Councilman Rooney puffed himself up to full bloat and said, “Sir, you are the Devil.”
“The Devil is never far from any of us, sir. Yet I’ll wager I am closer to God than the priests who will soon inhabit the palace you’re building at the end of the square.”
“I’ve had a stomachful of this!” Rooney said; then, addressing the table: “Must we listen to more of his spew?”
A mild voice responded, “Oh, I think we should hear him out.”
From the way the others reacted to the man who had spoken, the youngest of the councilmen, Jean-Daniel Breque, turning toward him like dogs that have heard a piercing whistle, Rosacher understood that he had misread the council’s dynamic. Councilman Breque was a small, sturdily built man with a largish head, a professorial beard shot through by a few gray threads, and wire spectacles. He seemed bemused by the proceedings, but it was evident that his bemusement had less to do with Rosacher’s proposal than with the general reaction to it.
“You make a cogent point,” he said to Rosacher. “But there are spiritual issues to be considered, are there not?”
“If by spiritual you’re referring to the sensibilities of the Church…yes. The Church is a powerful concern. They must be paid their tribute. That said, permit me to ask you this. Where was the Church three years ago? Ten years ago? Fifty years ago? The sole reason for their interest in Teocinte is that it has become worth their while to put a franchise here. Now that there’s an economy they can tap into, they’re suddenly appalled by the sorry state of our souls. My word on it, should you write a law that criminalizes mab, they’ll come to you and say, ‘Let’s be tolerant now. We don’t want the poor to be flung down from their heaven, illusory though it may be. Give us time to work our magic, to wean them from the drug and redirect their loyalties, and we will rid you of Rosacher in due course.’ They’re no different from me. They’re a business that offers consolation as a product…only theirs is an inferior product. They want to be paid and they’ll take the money wherever they find it, even from a competitor. So I’ll pay them and that moral outrage you’re hearing now will be greatly muted.”
“I take it your concern over the Church’s past whereabouts was yet another rhetorical question,” said Breque, and smiled.
Rosacher inclined his head to acknowledge this small joke made at his expense.
“If you believe all of this,” said Breque, “then why respond to our summons? You must have a pressing reason for coming here this morning. Is there something you would have us do?”
“I want you to help protect your greatest resource,” Rosacher said.
“Mangos? Silver? Somehow I don’t think you have either of those in mind.”
“Before I tell you more, I would like you to have a look at some figures.”
Rosacher began passing out the papers Ludie had given him, laying a sheet in front of each councilman. Rooney sniffed and pushed his away.
“As you can see, the figures on the top half of the page reflect my month-by-month profits for the past year.” Rosacher gave them a moment to study the figures. “You’ll note the steady geometric increase.”
“And this figure at the bottom, what does it represent?” asked Febres-Cordero.
“My estimated earnings for next year,” said Rosacher. “Expenses have yet to be determined. They will undoubtedly rise in keeping with expansion.”
“This much?” Savedra looked at him in astonishment. “Surely that can’t be right?”
“My bookkeeper assures me that it’s a most conservative estimate.”
Rosacher noticed that Rooney was now studying his sheet of paper.
“Where do you keep your money?” asked Paltz.
“In a bank at Port Chantay. It’s more secure than the local bank.”
“From this I gather that you consider yourself to be our greatest resource,” said Breque.
“Yes, I do. One of them,” said Rosacher.
“And the other?”
“Griaule.”
“Ah, yes. Griaule’s blood is the active ingredient in mab, is it not?”
“It is,” said Rosacher. “The process by which it is refined is the key to creating the drug, and that process is known only to myself and my partner.”
“And who might that be?” Savedra asked.
“A man who wishes that his name not be divulged,” said Rosacher. “But to the point, gentlemen. I would like you to levy a tax on my business. Say, five percent of my net profits annually. Such a tax would validate my business as a legal entity and grant me the protections of the law.”
“Five percent of your gross would be more persuasive,” said Rooney.
“The precise figure can be negotiated at another time,” said Rosacher. “What I’m after today, if possible, is an agreement in principle.”
He turned to his chair and found that Arthur was sitting in it. The giant made as though to stand, but Rosacher gestured for him to keep his seat and stood behind him.
“There is one more thing I want to propose,” he said. “As you’re aware, Mister Honeyman has organized a security force to safeguard my interests. I would like to expand that force into a militia…with your participation, of course. The day is coming when cities more powerful than ours will grow envious of Teocinte’s prosperity and attempt to pirate my process and take control of the dragon. We need to be prepared against that day. I would be willing to fund the militia, but it would benefit your peace of mind, I think, if you were to share that burden, both as to costs and the constituency of the force. I propose that you appoint someone from your ranks to administer the militia. A general, if you will. He would oversee its functioning, the purchase of materiel and so forth, and would decide matters of policy. A militia further requires a general in the field, someone skilled in the art of war, someone who has the ability to train the men and lead them. I can think of no one more qualified for the post than Mister Honeyman.”
Arthur glanced up at him, but quickly hid his startled expression and fixed the council members with his terrible smile. Paltz, who had appeared on the verge of raising an objection, held his peace.
“It’s an intriguing proposition.” Breque clasped his hands, resting his forearms on the table. “And the picture you paint is a tempting one. A prosperous town, a contented populace, and, if your business continues to thrive, everyone in this room will become wealthy and powerful.”
“You’ve no idea how wealthy,” Rosacher said. “We’ve barely scratched the surface of what is possible. Consider how many other substances helpful to humankind may be found within Griaule’s body.”
“As I said, an intriguing proposal, though one that veers dangerously close to bribery. I have little doubt that you would be capable of achieving your goals under ordinary circumstances, but these circumstances are far from ordinary. When we were elected to the council, we swore an oath whose primary dictate was that we would do everything in our power to destroy Griaule. Now you ask us to protect him. The gap between the two positions is, I’m afraid, unbridgeable. Were we were to accept your proposal, we’d be thrown out of office.”
The faces of the other council members displayed morose agreement.
Rosacher was caught short for a response; he had not predicted this. “Griaule…” he said, and pretended to clear his throat, searching for a logical avenue to pursue. “Griaule has permitted me to draw his blood. This is a certain sign that my purposes are in accord with his.”
“That changes nothing,” Breque said. “It is not the council’s purpose to do Griaule’s bidding.”
“Yet you insist that he controls you, that his will is dominant. If that is true, you do his bidding whether or not you admit to it.”