City on Fire

with an ornate red wax seal.

“The triumvir and Holy, Parq, has kindly written this letter of introduction.”

Togthan’s voice, like Parq’s, is soft, and his expression gracious. It puts Aiah on her guard at once.

Aiah opens the letter and frowns at it. This will introduce Togthan, an Excellent of the Red Slipper Order—Aiah casts a surreptitious glance at Togthan’s footwear and discovers he is wearing black wing tips—who is, by my authority, appointed Advisor to the Plasm Enforcement Division. You are requested to provide him with an office and total access to any information he may require, including complete details on the scope and nature of all relevant PED activities.

Anger knots Aiah’s stomach, but she tries to keep her face immobile as she glances at Togthan over the letter. “Advisor?” she says. “What kind of advisor?”

“Advisor on spiritual matters,” Togthan says with another bow, “and of course on political direction. Triumvir Parq wants to see all government departments unified behind the triumvirate.”

“I see,” Aiah says. She wants to crumple the letter and fling it in Togthan’s face, but instead says, “I wish I had known you were coming. I would have had your office ready.”

“It was decided at the cabinet meeting just after shift change. Since the PED has become such an important part of government, I am one of the first advisors assigned.”

“Yes.” She glances around her receptionist’s office, looking for a way to escape. “Please take a seat for a few minutes, and I’ll try to arrange an office for you. Please have some coffee. There’s a meeting after quarterbreak, and I’ll introduce you to the department and division heads.”

“Thank you, Miss Aiah.” Togthan swirls his robes as he sits, a compliant smile on his face.

“What the hell is this?” Aiah demands as soon as she can get Constantine on the telephone. “Who is Togthan? What is Parq’s spy doing in my department?”

The unusual lack of emphasis in Constantine’s deep voice signals that he is choosing his words carefully. “The triumvirate honored Parq’s request for political supervision of all government departments—especially Resources and the War Ministry.”

“Those are your portfolios! This is aimed at you.”

“If the triumvirate is nervous about an outsider heading two departments crucial to the survival of the regime—one who is furthermore the head of a political party that may run in opposition to their own—I cannot entirely blame them. Try to work with Togthan if you can.”

“The triumvirate?” Aiah asks. “All three of them? All three of them voted to put Parq’s spies into your departments?”

“Hilthi was against it. But Parq can be persuasive, and Faltheg voted with him, after some hesitation.”

“What am I going to do with this man?” Aiah cries. “He’s going to be creeping around and—”

“You will work with him,” Constantine says. There is a steely edge to his voice. “Our government has concluded that he is necessary, and he will be far less of a danger to you if he is indulged. The best possible thing is for you to become his greatest friend in all the world.”

Aiah snarls silently into the mouthpiece and wishes she could tell some of her military police to chuck Mr. the Excellent Togthan off the roof into a canal.

“Right,” she says. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Constantine’s next question is artfully designed to prevent her from thinking of another protest. “Did things go well with Karlo’s Brigade?”

Aiah is still mentally enjoying Togthan’s arc into the canal, but follows Constantine’s shift well enough to answer.

“Oh yes. They seemed happy to see us. Their mage-major was complaining, though, that she hadn’t got access to plasm as yet.”

“I will make certain appropriate action is taken.” “Thank you.”

Aiah presses the disconnect button, then calls her department heads to tell them that the Excellent Togthan will be joining the department, and that they are all to treat him with the utmost consideration.

“It’s because your boss sold us out,” Ethemark says. Rage in the little man’s deep voice keeps throwing his voice into squeaky upper registers. “He spoke in favor of Parq’s proposal at today’s cabinet meeting.”

“Constantine?” Aiah asks. “Is that who you’re talking about?”

“Yes. Your damned Constantine. It was bad enough when he supported the Dalavan Militia. But now because of Constantine, Parq’s spies will be in every branch of government____________________”

Aiah struggles with bewilderment, tries to formulate a response. “Are you sure?” she manages. “Who is your informant?”

“Minister Adaveth,” Ethemark says. “And Minister Myhorn also. They were both astounded by Constantine’s attitude.”

“There must,” Aiah says, “must be a reason……”

“Constantine is allying himself with Parq. He and the Dalavans together can dominate Caraqui—neither of the other two triumvirs has a following. Adaveth and Myhorn are both considering whether or not to resign.”

“No.” Aiah’s response is instant. “There is—” Her mind stammers, and she tries to work out what is happening. “There has to be something else happening here. If Adaveth and Myhorn resigned, it would be giving Parq exactly what he wants.”

There is a grudging silence.

“This has to be some kind of stratagem,” Aiah says, and hopes she is right. “Give it time.”

“I have no choice but to ‘give it time.’ We of the twisted have been compelled to cultivate patience for many centuries now. ‘Giving it time,’ ” he snarls, “is what we know best.”

“Can we meet outside of the office?” Aiah says. “In my apartment, say? We can attempt to work out some strategies to limit Togthan’s influence.”

“Hm.” There is a brief silence, then, “Very well. Let’s do that.”

Aiah does some rearranging and gives Togthan an office with Alfeg. Put her own spy, she thinks, next to Parq’s spy. Then she calls Togthan in to see her.

“I apologize for the delay,” she says. “The war and our expansion has caused a good deal of disarray.”

Togthan seats himself in the offered chair with a graceful swirl of his gray robes. His voice is smooth and unhurried. “I understand,” he says, and sips delicately from his cup of coffee.

“Because of the shortage of office space,” Aiah says, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to share an office with one of our mages.” Togthan frowns—the first hint of disapproval he has allowed himself, so Aiah hastens to add, “But he will often be in the Operations Room or otherwise working through telepresence, and I hope he won’t be too much of a bother.”

“Well…,” Togthan says, “I suppose that if it will assist with the war effort, I daresay I can manage the inconvenience.”

If I can put up with you, Aiah thinks, you can put up with Alfeg.

“I observe,” Togthan says, “simply in walking through the corridors on my way here, that there are many of the polluted flesh working in this department.”

“I’m sorry?” Aiah says.

Togthan flashes an apologetic smile. “Beg pardon,” he says, “I introduced a Dalavan term. I refer of course to those who have been genetically altered.”

“Oh. I see.” Aiah hesitates, chooses words carefully. “When our department began we were underfunded, and had to hire those who we could. The, ah, altered were often the most available, because they were denied opportunity elsewhere.”

Togthan smiles and sips his coffee. “That is no longer the case, surely? Your pay is more attractive now, I have heard, and there are many more looking for work on account of the disruptions caused by the war.”

“Our policy has always been to hire the most qualified.”

“Miss Aiah, I’m sure no one desires that you hire the incompetent or deficient.” Togthan’s smile is all reason. “But there is much popular prejudice against the polluted flesh in Caraqui. I know that they are not to blame for their condition—our Dalavan faith is just in that regard—but nevertheless if there were too many of the twisted seen in this department, it might bias the people against you. Whereas if the population of your department more accurately reflected the composition of the population of the metropolis, I think you would find in the people a greater reservoir of goodwill toward your efforts.”