“You mean to tell me,” said the King in Red as he paced the war room under the glow of ghostlights and centipede screens, “that with twenty-four hours and practically infinite resources we haven’t been able to find a handful of hostages?”
Elayne sat back in her chair and watched. She’d talked her way into the war room without a fight, but getting Kopil’s attention was another matter. The Deathless King had not stopped grilling his Wardens since her arrival. How he expected them to get anything done while he asked so many questions, she did not know.
She wondered if it would be ethical to bill for this time.
The room smelled of sparks, sweat, and bone. Captain Chimalli ran his fingers over the map of Chakal Square. In the last hour crayon and colored pencil had crowded out the printed lines. Soon they’d need a new map; they’d gone through three already. In the basement of the squat building that served as Warden headquarters, a print shop churned out charts by the hour, engravers and cartographers on overtime pay. Gallons of acid spilled onto lead plates. Printing presses hammered ink onto paper, fixing scouts’ reports into reality. “Since our first attack almost captured the Major, the Chakal Square crowd’s grown wary. The hostages are held in the central camp.” He waved his hand over a dozen tents, the fountain, and the mat chapel. “None of our people know where. Scrying yields limited results.”
“What about the captives we’ve taken?”
“They refuse to talk.”
“Don’t you have gentlemen who specialize in that sort of thing?”
“Are you asking me to torture these people?”
Kopil waved vaguely beside the hole where his ear once was, as if a gnat buzzed there.
“My men might object.”
“Don’t use those men.”
“The captives’ information may be out-of-date already. And every time we send Wardens in on a snatch-and-grab, there’s more risk the crowd will seize one of our guys. At the moment they’re scared of us. What happens if that changes?”
“Then it changes.”
“Which will encourage aggressive factions in Chakal Square, leading to more loss of life on both sides. Sir, we don’t know what they plan to do with the hostages. They’ve made no ransom demands. Maybe they don’t want to be seen as terrorists.”
“Bastards hold my city hostage, and we’re wasting time. Do you understand how much this siege costs, Captain? I do. And so does the Chamber of Commerce, whose jackals gnaw at my heels even as we speak. What’s happened with Temoc?”
“He’s remained with his family. Playing the model father. We have him under observation, not so close he’d notice.”
“Without him, Chakal Square’s defenseless against Craft, or close to it. Maybe we’re thinking too small.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Stun the Square. Arrest everyone. Sort the hostages out from the guilty.”
“We don’t have the jail space for so many.”
“Send them to prison, then.”
“Again, where? Our prisons are twenty percent above max occupancy.”
Kopil’s hand balled into a fist.
“Your Majesty,” Elayne said before Kopil could continue. “A word, please. Outside?”
Kopil wheeled on her, and she bore his wrath without blinking. His skeletal menace might cow theists and underlings, but she was neither. “Captain,” he said, at last. “When I return, give me plans. Outside the box, inside the box, burn the box, I don’t care. I want Chakal Square back, and this movement broken. Everything else is negotiable.”
Chimalli nodded. Elayne wondered if the captain had seen Dr. Venkat since his letter, and what he would have said behind closed doors about Kopil’s commands.
The King in Red set his coffee down and swept from the room. Elayne followed. The doors shut behind them.