*

The weak state of Varlan’s economy was of no concern to the Westergate Club. Established for over fifteen hundred years, and rebuilt four times on the same spot, it epitomized how the city’s ruling class sailed on serenely through the misfortunes of others, observing their travails the way one might view the antics of a zoo animal. Slvasta arrived at the richly decorated front door a week after the election, wearing the grey suit he’d bought for public speaking during the campaign. Shame he hadn’t had the time to get it cleaned. The doorman in his immaculate black tailcoat smiled obsequiously and ushered him in. ‘Welcome back, Captain Slvasta, and my personal congratulations on your election.’

‘Thank you.’

The receptionist behind the desk gave him a very spry smile, backed up by a sultry private ’path – a wordless pulse but full of invitation. Slvasta hoped he didn’t blush too obviously as the footman led him away. As always the huge marbled interior seemed to absorb sound. He was halfway up the sweeping staircase when he saw a young woman coming down towards him. She wore a bright red dress, a colour which emphasized her long strawberry blonde hair; its bodice was tighter than was the fashion among society ladies, and the skirt had a rather daring split all the way up one side, allowing a glimpse of long and very shapely legs. Her face was familiar, which made him struggle to recall—

‘Slvasta!’ she smiled and embraced him before he had time to react. ‘Oh no,’ she said theatrically, and waved a hand in front of her face. ‘You’ve forgotten me already. And we had such a good time together.’ A private ’path gifted him the inside of a boudoir that kicked off all sorts of enjoyable memories in Slvasta’s skull. How he’d spent a long afternoon with her on that big soft bed. How it wasn’t just Bethaneve who knew how to have uninhibited fun. How they’d laughed . . .

‘Lanicia,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a while.’ Though how he could forget that beguiling face even for a moment was a complete mystery.

‘It certainly has! I spent simply months pining after you, you mean thing. Fancy abandoning a girl after an afternoon like that!’

‘Sorry.’

‘I’m teasing, silly thing. It’s really good to see you. And you’re a National Councillor now! That’s just brilliant. I bet old conservative men choked on their breakfasts all over town the day after the election. Daddy certainly did. Have you been introduced to the Captain yet?’

‘Ah, uh, no, not yet. The Council’s opening ceremony was postponed because of the explosion.’

‘Oh, Giu, yes, that was so terrible. So! How are you? Married yet?’

‘Uh, no.’

‘Me neither.’ The smile she gave him was downright wicked. ‘I’ve still got my day villa for privacy. I’d enjoy being your mistress.’

All Slvasta could do was stand there with his mouth open. His gaze flicked to the footman, who had suddenly found something immensely interesting to stare at on the landing above. He really had forgotten how society girls behaved, their freedoms and delight in mischief.

Lanicia laughed gleefully at his expression, the confused emotions leaking through his suddenly shaky shell. ‘I’ll leave that offer open for you to consider,’ she said and started walking down the stairs. There was one final saucy wink goodbye.

Slvasta finally managed to close his mouth. He wanted to carry on watching her walk down the stairs, he wanted to go after her, he wanted to have a day, one day, away from stress and fear and anger, to be carefree just as he had been that long ago afternoon when the Skylords had visited. Lazy evenings in her day villa would never be spent full of intense discussions and momentous decisions and ideological analysis. There would be no plotting how to kill people and bring down governments and change the world. There wouldn’t be responsibility.

He closed his eyes and took a breath, allowing his heart to calm.

The footman was waiting patiently. ‘Lead on,’ Slvasta told him. The temptation was hard to fight. It wasn’t just old flings like Lanicia who were coming on strong these days. There had been interest from women ever since he was publicly elected Democratic Unity’s leader – interest which had steadily increased from the moment his candidacy for Langley was announced. Since the election, the offers had been quite brazen. It made him nervous about venturing outside Number Sixteen Jaysfield Terrace with Bethaneve. He could laugh off the attention, while enjoying the flattery. She, he knew, did not have the same liberal view of the phenomenon.

Colonel Gelasis waited for him in the Nevada suite, with all its sombre wood panelling setting the tone to match the colonel’s thoughts. This time there was no effusive greeting as he rose from behind the big glossy table. Instead there was a curt: ‘Councillor,’ and a quick squeeze of the hand.

‘Colonel.’

Gelasis waved the footman away, then straightened his uniform before sitting again. ‘I believed we had a gentlemen’s understanding?’

‘Did we?’ Slvasta said, wishing he didn’t feel quite so intimidated.

‘A quid pro quo was certainly implied. That’s why you’re now the Councillor for Langley. You got what you want, did you think that was free?’

‘No.’

‘Then would you mind explaining to me why in Uracus’s name you blew up the yalseed oil company’s depot? The city was crudding lucky that fire didn’t spread any further. As it is, the financial damage it will inflict on decent people is quite bad enough. And that’s on top of everything else the city is suffering right now because of the anti-mod movement.’

The outright accusation made Slvasta stiffen, only partly in anger. ‘I didn’t blow up anything.’

‘Of course not, not personally, you’re not an idiot, but can we say the same thing about your colleagues, eh? What would Tovakar tell us under interrogation I wonder? Or Andricea? How long would it take for her to crack if the Captain’s police were to bring her in? Apparently the process is a lot worse for women, especially when they’re young and good looking. I believe the First Officer takes a personal interest.’

Now Slvasta was deeply worried. If the colonel was using plain talk, this was no simple horse-trading arrangement any more. This was something a lot more serious. ‘Actually, they’d say the same thing. I don’t know who blew up the oil depot. Frankly, it’s the last thing I need right now.’ Which was true enough. It had taken Bethaneve two days of sifting through the scraps of information which percolated up through the network of cells to discover who might have sabotaged the oil company, then a follow-up visit from Javier and Yannrith had confirmed it. Three members from a cell on level twenty-eight had grown frustrated by the lack of action and decided to take things into their own hands, striking a definitive blow for the movement, hurting the establishment. Yannrith had to pull Javier off one of them; the man was now in hospital with broken bones and heavy blood loss. Such a show of capability and determination could have given the game away. If the Captain’s police had caught them, the interrogation would have lasted until they were either dead or confessed everything. As it was, Trevene’s interest in the cells and suspected radicals had risen to dangerous levels. His agents were pressing informants hard. Three more cell members had disappeared in the last twenty-four hours. Bethaneve was busy warning their contacts.

‘The deal was: you get Langley and in return peace is restored to our streets,’ Gelasis said. ‘No more acts of sabotage, no more Shanty mobs looting and wrecking, no more union bullying of hard-pressed businesses. Life becomes civilized once more, with you acting as a conduit for legitimate concerns and complaints.’

‘That is my wish, too,’ Slvasta shot back. ‘Come on, I’ve invested everything in getting this seat. I’m not going to blow it now.’