Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

Vallencian’s solemn face, and perhaps a little leftover alcohol in her system, made Vlora giggle. She covered her mouth, mortified that such an un-general-like sound would come from her. Vallencian scowled. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, it’s just… I’ve had so many people try to kill me. Vallencian, your apology is completely unneeded. I don’t blame you in any way for what happened.”

“I don’t care! I blame myself.” He looked away, brushed tears off his cheeks with his bearskin. “You could have been hurt, and I did lose another friend last night.”

Vlora sobered up. “Devin-Tallis. His family…”

“They will want for nothing!” Vallencian declared. “His widow will be a countess! His children will attend the finest schools! I am not…” He choked on his words.

Vlora’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. She’d never seen someone with so much passion before. For the first time she noticed a few of her soldiers standing just outside the door and shooed them away, wondering if they’d gotten an eyeful before she’d dressed. Oh well. No helping that now. Vlora stuck her head out the door. “Olem! Olem! Someone get the colonel, would you?”

“I’m right here.” Olem rounded the corner at a jog, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Are you all right?”

Vlora jerked her head at Vallencian, who stood with his face toward the corner of the staff room, weeping openly. “Better than him,” she muttered.

“Ah,” Olem whispered back. “That’s quite something. What’s going on?”

“He claims he feels responsible for the attack on me last night, and the death of my guide. Pit, I can’t…” She was cut off by an enormous crash. The sound made her jump, and she checked the window to find a cloud of dust riding over the walls of the fort. “What’s going on?”

“The boys are taking down the first tenement,” Olem answered.

“That was this morning? Pit, you need to remind me not to drink so much.”

Olem cocked an eyebrow at her. “And I need to remind you what happens when I remind you of things.”

“I only punched you in the face that one time.”

“Twice, actually.”

“I said I was sorry.” Vlora looked over her shoulder at Vallencian, who seemed to be getting himself under control. “Can you…?” she said to Olem.

Olem pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. “Vallencian,” he said, “you wouldn’t happen to have any more of those cigarettes?” The Ice Baron blew his nose loudly, and within moments the two of them were smoking up a storm in the corner of the staff room. Vlora stepped outside to get some fresh air, choked on the drifting dust from the demolition project the next block over, and went back inside.

By the time they finished their cigarettes, Vallencian seemed like his old self. He thumped Olem on the back and gave Vlora a sheepish look. “I am very sorry,” he said. “I am known to get overly… protective of my friends.”

“No need for the apology,” Vlora said, realizing the irony that she had been the one attacked last night and he was the one in tears. “Vallencian, I do need something, though. Those assassins weren’t there on their own volition, I’d stake my reputation on it. We need to know who had them waiting for me, and why, but the Riflejacks don’t have the contacts in the city, and especially not in Greenfire Depths.”

Vallencian discarded his spent cigarette and immediately produced his pipe, puffing it to life in moments. “I’m not sure I’ll be much help in the Depths. But I can try. I’ll give you all of my resources to discover who did this thing.”

“Just a little help is all we ask.”

“Nonsense! I may not have guile, but I have money and I know how to make it work for me. I’ll find out who tried to have you killed, Lady Flint, I swear it. It’s the least I could do for this mess that I’ve made of your room and for seeing you, um…” He cleared his throat.

“Let’s forget that happened,” Vlora suggested. She leaned over to Olem and whispered, “You need to remind me to get dressed after we…”

Olem chuckled. “Not a chance,” he said under his breath.

“I will put pressure on my business partners to find answers for me,” Vallencian said. “No answers, no ice. The Palo love their iced coffee.”

“You don’t have to put your business at risk,” Vlora assured him. “One other thing, though. Can you tell me anything about Meln-Dun? I spent quite a lot of time with him last night, and he seems eager to help me make friends in the Depths. Does he have a good reputation?”

Vallencian considered the question for a moment. “He does, more or less. He owns one of the few remaining operating quarries in the city, and several hundred homes in Greenfire Depths.”

“He’s a landlord?”

“He is. Always buying up what he can from any Palo who go into debt. He’s fair, though. Always gives them a chance to get back on their feet.”

“I’m surprised that anyone owns anything down there,” Olem said.

Vallencian shook his pipe at Olem. “Property is taken very seriously in the Depths! Most of the Palo own their apartments. It’s a point of pride. I’ve tried to tell you, leave your expectations behind when it comes to the Palo! Meln-Dun, though…” He gave a shrug. “He’s ambitious, but most seem to like him.”

A landlord, with obvious plans to expand his holdings. That would explain why he wanted Vlora’s help rebuilding a chunk of the Depths. Brand-new tenements would end up being prime real estate, and he’d no doubt put them in his pocket by the time construction was done. Vlora wondered how Meln-Dun’s business came into play with Mama Palo’s maneuvering against Lindet. Perhaps it didn’t. Either way, it was something Vlora could use to infiltrate the Depths.

“About his partner,” Vlora said.

“Lady Enna?”

“Yes, her. You may want to pass on a friendly warning. I’m not terribly interested in the politics of the city, but it’s dangerous to be so loudly liberal in a place like Landfall.”

Vallencian grimaced. “I know. I’ve tried, believe me. Lady Enna is a sharp woman, but a little bit of wine in her brings out a bleeding heart. Meln-Dun does his best to make sure she doesn’t go to parties that aren’t predominantly attended by people who either agree with her or are ambivalent. My apologies for leaving you with her – though you did seem to get along fine.”

“Yes,” Vlora said, drawing out the word. The events of last night were coming back to her with more clarity as she gathered her wits. “One last question. Do you know someone named Gregious Tampo? He’s a lawyer.”

Vallencian’s face brightened. “I do! Gregious runs a small mill out beyond the fens. Lovely man, very friendly.”

“A mill?” Vlora searched her pockets and came up with Tampo’s card, handing it to Vallencian. “He said he owned a printing press.”

“First I’ve heard of it,” Vallencian said. “He’s only been around Landfall for a few months but he seems to be in Mama Palo’s good graces. I understand he’s going to set up a law firm in the city once he’s raised the funds. I do hope he finds success.”

Vlora decided not to tell Vallencian about her interactions with Tampo. She didn’t need another passionate speech, or for him to rush off half-cocked. Getting him to focus on finding whoever hired those assassins was the most important thing. She paused that thought, suddenly recalling a warning Tampo had given her before leaving. Beware the Depths, he’d said. It had sounded vaguely sinister at the time, and she wondered whether he had anything to do with the attempt on her life.

Vlora jumped at a sudden boom, and then the following, prolonged crash. She reached for a sword that was not at her hip.