I’m not saying you’re wrong, because your theories are the only ones that explain why things are so awful. But everything Jools said sounded totally normal. There was no evasion or simplifications or lies.
And just so you’re aware, I had to get up at six this morning to go spotting with a lens for a Head’s complement, further in. I spent the morning in full plate with a hangover. My head hurts and it’s your fault.
And yes, Mother, I made sure I wrote this when I was alone, and without paper underneath so no imprints are visible.
She read the letter a second time. She’d never have considered getting Jools drunk. Toornan had simply waited until the right time, loosened everyone’s tongue by paying for drinks and started complaining. She’d never have his interpersonal skills.
The letter’s contents, though? She knew Jools was caught up in something, but exactly what was a mystery. Something strange. Something that didn’t fit. She took a stylus and blank paper, using a hard-backed book as a surface.
Just tell me what you remember Jools saying. Any details at all.
She said a few days ago her group did a cleansing sweep out west. Some buildings and slum apartments. They did readings, looked for anything unusual and left. Nothing stood out about her story; it’s the same thing we do every day. She did say she was getting tired of her new head’s hobbies. Not her boyfriend, but the complement leader. She says he obsesses over antiques and they have to stop all the time to examine anything that looks old.
Terese’s heart skipped a beat. Her pen ripped the paper. The string concerto was reaching its climax, making her wave speaker vibrate a little on its benchtop.
Toornan, she’s part of a smuggling operation! It’s the antiques. And the bounty hunter is involved, somehow, because that’s his specialty. No, I don’t think she’d do it deliberately, and I don’t know what’s being moved. Gods, it might be the mechanisms we were sent after! She’s being used. I’ll put you on lookout so you might be able to follow her complement’s movements.
Terese, if something is wrong, we should try righting it. But is this really our problem? Is it our place? Unearthing a smuggling operation isn’t why we came here. I’d like to leave Sumad in a better condition than I arrived but, if I do too much poking about, and if you’re right, we could come down with a bad case of dead. Is it worth it?
Toornan, I have no right to ask you to risk your life. If you walk away, I won’t hold it against you. Actually, if you want to live, then don’t say another word to me until we’re out the gates in seven months. But twelve years ago, I took an oath to Armer to guard against chaos and preserve human life. Whatever is going on in this chapterhouse doesn’t benefit one single human in this Polis, and more likely hurts them. I’m guessing smuggled dark mechanisms are involved.
Specifically, she guessed there were dark mechanisms at work, similar to those used to drain traces of chaos energy from humans in the Immersion Chamber.
Terese continued writing:
I’m trying to do what I think is right, and that’s hard when I know nothing. It’s my duty to Polis. Any Polis. All I can do is listen to my gut. Right now, it’s like I’ve got a stomach-ache. Trying to learn the truth can’t be a bad thing.
The exact wrong thing to do, would be to sit down, do the rest of my time in this hole and ignore it. A few weeks ago, I told you I had to do what was right, not what appeared right. You said you couldn’t think how that would look, and now I have an answer.
Doing what appears right, is minding my own business, sitting back and counting the days until I go home.
Actually doing right? Sneaking about and infiltrating the chapterhouse, trying to learn what’s going on at the rotten core of this place, and exposing or breaking it. And if that means I’ll never see my beautiful daughter’s face again, I can content myself knowing I tried to save many other mothers’ beautiful daughters.
Toornan dropped the paper after he finished reading it, put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, then wrote:
All right, I’m in. I’ll keep an eye out for her complement leaving.
Toornan, don’t risk yourself. If I get caught, I won’t allow any strings to reach you. I need you to protect the Apprentices and Assistants and get them out of here if things turn bad.
He gave a small smile.
This is being a Head Seeker, she realized. Despite appearances, she was doing what was right.
She opened the door quietly and checked the corridor: Empty. The bulbs had automatically powered down to their minimum. Before he left, they squeezed one another’s hands, their eyes speaking what written words couldn’t. His slippered feet made no sound on the stone hallways.
With the door closed, she opened her shutters, tipped all their writing into a metal wastebasket, and set a match to their words. The fire’s warmth cheered her in ways she couldn’t explain. A feeling that all was right. That Sumad Himself had smoothed her path.
She took a new paper from her desk: an official printed Sumad Reach material request form.
Her throat thickened. Telling Toornan about the Immersion Chamber would have been the absolute right thing to do, but impractical. Doubtless, honesty was the best policy, but she should have shown that honesty and righteousness three years earlier. Adding to Toornan’s confusion for the sake of simplistic idealism wouldn’t help the situation and might put him at risk. She’d keep her burden private and, one day, she’d tell him the whole truth.
Once he was safe.
Lingering, flickering ashes pushed their smoke out of the wastebasket and up, out the window, drifting into the night and up to the stars, as the string concerto
