The Emperor gave him a warm smile. “And you’re smarter than all of them, little brother.”

Roderick swallowed his pride. “Perhaps not smarter, but I am loyal. I’ll continue to do my best to help you grasp the complexity of the Imperium you rule.”

The Emperor chuckled. “And I am smart enough to delegate dealing with documents and treaties to you.”

Roderick sent a silent prayer of thanks that Salvador at least did that.

The Emperor’s eyes were bright and alert, now that the spice had begun to take effect; Roderick noted a tinge of blue there from the quantity he had been consuming. “If I could increase your pay, Roderick, I would do so. If I could promote you higher than you already are, I would do that, too. The whole Imperium knows how important you are to my throne. I admit freely that I could not remain in power without your dedicated, wise assistance.”

He leaned forward, shaking his head. “I’ve lost patience with the countless squabbles, agreements, and obligations — I can’t keep track of them all, and it’s not fair to heap that work on your shoulders. I need my own Mentat to help me remember things — many of the noble houses have one. I should have a Mentat, too.”

Roderick had made the same suggestion himself months ago, but Salvador must have forgotten. “A wise decision, Sire — I shall summon one immediately.”

Salvador looked to the still-closed doors and gave a weary wave of his hand. “I suppose we should take care of the business of the day. Let’s get it over with.”

THE NEXT THREE hours were a tedious parade of minor nobles with minor concerns. At Roderick’s instruction, Reverend Mother Dorotea stood on one side of the throne, using her innate skills to study each visitor for emotional nuances. She had demonstrated a remarkable talent at separating truth from falsehood, and even Salvador now acknowledged the wisdom of the decision to let Dorotea and a hundred handpicked orthodox Sisters take up residence in the palace. While they weren’t all Truthsayers, they were useful in a variety of ways.

The rotund Court Chamberlain announced a visitor from Péle, homeworld of the Empress Tabrina. Although Tabrina was Salvador’s wife, there was little warmth between them, and the Emperor’s antipathy extended to her family, House Péle, as well. Their wealth had helped him hold on to the throne during the early tumultuous years after the death of Emperor Jules Corrino, but he no longer needed them.

The stranger approaching the throne had an odd appearance. Blanton Davido was of average height, although his legs and arms seemed markedly shorter than they should have been; nevertheless, he moved with smooth grace, and bowed before the Emperor.

“In my capacity as mining executive, I supervise House Péle’s most important operations.” Davido produced an orange jewel from the pocket of his tunic. “When a miner brought us this beautiful gem, I knew it was suitable only for an Emperor. With all humility, allow me to present this to you.”

Since all visitors had been checked for weapons, Salvador permitted the man to place the gem on the dais at the foot of his throne. Davido then asked for the Emperor’s dispensation for House Péle to expand mining operations to an additional planetary system.

So, it is more than just a gift, Roderick thought.

As justification for the request, Davido summarized past production levels and provided figures for anticipated future revenues, which would be subject to Imperial taxes.

Dorotea leaned close to Roderick. “I discern a disturbing falsehood in this man, my Lord. He is underreporting Péle’s production levels in order to avoid significant taxation — and he is not alone in this scheme. Lord Péle must be his collaborator.”

Startled, Roderick looked at her. “That is a grave charge to make against the Empress’s father. Are you certain?”

“I am certain.”

“And does Empress Tabrina have knowledge of this?”

“I do not know, but a few questions could easily provide the answer.”

Roderick ordered the mining executive to step back from the throne. “Await the Emperor’s command.” Salvador seemed annoyed by the interruption, but listened while his brother whispered in his ear, explaining Dorotea’s suspicions. “Due to the sensitive nature of the allegation, it would be best to tell Davido his request will require further investigation before you make your decision.”

But the Emperor gently pushed his brother aside. “No, I’ll handle this right now.” He flushed with anger. “Blanton Davido, I am informed that House Péle has falsified production records in order to reduce Imperial taxes. You are part of the scheme.”

The mining executive’s eyes flashed with fear, which he tried to hide with indignation. “That is not true, Sire! I have no part in any fraud.”

“Then who does?”

Davido had been thrown off-balance, astonished that the information had come to light, but not sure how much the Emperor knew. The widespread knowledge of Salvador’s vigorous interrogators, a team from the special Scalpel branch of the Suk Medical School, gave the man further reason to be afraid.

Dorotea made no comment as she watched the mining executive squirm.

Finally, the Péle representative said, “Sire, there may have been some underreporting in a few shipments, but I immediately took steps to rectify any discrepancies I found. After a thorough internal investigation, we determined they were honest errors. Of course, we will correct any shortfall — with interest.”

“And penalties.” Salvador smiled grimly. “How convenient for House Péle that honest errors would result in lower taxes. What do you say, brother? Should we grant the request of such a sloppy businessman?”

For once, Roderick was impressed by the Emperor’s decisiveness. Before he could answer, Dorotea whispered in his ear again. “The fraud is much larger than Davido admits. See how he sweats before the throne, the twitch of eyelids, the dilation of pupils, the angle of his neck — all indicators.”

It was true; the man’s large forehead glistened with perspiration, and his dark eyes had gone glassy, as if he already imagined being questioned by one of the Scalpel practitioners.

Roderick said, “Before we agree to anything, we need to learn more about these reporting errors and see how widespread they are.”

Emperor Salvador slammed his fist down on the throne as he glared at Davido. “You will be taken into custody until the full truth is revealed.”

Terror consumed the man’s features. As guards took his arms, he looked imploringly at the Emperor, then swung his head back to the large orange jewel on the dais, obviously wishing he’d never come here.

EARLY THE NEXT day, Grand Inquisitor Quemada, head of the Emperor’s Scalpel team, completed his work and dispatched a formal transcript of the proceedings along with a handwritten note. “Sire, I regret to inform you that the subject had a very low pain threshold. I had hoped to question him more extensively, but his heart failed. I offer my sincere apologies for this failure.”

Salvador was disappointed, but Roderick pointed out that even the cursory questioning had provided more than enough to damn House Péle. At midmorning, the two brothers met with Empress Tabrina.

She stood regally in the doorway of Salvador’s ornate office, her head held high and her dark, almond-shaped eyes flashing at her husband. “What is this indignity you committed against my family’s representative? You had no cause to arrest Mr. Davido — he didn’t have a chance to defend himself!”

“He had a chance to answer detailed questions,” Roderick said. “His conversation with Quemada was brief but fruitful.”