Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

“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.