Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

Michel watched for a few minutes, noting the way Flint’s eyes roamed the surrounding streets in a constant, watchful vigil, and the way her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. He wouldn’t say she was on edge, necessarily – her body language was fairly relaxed – but she was keeping an eye out.

Michel cleared his throat.

“Yes, Agent Bravis?” Flint asked without looking. “I was wondering how long you were going to stand there.”

“Just taking in the scene, ma’am,” Michel said jovially. “Looks like you’re making great progress on these tenements.”

“We are, thank you. We should begin construction of the replacement building within a day or so, and my engineers expect to have one finished by the end of the month.”

“That’s, ah, impressive.” Michel had no idea how long it took to build a tenement, but that sounded awfully fast.

“It’s a wonder what you can do with five thousand sets of hands and a few dozen competent engineers,” Flint said. “My men build a palisade every night when we’re on the march in enemy territory. Gives them a lot of experience with this kind of thing, and keeps them in shape.”

Michel vaguely remembered reading something about the ancient Deliv legions doing the same. “Very good, ma’am. Has everything been going well on your” – Michel paused, glancing around to be sure they wouldn’t be overheard – “other task?”

“Not as quickly as I’d like,” Flint said. “But I believe I’ve made progress.”

Flint had yet to actually look his direction, and Michel had the feeling she’d rather not give him the report he definitely needed to make to Fidelis Jes. Pit. He didn’t have the time or energy for this. Perhaps it was best to just be direct. “I heard there was an attack.”

“There was.”

“What happened?”

Flint finally glanced in his direction. The look she gave him was somewhere between bemused and annoyed. “I thought you Blackhats knew everything that happened in the city.”

“We have our… limitations. To be honest, all anyone at the Millinery knows is that a group of Palo attacked you. We don’t know who, or why, or where the information even came from. It seems everyone’s talking about it but no one has any better details. I was hoping I could get your side of the story and offer any assistance you might need in tracking down your attackers.”

“The attackers are dead,” Flint said bluntly.

“Ah.” And not a damn scratch on her. Did she defend herself, or had she bodyguards?

“They ambushed me outside a gala I was attending at the Yellow Hall. I have not yet figured out who ordered the attack, or why, but I’m working on it. Does that satisfy, Agent Bravis?”

Michel grimaced. Flint was definitely annoyed – rightfully so. She was a general, after all, and it had taken her government contact two days just to check in on her after an attempt on her life. He decided to move past that as quickly as possible. “I haven’t heard anyone mention the Yellow Hall for a long time. I understand that’s the center of Mama Palo’s power. And you were just invited in?”

“Vallencian got me an invitation.”

Michel couldn’t help but smile. In a city full of despicable, scheming, thieving people, the Ice Baron was one of the few he found truly pleasant. “I’ll make a note of that, thank you. Were you able to meet with Mama Palo?”

“No. Seems no outsiders do. But the pretense of building these new tenements has given me an in among the upper crust of Palo society. I’ve talked with someone named Meln-Dun about beginning work like this” – she gestured to the construction site – “in the Depths itself. A community outreach program directly toward the Palo, if you will. I sent you information on the project just after the assassination attempt. Didn’t you get my report?”

Michel considered the stack of unread folders on his desk at the Millinery. “My apologies, Lady Flint, but I’m handling a hundred cases right now. Refresh my memory.” He had to pay better attention. Maybe he could assign Agent Warsim to Flint indefinitely – though a Bronze Rose didn’t befit a general.

Flint made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat and Michel decided to ignore it. “You’re using this construction project as a way to get closer to Mama Palo?” he asked. He found the prospect fascinating. The Blackhats had a heavy-handed approach to just about every facet of their involvement with Fatrastan society. He doubted it had ever even occurred to any of the Gold Roses that reaching out to the Palo – instead of beating them down – might actually gain them the cooperation they so bitterly sought.

“That’s the idea,” Flint answered. “I think it’ll work, but I need your approval. And any information you have about Meln-Dun. Vallencian seems to trust him, but Vallencian seems to trust everyone.”

Michel tried to remember what he could. “Meln-Dun is part owner of one of the few remaining quarries down there. I believe he’s been cooperative with us in the past. One of the ‘good ones,’ I think my colleagues in the Millinery would call him.”

“So I can trust him?”

“It’s Blackhat policy not to trust any Palo.”

“Your tone,” Flint observed, “tells me you don’t agree with that policy.”

Michel cursed himself for being careless. He really did need some damned sleep. It was a small slipup, but if he accidentally criticized the Blackhats to anyone who actually cared, he might find himself on the wrong end of a long discussion with one of the less friendly occupants of the Millinery. “I should rather say, Meln-Dun can be trusted as far as any Palo. In my opinion, Palo are people the same as any other, so…” He let the implication hang in the air.

“Double-speak for ‘it’s up to you,’ eh?” Flint asked.

Michel gave her what he hoped was a charming smile. Maybe he should just go home. A few hours in his own bed would do wonders more than the same time spent snoring into a file on his desk. “Meln-Dun is a respectable businessman,” he said. “You should feel safe working with him. But he’s also highly placed in Palo society, and we have no idea how close he is to Mama Palo.”

“Too close,” Flint said, nodding, “and I risk him getting wind of our plot on Mama Palo. Too far, and he’s no good at all to me.”

“Exactly.” Michel couldn’t help but wish there were more people like Flint in Landfall. Pit, in the Blackhats themselves. People who understood nuance, and were willing to take an unorthodox tactic to root out their enemies, were sorely lacking on the plateau. And the ones who did have that ability, like Captain Blasdell, were relegated to desk work. If he earned his Gold Rose, maybe he could change that.

If.

“I’ll get you access to Greenfire Depths,” Michel said, “and the supplies and money you’ll need to begin a construction project down there. But you may have to convince Fidelis Jes you’re making progress toward your real goal.”

Flint waved the thought off, as if it were no real concern. “If Jes has any doubts he shouldn’t have hired me. If he wants to question my tactics he can come down here and do so to my face.”

Michel had to suppress a laugh. That’s why people like Flint never rose to the top here in Landfall. If you want to be a Gold Rose or one of Lady Chancellor’s inner circle, you had to be competent and subservient. Lots of smiling, nodding, and ass-kissing. He wondered if Lady Flint was capable of any of those.

His eyes fell to her sword, and he briefly wondered if she’d be able to out-duel Fidelis Jes. He was said to be the deadliest man in Landfall, but he made it a point never to fight anyone with sorcery. The fact that Lady Flint had walked away from a Palo ambush in the Depths told Michel a lot about her combat prowess. But she was a powder mage. Without her powder, was she any good?