Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“I do.” Vlora didn’t like the sound of that.

“Then, out of respect for that, I will not lie. I don’t expect to find your men alive. Nine soldiers disappearing in the Depths suggests they did not simply get lost.”

“I’m not a fool,” Vlora responded, hoping it didn’t come off too forcefully. “I’m aware they may already be long dead. But if there is a slight chance they’re still alive, or of recovering their bodies, I’d like to do it as quickly as possible.”

“Understood.”

Meln-Dun studied Vlora’s face, and not for the first time she found herself questioning his motives. She was so used to operating in the larger sphere of influence – with governors, generals, Privileged, and even kings – that she had to adjust her thinking to really understand the machinations of a local slumlord. Perhaps he was trying to improve his standing in the Depths, or perhaps he simply wanted to help usher in an era of reconstruction. She wondered if it was of any real importance. Once she found Mama Palo, her job here would be done and she could forget about the petty local politics.

Even as the thoughts went through her head, she mentally mocked her own arrogance. Did she really care so little for the people of Landfall? Would she be able to abandon these plans for new tenements and march off on the next mission? Her work here could inspire a new generation – perhaps a young politician or future general. It would be shortsighted of her to simply walk away from it.

What had Tamas always said? The minutiae of the common man is the grease that slicks the gears of civilization.

She wasn’t a good enough thespian to act the part of a concerned foreign national. She had to care, and she did . Perhaps that’s what Meln-Dun had sensed upon their first meeting. She pulled herself back to the present and smiled at Meln-Dun.

He smiled back and said, “Your concern for your men does you credit. The Blackhats simply write off their missing with barely more than a wave – their primary concern is getting back the Roses they wear around their necks.”

“Does this happen often?” Vlora shifted sideways in her chair. “The disappearing?”

Meln-Dun hesitated. “Since Mama Palo came to power, it’s become increasingly common. People go missing in the Depths, sometimes civilians, but mostly Blackhats. It’s become a fact of life, and makes it very difficult for men like me to do business.”

Vlora was surprised at the honesty of the answer. She’d assumed that the Palo were united in their hate of the current government, but Meln-Dun sounded almost regretful. There was something here. Something she could use. “Don’t you hate the Blackhats?”

“Ah-hah, Lady Flint, you will not catch me so easily,” Meln-Dun said, half-seriously. “I would never speak ill of the Lady Chancellor or her chosen servants.”

Spoken like a true politician. A nonanswer was often more an answer than a definitive one. Meln-Dun didn’t trust the Blackhats, but then Vlora hadn’t expected him to. “And Mama Palo’s policies? You don’t agree with them?”

“I wouldn’t say that, either,” Meln-Dun said carefully. “I’ve just noted that the disappearances and the violence have increased since Mama Palo came into power. She supports violent revolutionaries like the Red Hand and offers succor to his agents. It’s bad for business.”

Vlora was beginning to see a picture of a man caught between two powers – the Blackhats who ran Landfall, and Mama Palo’s goons who ran the Depths. She had wondered if his motives had extended beyond money and perhaps here they were – giving the people of the Depths a third choice for their loyalty. It took a brash, ballsy character to play both sides of the game like this. She needed to probe further.

Vlora said, “Forgive me if this comes across as rude, but do you consider yourself a businessman above a Palo?”

Meln-Dun raised his chin. “I am both, Lady Flint, and proud of it.”

“Of course.”

“That’s like asking you if you consider yourself an Adran or a general first. It’s a ridiculous notion.”

Vlora noted the tightening of his eyes when he spoke, and the way he hunched his shoulders inwardly, like a cat wondering if it had been backed into a corner. He was playing both sides. She’d bet her sword on it. Vlora made a calming gesture. “My apologies. You’re right, it is ridiculous.”

Slowly, his shoulders relaxed and he leaned back in his chair. “I hope,” he said, “that this partnership between us – building these new tenements in Greenfire Depths – will be the first step in something larger. I would like, in my own small way, to decrease the tensions between Palo and Fatrastans.”

“Constructing new buildings would do that?” Vlora asked. She watched Meln-Dun’s eyes, looking for any additional hint as to what he was thinking. This new realization – that he was making his own bid for power – could be very useful. But she would have to be careful.

“I believe it is a start.”

“What’s the end?”

“The end is obvious. Palo and Fatrastans working together to create a better world.”

“That sounds like a laudable goal. What other steps do you foresee along the way?”

Meln-Dun leaned forward, as if surprised that Vlora was even interested. “Extending Lindet’s modernization to the Depths, to start. More business between the Depths and the rest of Landfall. Perhaps over time, convincing Lindet to allow Palo to settle in some of the nicer areas of the city. The more Fatrastans are exposed to us, and us to them, the less we will have to fear each other.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as an idealist,” Vlora said.

“I am not,” Meln-Dun retorted. “I am pragmatic, and I pretend to be nothing more. Good relations create better business opportunities.”

Vlora had to laugh at that. “You remind me of a friend of mine,” she said. “Ricard Tumblar.”

“I know that name,” Meln-Dun said. “A prominent Adran, correct?”

“Very prominent. He’s a businessman, and was the very first First Minister of Adro, elected by the people.”

“Ah, yes,” Meln-Dun said. “After your field marshal sent your king to the guillotine.”

Meln-Dun butchered the pronunciation of “guillotine” and Vlora might have laughed had her memories not instantly gone back to the coup, and the Adran-Kez War that followed it. Those years, more than any others, had influenced who she was today. She had some fondness for them, but far more regret. So many unnecessary deaths, so many betrayals big and small. “That’s right,” she said. “And a whole different discussion. I’m glad that you’re able to put your pragmatism to good use. So often pragmatics are tinged with cynicism.”

“I think,” Meln-Dun answered, “that is how I would describe Mama Palo. Cynical. An idealistic cynic, and…” He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if Mama Palo were right behind him.

Vlora gestured to the empty office. “Feel free to speak your mind. If you know anything about me, it’s that I’m not a gossip.”

“I really shouldn’t,” Meln-Dun said warily.

You really should. Vlora could feel her heart beating faster. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want, but know you’re among friends.” There were several moments of silence before Vlora changed tactics. She quietly said, “Do you suspect that Mama Palo is behind the disappearance of my men?”

“I did not say that.”

“You implied it.” She leaned forward. “This is something I need to know, Meln-Dun. I do not like petty politics. If Mama Palo is behind the disappearance of my men, I need to know why. Was she behind the attempt on my life the other night? Was I invited to the gala only to be a target? Are you one of her agents? Is all of this” – she gestured at Meln-Dun – “just a way of getting me to lower my guard?”