Hollow Empire

by Sam Hawke

  I nodded with false cheer. We had a glimpse of a plan but no idea who was behind it, and Chen had been chasing the Hands for the better part of a year and still knew barely anything about them. I couldn’t be confident she’d have any better luck tracing the real killer. And how would Talafar react when they found out one of their own soldiers had been murdered here under our noses, especially if rumors about Jov reached their camp?

  “I’d better get moving,” Tain said, rising. “I was only meant to be checking on you. I’m supposed to be meeting Eliska later about—” He stopped, scratched his head, and sighed. “Honor-down, I don’t remember. Sewers in the village, or something. I’d better go. You two, rest up and stay out of trouble, all right?”

  But before he could move, there was another knock at the door, and all three of us jumped. Sjease emerged swiftly from Dija’s room, looking annoyingly fresh. “It’s your day off, remember?” I reminded them as they swept past.

  “What is it now?” Jov asked, his tone tight with dread. On the floor, his toes clenched convulsively.

  When the door opened, though, some of the building tension dropped away as I recognized the slightly warbly tones of Tain’s page, Erel. Not an Order Guard, not Chen, not some furious member of the Administrative Guild come to see who had so damaged the relations between our countries.

  “Through here, lad,” Sjease said. Every time I saw Erel he seemed to have grown, but he still had all his youthful enthusiasm and even the tuft of hair that always stuck up like a little crest.

  “What is it, Erel?” Tain was frowning, and Erel’s expression was anxious, his hands threaded tight together as he bobbed on the spot. “Out with it, kid.”

  “There’s Councilors looking for you at the Manor, Honored Chancellor,” the boy said. “You didn’t tell Argo where you were going and you’ve nothing scheduled on right now, so the messengers didn’t know where to find you. I made a guess.” His eyes darted to my brother and then back to Tain. “I think there’s trouble, Chancellor. They’re riling each other up. You might need to go calm them all down.”

  Despite his humble upbringing—an orphan found abandoned in a remote village by a Guilded scribe, who had earned extra coin carrying messages and cleaning the Guild and making himself useful—or perhaps because of it, Erel had a good nose for reading a situation. He was an excellent messenger, fast and accurate, but it was a waste of what Tain had sensed was a quick mind and willingness to learn. He’d been elevated from Tain’s personal messenger to his page more than a year ago, and by the time he was an adult I imagined he might well be one of the Chancellor’s trusted advisers.

  “Riling each other up about what, do you know?”

  I held my breath. Surely word couldn’t have gotten out so soon. It had only been a few hours since Chen had come round, and with a Talafan victim there would be no reason to inform any of the Families of the incident. Unless, of course, one of the Families was the source of the conspiracy in the first place.

  “There was a fire at the shipyard,” Erel said. “One of Credo Sjistevo’s ships burned down last night.”

  Tain raised an eyebrow. “Not the worst accident we’ve had during a masquerade night. I’m sure Sjistevo’s annoyed, but that’s not enough to get half the Council out of bed before midday, today of all days.”

  Erel was demonstrating an admirable fascination for his own feet. He briefly looked up at Jovan, then dropped his gaze back to the floor. “No, Honored Chancellor, it’s not just the ship, though Credo Sjistevo’s right angry about that, claiming all sorts of things were on it. It’s … it’s what they’re saying happened to it.” He looked at Jovan again, bouncing off quickly as if burnt.

  Tain scrubbed his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Erel, spit it out, whatever it is.”

  The lad swallowed. “They’re saying, well, Credo Sjistevo’s saying, and he’s saying he’s got witnesses, that it was a group of Darfri mages. You know. Speakers or what have you. Burned it down with magic.”

  “What?” Jov blurted out. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Tain, though, just made an exasperated noise. “Why am I not surprised? He’d blame the Darfri for stubbing his toe if he thought he’d get away with it.” He glanced over at me, and added, “You don’t see him in Council, but he and Karista complain about the bloody reparations every chance they get. They’re always stirring things up. Sjistevo was going on about his great-nephew’s broken elbow yesterday, claiming some Darfri woman cursed him, and Karista accused a local family out on her estates of infecting three fields of her crops with kaki beetles. I’ve thought they were going to come to blows with Il-Yoro at least three times in the last month or so.” He sighed again, and got to his feet. “I’d better handle it before it all gets worse. They’ll all have sore heads and be in tempers for being dragged out of bed, no doubt.”

  “You’d better come too if you don’t mind me saying, Credo Jovan,” Erel said, bobbing his head. “It’s like to turn into a full Council meeting at any rate, and…” He stopped, licked his lips nervously, then added all in a rush, the words bolting out in a jumble like scared animals, “… and I heard An-Hadrea’s name mentioned.”

  “What?” Jov said again, stupidly. “What do you mean, her name was mentioned?” This, I realized, was why the lad had been afraid to look at him. “You don’t mean—”

  “Credo Sjistevo’s saying witnesses saw her with the Darfri group who started the fire,” he mumbled. “He hasn’t got anyone with him, mind, so it could just be gossip, but, well, it’s gossip, and it’s spreading. Just thought you ought to know.”

  This, at least, was enough to rouse Tain to anger. “Hadrea saved every one of their stinking necks. Using her in one of these damnable political stunts is pretty low.” He scowled. “Bastards can bloody well try to say that to our faces. Can you walk all right, Jov?”

  Erel looked at Jovan curiously as I helped my brother to his feet. “You can borrow my stick,” I said, quick to take the excuse to turn away. A strange and unpleasant tightness had taken up residency in my chest. Because I was remembering, now, when Hadrea had come to my room in the night, and helped me out the window. I’d smelled smoke on her. I’d not thought much of it at the time. There were campfires all around the lake, I told myself, and if she’d been sitting beside one she’d naturally have picked up the scent. I fetched my stick from beside the door, where it had been gathering dust. After my initial recovery I had still had occasional sudden pains around the wound—the knife had caused some nerve or muscular damage—and had used this sturdy-based stick in case of unsteadiness. What about the guards? She shouldn’t have been able to get past our houseguards. And now I’d started, I was remembering her odd, furtive manner, and comparing it with the anger always bubbling under the surface, these days.

  I handed the stick to Jov and he gratefully took pressure off his left foot with a sigh. It was well bandaged so he couldn’t move the ankle but it obviously still hurt to walk.

  “Are you all right, Credo?” Erel asked, wide-eyed, as Jov grunted his way to the door with Tain.

  “Absolutely bloody brilliant,” he grumbled back.

  INCIDENT: Harrow village poisonings (assorted)

  POISON: Laceleaf

  INCIDENT NOTES: A series of heart failures in elderly residents of Harrow caused by apparent accidental poisoning by use of laceleaf in cooking instead of sicero. May have gone unnoticed but for visiting relative noticing the prevalence of laceleaf in communal garden. I suspect a single source of information about the potential for substitution of which a number of disgruntled relatives took advantage. Note poison supplier was likely traveling herbalist using (assumed) name of “Alix,” offering “natural remedies” for a range of conditions. Disappeared before I arrived in Harrow. Advise keeping contacts on lookout for “Alix” in villages across country.

  (from proofing notes of Credo Etan Oromani)

  9

  Jovan

  Erel hadn’t exaggerated. Half the Council was
at the Manor by the time we made it back up the hill in Tain’s anonymous, unmarked litter and in through the private side entrance. Argo informed us, with some stiff exasperation, that he had ferried them all to the Council chamber. “They were shouting in my entrance hall in a most improper fashion,” he wheezed, clearly agitated. He adjusted his glasses and passed a pile of papers to Tain. “Further messages for you, Honored Chancellor.”

  “Erel, can you get a servant to find Merenda? I’m going to try to head this off before we’re hosting a whole bloody Council meeting, but if we aren’t out in ten minutes you’ll need to arrange to send someone to fetch the rest of the Councilors who aren’t here, too. If we leave anyone out we’ll only have to repeat it when they wake up and find out they’ve missed the drama.” He ran his eyes over several messages in turn. “Great, these look … these are all great news. Excellent.” He took a steadying sort of breath and gestured for me to precede him into the Council chamber.

  No one looked up as we slipped in. They weren’t yelling, but the room vibrated with tension. Credo Sjistevo stood, one quivering finger pointed directly at Salvea, who sat with a stiff spine and tight lips.

  “—undermined. Now they have been caught at the scene, and still I am hearing protests. No family has been forced to provide greater recompense than mine. No family has been subjected to more criticism, more dishonorable treatment.”

  “No family brought as much dishonor to themselves as yours,” Salvea said. Her voice was low and shaking. Her hands were folded together so tightly the fingers were discolored. Unlike Sjistevo, who looked disheveled from what must have been an extremely long night, Salvea was clear-eyed, impeccable, her dark hair confined smoothly under a bright scarf. “Not one. You are doing the bare minimum this Council forces you to do and still you drag your heels every step.”

  “The bare minimum?” Sjistevo retorted. “I ask you! New Compact, shrines round half the city, you’ve crippled my family’s quarries and rivers with those ‘replenishment’ regulations…” He thumped a dramatic fist on the table. “We’re being punished for things that happened before we were even born!”

  Il-Yoro, a powerfully built man with a round chest and a wall-shaking voice, made a contemptuous gesture. “We are still being punished for the decisions your families have made for generations,” he roared. “You want to wave your hand and make it all go away! It does not work like that, my boy. This Council is supposed to be making things right, not covering them over with cheap plaster. A few seats in here, one lousy Guild for workers, and you think the job is done?”

  “Do you see? Do you see this attitude? It’s never enough! Two years of emptying our coffers paying compensation, funding education—”

  “The money in your coffers wasn’t yours,” Tain said. His voice was very cold, and everyone in the room turned to look at us immediately, falling into silence. “Your family stole it. Just like mine did, like every Credol Family did. It is only through the generosity of others that we are still sitting in this Council, that we still have coffers to empty.”

  “Honored Chancellor, the Credol Families built this country—” he began.

  Il-Yoro, on the other side of the table, thumped a fist on its surface. “The Credol Families represent people who helped shape Silasta centuries ago, yes, but every week it seems you are standing up in this chamber claiming you personally are not responsible for the behavior of your aunt, or her mother, or her brother. You cannot have it both ways, Credo Sjistevo. If your family owns its wealth, it owns its sins.”

  Sjistevo was breathing hard now. He seemed unable to come up with a sufficient retort so instead he pivoted back to Tain and made his voice softer, obsequious. “Honored Chancellor. These are no doubt important issues to be considered as we move forward to the fair future we all desire for our country. But they are not the issue at hand. I came to you this morning with an important complaint, and I find myself hijacked.”

  “I heard about your family’s boat,” Tain said, sitting down calmly. “And it’s very unfortunate, but it’s not the first time a boat has burnt, or things have gotten a bit out of hand during the masquerade. The Guards are already aware of the issue, and you’ve been in touch with the harbormaster, I understand, because I have a complaint from her on my desk that she was woken at dawn by your servants.” He waved one of the papers in his hand, and set the rest down on the table. The other Councilors also sat, with varying degrees of hesitation. However fractured this room could be, it warmed me to see how fully and competently Tain had settled into this role as leader. He had their respect, even if it was sometimes grudging. But that pleasant thought only brought on the inevitable worry tailing it, as always. His ability to bring together this group of people with widely varying, sometimes directly conflicting, interests, his capacity to compromise and to encourage others to compromise, made him a good Chancellor, but it also made him an ideal target for anyone seeking to divide us. I glanced over at Merenda, who had slipped in quietly during the argument. She was shifting uncomfortably in her seat, her brow furrowed. Doubtless she would increase in confidence and grow into the Heir’s role in time, but if power passed to her too soon, it might all fall apart under the strain.

  “The loss of your goods is no doubt very distressing,” Tain said, “but was this a matter worthy of dragging everyone into an emergency Council? We have a meeting scheduled for next week, when karodee is over. Could this not have waited?”

  Sjistevo’s lips had gone very tight, barely moving when he spoke. “I brought this directly to you, rather than referring it to the determination council, because of the sensitivity of the issue.” His eyes flashed to Salvea, and my heart sank. “Your daughter is well known around the city, you know. One of Silasta’s ‘heroes,’ they say. Well then she should be more careful, because she was easily recognized with this group of rogue Darfri, and she is out there wreaking havoc on our city and undermining all your assurances.”

  “I know my daughter, thank you,” Salvea said, and for the first time she raised her voice.

  Tain sounded calm, but his anger was plain. “Credo, it is very fortunate you didn’t bring this complaint to the determination council. You’re accusing the daughter of a Councilor, not to mention a person to whom everyone here owes their lives, of petty property destruction? Frankly, I’m shocked you would countenance such a claim.”

  Credola Karista cleared her throat. “I agree it is shocking, Honored Chancellor, but this is no petty damage. Valuable cargo, an expensive purpose-built ship … it is one thing to dismiss claims of people falling into canals, of the numerous instances of damage of crops, of mysterious injuries and ailments that seem to plague anyone who so much as dares criticize a Darfri person—”

  “No one has dismissed anything,” Budua, the Scribe-Guilder, pointed out dryly. “Indeed it seems every second complaint going to the determination council relates to something of this nature. It’s just that as you know perfectly well, Credola Karista, no one as yet has been able to satisfy a determination council there is any complaint at all to answer.”

  Karista continued as if Budua had not spoken. “—but this? This is indisputable, flagrant sabotage.”

  “No one is disputing the sabotage,” Tain said, with cold patience, “only the saboteurs.”

  “I mean to say! The Darfri group was seen at the wharfs right before the fire started!” Sjistevo spread his hands expansively. “Multiple witnesses say they approached, intoxicated, loud, aggressive, half-undressed, covered in Darfri symbols. We all know what they look like now, you accept? They were singing—chanting—and the boat went up all in a burst. An-Hadrea was identified there shortly after.”

  “Your witness claims they saw Hadrea setting a fire?” Tain said. “Or just that she was there, afterward?”

  He blustered a little. “No one saw the fire being lit, but they wouldn’t, would they? If it was by magic. Witnesses heard chanting and drumming. Just like during the war! Ordinary folk aren’t likely to forget what it
sounds like, I promise you. Her daughter was there with other Darfri and it was their magic that burned our boat.” He pointed at Salvea again. “We’ve sat here for two years listening to them insist their magic can’t be used to help the city or make our lives easier, honor-down, we shouldn’t expect that, oh no. But it’s funny how magic is suddenly available when it’s grudge settling.”

  “This is a very disturbing accusation,” Karista cut in smoothly. She was like a miniature Bradomir, elegant as a reptile and as cold-blooded. “Not just because of An-Hadrea’s … er … potential role in this but in terms of how Darfri magic is regulated more broadly. We have all seen it used as a destructive force, to the detriment of the city. We all voted on how this was to be taught. One central teacher, carefully selected students. There were agreements, assurances. If there are unregulated … what are they called? Speakers? Running around the city, that affects all of us.”

  Silence greeted her words, and a noticeable change in the atmosphere. Other Councilors murmured to one another, and uncomfortable memories of being on the wrong side of Darfri magic clawed at me. And something else flashed to mind: the woman and the drum, last night, her body painted with symbols, and the feeling I’d had. But I pushed it aside and met Salvea’s gaze. My heart skipped a beat at the trust in her expression. “Credo Jovan!” Her voice shook. I’d never seen her angry before. “Perhaps you can assist with this nonsense about Hadrea. It is absurd!”