CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX - THE CROW WIND

"Good morning, Mr. Lyur. Might I take your coat?"

"Well, now there's a polite young lady. Take care of this thing - it weighs more than you do."

Tanner didn't look up from her work. Quite confident she looked busy - on account of actually being busy. The work was unceasing, the ledgers were piled high around her in tottering pillars, she didn't feel comfortable placing a single one back on its shelf until she knew she was finished with it, and until everything was wrapped up and the bodies could sleep under a slab rather than on top of one, she doubted that she'd be finished with a single one of them. Her eyes were covered in several lenses, her finger was weighed with an automatic quill, and she was as prim as proper as she could be. A day or so of research, it'd been. A day or so of sitting with Yan-Lam. Tanner directed things, Yan-Lam helped with the grunt work, actually filtering through the great lists of data, slowly compiling things, putting together their own ledger which formed... well, everything of any relevance. Sersa Bayai had torn the cell apart downstairs - Tanner had known they wouldn't find anything, if they were likely to find something of importance, they would've been less subtle, more blunt, and distracted their attention. The walls had been practically drilled through by sweating soldiers, and they'd found nothing. Nothing but rubble, packed tight into the walls to reinforce them - place used to be an armoury, it all made sense. The officer seemed as unsurprised as she was, but she was distinctly less angry than him. Just... resigned. Like she'd been when they searched Dyen's house, and found nothing, the whole place stripped as bare as a sphynx cat. Another dead end - because they had time, because they had time. Give them time, and they moved around like a bull-fighter, immune to the slightest graze of her horns. Like... yes, they'd dance around her charge, and scatter a dozen crimson threads with each little motion. And blind idiot that she was, she'd whirl around and around and around, snorting in panic, wondering which one of the red things she ought to chase first. And all the while, more were being laid.

Complication had a... quality unto itself. It lured. It promised. It tempted and flirted.

But rarely did it deliver.

Anyhow.

A day or so of work. A day or so of Yan-Lam fetching tea and coffee, or little biscuits, or blankets for Tanner to sleep on one of the chairs. All her belongings were being washed, just to make sure the poison had really made it out, and she was still wearing... basically just her old dress, but with a borrowed shawl wrapped over the top to hide the worst of the stains, and as long as she remained seated, the stained skirt was completely invisible. She never left the room, not except for two occasions a day, always to the same place. Yan-Lam fetched ledgers, food, belongings, everything. And Tanner left to visit Marana. Once in the morning. Once in the evening. Stealing out of the mansion like a thief, visiting her quietly, asking questions in a hushed tone, and then moving back.

She seemed to be recovering.

Said she was even awake, rather a few hours a day. Years of alcohol and... other substances had made her more vulnerable to this sort of thing. Give her time, she was told. Give her time.

Time was the one thing Tanner didn't have.

But what she did have, at this precise moment, was someone to interview.

Her quill slowly stopped as the man came in and sat down without asking.

She looked up, suppressing a gulp.

Last time she'd seen those dark eyes, they'd just been focused on a man he was beating to death.

Now he was sitting there. Face settled into a light frown - no malice in it, no anger, not even irritation, this was just how his face fell. In short, he was at rest. Wearing his usual dark clothes, varying between black and navy blue, everything warm and work-worn, patchy where snow had landed and melted. Hair the colour of peat, cut into a severe style. Thin white hairs on his chin. Bulldog jowls. Beer-barrel torso. Arms that could be attached to an industrial engine and set off to assemble ship cannons. Skin slightly damp, almost like a frog, remembering every coat of sweat it'd ever received. Dark eyes shone at her slightly, like the stones at the bottom of a river. No sign of guilt on him, no sign of lingering nightmares, no sign of anything. And now, she couldn't help but see the scars around his knuckles, the callouses on his palms... the signs of old violence lingered on him like a Fidelizhi god. Even in his dark eyes, there was a kind of promise. Like paper, faded darker and darker by exposure to the sun. Maybe, once, his eyes had been a shimmering blue, or a luminous green... darkened by exposure. Over and over and over, until eventually... here they were. His voice drawled out, and she thought of the voices of some veterans she'd heard, like Captain Kralana on the mutant-hunting vessel - seen enough that nothing phased him, burned out on adrenaline until it took quite a bit to stir it back up.

Did murdering people count?

Or did he do that with the same languorous ease?

"Good day, judge. What can I do for you on this miserable morning?"

Tanner stared at him for a solid few moments, before she deliberately began to raise her lenses, one at a time, until they clicked back into position. Only when she was done with all of them did she remove the whole circlet, and laid it down in such a way that it looked like a nest of eyes, glaring at him from the table, while her actual eyes remained impassive.

Practised that with Yan-Lam for longer than she wanted to admit.

Apparently it had an effect.

"I'm sorry it's taken so long to talk. We ought to have met sooner. I understand you were interviewed by the Erlize after the incident-"

"Which one? Seem to be plenty of them these days."

Tanner bit down a retort, and saw Yan-Lam gripping a little platter to her chest like a shield... no, like a discus, a throwing weapon. Barely held back. Her eyes were blazing.

"The incident involving Messrs. Tyer and Lam, alongside yourself and your colleague, Mr. Myunhen."

"Ah. That one. So?"

"Just confirming you met with them. I'm interested in something earlier."

Lyur smiled slightly, but otherwise said nothing.

Tanner drew out one of her papers. And began to read from the data she'd assembled.

"Your career as a bouncer began two years ago. Prior to that, you were an occasional worker inside the city, moving between various positions. Prior to that, you were a lifetime shantytowner in Fidelizh, born and raised. During your time as a bouncer, you've had no major complaints against your conduct, and seem likely to remain in the position for at least another year, before being rotated back into the civilian workforce."

"Just a year, hm? Ought to get to more drinking, then. While I still have time."

"However. There's been one incident under your watch that caught my attention. Mr... Krandol, of Fidelizh, a former civilian of the colony. He died in the city a year ago, when an unexpected section of roofing caved in while he was trying to clear out a building. He was trapped, crushed, and was found suffocated to death after a stone landed on his chest."

Lyur shook his head sadly, frowning in a slightly clownish manner. Odd, how different people responded to interrogation. Yan-Lam, on instinct, had become a brick wall that replied in the closest one could get to monosyllables without seeming rude. Dyen had just sweated like a frog and spilled the beans when poked hard enough. Lam had clammed up, but elaborated too much when pushed outside his comfort zone, into a lie he hadn't prepared himself for. Beldol, Femadol 25, had responded with rudeness - a barrier as hard and brittle as diamond. And Lyur just... seemed to find it slightly funny. Like he knew something she didn't.

Tanner tapped a little file on her table. A file with the serial number of Mr. Krandol printed on the front. Nonsense to Lyur. But Tanner was starting to become fluent in this baffling bureaucratic language designed to obscure and inhibit.

"Unfortunately, the report after his death included a few interesting details. Mr. Krandol was suffering from some not insignificant bruising along his legs and knees, not to mention some lingering alcohol in his system. It's possible that this contributed to his death. Are you familiar with Jovan, Mr. Lyur?"

"Can't say I am, judge."

"There's a belief in witchcraft down there. Witchcraft is a... kind of shadowy web that hangs over the world, and unless repelled and sent to someone else, it wraps around you, and everything around you. It makes luck into misfortune. It turns near misses into accidents, and accidents into fatal incidents. It makes the world a measurable degree worse to experience. In Jovan, they might say Mr. Krandol was afflicted by witchcraft."

Mr. Canima did this. And he... well, he knew things. Governor did it too. It seemed to be the pre-requisite for being a sophisticated, authoritative interrogator. Even if her cape was still being cleaned, she liked to think the governor was riding on her back roundabout now, murmuring advice on how to be a rambling, wise creature of infinite potency and wisdom. And inciting revenge against all those who practised the bludgeoning arts.

"Well. That closes it then, doesn't it? Witchcraft. I like the excuse - I'll use it in future, if you don't mind. Very pessimistic, though."

"Quite. I disagree with it, personally. And Mr. Krandol, notably, left... your establishment the night before, a fact confirmed by eye-witnesses."

Technically, that eye-witness was Lyur. He'd confirmed that Krandol had left the inn he was guarding at a fairly early hour, confirmed by the innkeeper as well, and that this absolved him from any negligence of duty - he had plenty of time to sober up, and if he was drunk at work, he got drunk on his own time. Meaning, he was completely in the clear. Nobody had really paid attention to the bruised legs, of course. Why bother? Drunkenness was a far more likely suspect, and the mortuary assistant had written his opinion that the bruises were caused by the collapse, not by a previous injury. Ignoring that they were on the wrong side of his body, of course, to be hit by falling stones, and that the bruises had already bloomed.

"Now. I'm going to present a scenario to you. And I want you to let me know about any inaccuracies. May I continue?"

Lyur lounged back in his chair, and smiled, his slightly damp skin gleaming wetly in the light of the room's many lamps. His eyes had a lazy focus to them. An ability to remain fixed on her without actually piercing her. They just... rested. Nearly unblinking. He might not be seeing a thing. Or he might be seeing everything. For a second, he was just looking at her, and she felt... small. Very small. Like there was something buried in those dark eyes. Something that crawled.

"Please. I'm interested."

"...you start work as a bouncer two years ago. The money's fair, for the work you do. You meet with the governor every so often. He tells you what your next assignment is, and any corrections you should make, any groups he wants broken up. You drink at inns, eat in inns, do your work like every other bouncer does."

A pause.

"And then a man came to you. And perhaps this man was very, very grey. Grey hair. Grey beard. Grey eyes. Well-spoken, but not dressed to match. And he offered you money, a healthy quantity, to do something for him. Nothing illegal. Remove a person from the inn before you usually would. Break up a group without receiving orders to do so. And a year ago, you do this to Mr. Krandol. You allow him to stay at the bar much later than usual. Perhaps you even get him some drinks. He gets drunker than he usually does. Or, alternatively, if he kicks up a fuss, gets into a fight, you're rougher than you need to be, and particularly focus on his legs. Or, you do neither, and simply remove him from your establishment in such a way that others don't notice anything out of the ordinary. And the next day, he dies in a collapse because he's drunk, and because his legs are stiff with bruises. Maybe you do this routine several times beforehand. The city's dangerous. Just need the right day."

Another moment of silence. Lyur kept watching her.

"Or maybe you just got him drunk. Made sure he had enough drinks, and then some. Maybe he questioned it, maybe he didn't, but the man in grey was adamant on the point that he remain much longer than he was meant to. Innkeeper wouldn't complain - more money for him. And you do this a few times, and then..."

She didn't believe anything out of her mouth. Lyur didn't feel guilt about this, she knew he didn't. He hadn't felt guilty about bashing in a pleading man's head until the skull split and she could see the watery grey contours of the brain, everything he'd ever been or could've ever become, every memory and experience draining from a steaming chasm, from a gaping bone-toothed mouth. All teeth were bones, really, now she thought about it. Just a paralysed mouth, then. Dumb, useless... still capable of expressing thoughts, though, like a regular mouth.

Just in a more physical sense.

Brains contained thoughts, after all.

"Interesting thesis. Am I meant to criticise?"

"I'd appreciate criticisms of accuracy in the details."

Lyur smiled faintly, the smile growing on his face like a living creature. His dark eyes remained exactly the same.

"There'd be no dignity in that. Accuracy is for accountants and pedants. Judges, maybe. You have some details correct. Well?"

"I want to know who he is."

Silence for a long, long few seconds. Lyur didn't blink throughout all of them.

"There are roads, judge, that aren't pleasurable to walk down. Most roads in this place are that way. This country is dead, judge. The people are dead. The city is dead. The land is dead. Even the animals are mostly dead, or they left to find places where the air won't change them. There's no road in this place that isn't lined with bones. Do you think a road of that sort leads somewhere pleasant?"

His voice rolled over her, filling the room, though he never raised it, not once. Barely inflected it at all, to be honest. When she'd first met him, she thought nothing, just... someone, another person, with other habits and ways of speaking. Seen him through golden pince-nez. Now... she'd seen him with his arm raised, and now all his habits were framed through the light of that. Like how all her habits, feelings, foibles were now framed through her failures up here, or her success. Everything foreshadowing for the central events of his life. Did he see it that way? Or was there another event he operated around in the schematics of his own memory, a childhood incident which framed everything to come, an ambition that linked everything together... was there no linchpin at all, just habit and memory and mannerism suspended in a loosely assembled brain?

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She was growing her own image of Lyur in her head. He had a prototype of his own, locked away for no-one else to see.

Getting know someone was like being impregnated by them, and slowly growing a near-identical twin, made of material from both her and the other person. From him, she got what he provided and demonstrated. From her, she got her own memories mixed in, her own preconceptions, and then this child emerged through a Tyer-crack in the skull, and wandered around on its own, and nothing could overwrite it, nothing could kill it and replace it, everything could only be framed through it. And then whatever happened would be taken and mangled by a creature that had long-since grown independent of physical reality. Getting to know someone was creating a bastard child, and then presenting it with toys that it could take, it could keep, it could break, or it could ignore entirely.

Could never really know another person, could she?

"I doubt it. But I'd like to see, nonetheless."

"I do not think, necessarily, that you do. What would you do, judge, if you found yourself in a position where obeying the law would invite worse crimes, and worsen the world in general?"

Tanner was silent for a second. And dug in her memory-room for Sister Halima, dragging her out, and all her speeches.

"I don't believe there is such a circumstance. If the law was being broken, other laws would be broken in time, or the option would remain open. Lawlessness is impossible, there's just contradictory sets of laws that clash with one another, and the criminal decides their own law-book has more meaning than ours. Leave a crime unpunished, and their law-book might take root in someone else, and they might start obeying laws invented by someone without the proper qualifications, who didn't think their decisions through, and imposed it without debate or consideration. Crime is tyranny."

His smile was fainter for a moment, but his eyes gleamed.

"Crime is tyranny. I like that. Dramatic, though. Can't say I like that."

He leant forwards, clothes rustling.

"Alright. I'll tell you something. You might not like it, though. I know some people won't. There's something out there. Something ugly. Maybe it's in the air, or the water, or the snow. Probably the snow. And once it gets into you, there's no sleeping or thinking. Crow-wind. No more shame or reserve with the crow-wind in you, just an eye for where food is, wings to get there, claws to keep it yours, beak to choke it down. Could still be alive, could be one of your own kind. Doesn't matter. All meat. You know this is cannibal country? Not Rekida. The north. Whole thing. When we fled south... when my parents fled south, there were hundreds of thousands of people. They moved like locusts. Eating the food in the farms, the larders, the storehouses, anything that could be opened and ransacked. When they started, they were eating grains, bread, human food. Then they started running out. And running out fast. Mutants contaminated the groundwater in some places, turned rivers to poison. Out east, there were rivers with carnivorous reeds. Right light, you could see the bones gleaming in them, apparently. When the humans stopped coming, the reeds got into the bones, stood them up like scarecrows. Learned to shriek in human voices once they got a living one. Some folk... they saw the people moving south. They decided to do something with it. Enough food for everyone? No. Enough mask filters? No. Enough space? No. But for a few people, a few families? Sure. There was enough. If they took."

His smile was faint as a distant, dying fog.

"Cannibal country. Animals were the first things the mutants got. Contamination worked its way up the food chain, see - get into the water, then into the plants, then the animals, then the predators... and the humans. Humans were the last. Mutants would kill you, same as anything else in those days, but... go south, go ahead of the horde, stay out of their way, and you were safer than most. Humans are bad food, usually. But when everything else was out... me, I think that was what did it. Got the crow-wind in the air."

A pause.

"Sure. I know the man in grey. Met him, a few times. Won't say what he paid me to do, on account of not being a damn fool, hm. And I say this with... absolute politeness, he was a strange little customer."

Tanner was already writing.

Said nothing.

But the silence was something Lyur seemed to faintly enjoy. Had no inhibition from basking in it for long moments at a time, until Tanner's pen was just writing meaningless things to seem busy, while her mind ached for him to keep going, give her more material. Worse, she thought he knew this. Couldn't give up, though. The narrative required it.

"Str-ange little customer. Offered cash, and it was fairly good, good enough to do what he asked. Mostly. But here's the thing - I don't like being paid to do work I don't understand. Makes me feel like an ox hitched up to a plough, and no man likes to feel like an ox. Well. Not normally. Not the worst animal, hm? Could always be a donkey. So... I maybe asked questions, or something, and in my mind, I could see him moving to stop me getting too far. Either way. I asked and asked, all quiet-like, and eventually I found a little hint. See..."

He leaned in, voice confidential.

"It's all about the big boys at the top. I checked the man in grey - he works for them. Goes to their parties. Drinks their wine. Heard he might even be a big shot himself back in Fidelizh. Works for the company owners, the merchants, the bankers, the investors. Because some people know too much. And need to be gotten rid of."

His dark eyes shone.

"The big boys are planning something. See, the governor was never their favourite. Never ever. Oh, he could annoy them, from what I heard. Like... right, I had an overseer friend, worked out in the farms during the summer, and he said that his boss was always complaining about the governor's policies. Man buys up every piece of damn food he can get his hands on, mandatory, then shoves it inside a cold-house for winter. Know how annoying that is, for someone who sells high when supply is low? Governor buys... bought, pardon me, when supply is up, everyone's growing... won't let them set up their own cold-houses, not good ones, and that means they either sell to him, and lose some profit... or they let the food rot in the fields. And if the governor sees them doing that, he just confiscates. Man was authoritarian. Guarantee, they're glad he's dead. Glad as glad can be."

Tanner was writing furiously, faster and faster and faster.

"Want to know what happened to that overseer friend? Died last winter. What do you know - got drunk as hell when he shouldn't have, turned up the next morning frozen to death on the outskirts, maybe a little bruised for good measure, and the bouncer and innkeeper agree he left all normal-like, and definitely on that date. That's just farms. What about everything else? How much cash do you think the governor has made them waste on this place? Colony could be good money for them, give them nice fat retirements... and they're willing to do anything to wring this place dry. Got the crow-wind in them, that's my diagnosis."

He leant back again, nodding in a self-satisfied fashion. Tanner looked up slowly from her work, staring with wide eyes.

"I see."

A pause.

"...that aligns with what I've been told, yes..."

Lyur shrugged.

"Well, if people ask, I said nothing. And if I die... you know I was right, huh? And because I told you, you'll be real, real nice about all the things I may or may not have done or not done at some point in the past, that being an ambiguous designation of any period of time between now and the creation of the world and is not given to represent any indication of relative recentness, and does not necessarily overlap with any statements you've made?"

Tanner smiled faintly.

"Quite. We can have you stay here, of course-"

"No, no, no. If I do, they'll know I told you this. I just want amnesty when this all comes down, right?"

"Right."

"Astounding, judge, astounding."

Tanner flicked through her pages, eyes narrowing.

"...I suppose this also aligns with what I've been able to find in the ledgers of the cold-houses Discrepancies between what they give out, what they're given, what the farmers report having harvested..."

Entirely true. She'd looked into that precisely because of the merchant angle - didn't take a genius to realise that, if they were implicated, then the best thing to do was to follow the money, check for signs of corruption. And, hey presto, there it was. Discrepancies. Farms reported one number, governor's receipts showed another, cold-houses reported another still. Even if it was accepted that some goods might be spoiled or consumed before storage, the discrepancy was still there. Wasn't even exceptionally well-hidden. And she checked other ledgers, made sure she wasn't being an idiot... likewise, the smeltery took in a great deal of metal, and processed it down into a significantly smaller quantity, and the brewer seemed to take in too many crops for the amount of liquor he produced in the end. It was everywhere - losses. Never anything massive. A nip from each one, adding up to a significantly greater sum by the end. Sometimes there were excuses, or attempts at them. Rats were popular - losses to rats were always substantial, according to the overseers in charge.

Rats.

In winter.

In a frozen, blasted wasteland, where life was still struggling to return. Distinctly remembered someone... yes, it'd been Bayai, mentioning that he wasn't sure why people brought cats to the colony, 'not like rats are a problem in these sorts of conditions'. But on paper, it looked perfectly fine. Other excuses were similar - damp (she'd seen how the cold-houses kept things sealed and dry as bone), water weight lost during drying (she'd cured fish before in Mahar Jovan, she knew they didn't lose that much weight to that process), contamination discovered at an intermediary stage (not bloody likely, they'd been able to detect a tiny increase of contamination on the wind, the colony knew the dangers and acted accordingly)...

All of them, excuses that worked if you only glanced at them on paper. Local knowledge unmade them.

Lyur hummed.

"That... could make sense, yes. Worrying, that thought, hm? Stockpiling?"

He stood suddenly, brushnig down his trousers.

"Well. In such conditions, it's the duty of a civilian to keep his mouth shut and shuffle on. I ought to leave. They might get ideas."

"Right. Of course. Would you be willing to submit to a formal interview?"

"No."

"...very well. I'll see if I can arrange a subtle way to talk to you, if I need to in future."

"Don't. Not worth it. Now, judge, young lady..."

He nodded to both of them.

"I have drinking to get on with. Fuelling up for door duty tonight. And, ah, don't worry - our mutual grey friend hasn't paid me any visits lately. I get the feeling he might not like me very much any more. That, or things are too hot for him at the moment. Far too hot. Comes too close, I'm not sure which of us is liable to be scalded first."

Tanner leaned forwards suddenly, eyes bright.

"If he does come, we ought to communicate. Urgently. If you need to find me-"

"I'll find you. Come on, we're not spies. Too many theatrophone plays, young judge, too many of them. Dead drops, moles, blackmail, honey traps, flesh pots, stuff and nonsense and bunkum. This is a colony with a couple of greedy freaks who want to squeeze cash out of us. I've seen their type. I'd say to look out for yourself more. You and anyone around you. Good morning."

And with that, the man was on his feet, and striding confidently towards the door... well, confident wasn't the word, thoughtlessly was. He just didn't regard it as an activity of note, and walked as he'd walk anywhere else, perfectly aware that his next footstep would land in such a fashion, and if it didn't... it was just a footstep. He wasn't striding along the edge of a cliff. So who, really, cared?

Gods, that was a skill.

Walking.

Walking without paranoia, anyway. Walking in a room full of seated people and not feeling intensely off.

Anyway.

He left. Tanner paused. Glanced at Yan-Lam, who looked back at her with wide eyes.

The chambermaid whispered.

"What a... harum-scarum individual."

"Quite."

"Do you think he bought it?"

"I think someone did."

* * *

Night was upon them. Tanner was alone, save for Yan-Lam. The girl kept look at her oddly, with her intelligent green eyes. The snow outside was high, mounting higher by the moment. Another storm. Midwinter was coming, and when it did... well, there wouldn't be much else to do but buckle down. Not even the smelters could work then. Said it was just a boundless plain of black ice all around them, only the tiniest aura of warmth at the heart. Not enough. Not enough. Come midwinter, soldier would be delivering food to houses, not trusting people to go outside alone to the grocers, not demanding the grocers stay in their shops as the snow threatened to trap them. Tanner got the feeling that miwinter would either freeze everyone in place like insects in amber, perfect for her to examine them, isolate them, maybe even confront them with minimal risk of interference... or it'd be the end of her investigation until the spring. In midwinter, nothing happened. And if she lacked key evidence, if she couldn't put together a proper judgement, all dynamics would cease, no new intelligence would emerge. All the interplay of human sociality would end, and she'd be left as a ship becalmed on a cloudless day.

Crow-wind.

Blood crying out from the soil, infecting the water, entering the air on wings.

Maybe there was some truth in this being a country that ought to be allowed to mourn itself a little longer. Left until the bones were dust, the buildings were stubs, the animals had returned. An odd thought occurred, and she spoke quietly.

"You know, there was a case not so long ago. Out in Tuz-Drakkat. Not a legal case, just... a case, as in, something which happened. Sorry. Should've just said a 'thing' in Tuz-Drakkat."

A pause.

"I'll start again. There was a thing in Tuz-Drakkat, not so long ago."

"Yes, miss."

"A whale washed up. Not uncommon. Whales die out in the sea. If they're not mutants, they just drift, get eaten by other sea creatures. If they're mutants, the other mutants eat everything they can, and big globs of matter crash onto the shore. Ugly, and stink like nothing else. We never had them in Mahar-Jovan, thankfully. But something must've happened, they think it was a natural event, but a seaside colony found a rotten whale on the shoreline. Must've been dragged up from the seafloor. And it was mundane - no mutation. But it was full of life."

Yan-Lam was staring, tilting her head to one side.

"Eels, giant isopods, all sorts of things. There was a world inside those ribs. And some scholars thought... well, a dead animal in the wild, that's food for the scavengers, for the maggots and flies, and eventually, for the plants, the lichen, the fungi... and those are small things, in a world full of food. Whales at the bottom of the ocean, they must be the biggest meal these creatures could ever imagine. So they eat, and they eat for a long time, very efficiently, very slowly, very carefully. Months and months, maybe. Years, even. A tiny world at the bottom of the ocean, surrounded by... nothing else. Just dark."

A pause.

"...I suppose I'm wondering if the colony here is us clustering around a dead deer in a forest, eating what we can before turning to everything else... or just us clustering around a whale in the deep. And when it's all gone, what we're meant to do. What else is left."

She smiled faintly.

"You could join the judges, if you like. I could put forwards a recommendation for you. Even if you don't want to be a judge, we always need clerks, and the outer temple is good employment for anyone who can write neatly and quickly."

Yan-Lam blinked.

"Uh."

"It's just a thought. My father... had an accident, and if someone hadn't offered me money to become a judge..."

The girl stared.

Stared for quite a while.

"Oh. I... must consider it, miss."

Good way of solving guilt - throw money at the person she felt guilty towards. No, no, this was redemptive. No, it wasn't. It was close. It felt nice, though. Quite nice indeed.

"...Tom-Tom did grab my arm."

Tanner flinched.

"Excuse-"

"You asked. An interrogation. Not long ago. You asked about the bruise on my arm. The one my father saw. I said I didn't know how I'd acquired it. I lied. Tom-Tom grabbed me quite roughtly - she did that a lot, but this was much stronger than usual. Gripped tight, and when I squirmed, she gripped tighter... then let go, patted me on the head, nad left without another word. I didn't think about it then. When you asked..."

She paused, and gathered her words. Well. Found the words she wanted to borrow.

"In such conditions, it's the duty of a civilian to keep her mouth shut and shuffle on. I didn't want to... annoy peole, I didn't know how relevant any of this was, I didn't want to... talk to you. You're a judge. And..."

She hesitated.

"I thought you might... say something about my father. Judge him."

Tanner blinked.

"I promise, I have no intention of slandering your father in any way. I just wanted to... put things together."

"I'm sorry for not telling you. I didn't mean to... per-jure myself?"

"Perjure, yes. And it's all forgiven. Nothing to forgive, really."

"...thank you. For... sticking to this."

Tanner smiled, neck flushing with embarrassment. Gratitude in general was odd. Despite being thanked by someone she wanted to thank her, if only to indicate that she wasn't doing poorly by her, she found herself wanting to jump out of the window, into the snow, and run for the hills to hide for at least three months. She tilted her head to one side, studying the girl.

"Why did you decide to tell me now?"

"Seeing you get poisoned, save your friend, and then showing up here, vomiting up blood in the toilet, and getting back to work."

Ah.

"...oh."

She blinked a few times.

"Alright."

"Tea, miss?"

"...yes, yes, please."

"Three cups, miss?"

"...why three?"

"I can hear her coming. She's... terrifically loud, isn't she?"

Tanner was already at the window, staring out with wide eyes.

A familiar figure was coming closer.

A familiar, coughing figure, with a bright red nose and eyes bloodshot from ancient poison.

A familiar, wonderful figure, singing a familiar tune from a popular operetta to herself at the top of her lungs. And doing it with poor remembrance of the words, unskilful execution of the tune, liberal interpretation of the rhythm, and more confidence than Tanner knew what to do with.

Tanner's smile broadened minutely. Her eyes brightened.

A door crashed, and she heard the resigned sighs of guards.

A voice bellowed, and Yan-Lam scuttled away as quickly as her elevated boots could take her.

"Where is my succulent oatcake?! Where is that colossal grape-bowl?! Direct me to her, by gum!"

Never been happier to hear that voice.

Well.

Well-well-well.

Marana burst in, and positively jumped at Tanner, giving her a firm, brutal hug that made Tanner squeak with alarm, even as she felt... felt how weak the older woman's limbs were, weaker than usual, and how her flesh was still warm with fever. The body burning up anything left inside it. More than anything, she wore her years and her habits. Age and habit were great rivers, held back by a single sturdy levee called Vitality. Undermine the levee, and the cold, black waters seeped through, first in trickles, then in streams, and finally in roaring torrents. After a point, one wasn't burdened with age - one wrestled with it, and each year age grew stronger, and its opponents grew weaker.

"Marana. Hello."

"Oh, my ghastly little pet, indulging in heroics and whatnot, and here I find you, back at work like a perfectly fidelitous termite, you must tell me all the news while I've been sadly out of commission, and look-"

She thrust a bundle of faded little flowers in Tanner's direction, the sort that... well, they were very out of season, far too bright and pleasant, but they were clearly dried, preserved for long periods.

"A nosegay. For me. So, if I've been able to continue my amorous conquests in my sleep, I do look eagerly forward to whatever you've been up to, tell all, dear-heart, tell all."

Alright, three rivers. Age. Habit. Marana. Marana was another river which should never be held back by a levee, because then it grew intensely concentrated and exploded outwards with the force of a very large cannon.

"Well..."

Tanner carefully detached herself, wincing as Marana brushed against her many, many scars, and immediately clutched her hands together to hide the raw red marks where the splinter-wounds had yet to heal, the process slowed by decontamination pills... and strode to the window, looking out into the darkness like she was expecting to see something. Felt appropriate. No, no, she could see Lyur striding back to the colony, arms pumping as he waded through thick, thick layers of snow.

A little knock. A certain red-haired chambermaid with tea entered, pouring silently for all three of them. Marana shot her an interested look, but remained silent - wonderful, Tanner was projecting the right aura of expectation.

"...well, there's... a spot of business."

She returned to her table, and peered between two piles of ledgers like some primitive idol in a colonnaded temple of paper and leather.

"I thought we could talk about a spot of..."

She said the word quietly, enunciating precisely.

"Es-pi-o-nage."

Marana blinked.

A very large smile spread across her wine-stained face

.

"Oh, you have been up to something, haven't you?"