Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

Sothe rolled her eyes and grabbed the trailing edge of the blanket, folding it back over the half-naked corpse. Raesinia hurried out to the living room, hoping fervently that Ben and Faro were still sober enough to walk.

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 The incomprehensibly formal Khandarai had been replaced by furious Vordanai, and the elaborate gilded wigs by floppy-brimmed hats with one side tied up, as current fashion apparently demanded.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.”