City on Fire

was growing up.

Constantine’s department heads sit impatiently in the plastic chairs and glance frequently at their watches. Constantine has called this meeting, and he is late.

There is little conversation. Aiah feels her eyelids droop. Her abbreviated sleep seems a long time ago.

And then the door booms open and Constantine enters. He greets everyone, grins as he inspects the pinups, and then sits on a waiting plastic chair. “I’ve just come from a meeting of the cabinet,” he says. “Minister Faltheg has been appointed triumvir and president in place of the late President Drumbeth.”

People glance at each other, brows raised. Few seem to have heard of Faltheg till this moment. Aiah knows at least a little about him—she’d studied the cabinet members before making her presentation to them—but knowing his biography makes her even less certain what might qualify him to become a third of the government.

Constantine sees the puzzled looks. “The former Minister for Economic Development,” he explains, “a banker and a worthy man.” A devil’s grin plucks at his lips. “It was felt that an image of stability and continuity should be projected. No more military people.” His grin widens, and he gives his subordinates a confiding wink. “And no controversial foreigners, either,” he adds. Low laughter sounds through the room.

Besides, Aiah thinks, Faltheg was in the building.

“I have been given the War portfolio as well as Resources,” Constantine goes on, “along with a brief to run this war, as long as it lasts, and extraordinary powers to mobilize war, economic, and plasm resources. Because I will not be able to give full attention to the Resources post, I am hereby appointing Secretary Jayg to run the department day to day in all matters not relating to the war.” He nods to one of his people, who smiles nervously at the news of this two-edged appointment.

Constantine turns his intent gold-flecked eyes on Aiah, and she feels her nerves stammer. She knows that look by now.

“Miss Aiah,” he says, “I am going to invest your department with extraordinary powers to increase the government’s plasm reserves by any and all means necessary.”

Aiah stares at him. She has had her fill of impossible jobs lately. “Sir—”

“Have you contacted Mr. Rohder?” Constantine asks.

“No. I’ve tried several times, but he’s not answered.” A wave of guilt floods Aiah’s veins, and she gnaws her lip, wondering if she’d brought Rohder to Caraqui only to have him killed.

“Then you must reassemble Rohder’s team,” Constantine says, “and recruit more members. I want that work to go forward with all possible speed.”

“Sir—” She wants to protest, to announce to everyone here that she’s unqualified, already overwhelmed; but Constantine’s gaze is on her, and in the end she just says, “What about budgeting and so forth?”

“Bring me a budget,” Constantine says, “and I’ll sign it.”

The answer staggers her. “Yes, sir,” she says.

“The cost of all civilian plasm use, with some obvious exceptions such as hospitals, food factories, and established religious institutions, will be increased,” Constantine says. “Our meter-reading teams will be sent out into the city, working double shifts until they can read every meter in Caraqui and we can begin billing at the new rate.” His eyes light on Aiah again. “Your department will be even more necessary now, because the increased rates will make bootleg plasm all that much more attractive, and more profitable to the Silver Hand.”

“You make it seem as if this is going to be a long war,” says the newly promoted Jayg. He is a slight man, blond, with spectacles. Young, like so many of Constantine’s recruits. He wears a New City badge on his throat lace.

“We must be ready for that possibility,” Constantine says. “Lorkhin Island is a strong position—huge buildings with solid foundations, and overlooking the entire city. If our soldiers have to fight our way up each building staircase by staircase, it will take a long time and our casualties will of necessity be high. Much depends on how much plasm we can mobilize in the early days—if we have a significant edge in plasm, we can keep them off- balance and prevent them from fortifying themselves properly.” He looks from Jayg to Aiah. “You two bear the most responsibility here. I need results, and fast.”

Oh, Aiah thinks, so the war is up to me.

And, her thoughts continue, I have practically no department now. I’ve got to scrounge clerical workers from shelters and mages from war work.

Bring me a budget and I’ll sign it. Now that will help.

“The cabinet made a few other decisions that do not directly affect us,” Constantine says, and his face assumes a deliberate cast of neutrality. “Since our police force is at worst collaborating with the enemy and at best unable to function, Triumvir Parq will be organizing a citizens’ militia based around the various Dalavan temples. These militias will assist such police as remain in keeping civil order. Triumvir Parq will also be greatly expanding the Dalavan Guard, with the intention of producing high-quality combat units.”

Aiah looks at the others as they absorb the fact that Parq is now building his own army and police force. She doesn’t know everyone well enough to know whether they are Dalavans, but whatever their convictions, nobody seems very pleased.

“The cabinet,” Constantine says into the thoughtful stillness, “also decided that the registration of political parties may now begin, with the eventual intention of seating a new Popular Assembly. The only party forbidden to register is the Citizens’ Progressive Party of the Keremaths.”

Jayg raises a hand. “Isn’t that dangerous? Isn’t the creation of political parties at a time of civil war likely to simply increase the level of disorder?”

“It is hoped,” Constantine says, “that increasing the degree of popular representation will serve to draw large elements of the populace into the political arena, and toward a position of support for the government.” He gives a glittering, cynical politician’s smile. “In any case, Triumvir Parq is in the process of recruiting his own partisans, and others in the cabinet will not do less.” He stands, brushes his knees, affects an air of casual modesty.

“Tomorrow I shall announce the formation of the New City Party of Caraqui. I would find it pleasing if some of you were to join it. But if you are not so inclined, it will in no way affect the conditions of your employment by my administration. And if you decide not to join the New City, I hope you will participate in the process in another way. But for now”—a sudden fire lights Constantine’s gold-flecked eyes—“we all have much work to do. Unless there are questions…?”

Aiah has a thousand, but voices none of them; and no one else speaks either. After Constantine leaves, as she is gathering up her unused papers she overhears a pair of her colleagues.

“I’m going to be first in line to join this party,” one man says.

His friend seems surprised. “I didn’t know you were such a radical.”

“I’m not. But I plan to keep my job.”

A cynical chuckle. “Surely you don’t think Constantine will favor only members of his own party.” The tone is mocking.

Aiah straightens and turns to them. They see her look and fall silent.

“I really don’t think party membership will matter to him,” she says.

One of them gives a little snort. “You’re his lover. You’ve got a different sort of job security.”

Aiah’s cheeks burn. Her temper burns as well, flaring like wildfire—and seeing the blaze, the speaker takes a step back and turns pale as he realizes Aiah’s potential for revenge.

“You people have lived under the Keremaths too long,” Aiah says. “You’re not used to politicians who aren’t petty little shits.”

The room has fallen silent. Jayg adjusts his spectacles and gnaws his lip as he judges whether or not to intervene.

Aiah turns on her heel and marches out before she says something else.

There is a war to win. She’d better win it.

“LANBOLA IS AND HAS ALWAYS BEEN NEUTRAL,” INSISTS MINISTER

PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT CONTINUES MEETING IN LANBOLI OFFICES