“Would you care to sit?” She gestured toward the fresh chair she’d had brought in after the old one had collapsed beneath poor Banch without warning.
“Not at the present, captain. I am too distressed by far.”
Ripka walked behind her desk and opened her drawer to take out a small pad of paper. She sat, dipping her pen, and poised it over the blank sheet, presenting him with the perfect picture of professional calm. Despite the fact she felt like thwacking him on the back of the head and telling him to get on with spilling his worries. “May I make a note of this conversation?”
“Yes, yes.” He waved a hand and opted for the chair after all, throwing himself down with a thud. “Certain suspicious people have been seen wandering around the Hub, and some young devils have been busy darting about the place spreading unrest. I saw no less than three posters in support of Thratia on my way out of the station this morning, three! If Thratia’s thugs can enter the Hub at any time they like then I fear for my well-being. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“I do, but surely you have your own people to handle this?”
“Hah! Hardly. They are too worried about upsetting the younger lads by intervening. They fear a strike if they crack down, and I fear my head on a spike if they don’t. Most of all, captain, I worry about the distraction. If the sensitives are busy thinking about this nonsense then they aren’t moving the selium safely and efficiently. Accidents could happen. I would rather have my head on a spike than an accident.”
She twisted her pen between her fingers, thinking, shunting aside the urge to throw everything she had at this mess to protect Galtro, and to the pits with professionalism. She couldn’t lose him too, not so soon after Faud.
“I am short-staffed as it is, but I can spare you three personal guards, no more. To keep excitement down, I can explain them as a standard thing for those in the running for the wardenship. But, to do that, I will have to offer the same concession to Thratia.”
“Fine, very well.” He shrugged. “I doubt she will accept them anyway. And if she does then we will have ears and eyes by her side, eh Leshe?”
She smiled. “My thoughts exactly. Now, Banch here will assign you your people.”
Galtro’s eyes flicked to her sergeant, a little crease between his brows. “There’s something else I’d like to speak with you about.”
Ripka frowned, her mind marching ahead through all the tasks she had yet to complete today. “Will it take long?”
“It might…” His stern face fell, bushy brows turning inward in disappointment. The expression wrenched at her heart, but she couldn’t comfort him here, even if it meant making him feel as if she were blowing him off. Not now, not with Banch nearby. She trusted her sergeant, of course, but she must seem to be impartial in all things. Especially now that the rule of the city hung in the balance.
“I am very busy at the moment…” she attempted, willing him to see between her words.
He leaned forward, placing his palms flat on her desk. “One of my sensitives has gone missing. Good lad. Worked the fourth line. None of his line mates have seen hide nor hair of him in two days. I have no proof of anything, he could just be drunk in a brothel somewhere, but it’s possible…”
Ripka felt her face twist in a grimace despite her attempt to remain impassive. Galtro sat back, brows raised. “You know of this?”
“Scrawny lad, pale hair, doorknobs for elbows?”
Galtro leapt to his feet and slapped a hand upon her desk with enough vigor to rattle her ink well. “That’s him! That must be Feter! Is he injured?”
With care she laid her pen aside, forced herself to forget that this man who was her friend was about to become very, very angry with her. “It is good to know his name, he hasn’t told it to us. He’s well, if indignant. We arrested him smuggling weapons into Aransa with a known associate of Thratia.”
The color bled from Galtro’s face, his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides as if he were grasping for something solid to hold onto. Despite her resolve, guilt wormed its way into Ripka’s heart and made her queasy. She leaned forward, trying to look open, understanding. Deliberately she spread her palms out to either side and patted the air. “He’s young, and Thratia’s people can be very persuasive.”
“I want him released.” Galtro’s words fell like lead, one after the other, offering no room to argue.
“He was caught in a smuggling operation, mine master, I cannot release him until we discover what he knows.” She flicked her gaze to Banch, who was doing everything he could to look like a blank wall. The boy was on the verge of talking, if they lost him now… It would be hard questions for the woman. Ripka hoped Galtro couldn’t hear the soft waver constricting her throat.
“I’ll front money against his release, for the good of the city. He is young, watch captain, and if he has anything to say I’ll wring it out of him. But Aransa needs him back on the line. Now. Our production is down as it is, what with one pipe suffering a clog we can’t get clear and the pipe’s so-called investor, Grandon, dragging his feet to get it fixed. We need all hands.” He leaned forward, and this time it was fists he pressed against the desk. “You should have come to me immediately.”
“There was no way to be certain he was yours,” she said, but the protest was weak and she knew it. Any able-bodied sensitive without a pilot’s imperial contract not working at the Hub was a rogue who should be hauled in and immediately disclosed to the mine master so that they could be put to work. She should have told him. But then, she had known what he would do.
“Very well. Go with Banch and he will release the young man into your custody. If he tells you anything, Galtro…”
He waved a hand through the air. “You have to eat sometime. Come by my apartment later tonight, where we can be assured of privacy and better wine. I’ll have everything I can for you by then.”
“I’ll come by after I’m off duty.”
Galtro nodded, and Banch ushered the man out. When the door was closed she pressed her palms against her forehead and groaned, not so loud as to be overheard. Without the boy… Banch was right. They needed answers, and the woman had proved taciturn at best. Still, there were other ways. There must be. She would find them.
Ripka reopened the drawer she had pulled the notepad from and grimaced. Her emergency money pouch was missing.
Chapter 14
The absolute first thing Detan did was find a food cart. He stuffed his face with half-burned grit roots and old, unidentifiable meat while Tibs watched, chewing around something wrapped in what looked suspiciously like a leaf. When the rumble in his stomach had settled, Detan slumped back against the wall of a building in the shade of a reedpalm and sighed.
“May I ask why you were arrested, sirra?”
He grimaced, dragged back from his contemplation of the gentle breeze and the warm, contented feeling only a full belly can bring. “To make a point, I’m afraid. It was the doppel who dragged me in and the real thing who found me. Those two are dancing round each other like territorial scorpions.”
“Dancing around you?”
He winked and waved his arms to take in his whole body. “I am quite the prize, as you can no doubt see.”
“Did it occur to you they might be interested in me?”
“Aren’t you married, Tibs?”