Sinclair looked at the writing on the paper: three columns, two of names, one of numbers. “I’ve never seen it before. The names… I can’t imagine that you needed me to tell you that the ones in this set, here”—he tapped the first column with his index finger—“belong to Senators, and all of the ones in this second set belong to Knights of the Sphere.”

“All of them except for one: Gareth Sinclair.”

“Yes,” said Gareth. “I saw that. I… I don’t know what it means that I’m on there.”

“Or why you should be sharing a line with Senator Geoffrey Mallowes of Skye and fifty-two million of who knows what?”

Finally Jonah saw a change in Sinclair’s face. It closed a little; he pulled backward, frowning both at Jonah and at the paper in front of him. He was beginning to understand the purpose of this conversation.

Speaking carefully, Sinclair said, “Senator Mallowes is an old friend of my family. That much is common knowledge, at least on my home world.”

“I suppose so.” Jonah broke off to retrieve the paper as the busboy arrived to refill their water. “What disturbs me, Gareth, is that third column. Does the number fifty-two million mean anything at all to you?”

“I don’t know. Fifty-two million what?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Levin said. “My guess, at the moment, is that the numbers in the third column refer to sums of money. I can’t imagine anything else that would have caused so much trouble in this context.”

Sinclair hadn’t touched his meal since Jonah had shown him the list. “What kind of trouble?”

“Murder,” Jonah stated firmly. “Someone found out that Victor Steiner-Davion had this list, and Victor died.”

Red crept into Sinclair’s face, creeping from his cheeks to his forehead like ink slowly dissolving in water. “Are you accusing me of anything, Paladin Levin?”

Jonah softened both his face and his voice. “No, no, of course not. I’m gathering information. I’m just helping you understand how some of this information would lead me to want to talk to you.”

Sinclair’s face remained flushed, but his brow lost a few of its creases.

“Let me see that paper again,” he said.

Jonah passed him the sheet again. Sinclair stared at it as if it were a treasure map.

Finally, he said, “I think I know what at least some of these numbers represent.”

“What?”

“Matching funds. The fifty-two million, there… if I’m remembering it correctly, that was the amount my family matched, in order to inaugurate a MechWarrior training program at home on Skye. It’s been going for a decade or so now.”

“Right. I’ve heard of it.” Jonah paused, pulling a fact from his memory. “Senator Mallowes was the driving force behind it, wasn’t he?”

“Right. He was the one who convinced my parents to donate; he got The Republic involved. It was his project the whole way. It was really, in a way, a very nice gift to me.”

“To you? So, you must have been one of the first graduates.”

“Yes,” said Sinclair. “My parents didn’t want to be seen promoting a course of study that they were unwilling to let their own offspring enter and complete. I believe that most of the funds went to purchasing ’Mech simulators, and what was left over they used to set up a continuing endowment for the instructors’ salaries.”

“Admirable,” Jonah said. “And completely legal. So why did Victor care? Why would that information make someone want to kill Victor?”

Sinclair kept staring at the paper. “I don’t know. If I knew what some of these other numbers represented, I might have a better guess.”

That was something, Jonah thought. At least I know what one of these numbers means, and if the others are of a similar nature that narrows the field of investigation somewhat. And, to his concealed satisfaction, Gareth had held up pretty well, coming up with a reasonable answer to his questions. He still had one more dart to throw, though.

“Who is Henrik Morten?”

Sinclair reviewed the list, then realized Morten’s name wasn’t on it. He placed the list in front of him, and Jonah picked it up and folded it into his pocket.

“Henrik Morten?” Sinclair said. “The name sounds familiar… oh, he’s one of Mallowes’ people, noble, I think. I’ve used him from time to time. In fact, he helped me on Ryde not too long after you left. I’ll have to tell you that story some time.”

“I’ve heard it,” Jonah said curtly. “And you should know that Morten doesn’t work for Mallowes anymore.”

Sinclair shrugged. “I think he was more of a freelance diplomat than a permanent member of the staff. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Of course he will. You’re still paying him.”

Sinclair widened his eyes. “Me? No, I haven’t had much to do with him since I left Ryde. He was effective, but there was something about him, something I couldn’t put my finger on.” He paused. “Why are we talking about him now, anyway?”

Jonah watched Sinclair’s face. The flush had retreated to his ears, but it was still there. He could be pushed into anger, and hopefully incaution, without too much effort.”

“I believe Henrik Morten arranged to have Victor Steiner-Davion killed.”

Sinclair’s face rapidly moved through a range of expressions, like a tri-vid on fast forward. “Morten? I wouldn’t… I mean, something about him didn’t seem right, but… really? Morten?”

“Yes.”

“I could give you the contact information I had for him if you’re trying to find him. It’s old, but you never know.”

“Old?” Jonah said. He pushed his chair back and leaned forward, grabbing its arms with white knuckles, leaving his arms akimbo. “That’s not what I’ve heard. I hear you’re still in contact with the man.”

“What? No. I haven’t used his services in years!”

“If I do some checking, I won’t find otherwise, will I?”

“No! Do you think I’m lying?”

“I think your name was on Victor’s list. I think you know Henrik Morten pretty well. And I think you ascended to Paladin when Victor died.”

This time there was nothing slow about the flush spreading over Sinclair’s face. He stood abruptly, almost knocking the table over.

“I’m being accused? Is that what you’re doing? I had no idea I was even being considered for Paladin, and now you think I assassinated Victor to get it? Jonah, you know me! You know me!”

“I hope I do,” Jonah said, trying to ignore the dozens of eyes now staring at his table. “Should we talk about this somewhere else?”

“No, we shouldn’t,” Sinclair said, managing to control his tones. “You do your looking. Check to see if I’ve had anything to do with Morten recently. Then come back to me, apologize for suspecting me, and I’ll help you figure out the rest of this list.” He dropped his napkin on the remains of his duck and stalked away.

Watching him go, Jonah wished he could better tell the difference between the anger of the wrongly accused and the anger of someone trying to conceal misdeeds. His eyes swept the restaurant, where most of the patrons still were watching the aftermath of a fight between two Paladins.

“You should see it when I argue with Kelson Sorenson,” he said, peeling off a few bills and leaving them on the table. “’Mechs at twenty paces.”

No one laughed.