If I’d been in the Gelkenon mountains the first time I went to Vorsa, I’d erased them from my mind. Or maybe it was simply that I’d only seen the inside of the airport, and that was so nondescript it hadn’t stuck at all.

  Too many empty spaces. The ceilings were unnecessarily high. You were herded into a narrow carpeted path, cordoned off from a huge part of the room where nobody seemed to be doing anything. The windows stretching from floor to ceiling showed beautiful vistas, but you were so far from them, they didn’t feel any different from any decent illusion. The only colors seemed to be bone white, cream, ivory, and a few drops of mocha.

  There’s a particur reason why I wasn’t in the mood to praise the Gelkenon airport, though. Almost as soon as we disembarked, all of us were rounded up in the cafeteria and forbidden from leaving.

  I dropped myself on one of the not-very-comfortable chairs and picked up a menu. However, most of my fellow passengers refused to stay put. The airport security didn’t want to manhandle anybody, so they stood in a circle, penning us. A few tables and chairs were caught up along with us, making the situation even more awkward.

  Very soon, the security officers weren’t enough for proper containment, and they shouted for other officers to join them. Which they did. Dark red uniforms all around us.

  “Isn’t this ridiculous?” another passenger asked. “Now the airport’s as good as unprotected!”

  “We’re in the process of ascertaining what happened in High Tomenedra,” an officer said.

  A dozen or so passengers started expining, all at the same time and very loudly.

  I sighed. Of course the airport authorities were freaking out. New Tomenedra had been a dam about to burst for the st couple of months at the very least. I’m pretty sure they’d gotten signs of something going even worse before our aircraft nded—a telegram or two, maybe even a letter, supposing a flight had gotten out before the Monday storm.

  And now, an aircraft had just nded, mostly carrying low-ranking civil employees and businesspeople, almost everyone in rumpled suits and needing a shower. Of course the authorities wanted to know what had happened in New Tomenedra—which was still High Tomenedra to them. But, most importantly, they wanted to make sure of two other things.

  Could any of the passengers be considered a traitor?

  Could the airport authorities be bmed for allowing a traitor to escape?

  You see why they didn’t take the risk. Even if they were only unwitting accomplices to treason, the best thing they could hope for was losing their jobs and earning a bck mark that’d follow them for the rest of their lives—or until someone decided to upgrade them to real traitors.

  Us passengers couldn’t agree with their methods, though. And not ‘cause they were inconvenient. As everyone knows, the best way to get rid of a possible treason accusation is to py treason dodgeball. You hit someone else first.

  That’s why so many of us were protesting as loudly as possible.

  I sighed, dropping the menu on the table, and stood up. Nobody paid me any attention. That’s one of the disadvantages of being short. It’s so easy to be literally overlooked.

  “Excuse me!” Nobody seemed to listen, either.

  “His Excellency requests your attention,” Valentino said. Though he wasn’t any louder, everyone could tell it was a Sabrewing speaking. Though begrudgingly, they couldn’t ignore that “His Excellency”.

  I cleared my throat. “I have a letter from Her Magnificence summoning me to the capital, if you’d like to see it.”

  All the other passengers had quieted down, waiting to see if I’d be an ally or an enemy. The officers hesitated, so I seized the opportunity.

  “Very well. I can tell you exactly what happened in High Tomenedra, and I know for a fact none of the people aboard that aircraft had the smallest involvement in the uprising.”

  Someone started cpping. A moment ter, all of the other passengers had joined in. I think even a couple of people in the cafeteria cpped too, for whatever reason.

  The officers didn’t seem very amused, but they weren’t ready to call me a liar. Unlike the guards in New Tomenedra, they didn’t have anything to accuse me of yet. And they were just civilians—the airport authorities weren’t on Cassel’s level.

  Valentino and me were escorted out of the officer circle. He carried my aguayo and his bag—good thing we didn’t carry a whole lot of baggage, ‘cause I wouldn’t have liked to leave it out of our sight.

  We didn’t have to walk too long before we reached a fancy waiting room in the back of the building. As our officer went ahead to introduce us, a secretary offered us a drink.

  I sighed. “What I really want is enough appletinis to make me pass out, but this isn’t the moment. Coffee isn’t good either. It’s gonna give me a terrible migraine.”

  “Hot chocote?” the secretary asked.

  “That’s great, actually. Do you want one, Sergeant Vargas?”

  “I can’t drink while on duty, but a hot chocote will be welcome.”

  The secretary nodded and walked away. Meanwhile, I was tired, but not so tired I’d forgotten Valentino had already shared several beers with me. Guess he’d decided to get more serious after I’d been kidnapped under his nose.

  Anyway, we didn’t have time for anything before the officer came back and let us into a conference room. The air was scented with vender, the furniture teak with white velvet upholstery and curtains. I wasted no time in ciming a chair for myself—much more comfortable than the ones in the cafeteria! Well done, me!

  Valentino stood by my side, looking at nothing in particur like guards are supposed to do. At least he’d gotten some sleep during the flight. He wasn’t in the best shape for a fight, but that wasn’t required of him right now—just that he looked the part. And he did—even if he coulda used a shave, he still was as unrumpled as you could expect in his circumstances.

  I turned to the four people sitting across the table. Middle-aged suits—that’s what mattered about them.

  “We shouldn’t waste time,” I said. “I slept a bit during the flight, but I’m horribly tired and I want dinner and a shower. I’m Azul Mamani, one of Her Magnificence’s great-grandchildren—Mirra Lemarezin was my grandparent.”

  They’d probably never heard of Grandma Mirra, who died before I even left Vorsa for the first time. You can’t really keep track of every single Lemarezin. The ones that don’t become Megarchon are forgotten as soon as anybody else once they drop off of the public eye. What mattered is they could look her up. It wasn’t hard to trace a line from her to Jano Bariskol and then to me.

  “Her Magnificence summoned me to Vorsa st Wednesday,” I went on. “Though I wasted no time in complying, I decided to take a slightly longer route and stop at High Tomenedra, a city I’d never visited before. After all, there’s no emergency.”

  A couple of the suits raised an eyebrow. Maybe they’d heard the rumors of Letheia’s death. Me, I’d decided to trust Nina and pretend I’d never taken the idea seriously.

  “But you,” I said, “must know of the strike. Let’s not pretend otherwise. Well, whatever you heard, it was worse.” I looked at their faces, making sure I still had them with me.

  At this point, the secretary returned with cups of hot chocote for Valentino and me. I thanked her and considered my next move as I took a sip.

  This was the most complicated part. How much should I admit I knew, anyway? Every single word could follow me for a long time. Telling the truth isn’t always the best option in the Protectorate. But I could assume that at least a few of the other passengers had been outside the Big Project yesterday—seen the magma creature, felt the barrier spell covering the entire city. Heard Nina’s speech.

  Could I benefit from pretending I didn’t know any of that stuff? Had anybody seen me running into the Big Project, or standing aside with Vanth and Valentino?

  Unless they had pictures—and you can’t take any under the rain—they could only count their word.

  In the Protectorate, you should admit to as little as possible.

  “Cassel made a mess of things,” I said. Bming most of it on the dead man wasn’t the most principled thing to do, but it’s often the safest. And he’d asked for it. “He got it in his head that His Illustrious Highness was behind it somehow. This allowed the real ringleaders to get away all but unchallenged as he barked under the wrong tree. Then he was accidentally killed.” As far as I knew, that part wasn’t really wrong either. “There was an uprising and many guards were killed. The city is now in the hands of the insurgents behind the strike. Everyone still loyal to Her Magnificence fled.”

  I’d told no inventions, so the chances of anybody calling me a liar were extremely low. The only thing that wasn’t common knowledge yet was the bit about Cassel bming Vanth, but he’d admitted it to my face, and Valentino could corroborate it.

  The only thing that might come back to bite me in the ass was vouching for the other passengers’s innocence. It’d just occurred to me that I didn’t really know if any of them had been involved in the strike or anything else—and frankly, I couldn’t trust that they were on Nina’s side.

  And even then—well, T’ika had been one of Nina’s inner circle.

  I was willing to take that risk, though. Not ‘cause I was an upright person or anything, but simply ‘cause I really hated it when people started trying to pin accusations of treason on each other. It left an awful taste in my mouth.

  “Of course,” I added in a burst of inspiration, “I don’t know everyone in that aircraft personally.” That’d be enough to cover my ass. “However, I did see the insurgents as they took over the city. None of those people boarded the aircraft. I’d say they’re only a small group, taking advantage of the chaos and Cassel’s death to climb to the top.”

  I congratuted myself, but only briefly.

  “How exactly did Cassel die?” one of the suits asked.

  I’d cimed it was accidental. Better stick to it. Other than that—I really didn’t want to be the first one to mention Tipilej Awki.

  “Something went wrong in the Big Project.” The suits stared at me in confusion. “The, uhm, the energy thing? Energy center?” They nodded. “The insurgents sabotaged it. And it burst up. Cassel was inside when it happened. It was pretty horrible! Not much was left of him.”

  Success! The suits lowered they eyes in pretense respect for the deceased, but they didn’t fool me. Everyone loves dramatic irony. It was fitting for Cassel’s obsession with the Big Project to be the end of him. Better yet, if everything could be neatly bmed on his mishandling of the situation, the rest of us could quietly slip away unharmed.

  Even better, if the uprising wasn’t pnned, everybody would let it be. It couldn’t st very long. Its roots couldn’t reach very far.

  I’d nipped this on the bud! What a smart move!

  Too bad I couldn’t brag about it to anybody. Oh well.

  “Please tell security to resume their usual proceedings.” I sat with my legs crossed, sipping hot chocote. “If there’s any real danger to be had, it’ll come from elsewhere.”

  I didn’t want to over-emphasize the passengers’s innocence, just in case the suits started suspecting I was hiding something. It worked, anyway: when Valentino and me returned to the cafeteria, security had retreated, and the other passengers cpped again, as if we were opera singers coming back after the curtain fell. I did that neck-stretch bow all around, and pulled it off pretty well—at least that’s what I think.

  The important part is we had dinner on the house. If an airport can be called a house. You know what I mean. I ordered the day’s special for Valentino and me, being too tired to think. And bckberry juice, as I still didn’t trust myself with anything harder.

  “Do you feel cold, Sergeant Vargas? I kinda do.”

  “I think Your Excellency will feel better after having dinner and a good night of sleep.”

  I stretched myself over the table. “Guess you’re right.”

  Though I’d fallen asleep during the flight, it hadn’t sted too long. And I’d been awoken by a nightmare, no less. Though at least I didn’t remember any of it.

  At least I’d gotten to look out of the window. They’ve gotta hurry up and make aircrafts with a better view! That’s the best part of flying!

  A waiter brought us a pte of polenta chips with paprika, and I had to restrain myself from eating Valentino’s share. Of course he wouldn’t compin, but taking advantage of my rank was underhanded! What I did, though, was ordering a pte of chips with the spicier paprika. I did eat most of those, but it’s fine. Valentino didn’t like them as much.

  At this point, I’d recovered enough to remember something. Back then, when Vanth first showed up at the Big Project, Cassel had sent his son away. If he’d stopped at the Gelkenon airport, no wonder everyone was on edge before we arrived! I told Valentino about it. He didn’t believe Cassel’s son would bother me, but appreciated being remembered about him.

  Dinner was spinach fusilli with smoked trout—I think they coulda put more trout on it, but I was too hungry to compin. Besides, it came with these fat mushrooms stuffed with cheese that were insanely good. I also ordered a pear crostata for dessert. The pears had been soaked in sweet wine with cinnamon and other stuff I didn’t recognize, and they were almost too sweet, but we still ate all of it.

  I let Valentino fg us a carriage and direct the driver to the nearest hotel fancy enough for someone of my position. And I let him check us in. Both of us were tired, but you could absolutely argue I was more tired. I sure hope I didn’t take advantage of him—after all, he wouldn’t fight back and I knew it. That’s pretty fucked up!

  But I also was so incredibly tired.

  As soon as we entered our room, I flopped on a bed. So soft, so warm. Too bad I also felt sweaty and gross. Grumbling, I dragged myself to the shower. This hotel’s soap seemed to be peach-scented. At least, that’s what the pale orange color led me to believe. What matters is it wasn’t rose-anything.

  I put clean underwear on, dried my hair as best as possible, and slipped under the sheets. It should’ve been one of those nights when I’m so tired I sleep like a rock for ten hours straight.

  Unfortunately, that’s a very rare thing for me. Usually it’s ‘cause something wakes me up. This time, it was another nightmare. And not the normal kind.

  broccolifloret