Stan Nicholls - Quicksilver Zenith

The patrician smiled thinly. ‘I think it behoves the more privileged to set an example.’

‘By looking impoverished ourselves? You’re to take no offence from that yourself, of course.’

‘Of course, Ambassador. The example I had in mind was one of modest consumption.’ He saw their puzzled expressions. ‘Look about you.’

Bastorran sniffed. ‘I see men and women of substance. The example they hold out is the possibility of a better life for all.’

‘Prospering under the wing of the empire,’ Talgorian added, almost piously.

‘How many here have earned it?’ Karr wondered.

‘Ever the controversialist, eh, Karr? Public life will be the poorer for the lack of your witticisms.’

‘I don’t think the destitute are laughing too heartily.’

‘Your beloved downtrodden,’ the paladin leader came in irritably, ‘would be best employed improving their lot through honest hard work.’

‘Most would like nothing better. Assuming work existed, and they didn’t risk being arbitrarily rounded-up and brutalised every time they stepped onto the streets.’

‘If they’ve done no wrong they have nothing to fear.’

‘They’d say they’re treated as enemies of the state regardless. Not all of them are necessarily insurgents, you know.’

Bastorran fixed him with a hard stare. ‘You’d be surprised who is, Patrician.’

‘I’m sure your sentiments are commendable, Karr,’ Talgorian interjected, ‘and we can all applaud your humanitarian instincts. Let’s charge our glasses and toast your retirement.’ He made to beckon a waiter.

‘No,’ Karr replied. ‘Thank you, but … it’s been a long day and I have others to see before I can leave.’

‘You are looking a little out of sorts, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘It’s nothing. Overwork. You know, trying to clear everything before I retire.’

‘It wouldn’t do to jeopardise your health,’ Bastorran said, an unmistakably barbed edge to his words. ‘Retirement was a wise decision. Now you can lay down your burden and let others worry about the welfare of the people.’

‘Indeed.’ He gave each a small nod in turn. ‘High Chief. Ambassador Talgorian.’ Then he left.

As they watched him moving through the crowd, Talgorian breathed, ‘Scandalous.’

‘Wouldn’t so much as take a drink with us. As for his views … Free expression’s all very well, but –’

‘He looked ill, don’t you think?’

‘I’m a great believer in the inner man determining the outer. Nine times out of ten it’s a guilty conscience that brings about the appearance of poor health.’

‘At least he’s abandoned what little power his position gave him.’

‘Doesn’t mean he’ll stop fighting for lost causes. The man’s a born meddler.’

‘You’ll be keeping an eye on him, then?’

‘Oh, we will. Ambassador, we will. As no doubt you will yourself.’

Talgorian leaned closer. ‘You are aware that there have been attempts on his life?’

‘More than a few, I understand. And with all the hallmarks of being officially sanctioned.’

‘Not by my people. Or any of the other departments of state that I’m aware of.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I suspect they were the work of the CIS.’

‘There’d be no mishaps if the paladins were given the job.’

‘No doubt. My point is that the CIS aren’t supposed to operate beyond Gath Tampoor’s shores. Legally, that is. But I’ve been hearing rumours that their methods might be exported to the protectorates.’

‘What’s your meaning?’

‘Should Karr be the victim of assassination, my superiors, your employers, could hardly kick up a fuss when one of their agencies has been trying the same thing.’

‘Interesting. I’ll bear it in mind.’ He surveyed the bizarre throng. ‘We’re neglecting our duties. Better get back to it.’ The touch of a finger against his medallion re-formed his mask. An elongated snout appeared, the eyes grew slitty, yellow-green scales formed.

‘Excellent guise,’ Talgorian commented.

‘It is rather fine, isn’t it?’ Bastorran admired himself in a nearby wall mirror.

The Ambassador reactivated his own mask. Grey fur erupted, the nose blossomed, whiskers sprouted.

Bastorran glanced at his companion. ‘I meant to ask.’

‘Hmmm?’

‘Why a rat?’

‘Irony.’

Recently imposed public order laws tended to operate as a two-tier system. Gath Tampoorians resident in the Bhealfan colony simply ignored them. A similar laxity was allowed citizens of Bhealfa who enjoyed power and influence.

The same licence applied to enforcing the curfew. Those of wealth and rank were free to dally.

The weak and insolvent had law-keepers on their tails.

As the hour of prohibition drew near, the streets swelled with people trudging homewards. In a manufacturing quarter of the city, the human surge broke against the prow of a building that stood at the confluence of two main roads. Outwardly, it was an administrative block, a hive for bean counters, and anyone entering would have found this to be the case. Now its clerks and scribes had joined the exodus, and it was deserted.

Its several floors were in darkness, and one, cunningly fashioned from loft space, was hidden. Gaining entry to it from within was complicated, not to say potentially lethal, given its glamoured defences.

A small group was gathered there.

‘Where the hell is Disgleirio?’ Caldason grumbled.

‘Probably held up by the crowds,’ Karr told him. ‘He’ll get here no quicker for your pacing. Join us.’

Sighing, the Qalochian took a seat opposite Karr at the large wooden table. At one end sat Kutch, looking uncomfortable and fiddling with a pair of his makeshift eye covers. Serrah was present too, but isolated from the rest, her chair set well back. The expression she wore was unreadable.

‘While we wait,’ Karr said, ‘I’ve got something you might find interesting.’

He pushed a finger into his right ear. For a second he twisted and dug with it. Then he brought out a tiny object, held between thumb and forefinger. It resembled a pearl, and had a similar milky white sheen. He flung it at the nearest wall.

The little globe didn’t bounce or shatter. It stuck as though resinous, and immediately began to flatten and spread. When it matched the size of a large serving platter it stopped expanding. At that point it opened, like the petals of a flower. Having doubled its diameter it opened again and again; more and more petals rapidly unfolding until the wall became a shimmering, pearly white screen.

‘A much more detailed schematic,’ Karr explained. ‘Better than anything we’ve had before.’

Lines and contours, dips and bumps came into focus. A three-dimensional representation of an island formed. It was roughly kidney shaped, only a kidney that had been gnawed at one end by a hungry dog. Its outline showed cliffs, sandy beaches, inlets and bays. Offshore, in the rippling ocean, reefs and rocky outcrops appeared.

The island had two harbours, on its western and southern sides. There were green pastures, hills and woods. A river snaked from the east, branched and rejoined the sea on the north-eastern shore. Tracks criss-crossed, and more substantial roads sneaked from the ports. A scattering of buildings was visible here and there, and near the island’s centre was what could have been a town.

‘The hope of the world,’ Karr announced. ‘Batariss.’

Serrah stirred from her introspection. ‘What?’

‘It’s the proper name for the place. Though not many seem aware of it.’

‘I remember when that’s all it was known as,’ Caldason said.