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THE BUREAUCRAT WAS ecstatic at the news of the flood-induced chaos to the Under-folk. Unable to entirely feel comfortable with the reports from the Vat she had sent a small cohort of spies with a homing bat. This was an affectation of the Red Duke’s that Rowle had chosen to adopt. She didn’t trust the Red Duke all that much more than the Vat, but what was a leader to do?
She had had a busy span so far, organizing spies to visit and intervene in the thieves’ gangs in the suspended boxes and rooms of Chantier. More thieving, not less, was what she wanted, obviously. Where there was instability, there was compliance. It helped that the River-folk were heavily represented in the gangs. That way someone else’s problem was made.
So pleased was she that she almost walked right past the new monolith of scrap metal on the sparser edge of the settlement. Rowle’s stopped short. Ducal changing of the guard was something that Rowle wished she didn’t have to do anyway, but she knew the value of it from a political point of view and at least usually it was a pleasant stroll to the lake. It was important that everyone knew she knew what was going on. That she gave implicit assent to the status quo. That they all knew that the same assent could be as easily removed.
She circled the scrap tower, sniffing. It was stuck up like an errant whisker, growing where it shouldn’t. Rowle insisted the whole area around the lake be as clear as possible. The garden itself being the exception. The rest of the cavern should have nothing in it or on it. Then it was clean, clear, easy to manage, easy to control. The tower was an affront to her directly. It was a cobbled together, misshapen thing. A little like Chantier. She hated that too. But the Gantrytown served a purpose. All the factory folk who weren’t part of the Duchy families had to go somewhere. There was as good a place as any—underneath the balconies of the Bureau. Where they could be monitored. But this thing? What purpose did it serve? Now she had her nose up close to it, she smelled something peculiar too. What? Something unusual. Aromatic. Heady. A flower? The White-Duchy were the plant obsessives in these parts. She could ask one of them. Not their turn yet. She’d a have to ask about it elsewhere. Tedious. She tapped her foot impatiently. Ceremony was a good deal of hanging about.
Finally, she heard the crunch, crunch of soldiery approaching. The Red-Duchy had been in post for the cycle and they were maneuvering themselves toward the center of the open space. They were scheduled to be relieved by the Grey Duke’s troops. He would not be there in person, the Grey Duke. When the guards came it was with a leader and ceremony. When they left, it was a tired cohort marching mostly in step, saluting with the traditional slap of the breast, and disappearing for a span of rest. The Grey Duke was annoying, the Unknown Duke. Rowle found the pretend mystery extremely annoying. The world was mysterious enough, dangerous enough, without inventing more. The Grey Duke would send a Mystic. Why couldn’t they call a Captain a Captain? And the whole Unseen rubbish? What in the hells was that all about? Someone was in charge, and they should damn well own up to it. When it came down to it Rowle could make someone responsible. He could have the lot of them rounded up and executed, wouldn’t matter then if they were known or unknown.
The Red Duke’s soldiery wearily crunched to a halt. They smelled dreadful. Rowle sighed. A single soldier walked forward from the ranks, stopped and saluted with a thud.
“Bureaucrat.”
“Captain.”
“May we be relieved?”
“You are relieved,” she said wearily.
The soldier crunched away, gave orders to his unit, and they sloped off. The crisp march of fresh troops approached from the opposite, Grey-Duchy direction. After handing over command to the Mystic, Rowle stopped.
“Hey,” she said.
“Your Eminence?” At least the mystics had some sense of decorum.
“Is this thing yours?”
“Sorry?”
“This tower thing.”
“No? I have never come across it before.”
“Tear it down.”
“As you wish, Your Eminence.”
She tutted, turned on her heel, and strode toward Gantrytown. Someone there would know. Behind her, she heard the sound of metallic crunching and clanging as the dismantling took place behind her. She smiled.
