Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“All right,” Olem agreed, putting his arm around her, “but I’m not sending you down there without a whole damned regiment as an escort.”

Michel knew that the messengers who’d delivered Sins of Empire to the printers were his best bet at tracking down the Iron Roses. They would be discovered sooner or later. Fifteen people were fourteen too many to keep a secret, and the fact that so many were involved in a conspiracy and had still not been discovered almost two weeks later was damned impressive. He didn’t have time to wait for someone to get dragged in off the street, though. He needed answers immediately, and that meant turning a direction in his investigation that few other Blackhats would be willing to go.

He spent two precious days following a hunch. He visited banks, ransacked a house and an apartment, and generally kept himself busy until he had all the information he needed and returned to the very place one shouldn’t be looking for suspects in a plot against her Lady Chancellor’s government.

The Millinery.

“Light” corruption ran deep among the Blackhats. Most, including Michel himself, considered it a perk of the job. Blackhats wound up with free meals or cups of coffee, or rushed to the front of the line in a government office. Neighbors might pitch in to pay your rent, because a Blackhat in the neighborhood generally discouraged the local gangs. Michel preferred to use his own leverage in places he couldn’t afford normally – nice hotels, banks, tailors, high-end brothels.

But while that light corruption was tolerated, it was an unspoken rule that you never let your greed get the better of you. There was a line somewhere – though not strictly defined – and if you crossed it you’d be out on your ass, maybe even sent to a labor camp.

Which is why Michel felt a pang of sadness as he rounded a corner in the basement of the Millinery to find a hallway that dead-ended in a single counter. A cage was built in around the counter, like one might find in the back of a casino in a shady part of town, and the door to the right of it was reinforced with steel and locked from the inside. An older gentleman, balding and lean, sat behind the cage with his feet up on the counter. He had a book in one hand – the same kind of penny novels Michel’s mother loved – and an apple in the other.

“Agent Bravis,” he called before Michel had reached the counter. “What brings you down to the Treasury today?”

“Afternoon, Bobbin.” Michel reached the cage and leaned against it, craning his head to get a look at the title of the book. He searched his pockets, wishing that he carried a flask. “New dreadful?”

Bobbin gave Michel an embarrassed smile and stashed the book under the counter. “Yeah. You know how it gets. Time crawls by down here.”

“I bet,” Michel said. He considered winding his way through the daily gossip – Bobbin managed to hear everything down here – but knew that would only be delaying the inevitable. “Bobbin, did you get your Gold Rose recently?”

“Me?” the treasurer scoffed. “I’m a Silver for life, Michel. Not much room for improvement down here. How about you? Ever get your Gold? I know you’ve been working for it for a while.”

“No,” Michel said, picking at his fingernails. “Not yet.”

“I heard they gave you babysitting duty with those Adran mercenaries. Is Lady Flint as pretty as they say in the gossip columns?”

“She’s like an old shoe,” Michel lied. “Lost an eye a couple of years ago. Teeth falling out. Not a pretty picture.”

Bobbin squinted at him. “You pulling my leg?”

“Might be.” Michel scratched his chin. Pit, this was going to hurt. “Bobbin, have you heard about this thing with the Sins of Empire ?”

“The pamphlet that’s going around? I heard that Captain Blasdell is working around the clock on it, trying to find out who would order such damaging propaganda.”

Bobbin didn’t mention anything about the Roses, which meant Fidelis Jes had kept it out of the newspapers and out of the general gossip among the Blackhats themselves. Blackhats couldn’t gossip to anyone but their fellows, but boy did they love to do just that.

“Did you hear about the Roses?” Michel asked.

“What about them?”

“Not many people know it, but that pamphlet got printed because the people who ordered them were all carrying Iron Roses.”

Bobbin shifted in his chair. “That’s insane. No one would impersonate a Blackhat like that.”

“They definitely did,” Michel said. “But you’re right. It’s insane. The propaganda is one thing – Captain Blasdell is all over that – but those Iron Roses are something else entirely. We’ve been trying to figure out where they came from.”

The smile disappeared from Bobbin’s face. He looked a little sickly.

“Now,” Michel continued, “Captain Blasdell thinks they were forged by someone out of the country. It certainly makes sense. But me? I think they were originals. All the originals in Landfall have been accounted for – I believe you made that report yourself just a couple of days ago, right?”

“That’s right,” Bobbin said, licking his lips. “Every one of them is accounted for. You can even come back here and count them if you like.”

“Of course, of course,” Michel said. “I believe you. But I’ve got to follow my train of thought here. If the Iron Roses were originals, and haven’t been stolen from the Millinery, that means they came from our own people. But it doesn’t add up. Iron Roses are rarely reported as lost, and, thanks to the reputation of our grand master, are pretty much never stolen. And me? I think the idea that fifteen of our own Iron Roses were involved in an antigovernment plot seems a bit far-fetched.”

“Michel,” Bobbin said, his voice shaky, “I really should get some work done.”

Michel ignored him. “So I thought to myself: Self, where does anyone get fifteen Iron Roses? And I answered: the Treasury, of course. And who’s in charge of the Treasury? My old friend Bobbin.”

Bobbin went red. His mouth flapped a few times, then his jaw tightened and he sat up straight. “I don’t know what you’re implying,” he said, “but you’d better watch your mouth, Agent Bravis. You know there’s consequences for false accusations around here.”

“I know,” Michel said. “That’s why I checked first. I went through your house this morning, and your apartment that’s not on the books last night. I found the receipts from the Starlish Bank. Half a million krana is a lot of money. And you’ve been spending like a fool, too. Clothes, booze, women. I checked all your haunts and you’re not being nearly as careful as you think you are. And before you start trying to come up with a story about me fabricating evidence, you should know I’m hunting around on private orders of the grand master. He’s going to examine my report personally and you know he’ll find things that even I couldn’t.”

Bobbin’s face went from red to white in the course of a few moments. His breath was shallow, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Michel hated seeing him like this. He was a trusted Blackhat, a Silver Rose with the only keys to the Treasury outside Fidelis Jes. He was supposed to be as inviolate as the Roses themselves, and what’s more is that Michel liked Bobbin. Everybody did.

“I didn’t know,” Bobbin whispered.

“Know what?” This was the part, Michel knew, where everyone began to beg. They threw excuses, tried bribery, swore oaths.