Cities and Thrones

by Carrie Patel

  Tran-MacGregor looked like he wanted to strangle Grenwahl.

  Sato folded his hands and looked patiently between the two men. “As always, thank you for your contributions, Nathan. Horace, do you have anything further to add?”

  Grenwahl blinked, registering surprise on his ruddy features. “Just that our coffers are the emptiest they’ve ever been. What few shopkeepers there were are closing up and moving further underground. So to speak.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “And there’s been talk of food riots. Seems there’s a rumor abroad about farm strikes.”

  Just as the a murmur began to rise around the table, Sato said, “Thank you, Mr Grenwahl,” and motioned to Vaughn.

  “Yes, ah, next we have General Covas... and the military.” He looked up anxiously.

  Covas, straight-backed even now, rested her elbows on the table. “We had a spike in desertions last month. We’re still enough to form a strong perimeter around the city, but flagging morale’s showing up in disciplinary problems, too. We’re lucky the unrest hasn’t been more organized. There’ve been a few incidents involving unruly crowds and rotten fruits.” She hesitated, glancing down between her thumbs for a quick moment. “If the citizens weren’t holding onto their food so tightly, I think we’d be hearing more of that. Point is, the general sentiment among the troops is that it’s getting hard to tell who the real enemy is.”

  “Just hold them together a little longer, General,” Sato said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vaughn returned to the agenda. “Mr Quillard, the Library.”

  As usual, Quillard seemed to be the only one unaffected by the general atmosphere of gloom and desperation. “I’m pleased to say that we’re making good progress on our catalogue of the Library’s stores. We’ve managed to archive and copy an additional five hundred sources in the last week alone. At our current rate of progress, it would take at least a few hundred years to get through the entire collection, so we’re obviously setting priorities.” He said it as if this were a minor obstacle to understanding the Library.

  “Only a few hundred years?” Grenwahl said.

  Quillard was the only person at the table who didn’t catch the sarcasm. In fact, he seemed to be delighted that someone was taking an interest in his department’s work. “Actually, Mr Grenwahl, the building that we’re calling the Library is only part of the picture. Research suggests that there are at least two other major buildings. There’s no telling what waits for us there!”

  Malone had to admire Quillard’s boundless enthusiasm even if she couldn’t share it. The rest of the advisors looked at him as if he were a simpleton, but he weathered his thankless job better than the rest of them. The long hours, glacial progress, and lack of popular support hadn’t dented his cheery disposition as far as she could tell. It was more than Malone could note for the rest of them.

  “And the special references I asked you to locate?” Sato asked.

  Quillard’s smile fell. “Have been set aside for study, sir. As I understand it, there’s been some progress duplicating the results, but it’s not really my area–”

  “That’ll be all,” Sato said.

  “Anything else, Mr Quillard?” Vaughn asked.

  “No.” The librarian’s eyes were glazed over and fixed on the table.

  Vaughn cleared his throat. “Very well, then. Moving along to... Ambassador Chakrun.”

  The ambassador mopped his forehead. “More of the same. I thought we were making inroads with South Haven, but that’s fallen through.”

  “Next, Mr Vaughn,” Sato said, making a rolling motion with his finger. Malone hadn’t seen Sato looking this confident in weeks. But there was something about his unnatural calm that she didn’t trust. It reminded her of a mirror-smooth surface over a turbulent current.

  Arnault was looking at Sato the same way.

  “Mr Arnault, intelligence,” Vaughn said.

  With a start, Malone realized that she hadn’t spoken to Arnault about their detainees in days. He’d suggested keeping the secret from Sato in the first place, but with all eyes on him now, Malone wondered if she’d been foolish to trust him.

  “I’ve been meeting with sources in Madina to assess our neighbors’ intentions,” Arnault said. “The Qadi has gathered the leadership of both the Hollow and Underlake to discuss our situation.” He paused and glanced briefly at Sato.

  “And tell us what you’ve learned,” Sato said carefully.

  “They’re preparing an offensive. The details are unclear at this point, but it’s believed to involve a force of soldiers from the Hollow.”

  Covas frowned. “How many?”

  “Unknown. Presumably, enough to take the city, with the right maneuver.”

  It sounded ambitious but not impossible, especially with Covas’s own forces dwindling. Malone watched Arnault’s expression for some sign of anything else he might know – or suspect. But he hadn’t looked at her yet.

  “Who are our sources?” Chakrun asked. The talk of even qualified diplomatic progress seemed to revive him.

  Emotion shivered across Arnault’s face. Malone doubted that anyone else, except possibly Sato, could have noticed. “I’ve been meeting with a Recolettan exile in Madina.”

  Chakrun squinted. “If he’s an exile, can we trust him?”

  Arnault’s eyes flickered to Chakrun. His furrowed brow relaxed. “I do. And he’s well placed to find this kind of information.”

  Sato nodded. “Any other intelligence to report?”

  Malone held her breath. Arnault scanned the table, his gaze resting briefly on her.

  “No.”

  She hadn’t realized her hands had balled into fists, but she unclenched her fingers and let out a slow breath. She looked at Arnault, sitting on the other side of the table with his mouth clamped shut and his arms folded tightly on the table in front of him, knowing he was keeping something – perhaps many somethings – back. But for the first time, it occurred to Malone that he might not be keeping it from her.

  “Chief Malone? Are you alright?” Vaughn was frowning at her, and the rest of the Cabinet members were waiting. “Your report, Chief.”

  Malone cleared her throat. “Crime rates are roughly the same as the last meeting and the meeting before that. We haven’t gained any new ground in the contested districts, but we haven’t lost any, either.”

  Vaughn glanced back at his agenda. “Any progress on the dissidents?”

  She kept herself from looking at Arnault. “We’re following leads,” Malone said. “Nothing to report.”

  “That’s all, Chief?”

  Malone looked over at Sato. He nodded.

  “I recently paid a visit to one of our farming communes,” she said. “We discussed their reduced contributions. I tried to reason with them, but they’re determined.” She glanced at the faces around the table, by turns stern, anxious, and disbelieving. “They’ve declared that they’re ceasing all contributions until their demands, which would afford them the rights and status of citizens, are met.”

  The rest of the table erupted. Questions, protests, and exclamations – directed at no one in particular – rose to the chamber’s high ceiling.

  In a way, it was refreshing. Malone hadn’t seen their gathering become this animated in almost three months.

  Vaughn banged his gavel against the table – something he’d never had to do before. It took a few seconds for the assembly to quiet down, but when it did, he cleared his throat, frowning. “This concludes the Cabinet’s reports.”

  Sato’s smile was a little too steady, and it broadened. “We’ve all heard them today. Problems. Conflicts. We’ve heard them from the beginning. And we’ve been trying to resolve them the wrong way.”

  Sato pushed back his chair and began pacing a slow circle around the table. The advisors began looking at one another with increased apprehension. Even Vaughn was twisting the gavel in his thin hands. Only Covas remained impassive.

  “I came to Recol
etta talking about history,” Sato said, still circling. “Yet I forgot the history of this place. We live in a city defined by centuries of repression and oppression. Power is the only language people understand, and it is the vocabulary we will have to employ.”

  “Sir,” Covas said. Her tone was cool, but the rest of the advisors looked at her as if she’d just leapt atop the table. “The Hollow’s soldiers outnumber us and are better trained. If you’re suggesting we take the battle to them–”

  “The soldiers of the City Guard were more numerous and better trained than our forces,” Sato said. “Yet our own casualties were minimal. Power isn’t numbers or strategy. It’s a force of will. The element of surprise. It’s the ability to determine and do what is necessary.”

  Malone’s stomach turned. She felt as if she were watching a collision in slow motion, seeing every angle of the disaster and powerless to stop it.

  “President Sato,” Arnault said. His voice crackled like a static charge in the cold. “People accepted certain excesses from Ruthers and his lot. They won’t take them from you.”

  Sato leveled his gaze at Arnault. “By the time I’m finished, they will.”

  The room was silent for several seconds.

  “Many of you have chided me at one point or another for my frivolous obsession with the past.” Sato smiled, mocking their dismissiveness with a flapping hand. “You see stories and legends where I see lessons. Examples.

  “We’re adopting new measures, effective immediately,” Sato said, still pacing around the table. “First, Recolettans belong in Recoletta. No one leaves the city without authorization. Second, anyone in possession of dissident writing will be jailed and duly investigated. Malone, you’ll handle this.”

  Malone kept her expression steady, but she felt trawling eyes on her. Especially Arnault’s.

  “Third, we’re going to impose strict rations until this nonsense with the communes is sorted out. But we can use that to our advantage, too. Any citizens who identify dissidents, vandals, or black marketeers will receive an additional portion.”

  There was a long silence as Sato finished his slow march around the table, at last anchoring himself to the back of his own chair with a sturdy grip.

  Vaughn spoke up. “Will that be all, sir?”

  Sato blinked. “For now. I’m going to visit the Library to check on a certain work in progress.” Sato smiled, and Quillard blanched, still avoiding the man’s gaze. “Keep Recoletta under control for the next few days. When I return, I’ll show you the true value of antiquity. Dismissed, everyone. Except General Covas.”

  Malone followed the other advisors out of the room, trying to shake her sense of foreboding. No one risked a backward glance.

  She’d left the other fleeing advisors and turned toward Callum Station when she heard a voice behind her.

  “So,” Arnault said. “He still doesn’t know.”

  She glanced back. “About our mutual friends? I’m not sure why you think I’d tell him.”

  “You’ve been occupied elsewhere,” he said. Malone could feel him watching her curiously, carefully.

  “I’ve been busy,” she said.

  “Sato’s kept you busy.”

  She lengthened her stride. “I could say the same about you.”

  He matched her pace. “Relax. It’s not an accusation. I’m merely observing.”

  “Then do it on your own time. Like you said, I’m busy.”

  “I’m not asking you to slow down for me, Chief. But we need to do something about our guests in Callum Station,” Arnault said. “Sato’s new ultimatums make their detention a riskier endeavor.”

  The same thought had occurred to Malone, but she hadn’t yet figured out what to do. “What are you suggesting?”

  “That we move them. Obviously.”

  “Where? The entire city will be looking for them.”

  “Nobody knows who they are. They’ll only draw more attention locked in the station,” he said.

  She stopped and faced him, keeping her voice low. “Where else could we even move them, Arnault?”

  He watched her face for a few seconds. “I know an abandoned home in the Vineyard. Wouldn’t take much to turn it into a reliable safe house.”

  She turned away and marched on. “You can’t be serious. That district is bedlam.”

  He caught up with her. “The place I’m talking about is on the outskirts. Not far from Petrosian’s whiskey shop. Things are still quiet there.”

  “And they’ll practically be neighbors with the Bricklayer’s people. Their allies, as best we can tell,” she said between her teeth.

  “Only a problem if someone finds out. And after Sato’s announcement about extra rations, I don’t think they’re going to be so sure about their allies.”

  Malone pressed her lips together and sighed. As crazy as the idea seemed, Arnault’s logic was beginning to work on her. “But Callum Station’s a known quantity. I know who comes and goes. The men and women there report to me.”

  “Don’t be so certain,” Arnault said.

  She looked at him again, slowing. The rigid lines of his face suggested resignation, desperation, exhaustion. Not malice. “Saavedra?” she asked.

  “Always been Sato’s.”

  Arnault’s concern began to resolve itself into a problem with dimensions, substance, and weight. Probing at its boundaries, Malone finally understood the reason for his urgency. Olivia Saavedra had a way of finding herself behind locked doors and in closed rooms to a degree that rivaled even Farrah’s own considerable abilities.

  And as Arnault had become more and more of a fixture at Callum Station, Malone had noticed Saavedra swiveling her spotlight focus accordingly.

  They were out of Dominari Hall and in deserted streets before Arnault spoke again, and Malone realized how long she’d been quiet.

  “You know I’m right about this,” he said. “What’s your hesitation?”

  She frowned, mostly because he’d read her accurately. “There’s always an angle with you.”

  He opened his mouth to say something and closed it almost as quickly. He snorted. “How’s this for an angle – if Sato finds them in Callum Station, I’ll be sure that you take the fall for this on your own. Think what you’d like, but you’ve got no choice but to go with me on this. I’m offering us both a way out.”

  Malone grimaced even though she couldn’t really blame him. “Fine, but we do this on my terms. We’re going to need help.”

  He turned his head to look at her. “Your desertion rate’s almost as bad as Covas’s. Someone in the station you think you can trust?”

  She smirked. “Helps that I haven’t made a career out of burning my bridges, Arnault.”

  His smile raised the hairs on her arms. “Still plenty of time for that.”

  Malone looked quickly away. “Get your place ready. We’ll move tomorrow.”

  “Good. I wasn’t going to give you any more time.”

  * * *

  When Malone described the plan to Farrah the next morning, the redhead accepted her role with the matter-of-fact professionalism that Malone had long known her for.

  “The best time would be after midnight when everyone’s cleared out of the station,” Farrah said.

  “Hard to guarantee,” Malone said. “Besides, it would raise more questions if anyone saw us at that hour. What about first thing in the morning, just before everyone shows up?”

  Farrah shook her head. “That’ll look even stranger. Besides, she gets in earlier every day.”

  “Saavedra?”

  Farrah nodded.

  “Maybe we can keep her busy.”

  “She’d figure it out. And even if she didn’t, someone else might. I see her talking to new people every day. Too many of them are faces I don’t even recognize.”

  A thought occurred to Malone. “Is she Arnault’s or Sato’s?”

  Farrah flashed a knowing smile. “She’d like to be Arnault’s. But the way she comes and goes, I th
ink she’s reporting to Sato.”

  “Tell me about her,” Malone said.

  It wasn’t hard for Farrah to think of something. Malone had found that it rarely was difficult for a person to think of something to say about someone he or she spent so much energy loathing.

  Saavedra showed up every day, sometimes first thing in the morning through the wee hours, sometimes only for fifteen minutes. But she was never alone. Eyes followed her as she sashayed to the records room or perched on her desk, one languorous leg attenuated over a chair as she read through stacks of files. A pinky fingernail, slowly exploring the terrain between her perfect, white teeth, commanded attention. When she bent over, rummaging through stacks and files or retrieving fallen pages, she didn’t seem to notice the way an ever-present audience followed her movements. But Farrah did.

  Malone checked to see that the hall outside the office was still clear. “So she’s charming her way into confidences around here.”

  Farrah waved a hand. “That’s only half of it. She makes herself visible so you think you know what she’s up to. And so you think she’s gorgeous and empty headed. But she’s got people all over the station, and she’s got an ear to the ground. Even when she’s got her ass in the air.”

  Malone thought for a moment. “We can at least keep her accounted for when we move the dissenters out.”

  Farrah shook her head. “I told you, she’ll figure it out. She’s clever.”

  “Everybody has a weakness.”

  Farrah blinked at Malone for a moment. Suspicion clouded her eyes. “You don’t mean...”

  “You said she has a soft spot for him. And it’s believable.”

  “But do you trust him?”

  Malone sighed. “We don’t have a choice.”

  “Still. Good luck getting him to agree.”

  It was one of the last parts of the plan that needed to be mapped. Fortunately, Arnault was brooding in his office when Malone went to look for him. As she began explaining the problem of Saavedra’s unpredictable hours and her growing net of contacts, Arnault began to redden. As amusing as his discomfort was, it only confirmed the value of the plan for Malone.