“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’doccasionaly disparaged Elendel whiskey… but the truth was, some of the stuff you could get here was fantastic. Strong flavored, smoky and complex. He’dcome 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 beapplaudedby 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’drather 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’dneed another constable’s expertise.
Besides. It wasgoodto 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 saidApproved by Expert Typesat 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.”