“Because the Omkem/Byeit gate is down, and that was Omkem’s most convenient access to Tyr.”
“Yes,” Ingray agreed. “They want to restore that gate but they can’t do it unless they control both ends of it, the Omkem end and the Byeit end. And the Omkem Federacy has ships that can make their own gates, but I suppose they don’t have enough of them to recover Byeit.” She set her towel in her lap. “They really don’t like having to make that extra gate trip through Hwae to get to Tyr.”
“No, of course they don’t,” Garal replied. “And if I were a Tyr executive, I’d have been very happy to see the Omkem/Byeit gate go down. The Omkem Federacy may not be as large as it used to be, but it’s never been content with just being able to go somewhere. They’d much rather own it outright.”
Or at least run it. And Omkem, unlike Byeit (or Hwae for that matter), didn’t share a gate with Tyr. If the Omkem Federacy wanted to resume their unfettered access to Tyr and its dozens of gates, they’d have to rebuild that Byeit gate somehow. “I wonder what Mama is thinking, taking such a large contribution from them.” Certainly such a large amount of money coming to Netano from the Federacy would look as though it was meant to secure political favors, no matter these visitors’ stated purpose. And Ingray had spent far too long in Netano’s household to believe any contribution was innocent.
“I thought that was odd, too,” agreed Garal. “But isn’t it coming up on campaign season? She could use that money to have another go at prolocutor, and win or lose, if the Omkem try to call in too many favors she couldn’t go wrong publicly denouncing their expansionist ambitions and their transparent attempt to manipulate Hwaean affairs. My …” E closed eir mouth suddenly on the rest of what e had been about to say. “I doubt there’s a politician in this system who hasn’t taken Federacy money in one form or another. Netano may be thinking that, or thinking another run at prolocutor is worth it. I’m not sure this is a good decision on her part, though.”
Ingray paused for a moment before replying. “Surely it’s obvious to the Federacy that if she were one of the four prolocutors she wouldn’t be able to do the things they probably want and keep her office? She’ll have to repudiate them if they try to get anything substantial out of her. So maybe that’s not what these people are after.” Except if Ingray’s guess was right, the amount of money would doubtless raise suspicions that Netano’s political opponents could use to their advantage.
Before Garal could reply, the door to the hallway opened, and Danach came in, a tray in one hand. “A servant was bringing you some bread and cheese to tide you over till supper, but I told em I’d do it.” He smiled insincerely.
“How nice of you,” said Ingray with just as much sincerity as he set the tray down on a small table.
Danach sat on the floor, next to the table. Leaned against it in a way meant to show off his height and breadth to advantage—he knew he was Netano’s favorite, and he knew he was far better-looking than Ingray. Still smiling, he said, “So I’d ask you how much you were willing to pay me to not tell Netano what you’re doing, but as far as I can tell you’re completely broke.”
This—this was an old, familiar game. Ingray widened her smile. “I wasn’t aware there was anything I was doing that Mama might want to know,” she said, sweetly. “And I’m sure if there were, you’d eventually tell her anyway, no matter how much I paid you.”
“Well, for one thing, you lied when you said you hadn’t gotten the news about the Geck until you were halfway down the elevator,” said Danach. “I talked to Oro and he told me he met you on the station—you looked a mess, he said—and told you himself. You were just off a ship from Tyr Siilas. So I knew you were on your way home. With someone else, whose fare you were paying. It made me curious, so I took a look at who it was and, Ingray, if you’d wanted a false identity for someone you should have come to me. Whoever did this one was more or less competent, but what documentation they provided you didn’t stand up to a really determined search. Before you even stepped off the elevator I knew that Garal Ket didn’t really exist. I’ve been wondering all this morning who it was you’d gone to such trouble to bring home. I considered offering you a ride from the transport hub, but I thought it would be awkward if it seemed like I was involved with whatever you were doing. Turns out, I was right.” He looked over at Garal, staring down into eir cup of serbat. “What are you doing here, Pahlad Budrakim? I thought we were well rid of you.”
Garal straightened in eir seat on the dressing table bench, eir slouch disappearing. E smiled faintly and Ingray was struck again by how much e could look like Pahlad Budrakim. “Hello, Danach. I’d say it was nice to see you again, but you’re still a malicious little shit.” E turned to Ingray. “When we talked at Tyr Siilas, you said you and I had never met. But we have, it was just a long time ago. Do you remember your first formal reception? It was during campaign season and all the news services were there and you must have been just out of the public crèche. You were very small. And your somewhat older sibling Danach kept pinching you, probably trying to make you cry and disgrace yourself in front of not only Netano but the entire public.”
Ingray, astonished, could not speak. How could Garal know this? No one knew it. No one, so far as she knew, had noticed Danach; all the grown-ups had been intent on exchanging polite greetings.
But obviously someone had noticed. And Garal—or whatever eir real name was—had learned all sorts of small details about the system’s wealthy and prominent families. Such details were, after all, part of eir stock-in-trade as a forger of vestiges.
“How’s your foot, Danach?” Garal continued. “I do hope you limped for a few days afterward.”
“I didn’t remember you were there,” said Ingray.
“I’m willing to forget the past,” said Danach, picking a piece of bread up off the tray, “if you’ll tell me where the Budrakim vestiges are.”
Could it be that easy? Ingray had imagined carefully working to convince him that Garal was, in fact, Pahlad, and that e knew where those vestiges were. And that Danach would have some reason to be interested in that information. “No, Danach,” she said, renewing her efforts to towel her hair dry, as though she was completely untroubled by any of this, “I don’t think so.”
“Have you been at Tyr Siilas all this time, Pahlad?” asked Danach, ignoring Ingray. “I can’t imagine you ever actually went to Compassionate Removal, because if you’d gone in you’d never have come out. So you must have found some way to escape being sent there. I imagine it involved lots of money, which you probably got from the sale of at least some of the vestiges you stole. And no doubt you’ve made some of that back from my sister, unless, of course, she spent all of her money and quite a bit more that wasn’t actually hers just to find you.”
Garal kept silent, just smiled that small smile, and took a drink of serbat.
“Whatever the plan,” Danach continued, “it has to involve those vestiges. Because you have nothing else to offer, do you?” He did not wait for a reply. “No, you don’t. So, where are they? I’d assumed you’d sold them outsystem—no one in Hwae would be stupid enough to buy them, no matter how much money they had, no matter how much they wanted them. But here you are, and there must be some reason for that.”
“You’re right,” said Garal. “Those vestiges would be impossible to sell. So why would I have stolen them?”
“Spite,” replied Danach, pleasantly. He took a bite of the bread he held, chewed and swallowed. “Resentment. Watching over the Budrakim Lareum was your entire future, likely from the day you were adopted. If I were in your place I’d have wanted to burn that lareum down. Though, you know, I’d have tried to implicate my father’s heir in that, and tried to take that place myself. I can think of several ways you could have done it.”
“Then why didn’t I?” asked Garal.
“Because you’re not as smart as you think you are,” said Danach. Evenly, dispassionately, as though he were talking about the weather, or the l
atest ki-ball scores. “Neither is Ingray. You’d think she’d have learned better after all these years, but no.” He smiled at Ingray. “You’re in serious trouble. If anyone finds out that you’ve brought Pahlad Budrakim back from Compassionate Removal—in theory back from Compassionate Removal, anyway—I don’t think even Mama could help you. And that’s assuming she’d want to.”
Ingray considered pointing out that if Danach got what he wanted here—payment from Ingray to keep quiet, preferably in the form of the location of the stolen vestiges—he would be in just as much trouble if they were discovered. Instead, she bit her lip in the hope that she could keep her face as expressionless as possible, and continued drying her hair.
“That would be it for you, too, Pahlad,” Danach continued, scooping up some cheese to add to his bread. “Whoever kept you out of Compassionate Removal certainly won’t want that exposed, and you’ll be on your own.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Garal. “If nothing else, how can I be blamed for the crimes of someone who is legally dead?”
Danach made a snorting noise. “You really aren’t bright, are you. All it would take would be a request for Pahlad Budrakim’s identification in the archives and a bit of DNA from you. And the Garal Ket identity, well, it won’t stand up to serious scrutiny.”
Garal considered Danach for a few moments. “Fine,” e said then, and set eir cup of serbat down. “I see you’ve thought this all the way through. I suppose we don’t have any choice but to bring you in.”
“No!” cried Ingray. The note of alarm in her voice was quite real. This was going too fast; she wanted to talk to Garal first. “No, don’t!”
“Sorry, Ingray,” said Garal. “You’re a nice kid, and I’m grateful for your help so far, but I’m not going back to Compassionate Removal. And this has turned out to be way more complicated than we thought.” E turned back to Danach. “The real vestiges are in Eswae Parkland.”
Ingray nearly laughed. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? she’d asked em, and e had been. She bit her lip again and made herself frown, so that she wouldn’t laugh.
Danach wasn’t watching her. He stared at Garal, unblinking for a few moments. “You can’t be serious. Why would you put them there?”
“It’s under protection,” said Garal. “No one can do much of anything there without a permit. And it’s in Arsamol. Netano’s district.”
“So if someone found them, it would look like she’d done it?” guessed Danach. “Or whoever found it might bring it to Netano’s attention and she wouldn’t fail to use it against your father?”
“Take your pick,” said Garal.
“Gods of the afterlife!” Danach swore. He threw the fragment of bread and cheese he was holding onto the table. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He pointed toward the floor. “Those travelers downstairs, they’ve just promised a donation to Netano’s reelection fund large enough to finance another run at prolocutor. And just coincidentally Netano is supporting their application to dig up the ruin glass in Eswae Parkland. It’s a huge project, and they’re obviously stinking rich, which means they’ll hire help, and they don’t like using automated mechs for that kind of digging—something about soil layers, I’m told. It made no sense to me. But the upshot is, there’ll be mech-pilots all over the parkland. And it’ll be months before any work actually starts, assuming Mama can get this through the right committees, but there’ll be all kinds of surveys before then. Those two are supposed to go out to the parkland tomorrow, in fact. Supposedly they can see recent disturbances of the ground, and where it’s been dug out and filled in again, and they’ve been talking about looking for exactly that sort of thing. And on top of that Netano’s close to getting things tied up in the District Council—this has been under serious consideration since shortly after Ingray left for Tyr Siilas, and the amount of money involved gave Mama a very strong motivation to push things through. Fucking ascended saints! We’ll have to get there before they do. Where are the vestiges, exactly?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Garal. “I never intended to retrieve them, so I didn’t pay much attention.”
Danach stared at em, and then said, “I should just turn you in.”
Ingray, having used the last minute or so to muster up more of a frown, dropped her towel and crossed her arms. “I should turn you both in. Do you think that permit will be approved once everyone knows where those vestiges are?” Danach and Garal both turned to stare at her. “We had a deal,” she said to Garal.
“When we made that deal,” Garal said, very patiently, “we didn’t know about people digging up the ruin glass, did we.”
“You won’t turn us in,” said Danach dismissively. And to Garal, “She’ll get over it. And you’d better remember where you put those vestiges.” He blinked and looked off into the distance. Brought his focus back to Ingray and Garal. “In the meantime, I have to get ready for a party. Taucris Ithesta’s naming is tonight.”
“What?” Ingray was startled out of her posed anger. “Did Ocris finally make a choice?” Ocris was Ingray’s age, had been a quiet child, ill at ease in large groups. Ingray had liked them, but once she’d claimed her own adult name she’d seen very little of Ocris. Had almost forgotten them.
Danach gave a short laugh. “I thought they—sorry, she—never would. She never did like making up her mind, and if she was going to be content to stay a child playing at cops and robbers for the rest of her life, well, she can do as she likes, her nother is rich enough to support her. But I hear her nother threatened to cut off her allowance if she didn’t declare. Honestly, I think most of her friends had written her off. I certainly had. I wouldn’t be going tonight, except her nother is very rich, and Mama is considering another run at prolocutor. So there’s no avoiding it.” He rose. “We’ll talk more in the morning.” And he left.
Ingray looked at Garal, who said nothing. “Well,” Ingray said after a bit, wary of servants, or of Danach having some other way to hear what went on in her room. “I suppose it can’t be helped. But there are still … financial issues.” Danach had taken the bait, swallowed a good deal more of the hook and line than she had ever expected, much sooner than she had expected. But there seemed to be no chance to get any money out of him, not as things stood.
“Don’t worry,” said Garal. “We’ll work something out.” E seemed remarkably untroubled. “Maybe since your mother is going out tonight, we can have our supper up here. It might be a good idea to look at some maps and pictures. I’ll see if I can’t … remember something.”
“No,” said Ingray, summoning the household schedule into her vision, and blinking through it. “Netano’s guests aren’t going to the party. They need to be up early tomorrow morning for their trip to Eswae Parkland. They might decide to eat in their rooms tonight, but they might not. I’ll tell staff we’ll be at supper at the regular time—that’s in about an hour and a half—and we’ll go to the sitting room afterward. We can play counters.”
“That sounds fun,” said Garal, perfectly seriously.
6
Eswae Parkland was a bit more than an hour by groundcar from Netano’s house. The land had been owned by one of Netano’s predecessors in the Assembly, who had donated it to the people of the district quite a long time ago. Kilometers of grass and tree-covered hills, of little streams edged with outcrops of ruin glass running down to the Iogh River. The whole parkland was strewn with great boulders and piles of colored glass, and it was a common belief that the hills were made of the stuff. Certainly quite a lot of the parkland was just a layer of soil over glass rubble. Not terribly convenient for buildings or farms, which was why it was a park instead.
Ingray mostly knew it as a place to pose for photos—just a few years ago, Netano had negotiated the passage of a resolution in the Assembly that among other things had funded the renovation of several walking trails in the parkland, and so of course she and her family had been there at the reopening, clean, neat, and smiling in front of Eswae?
??s most famous landmark, a broad tumble of huge glass blocks, red and blue and yellow and green, some of them ten meters or more wide, in all sorts of eccentric shapes. Blocks and slabs and twisting arcs, an entire hillside of them sloping down into the river. The rest of the hill was grass, a copse of rovingtrees at the top. The public vestige from that event was a smooth slab of basalt, lying flat in the grass at the foot of the hill, beside the path, with the date of the resolution’s passage cut into it. Yesterday’s rain had washed the sky a cloudless blue, and the day was bright and warm. It was late enough in spring that the rovingtrees weren’t shedding anymore, though here and there a tuft of gray fibers was caught in the grass.
Ingray had never been as strangely obsessed with ruin glass as Omkem visitors all seemed to be. But this glass, this hillside in the parkland, was a landmark. One of the most famous landmarks in Arsamol. It was part of her home, and the thought of digging mechs pulling it all apart … “Surely you don’t mean to dig this up,” said Ingray to the foreign woman. Her name was Zat, and she had been unfailingly cheerful on the groundcar ride and the subsequent long walk into the parkland. “Not the hillside.”
“Oh, goodness, no,” Zat replied. The man walked beside and just behind her—Hevom, he’d named himself when Ingray asked, though of course Zat never said his name, or spoke directly to him. “I wish I could dig up that hill! I would love to have confirmation of some of my hypotheses—or denial, yes, that’s always a possibility, you know. Perhaps what I find elsewhere on the site will help convince others to support me in exploring the hill. But for the moment, it’s out of reach. Still, I can learn quite a lot from being able to take various sorts of images. Perhaps that will tell me a great deal, yes?”
“You haven’t taken them already?” asked Garal, standing beside Ingray. Today e wore a green-and-white tunic and a pair of trousers that were several centimeters too short for em even though they hung baggy all around eir thin frame, but there was no help for that. No shoes—Ingray hadn’t had any that would fit em, but e had said it wouldn’t matter, and had not complained or seemed uncomfortable, even after the morning’s walk. E still carried that black bag on eir shoulder, though Ingray could not imagine what might be in it that e thought e might need. “You’ll forgive me, excellency,” Garal continued, speaking Yiir, as they all had been all morning. “I know just a bit about this sort of research, and I understand it’s customary to start with a survey—or at least images that might give some indication of what’s under the ground and its extent.”