City on Fire (Metropolitan 2) (45 page)

“I need to get my people on patrol,” she says, “so they can help defend our position and familiarize themselves with Caraqui. And for that I need to get some workers up here to give me access to plasm.”

“That hasn’t happened yet?” Aiah says. “I’ll talk to the ministry and find out what happened.”

“Thank you. There’s usually problems of this nature at the start, and knowing someone to call in the right ministry is always a bonus.”

Well,
Aiah thinks
, I asked for this.

Duty calls, but Aiah finds herself reluctant to leave, so she wanders through the huge concrete space, talking to the soldiers. She gets asked out about twenty times, and groped twice, in a perfectly friendly, inquiring way; but she slaps the hands aside with a grin and declines all invitations.

“
They
are
from the Holy League,” Alfeg declares after obligations finally drag them away. “After peace was imposed, the last of the Holy Leaguers withdrew to Sayven with their entire army. They became mercenaries. These are their children or grandchildren.”

They are sharing the backseat of the big armored automobile that the ministry has loaned them for this occasion. Aiah peers out at the city through thick plates of bulletproof plastic and sees no sign of war at all, nothing but people heading places on their business.

“The Barkazi Wars ended two generations ago,” she says. “And these are still soldiers?”

“
Sayven exports a
lot
of soldiers. But it’s not the national industry, as it is in the Timocracy, so we don’t hear about it as much.”

If her grandfather hadn’t been captured, Aiah thinks, she might have grown up in Sayven, in a military family. She wonders if her life would have taken her into the army, if she would have found herself a military mage serving alongside Aratha.

“Does the Holy League still matter to them?”

“Oh yes.” Blithely. “They’re convinced we’ll prevail, given time, and that Barkazi will be returned to us— to the Cunning People.”

Aiah smiles. Alfeg hadn’t been lying when he accused himself of a sentimental attachment to his grandfather’s cause.

“Well,” she says, “I hope it happens.”

And then she catches Khorsa’s sidelong look, Khorsa who has come here— possibly— because she thinks Aiah will somehow bring all the exiles home and restore Barkazi, and Aiah feels her jaw tighten.

I do not want you to need me this way!
she thinks in sudden fury, but she swallows it, and makes herself concentrate on business— PED business— until the armored car rolls across the gilded bridge to the Palace.

FOOD FACTORY DESTROYED IN LOTUS DISTRICT

GOVERNMENT BLAMES SILVER TERROR

What waits in her office is not calculated to improve her temper: a Dalavan priest, young and burly, wearing the gray robes and soft mushroom hat of his order.

“I am the Excellent Togthan,” he says with a gracious bow, and presents Aiah with an envelope embossed with an ornate red wax seal.

“The triumvir and Holy, Parq, has kindly written this letter of introduction.” Togthan’s voice, like Parq’s, is soft, and his expression gracious. It puts Aiah on her guard at once.

Aiah opens the letter and frowns at it.
This will introduce Togthan, an Excellent of the Red Slipper Order—
Aiah casts a surreptitious glance at Togthan’s footwear and discovers he is wearing black wingtips
— who is, by my authority, appointed Advisor to the Plasm Enforcement Division. You are requested to provide him with an office and total access to any information he may require, including complete details on the scope and nature of all relevant PED activities.

Anger knots Aiah’s stomach, but she tries to keep her face immobile as she glances at Togthan over the letter. “Advisor?” she says. “What kind of advisor?”

“Advisor on spiritual matters,” Togthan says with another bow, “and of course on political direction. Triumvir Parq wants to see all government departments unified behind the triumvirate.”

“I see,” Aiah says. She wants to crumple the letter and fling it in Togthan’s face, but instead says, “I wish I had known you were coming. I would have had your office ready.”

“It was decided at the cabinet meeting just after shift change. Since the PED has become such an important part of government, I am one of the first advisors assigned.”

“Yes.” She glances around her receptionist’s office, looking for a way to escape. “Kindly take a seat for a few minutes, and I’ll try to arrange an office for you. Please have some coffee. There’s a meeting after quarterbreak, and I’ll introduce you to the department and division heads.”

“Thank you, Miss Aiah.” Togthan swirls his robes as he sits, a compliant smile on his face.

“What the hell is this?” Aiah demands as soon as she can get Constantine on the telephone. “Who is Togthan? What is Parq’s spy doing in my department?”

The unusual lack of emphasis in Constantine’s deep voice signals that he is choosing his words carefully. “The triumvirate honored Parq’s request for political supervision of all government departments— especially Resources and the War Ministry.”

“
Those are
your
portfolios! This is aimed at you.”

“If the triumvirate is nervous about an outsider heading two departments crucial to the survival of the regime— one who is furthermore the head of a political party that may run in opposition to their own— I cannot entirely blame them. Try to work with Togthan if you can.”

“The triumvirate?” Aiah asks. “All three of them? All three of them voted to put Parq’s spies into your departments?”

“Hilthi was against it. But Parq can be persuasive, and Faltheg voted with him, after some hesitation.”

“What am I going to do with this man?” Aiah cries. “He’s going to be creeping around and—”

“
You will work with him,” Constantine says. There is a steely edge to his voice. “Our government has concluded that he is necessary, and he will be far less of a danger to you if he is
indulged
. The best possible thing is for you to become his greatest friend in all the world.”

Aiah snarls silently into the mouthpiece and wishes she could tell some of her military police to chuck Mr. the Excellent Togthan off the roof into a canal.

“Right,” she says. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Constantine’s next question is artfully designed to prevent her from thinking of another protest. “Did things go well with Karlo’s Brigade?”

Aiah is still mentally enjoying Togthan’s arc into the canal, but follows Constantine’s shift well enough to answer.

“Oh yes. They seemed happy to see us. Their mage-major was complaining, though, that she hadn’t got access to plasm as yet.”

“I will make certain appropriate action is taken.”

“Thank you.”

Aiah presses the disconnect button, then calls her department heads to tell them that the Excellent Togthan will be joining the department, and that they are all to treat him with the utmost consideration.

“It’s because your boss sold us out,” Ethemark says. Rage in the little man’s deep voice keeps throwing his voice into squeaky upper registers. “He spoke in favor of Parq’s proposal at today’s cabinet meeting.”

“Constantine?” Aiah asks. “Is that who you’re talking about?”

“Yes. Your damned Constantine. It was bad enough when he supported the Dalavan Militia. But now because of Constantine, Parq’s spies will be in every branch of government “

Aiah struggles with bewilderment, tries to formulate a response. “Are you sure?” she manages. “Who is your informant?”

“Minister Adaveth,” Ethemark says. “And Minister Myhorn also. They were both astounded by Constantine’s attitude.”

“
There must,” Aiah says, “must be a
reason
...”

“Constantine is allying himself with Parq. He and the Dalavans together can dominate Caraqui— neither of the other two triumvirs has a following. Adaveth and Myhorn are both considering whether or not to resign.”

“
No.”
Aiah’s response is instant. “There is—” Her mind stammers, and she tries to work out what is happening. “There has to be something else happening here. If Adaveth and Myhorn resigned, it would be giving Parq exactly what he wants.”

There is a grudging silence.

“This has to be some kind of stratagem,” Aiah says, and hopes she is right. “Give it time.”

“
I have no choice but to ‘give it time.’ We of the twisted have been compelled to cultivate patience for many centuries now. ‘
Giving it time
,’” he snarls, “is what we know best.”

“Can we meet outside of the office?” Aiah says. “In my apartment, say? We can attempt to work out some strategies to limit Togthan’s influence.”

“Hm.” There is a brief silence, then, “Very well. Let’s do that.”

Aiah does some rearranging and gives Togthan an office with Alfeg. Put her
own
spy, she thinks, next to Parq’s spy. Then she calls Togthan in to see her.

“I apologize for the delay,” she says. "The war and our expansion has caused a good deal of disarray.”

Togthan seats himself in the offered chair with a graceful swirl of his gray robes. His voice is smooth and unhurried. “I understand,” he says, and sips delicately from his cup of coffee.

“Because of the shortage of office space,” Aiah says, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to share an office with one of our mages.” Togthan frowns— the first hint of disapproval he has allowed himself, so Aiah hastens to add, “But he will often be in the Operations Room or otherwise working through telepresence, and I hope he won’t be too much of a bother.”

“Well. . .” Togthan says, “I suppose that if it will assist with the war effort, I daresay I can manage the inconvenience.”

If I can put up with you,
Aiah thinks,
you can put up with Alfeg.

“I observe,” Togthan says, “simply in walking through the corridors on my way here, that there are many of the polluted flesh working in this department.”

“I’m sorry?” Aiah says.

Togthan flashes an apologetic smile. “Beg pardon,” he says, “I introduced a Dalavan term. I refer of course to those who have been genetically altered.”

“Oh. I see.” Aiah hesitates, chooses words carefully. “When our department began we were underfunded, and had to hire those who we could. The, ah, altered were often the most available, because they were denied opportunity elsewhere.”

Togthan smiles and sips his coffee. “That is no longer the case, surely? Your pay is more attractive now, I have heard, and there are many more looking for work on account of the disruptions caused by the war.”

“Our policy has always been to hire the most qualified.”

“
Miss Aiah, I’m sure no one desires that you hire the incompetent or deficient.” Togthan’s smile is all reason. “But there is much popular prejudice against the polluted flesh in Caraqui. I know that they are not to blame for their condition— our Dalavan faith is just in that regard— but nevertheless if there were
too many
of the twisted seen in this department, it might bias the people against you. Whereas if the population of your department more accurately reflected the composition of the population of the metropolis, I think you would find in the people a greater reservoir of goodwill toward your efforts.”

Aiah recalls Constantine’s wish that she become Togthan’s best friend, and compels herself to grace her clenched teeth with a smile. “I’ll give your wishes my best consideration,” she says.

Togthan sips his coffee again, his confiding smile an answer to hers. “I’m gratified that we understand one another," he says.

Oh yes,
Aiah thinks,
I understand, all right.

TRIUMVIR HILTHI DECLINES TO ORGANIZE POLITICAL PARTY

WISHES TO REMAIN ABOVE POLITICS

“WILL ENDORSE IDEAS, NOT CANDIDATES”

The Kestrel Room faces the guns of Lorkhin Island and is closed on that account; and so Aiah’s luncheon with Aldemar takes place at Dragonfly, a restaurant on the other side of the Palace, with a view of the distant blue volcanoes of Barchab. Dragonfly is smaller than the Kestrel Room, without its intimate alcoves and private rooms, and without its luxurious wood paneling; but it is a brighter place, its white plaster walls featuring strips of dark glossy polymer. It looks out over Caraqui with multifaceted, insectlike eyes, each reflecting a slightly different Caraqui, a slightly different plane. Along the walls and between the tables are fish tanks filled with scaled, rainbow-colored exotica, few of which Aiah imagines are actually to be found swimming in Caraqui’s sea below.

The actress wears a russet-colored rollneck, gray pleated slacks with nubbles and a subdued russet stripe, tasteful gold jewelry, suede boots with high heels. Her skin is flawless— the result more of genetics and lavish care, Aiah suspects, than plasm rejuvenation treatments, though beneath carefully applied cosmetic Aiah can see evidence for the latter, a kind of eerie, ambiguous glow notable more for its absence of character than anything else. Aiah finds herself envying Aldemar her epidermis far more than her celebrity.

Aiah orders fried noodles with prawns, vegetables, and chiles. Aldemar asks for half a grapefruit.

“You eat worse than I do,” Aiah says in surprise.

Aldemar’s answer is matter-of-fact. “It’s my
job
.”

“I guess you’re paid well enough for it.”

A smile tweaks its way onto Aldemar’s features. “Yes. Otherwise I’d never eat another damn grapefruit as long as I live.”

“What has become of the chromoplay you were working on? The one you abandoned to come here?”

Aldemar blinks. “Ah.” A dissatisfied look crosses her face. “Shut down for six weeks, a deadline soon to be extended. They have very cleverly shot every scene that can be managed without me. There are wrangles over money— I expect I shall have to part with some— but it’s not a very good chromo anyway, and letting it age in the bottle will not do it harm, and may do some good. And since in the chromo we get as far as staging a revolution, I suppose I can claim that I’m here researching a sequel.”