Ashes of the Earth (40 page)

Captain
Reese spoke no more, just stared into her whiskey. She seemed not to
notice as Hadrian rose and left the cabin. The grey cat escorted him
off the ship, then ran back inside.

Hadrian
made his
way
carefully up the darkened back stairs of the theater building. He had
confirmed that Buchanan's carriage was parked at the front and knew
he would have to be subdued if Hadrian confronted him in the
Governor's Box in the middle of an act. But as he peered around the
corner of the back hallway he froze. Bjorn hovered in front of the
door. Buchanan was taking his bodyguard everywhere now. Hadrian
retreated down the stairs.

Minutes
later he slipped over the fence into the governor's compound and
found a hiding place inside the little smokehouse at the rear of the
property. As he closed the door something glinted in the moonlight
that leaked through a gap in the planks. Atop an upright log lay a
small hammer and a piece of shiny metal. As he stepped toward it a
piece of porcelain broke under his foot. He picked up the porcelain,
then found three more pieces nearby. They were from the face of a
doll, a blond doll that had been beaten with the hammer. He lifted
the metal. It had been a badge, one of the replica police badges the
governor gave away as tokens of appreciation. It had been pounded
flat, its embossing destroyed. He looked back at the doll, realizing
he had seen it before, at the mill. Someone had taken a hammer to the
angel.

He
lowered himself to the ground, leaning against the wall. In a little
pool of moonlight the angel's eyes stared unblinking at him.

Hadrian
did not realize he had dozed off until he was awakened by the furious
barking of a dog. The door was flung open. He was still groggy as
Bjorn seized him by the collar, dragged him outside, and heaved him
toward the kitchen of the governor's house.

"I
knew the rumors of your death were too good to be true,"
Buchanan said as Bjorn shoved him into his downstairs office. "You
were seen at the theater. Bjorn doesn't work alone when I am out in
public."

"I
should have known you would need protection round the clock now."
Hadrian stepped to the fireplace to warm himself. "The citizens
are restless."

Buchanan
stared at him without expression, then gestured Bjorn out of the
room. "Where have you been?"

"Discovering
a whole new world. Meeting the people who have turned you into a
puppet."

A
glint of amusement appeared on the governor's face. "We went
ahead in your absence and updated your official record. Just in case.
Permanent exile will just take a quick vote of the Council now."

"The
new face of justice in Carthage. Condemn the accused without a
hearing."

"She
will hang," Buchanan said coldly. "I will make you watch."

"And
when I find the real killers your political career will be finished."

"You
have no notion of what is happening in this colony. Don't evade your
responsibilities for weeks then show up just to criticize me."

"It
is not me you need worry about. It's your Council. They've begun to
wonder about the guild heads taking over the government. Fisheries,
merchants, shipwrights. The ones crucial for smuggling. Have they
actually begun paying you cash, or is it still just extravagant
gifts?"

Buchanan
said nothing, but glanced out the open door as if deciding whether to
let Bjorn take over.

"And
now the millers. Have you wondered at all about that, Lucas? Have you
done an inventory of the grain?"

"Don't
be so naive. The guilds pay the taxes that support the government.
And having the guilds provide administrative support saves government
expense. The millers are now responsible for security at the silos
and administering the retail distribution. A waste of time for
government."

"It
doesn't hurt that they bring you so many things you treasure. Brandy.
Fine furniture from God knows where." Hadrian ran his hand along
the back of an elegant settee and gestured toward the grandfather
clock and a sideboard with a dozen bottles of salvaged liquor. "Have
you ever seen a duty certificate for any of this?"

Buchanan
took a step toward the door.

"The
last head of the millers' guild was murdered," Hadrian said to
his back, "and the new one was probably living in the north
until a few months ago. If he's confirmed on the Council, the guilds
won't have to listen to you ever again. They will control you, and
control the Council. The colony will be theirs. No need for messy
revolutions. They will probably even let you stay in the mansion. So
far you're doing fine as their figurehead."

Buchanan
seemed distracted. Defiance was certainly on his face, but as he
looked back out the door so was pain. Hadrian edged across the room
to follow his gaze. Bjorn was not outside the door as he expected,
but sitting at the end of the hallway, at the base of the stairs to
the second floor.

"You
have no proof of anything," Buchanan said flatly. "You flee
the colony on a lark and leave me to clean up. That bitch had a fair
trial. A jury convicted her. Kenton provided testimony that she
invaded a citizen's house, held the owner prisoner. Witnesses saw her
running back there from the library after Jonah was found dead."

"Lies.
Who was there to defend her?"

"Emily
made a statement. More like a plea for mercy."

Hadrian
lowered himself into a wingback chair by the fireplace, within sight
of the stairway. "The town in the north is called St. Gabriel.
They are sitting on treasures you cannot imagine. They stole the
Anna and had Fletcher
lie about its being sunk. They killed your scouts to keep their
operations secret. Then a policeman. Surely you haven't been able to
sweep Jansen's murder under the rug too?"

The
sound of crashing dishes suddenly erupted from the kitchen next door.
A woman called frantically from somewhere. Buchanan cursed then
strode out of the room, snapping at a maid who appeared in the
corridor.

An
instant later Hadrian was at the sideboard. He grabbed one of
Buchanan's precious bottles and hurried to the cellar door. With a
glance toward the kitchen to make certain no one watched, he opened
the door, rolled the bottle over the first step, and ran back into
the study as the bottle noisily bounced down the darkened stairs.

Seconds
later he heard Buchanan's furious curse. "Bjorn!" the
governor shouted. "He's in the cellars again!"

As
soon as the two men disappeared into the cellar Hadrian darted down
the hall and up the stairs. A stout woman in an apron lay sprawled,
asleep, in a chair by the first door. He slipped past her and pushed
open the door to find himself in a bedroom lined with shelves full of
books and dolls. Dora, the governor's youngest daughter, sat in a
chair by the bed, her cheeks red and swollen. She had been crying.
The girl held the hand of her older sister, who lay under a heavy
quilt.

At
first Sarah appeared to be sleeping. But then Hadrian saw her pallid
cheeks and the tremors in her fingertips. He knelt at the bedside and
gently took the hand held by Dora. Sarah's pulse was slow,
dangerously slow.

He
did not move as footsteps pounded on the stairs. Bjorn seized Hadrian
by the shoulder and seemed ready to pummel him when he was restrained
by the voice of the governor. "Wait. Hadrian is an old friend of
the girl's."

The
bodyguard scowled but retreated into the hall. Buchanan moved to
Hadrian's side. "Speak to her. Maybe she will react to your
voice."

Hadrian
uttered the girl's name, twice, three times, then very carefully
lifted an eyelid. Her iris was fading. "She should be in the
hospital," he said.

"They
have more than they can handle already," Buchanan said. "The
first one died in their care, as you know."

Hadrian
glanced up. Was the governor acknowledging that he now knew the truth
about Jamie Reese? "I just saw her two days ago at her
rehearsal. How long has it been, how long since the coma?"

"That
night."

"Before
that?"

"School.
Homework. Her usual routine. But she was acting restless. And
distracted. Went out in the backyard at all hours, looking at the
sky, sitting in the smokehouse."

"They're
bringing it in from the ruined lands."

"It?"

"Drugs,
Lucas. My God don't you see? St. Gabriel is eating away Carthage from
the inside while it erodes our resolve with treasure from the
outside. You don't control the colony anymore. You don't even control
what comes into your own house."

"Impossible.
My Sarah doesn't do drugs. I've had guards here these past weeks. No
one could get drugs to her without being noticed."

"Unless
she wanted them," Hadrian shot back. "You've got to close
down the smuggling depot in the cave beyond the icehouse. Pull back
your patrols from the farms and put them in the fisheries where they
belong."

"The
outsiders are nothing but peasants," Buchanan said stubbornly.
"Powerless shadows. We have nothing to fear from them."

But
as he spoke Bjorn reappeared in the doorway. The big Norger's face
was a storm of emotion. He said nothing, only pointed down the hall,
out the window at the end. Hadrian rose and followed Buchanan, seeing
with panic the flames that flickered over the town, then running,
reaching the window as a long, agonized groan left Buchanan. The
shadows had power after all.

The
flaming structures at the south end of town were like five giant
fingers about to close over Carthage. Bells began ringing. Fire
brigades were already galloping. But Hadrian knew they would be too
late. The silos containing the colony's winter grain were engulfed in
flame.

The
end of
the
world had come again. More than a few of the older men and women who
had labored to build Carthage sat against trees and openly wept.
Mothers held young children tight against their aprons so their tears
would not be seen. People walked about with blank expressions, not
wanting to believe the catastrophe before them.

The
entire winter's supply of grain was gone. The dry kernels and the
seasoned oak walls of the structures had provided the perfect fuel,
burning so hot that the silos had been impossible to approach. The
fire companies could do little more than spray water on the nearby
buildings, and even then two stables and a dozen horses had been
lost. There would be no bread, no porridge, no pastries, no pasta, no
more of the grain coffee drunk by many. The supply of wild game would
quickly be exhausted. Milk cows would be confiscated for meat. The
colony would be left with salted fish and pickled vegetables. By
midwinter even those supplies would be short.

Lucas
Buchanan walked among the ruins with an impassive expression.

"How
will you feed us now?" a woman with a child angrily yelled at
him.

"What's
the point of your damned police if they can't stop this?" a man
shouted.

Buchanan
ignored them. His police were out in force now, surrounding him,
guarding the rope barrier Kenton was erecting to keep the onlookers
from the ruined silos. Only one of them showed any interest in
examining the site.

Jori
knelt, studying a large crockery pot that had been shattered by the
heat. As Hadrian approached he spotted more of the ceramic shards,
from demijohns and larger containers. Jori held one of the pieces up
to him.

"Smell
it," she instructed.

The
acrid odor was faint but unmistakable. Turpentine had been in the
crock. Hadrian picked up another shard and discovered the same scent.

"They
wanted them to burn all at once, fast, so there would no chance of
saving even one. They got away fast. One of the ice freighters is
missing," she added. Her face twisted with emotion as she
watched a woman, pale as a ghost, walk by with an infant pressed to
her breast. "The children," Jori said in an agonized tone.
"My God, Hadrian, the children."

He
walked among the ashes, considering the night's work. It had taken
several men, with a wagon full of the solvent used to accelerate the
flames. History was indeed repeating itself. The agony of their first
winter would be theirs again. He did not respond at first when he
realized Buchanan was standing next to him.

"There
are small inventories scattered about at bakers and the mills,"
the governor said in a hollow voice. "The farmers always keep a
little extra. We will establish a rationing board."