A Gluttony of Plutocrats (The Respite Trilogy Book 1)

by Ella Swift Arbok

  I waited. I glanced around the office. Despite its differences of scale and elevation, a memory of my first night on Respite seeped into my mind—a memory of a dark, sealed room in the subbasement of a police station. I shivered.

  Bandstorm chuckled, a deep rumble. “You like my little den? This wasn’t given to me, you know. I wasn’t born to wealth. I fought for everything I have, and I fought hard.” He flicked his cigar in the general direction of an ornate silver ashtray. “Take a walk around, if you want. It’ll give you something to aim for.”

  Why had the chairman asked me to remain when the others left? I had no desire to examine the luxury of his surroundings. He wanted something from me. “Mr. Bandstorm, why am I here?”

  He smiled. “I like that. You’re direct. You say what’s on your mind.” He leaned forward, resting his enormous arms on the desk. “More than that, I like what I see in Giltstein’s report.” He picked up a single sheet of paper. “You’re smart, and I need smart where it can be useful.” He beckoned. “Bring up a chair.” His tone, little more than a stage whisper, reinforced my unease.

  I moved my chair up to the desk, choosing the side farther from Bandstorm’s ashtray.

  Bandstorm waited for me to settle. “Tell me, Oneway, are you satisfied with what I pay you?”

  A loaded question. At almost twenty cupros a week, a quarter of which covered Dempster’s board and breakfast, I could live on it. “It’ll do for now.”

  Bandstorm drummed his fingers on the desk. “There’s a great deal more to be made, for the right man.” A glance to either side confirmed what he must have known. We were alone in the room. “And if I were to ask your thoughts on the disposables?”

  The disposables? What did they have to do with my work at Draco? I sat back and stared at the chairman. “The street children?”

  The chairman looked hard at me. “You know damn well who I mean.” He waited.

  As I faced him, I saw for the first time the blue pin in his lapel. It was there to be seen, but my brief contact with Bandstorm made me cautious. He was a manipulator and proud of it.

  I resisted the temptation to reveal my own pin. “I believe we have a common interest.”

  Bandstorm held up a hand. “Discretion, Oneway. But I appreciate your frankness.” He tapped a finger on the desk. “Your contact with the children was not discreet, by the way. I’ll have the police record cleared, but you must be more careful.”

  Why would Bandstorm know, or care, about my brush with the police? I doubt if I concealed my surprise well. “I felt the need to take action.”

  Bandstorm nodded. “Excellent. I hope you learned a lesson. You’ll do well here, Oneway.”

  He leaned back, throwing his bulk against the back of his chair. It didn’t creak. His eyes narrowed. “Tell me. If I were to ask for little changes in, shall we say, the payroll system—changes that no one, not even your manager, would need to know about—how would you feel? You’d be well rewarded of course, but how would you feel about that?”

  The chairman was asking me to make covert alterations to a documented system. Could I do it if I wanted to? Would I have the access? “You mean, bypassing a validation routine or a lookup table? Or something more fundamental?”

  Bandstorm grinned. “I like you a lot, young man. You catch on quickly. Well?”

  I had few choices. “It’s your company. I work for you. If you ask me to do something that I don’t feel comfortable with, I’ll leave. But otherwise, I’m happy to work with you.”

  Bandstorm puffed on his cigar. “Not quite the answer I was hoping for.” He put the cigar into his mouth and gripped it with his teeth. For a few moments, he examined my face, frowning. “You know, you have the palest face I have ever seen on a living person.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  His eyes moved to my combi. “Let me see that.”

  “My pentagram?” I lifted it over my head, put it on the desk, and pushed it toward him.

  He turned it in his enormous hands, then took an eyeglass from a desk drawer. When he was satisfied, he slid it back to me. “Nice workmanship. Now, tell me what happened to your ship.”

  I put my hands behind my head, fingers interlocked. What to say? Suddenly on the spot, I couldn’t think. Concentrate on the essentials. What must I not tell him? Easy. He mustn’t know the level of its technology. If he or anyone connected to Respite’s security suspected the range of its abilities, I risked having everything that I’d brought from Earth taken. Without scarf or combi, I’d lose contact with Newton.

  Bandstorm tapped on the desk. “Well?”

  “I’m sorry; the question took me by surprise. It’s safe in a clearing off Western Road. At least, it was a month ago.”

  “Not anymore. It returned to the sky the day after it was discovered.”

  Amateur dramatics hadn’t appealed to me on Earth, but I suddenly found a need. I stared. I believe I even rocked back in my seat. “My ship, gone? Well, that’s one decision made. I’m staying.”

  Bandstorm rested his cigar against the side of his ashtray. His eyes narrowed as he examined my face. “You would be surprised at the interest your little starship has raised. Can you imagine its value to the military? Within four days of its discovery, every police station in Eden had been alerted. Five days, in the case of Elysium. Remember that, Oneway. That’s how rapidly news travels on Respite. And I’ll bet you a week of your pay that by Darken’s Day, you’ll be taken in for questioning.”

  Bandstorm cracked his knuckles. “Again I ask you, what happened to the ship?”

  I stroked my chin and frowned. “It was a hire vessel, long overdue. Maybe it was preprogrammed to return to Earth, with or without me.”

  “Ha. Damned fancy programming. So you’re stuck here.”

  That was too easy. He didn’t believe me, but he asked no more about it.

  A few minutes later, a member of Draco security led me back to the training room. What had I agreed to? Would little favors lead to bigger favors? Had I allowed myself to become trapped in a web of intrigue that I didn’t understand?

  I hadn’t committed myself to anything until I acted on the chairman’s surreptitious instructions. I was still free to step aside and let someone else become his puppet on a string—at least until Darken’s Day, whenever that was.

  But there was knowledge to be gained if I acted with caution. And the sense of power, the sense that I could become a part of some financial intrigue, had a hypnotic allure that dulled my reason.

  Chapter 6

  When I returned to the training room, everyone except Beau Mergle had left.

  He sat on Giltstein’s chair, playing a guitar. He looked up as I entered and nodded toward the whiteboard.

  A message from Booby Giltstein:

  Well done, all of you. Have the rest of the day off.

  More leisure than I expected. I packed away my notebook and pencils and waited until Beau finished. “The girl Candy—Candice Ankova, I think, from the mailroom—I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

  Beau put down his guitar. “The skinny one?”

  “Slim, yes. She might be at the Silversmith Café tonight. She was there last Friday. Why not come along?”

  He put his guitar into its case. “What, and talk to her? You make it sound so easy.”

  I started to leave then turned back in the doorway. “I’ll meet you in the square at seven, if you want to come. And eat first. The café’s pricey.”

  Had Beau wanted to talk? I wasn’t in the mood after the encounter with Draco’s chairman. I set off to explore the south side of town, leaving the square by a broad road that, if I’d read my map correctly, ran down to the Craggle.

  Sweat dripped from my forehead. It was the hottest day I had known on Respite, with more such days forecast. Not always accurate, but without satellites, how did they manage any forecasting at all?

  Street vendors, each standing behind a handcart, bellowed news of their wares. I stopped by one and bought f
ruit—an Earth apple and a Respite pojo, like the ones from which they made green wine.

  I passed Tailors’ Row, the last of the major retail areas. On the left, the southeast part of town, the Wellar Dyeworks dominated the landscape. Its scattering of gray smokestacks and buildings spread over half a mile, but the odor of its waste carried farther. I hurried on.

  The Craggle flowed eastward to the sea. I took the upriver path, not crossing Revelation Bridge but remaining on the Cragglemouth side.

  Around a bend, a wooden bench carved from the trunk of a fallen tree lay back from the path. I sat in dappled shade, far enough from town to mask all but occasional traffic sounds and near enough to the Craggle to hear its waters lap against a concrete slipway.

  A group of long-necked waterfowl rested on the slipway’s slope. They edged from me as I approached. Their fidgeting stopped when I settled.

  I bit into the pojo, chewing on my thoughts.

  Twice in the same day, I found myself gazing over open water. Not a victory, but a step forward. I couldn’t undo the past, but I didn’t have to let it haunt me.

  What to make of Bandstorm’s words? Did it matter that he thought I had lied? More important was his knowledge of the ship’s discovery. What linked him to the forces of the planet’s security? I gripped my hands behind my head and closed my eyes.

  Distant laughter pulled me from my reflections. On the far side of the Craggle, a pleasure boat, steam puffing from its stack, chugged upriver. A gaggle of houseboats moored on the far side bobbed in its wake.

  One in particular amused me. Newly painted and set apart from the others, it had potted plants on its roof. I squinted to make out the name on the shady side. Respite’s Respite. Who would choose such isolation? Yet who was I to judge after the life I had chosen for myself?

  The sun had dropped. I checked my watch. Six thirty already. I must have slept. I ate what was left of my fruit, tossed the core into the reeds, and set off for the town center.

  When Beau and I entered Silversmith Café, the only seats available were in front of the counter. We got drinks. I looked around.

  In a far corner, a head of bleached hair, far less fashionable on Respite than it had been on Earth, caught my attention. It was Polly. Sy and Candice were with her, together with a scruffy gray-haired man who had Sy’s full attention.

  A partner? It would be strange if she didn’t have one. Either way, I wanted to meet Sy, and I’d rather know than not know. I picked up my drink. “Come on, Beau, meet Candy. It’s Friday night, and we don’t have dates.”

  He stared. “You’re just going to walk up to her?”

  “Unless you know an easier way. As far as I’m aware, she doesn’t bite.” I didn’t wait to see if he was following.

  Sy saw me, tapped the grizzled stranger on his arm, and pushed past him. “Lemuel, so glad. Come, meet a good friend.”

  Sy’s friend, sixtyish, short and on the plump side, with untamed shoulder-length hair receding and graying, stood as we approached.

  Sy introduced him as Dick Ovid.

  I shook his hand. “Of the Wider View? Your articles have an interesting slant.”

  He grunted. “You say interesting. Some say irreverent. Some say treacherous.” He removed a gold flask from his pocket and poured something into his coffee. He offered it to me. “It’s got a kick.”

  “Alcohol?”

  “My first word as a baby, someone told me. No?” He pocketed the flask. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Earthman. Are your eyes really green?”

  Sy thumped his shoulder, slipped back on the seat, and turned her attention to the window.

  Beau sidled up. I introduced him. He already knew Sy and Candy by sight.

  Dick stepped back from the table. “Lemuel, sit between us please, for my protection. Beau, I’m sure you’ll be comfortable between the girls. I know I would. You can leave the gun on the windowsill.”

  Beau passed his guitar case to Candy. “It’s not a gun. It’s a—”

  “Guitar?” Candy’s eyes widened as she took it. “Are you any good?”

  Beau eased himself past Polly, squeezing through the narrow gap she left him, their dyed locks blurring briefly.

  He sat between them. “I do OK, I suppose.” The girls began to question him, with Polly giving Candice few opportunities to talk.

  Dick sipped from his reinforced coffee. “Tell me, Lemuel, what have you read of mine?”

  “Enough to recognize a trend. You have little respect for the high and mighty.”

  “Wrong. I have none.”

  “Senator Wellar, for example.”

  “Ah, he’s no worse than many. They live out of each other’s pockets, cycling wealth and power among the chosen few and stifling opposition with great—how should I phrase it?—inevitability. Wait for Monday’s paper, if you think I lack respect.”

  Sy sat back. The seat held three with little room for personal space. Dick on my left, tobacco-scented and full-figured, occupied the space he needed, leaving little space for Sy and me. I didn’t object.

  Dick took a swig of his coffee. “Lemuel, in an attempt I suppose to drive away customers, this café has introduced a no-smoking rule. Join me outside, please.”

  “But I don’t smoke.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  I joined him. We walked as he smoked. Soon, we entered the square.

  Dick pointed to the statue at its center. “Do you know who that is?”

  I’d read the plaque after my first day’s training. “He’s a Heyho. I remember that much. Sy’s relative?”

  “Ernst Heyho, her great-grandfather. Dead fifteen years. There’s little doubt now about the darker side of his nature—shall I say, an unfortunate fondness for children. Covered up during his life and still officially denied.” He drew on his cigarette and let the smoke out in a steady stream. “Bandstorm has similar tastes, and I certainly didn’t say that. Treat him with caution.”

  Bandstorm, a pedophile? Hadn’t he warned me earlier that day not to interact with the disposables? I couldn’t remember his exact words, but something didn’t click. Discretion, he had said.

  Dick stared at the statue. “This is one sick society, Lemuel. If you ever meet Sy’s sister, you’ll meet a powerful campaigner against corruption. I help her as much as I can, but it’s an impossible task.”

  Someone trying to help the disposables? “Let me know if ever I can help.”

  He nodded. He dropped his cigarette and trod it out. “Sy means a lot to me. She’s family, which is more than you could say for some members of her family, if you know what I mean.”

  I caught an edge of his meaning, but it was what he didn’t say that made me uneasy. “You might need to spell it out for me.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not for me to tell Sy’s story. She’s vulnerable, and I don’t want her hurt.”

  “Then we have something in common.”

  We made our way back to the café.

  Dick held out a hand to stop me at the doorway. “Lemuel, I’m going to ask a favor of you. When the time comes, would you walk Sy home? It’s on your way. She’s tough enough and a world-class runner, but these streets can get a little boisterous on a Friday night.”

  I laughed. “How is that a favor? It would be a pleasure.”

  Sometimes, you can know a man for a year yet not know him. I had known Dick Ovid for a few minutes. A friend already.

  Sy sat at the counter. She smiled as we entered. “It didn’t seem right to hold the seats in this crowd. What have you two been plotting?” She pointed to where she had put our drinks. “The girls have taken Beau to a dance. And you should go, Lemuel. You could catch them.”

  “I’ll stay, if I’m not in the way.”

  Dick took his cup, emptied it, and tapped it on the counter for a refill. “Why don’t you tell Lemuel about your running?”

  “I run a bit, yes.”

  Dick raised his gray eyebrows. “So modest. World mile champion until the Sp
ring Games, and she will be again.”

  Sy put a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “We go back a long way. Dick covered me many times when I was a child.”

  Dick stared at her. “Edit that sentence, Sy. What the dusky maiden means is that, while I was a sports reporter for the Daily Globe, I covered her early internationals. I have only ever covered her in my dreams.”

  Sy stiffened on her seat.

  Dick poured a generous measure from his flask into a fresh cup of coffee. “So sorry, Sy. Stupid of me. I’m going to wander off now and see if I can find someone else to upset.” He took his drink to the other end of the café and was soon embroiled in conversation with two tellers from the Heyho Bank.

  Sy shook her head. “Dick can be thoughtless sometimes.” She forced a smile. “Tell me why the chairman is interested in you.” A change of topic to help her change the mood?

  “Is he? We talked today. He says I did well during training.”

  “Of course you did. But be careful with him. Bandstorm isn’t a man you want as an enemy.”

  Twice in a few minutes, I had been warned about Hector Bandstorm. Maybe Draco Trading promised more excitement than I expected.

  A charity collector, sharp-featured and petite, entered the café and rattled her tin. Educate the Misfortunates, the label said. She turned it round when she saw my frown. The other side said Educate the Disposables. “Call them what you will. One’s what they call themselves. One’s their proper name.”

  I knew her from her voice—the woman from the library.

  She turned to Sy, reached out a hand, and brushed it against the back of Sy’s. “You’re an inspiration, Ms. Heyho.”

  Sy raised a finger to her mouth. A request for caution? “We all need help at times, Patur.”

  The woman rattled her tin throughout the café.

  Dick hurried up to us. “I have to go now, Sy. Am I forgiven?”

  Sy kissed him on the cheek. “You’re leaving?”

  “I have to meet someone.”

  Her frown suggested she didn’t know.

  “You know what I mean. I’m planning to get a little boisterous myself.”