WITHIN A FEW very long days, Sady went from being a senator too academic to warrant much discussion to being one of the most-discussed senators in the city of Tiverius. Everyone knew about his distribution of salt pills. Everyone had their opinion, too, mostly unfavourable. Budget problems were bad enough already, they said. He should have asked for permission, they said. Maybe he should have, but it had been within his spending limit without having to ask permission.
Destran then halted the distribution of those pills, at which border regions which hadn’t yet received supplies sent a veritable avalanche of telegrams asking why they didn’t get the pills while the neighbouring district had received them.
With his distribution program cut short and half the southern districts angry at him, Sady asked for funding to visit those southern regions to measure and map the changes in sonorics himself, and to quell the anger. Because he wasn’t every senator’s golden boy right then, the application was refused.
Every time certain senators passed him in the corridors of the building, they felt it necessary to make sneering comments. That he wanted to draw attention to the Meteorology office; that he talked up the sonorics crisis just so that he could have more staff and money. An anonymous person sent him a table of data showing effects of various levels of sonorics on humans.
Sady read the report, feeling increasingly sick. The experiment had submitted people with no natural tolerance to as much as three hundred motes per cube. The work was littered with comments like, “Subject showed severe nausea, disorientation and bleeding from nose and gums,” or “Subject died after three months.” Yes, it also showed that maybe Chevakian sonorics safety standards were a little on the cautious side, but mercy, this table meant that someone had actually done this work on human subjects. On Chevakians. He thought of all those girls who had been abducted from the border villages, none of whom had ever returned.
He was unable to trace the origin of the report, although he strongly suspected that it was a translation from a southern document, and that it must have come from some dark corner of the Scriptorium library.
Meanwhile, Viki’s reports of the levels at border stations inched very slowly in the direction of the twenty motes, but not convincingly so, and each time he presented the figures to the doga, Destran asked for a second opinion from the Scriptorium, which either failed to arrive or spoke in very vague terms, and offered Destran an excuse for not spending money or resources on the problem.
The more time passed, the clearer it became to Sady that he couldn’t afford to be caught in whatever political reason Destran and Alius had for not acting. Something needed to be done, and needed to be done urgently, while Chevakia still had the opportunity to act.
So one morning, he sent out Orsan, the faithful leader of his personal guard, with a message to a lady he hadn’t seen for many years.
When Orsan returned, he was informed that the Lady Armaine wasn’t interested in seeing anyone. The note she sent him was quite rude, but it made him smile. Lady Armaine might be old, but she certainly hadn’t lost any of her bite. There was a fair chance that the old hag secretly relished the attention.
Everyone in Tiverius, or at least everyone in the inner city, knew the house of the merchant family whose oldest son had married the haughty southern beauty. Her dark-haired children, now well into middle age, were features of the district. Girls both, they had inherited every bit of their mother’s pride, and married into well-off merchant families themselves.
Sady had been only a small toddler at the time the woman had arrived in Tiverius, but he remembered the gossip, especially since she had come into the city alone and pregnant, had given birth while staying in the merchant’s house, and had subsequently married her host, a man more than twenty years her senior.
Sady remembered her son, an arrogant, sleek, black-haired youth with the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He came to Sady’s school when Sady was in the highest grade, and caused a lot of fights by being an incredibly rude and outspoken little creep of a kid. Sady was never quite clear what became of the boy after he left school, save that his mother had taken him on an extended trip to the south when he was about sixteen or seventeen. By that time, Tiverius was in a full-scale diplomatic conflict with the City of Glass over the Knights’ kidnapping of women from the towns on the border. The surly teenager had taken over some unidentified part of his stepfather’s business and had been one of the few people who regularly travelled between Tiverius and the City of Glass. Not needing protective suits was no doubt a great advantage for him. He would be able to blend in perfectly in the City of Glass.
He used to be on the doga’s books as a spy, but as far as Sady had been able to trace, hadn’t delivered reports for many years. How the family lived was anyone’s guess, because their merchanting business didn’t appear to be bringing in a lot of money. They had no physical office, no shops, no warehouses, and yet they were still considered one of the wealthiest families in Chevakia.
The merchant had long since died of old age. Sady hardly ever saw the son anymore, but the woman’s two daughters, the ones resulting from the marriage to the merchant, and their mother, still lived in the family house and Sady decided to pay them a visit in person.
Like most merchant houses, the residence was a huge sprawling affair, comprising several buildings, courtyards, pools and other such extravagances in Tiverius’ dry climate.
The merchant had built it back from the street on a hill. A solid wall surrounded the land, with a forbidding fence attended by a doorman in family colours.
Sady introduced himself. “Senator Sadorius han Chevonian from the doga. I’d like to see the lady of house.”
The guard’s eyebrows rose. “The Lady Rosane?”
“Armaine.” Such southern names, too. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember the son’s name, the arrogant little creep.
The guard’s eyebrows rose further. “You’re sure you mean to see the mistress’ mother? She is very old and hasn’t left the house for months.”
“Yes, it is her I wish to see.”
The man gave him a weird glance. “We have a standing instruction not to let anyone talk to her.”
“I wrote to her and she should be expecting me.” He held out the letter.
The man raised his eyebrows. “Doesn’t it say here that she doesn’t want to be disturbed?”
“Has the lady ever welcomed anyone? Yet doesn’t she complain when people don’t consult her? I’m about twice your age; I am familiar with her tricks.”
“Fair enough. Come along, then. But don’t blame me if she starts swearing at you. She’s got a temper and is not exactly accommodating these days.”
“I’m willing to give it a try.”
The man led Sady through a magnificent garden where water burbled in ponds with fat yellow fish, and shrubs were neatly clipped into miniature shapes depicting birds and bears, similar to the plants he had seen in the houses of the rich in the City of Glass. The garden beds in between the bushes were paved with pure white stones, so it looked like snow on the ground.
He became overwhelmed with memories of his two trips to the City of Glass, the pristine whiteness and the scents of cooking meat—almost the only thing southerners ate. The absolute bitter cold that no one in Chevakia would have experienced before. The claustrophobia of being stuck inside a suit for days on end. The smell of the inside of the suit. The feeling that everyone in the City of Glass was on edge and you could get arrested for the simplest transgression.
They went up the stone steps into a wide and airy hall with mosaic floors, large double doors and stained glass windows.
The guard knocked at one such door and stuck his head in. “A senator from the doga is here to speak to you, mistress.”
Sady couldn’t hear the reply, but it sounded sharp. He was expecting to be refused, but the man stepped back and opened the door fully. “You’re in luck. She’s in a good mood today.”
Sady entered a magnificent high-ceilinged drawing room with a mosaic floor and plaster friezes on the walls. An elegant row of pillars supported the roof. The doors into another garden were open and let in the breeze, which billowed up the curtains. The cold edge to the breeze didn’t seem to bother the woman who sat at a solid wooden desk in the middle of the room.
Sady hadn’t seen her for years, and she looked much older, her face lined with deep wrinkles. Her hair was now snowy white, and tied in a loose bun at the top of her head. Over her thin shoulders she wore a heavy embroidered robe, too hot for Tiverius, but something that would not have looked out-of-place indoors in the City of Glass.
She was writing something in a thick book, her hand gnarled with age and corded with veins. Sady glanced at the curly script, wondering how many people in the south could read and write. Not many, he thought. During his visits, he had never spotted any scripts.
She looked up from her work. The eyes that met his over the rim of her glasses were cloudy with age, but still dark blue.
“Forgive me, lady, for interrupting you,” Sady said. “The matter at hand is quite urgent.”
“You have already interrupted me. We might as well get it over with.” Her voice was educated, with the slightest of accents. Sady had almost forgotten what a southern accent sounded like.
“I’m here as a representative of the Chevakian doga,” Sady began. “My name is Sadorius han Chevonian.”
“Oh yes, I remember you.” She cocked her head. “Weren’t you one of those pesky kids who used to tease my son? What was it you used to call him? Mudhead?”
Mercy, did she really have to dig that up? To be honest, the kid’s behaviour was asking for it; even the teachers said so. At some stage, Sady must have participated. Not something he was proud of.
“So, you’ve become a politician, like your useless brother.” She chuckled. “Yes, yes, I think this talk will be interesting. Sit down there, young man. I cannot stand having to look up at people.”
Sady sat, meeting her blue eyes. “Just to clear up any misconceptions, I’m not here for any political purpose.”
She laughed. “That’s what they all say. I am sure, senator, that once we get to the real reason you’ve come here, we can get the discussion to political subjects in no time. But do tell me, because I’m interested now, what makes you so insistent on seeing me?”
Sady bit his tongue. He had secretly hoped she might have mellowed with age.“My question is simple, Lady. Are you aware of anything that is happening in the City of Glass?”
Another cock of her head. “Why do you ask me? You know I am not in contact with the City of Glass on a daily basis. I was a refugee, as you are certainly old enough to remember. They killed my family.”
No, she certainly had lost none of her bite. “I understand, but at the moment, we have no one else to turn to. I am the doga’s chief meteorologist. We have recently measured a recent sharp rise in the level of sonorics. Under the influence of the cold air streams, there is a huge supercell developing over the southern continent, a storm the likes of which we haven’t seen for many years. You see, low pressure systems can be induced by a rise in sonorics and we are afraid that—”
“Yes, yes, you don’t need to spell out all the details for me. I know. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know?” She laughed at her own joke.
Sady met her eyes, wondering how much she knew about this subject. There were rumours that some people in the south had formulae to calculate the energy carried by sonorics motes, and that they did so in order to predict how many people they could kill and how many buildings they could destroy with it. And that brought his thoughts back to that uncomfortable piece of research circulated by unknown sources in the doga. Subject died after three months. Imagine the pain and suffering encapsulated in that simple line.
He asked, “Do you know then why this is happening?”
She laughed. “Don’t your machines give you the answers you need?”
“Our sonorics metres and barygraphs tell us the patterns, but we need to understand what causes them, and what we can do about it.”
“What you can do?” She laughed. “Once the Heart roars, watch and see glory return to our land. The process has been set in motion; there is nothing you can do, except buy our marvels, when they become available.”
“Wait—this increase is the result of something people have done?”
“What do you think? That we are as helpless as you?”
“But the power cannot be controlled. When I visited the City of Glass, the Eagle Knights told me—”
“Knights!” She laughed. “They wouldn’t know anything. They pretend the whole thing doesn’t exist. It is they who spread these rumours—rumours which you Chevakians have been oh so quick to believe—that this power is magic and uncontrollable. Did you think anyone could derive real power out of a myth? That you could run heating and trains from something that’s magic? The Knights have been trying to stifle it, for the only reason that they cannot see it, or do anything with it. Out of sheer jealousy, they condemned our land to poverty. But when the Knights couldn’t stop the Heart working, they dragged it down under the ground as far as they could. You thought your barriers worked so well? Ha, no, that’s because the Heart has been sheltered by layers and layers of stone for many years.”
Sady knew that to be a lie. The Most Learned Alius had done a lot of work on the barriers, and they were effective; measurements proved that. But the suggestion that this machine could be made to emit more of the deadly rays worried him deeply. If it was true, it would be a disaster.
“Then what has changed now? Did they uncover the machine?” He didn’t believe any of this, but it was always easier to get what you wanted out of people if you agreed with them. One of the despicable sides of diplomacy.
“No, not them. The Knights thought that only when they eliminated all the elements that supported the royal family could they seize complete control over the south, but they forgot that people have memories, people have books, even in the City of Glass. Some people travel to all the corners of Chevakia and Arania to find these illegal books that were smuggled from the City of Glass at the fall of the king.”
Sady glanced at the book on her desk, and remembered stalls of dusty old books in the marketplace, and the great libraries: the multistorey treasure of the Scriptorium, and his brother’s extensive library. And some dark place that housed the book with the horrible experiments. He regretted that he’d never had much patience for study out of dusty books.
She continued, “Books have become quite valuable in certain southern circles recently, initially as curiosity. Those old, forbidden books show a City of Glass none of the current population recognises. In those books, they will see the trains. They will see the comfortable houses, heated glasshouses with lush plants, and they will ask: why can’t we live like that anymore, if it means no more hunger and cold? And then they find out that some people have been using the remaining power of the Heart, and have been practicing the knowledge of the old royal family and want to rid the land of the ignorance perpetrated by the Knights—see we’re already into politics.” Her eyes twinkled.
“I didn’t ask about politics. I want to know about what is causing this rise in sonorics.”
“I told you: the touch of the royal heir has woken the Heart of the City again. A time of justice and glory is coming.”
“You call that glory? My whole country is under threat of this thing!” He spread his hands in a gesture of frustration.
“Tut, tut, tut.” She gave him a sharp look. “Do you think we would not consider you, our valued neighbours?”
Sady hadn’t meant to shout in an esteemed lady’s presence. This was not a doga session. He let his hands fall back to his sides. “Sorry.” Then he sighed. “I care a lot about Chevakia. I’m sure you understand why this doesn’t make me happy.”
“I see no reason for you to be unhappy. Once the Eagle Knight are gone from the City of Glass, Chevakia will gain a very wealthy trading partner. Relationships between the City of Glass and Chevakia are already much better than those we have with Arania. It would be wise to capitalise on that, once the City of Glass starts exporting—”
“But sonorics are dangerous to us!” How many times did he have to say this?
She cocked her head. “At high levels, yes, but no one is suggesting that any Chevakians move to the City of Glass, although, with medication being developed now, I would not rule that out in the future.”
“Medication?” There was nothing other than salt pills, and they were not particularly effective; they merely helped restore any damage from low-level exposure. They did nothing about long-term effects.
“Yes, you should ask your academics about it.”
Alius. A piece of the puzzle fell into place. That was why the Most Learned cared so little about sonorics. But why keep such an important discovery secret?
He started to wish he’d come here much earlier.
Also, how long had these revolution plans in the City of Glass been going on? Who was involved? Obviously the old royal family and the Eagle Knights, but what side did the citizens support?
“Who is currently the ruler of the City of Glass?”
“The Queen, as normal.”
“This is not Maraithe, but her daughter?” He remembered being made to kneel for the fragile wisp of a woman, wearing gauze-thin garments and seated on a throne made of carved glass. He remembered how hot it was in the room—and inside his suit. He remembered that she barely spoke a word, but that a Knight did all the talking.
“Mar-ay-the,” she corrected him. “The daughter’s name is Jevaithi.”
It was the first time that Sady had heard the name. “She is—how old?” He remembered a toddler girl with golden hair being snatched away from him by her minders. He had only been told that she was the crown princess much later.
“Sixteen.”
“You cannot be serious about a girl that age having any influence.”
“No, she doesn’t have any influence at all. The regent is an Eagle Knight by the name of Rider Cornatan. Jevaithi is a puppet queen, a prisoner of the Knights. Her birthday has passed, and she should by rights have ascended the throne, but the Knights are holding on to power. To the people of the City of Glass, the royal family is sacred, even the old king, twisted a man as he was. They will not be happy to see the Knights continue to rule the country. And now, thanks to the books, they understand how the Knights are denying them prosperity. The citizens are angrier and angrier. They are getting ready to fight and take back what is theirs.”
The last southern king was said to have been a figure of unspeakable evil, and the Chevakian government at the time had been glad to see him gone. Sady remembered his parents talking about it at dinner. They saw the royal family of the City of Glass as a threat.
“This development worries me.” He could already see the reaction of panic in the doga. “If the doga hears about this, the senators will ask for all army units to be mobilised, in case the conflict spills over into Chevakia. If history is anything to go by, that is highly likely.”
“It won’t happen this time. Unlike the old kings or the Aranians, we’re not interested in war, or expansion of territory.”
“And when . . . do we get to know about this change in regime?”
“The revolution is being taken care of as we speak. With as little violence as possible. My son will have more information once he returns.”
“All right. I’ll speak to your son.” Mercy, that would be an exercise in cringing. “Meanwhile, and until we have this medicine, do you have anything I could tell the Chevakians about the situation? ‘The south has increased sonorics so they can have a civil war’ doesn’t quite do it.”
She gave him a sharp glance. “You don’t believe a word I say, and are making fun out of me.”
“I reserve the right not to believe anything until I can verify it.”
Another hard stare. “All right.” She pulled a little book across the desk and picked up a pen.
Sady watched her veined, paper-skinned hands as she scribbled something on a page that looked like . . .
She ripped the page out of the book and handed it to him. “Here, maybe that will convince you of my sincerity.”
Yes, a bank draft indeed.
Sady put it back on the desk. “I couldn’t possibly accept this.”
“So, you don’t want to visit the southern regions to measure sonorics and map weather systems and to reassure the people?”
How did she know about his request? “It would be seen as a political bribe.”
“From whom to whom? I’m an old woman, and I can spend my inheritance any way I like. See it as a gift to those who worry about the effects of struggles in my country.”
“But . . .” She was right; senators often received donations from rich patrons for projects that the doga wouldn’t fund.
“I know the rules. We will ask nothing in return. There are no secret deals. It’s simply a sign of goodwill.”
Sady opened his mouth to protest, but she continued. “While you’re there, in the south, of course . . . I agree that this current Proctor is an indecisive incompetent ignoramus. So, with our blessing, visit whom you intended to visit and if you find him amenable, return to Tiverius with someone who is not too scared to make the hard decisions. It is my guess that it was already your plan to visit such a person.”
She gave him a long stare over the rim of her glasses. Those blue eyes penetrated into the depth of his soul. Mercy, how could she guess that he had been thinking about asking Milleus to come back?
“One other thing, senator. Let’s do away with this nameless southern land thing. The Knights banned the land’s true name, and no one could ever think of a suitable alternative. My country will no longer be The Country That Shall Not Be Named. Its true name is Peria.”
* * *
Seated behind his desk opposite Sady, the most Learned Alius raised his bristly grey eyebrows and folded his hands while regarding Sady with a calculated expression. “She told you that?”
“Yes. Is it true? Are you working on such a medicine?”
He sighed. “I would really have preferred her to have kept quiet about this.”
“But such a medicine would be a great breakthrough.” Sady recalled Alius saying, many years ago when he had been a student himself, that such a medicine would be impossible.
“Yes,” Alius said, and he folded his hands on the table.
Sady glanced at the table against the far wall, filled with equipment and trays of glass cylinders each exactly one cube in volume, that would be sealed with a glass lid on one side and a gel-covered paper on the other. When placed in a heat chamber, the gel absorbed any sonorics-charged motes, which showed up as brightly lit spots in a strong beam of light. “Then why not tell the doga about this medicine? Why involve southerners, and no Chevakians?”
“There are Chevakians involved, from a range of backgrounds. Also southerners, for obvious reasons. Every participant was asked to keep it quiet.”
“But why?” Sady was almost screaming with frustration.
“Academics do not work well in the public eye. The ideas behind the project are . . . pretty controversial. The financial backers of the project didn’t want to cause a storm unless we were certain that it would work.”
“And does it? Work, I mean?” He had an uncomfortable thought about that report on sonorics studies on people.
“Yes.”
“Then why not make it public?”
“We’re not ready yet. There are tests still to be done.”
“How long? We could really use this medicine right now.”
“I understand completely. We will do our best to get it ready as soon as possible.”
Sady rose to leave. He had not specifically asked Alius about the Lady Armaine’s implication that he had received southern money, but it seemed that it had been used to fund good work, and Alius obviously had no problems accepting it.
Still, the bank draft burned in Sady’s pocket.
On the way out, he wandered through the Scriptorium library, but the books about the south were in a special section which he could easily access as senator, save that his visit would be recorded and he wasn’t sure what signal that would send. Foreign relations were not his responsibility; the senator who was responsible for them might object to his invasion of his turf and Sady already felt the pressure of general opinion on him.
* * *
“What do you mean, ‘What’s wrong?’ ” Sady asked.
“You’ve been really grumpy the last few days,” Lana said.
Sady faced the other across the wooden table in the kitchen, in the manner they ate their meals every night—Sady in his work shirt and Lana still wearing her apron.
“Have I?” Sady asked, rubbing his hand over his face.
“Yes. It wasn’t Serran’s fault that the neighbour’s ducks got into the garden.”
“He is the guard.” Mercy, he hated to see the mess the birds had made in his pretty private space where he often sat to read and enjoy the sunshine. And he was more annoyed that no one had noticed the birds before the kitchen staff.
“Guarding the gate. For people. The ducks flew over the wall.”
“He’s the guard and should have noticed. And if he’s too busy at the gate, he should have organised someone else to do it.”
“Still, he’s upset that you got angry at him.” Lana got up from the table carrying both their empty plates. “You want more soup?”
“No, thank you.”
“See, there you go. You’re grumpy. You never refuse my soup, and I’ve made soup for you since your father gave me this job.”
“Oh, don’t you go like that on me. You’re starting to sound like my mother.” But she was right. Lana was always right when it came to judging people.
Sady sighed and let a silence lapse. “Suppose I am grumpy. I just don’t know what to do about this sonorics situation. It isn’t bad enough for an emergency, but I want the doga to prepare. Instead, it’s like no one wants to make any decisions. I don’t have anything to back up decisions I’d want them to make.”
“No additional data?”
“No. Sonorics have been stable.”
“But that is a good thing.”
“It would be, if I didn’t suspect it’s only temporary, and if the level weren’t so high. After I spoke to Lady Armaine, I don’t think anything about the south is random anymore. We’re getting a reprieve, but no one can take advantage of it. And I can’t tell anyone that I got my information from her.” They’d laugh in his face. “Seriously, Lana, there is only so much I can make of this low depression and building storm. I can make it sound as bad as I can, but in the end, it’s only weather, never mind that it usually goes hand in hand with high sonorics.”
He sighed again and stared at the table. “No one takes meteorologists seriously. They’ll only hear the predictions they like to hear. I can predict disasters, but all they want to know about is their crops and whether the neighbouring district gets a higher cropping allocation.”
“Poor, poor Sady.” She ruffled his hair.
He smiled at her. She’d been his housekeeper for as long as he could remember, but she was more like his friend. She knew everything about him.
* * *
Destran pushed approval for another road-building scheme through. Viki fumbled through another presentation which showed no significant increase or decrease in sonorics levels. People started to get angry with Sady for ordering resources be put into distributing the tablets and suits. If stored in suboptimal conditions, the tablets had to be replaced yearly at great cost to the doga.
No one made any moves towards appointing southern informants. Lady Armaine’s son did not return.
A strange kind of tension built in the doga. Sady wasn’t sure what caused it. Maybe Viki’s rather emotionless reports of relentless higher-than-usual sonorics started to grate on people, the levels just short of twenty motes per cube. Whenever any issue remotely related to the border regions or the south or cropping was raised, senators expected Sady to speak up, but when he didn’t and said that he couldn’t, because he had no reliable data or the particular subject wasn’t his field of expertise, one or two suggested he go on a trip to the border regions. Most notable was that one of those was a northern senator, who was also the first to mention the big V-word: vote of confidence. In Destran, that was. Destran, who kept sidestepping the issue of sonorics by saying there was no problem, which there wasn’t—yet. Destran, who continued to claim lack of money.
By the end of the fifth day of these antics, with no sign of the low pressure cell evaporating or sonorics going down, Sady went to see the northern faction leaders. He really wanted that southern trip, so that he could assess how feasible it would be to strengthen the barriers and, failing that—because there was no way such a major undertaking could be done quickly—how quickly they could evacuate the region in the case that might prove necessary. And he was determined not to use the Lady Armaine’s money to fund the trip. That meant he needed northern money.
He disliked doing regional deals for favours, and knew this had the potential to blow up in his face, but without their support, the doga would kill itself debating roads and train lines and the fairness of allocations for education, and whether northern children should get special allowance when coming to Tiverius to study. . . . Vote of no confidence indeed.
* * *
“We are sick of Destran’s paralysis,” the northern senator Shara said in the comfort of her top floor office. Firelight played tricks with the folds of her northern region dress and on the gloss of her skin, black as obsidian. She fiddled with her glass, not meeting Sady’s eyes while she went on a rant about all that was ill in politics, which included things Sady agreed with, and things he did not.
Here, under the roof of the building, they should feel the heat radiated through the roof, a sign of the fury of summer to come, but the weather had turned unseasonably cold.
“If we are to challenge Destran, now seems a good time to do it.”
“Who is we? Who do you propose in his place?” Sady asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He didn’t like using this regional voting to his advantage. It was exactly what he had always agitated against. That way, the meteorologist position was not bound to any region, and the positions of power were usually held by central region delegates. Like himself, like— “Milleus?”
She shook her head. “We want you to stand.”
“Me?” They had to be kidding. “I don’t have any support. I don’t want the job.”
“I don’t think anyone ever wanted that job, Sady. It’s not much of a job, but someone has to do it.”
What she said was certainly true. Most Proctors had the job thrust upon them through circumstances. But most of them had been flamboyant, outspoken, strong characters. Everything he was not. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be any good at it.”
“I think you will be.”
Mercy, no. “I’m not standing and that is definite. It will be Milleus or no one.”
Shara met Sady’s eyes, intense. The northern senators knew they didn’t have the numbers to field a candidate of their own. They were too divided for that.
“I don’t know, Sady,” she said.
Sady said, “We both know the doga can’t go on like this. We’re paralysed with indecision. Not just about this issue, but every time someone has a good plan, the group of doubters scuttle it with committees and requirements to draw up plans and have them approved. The only thing that happens is that the stacks of paper grow ever higher, but nothing is ever decided. And if something by chance does make it through, there is never any money to implement it.”
“But by asking Milleus to return, you are also asking the senators to vote against every step forward the doga has made in the last ten years.”
“Like what? All the doga has achieved in the last ten years is a division between the northern and southern provinces. So the provinces have more autonomy. What has that achieved except more political bickering over roads and trains? More indecision and building projects caught up in endless streams of bureaucracy. We need the unity more than ever.” That was not quite true. Destran had put Milleus’ rampantly negative budgets back into line, but he seemed to have taken that a bit too seriously recently.
“But . . . bring back Milleus? Are you serious? He’s an old man.”
“He is decisive. He steered us through the Aranian war.” And he will steer us through a southern war, if one happens.
Sady saw his brother at the head of the victory procession through the streets of Tiverius. How had the people cheered him. Arania had attacked, but they had been well and truly defeated.
“Times are different now,” Shara said.
“Not as different as you’d think.”
“Have you asked Milleus if he even wants to come back?”
“I know my brother. He’ll say no, but if we present him with a majority vote in the doga, he will.” Or at least he had better. Sady set his glass down and leaned back in his chair. “Chevakia will need his experience. Whatever happens with the weather, we’re facing a crisis, because we’ve already delayed putting in some crops too long. There will be shortages. The current senators know nothing about how to run the country in a crisis, especially one generated by a country we know so little about. Remember the fear the Eagle Knights struck into the hearts of the border regions? Remember all the young girls who were lost? Milleus was a senator then.”
Shara sipped, and gave a little shudder. Most of the girls would have died from sonorics sickness soon after arriving in the City of Glass if they hadn’t died at the hands of raping barbarians before that. And then some sick mind had gone to write a report about it, as if taking the girls to the City of Glass was an experiment.
“That was all before my time,” Shara said.
“It’s before almost everybody’s time, including mine.” Milleus was fifteen years his senior. “We need the experience.”
For a while, he stared into the leaping flames.
Shara continued, “Sure, not everybody is happy with Destran’s achievements. With the right campaign, I think someone else could have the numbers to topple him.”
Sady nodded. “Destran’s support is not as strong as it was when . . .”
Another uncomfortable memory. Shouting in the benches of the amphitheatre in the doga assembly hall. Senators fighting like street urchins. And his brother standing silent and defeated at the dais. Moments later, he had thrown off his cloak, and walked out, never to return. When Sady came to the Proctor’s house later that day, his brother had already been packing.
“I know when I’m not wanted and this is it, Sady. A man can only take so much. I’ve worked my entire damn life for this. I’ve. . . .”
The slam of a lid on a box had been accompanied by the shattering of porcelain.
Milleus stared at shards of pottery on the floor. “Suri loved that vase.”
Suri. Ever since her death, Milleus had not been the same. Yet, he had never noticed how lonely she was. Poor Suri. For years, Sady had watched her become unhappy, knowing that she might have been better off with him than with his brother.
He should have done something. He should have told her how much he loved her.
Tears stung in his eyes.
“So what do you suggest?” Shara’s voice shattered the painful memories.
Sady made a decision. “I’m travelling to Ensar in the morning.”
“What? I thought you were still trying to get funding for that approved?”
“I’ve found some alternative money.” He thought of Lady Armaine’s bank draft on the corner of his desk. “I’ll travel through some towns on the way. I think I can garner support for Milleus in the south of the country.”
She nodded. “That is reasonable. Dangerous, though. Destran will know you’re doing it. It’ll only take him a short time to find out where you’ve gone.”
“It’s the only thing I can do. He’s going in for the battle. He knows he’s flailing and that something is up. Right now, he’s probably at a meeting of his supporters.”
“Probably,” she agreed.
“So, let’s get to business. What are the feelings amongst your northern colleagues?”
“Without calling a meeting, I would guess that Destran probably still has the numbers amongst them, but people are smarting because the northern irrigation project has been delayed for so long. If . . . someone came in and promised some set dates on it . . .”
Typical regional politicking. There wasn’t enough water for all districts to get as much as they thought they needed. Yet, he couldn’t say the obvious truth; he needed the North’s support. Never mind that it would come to haunt him, because this was going to be a bad year for the north.
“I’m sure Milleus would hear your concerns.” Or he had better.
“We don’t want an audience; we want a decision about projects we’ve applied for. My constituents are sick of coming off second best.”
“There is a more immediate threat to Chevakia.”
“Only to the south, don’t forget that. The northern regions are sick of propping up the south. The people haven’t forgotten that when we had the great sand storms, which were a threat to the north, we had to beg for assistance and even then it was slow in coming.”
“That was Destran’s doing. You might point that out to your faction.”
She nodded, slowly, but still didn’t look entirely convinced.
“Sady, I still wish you would put forward a different candidate. You might as well know. Milleus was not well loved amongst my regional colleagues. He was a selfish, discriminatory pig, and what happened in his personal life was plain unacceptable to many of us.”
“What happened in his personal life is none of the doga’s business.”
Shara fixed his gaze, her mouth twitching. “It was unacceptable nevertheless.”
“So you would vote against?”
She shook her head, slowly. “I don’t think we have an option. Our faction doesn’t have a candidate with enough support across all regions. No faction does. If you would only stand—”
“No.”
“But we would demand some sort of apology from him—at least the female delegates.”
Sady nodded. Suri. He’d hate to broach that painful subject with Milleus, but it had to be done. There were just too many rumours about what had happened. Not even he knew the full extent of the story except that Suri had killed herself—there was no doubt about that—but no one knew why.
She went on, “Out of the two—Destran or Milleus—Milleus would have more clout. Yes, he has the experience, and I’m sure you’d get a much higher support for him if he has clear plans. If you’re asking for Intention to Vote, then I would give it, providing he clears up the air on his personal business.”
“I am asking.” And there was no time for committees to be looking into Milleus’ private life. It still would have to be addressed after the crisis.
She went to the desk in the corner, pulled out paper and a pen. For a while, the only sound in the room was the popping of the fire and the scratching of the pen on the paper. Then she passed him the note. Intention to Vote.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” He folded it in his pocket.
Not much later, he was on his way home, but having visited the leaders of all regional factions. In his pocket, he held the Intentions of five of the factions, about fifty votes in all.
The house was dark when he came home, and he spent some time rustling about with pots until Lana stuck her head around the door.
“Sady, what in the heavens’ name are you doing?”
“Cooking. I’m hungry.”
She sighed. “Sady, Sady, didn’t I ever tell you that you can always wake me up? That’s what I’m here for.”
“But . . .” he started to protest, and then she smiled at him, and the tension faded.
“Sit down.” She went into the cold cellar and retrieved some soup, which she heated up with a fat slice of bread. “Now tell me, how come your work is more important than having a proper dinner?”
“I’m travelling to Ensar in the morning.”
She sucked in a breath of air. “I thought there was no money.”
“I . . . found some.”
He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that. Questioning, one eyebrow raised. “It’s all right. It’s political money. I’m going to see Milleus.” Mercy, Milleus had better be worth the trouble. He did not like lying to Lana.
“You’re not going to ask him to return?” Her eyes were wide.
“Well, actually . . . I am.”
“I never thought I’d see the day. That is good news.” Her eyes twinkled. She had never made a secret of her fondness for Milleus.
The vote would be tight, and he hadn’t been able to sway everyone he’d hoped to convince, but Sady was sure that if he could get Milleus to come out of retirement and back to the capital, more people would follow. People had not forgotten how his quick decisions had won the war against Arania, and how well he had taken up the command of the Chevakian army, how he had used Chevakia’s balloons not just to repel the Aranian invasion, but to follow the fleeing army home and take their capital. In the doga building hung a banner with the crest of the Aranian king, taken from the palace by the victorious soldiers. Tables had turned. The attacker had become the attacked. Thanks to Milleus, the people of Chevakia slept well at night.
They would not have forgotten.
Thanks to Milleus, they would again sleep well. As for Sady, he never slept too well, and the next day, he was up annoying the household staff before dawn, packing his travel bags and his instruments, leaving Viki to mind his office in Tiverius, all fingers and toes crossed that the next few days would be boring and routine on the meteorology front and that whatever bugged Viki about Alius wouldn’t come to a head.