He quickly and firmly shook Varm’s outstretched hand. The newspapermen, following Chaval around like a drooling pack of hounds, frantically scribbled notes of every word and every twitch.
“Miraculous,” Chaval said. “Once again, Harold, you’ve exceeded all my expectations. This is truly the work of a genius—an Arkadian genius.”
“I think you may give me too much credit,” Varm replied, his chubby face flushed with embarrassment. “It’s just an extension of something we already use.”
“Ah, but that is the artistry, my friend. Taking disparate things and putting them together into a new whole.”
“Ever the politician,” Varm murmured.
The newspapermen laughed heartily, but the inventors all seemed hesitant. Only when Chaval smiled himself did they finally let themselves chuckle.
“True, but I speak from the heart, here,” Chaval said. “I guarantee this will be a rousing success.”
Varm raised an eyebrow. “Rousing enough to fetch me production contracts once you’re elected?”
Chaval clapped him on the back. “Absolutely.”
Amaya watched impassively as the gathering of men and women fawned over Varm’s latest inventions. Some of the Hall’s staffers—which mostly consisted of overly made-up women in flowing dresses—rolled the display cart between tables, stopping leisurely whenever someone wished to take a closer look.
Many of the gadgets were undeniably impressive, especially the centerpiece. It was a cylindrical attachment one could add to a rifle—Varm called it a “scope,” if she remembered correctly—to aim more accurately and see farther than the naked eye. It was an ingenious thing, if only an extension of the magnifying glass or telescope, and Chaval was certainly right to predict its success. Some of the other creations wouldn’t be so lucky in the long run.
But that hardly mattered. Innovation was the word of the day here in Cadotheia, and to a lesser extent all of Arkadia. Men and women who could before only look forward to a drab life of herding livestock or living off the streets had their imaginations captivated by opportunity; all it took was one great invention to secure a future for themselves and their children. It was an infectious euphoria, and it had spread across the country like wildfire. Amaya just couldn’t help but wonder if it would burn itself out sooner rather than later.
For every Harold Varm, once a destitute pig farmer, there were hundreds of others whose inventions would never see the light of day. Many would starve to death on the streets or turn to violence and contribute to the growing culture wars bloodying the alleyways. And of course, most Arkadians would simply be trading a hard-working but earnest life on the farm for a dark and dangerous one in a factory. They would exchange their plows for machines that would almost certainly leave them crippled before they grew old. Was that really an improvement? Was that the future they were willing to fight to protect?
Perhaps, Amaya mused, the promise of change by itself was enough. Thousands of kilometers away in her home country of Talam, her people tried desperately to plant crops in fields ravaged by reckless magi. The Lo’Sai Dynasty had thought nothing of the so-called torbos—the common folk—that made up the bulk of their population. Even now, decades after the dynasty’s fall, her people still suffered. It was why she was forced to work for a man like Chaval to bring home Arkadian drakes…
Amaya finally caught her employer’s eye as he schmoozed with some of the other inventors. He nodded fractionally, and she stepped off to the side of the crowd and waited for him to break free. Fortunately it only took a few minutes.
“Problem?” he asked softly when he got close enough to slide an arm around her waist.
“We received a message from one of our men in Lushden. I think you’ll want to talk to him personally.”
Chaval nodded knowingly, his carefully-crafted smile never waning. He turned to the crowds behind him and clapped his hands together.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to pamper Mr. Varm with praise on your own for a little while. I have some urgent business to attend to, but I’ll be back as soon as I am able.”
Most people in the crowd smiled knowingly. To them, the life of a politician—and a presidential candidate at that—was excusably busy and prone to interruption. His legend had grown to the point where the hosts of high class events like this were simply honored to have him stop by at all. It was both staggering and disturbing, since not a single one of these people knew the real Simon Chaval.
Amaya wasn’t entirely sure she did, either.
“Walk with me,” he instructed, and she followed on his arm. The reporters jotted down notes as they left, undoubtedly planning to spew more useless rumors in the paper tomorrow. She could almost see the headlines now: does Chaval have a Talami mistress? Has he finally found true love? When she had first read the drek they wrote on a daily basis, she thought it might hamper Chaval’s campaign, but then she realized how little she understood Arkadian politics. Very little hit the papers in this city that Chaval didn’t personally approve of, and if rumors of his romantic life were circulating at all, it was because he wanted them to.
They ascended the long, gold-plated staircase up to the building’s second level and the offices where they could get some privacy. Amaya was tempted to complain about having to walk so quickly in the ridiculously restrictive shoes and dress he insisted she wear, but she decided it wasn’t worth it. His mood would turn foul soon enough without her provoking him.
They entered his office and she gestured to the sending stone mounted on the northern wall. A glowing crystal floated in the air above the foot-long piece of metal, indicating that the attuned stone was trying to connect with it. The devices were amazing but ridiculously expensive, especially considering how much the price of varium crystal had gone up over the past decade, but they remained the only reliable method of maintaining long-distance communication with another party.
As much as Chaval liked to tout the power of recent inventions, the telegraph, while perfectly functional, was a distant second for numerous reasons ranging from convenience to privacy. He would never admit in public that he still relied upon this mage-created technology to maintain his empire, of course, but that was all part of the grand illusion.
Chaval stepped over to the stone and tapped one of the three plates inset along the bottom of the panel. An instant later the glowing crystal at the center twirled once, then expanded into a translucent projection of a human face. It was almost like staring at the disembodied head of a ghost.
“Hello, Yurst,” Chaval said, his voice cool. “I assume by the look on your face something went wrong.”
The ghostly head nodded. The stone’s projection left much to be desired in terms of accurately showing facial features, but it was still obvious that this man was terrified. Given what he had told Amaya earlier, he had every reason to be.
“Yes, Mr. Chaval,” Yurst managed, visibly swallowing.
Amaya watched her employer’s reaction carefully. So far he hadn’t even twitched, which was exactly the frosty demeanor she had come to expect while they were in private. It was a marked contrast to the warm, welcoming smile he wore everywhere else.
“Do you have the book?”
Yurst nodded. “Yes, sir. I have it right here.”
“Good. So what’s the problem?”
“The girl,” Yurst murmured. “She’s alive.”
Chaval’s jaw tightened. The change was subtle; likely it wasn’t even a detail the projection would carry. And of course, Yurst wasn’t the type of man who was going to notice such a thing anyway. Amaya, on the other hand, had spent most of her life learning how to read people, and she could already see the fury smoldering behind Chaval’s eyes.
“What about the mother?”
“Dead,” Yurst told him. “The girl wasn’t home, and when she finally showed up she was never alone. I know you said you didn’t want any witnesses, but we found out she was leaving town and knew we had to do somethi
ng. We decided to try and corner her at Radbury Station yesterday.”
“Where evidently a group of armed men were unable to kill a nineteen year old girl who hasn’t even taken the Oath Rituals,” Chaval said, his voice lowering a few degrees. “I hope you have a convincing explanation.”
The other man nodded. “We were ambushed, sir.”
“How?”
“The girl’s traveling with some shuvo, a kid about her age. He’s cagey, though. He figured out we were trying to flush them into an alley and made a break for it. The boys pursued, but…”
“But what?”
Yurst swallowed. “They’re dead, sir. All of them.”
Chaval glanced to Amaya, then back to the stone. “How?”
“It was just one man as far as I could tell,” Yurst said. “I caught a glimpse of him in the distance when I stumbled across the bodies, but he ran off before I could confront him.”
“I see,” Chaval muttered. “You’re certain you didn’t just flee in terror?”
The man was visibly trembling, but even without the telltale reaction it was obvious Chaval was right. The fool had probably bolted the moment he saw the corpses of his fellows…
“I knew you wanted the book, sir,” Yurst added desperately. “I didn’t think I’d have a chance by myself, not with what happened to the others.”
Chaval drew in a deep breath. “You made the right decision. The book is vital; the girl we can deal with later. But you said you saw the man who ambushed you. Describe him.”
Yurst blinked a few times, probably trying to come to grips with the fact he had apparently been given a free pass on his incompetence. “It wasn’t a great look, sir, but he was tall and thin, almost gaunt, really. I didn’t see a face, but he had a tattered black coat and auburn-colored hair. Oh, and a red scarf, too, for some reason. It’s not even that cold yet. That’s all I could see.”
“How did they die?”
“Sir?”
“Your comrades,” Chaval said impatiently. “A knife? A bullet? What?”
“Nothing like that,” Yurst replied, wetting his lips. “Two of them had broken necks, but the third…I don’t even know, sir. He was pale as the void, but I didn’t see any blood. He was just…dead.”
Chaval nodded knowingly, though Amaya wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t exactly the most vivid description. “You’re to return here immediately,” Chaval ordered. “When you hand me the book, I’ll even give you their share of the payment.”
Yurst almost looked like he had choked on something. “Er…yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. I’ll be on a train within the hour.”
“Good. I look forward to seeing you.”
Chaval pressed the button, and the image disappeared. A second later the crystal sunk back into the metal plate.
“Someone’s protecting her,” Amaya said.
“Obviously,” Chaval murmured, pacing to the side and scratching at his chin. “The question is who.”
“You seemed to know something. Any guesses?”
“A few,” he replied vaguely. “But right now we need to focus on the girl. We have to reach her before she returns to the university.”
“That won’t be a problem. She and a friend are already heading to Vaschberg.”
His eyes narrowed as he turned to face her again. “Is that so?”
Amaya nodded. “We could deal with her on the train easily enough. It’s a long trip with many stops; it wouldn’t be difficult to get some of our people aboard.”
“And at the very least we might be able to draw out her mysterious protector.”
Amaya cocked an eyebrow. He definitely knew something, and she didn’t particularly feel like being subtle. “Were you planning on telling me who it is?”
Chaval grunted softly and his eyes seemed to lose their focus. “Glenn Maltus.”
“The name sounds familiar.” Amaya searched her memory. “Isn’t he a high-profile professor at Selerius?”
“Maltus is many things, and professor is probably the least of them,” he said. “He’s an Enclave watchdog, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already brought on additional help. He’s also likely spoken with the girl directly by now, which means she’s more of a threat than ever.”
Amaya pursed her lips. The Enclave reminded her of the shadow clans back home in Talam. Ostensibly, local leaders had taken control after the fall of Lo’Sai, but everyone knew they were in the pockets of the underworld clans. The same seemed true with the Enclave here, especially if Chaval’s stories were to be believed. They effectively ran the governments in Arkadia and Esharia, as well as many other smaller countries, no matter what the elections said.
Chaval’s eyes glimmered in thought for a moment before fixing on her again. “She has to be meeting Gregori. It’s the only reason she would go all the way to Vaschberg.”
“That name I don’t know.”
“Gregori Danev. He owns a whorehouse in the middle of the city, but he’s also a broker.”
“A banker?”
“An information broker,” Chaval mused. “He buys secrets and then sells them. But more importantly, he was a friend of Tara DeShane many years ago. He wouldn’t cross me directly, but he’ll help her daughter…and Maltus must have told her to go there.”
Amaya nodded absently. A small part of her felt sympathy for this young woman. Just over a week ago she had been well on her way to completing her education and living the privileged life so many—especially in this region of the country—desperately wanted. Then her only remaining family had been murdered, and now she was being forced to travel across the country into the heart of Industrialist territory just to come to grips with what had happened.
But that was also why, in the end, Amaya’s well of pity quickly ran dry. Like all magi, this girl was her enemy—or would be in the future. Even those who started off innocent would eventually be corrupted. Talami history was a testament to that. Amaya could spend the rest of her active years here with Chaval and still not earn enough money to save her family and her people from Talam’s devastation. The damage was done, and it had been caused by magi.
“I’ll send the orders to have our men board the train on one of its stops,” she said.
“Do that, but have a contingency in case they fail.”
“We can have people waiting in Vaschberg before she reaches Danev.”
He tapped a finger on his chin as he mulled it over. “No. I want to see how Gregori responds. He keeps to the shadows and pretends he has nothing to do with the Enclave, but I suspect he’ll show himself if she speaks with him. With luck, we might be able to get him to play his hand, and then we can deal with him before he becomes a problem.”
“I see,” Amaya said. “So what, then?”
“I want you to handle this personally,” he said, offering her a tight smile. “Take the noon train to Vaschberg and situate yourself nearby. Find out what they know, and then make a decision. On the off chance our men on the train succeed, then clean up the mess.”
She frowned. “You have three speeches a day for the next several weeks…exposing yourself like that without my protection is—”
He waved a hand. “I appreciate the concern, but I will be fine. Don’t worry, my dear. My enemies are many things, but they’re not stupid enough to make a martyr of me now. They still believe they can win legitimately.”
“It’s not your political enemies I’m worried about,” she told him. “It’s the gun-toting maniacs on the streets that don’t think that far ahead.”
He chuckled lightly before offering her his arm. He led her out of the back offices and back to the stairwell above the party below.
“The common people are not our enemies,” he said, his smile widening as he looked down at his quasi-worshippers. “The magi, on other hand, are too reserved to resort to assassination—for the moment, at least. Just deal with DeShane, and everything will work itself out.”
Amaya didn’t agree, but she knew how futile it was to argue with him
once he had made up his mind. Besides, at least it would get her out of this cesspool for a while. “I’ll send word to our men there to expect me.”
“Good,” he replied, kissing her on the cheek. He was playing to the crowd; he knew that the newsmen below were watching them carefully, and he wanted to give them something to speculate about. But despite the pleasant smile he kept up for their benefit, his tone abruptly chilled. “Do not let her escape again.”
“She won’t.”
Chaval turned and headed back down the stairs. Amaya stood there for a long moment, wondering how she was going to get close enough to the owner of a brothel to peep in on his conversation with the younger DeShane. The prospects weren’t thrilling, and she wondered if it might just be easier to kill the girl and her escort at the train station and tell Chaval it had been necessary. It was a tantalizing opportunity. She had a feeling that if the girl actually had a chance to talk to this Danev, she might end up with even more protection.
But she also considered Chaval’s potential fury if she didn’t follow his instructions. She couldn’t afford to have her payment withheld; her family was depending on the money now more than ever. Talam might have been slowly dying, but she didn’t want them to die with it. And unfortunately, having them come here wouldn’t really be any better, not if a civil war did indeed break out across Arkadia. At this point, it seemed like a foregone conclusion.
Amaya stood alone in silence for several minutes before continuing up the stairs to her chambers to pack for her journey.
Chapter Three
“I can’t believe people actually read this drek,” Eve commented as she flipped through the pages of the previous day’s newspaper. She sat scrunched into her plush cabin seat, her legs pulled up next to her.
“Read it and believe it,” Zach muttered. He had adopted his “rebel” pose, as she called it: arms crossed, boots perched on the table between them, and hat tilted down over his eyes as he slipped in and out of consciousness. She smiled at the thought but decided not to harass him for it. It was a long ride to Vaschberg, and she didn’t need to get on his nerves just yet. Especially not after Radbury.
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