A Gluttony of Plutocrats (The Respite Trilogy Book 1)

by Ella Swift Arbok

  It was time to show Linnet my evidence. I touched her hand. “Some wine, perhaps.”

  She smiled. “Go. Help yourself.”

  I waited. A tilt of my head managed to convey what words couldn’t.

  Linnet stood. “I forgot, you rarely drink.”

  I followed her to the kitchen.

  She grabbed three glasses from a wall rack and a bottle of green wine from the refrigerator. “Well?”

  If I bugged someone’s home for intimate secrets, which rooms would I choose? The bedrooms first, if that were the sort of secret I wanted. The kitchen, for loose talk. Living rooms, for the more serious discussions.

  Why not just say the words? “Linnet, your house is probably bugged.”

  “No. It has been, twice. The phone still is, and we leave it that way. But they’d have to be years ahead of what my research suggests if they have anything hidden here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No guarantees, but I’d be surprised.”

  I took the scarf from my pocket. “It’s possible my association with Bandstorm is why Dick was taken. Not to frighten him but to frighten me. I could show you who was there.”

  “Show me?”

  “Yes. But can we trust your friend?”

  Linnet frowned. She put a hand on my arm. “Forgive me for asking, Lemuel. You did nothing dreadful?”

  Trust takes time, as Dempster had reminded me a few hours after I first set foot on Respite. “I won’t defend every thought I had. But I hurt no one, and I upset a few men in the process. Are you ready for some magic?”

  Her grip on my arm became firm but not yet painful.

  I folded the scarf and set it on the table. “Trust me.”

  Linnet’s fingers dug into my arm as Newton’s screen, then his face, appeared.

  He smiled at Linnet. “Ms. Throse. A pleasure, at last.”

  Linnet gasped. “How?” She covered her face with her hands.

  I stepped away and rubbed my arm. “Newton, show stills, please, Bandstorm and his guests.”

  Linnet watched, openmouthed.

  After we had seen a dozen or so faces, I asked Newton to stop. “My combi—my pentagram, now in Bandstorm’s hands—can record for thousands of hours. I have detailed recordings of both evenings, which are now with Newton. I’ll happily give them to you. Shall we show your friend?”

  Linnet poured wine into each glass, drank from one, and topped it up. “I’ll ask him to take photographs, if you have no objection. The film and the negatives will stay here—something concrete to show to waverers.”

  Once Joyle had set his camera on a tripod in the kitchen, Newton stepped through the images, one by one. Every few seconds, Joyle nodded, and Newton moved to the next image. After every eighth, Joyle changed reels.

  Linnet sat with a notepad, jotting down the names of those she recognized. Her father’s image passed without apparent reaction. She pointed to one. “I don’t know him.”

  I did. “That’s Al Dempster. I used to lodge with him and his partner, until he moved out.”

  Image after image, Joyle photographed. One depicting a tall, slim man with a trim gray beard and dark, emotionless eyes drew a gasp from both Linnet and Joyle.

  I looked from one to the other. “You know him?”

  Joyle stepped back from his camera. “That is Olaf Wellar, owner of the Eden Broadcasting Corporation.” He shook his head. “And the Wider View.”

  Linnet stared. “Dick will be shattered. We’ve heard claims, but somehow it didn’t seem possible.”

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  She smiled and pushed my hand away. “Will we see him again?”

  What could I say? “Of course we will. I’ll go with you tomorrow.” I turned to the screen. “Olaf Wellar? Like the senator?”

  Linnet grunted. “Brothers. That’s often the way. Family lines. Like ours.”

  I moved through the remaining pictures.

  We reached the last, showing two men smiling at each other on Bandstorm’s driveway.

  Linnet scribbled. “I suppose you know who they are. On the left is Ralph Everest, premier of Eden. With him is his sworn enemy, Gregor Mountjoy, president of Elysium. Together, for the main event.”

  They never stood in quite the way the picture showed, with both faces clearly visible from the Great Hall. Newton had been creative.

  Joyle unloaded the eighth reel. “I’ll take these to the office.”

  “No.” Linnet covered the reels with her hand. “They mustn’t leave here. Ginda, you know your way around Dick’s darkroom. One more favor, if you can spare the time. Could you develop these and make contact prints before you leave?”

  While Joyle returned his equipment to his car, Linnet put the reels into a cotton bag. She added a bottle of wine and put his glass beside the bag. “Did I say Dick and Ginda were drinking pals?”

  When Joyle had gone to the darkroom, Linnet drained her glass, filled it again, and sat facing the screen. “Show me, Lemuel. Show me day two.”

  I sat beside her, facing Newton’s impassive face. “Two or three stills. Enough to understand but not to shock.”

  Newton’s face remained on the screen. “To understand is to be shocked, Lemuel.”

  I gripped Linnet’s hand. “Just do it, Newton. One still.”

  We sat in the living room, a low table between us.

  Linnet threw wood on the fire and settled back. “Lemuel, what you have is pure silver dust. We need to get it on a form of film that we can use in evidence.”

  I stared at the fire and watched flames dance. “Someone has to see it all to know its value. Whoever it is will be changed forever.”

  Snow slithered and melted against the windows.

  I picked up my glass. “It was scary. Bandstorm threatened to crush my skull. Your father may have saved my life. I’m not sure why. Never a dull moment. And that was day one, the warm-up.”

  Memories flooded back: Janet and her black-and-lace something, drinks with the master, the gluttony of plutocrats, rigid smiles, and young flesh. Threats, then more threats.

  Flames flickered. Wood crackled. The scent of resin awoke memories, distant and ancient, of childhood on Earth.

  Linnet relaxed into the soft cushions of her seat, glass in hand. She, too, gazed into the fire then turned to me. “Sy and Emily dock on Sunday. If you have no other plans, you’re staying for four nights.”

  I’d almost forgotten about Sy—the chicken or the egg.

  Linnet didn’t want company on her trip to the police station the next morning. She said she would be back in an hour.

  I puttered around, watched snow flitter by the kitchen window, then prepared to cook breakfast. For two or for three? I cooked for two. If Linnet came back with Dick, I could say I had eaten.

  She returned alone, resigned to the fact Dick wouldn’t be released until his three days were up. “They’re playing mind games with us, Lemuel, but we can do nothing until tomorrow.”

  We ate.

  At one end of the table lay the eight contact prints. Linnet picked one up, examined it, then tossed it back. She shook her head and turned to face me. “Lemuel, you’ve never really told me what you want from the island.”

  I had a dream but not a yet plan. There would be a land free from the torture of innocents, free from the abuse of power, but how? “Linnet, I want everything you want, but more. Why are children abused so dreadfully? So that men can exercise their power and bond with other men of power. Take away the concentration of wealth and power, and you remove this link.”

  “And how do you do that?”

  “I have no idea, but I want that to be a basic tenet of the constitution of Madagascar. We’ll build a better society, where children are believed and always accounted for. I don’t expect it to be easy, and I don’t expect I’ll live to see it achieved. But there will never be a better opportunity than during the development of a new state.”

  Linnet smiled. “Quite
a dream.” She reached for the photographs and spread them in front of her. “These are priceless, but at the moment, we can do nothing with them. We can’t take them to the police. They would disappear, and so might we. We can’t publish them. You saw who was there—everyone who matters. Laws exist to protect these pedophiles and torturers.”

  “What laws? You mean like diplomatic immunity?”

  “Six of the men you pictured are Elysium diplomats. Several more could call on National Security to prevent investigation or prosecution.”

  “Excellent. The first two rules for Madagascar. No diplomatic immunity. No laws to protect politicians or others in power from honest scrutiny.”

  Linnet laughed, the first time I had heard her do so since Dick’s arrest. “The constitution’s almost written.”

  “And we’ve just finished breakfast.”

  The moment passed. Once again, Linnet’s face took on a somber expression. “I know you think we are weak, Lemuel, and you’re right. I shall release my file when I die, of course. But what else can we do?”

  Was that to be the extent of her ambition? “Is that all you can do? A few dead, historic abusers will be hung out for the crows, and everyone will pretend it isn’t happening anymore. It’s something, Linnet, but it’s nothing.” I reached a hand toward the prints. “If you could gather enough evidence to attack all these men together…”

  Linnet clenched her jaw. “That’s why your island has aroused such interest. With a secure base, maybe there would be a chance, but not while we live in Eden.”

  Chapter 20

  Linnet promised to wake me at seven the next day. At six, she battered on the bedroom door. “Lemuel, we have a problem. Look out the window.”

  Heavy snow.

  I dressed and hurried to the kitchen. A foot of snow had fallen overnight, and the car wouldn’t get through.

  Linnet put a plate in front of me and sat across the table with her own. “We’ll walk, if you’re up to it. Can you use snowshoes?”

  I hadn’t worn them before, but how difficult could they be? I felt less confident once I saw them—strap-on overshoes that spread the load across several times the area of the boots Linnet also provided.

  Linnet hefted a rucksack onto her back.

  I offered to take it.

  She laughed. “Get used to the shoes first.”

  We set off an hour and a half before sunrise. A crescent moon over light clouds gave enough light to guide us. At first, I used pigeon steps, tentative and testing. The snowshoes were cumbersome but effective.

  We walked side by side, keeping to the middle of the road. No tracks, just clean, unbroken snow. A pole in each gloved hand, I soon got into a rhythm, adopting a wider gait than my normal walk after a couple of step-ons.

  Linnet paused at a junction and pointed up a lane. “It’s narrow and steep, but it will save us half a mile. Shall we? Once we hit the hill, it’s toe first, to create grip. Just watch what I do.”

  I struggled to maintain Linnet’s pace, straining muscles that hadn’t been tested in quite that way before—ankles, thighs, calves, those of the lower back.

  We turned into a broad, lamplit avenue and kept to its center. A single track marred the snow, the track of a horse and cart, going, judging by its position on the road, in the opposite direction to us.

  Linnet touched my shoulder. “Take a break.”

  She let me carry the rucksack when we restarted. After another half hour, she pointed ahead. “See? Those lights in the distance? That’s the police station.”

  A single point of light became two as we neared it, one lamp on either side of a stone doorway. We sat on a wooden bench built into the side of the porch and removed our snowshoes, leaving them and our walking poles in the porch.

  Linnet held up a hand. “Let me do the talking, Lemuel. Are you recording?”

  “I can’t without my combi.”

  “Pity. Well, don’t get into an argument.”

  There was no one behind the desk. A brass sign on it said “Ring for attention.”

  Linnet unwrapped her scarf from her face and put it over her shoulder. She removed her snow goggles, picked up the bell, and rang it with vigor. “If that clock is right, it’s three days and ten minutes since Dick was arrested. They have no right to keep him any longer without charge.”

  Two minutes later, she rang the bell again, slamming it back on the desk when a side door opened and a uniformed officer appeared.

  The duty sergeant ambled over to the desk. When she was in position, she lifted some scattered papers and shook her head. She glanced at Linnet, then continued to tidy the papers. When she was satisfied that their corners were properly aligned, she returned her attention to Linnet. “You again. What is it this time?”

  Linnet smiled, a thin smile that held no hint of pleasure. “Damn you, Sergeant. You know why I’m here. It’s the same reason I have been here five times in the past three days.”

  Sergeant Bondice, as her badge declared, pulled the station journal toward her and took a pen from a metal stand. “Name?”

  “You know my name. You know my—oh, regulations, I suppose. Linnet Throse, Eighteen Thundersley Avenue, Barford. Date of birth, February 32, 2582. Purpose of visit, when you are ready.”

  “There’s no need to take that attitude, madam.” She wrote slowly, examining each crafted letter before moving to the next, then laid her pen on the desk. She looked up. “Purpose of visit?”

  Linnet shook her head. “I am here to take Richard Ovid home. You cannot hold him any longer.”

  Bondice placed the pen back on its stand. “Ms. Throse, I’ve not had the need to deal with National Security before, but I know enough to know it doesn’t work by the same rules as other laws.”

  “Yes, it does, Sergeant, at least as far the rules of holding. He must be released or charged, and since you have nothing to charge him with, that leaves one option.”

  Bondice picked up her pen again. “Would you like to make a complaint, madam? I’ll find the form.” She pulled out a drawer and began to rummage.

  “No, Sergeant, that won’t be necessary. I just want my partner returned to me, in good health, now. Or I would like to speak to a significantly more senior officer. Don’t make me bring this to court.”

  Bondice folded her arms across her chest. She looked Linnet up and down as if trying to determine her species. “Lady, you’ve got a big mouth. You might want to sit in a cell for a while, if that’s a threat.”

  I put a hand on Linnet’s shoulder.

  Bondice stretched on her toes, glared at Linnet for a moment, then returned her attention to the journal. “Well, look what we have here.” She slid the book to Linnet and tapped on a single line.

  When Linnet had read it, she stepped back from the desk.

  I took her arm. “Are you all right?”

  Her body shook.

  Her words were faltering and hushed. “Take me out of here before I say something I might regret.”

  Bondice’s parting words—“Have a nice day”—faded as we stepped into the stone porch.

  Linnet patted moisture from her face. “He was released half an hour and a half ago. Sergeant Bondice signed him out herself.” She began to strap on her snowshoes, then stopped. “So, where is he? We’ve passed no track except one cart.”

  I went back to check. The tracks we had seen, Bondice informed me, were those of a police cart, taking Dick home.

  For Linnet’s sake, I raised my pace over the return journey. My back and ankles ached by the time we reached Thundersley Avenue, but they were pleasant aches, the sort that tell of an adventure survived.

  Linnet reached for the doorbell but changed her mind. “He’ll be asleep.” She took a bunch of keys from her pocket, and we entered the house, with as little sound as possible.

  Dick sat in an armchair in front of their television set, its crackling sound audible from the front door, its monochrome image, little larger than a hand, flickering light on his face. H
is eyes were closed, his clothes crumpled.

  On a table beside him were an empty plate, a half-empty whiskey bottle, and a jug of water.

  Linnet bent beside him. She put an arm around his shoulders. With the other hand, she maneuvered a glass from his fingers. “Dick, are you awake?”

  He blinked his eyes open and stared first at Linnet, then at me. “Lemuel. So kind. When did you come?”

  I stepped through the living room doorway. “I came Wednesday, as soon as I heard.”

  Dick frowned. “The party?”

  “I didn’t stay for the second day.”

  Dick drummed his fingers on an arm of the chair. “This begins to make sense.” He groaned and struggled to his feet.

  Muscles stiff from three days’ inactivity? I feared worse, but I dared not ask.

  Dick and Linnet held each other.

  I walked to the window and watched snow fall. Only when I heard Linnet leave the room did I turn.

  Dick had returned to his seat. The whiskey bottle was gone.

  I sat beside him. “It’s great to see you back, Dick.”

  He stared at the crackling screen. “Lemuel, it means a lot to me that you came here in our time of trouble.”

  “I also brought pictures. Linnet has copies. Everyone who was at the gathering, including one of Everest and Mountjoy together.”

  Dick glanced at me then reached a hand toward the table where his bottle had been. He looked around, turned to the kitchen door, and smiled. “Perhaps for the best. Half an hour to noon, and I have work to do. Lemuel, do you know why there’s a war? No, wrong question. Do you know why warfare exists in this happy land?”

  Dick had been free for an hour or two, and already he had slipped back into reporter mode, questioning and examining.

  Why warfare? The high templar had explained the cause of the ongoing war once. Thinking of him made me shudder. “A religious disagreement, I think. About the site of Darken’s first appearance.”