by Wren Weston
“Why didn’t he leak the others, then?” Hardwicke asked.
“Because there’s a second dead man’s switch, maybe more,” Masson answered. “Those rounds will expose far more interesting players.”
“More interesting players, indeed,” Lila said. “Make no mistake: La Roux planned the switch to flip. If he ever died or got caught, this was supposed to happen. He didn’t send the reports to Chief Shaw or the governor. He sent them to the press.”
“You’re saying my cousin wanted to destroy Bullstow?”
“I think you should draw your own conclusions, Senator Masson. He had plenty of time to tell us about the switch. He did not. He wanted everyone to pay while he spared himself and his family from the stain of dishonor. How’s that for hypocrisy?”
Senator Hardwicke snatched up his pen and set to clicking. “It troubles me that you know so many secrets about the senate, Ms. Randolph.”
“Chief Shaw does not inform me of such secrets unless I need to know them. I can assure you, they are no secrets of mine to pass along at dinner parties.”
The senators swiveled back and forth upon their chairs, whispering. Masson bent his head down to capture the conversation, but he did not take his eyes from Lila and Shaw.
Lila matched his gaze and did not look away.
“Enough,” Masson said at last. “Ms. Randolph, I have no words. Even if you acted only as a consult to Bullstow under Chief Shaw’s direction, then… Well, I find myself wishing you had been more successful. I can’t have that feeling and charge you like the rest. What have you stolen that has not been freely given?”
“You neglect the obvious,” Shaw replied. “She is not done. What lowborn business can we hire to finish the job when some of the very hackers in our holding cells work for those same businesses? Do you see now why we need her?”
A pen clicked in the silence before being tossed away. “I move we drop all charges against Ms. Randolph,” Senator Hardwicke said.
“Agreed,” said the senator on his right.
“Me too,” the other two murmured at the same time.
Senator Masson ducked his head with a great sigh. “Ms. Randolph, the committee drops all charges against you. Gods help us all.”
The senators eyed Finn outside. The man didn’t need the bug to tell him what had happened. He wiped his hands on his trousers, stood up, and trudged away.
“We will, of course, need to retain your services for the rest of the investigation,” Masson said. “If what Chief Shaw says is true, we—”
“Are you serious?” Lila asked. “After everything you’ve put me through over the last month? I volunteered because I thought this was the right thing to do, but I have no contract with Bullstow. I want out. Everyone thinks I’m a criminal now, even my own commanders and my matron. I never wanted to lose my career, but that’s gone now. I might even lose my family.”
“We’ll put out a story to cover your reputation,” one of the senators promised. “We’ll make sure our matrons understand your sacrifice as best we can without spilling Bullstow secrets. We’ll also offer you immunity to continue your work. You won’t be dragged before the committee again—you have our assurances.”
Senator Masson and the others bobbed their heads in agreement.
All except for Hardwicke. “I want no part of this. Dropping her charges was the correct thing to do. Hiring her isn’t.”
“Your concerns are noted,” Masson replied. “No one wants to hire her, but there is a time limit on this investigation. Bullstow cannot afford another round of public highborn trials. It would shake the confidence of the masses. Immunity should be on the table.”
“Assuming Chief Shaw can prove his story,” the first senator said.
Lila considered the deal. “I don’t care about your assurances, not unless they come in writing. I’ll draw up the contract myself. I don’t trust senators much lately.”
“I suppose I can understand that,” Senator Masson said. “As for you, Chief Shaw, I cannot in good conscience allow you to remain at your post. To hire an heir—”
“You just hired her! What would you have had me do?”
“You could have offered your technical department proper training when you took office fifteen years ago. Our hands are tied now. We don’t have the time to change course now.”
Chief Shaw shoved his chair back and stalked across the marble. “I work with what I am given, and what I am given is a tragedy. Their hearts are in the right place, but their minds are not. You can’t expect spoiled housecats to chase gazelles.”
“You can’t hire a poacher, either.”
Lila held her tongue at the slight, for an insult was far better than a noose. So was immunity. She could scarcely believe she’d led them through that door.
“Chief Shaw, as of this moment, you are no longer chief of security.”
“What is he, then?” Senator Hardwicke asked, clicking away once more.
“He’s a right pain in the ass, is what he is!” Masson snatched Hardwick’s pen and threw it across the room. “What in the world are we to do with you, chief? Hang you? Turn you over to the auction house? Exile you? Eject you from the militia?”
“A hundred years ago, he’d be hanged,” one of the senators chimed in.
“Try forty. Remember Chief Cloutier?” Senator Hardwicke asked. “They still have his statue in New Orleans. I read about him when the old senate records were declassified for the interns. No one but us knows he didn’t deserve that statue.”
Lila raised a brow. She’d have immunity soon. She could dig into Chief Cloutier’s records without a moment’s reproach.
The thought tempted her.
“If we charge Chief Shaw with anything, it might inflame the protestors,” another senator replied. “And as he so eloquently mentioned, we’re about to hire her, too. For now, I motion that Chief Shaw is ejected from the militia. Let’s agree on that, at least.”
“Not before we discuss whether or not he should hang,” Masson said. “I vote no. Getting Ms. Randolph involved was poor judgment, not corruption. We can’t compare him to Cloutier. So long as he can prove his charges, I find no reason to hang the man or exile him from Bullstow.”
“You can’t be serious,” Hardwicke snapped. “He let a Randolph—”
“He asked her to help us. We’ll need that same help after today.”
“If the press finds out, this won’t go well for us. The populace will not understand—”
“I don’t give a flying fig what the populace does and does not understand right now, Hardwicke,” Masson said. “That’s what our PR department is for.”
“We are chosen to uphold the law. The law states—”
“What law? What law exists for this?” Senator Masson chuckled bitterly. “Perhaps Chief Shaw is right. Perhaps I am the only one who understands how screwed we would have been if Ms. Randolph had not closed my cousin’s trap.”
“I suppose Chairwoman Masson gave you and your cousin more education than us.”
Masson cut his gaze to Hardwicke. “I beg your pardon, sir. My matron did not teach my cousin how to do that, nor has she taught any of us to do that. I still want proof of my cousin’s crimes, just like the rest of you. Chief Shaw?”
“I’ll summon Dr. Booth,” Shaw replied. “He knows of the deal from La Roux’s own lips. His father does as well.”
“We’ll call for them.”
“What do we do with the chief?” another senator asked. “I can tell you how Dr. Vargas will answer. He’ll say that we can’t hand down a not-guilty verdict for her, then charge him for encouraging criminal behavior. Something must be done, but I don’t feel that his abuse of power warrants exile.”
“You’d keep him in the fold?” Hardwicke balked. “Allow him to remain inside Bullstow with his judgment so impaired?”
�
�Not everything is so black and white.”
“We’re not elected into this committee to live in the gray. The sentence should be death, regardless of his reasons. Have you all gone mad?” Hardwicke asked.
“I’ve grown tired of dolling out death and slavery. I’ve had enough of it,” his colleague replied. “We can’t charge him with treason. We could fetch Dr. Vargas and a bottle of port if you need another lesson.”
Hardwicke reached for a pen that wasn’t there, then stilled his hands on the table.
“If our tech department was not able to deal with the threat, then that highlights Chief Shaw’s failure as chief,” Masson said. “After all, Senator La Roux received the same education. You can’t hire a highborn consult to cover for your own incompetence.”
“Yes, I suppose I should have sent my tech department to a class,” Shaw replied. “They’d be a crack team then, just like you lot after a few rounds with Dr. Vargas.”
“Did you even try?” Masson asked. “I move that Chief Shaw’s militia license should be revoked. Too many ears heard his plea after Ms. Randolph’s sentencing. We’ll release the true cause, though a truncated version that won’t betray the link to those in our holding cells. Chief Shaw hired a very poor choice of technical consult, and he’s taken no steps to bolster the education of his technical department.”
“I have!”
“You have not done enough. Let that be a lesson for your replacement.”
Lila sat forward in her chair. “I recommend that you classify the record of this conversation. Not a word should leak until I have had a chance to ferret out the rest of La Roux’s puppets. Otherwise, word will only spread and alert the guilty. Many will run to Burgundy.”
“Agreed,” Masson said. “The usual punishments apply for breaking the silence, gentlemen. As to Chief Shaw, is everyone in agreement? Dismissed from the militia?”
The senators nodded.
“A slave’s term?” Hardwicke pressed. “He deserves the auction house for this outrage.”
None of the senators raised their hands.
“Ejection from Bullstow, then? I demand exile at the very least!”
“You’ve been overruled.”
Lila breathed freely. Shaw wouldn’t be hanged after all, and her father’s name had not even come up. If La Roux’s victims hadn’t been publicly charged and sentenced, if more hadn’t been waiting in the wings, neither one of them would have gotten off so lightly.
She certainly wouldn’t have earned immunity.
“I would see you hanged or at least ejected from Bullstow,” Hardwicke growled, “but it seems my wishes count for nothing. You are to be dismissed from your position, Tobias McGowan-Shaw. You may either retire or schedule yourself for retraining.”
“You’ll, of course, be barred from quite a number of occupations by order of this committee,” Masson added.
Shaw took his punishment with clear eyes and a proudly held head. “I have plenty of years left in me. I only wish to serve Saxony. I thank the committee for allowing me to remain in my home.”
Shaw’s gaze cut to Lila.
Both knew they had escaped much worse.
Chapter 8
“So, Rossi’s Pub?” Lila asked under her breath as the pair escaped into the empty hallway. The crowds had not dispersed, but the blackcoats had pushed them far away from the courtroom and the private meeting. Highborn stood on tiptoes at each end of the corridor, all trying to get a view of Lila’s exit. Whispers rose to a buzz. Blackcoats held up their arms, brushing everyone back.
“If only I didn’t need to fetch the files.” Shaw chuckled. “Once word spreads, I’ll never be allowed in another militia-only bar again, and Rossi’s makes the best cheeseburgers.”
“That they do,” Lila agreed, remembering too late that she couldn’t drink anyway. The pair padded toward the rotunda, the well-dressed crowds noting how she walked freely without handcuffs. “I owe you for speaking the truth, and I’m not the only one.”
“It was necessary. Bullstow needs to change, and we can’t do that unless the senate acknowledges the problem. After this mess is resolved, I’ll make sure we do.”
“Nothing changes quickly in government, and not without considerable inertia. I wish you luck.”
“I’ll need it.” Shaw stopped several meters from the senate rotunda and jerked his head toward a waiting intern. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, you father requests a conference.”
Lila turned, finding Shiloh in the crowd. He grinned at his big sister, an insufferable I-told-you-so smile locked from ear to ear.
The boy still had a lot of growing up to do.
“I look forward to learning of your new occupation,” she told Shaw. “You were right inside. You still have much to offer Bullstow.”
“I suspect they’ll only let me choose between filing papers and throwing out the trash.”
“It would be a waste of you, Mr. Shaw.”
His face darkened at the loss of his title, a feeling she knew all too well. “I could same the same to you, Ms. Randolph. I hope you will return to the Randolph security office.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible now. Besides, I had planned to take some time away from the family before all this happened. My plans have not changed.”
“I suspect your matron will have a few words to say about that.”
“She always does.”
“Good luck.” He shook her hand firmly. The former militia chief then shuffled off, leaving his prisoner behind.
Many mouths hung open in the rotunda. That one act had proved the rumors true.
Elizabeth Victoria Lemaire-Randolph had beaten her charges and walked away from the courtroom free and clear. Not only that, but Chief Shaw had given a highborn heir access to BullNet. Expressions switched instantly from curious and gloating to wary and suspicious.
Lila ignored them all. As she threaded through the crowd, everyone backed away as if she had the plague. It wouldn’t do for any heir or senator to be seen with her yet, for their matrons had not officially changed their standing orders. Could they converse with Elizabeth Randolph now that she’d been found not guilty, or would she be an outcast for a little while longer? It would take a few hours for spies to make their full reports, for matrons to confer with one another, for the highborn to jostle and shove and glare until they reached their decisions.
For the moment, they merely shunned her, and that was perfectly fine with Lila.
She followed behind Shiloh as he led her down the corridor, his chest puffed and hands locked behind his back in the elegant walking pose of Bullstow men. When they traveled past Dixon, Lila motioned for him to follow.
He did, though at a distance.
The group passed from the senate building into the center of the compound, stopping before Falcon Home, a mansion that could have housed hundreds. Instead, it had been split into suites, housing the governor, the Saxony state senate, and the prime minister while in the city.
Dixon sat on a park bench, pulled out his notepad and pencil, and began to doodle, giving her a wink as Shiloh tugged on her arm. The pair entered Falcon Home and followed a gray-haired servant toward the central staircase, the newel posts carved into rosebuds. They jogged up the creaking, cherry-stained staircase to the top floor, then slipped by a dozen doors. Priceless art hung upon the walls. Freshly cut roses sprawled in vases older than Saxony, settled on tables crafted in a forest of darkly stained woods.
The footman stopped at the end of the corridor. He clapped a gilded rose knocker fixed to the door.
Her father answered the knock, dressed in a white suit coat and trousers, a much more informal version of his prime minister’s garb now that the legislative session had ended.
“Lila girl.” He enveloped her in a fierce bear hug and twirled her off the ground in the vestibule. “Thank you, Mr. Rhodes
,” he said to the servant as she spun, his voice muffled as he dug his face into her shoulder.
Shiloh chuckled and waved, a gesture she tried to return with each rotation.
The door closed, and Shiloh disappeared.
“He’s leaving?” Lila pouted as her father set her down once more.
“Yes. He’s throwing a party this evening, a party postponed. If I’m not mistaken, the theme is ‘I was right and my big sister is innocent.’ Several of his friends are scheduled to eat their hats. He’s had it on the books all month. He told me you’re invited, of course.”
“Well, how’s that for brotherly constancy?”
Her father clasped her hand and tugged her toward the parlor. “I should warn you. I have a guest.”
Lila’s pace slowed. She knew exactly who lurked inside.
Every part of her father’s parlor had been painted, draped, and upholstered in burgundy and gold, with rose embellishments on every table and chair leg. A painting of the ancient oracle Mildthylyth covered nearly an entire wall in the back. The fur-clad battle queen stabbed a Roman general through the heart while her people did the same to his men in the background, driving the Romans from the old country once and for all. Underneath the picture, a golden couch, several burgundy chairs, and a few small tables filled the room. Delicate porcelain vases and golden roses dotted every surface.
Beatrice Randolph sat in the center of the couch. She wore a red sheath dress and a loose, regal silvercoat that flowed about her thin frame. The fabric matched her hair, the ends curling under her chin. She crossed her legs. Her crimson boot twitched as her daughter entered the room.
Lila could not read her mother’s expression. Perhaps anger. Perhaps disgust. Perhaps she was just put out, like a small child whose toy had broken five minutes after being unwrapped.
“If I were a workborn, I would slap you.”
Anger, then.
“You heard?” Lila’s eyes flitted to her father.
