see what urgent task he has in store for me. Keep an eye out for anything else that might be relevant.”

“Yes, sir.” Eisen hesitated. “Good luck, sir.”

Janus had an office at the Ministry of Justice, of course, but it was primarily for ceremonial purposes. He worked out of the cottage on the palace grounds where he’d established his household, and he’d already turned the dining room table into an impromptu writing desk. Stacks of notepaper were arranged across it in crosshatched piles, which Janus flipped through repeatedly in between every word he put to paper. A silver tray by his left hand gradually filled up with wax-sealed outgoing correspondence, and a servant periodically came and substituted an empty tray for the full one.

Guards in Janus’ red-on-blue livery surrounded the building, standing at attention beside the doorway and prowling the exterior in squads of four. There were more of them about than Marcus remembered. He recognized Lieutenant Uhlan, who favored him with a crisp salute as he passed through the doorway.

“Sir?” Marcus said.

Janus stopped writing and laid down his quill, carefully, on an ink-stained steel tray provided for that purpose. He stretched his right hand, fingers spread, and Marcus could hear pops from his knuckles. Only then did he look up. To Marcus’ surprise, he seemed somewhat the worse for wear. Even in the desert temple, Janus had never shown signs of strain, but now there was a hint of red around the edges of his huge gray eyes, and his chin and upper lip needed shaving.

“What is it, Captain?”

“You asked for me, sir. The Cabinet meeting.”

“Ah.” Janus squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, of course.”

He smiled, but the usual sparkle was absent from his eyes.

Marcus coughed. “Forgive me for saying so, sir, but you look. . tired.”

“I suppose I am,” Janus said. “I’m not sure when I slept last.”

“Two nights ago,” said Lieutenant Uhlan, unexpectedly. “And then only for three hours.”

Marcus looked up and met the lieutenant’s level gaze. A certain understanding passed between them, the shared feeling of men tasked with keeping a superior from absentmindedly killing himself. Marcus suppressed a smile.

“Two nights,” Janus mused. “Well, I will rest once the Cabinet meeting is finished with. In the meantime, I have a great deal of work to do.”

“May I ask a question, sir?” Marcus said.

“Certainly, Captain, though I reserve the right not to answer.”

“Isn’t the Last Duke going to read all your letters?”

“Another monograph I must write, if I ever find the time. ‘On the Methods of Enciphered Communication,’ perhaps?” Janus watched Marcus’ incomprehension and smiled again. “Never mind. Suffice it to say, there are ways of baffling our friends in the Ministry of Information. The duke’s influence is all-pervasive and his clerks are diligent, but his methods are somewhat unsophisticated. I suspect that power has made him complacent.” He glanced at the table and sighed. “Unfortunately, these techniques require a considerable effort on my part.”

That wasn’t much of an answer, but Marcus nodded anyway. Janus got up, stretching, and retrieved his coat. It looked as rumpled as he did.

Once they were outside, with the guards at a discreet distance, Marcus leaned close and spoke quietly. “I wanted to ask you, sir, about the prisoner.”

“Which-ah. Yes. The prisoner.”

“I wondered if you might care to talk to him.”

Janus let out a long breath. “Eventually, Captain. Matters are moving more quickly than I anticipated, thanks to this Danton. We are walking a very narrow bridge, and I cannot afford a misstep now. We will have time to pry out the secrets of the Black Priests when things are more. . settled.”

Jen’s voice, mocking Marcus from the back of his mind. Are you certain? He wanted to protest but swallowed the urge. “Yes, sir. Speaking of Danton, I should fill you in on what happened this morning.”

He told the colonel about Vertue as they entered the palace through a side door and walked down its apparently endless hallways, whose decor alternated between glass-and-mirror confections and baroque wood-and-gilt monstrosities. The faces of dead kings were everywhere, chiefly in the form of Farus IV, crowned in glory, looking on in beneficent approval at the mighty deeds of his son Farus V. Later monarchs had added their own touches, though, and in addition to the heads of state a veritable swarm of second sons, daughters, wives, and more distant relatives stared down at Marcus from every wall. There was even a picture of the Khandarai Court, though it bore only the faintest relation to reality. As far as Marcus could remember, the Vermillion Throne had not been attended by rearing stallions and roaring lions, much less dragons and hippogriffs.

At the grand archway that marked the entrance to the Cabinet wing, they encountered a young woman coming in the other direction, followed by a liveried maid and a squad of guards. She stopped when she saw Janus, who bowed deeply. Marcus followed his example.

“Princess,” Janus said. “It is an honor.”

Marcus looked up sharply as he straightened. The girl was small and delicate, with a round, lightly freckled face and tied-back curly brown hair. She wore a loose-hanging green dress of multilayered silk, gathered in a foamy collar at her slender throat but leaving her arms bare. Thin jeweled bracelets flashed at her wrists.

This is Princess Raesinia? He’d have guessed her for a teenager at first glance, though he knew the princess had been preparing to celebrate her twentieth birthday before the king had taken ill. She looked as frail as spun glass, and her head barely came level with his chin. He couldn’t imagine this fragile creature as a queen. No wonder Orlanko has taken so much power for himself.

“Count Mieran,” she said, her voice surprisingly strong. “It is a comfort to have you at court. My father thinks very highly of you.”

“His Majesty honors me with his trust.” Janus’ gray eyes caught and held Raesinia’s. “I only hope to be able to perform the services he asked of me.”

The princess blinked and nodded. Something had passed between her and Janus that Marcus couldn’t follow.

After a moment’s silence, Janus gestured at Marcus. “May I present my captain of Armsmen, Marcus d’Ivoire?”

Raesinia inclined her head, silk rustling. “Captain. I have heard tales of your exploits in the Khandarai campaign.”

“All exaggerated, I’m sure,” Marcus said, following Janus’ lead. “I’m honored to serve my lord Mieran.”

“I imagine you’ve been quite busy of late.”

Marcus wasn’t sure what to make of that. He sipped coffee to cover his confusion.

“With the near riot in the Exchange,” she went on. “And the problems at the banks.” Catching his look, she flashed him a quick grin. “Even princesses can read the broadsheets, Captain. And I’m not entirely impervious to rumor here in my ivory tower.”

“Of course, Your Highness. And to answer your question, yes, we’ve been very busy keeping the peace. Especially during your father’s illness, public order is paramount.” Marcus lowered his eyes. “We all hope for his swift recovery.”

“Long may he reign,” Janus murmured, and the princess’ guards echoed it in a low chorus.

“Long may he reign,” Raesinia agreed. “And I am sure I’m keeping you gentlemen from important business. If you’ll excuse me.”

She nodded again, getting another deep bow from Janus and Marcus, and glided past.

“She’s lovely,” Marcus said, when she was out of sight. That seemed safe enough.

“Indeed,” Janus said. “And. .” He shook his head. “Later. Come on, they’re waiting for us.”

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” said Count Torahn.

Marcus suspected he was being deliberately obtuse to needle Grieg. If so, it worked. The Minister of Finance was almost visibly steaming under his high, tight collar.

“After all,” Torahn continued, “it’s just a bank. These things happen, eh? Market goes up, market goes down. Everyone knows the only proper thing to do is keep your nose out and leave it to those who know about such things.”

Grieg made a visible effort to control himself. “Speaking as one of those ‘who know about such things,’ I wish more gentlemen would follow your advice. However, under the circumstances, the Second Pennysworth is not ‘just’ a bank. It is-”

“-a Borelgai bank,” Orlanko cut in. “And that makes this a political matter.”

“Exactly,” said Grieg. “The solvency of this government depends on our ability to tap the Viadre markets to borrow against future revenue. That, in turn, depends upon the conviction of the Borelgai that we are willing to do whatever is necessary to safeguard their investments. As such, this affair represents a serious threat to the Crown.” He turned from Torahn to Janus, who had been silent thus far in the proceedings. “I call on the Minister of Justice to take appropriate measures.”

A frown flickered across Orlanko’s face, there and gone again in an instant, like one of Janus’ smiles. It was impossible to read his eyes behind those enormous spectacles, but Marcus saw the slight inclination of his head toward Grieg. Puppet not dancing properly, is he? Strings get tangled up?

“I would advise against any. . precipitate action,” Orlanko said. “Danton Aurenne has become an extremely public figure. The reaction of the commons might be unpredictable.”

“Where did this fellow come from, anyway?” Torahn complained. “I’d never heard of him until the broadsheets started shouting about this Deputies- General nonsense. Could he be a spy?”

“If so, he’s an exceptionally poor one,” Orlanko said, with a hint of strained patience. “Seeing as he’s brought himself so thoroughly to our attention. Our investigation into his background is still proceeding.”

“I’m not worried about his background,” Grieg snapped. “I’m worried about what he’s going to do next. I’m already hearing rumblings from over the straits. And His Most Esteemed Lordship the ambassador has already been to see me and made himself clear most emphatically on the subject.”

“I’m not saying nothing should be done,” Orlanko said. “I’m saying we must be cautious, in order to avoid provoking a backlash worse than the initial problems. There are better ways to deal with Danton than tossing him in prison.”

Or tossing him in the river, Marcus added silently.

“Such as?” Grieg said.

“Buy him,” the Last Duke said bluntly. “Everyone has a price. Find out what his is, and give it to him.”

Grieg snorted. “He was giving away Second Pennysworth bonds to help start the panic. I don’t think a bit of coin will turn his head.”

“Not all prices are measured in eagles,” Orlanko said. “Perhaps he craves some honor from His Majesty. Or an introduction at court. Or”-he paused significantly-“a seat on the Cabinet.”

Grieg looked pale and angry.

There was a long silence, which Torahn broke with a loud harrumph. “Make him Minister of State, I say. Almire hasn’t bothered to turn up to a meeting in years, and that just means more work for the rest of us.”

Grieg and Orlanko both ignored him, preferring to glare at each other. They broke off and looked up only when Janus gently cleared his throat.

“Surely,” he said, “the issue is whether Danton has committed a crime or not.”

Both Grieg and Orlanko seemed stunned by this assertion, and Marcus suppressed a laugh.

“After all,” Janus said, “we are a nation of laws. Freedom from arbitrary arrest was one of the rights Farus IV fought the Great Purge to win.”

“Indeed-” Orlanko began, but Janus spoke right over him.

“Danton has given a speech in the Triumph. That is not, as far as I am aware, a crime. There is a long precedent of tolerance there, except in cases of direct incitement to treason. Speaking against a foreign bank can hardly be treason, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“It can be treason if it goes against the interest of the government-” Grieg said.

Janus ignored him, too. “Danton has also distributed a large number of Second Pennysworth bills to underprivileged citizens, in a laudable act of charity. This, too, is not a crime. We should always encourage the most fortunate among us to extend a hand to the least.”

Orlanko was smiling now, and Grieg clenching his teeth. Janus put on a thoughtful look.

“And yet,” he said, “the combination of these two acts and the content of his speeches certainly makes it appear as though he is engaged in a deliberate attempt to defame or injure a commercial enterprise, namely the Second Pennysworth Bank. And that, I’m afraid, is a crime. It remains to be proven, of course, but there are certainly grounds for an arrest, and I’m sure the truth will come out in the trial-”

“Don’t be stupid,” Orlanko snapped. “Arresting him is bad enough, but if you bring him to trial the streets will go mad.”

“I have no choice, Your Grace,” Janus said. “I’m charged with upholding the laws of Vordan. I swore an oath to the king to that effect.”

Now Grieg was smiling. Orlanko looked from him to Janus, and Marcus could picture the tiny gears behind those glass lenses whirring at phenomenal speed.

“Captain,” Janus said.

“Sir!” Marcus came to his feet and saluted crisply. He could tell when he was being used as a prop, and thought he might as well play the role to the hilt.

“You are to take Danton Aurenne into custody as soon as possible, along with any other individuals who may have contributed to his conspiracy. He is to be given all due rights and processes. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Don’t be foolish.” Orlanko turned to appeal directly to Marcus. “Captain, you must know what will happen if you arrest Danton. It is your Armsmen who will be on the front lines in the event of rioting. I urge you to reconsider.”

Marcus kept his face calm with an effort, but inside he was grinning savagely. “With respect, Your Grace,” he said, “I take my orders from the Minister of Justice, not from you. I also swore an oath to the king. If you would like them changed, I suggest you take the matter up with my lord Count Mieran.”

Something played at the corner of the duke’s mouth, but his eyes remained invisible blurs behind his spectacles.

“Well,” he said, “if the Minister of Justice has quite made up his mind, I have preparations to make. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

All eyes followed Orlanko as he rose stiffly and left the room. He nearly ran into a footman in the act of knocking on the door on the way out, and pushed past him without a word. The footman, red-faced, stepped to one side and then met the assembled gazes of the most powerful men in Vordan with evident embarrassment.

Janus rescued him. “Yes? Did you have something for us?”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said, bowing deep. “Doctor-Professor Indergast begs an audience with the Cabinet.” His eyes flicked after the vanished Orlanko. “Shall I tell him the meeting has ended?”

Grieg started to say something, but Janus overrode him. “His Grace has departed, but the rest of us are still here. Bring him in.”

The footman bowed, withdrew, and returned a moment later leading an old man in the silver-threaded black robes of a University professor. Indergast had only a wispy remnant of silver hair, and he walked hunched over, as though there were a great weight on his shoulders. When he raised his head to look around the room, however, his sunken eyes were sharp and intelligent.

“Doctor-Professor,” Janus said. “Welcome. I regret that we have not had the chance to meet before this.”

“Count Mieran,” Indergast said, with a faint Hamveltai accent. He ducked his head. “Forgive me if I do not bow, but I am afraid I might not be able to straighten up again.”

“Of course. Please, take a seat.”

“No, thank you, my lord. I will not keep you long.”

Janus nodded. “You have news for us, then?”

“I do.”

“Good news, I hope,” Torahn drawled.

“I’m afraid not, my lords.” Indergast cleared his throat. “The malignancy in His Majesty’s left armpit is on the verge of reaching the major vessel there. If it is not removed, it will kill him within a few weeks, at the longest, and much of that time he will be in terrible pain. If he is to be saved, I must operate within the day.”

Janus looked across the table at Torahn and Grieg. The former shrugged, while the latter would not meet his gaze.

“Then you must operate, of course,” he said. “Is there anything you require?”

“It is not as simple as that,” Indergast said. “His Majesty is not a young man, and the malignancy has greatly weakened him. There is a chance-a very good chance, I’m afraid-that he will not survive the surgery, or that he will lack the strength to recover.”

There was a long silence. Torahn coughed.

“Seems clear enough,” he said. “If you operate, he might live. If not, he’ll die for certain. Better to throw the dice, eh?”

“Has His Majesty expressed an opinion?” Janus said.

“Regrettably, he has not been conscious for some time,” Indergast said. “I waited as long as I dared, hoping to put the question to him, but now I believe he will not wake until after the surgery, if at all. I have therefore come to you, my lords.”

“His Majesty was never one for letting go of something if there was a chance of making it come out right,” Torahn declared. “He would have wanted to chance it.”

“I must agree with the Minister of War,” Janus said. He glanced at Grieg, who gave a brief nod. “Very well. Please proceed, Doctor-Professor. I wish you the very best of luck.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Indergast said. “As I have said, the prospects are dim, but if we have faith perhaps God will have mercy.”

“One thing,” Janus said. “The city is in a delicate state. I must insist that this news not spread any farther, and that no one be allowed to leave the king’s chambers once you begin the operation.”

“Yes,” said Grieg fervently. “Wild rumors are the last thing we need.”

“I understand,” said Indergast. “I will begin the preparations.”

They watched the old man hobble painfully out of the chamber. Once the door closed behind him, Torahn said, “The princess ought to be told, at least. Preparations need to be made, just in case.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Grieg snapped. “If we start polishing up the funeral carriage, you don’t think that will start a rumor?”

“Still, common decency and all that. The girl deserves to know about her own father.”

“Agreed,” Janus said. “But we dare not trust the information to a servant. My lord Torahn, if you would be so good as to visit Her Highness personally? And impress upon her the need for secrecy.”

“Eh?” Torahn shrugged. “I suppose. As you say.”

“In that case,” Janus said, “I suggest we adjourn. As His Grace said, I’m sure we all have preparations to make.”

Marcus held his tongue until they were out of the palace and walking across the lawns, with Janus’ Mierantai bodyguards following a step behind. Finally, he leaned toward the colonel and murmured, “Are you sure about this?”

“Hmm?”

“Orlanko could be right. I don’t know the city like he does, but things may get ugly.”

“It’s quite possible.” Janus glanced at Marcus, just for a moment. “These are dangerous times. I am afraid I may be asking a great deal of you.”

Marcus straightened up. “I’ll do whatever I can, sir.”

“I know,” Janus said. “And believe me, I am grateful. If, sometimes, you cannot quite see the way clear. .” His smile was there and gone again in an instant, like a lightning bolt. “Sooner or later we all must take something on faith.”

“Sir,” Giforte said woodenly, standing at attention in front of Marcus’ desk.

Marcus eyed him thoughtfully, doing his best to keep any suspicion out of his gaze. He didn’t think the vice captain would notice in any case, though. He was obviously working to keep hold of some strong emotion, and his stony mask was cracking at the edges.

“Yes, Vice Captain?” Marcus said. “Did you have some comment regarding your orders?”

Giforte took the invitation to speak, words escaping like steam from a boiling kettle. “Yes, sir. This is a mistake, sir. A critical mistake.”

“These orders come from the minister himself,” Marcus said.

“Perhaps the minister doesn’t grasp the situation fully,” the vice captain said. “If he were to come and speak with me-”

“The minister is very busy,” Marcus said. “And I think he understands more than you think. These are his orders, and we will carry them out.”

“If we arrest Danton, the streets will explode. We don’t have the manpower to keep order.”

“I assume the minister knows that.”

“Then why won’t you speak to him?”

“I gave him my opinion.” Marcus shook his head. “He told me I needed to have faith.”

“Faith, sir?”

“One of his little jokes, I think.” Marcus sighed. “Look, Vice Captain. We don’t have a choice. Take whatever men and equipment you need, and do whatever’s necessary to keep our men safe. But I want Danton behind bars as soon as possible. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Giforte saluted, textbook-perfect. “Excuse me, sir. I have preparations to make.”

“Send me a report when he’s taken.”

Giforte saluted again and left the office. Marcus leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead with two fingers.

It would be so much easier if I could trust him. Giforte was competent and conscientious. But Marcus, struggling through the files Eisen had brought him, had found at least a trace of what he’d been looking for. Other incidents, other accidents, where the Armsmen’s investigation had been only perfunctory. Not so unusual-there were accidents in the city every day-but these were cases where the Armsmen involved had wanted to dig deeper, only to end up stalled at Giforte’s desk. As far as Marcus could tell, none of the previous captains had even noticed.

So when he doesn’t want to arrest Danton, is he really worried about riots in the street? Or is there someone else pushing on him from the other direction?

He tapped one finger on the desk for a long minute. Then he shook his head, retrieved the stack of files from his cabinet, and resumed his painful search of the archives.