The Madness of Kings

by Gene Doucette

  “Not sure, to be honest. He was a little all over the place. Either drop the case against him or tip him off on Ba-Ugna Kev’s location. Maybe both.”

  “Bribe?”

  “We didn’t get that far,” Quibb said. “I just got the threatening portion of the negotiation.”

  “Your diplomatic skills are being wasted by your office, Pill,” the older man said. “Public sector will grind the Murskite right out of a man.”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I’d love to know what you’re getting at.”

  “Get him to talk specifics and give you numbers and then you know what it means to him. Half the battle is understanding what the guy on the other side of the handshake cares about. I know your father taught you that.”

  “And my mother as well. But even asking what Linus has to offer would be inappropriate.”

  “Like I said, the public sector grinds you down.”

  “This surely isn’t why you’re here, Colah,” Pillick said.

  “It’s not the only reason I’m here. How’s the chicken?”

  “It’s a little dry today. I’m thinking I should have gone with the meat pie.”

  “Good, good. Oh, have you heard the news from the kingdoms? They’ve lost a king. Rumor has it he was murdered but of course they’re not saying.”

  This was three-week old news, and therefore also not why Mr. Wandire was at the table.

  “I did,” Pillick said. “And I understand Wivvol has lost track of one of their astronauts.”

  This was two-week old news.

  “Yes! I hear he already came down somewhere in the Norton and they’re hiding the information.”

  “If that were so, why bother announcing they’ve lost contact in the first place? My sources are saying they don’t know what he’s up to and are distancing themselves from the consequences of whatever action he takes.”

  “Or whoever he lands on top of,” Colah-Hix said with a laugh. “I’ve heard that too. No telling with the Wivvolians. I still wonder why they insist on those old chemical rockets.”

  “I wonder.”

  Pillick went back to the meal. He was lying about the chicken being dry; it was perfect, if a little cold by now.

  Colah-Hix sat still and waited. There was no small talk left to engage in, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

  A Mursk aphorism went that he who spoke first in a negotiation had more to lose. It wasn’t really accurate—aphorisms didn’t make for fantastic guiding principles when too broadly applied—but most Murskites hewed closely to it anyway. Consequently, it wasn’t unusual to see two Murskites sitting opposite one another at a negotiating table observing a patient silence for a terrifyingly long time.

  That wouldn’t happen here, because eventually Pillick would run out of food to eat and drink to drink, and then he’d have to go. Colah-Hix Wandire could either decide to speak before that happened or he could remain silent until the county attorney got up and left. (This very thing had happened many times with others.) It was up to him.

  “I represent the interests of a particular party,” the old man said, finally, when Pillick was on his last bite.

  “An estate?” he asked. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “A different matter.”

  “All right.”

  “He’s interested in surrendering,” Wandire said.

  “Your client wishes to surrender.”

  “Yes.”

  Pillick put down his fork.

  “Does he have a name?”

  “I think you’ve worked out who we’re talking about already, Pill, but yes: I’m speaking for Ba-Ugna Kev. Now, tell me you’re not planning to tip off Mr. Linus regarding Mr. Kev’s current whereabouts and we can continue.”

  “You know me better than that, Colah.”

  “I do indeed. I’d still like to hear it.”

  “I won’t tell Calcut Linus. You have my word.”

  “Thank you. Mr. Kev recognizes that he is currently under suspicion for a number of crimes, and would like to make himself available to you and the police, so as to clear up the matter.”

  “Mr. Kev has enough credits to fuck off all the way to the moon,” Pillick said. “Why would he willingly put himself into custody?”

  “He has a number of clients who are quite understandably put off by the odor wafting from that confession vid. It’s making things difficult. I believe he also has advisors who’ve pointed out that seizing his assets is not unheard of in cases such as these.”

  “I see.”

  “He’d like to sit down with whomever one sits down with in this sort of situation, explain himself so as to clear it up, and then he will be on his way.”

  “It’s that simple, is it?” Pillick asked.

  “It’s a misunderstanding. I won’t go into detail but I promise it’s nothing more than that.”

  “All right, well, what he’ll want to do is surrender to Twenty-One Central. Should be easy enough to find.”

  “No, no, no.” Colah-Hix leaned in. “He has conditions.”

  “Of course he does.”

  “They’re quite reasonable.”

  “Of course they are.”

  “He would like to surrender to Detective Makk Stidgeon personally. He further requests that the Veeser Elicasta Sangristy be present.”

  “She’s a private citizen,” Pillick said. “I can ask Stidgeon to do it, but Sangristy? I have no sway there.”

  Colah-Hix smiled. “She is, as I said, a Veeser, and Mr. Kev’s current location is at a private estate on Lys. He’s extending a Lys pass to a Veeser. Do you really think she’ll turn that down?”

  “She might. Depends on how dangerous it is. Can Detective Stidgeon bring backup, or do you mean for the man to walk in alone? I’m saying, he’s already been nearly killed by Mr. Kev and Mr. Kev’s daughter, and so has she.”

  The old man laughed. “This is a peaceful surrender, and even if it weren’t? We’ve all seen how well Makk Stidgeon handles himself. I can scarcely think of a safer place for Ms. Sangristy to be standing than beside him.”

  Pillick Quibb grunted. “I don’t know,” he said. “He’s stubborn.”

  “He’s a Cholem. They’re all stubborn.”

  “I’ll take it to his captain,” Pillick said, “and get back to you. Is there a deadline on this offer?”

  “Everything about Mr. Kev has a deadline on it. A ‘yes’ and I’ll send the formal invite. A ‘no’ and good luck even getting off the Tether to start a search. I’ll need an answer by tomorrow.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Makk was pretty sure he heard County Attorney Quibb incorrectly.

  “You want me to what?” he asked.

  “I want you to go to Lys and take Ba-Ugna Kev into custody,” the C.A. said. “I recommend using the Tether to get there; a ship isn’t in the budget.”

  “Alone. Not, with a small team of elite combat veterans in riot gear. Just me.”

  “No, you and Elicasta Sangristy.”

  “Sure. Because of all her training in the field.”

  They were sitting in Quibb’s office, which was two-thirds of the way up the federal government’s main office building across from the courthouse. The building was on Central Ave, a couple of blocks from Twenty-One Central, just past Twenty-Third Street. The window to the office faced the side of Makk’s building. He could see Captain Llotho’s corner office from where he was sitting.

  Makk liked to position himself on the city map, mentally, when dealing with conversations that sounded like maybe he was actually in the middle of a dream.

  “I know it’s not an ideal situation,” Quibb said. “But Kev is ready and willing to surrender; he just has conditions.”

  Makk laughed. “The last two people this guy tried to kill—that we know of—is me and Elicasta and he’s got enough credits to not give two shits about what he’s wanted for and where. He could execute the two of us on a livestream and live comfortably for the rest of his days in some hole som
ewhere. Or stay where he is now. You of all people know how hard it would be to arrest someone on Lys without an invite first.”

  Lys was technically part of the city of Velon; legally Makk’s badge held as much weight up there as it did on the street. But the entire station was also private property. He could only enter if invited; if he believed it was necessary to stop the commission of a crime as it was transpiring; or if he had a warrant.

  Getting a warrant was effectively impossible because to get one you had to find a judge who was willing to piss off a lot of powerful people first. Makk had yet to meet a judge with that combination of bravery and foolhardiness.

  This had to be why whoever was negotiating all of this on behalf of Kev felt comfortable enough to tell Quibb that his client was on Lys: Makk couldn’t do anything with that information. He’d need an invite from the Demara family just to start a door-to-door. (Archeo Demara founded Lys. He was long dead, but his family still owned the satellite’s foundation, its public spaces, and the Tether.) Provided Makk got that invitation, he’d need a hundred officers to conduct the search, and probably a couple of weeks. And since ships left the docks beneath the station on a daily basis—the Tether wasn’t the only way on and off Lys—there was no way to prevent Kev from simply leaving before the cops got to the right mansion.

  “International law is a little more complicated than that, detective,” Quibb said, regarding Kev’s capacity to live out his days in a remote someplace after live-Streaming Makk’s hypothetical murder. “I can name only a couple of countries without extradition treaties, and they aren’t places he’d be that interested in living. Being a fugitive is difficult regardless of how much coin you have. I’m sure his daughter is grappling with this fact right now.”

  Makk was pretty positive Viselle Daska was doing just fine.

  “Unak is one of those non-extradition countries,” Makk pointed out. “Which is where Kev was born.”

  “And from where he fled, the first chance he got. Look, he’s not going to murder you on Lys because if he did that, the station would end up being a crime scene.”

  “That’s not at all comforting to the murdered guy.”

  “He’s surrendering,” Quibb said, “because he recognizes how difficult the murder charges are going to make his life. I think he thinks he can beat them if he just shows up.”

  “Sure. Plus, you’ll probably just release him as soon as he gets here and dismiss the charges a week later. That’s how we do things around here, isn’t it?”

  “The Linus case is complicated, Stidgeon. You know it is; you handed it to me that way. And I haven’t dismissed the charges.”

  “Yet,” Makk said. “I caught the killer. It’s your job to put him away.”

  “It’s also my job to make sure this office doesn’t get embarrassed in court by a no-win case. I haven’t decided what I’m doing with Calcut Linus. Go get me some more evidence if you’re worried.”

  “You have plenty.”

  “I have an invisible man. The tech is going to get suppressed before it even reaches open court. You know how I know that? I’ve gotten letters from the attorneys of seven different very prominent citizens promising to introduce motions to do just that. One of them came from Duqo Plaint. He’s a big fan of yours.”

  “It’s mutual,” Makk said.

  “If I push this to trial, it’ll get bogged down for years. Meanwhile, Calcut will be just as free to go about his business as he would be if I didn’t bother to charge him at all. This is what I’m dealing with.”

  “Calcut still murdered his brother. I did my job.”

  “Sure, sure. That’s great. I’m sorry we don’t live in a world where that’s enough, but we don’t. Now do you want to spend the rest of the day pissing on my desk about the Linus case, or can we move on?”

  “Why does Kev want to surrender to me, specifically?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that. Maybe he’s a fan of that vid you and your girlfriend put up. I really don’t care. It’s a break; let’s take advantage of it.”

  Makk grunted. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll go up there and fetch him.”

  “Sangristy will have to be there too.”

  “Did you even try to counter? This is some shit negotiating.”

  “Tell her about the offer, detective,” Quibb said. “Let her decide for herself.”

  It had been a remarkably odd four weeks for Makk Stidgeon, starting with the arrest of Calcut Linus. Cuffing Linus and sending him downtown for booking was—all by itself—a pretty remarkable degree of weird, because one just didn’t do that kind of thing every day.

  When Captain Llotho brought Calcut downtown he was greeted by a phalanx of attorneys for Linus and Pillick Quibb for the county, all of whom agreed that Linus was a fine, upstanding citizen who of course could be released immediately with every expectation that when it came time for him to appear in court, he would. The bail—a judge had been among the parade of attorneys—was set at whatever Calcut had in his pocket at the time, and off he went. Thus, any high Makk might have gotten from the experience of charging someone that significant with murder lasted only until the end of the day.

  But then there was the key he found.

  Composed of a material Makk couldn’t positively identify, the key was long, thin, flat, and vaguely blueish. It was the thing the House considered more important than a man’s life. It was what Orno Linus spirited from deep in the House vaults. It was one-of-a-kind, the most significant thing imaginable, the thing that absolutely, positively nobody outside of the House’s innermost sanctum should even know existed, else the world might end. It was valuable beyond measure.

  It was profoundly disappointing. It didn’t glow, or gift the holder with the power of flight. It didn’t unlock anything Makk had direct access to—it didn’t look like it was designed to open a regular door—or channel the gods, or any of that. It was hard, warmer than metal, smoother than wood, and less fragile than glass. And it didn’t do anything.

  There were other details surrounding the key that elevated its importance far higher than the actual object appeared to earn. Viselle Daska evidently coordinated with Orno Linus to get it out of the House vaults only nobody knew why, and Makk had run out of people to ask. Orno wasn’t answering questions, and no one had been able to locate Viselle since she flew her aero-car out of Zonic National Forest. Like her father, she had access to enough credits to go anywhere in the world.

  Maybe she’s on Lys too, he thought.

  He had nobody else to ask, because the people who might know the answer were the same people Makk didn’t want knowing that he had the key.

  In all the craziness surrounding Orno’s death, one thing that was clear was that the House assumed the key followed a chain of custody from Orno to Viselle and from Viselle to somewhere else. They ruled Makk out as a possible owner of the artifact long ago. And if they knew he had the other thing Orno took from the vault—a pre-Collapse text that was also priceless—they didn’t care.

  It all meant Makk was standing at the edge of a huge mystery he hadn’t the first clue how to resolve. The fact that nobody else was even aware of the mystery—save for one person—didn’t make it any less vexing.

  That one person had gotten involved by accident. If Elicasta hadn’t been standing at the edge of the room right when Makk found the key, he never would have told her about it. But once she was in, she was all the way in: she now knew about the book, the key, and every aspect of the Linus investigation. All of it.

  She was also one of the most famous Veesers in the world. It was her job to report news, and he’d handed her the first part of what could end up being the biggest news story in who knew how long. Confiding in her was probably an incredibly bad idea.

  Sure, they were also sleeping together but that didn’t make it any less of a bad idea. In fact, it probably made it worse. As soon as he pissed her off enough to leave him—if history was any indication, this was an inevitable outcome—she’d hav
e plenty of excellent ways to exact revenge.

  She’s not like that, a voice in his head said whenever this internal debate came up.

  None of them were at first, was the rejoinder. As always, it was a devastating comeback.

  On top of all of that, there was the Calcut Linus problem. Having the man arrested probably put Makk’s life at risk immediately, but he made his peace with that before even committing to the decision. (He made the same peace with the possibility of arresting the High Hat, Duqo Plaint, in the event the evidence ended up pointing to him.) What he didn’t expect was for Calcut to be out of jail prior to the trial. Nor did he expect the C.A. to waffle on even bringing it to trial at all.

  As long as Makk was a witness in the case, killing him would look pretty bad. But if the charges were dismissed…? There would be nothing stopping Calcut from arranging a little “accident.”

  But again, Makk was prepared for that outcome.

  Whether he wanted to admit it or not, his entire approach to life from the time he enlisted in the military until, oh, about a month ago, had been nihilistic if not actively self-destructive. He liked to pretend that Cholem tattoo on his wrist was something other people had to get over, but there was a part of him that believed his bad luck would get him killed one day.

  What he didn’t anticipate until, oh, about a month ago, was that he might also get someone he cared about killed. If Calcut came for Makk he’d come for Elicasta too. And if not Calcut, it would be Viselle or Ba-Ugna Kev. Or the House.

  Elicasta did not share in this concern for her health. She was under the impression her notoriety would be enough of a shield. Maybe she was right. But she hadn’t spent her life waiting for good luck to turn bad. She thought he was overly pessimistic; he thought she was insufficiently realistic.

  It would have been nice if Makk had the daily monotony of his job to fall back on—a straightforward murder in need of solving would be ideal—but after the shootings at Binchagag’s cabin, he’d been pulled out of the rotation. His days were now filled with paper-pushing and follow-up interviews while the higher-ups decided whether Makk’s use of deadly force on five people who were actively trying to kill him and a civilian was justified.