Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

Vlora glanced up at Vallencian. She found she was growing to like him more and more. “Even after the way she treats your… business partners?”

“I see the good in people,” Vallencian said, matter-of-factly. “Even when it’s hard to find.”

“You see too much of the good in people,” a voice suddenly said sharply. Vlora turned to find the woman in the diaphanous dress, Lady Enna, standing at her shoulder. Enna seemed just a little younger than she, well-endowed with long, brown hair and lips that most courtesans would kill for. She took Vlora’s other arm, unasked, and leaned in conspiratorially. “Lady Flint, I am Lady Enna and I am absolutely honored to meet you.”

“Thank you,” Vlora said, giving her a tight smile. Enna’s eyes were just a little too big, her expression just a little too forward, in a way that struck Vlora as artificial. Vlora opened her mouth to ask Vallencian a question, but the Ice Baron suddenly disengaged with an apology and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Vlora alone with Lady Enna.

The bastard.

Before Vlora could say a word, Enna leaned even closer. “Don’t think I’m being too hard on Vallencian. We all love him to death, but he is a big stuffed bear, the mighty fool. He’s too soft on Lindet and her blasted Blackhats. She is a terror and she must be stopped.”

Vlora raised her eyebrows, startled to hear such a declaration. Was it that kind of party, full of dogmatic liberals? Or had Lady Enna had too much to drink? Vlora could smell the wine on her breath. She was tempted to say, You know I work for her, right? But she managed to keep her lips sealed. “I, uh… Do many other people feel the same way?”

“There are thousands of us,” Enna assured. “Have you heard of the New Fatrasta movement?”

“I’m sure I have,” Vlora said, though she definitely hadn’t.

“Well, let me tell you, the New Fatrasta movement aims to put Lindet out of power, and to disband her group of legalized thugs.” She leaned so close her head was practically on Vlora’s shoulder. “Did you see the pamphlet that came out last week? Sins of Empire ? Well, I have it on good authority that it was a high-ranking member of the New Fatrasta movement. There’s whispers it was even the Red Hand. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

Vlora had dealt with agents of the Red Hand out on the frontier. “Exciting” was one word for it, but not one she would have chosen. He was one of the more effective Palo revolutionaries operating out of the wilds, and rumor had it his small guerrilla army drove Lindet to distraction. “This New Fatrasta, is it an organized thing?” she asked.

“Oh, no. We’re not organized.”

Doubtlessly.

“I’m sure you have a copy, but here, take this,” Enna said. She paused to search her handbag until she found the pamphlet, thrusting it in Vlora’s hands. It wasn’t large, maybe ten or twelve pages, and when she turned it over the title Sins of Empire was printed on the front. “If you have not read it, you must immediately. It is an exposé on everything Lindet has done to this poor, helpless country. It tells us how her greedy, landgrabbing ways have destroyed the Palo people and raped Fatrasta’s heritage. It speaks of the revolutions in Fatrasta and Adro and the changes that came from the Kez Civil War as a starting point to a whole new world that is led by the common people, for the common people.”

Vlora opened her mouth several times through the tirade, but couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She’d heard of this pamphlet – copies were given out all over Landfall the last couple of days, despite the Blackhats’ efforts to censure them. It was a fascinating read with a few radical, naive ideas but a central premise that she basically agreed with. But as a necessity she kept her politics quiet, and out of her business. Politics had been the forte of Field Marshal Tamas, her mentor, a skill that had not rubbed off on her. Besides, mercenary generals didn’t always get to choose who they worked for when their men had to be paid.

Which meant that, as a point, she refused to get pulled into political discussions. Especially with inebriated, well-meaning acolytes. “It sounds… interesting,” she said, handing the pamphlet back.

“Keep it,” Enna declared. “It will open your mind in ways you Will. Not. Believe. Say the word and I can get you more literature. As I said there are thousands of us, and though Lindet thinks she has the upper hand, the writers in this beleaguered city continue to work, churning out new manifestos every day that make me wonder why the world has not risen up to throw off their shackles.”

Definitely drunk, Vlora decided. No one in their right mind shared this much politics in a city where such a thing could get you hanged, or worse. “You know,” Vlora said, “it has been done.”

Enna’s eyes grew somehow larger. “It has?”

“Yes. That revolution in Adro. I was in it. We killed several hundred noble families and the king, sparking a war that ended over a million lives.” And wound up with more than one dead god .

“That’s right! It must have been glorious,” Enna breathed.

“The Adran Coup was the most well-organized revolution in history, and even that turned into a shit show,” Vlora said bluntly, immediately frustrated that she’d allowed her anger to seep through. Her involvement in the Adran Coup and the Kez Civil War had, she’d found, made her a bit of a celebrity among radical leftists. Which made her more than a little uncomfortable. “You don’t want to live through a revolution,” she added. “If you do survive to the end, half the people you’ve ever loved will be dead.”

“Well,” Enna said, her demeanor turning prickly, “you must break your omelet to use your eggs.”

Vlora squinted at her. “What?”

“I think,” a man said, slipping up beside Enna, “that she means you must break some eggs to make an omelet.”

“Yes!” Enna exclaimed. “That’s it!”

“Lady Enna, I think you should sit down,” the stranger said. “Here, give me your arm, and come over here and speak with Vallencian. He has so missed your company.” The man took Enna by the hand, leading her away, and returned a moment later with a rueful smile. He was tall, around Vallencian’s height, but with the lean body of a duelist. He wore an expensive black suit, silver-headed cane under his arm, and had blue eyes that seemed to smile about something only he knew. He had no trace of an accent, suggesting he had grown up in Adro. He offered his hand. “Gregious Tampo,” he said. “Esquire. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Flint.”

Vlora immediately felt something off about the man. A sixth sense made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, and she half-expected his hands to be clammy and cold. She shook his hand. “You look familiar.”

“We’ve never met,” Tampo assured. “Though I’m told I have a soldier’s face.”

“You’re a lawyer?” She studied his face. She’d seen it before, she was certain, and her first instinct was to try to remember any wanted posters she’d seen in local police stations. She opened her third eye, looking for any sign of sorcery about the man, but found nothing.

“I was a soldier, actually. Served in the dragoons during the Fatrastan Revolution. Lawyer now, though, that’s true.”

Vlora tried to ignore her initial misgivings. He seemed polite enough. And a fellow soldier, too. “Vallencian told me all the Kressians down here have business in the Depths. I assume yours is law?”

“I dabble in some politics. Try to protect the local Palo from time to time. But mostly I own a small newspaper that’s printed in Palo. The only one in Landfall, in fact.” He handed her a card. It said “The Palo Herald” on the front. There was no name or address printed on the back. “It’s nothing too active. Just something to give the Palo people to help them keep up on news that matters to them.”