“And which are those?”
“The true ones, of course,” Daal said, and gestured for one of his airmen to open the doors, revealing the city below. “I trust my time here will be profitable. Good day, Senator.”
With a sigh, Wax threw himself out of the airship — accompanied by a whoop from Max, who seemed to consider this encounter the highlight of an absolutely wonderful day.
Wax slowed them carefully with some Pushes, then sent them through a series of quick leaps back to Ahlstrom Tower. The penthouse had a landing platform, and moments later the two of them burst into their suite — Wax carefully locking the door behind them.
Steris was putting Tindwyl down for her nap, but walked out to the front room a short time later — to find Max playing with a puzzle while Wax mixed himself a drink.
“Mother!” Max said, looking up. “I got to poop on an airship!”
“Oh!” she said, with the enthusiasm for the topic only a mother could muster. “That’s exciting!”
“I got some strange toilet paper!” he said, lifting it up. “It’s white instead of brown! Traded for it just like Uncle Wayne says!”
“Oh. And what did you leave in exchange, dear?”
“Well,” he said, “you know…”
“Right. Of course.” Steris joined Wax behind the bar, slipping her hand around his waist. “What happened?”
“New ambassador,” Wax said. “Doesn’t much like us. Wants the Bands back. Made some vague threats.”
“Delightful day for that,” she said.
“You were right about the unification timetable,” Wax said. “The ambassador will announce a new consortium of states under the Malwish banner.”
“That won’t help our work,” Steris said. “The Elendel Senate will see today’s bill as building a nation out of squabbling cities, a counterpoint to Malwish imperialism.”
“Conquest by another name,” Wax said, nursing his drink. He’d occasionaly disparaged Elendel whiskey … but the truth was, some of the stuff you could get here was fantastic. Strong flavored, smoky and complex. He’d come to like it better than Roughs varieties — and it was far, far better than whatever Jub Hending had made in his tub, which peeled off layers of skin as a punishment for drinking it. He did still miss good Roughs beers though.
“Well, I do have some potentially good news,” Steris said, slipping a letter out of her pocket — she refused to wear skirts without them, no matter how fashionable they were. “It came while you were away.”
He slipped the card out.
Meet us at the mansion at 3:00. Exciting news.
— Marasi
They shared a look.
“Do we bring Max or not?” Wax asked softly.
“How likely is it to involve explosions?” Steris asked.
“With us, you never can tell…”
“He stays here with Kath, then. His history tutor is coming anyway.”
Wax nodded. “I’m going to wash up, and then we can leave.”
10
Marasi felt about a thousand times better when she arrived at the Fourth Octant Constabulary headquarters, showered and cleaned up, wearing her preferred uniform of a vest and jacket over a calf-length skirt.
As a special detective, she technically wasn’t required to be in uniform, but she usually wore one anyway. The uniform was a symbol. It meant she represented something bigger than herself: the people of the Basin and the good of all. The uniform comforted those who saw her — at least those who were happy to have a constable around. And if it gave warning to those who were up to something, then that was part of the reason for the law.
As she entered, younger constables in the main headquarters room lowered their reports and conversations hushed, all eyes turning to Marasi. Then came the applause.
Rusts, that always felt so weird. You weren’t supposed to be applauded by your coworkers, were you? More than one new constable — most of them women — watched her with wide eyes as she passed. Marasi knew that she had specifically inspired both Wilhelmette and Gemdwyn to join up last year.
That left her conflicted. On one hand, she’d rather the broadsheets stop writing stories about her. On the other hand, if it was inspiring other women …
Either way, she was glad to stride into the back rooms, passing the offices of the higher-ranked constables. Even a few of these called out congratulations. She stopped and chatted with a few, asking after their own investigations. Though she just wanted to be on with her work, this was important too. You never knew when you’d need another constable’s expertise.
Besides. It was good to have friends among her peers. Finally.
Eventually she neared Reddi’s office. She passed Constable Gorglen on his way out — the tall man’s head almost brushed the ceiling. He nodded to her and made way, and she found Reddi inside the large rear office, frowning at his desk. His drooping mustaches had greyed in recent years, and she knew the uniform of the constable-general weighed on him. He was more politician than officer these days, spending half his time in meetings with the city leaders.
“Constable Colms,” he said, scratching his chin. “Can you make any sense of this?” He showed her the drawing, which proved to be a crude sketch of Constable Gorglen as a giraffe hiding in a constable’s uniform. It said Approved by Expert Types at the bottom.
“I’ll talk to Wayne,” she promised.
Reddi sighed, then slipped the paper into a very large folder on the corner of his desk — the one where he kept complaints about Wayne. Reddi had evidently stopped returning it to the cabinet.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said.
“Sorry?” he asked. “Rusts, constable. Sorry? How many people did you two bring in today? At any rate, don’t apologize for him — I’ve got a feeling if you weren’t keeping Constable Wayne in check, this folder would be ten times as thick.”
She smiled. “He does do best when channeled toward … productive activities.”
Reddi grunted, picking up another folder. “Don’t tell him this, but his imitation of me is amusing. Though you should know, those two men with the bowler hats were looking for him again.”
“Any idea who they are?” she asked.
“Some accounting firm, probably their collections department,” Reddi said. “It … seems Wayne owes money to some important people this time, Marasi. The kind of people that even I can’t dissuade.”
“I’ll figure it out,” she said with a sigh. Harmony’s Bands … she hoped Wayne hadn’t stolen something truly valuable.
“I’ll leave that to you then.” Reddi rapped the folder with his knuckles. “The governor has been breathing down my neck asking for evidence the Outer Cities were siphoning off weapons, and you provided it. Thank you, Marasi. Really.”
“I hope to deliver even more, sir,” she said. “I have a notebook from their leader, and it has some interesting shipping manifest information.” She pulled the book out, then held it open to show him. “We’ll want to make copies, get it through research and code cracking in case I’ve missed something, but I’ve already read some curious things.”
She tapped a list near the front. “This,” she said, “is a series of tests the Cycle was overseeing to determine what can be shipped into Elendel without being stopped by customs or raising red flags with inspection agents.”
“Wait,” Reddi said. “Into Elendel?”
“Exactly,” Marasi said.