Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

But was it perfect?

Almost a half an hour passed before Fidelis Jes thoughtfully set the diary on the corner of his desk, then crossed the room to a small chest sitting above the fireplace. He palmed something, then turned toward Michel. “I’m not pleased by the conclusion of this problem, Agent Bravis,” he said coldly.

Michel licked his lips.

“However,” Jes said, “I am pleased that it’s over. We have far more pressing items of concern going on right now. I consider your wrapping up of the Sins of Empire affair to have involved quite a lot of luck and blunder. But there is a place in the Blackhats even for that, so I will not demote you.”

Michel suppressed a disappointed sigh. Not being stripped of his rank, he tried to tell himself, might have been the best possible outcome here. But it wasn’t what he needed. It wasn’t what Taniel had killed off Gregious Tampo for. He cleared his throat and mentally tossed the dice for a risky gamble.

“Sir,” he said firmly, “I think I earned more than that. Without proper investigative training I tracked down Tampo and I ended the danger he presented toward the Lady Chancellor. I believe I’ve earned my Gold Rose.”

Fidelis Jes crossed the room so quickly Michel threw himself backward, reeling. The grand master caught him by the front of his shirt, yanking him close, their noses almost touching. “You think you’ve earned the Gold Rose, do you?” Jes hissed.

Michel’s throat felt like a desert. “Yes,” he croaked.

“Luck and blunder aren’t enough,” Jes said. “But loyalty? Loyalty, Agent Bravis, is a coin worth more than silver.” He grasped Michel’s shoulder, pressing something hard against Michel’s skin, before releasing him and returning to his desk. Michel managed to catch the amulet before it fell, opening his fingers to reveal a Gold Rose. He let out a long, shaky sigh.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I am short-staffed right now,” Jes said. “But all my Gold Roses have a single objective. Benjamin Styke was captured last night and immediately escaped from Sweetwallow Labor Camp. The camp has been destroyed, and Styke is at large. You’re to bring him in.”

“What about Lady Flint?” Michel asked.

“What about her?”

“I’m her liaison.”

“Not anymore. She’s finished her current contract. If we give her a new one, I’ll assign another Silver Rose. You’ve got work to do. Now get out of my sight.”

Michel closed the door to Jes’s office, leaving Michel in the antechamber with the secretary, Dellina. Dellina gave him a warm smile, as if he hadn’t just about had his heart handed to him by the head of the secret police. “Congratulations,” she said.

“Thanks,” Michel replied in a daze.

“Go get a celebratory drink,” she suggested. “It’ll take the edge off.”

“Good idea. First, I’m going to go change my pants.”

Vlora sat alone and watched the sun rise over the half-built foundations of the tenement that, until just last night, her men had been preparing to erect on the rim of Greenfire Depths. A sleepless night contributed to her sense of deep melancholy, and she wondered if anyone would come along and finish these tenements after she was gone.

It was an encouraging thought. Perhaps Meln-Dun would see them finished, or another Palo businessman. Maybe even the Blackhats. After all, they’d already allocated the funds. But she didn’t know if it would happen, and she tried to tell herself she didn’t care.

Feeling empathy for the Palo people was not new to her. She had tried to break their spirit on the frontier, but she had instructed her men to show mercy and compassion, and attempted to leave the survivors with the tools to better themselves. Her role out there had not been as a governor, but as a suppressor, and she wondered now if she would have found something more fulfilling out of the former.

Despite that preexisting empathy, something about Greenfire Depths made her feel more conflicted over the arrest of Mama Palo than she had over putting down any number of insurrections out in the swamps. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Perhaps Vlora respected Mama Palo for her defiance. Perhaps she felt remorse over arresting an old woman.

She pushed the musings aside and picked herself off the street, walking through the tenement foundation and then over two blocks to look out on Greenfire Depths. She had more pressing things to worry about than rebuilding a city slum that held no real significance to her or any of her men. Far more important was how the Palo would react once they found out their leader had been taken by the Blackhats and sent to hang.

Vlora had tried to come up with a way to keep her name out of the story – she even considered making a personal request to Fidelis Jes – but she did not need to owe Jes a favor. Besides, they’d left too many witnesses and too much evidence behind. Everyone knew that the Riflejacks had the only powder mage in town, and all she could hope now was that no one figured out that she had three other mages with her as well. That was a trump card she preferred to hold on to.

No, the Palo would know exactly who had captured Mama Palo. Even if there weren’t outright riots, the attacks against her men would escalate beginning as soon as today, and she had to consider their safety. Meln-Dun might be able to restore order. Or he might fail. Or he might use the Riflejacks as a point of unification to bring Mama Palo’s former men under his control and turn all of Greenfire Depths against her. After last night, it wouldn’t surprise her one bit.

Vlora wondered if it was time to get out of this place. Perhaps even to return to Adro and mend some old wounds.

She walked back to the tenement only to find Olem waiting for her, accompanied by a familiar face: Fidelis Jes. Vlora offered the grand master her hand, which he shook perfunctorily. Jes did not look entirely well; in fact, a second look told her he was still wearing the same shirt as yesterday, his hair mussed, his eyes bloodshot.

“He said it was an emergency,” Olem said in a low voice, coming to her side.

“I see. I didn’t know you left the Millinery, grand master,” Vlora said.

“I do my best not to,” Jes replied. “Hold the pleasantries, this isn’t an honor, Lady Flint. I’m simply here to let you know that the Lady Chancellor is very pleased that you brought in Mama Palo so quickly. I myself am suitably impressed. I didn’t think you could do it.”

Vlora allowed herself to be pleasantly surprised. “Well, then. Thank you. I think.”

If Jes had meant the compliment to be backhanded, he didn’t show it. He turned away from her and Olem, studying the tenement foundation, clearly distracted.

“What will happen to Mama Palo?” Vlora asked.

“Oh,” Jes said with a dismissive wave, “she’s already been tried at a closed court this morning. I oversaw it myself. She’ll be hanged in the public square outside the capitol building at noon tomorrow.”

“I expected you to draw it out.”

“I would have liked to. Mama Palo could have made an excellent example. But publicly torturing an old woman wouldn’t have gained us much, and we’re not entirely monsters, despite what you may think.”

Could have fooled me.

Jes continued: “Noon tomorrow is enough time for the rabble to gather. Not enough time for them to organize.”

Vlora watched him fidget with his sword for a moment and noticed that he was wearing Ben Styke’s knife on his belt. Fidelis Jes had struck her from the beginning as a man who kept trophies. He had not, however, struck her as a man who fidgeted.