He gave a small nod, a frown of consternation on his brow. “Wish they’d obliged us with a sea battle. Ethilda wasn’t right about much, but she was about Varestians never being fond of fighting on land. It’s how the Corvantines beat us.”
“A clever enemy never does what you expect. And our enemy is aggravatingly clever.” She gave him a formal nod and turned to go.
“My niece,” he said, making her pause. “You’ll be taking her with you?”
“Of course,” Lizanne told him.
There was a guardedness to his gaze, his voice clipped to ensure it betrayed no emotion. “Be smart to have a few Blood-blessed in reserve, wouldn’t it?”
“Not if this is going to work. And I doubt I could make her stay behind if I wanted to.”
Alzar gritted his teeth as he went on, eyes averted. “She’s the last Blood-blessed left to the Lokaras line, even though she’s not truly of our blood.”
“The Blessing might not be a cure for cowardice,” Lizanne told him, “but apparently being part of your line is.” Alzar nodded but didn’t move, Lizanne swallowing a weary sigh at the sight of him struggling to find a way of asking for a favour in a manner that didn’t chafe his pride. “She’ll remain on the Typhoon,” she told him. “As a rear guard. With any luck she’ll be clear of danger for much of the operation.”
Alzar let out a grunt of apparent satisfaction, still not looking at her as he turned and made his way up the gang-plank without a word of farewell.
She returned to the town, making her way to the administrative building and forcing herself to return the greetings she received along the way. Grief should have been a familiar sensation by now, and she had hoped such familiarity would have calloused her heart against fresh pain. But it transpired that she had no such callous and the pain, fresh and very raw, made her less inclined towards conventional civility. Even so, she maintained as friendly a demeanour as she could when greeting her employees, though she was thankful that their apparently genuine respect was coloured by a certain wariness, even fear. They saw what I did to Mr. Lockbar, she knew. And what I wanted to do to him.
“I don’t mind waiting if she’s busy,” she told Madame Hakugen’s secretary upon entering the outer foyer of her office. The girl immediately blanched and scurried to the office door, opening it wide after a whispered enquiry with the occupant.
“Miss Lethridge.” Madame Hakugen rose as Lizanne entered.
“Madame.” Lizanne gestured at the chair in front of the director’s desk. “May I?”
“Of course. Dissel,” she said, turning to her secretary, “please fetch us some tea.”
“Tea?” Lizanne enquired, sinking into the chair with a raised eyebrow as the girl bustled out.
“Sovereign Black no less,” Madame said, also taking a seat. “A gift from Captain Kashiel. We were acquainted before in Lossermark. She always did appreciate the social aspect of business.”
“I trust you shared it with your staff.” Lizanne gave her a bland smile. “I am hoping to foster a more egalitarian approach to management in this company. Individual privilege would appear to negate that.”
“I have never been one to hoard luxuries, in truth we are about to enjoy the last of the supply.” She paused for a moment, eyes narrowing a fraction. “Am I to take it then that the Mount Works will adopt a radical approach to commerce? Your intention seems more in line with that of a Corvantine revolutionary than the traditional corporate ethos.”
“The traditions of the corporate world seem to have availed us little of late. I think it’s time we tried something different.” She reached inside the pocket of the seaman’s jacket she wore over her overalls, producing a sheaf of papers. “It’s all in here,” she said, setting the papers on the desk. “Proposed management structure and remuneration protocols.”
Madame unfolded the papers and began to read, her eyes narrowing all the while. She read in silence, scouring the pages with a scrutiny of sufficient length that Dissel had returned bearing a tea-tray by the time she finished.
“The difference between salaries for management and worker is hardly considerable,” Madame Hakugen observed after the girl had made her exit.
“Indeed it isn’t,” Lizanne agreed, taking a sip from the steaming cup Dissel placed in front of her. Sovereign Black had never been her favourite but, after so long without the taste of tea it was quite wonderful.
“And all employees are automatically made shareholders,” Madame went on.
“Yes, with current workers and managers all holding an equal number of shares. New workers, assuming we ever have the opportunity to employ any, will receive one share upon joining to be increased by a share a year until they achieve parity with their colleagues.”
“A co-operative,” Madame said, setting the papers down and reaching for her own tea-cup.
“Quite so. A company where everyone shares in the profits and is thereby incentivised to generate more. And I should like you to run it.”
“A novel proposal, and one I’ll certainly consider. But I find it odd you would put this forward now, with the continuing emergency . . .”
“I put it forward because of the continuing emergency. You’ll find another document at the end of the bundle. I ask that you witness it.”
Madame leafed through the papers until she found it, her brows knitting in puzzlement as she read the opening paragraph. “You appear to have written a will,” she said.
“I have. There was a pre-existing will stored at Exceptional Initiatives headquarters, but I suspect it’s ash by now. In any case, my wishes have changed since then. The list of beneficiaries is short and I trust you will ensure they all receive the allotted bequests in due course.”
“One typically puts one’s affairs in order in the expectation of an imminent demise.”
Lizanne pursed her lips in agreement. “One does.”
Madame Hakugen sat back in her chair, eyeing Lizanne closely. “The fact that you prepared a will indicates you expect the beneficiaries to survive, but you do not. Am I wrong?”
“Rarely, I suspect.”
The director let out a soft humourless laugh, shaking her head. “It is my contention that you are far too valuable . . .”
“Just sign it.”
Madame’s gaze snapped up at the hardness in Lizanne’s voice. She met the older woman’s eyes, making sure she understood her resolve. After a moment, Madame reached for a pen, dabbed the nib in an inkpot and added her signature to the document.
“Thank you,” Lizanne said, taking a moment to drain her tea-cup. “I have one more request before I go, regarding personnel.”
“Personnel?”
“Yes. I know you have compiled copious records regarding the prior occupations of our employees. I require one with a special set of skills.”
“All those with military experience have been identified . . .”
“Not military experience,” Lizanne broke in. “Theatrical.”
The Little Cut was too far away to hear the explosion but the cloudless morning sky gave Lizanne a clear view of it. She watched through the front window of the Typhoon’s gondola as a brief flash of white blazed in the centre of the pass before a vaguely mushroom-shaped cloud began to rise above the mountains of the Neck. The charges laid in the Small Cut exploded shortly after and soon there were two tall mushrooms rising to east and west. The demolition crews, all experienced miners or road-builders, had been dropped by aerostat three days before, working with feverish energy to complete the task in the time available. Lizanne had yet to catch sight of any Reds but knew their enemy must have seen the explosions.