Chapter 57
Maya woke early and, alongside organising the search for new Cyrus Force users, investigated Note and the Farmer Councillor. Note's records were, as her friend suggested, clean: she had been involved in the usual childhood traumas, only stepped out of line once during a Ten Days celebration which resulted in a fine for 'public indecency,' a report Maya would certainly ask about during their next card game. There was nothing to be concerned about, no evidence of Heresy in her past.
Flux had a curiously spotless record. Note had, at least, been suspected of minor crimes as a child, but there was nothing on the Farmer Councillor. The eldest son of a wealthy Farmer family, Flux had come to the Station, and then the Council, because of his family’s proprietary recipe for open-air crop fertiliser. His whole life was summed up in a paragraph and some dull dates.
“How could that be?” Request asked when Maya relayed this.
“There's a few options,” Maya said as they walked through the Farmer's Park's orchards. She tried to ignore the deep emotions those flourishing apple trees stirred. “He could be genuinely law-abiding: the Farmers are not as ambitious a Station as others.”
“Why would you be if you just grew things for a living?” Request asked. “I mean, I get that we need them to feed us and so on but I... I couldn't do it.”
“Spoken like a true teenager,” Maya said.
Request shrugged. “I'm comfortable with who I am.”
“As are the Farmers,” Maya growled. Then she calmed herself, remembered how stupid she had been at Request's age. “Anyway, perhaps Flux comes from so powerful a family that stay-at-home Contegons and Clerics didn't investigate him for minor crimes: why would someone with enough money to buy a Council position steal a loaf of bread?”
“Dangerous thinking, that stuff. Station thinking.”
“Completely agreed. Tone and I are trying to change that.” She didn't add that taking Request in was part of the efforts to change the Stations. “Another option is that his record was wiped clean recently. It would take a lot to access the Bureau and replace his few files, but it's not impossible.”
“Wouldn't someone question that?”
Maya shook her head. “Since when did Clerics question official paperwork? If it’s on the page, it’s true.”
They left the apple grove and entered a set of enormous palaces. One stood out in particular, a grand white building with paint as fresh as the grass surrounding it, one that glinted in the summer sun.
“There's another door to choose,” Request said, stalking ahead. She looked more purposeful today, either because she'd picked up Maya's desire to do better, or she'd felt as awful about their failed interrogation. “He might've kept his nose clean to avoid suspicion.”
“That'd imply he was gotten by the Disciples long before the Second Invasion.”
“Well, do we know where that family recipe really came from?”
Maya had to smile: that was the attitude they needed.
Flux's house was named Filter's Mansion after his great, great Grandfather, who claimed the land shortly after the Cleansing. The interior was as well-maintained as the exterior, regularly painted and replaced. Something about the family must've encouraged them to present this constantly-renewed facade.
When they knocked, a Butler led them into the kitchen. Request eyed him hurriedly, her head on one side, but said nothing. Flux stood, kneading bread, in that enormous space. His green Farmer's robes had been abandoned for simple blue ones, their arms rolled up to allow his hands to dig into the mixture.
“Sires,” he said on seeing them. After an inspection of his forearm, he wiped his thinning hairline with a clean patch of pale skin. “My apologies, the time just gets away from me when I'm baking. I'd not realised it was so close to our appointment.”
“Don't worry about it,” Maya said. The kitchen was large enough to hold a dozen cadres, and equipped to cook for them. It reminded her of the Academy's kitchen, though everything here was bright and new, impossibly clean. “It doesn't matter if you're a little dirty, only that you answer truthfully.”
“And why wouldn't I do that?” he asked, looking confused.
“If you had laid down the order for Maya's death,” Request said. Her hands were on her hips and her face was as hard as granite. Unconsciously, or, perhaps, as suited their personalities, they had fallen into the pattern of smooth and rough, calm and angry.
“Well, I... I suppose so.” Flux kneaded the bread more vigorously.
“You are aware that Councillors who knew about my trip are the prime suspects in the death of three Acolytes and the attempted assassination of myself?” Maya asked, taking a seat opposite the polished marble surface Flux had dusted with flour. “Those who were under the terms of the Secrecy Order.”
“I had heard tell of that, yes,” he said. “I suppose that it makes sense.”
“We're investigating these suspects with Contegon Councillor Tone White,” Request said. She opted not to sit, instead leaned her fists on the counter. “On the orders of the Guardian.”
Flux concentrated on his bread, burying his fists in the wide circle of dough. Maya suppressed a smile: they were putting him on edge.
“Why were you put under the Secrecy Order, Councillor?” Request asked.
“Well, you couldn't travel to the eastern Front without food.” He pressed harder, face twisting momentarily with the effort. “We had to ensure you had provisions, and that meant gathering dried and long-term food. Such would be difficult to keep secret during times of plenty, let alone when at war, so I was enlisted ensured supplies were gathered.”
“There were only five of us,” Maya said. “Not a cadre by any stretch.”
“No,” he said, gathering the dough together and rolling it into a ball, “but it was enough to make the Guardian nervous. Aureu doesn't need much preserved food during summer, sire, so our supplies go almost exclusively to the Mariners. Even the smallest deviation would be noted by the Mariners, Merchants, or other Farmers.” He slammed the ball down with a wet slap. “Ruining your cover.”
He seemed more confident now, like he had crossed into safe territory. Perhaps he was simply nervous at the beginning: he was not the strongest Councillor, and it was easy to imagine him fearing his own bumbling nature would implicate him.
“So you shifted the food to ensured no one would miss it?” Maya asked.
“Shifted is not a... pleasant word,” Flux said, displaying an impressive knowledge of street slang. “Skimming Merchants shift, Acolyte Councillor; I ensured the supplies were available without anyone being aware of their purpose. I brought together dried meats from different sources, using my Servants.”
“That's risky,” Request said, eyeing him like prey. “Couldn't your Servants work out something was up?”
“It's unlikely,” Flux said, shaking his head. “I often sample food so I can recommend products to other Councillors.” His eyes flicked up at Maya. “Much of it goes to waste. Rest assured, when they went to collect your food, my Servants were separate and unaware they each took more than I need.”
Whilst Flux had grown fat, Outer Aureu fought for a hundredth of what was at his disposal. Losing weight, then, was more a political move than a health one. Maya wondered who recommended it, who'd told him to lay off the feasts whilst times were hard. She imagined it came from his father.
“That was your only involvement?”
“Yes. I provided food to the Bureau, and they took it to your convoy.”
Maya stood. “Did you specifically fill the order to provide my spices?”
He blinked, looked down, and started kneading the dough. “I did. It mostly came from my personal stock. I filled your supply myself.”
“That trunk held the explosives,” Request hissed. “When it was opened, three people died in a conflagration. There was only a handful of each person left.”
Flux winced, slowed in his kneading. “I am sorry for your losses. Both of you.”
“Do you not see how suspect it looks that you personally filled the trunk?”
“I do.”
“Have anything to say about it?” Request said, as much a challenge as a question. She was building up a good head now, being more and more unfair.
“Now, now, Request,” Maya said, playing her part. “Let's not accuse people already. There are more Councillors to interview before we can come close to that. And we need to check every alibi and story, ensure they match what we're being told.”
“I... I don't know what to say about this whole thing,” Flux offered. “Many people had opportunities to change the contents of your trunk after I handed it over. Clerics put the carriage together. Shields guarded it. The other Stations you'll investigate knew about it, could easily have followed it to its location. It was a simple trunk, one you could swap out easily.”
“That's your defence?” Request asked. “Someone else could have done it?”
“It doesn't look good, Farmer Councillor,” Maya agreed. And she meant it: if he wasn't guilty, someone had set Flux up, made him a fall guy. “It doesn't look good at all.”
“How did your family come by their fertiliser recipe?” Request asked, wildly changing tack.
“Excuse me?” he asked, stopping his baking.
“You heard. How did Filter come up with the recipe?”
“Well, that is, I... Look, I can't tell you as it would give away what is actually in the recipe. The story of its discovery is indelibly, and completely, linked to its contents. Only those who have access rights in our family know it.” He stood straight, squared his shoulders. “It is, in fact, under its own Secrecy Order.”
“Is it now?” Maya asked.
“It is. I'll have my Servant get the Order.” Flux clapped the flour from his skin, then pulled a small bell from the cupboard below him. He rang it with forcefulness. Once again, he was confident, on sure ground.
A Servant appeared then. Tall and wide, broken-nosed and vicious, he looked more like a Shield than someone who worked for a Farmer Councillor. But he approached Flux and acquiesced, considered himself beneath the Farmer Councillor despite being strong enough to crush him.
“Sire,” he said, his voice oddly pleasant, “what do you wish?”
“Receptacle, can you find our fertiliser recipe's Secrecy Order for me, please?”
“As you wish,” he said.
Receptacle span to achieve his order. But he was more confident than graceful, and he slipped on the smooth tiled flooring. Falling like a tailor's dummy or a stage performer, he looked ridiculous until his head cracked against the corner of the kitchen surface, the sound sickeningly loud. He crumpled to the floor.
Flux screamed, a high-pitched sound, and Servants flooded in, scared. They saw Receptacle on the floor and panicked, though some had the presence of mind to run, hollering for a Doctor.
“Sol,” Request said. She looked pale, shocked. The fun of their interrogation had disappeared, replaced by horror at this poor man's clumsiness.
“We shall go, leave you to look after him,” Maya said, grabbing Request’s elbow. “May Sol be with him.”
“Th-thank you,” Flux said. He knelt by his Servant to assess the damage. The kitchen unit obscured how bad it was, but the other Servants' reactions told them it had not been a good fall.
“Sol,” Request repeated when they left the building. “That was... that was fucked up.”
Receptacle's accident had been as sudden and unexpected as her friends' death, though not half as brutal. The sudden and fickle cessation of life seemed to have gotten to her, as Request remained silent and distant for the rest of the day.