CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN - GIANTESS KISSED BY DEW

This mansion was definitely never going to feel the same. Not that she'd been here overly often, but... this wasn't ever going to be somewhere other than the governor's mansion. Not a governor. The. The definite article, the singular and irreplaceable. Once someone who seemed infallible or untouchable went away, his successor never felt so convincing. Maybe that was why so many little petty revolutions or rebel warlords only lasted a generation, why so many ideas died once their progenitor ceased to be. Maybe that was a childish impulse - the kind of attitude which made children reject their step-parents. Death had a habit of swallowing up certainties, and only things of impeccable perfection could cross over and keep going. Parenthood frequently ended at that crossing, and could never be reapplied. Authority was another. Mystic aura was yet another still. She'd never respect the next governor in the same way - she might complain to his face, she might be more willing to go around him when convenient. With this governor, she'd needed three murders and extended isolation to want to maybe, maybe keep an informal investigation going. And she still remembered the terror of the idea that he'd found out and was coming to slap them on the wrist. From some people, a slap on the wrist was worse than a guillotine on the neck. If he'd come down, expression black with anger, her investigations would cease, her thoughts would end, she would stop. And never start again. With the next governor...

Hard to see how they could achieve that.

Maybe she was just weak. Maybe.

The mansion did feel empty. Not even haunted. More... overgrown. This was a den for a foreign sort of creature, overgrown with lichen that wasn't meant for humans to devour, and she could see, vaguely, the outlines of the creature which had once been here. And, indeed, the thing which was still here. Canima. Mr. Canima, though the title felt like it was an attempt to humanise someone she didn't think, really, was wholly human. Not in her unnaturally frightened mind. Him, with his tweed suit, his glittering cufflinks, and that strange little knob of bone in the centre of his forehead. A bony eye that saw more than any mortal eye could. He remained, perching like a spider in this mansion. No idea where. Maybe he lived in the walls, and stored his files in nests of insulation. The soldiers at the gate allowed her in gladly - they seemed confused, honestly. Their uniforms were impeccable, their guns were loaded, their boots gleamed... but they kept blinking, twitching, shivering, and would stare into one direction for minutes at a time. At the table in their little break room was a tiny board for a little bead game, set up, a single piece advanced, and subsequently abandoned.

There were killers in the settlement, killers who'd killed their governor.

Their duty was to wait here... guarding what? A spider-like man they were probably terrified of, aware he could ruin their careers, make them vanish from the world? A chambermaid? Each other? The house itself?

Tanner advanced upstairs. To the study. To the racks of ledgers. Tanner took a deep, deep breath... and Marana shot her a look.

"Really. It's a book. Read it."

"...not mine. Feels wrong, examining it. Like... climbing into someone else's clothes while they're still warm."

Marana tilted her head to one side.

"We could actually do that, you know."

"Shush."

"We could. He's not using them. Might fit me. Unimaginative dresser, but... if we slung them over a radiator, could even get them warmed-"

Tanner prodded Marana with rather too much force, rather more than she intended.

"None of that."

Marana smiled vaguely, and... well, the little stir of annoyance, of offence, it helped her just to get over the hump. Draw the book out, feel the near-blank cover, worn smooth by regular use... that strange combination of once-useful, now-useless. So thoroughly loved at one point, every page filled with ink, charting the slow pulsing life of a whole colony... now consigned to history. She opened it, and immediately a tiny stain from a cup of tea stared at her. How many hours had been spent composing this, and how many people after its completion would have any need for it? For Tanner, old, disused archives were like pawn shops full of disused wedding dresses. Probably said more about her, now she came to think about it. Never expressing this to Marana. Maybe to Eygi. Maybe. It was definitely one of her more pathetic thoughts, mourning abandoned ledger books.

This one... she scanned the pages, flipping through quickly.

"This is... just details on city excavations. Resources expended, resources gained, cross-referencing to a personnel report..."

Useless.

The book slammed shut, seeming to look rather sad as it did so. Returned to the shelf. She hunted for a broader reference, something to really clarify what was what, and where it might be. Marana popped outside to hunt for someone who might know something about this. Maybe the writers. With a shiver, Tanner realised that she probably already knew where a reference book might be... and as Marana's curious voice echoed through the near-empty mansion, echoing in the hollow places where nets of intrigue and authority had once hung, she entered the governor's private office. It was just as she remembered it. And the moment she shut the door, the sound in the rooms beyond ceased. Wonderfully cloistered. It was a small room, unusually small for a place so important... and the desk was utterly devoid of life. She shuddered at the feeling of going around it, moving to see what he'd seen. No, even from this desk the room looked small, but unusually long. Plain, with books, and... there. A little sheet of index cards, easy to flip through. Had that been deliberate, governor? She wanted to ask to the empty air. Did you want everyone coming here to consult every ledger book? Even if it was inconvenient, you didn't want to delegate the job of regulating information? Was that arrogance, or... no, no. Maybe you could tell the patterns of thought in every detail. You regulated behaviour in the colony, you did everything to break down any bond you didn't approve of... and even in your office, you kept that going. Like my lovely, lovely temple in Fidelizh... winding and convoluted and dark, but impossible to get lost in, always taking you where you needed to go. Good-natured complexity, just as a judge should be, just as the law should be.

She paused.

Melancholy was a bad impulse. Ought to crack down on it.

She drummed her fingers on the desk, pausing in her scanning of the index cards.

Studied the surface.

Bit her lip.

...she ought to. Maybe. She slowly, slowly pulled out one of the drawers, just a little one, checking for evidence, to build up a more complete picture of the man. This was why she was doing it. She had every reason. She had excuses. Did she have paperwork? She should get paperwork from Mr. Canima... she should talk to Mr. Canima. But paperwork, paperwork, if you had paperwork, you anchored things in the world. Citizenship, authority, responsibility, possession. Never trust anything unless it was filled out in triplicate and filed in a secure location, resistant to tampering. By gum, she needed paperwork, that would make her feel safe... no, no, stop being a coward. Pull open the drawer. And...

A military-issue pistol. Bullets that rattled across the wooden base.

She slammed the drawer closer immediately, heart in her throat. Not sure why. It was a gun, yes, but she'd seen guns before, seen them a minute ago, used them to snatch the life away from a handful of screaming horses. But... well, she was being irrational. Just didn't want to be caught messing with the governor's revolver. Hold on. Hold on. Why was... she checked the drawer. Everything could be locked. Even the index cards could be locked up, there was a cover for them. She rummaged in the little sack she'd taken from the mortuary, finding the keys... no, not remotely enough for everything in this room. Odd. Where were the other keys? Must be a healthy number of the things... she could imagine a huge set, hanging from a heavy ring, the sort that would go in a bull's nose. The kind of thing that watchmen swung around while whistling the tunes from raunchy songs. Where could that be? Hadn't been in the mortuary... a brief moment of horror. Stolen by his killers. And now they could access everything, including the... no, no, Mr. Canima probably had them.

Still. Odd that he hadn't locked everything up when he went out. Maybe he'd been in a rush, heading for something urgent. If so, what? And when, as precisely as possible? And why had this urgent journey ended in his death? Unpleasant that all roads were leading to a personal conversation with that man. An interview, gods forbid.

The index cards were done. Had her references. She was right - most of the relevant books were in that very, very large waiting room outside the study. The rest of the mansion, based on these cards, had almost nothing. An odd choice, but an interesting one. Right... historical ledgers on migration. Who entered the colony, who left, when, and why. It was vague, but when exile was a decent way to take care of dissenters and malcontents, it'd show when this... unpleasant business was going on. And that seemed like a likely source of motive for the governor's murder. She felt like she needed to check, at least. She lacked historical grounding, lacked data. People... people were difficult. People had complex, overlapping motives, there was always drama behind their eyes which Tanner had no damn idea about. Data wouldn't lie to her. Presumably. Just... ground herself. The colony was a self-contained system, the killers wouldn't be going anywhere.

This death was, doubtless, rooted in history. And she knew too little about it. Time to rectify that.

...and she wanted, idly, to see if the ledgers recorded cats going in and out of the colony. Just... mild interest. If that cat had a chunk of something important in its teeth, then its owner might know something, might have recalled some little detail. Even the tiniest thing could help. After all, the governor's body had no gouged chunks of flesh. So whatever that cat had in its jaws, it wasn't part of the governor.

Anyway.

She returned, to find Marana stalking back in at the same time, a...

Goodness.

A certain chambermaid behind her. Short. Red haired. Very pale indeed. Eyes ringed around the edges, and reddened within them.

Murmuring.

"Miss, I don't... the others are gone, miss, they've left. It's me, the guards, and one or two others, but there were never many people, miss. Not during winter, not much to work on, I think the governor had things in his office, and..."

She trailed off.

And bowed sharply.

"Honoured judge."

Tanner wanted to shrivel up and vanish.

"Hello, ah, Ms. Yan-Lam."

The chambermaid flinched slightly. Tanner cringed internally. How does she know my name, the girl must be thinking. Oh, must've learned it from father, she would proceed. And then she'd be thinking about her father. Stomach split open like a ripe fruit, his last lunch spilling down over his trousers, half-digested and rippling with internal acids. Her ringed eyes looked at the index fingers, focused on them, and her shoulders stiffened.

"Oh. I see you've... found them, miss."

A pause.

"If there's nothing else, I'll on my way, miss."

Another pause, and her eyes widened, as if afraid.

"Would either of you like to have some tea? Or cake? I can stoke the fire, if you'd like it a little warmer. If there's anything at all you need fetching, I'm happy to oblige, and if I can't provide it, I'll be happy to run into the town to... to ask someone else."

She did a small, clumsy curtsy, and Tanner... definitely felt an unusual sense of deja vu. A little like looking in a mirror. What fate awaited her back in Fidelizh? Was there any other family? Had the governor started any of the paperwork? If her father's death was properly written up as a murder, stamped off by the governor, it'd be easier to claim some... form of relief. Tanner promised herself that if she could she'd investigate further, get some letters of recommendation ready. The girl was clearly trying to ready herself for a life doing this sort of work, burying everything else underneath the role of chambermaid. Hard to say 'oh, I'll make sure you get adopted, sorry about your father' in the middle of a conversation. Impossible to say it after someone offered to get tea. The contrast would be almost psychotic. Anyway.

Marana shot Tanner a very meaningful look, and Tanner got the feeling that Marana hadn't really brought the girl in just to hunt for ledgers. Oh, crumbs. Crumbs. The questions froze in her lungs - didn't even make it to her throat, that would do herself too much credit. The girl turned, accepting that neither of them wanted tea. Ought to ask. Would be decent. Would be reasonable. Was expected of a judge. And she'd killed this girl's father. A few hours ago, she'd seen him, his stomach pulled up until the cavernous gap inside was hidden from sight. A screaming mouth to a languid sneer. She'd seen her father naked beneath a crisp white sheet, his flesh prodded around by a fat man who'd use those same hands to eat cold cuts. If Tanner had seen her father like that, she might never be able to stop dreaming about it. She could've done good dock work if she hadn't been so terrified of a similar accident staving her head in and leaving her paralysed, bedridden, dead to the world. Seeing her father... she might not have left home for weeks, months, years, terrified of madmen with knives. This girl was young, and completely alone. No mother, no lodge. No patron. No grander fate in her immediate future than chambermaid to a dead man's house. Gods, if Tanner had been faster, that man would be alive. If-

Marana spoke, seeing how frozen Tanner was, maybe even the way her hands were moving to her knees, ready to knead her skirt nervously. And in that moment, Tanner adored Marana in a way almost equivalent to Eygi.

"Well, if you're here, could you answer... just a little question?"

The woman nodded sharply to Tanner, who got the message. Sat down and pulled out a little notebook, already containing a healthy number of scribbled notes and rhetorical questions. Her pen poised in moments. Her eyes only resting on the girl for a moment or two before discomfort overpowered her and she looked anywhere else - Marana, the walls, the table, the notebook, the pen, her own hands...

"Yes, miss."

"Where were you yesterday?"

A little freeze in the girl's spine. Understood the gravity. Good?

"I was... here, miss. I was here. The governor gave me the day off. I was in my room. Reading. I didn't know anything was happening until..."

She trailed off. Interesting. Tanner recorded this faithfully. Something about it made her pause, but... no, nothing. Marana smiled kindly, and kept going.

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"And when was the last time you saw the governor?"

"Yesterday morning, miss. At breakfast."

"Did you take breakfast together, then?"

A flinch at the past tense.

"...yes, miss. The governor's habit is to dine with his staff during the winter months. There's not enough of us to justify eating in the kitchen, he says... said. Not when most of the work for the year is done."

"Where do you tend to dine? His office?"

"The dining room, miss. Across the mansion. The governor's habit is to take lunch and dinner in his study, but breakfast in the dining room. The staff take breakfast and dinner there."

Recitations of rote information. Good for calming the nerves. Tanner kept going with her writing, and Marana powered on.

"Do you know if the governor had anything... specific happening on that day? Any meetings, arrangements...?"

"None that I know of."

"Did he tend to let you know?"

"He would... often announce if he was not to be disturbed at particular times, or if he would be unavailable. Sometimes he wants peace and quiet, sometimes he's meeting with someone... I think... no, wait, I remember. I went downstairs at... midday, to ask if he would like any tea. He wasn't in his study, though. I assumed... well, he'd gone out."

Tanner scribbled this down eagerly. Last sighted at breakfast. Out of his study by midday. Discovered in the evening in the street, dead. The window of time when he could've died was... still large, being the bulk of a day, but it was workable. And he'd made no indications of anything being remarkable. Marana hummed.

"...now, for clarification. Which staff are on the premises, currently?"

"There's... the cook, and her assistant downstairs. The soldiers, but they change often. Two secretaries. Both are out."

"The chef needs an assistant?"

"She serves as scullery maid during the warmer months, miss. In winter, there's less demand for her with cleaning, so she helps with cooking."

A pause. A small wrinkling of the nose.

"She's training to be better."

"Secretaries are out?"

"Yes, miss. Didn't come into work today."

"What sort of work do they do?"

"Copying and managing correspondence. Filing things. In winter..."

Marana interrupted.

"Not so busy, but they don't have anything else to do in the colony, so here they are. I take it they live elsewhere."

"Yes, miss."

Goodness, she was polite. Absurdly polite, given her situation. Though... no, Tanner felt an odd kind of kinship there. Burying grief under layers of routine and expectation. Mother had done it. Tanner did it. Now Yan-Lam did it. Keeping a stiff upper lip in this empty, empty house, devoid of its primary reason to exist. Marana kept asking questions, clarifying more minor points. How things worked in summer. What the summer workers did during winter, when the workload was so much less. How often they entertained people during each month. How long she'd been working here. What had been for breakfast yesterday, when the governor had had his last meal. Had he had lunch? And finally, Marana stood smoothly from her seat, and gestured for the girl to come closer.

"You've been wonderfully helpful. Thank you. Now, could you possibly show me the dining room, and introduce me to the cook? That would be wonderful, not that a lady doesn't like wandering alone, but sometimes one requires a formal introduction to smooth things along..."

A hand descended on the chambermaid's shoulder, and she was clearly resisting the urge to squeak. Tanner tried to smile at her, kindly. But then the girl looked at her, and... her mouth froze partly. Had to force herself to finish the expression. Gods, she was useless. The girl said nothing. No goodbyes, no... nothing. Was this how Tanner had been after her own father's incident? She remembered... being very still, and very quiet, and very calm. Letting everything bubble underneath, but keeping it suppressed for over a week. Just kept doing her chores, moving mechanically from place to place, doing everything she could. Hand only shook slightly when she was sponging her father's feverish head during those first weeks of touch-and-go. After a while she'd... snapped a little, spoken harshly, said things she couldn't retract. Never again, though. She'd snapped back shut again immediately. Buried it all. Maybe Yan-Lam was doing the same thing. Bottling it up. Tanner almost wished she'd insult her, but... no, this was worse. This was what she deserved. But there was no point having a personal pity party. She watched the girl leave, red hair gleaming beneath her bonnet... same hair as her father. Idly, she thought of the cantina, with the cage hanging above. Lam's house, with the cage in the kitchen. The cast-iron decorations. Her grip on her pen tightened until the thing almost snapped. Should talk to her. Should figure something out.

...get on with work.

Just... get on with this. With the data. Don't focus on anything else, because... gods knew, she wasn't ready for it. The big picture. The personal drama. The guilt. The terror of failures past and future. The spectre of Mr. Canima, and the necessity of meeting with him. Just... ledgers. Read. Be mechanical about it. Do what a judge ought to do.

She retrieved the relevant book from a high, high shelf, and started flipping through it rapidly, searching for the right dates... name upon name flashed by. The colony seemed to be... well, an early colony. Plenty of people coming, plenty of people going once a year or so had passed. After every winter, a little exodus south by snow-exhausted civilians. Seemed like this was how they kept things functional. Don't commit to being here, just stay as long as you like, contribute to the colony, then go home if you find it utterly unpalatable. Asking someone to live up here for the rest of their life was... a difficult thing to sell. Asking someone to stay here for a year, for abundant reward, that was better. Could already see how the opportunity of escaping the shantytown would appeal, living free of Fidelizh and its cramped environs. Heading to the home of one's forefathers. The ledger certainly bore that out. Fidelizhi names, local names, flickering past... the book was mostly a simple document, showing who was entering/leaving, an identification number, the date, the reason (expressed in terse acronyms and shortenings), the intended final destination, and finally, a little tick to express their successful return. Most of the departures were due to 'family reasons' (shortened to fam-r, as opposed to fam-b, familial bereavement, or fam-e, familial establishment). Some were due to accidents which made them unable to work. But a few...

There.

X.

Exiled, according to the key. Exiled from the colony for unspecified crimes, to be found in an additional document. First one was a man called Yon-Fas. Local, then. Exiled for... she dragged out the other ledger. The ledger of criminal offences was enormous, detailing everything. Did it via... not names, just numbers. Everything had to be encoded in some way. Numbers instead of names, numbers instead of crimes, numbers for a file reference that contained more details... organised by date, not by person. Made it almost incomprehensible, and she could already feel her eyes aching a little. Right, consult the dates, the case numbers... consult the guide... 23233-46531-3223 was sentenced with X from the colony due to 3-87-112-5. Meaning, Yon-Fas was exiled due to a... moderately severe crime (3), involving physical assault (87), in the context of an inn while intoxicated (112), and this occurring five times (5) before the final judgement was deemed. Well. That was all utterly straightforward. Seemed standard enough. Referencing the crimes in question in the sturdy ledger book for that year told her that most of these incidents occurred in a short time period, and... gods, the crime-codes in this ledger was much, much, much longer, with numerous variables, all to keep things somewhat in order. How did anyone read this?

Was this another governor thing? To make his own ledgers incomprehensible to anyone inexperienced, monopolise narrative with himself? He'd been through all of this, he remembered numerous incidents, he could easily recall them. But anyone else? Good luck sifting through all of this. She couldn't even see his full criminal record, could only flip through enormous crime ledgers to find his specific identification number. And if she missed one, well, too bad.

Gods...

She soldiered on. Kept flipping backwards in the migration ledger. Come on, come on, find ancient history, find the silent war, find the point where large numbers of people were pissed off. She noted down each mention of X, though. Even if she thought it was irrelevant. Siblings of exiles, friends of exiles, groups which were decimated by some strategic exiling... all of them could have motives. But to her surprise, there weren't many exiles over the last few years. Not many at all. The governor was right - the colony had been fairly peaceful. Migration out of the colony was mostly driven by being tired of the cold, and injured by the work. Seemed like a fair number of people were here on small gigs. But, the number of people coming in was always higher than people leaving - the colony still grew, even with the prominence of semi-temporary labour. And as she flipped backwards...

A pause.

She ran her fingers down the spine of the book.

And felt the rough, rough edges where pages had been very carefully sliced out, seemingly using a razor blade.

Her expression was utterly stoic.

This meant she was very angry.

Tampering.

They'd tampered with their records. Or someone had. Two possibilities presented themselves. One: the governor or his allies had excised the pages, maybe to cover something up, which meant there was something sensitive enough to cover up in the first place. Which was interesting. Two: someone else had done it, in order to cover up something sensitive. Which was also interesting. A censorious governor, or a killer covering his or her own tracks? Removing any means of proving their motive? When was the last time someone had checked this thing? Too much was undated, too much was left anonymous. The ledgers devoured knowledge and gave back nothing but meaningless numbers, reality dissected, everything done without reference to an actual, feasible existence. She stared dumbly at the 'first' page, the one that existed after this lacuna. A lady called Lyona, departing the colony due to reasons of injury. Had young Lyona really been injured? Had there been a woman called Lyona at all? Or had she just been written down, and now... well, who could say? Might as well be real.

Tanner had come here thinking ledgers were lovely, fantastic things where all truth lay.

And now she was realising that for all her reading, and she'd been at it for over an hour, just referencing, cross-referencing, noting down... Marana had learned more of true relevance from that tiny conversation. And was probably learning more now.

But... something, in the span of... three years had been of such sensitivity that it had to be removed completely. It could've been a grand situation, or a single issue running through the years. A single name appearing frequently, perhaps - someone coming and going. Merchants, for instance, were recorded here, no matter how temporary their departure. Maybe a merchant had been involved with the colony for some time during those years, coming and going, and this was... connected to something. No way of telling when the pages were removed. If she had that, at least, she might be able to do something, narrow things down... she looked around the room, crestfallen. If she perused every single ledger, she might find something. Enough lingering references to build up the shadows of these removed pages. That would take her days. Weeks. It'd take a moment for someone to remove the pages, if they knew where they were to begin with, and doubtless that was the case. That fire in the corner, glowing dimly and crackling from time to time, might well have swallowed up this evidence.

She paused.

Rubbed her temples.

Bit her lip.

Kneaded her skirt.

None of it made her feel calmer, but it helped in some abstract way, she was sure of it. Even tilted her head from one side to another, to shake up the brains.

Leant back in her chair, and thought with her newly shaken brains. Agitated and active. Presumably.

Tyer. The soldier. Mr. Lam. The governor.

Why had Tyer needed to die that night?

Why had he emerged at the exact right time, right when Tanner had finished interrogating his ex-lover, who had very important information on his personality, enough to plant major seeds of doubt in her mind? How much else could she have been led to? If his ex-lover had found him that night, or if he'd gone to her rather than to Mr. Lam, would things have changed? Why had he emerged right when she was getting close to something?

A low whistle escaped her lips.

She knew what she had to do. The colony was a closed system. Everything was connected to everything else. Nothing was isolated. And Tyer... he was no different. When had the governor died? Barely a few days after Tyer, after he said, in confidence, that he intended to investigate it on his own time. Had he just been killed by something from his past, something from these excised pages? Something she had no idea about, something only Mr. Canima might understand fully? Or had he been killed because he was going down the same path she was?

She stood suddenly, returning to his study. To his drawers. She opened each and every one, surprised by how fluid it was, how none were locked. Papers. Notebooks. A book of... exercises, designed for veterans. She blushed when she found the pills labelled 'for the sexually jaded'. More notebooks, everything blank, everything sterile... nothing of relevance. Nuts. Surely he would've written something down, surely his investigation had a paper trail. Ought to rummage through his room. Ought to interview Mr. Canima. But... she rested her knuckles on his desk and leant forwards. Maybe she was being... odd. Maybe she was just fixating. Maybe the chambermaid's blank look in her ringed, reddened eyes had made her think. But she was convinced, in a hunch that was large enough to be positively camelid, that the cases were connected. Tyer and the governor. Both killed. Both in short time span. Both in a closed system, where nothing else could enter and intervene. She thought of an eel, suddenly. Chop an eel's head off, and for a time, it would still wriggle, still move over mud and river to the destination its entire body insisted was the right one. If you cut the head off a silver eel, she thought, nothing might change for a while. Silver eels couldn't eat anyway, they just drew in water. Incapable of digestion. Had to race for their breeding grounds. Maybe headless eels were a common sight there, all their relevant pieces of equipment utterly functional. You didn't need a head to continue driving forwards. Even when higher reason abandoned you, you could still know what had to happen. Even without a head, you could still know your goal, tattooed in the cockles of your heart.

Maybe she still knew hers.

She moved.

Time to follow his footsteps. Interrogate who he interrogated. Uncover all the rocks he turned over, and see if any insects still lingered beneath. Because going down the same path that had killed a man more experienced than her, more politically powerful than her, more connected than her and more reinforced than her would, of course, turn out absolutely wonderfully. Oh, there was no point even playing with that sort of cowardice. She knew what her decision would be. Knew what a judge would do. What she'd been training to do for so long. She knew the highest honour a judge could receive was dying in the righteous pursuit of justice, but honestly, just the idea that she could die with her head held high was enough. Doing what was expected of her. 'There she goes', they'd say, back in the inner temple. 'There she goes, that giant freak. Oh, there was a little business with her in that colony, something unpleasant... but the sequel to that experience, the martyrdom, oh, that was beyond fantastic. Something to remember. We'll name a new library after her. We'll name a street in the colony after her, too. We'll lavish her mother and father with letters of appreciation, we'll record her name in all our books of great martyrs, might even engrave a few images. Oh, she's dead, of course. But for... at least a few centuries, Tanner Magg, the giantess judge, will be remembered as one of our prouder accomplishments. She did what was expected of her, without fear, without fail. What more can we ask?'

Tanner would be happy with that. When you died, you left behind nothing but your impressions. She liked to think that... if there was an afterlife, it was just being aware of every time someone said your name, forever. Like the walls of Rekida - a statue chained into the world, bound to it, and until the chains fell, she would remain. For her entire life she'd been terrified of leaving the wrong impression, seeing it fester, imagining it growing and spreading, a whole shadowy version of herself dancing around the world, cackling and poisoning. Like the witchcraft of the lodges, a black fog that entered people whenever they weren't shielded from it. If she died here, doing her duty, being fondly remembered by her order as a good judge, then... then all the bad would be swept away. Every faux pas. Every clumsy statement. Every bit of damage. Every embarrassment, every humiliation. Every single odd look she'd ever received for her height, her strength, her behaviour. All that would remain is Tanner, the judge. Forever. And for the rest of time, only that image would propagate.

If she wanted to, here, she could carve out that image, and sear it into the eyes of the world.

A deep, shuddering breath.

A spasm in her stomach that her her gritting her teeth.

A feeling of dampness on her face. A strange sweat that emerged despite the chill, and froze there, a layer that numbed the skin. Like morning dew.

Why did she feel so afraid?

She didn't feel afraid. Just... bracing herself.

She swallowed the spasm. She unbound her teeth. She stabilised her breathing. The lodge would love her, if she died here doing them proud. Her mother would be proud. She'd do her father proud, too. Eygi would be proud to have known her. The judges would be proud to have trained her. She wiped a heavy, powerful hand over her face, and cleared the strange dew that had formed there.

And with the dew gone, Tanner Magg remained.

Nothing else mattered.

She strode out of the study, into the waiting room, littered with the ledgers she'd been poring over. She ignored the cut-out segments... and left. The mansion was a straightforward place, designed to a simple plan. Could see the dusty rooms where little committees might meet, when there was a need for them. The innumerable tea services, glinting faintly in the winter sun. Paintings of landscapes, of birds, of animals. As she searched, she found one room with an enormous stuffed gorgonopsid leering in the corner, coiled around itself until it seemed to be a great, scaly pillar, teeth glinting as if polished by the devoted, shaking hand of a maidservant, day after day until they were mirror-like, the same shade as the polished glass eyes. Kitchen. Where was it. Her steps echoed hollowly in the interior, bouncing from elegantly painted wall to bookcase-lined wall and back again. Where was she. A soldier looked up from his station, where he'd been dozing slightly. His mouth kept twitching, just a little, like he was suppressing some internal emotion. Tanner didn't ask him anything. She could sense the kitchens - the steam, the heat, the smell of cooking stews, all of it. The soldier watched cautiously as she stalked in that direction... and yes, she could hear voices. Oh, could she hear voices. Marana. Someone unfamiliar. And something else entirely, another familiar voice, small and quiet and ever-so-shy.

Tanner pushed open the heavy door.

A wave of steam almost drove her back, just for a moment.

A red-haired girl stared at her with wide, wide eyes. Tanner imagined how she must look. A giantess in a cape, who'd just accepted that she was going to die here, and she didn't entirely mind that fact, no matter what her stomach said on the topic... coming out of the steam like a dreadnought, hair waving in the rush of steam like a mound of tortoiseshell-shaded snakes. Indeed, she could feel the moisture weaving into the strands, clumping them into locks, making him seem somewhat primal, perhaps. Perhaps. She placed a smile upon her face, feeling her lips stretching, feeling every little muscle contraction. Her boots thumped on the tiled floor, a floor that wept condensation.

"Ms. Yan-Lam, I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to ask you a few questions, if at all possible."

The girl stared at her. And trembled, almost dropping the glass in her hands. Tanner's eyes roved over her for a moment, and found... there it was. Like the band of black cloth worn at funerals. A bruise, wound around her upper arm, barely visible - she'd rolled her sleeves up in the heat, and the slight edge of discoloured flesh was visible. Tanner had wondered about that. And now, as her mind settled on the Tyer case, on pursuing even the minor details, avoiding the colossal explosion of the governor's death that threatened to overwhelm everything with conspiracy and grand designs... she remembered what Mr. Lam had said. When she'd confronted him about that bruise, innocently enough, he'd interlaced his hands together, seemed very nervous, and said: 'she spends most of her time at the mansion, where she's needed. More spacious, too. I'm not sure how she acquired that, but no-one's been here to tell me of any particular problems. The last time she was here was about a week ago, and she didn't seem hurt at all then. I hope she's alright. I'll try and get up there, soon as I can'. End quote.

Tanner disliked much about herself, but she'd appreciated her memory, honed by the judges into something capacious.

Indeed, she remembered what Marana had said. 'He elaborated too much.' A good sign of lying was someone supplying information unprompted, when it was unnecessary. Attempting to flesh out a falsehood with unnecessary detail, forgetting that most people didn't do that. Most people got to the point. Real, convincing rambling was difficult. Damn difficult. No wonder older people were such masters at it - they had time to hone their skills, while youngsters were green at the edges, stumbled over their words.

Marana might've forgotten that observation. The chaos that grew had been quite substantial, after all, and more details had surfaced. Then the governor. But Tanner remembered another thing Marana said, and it still held true.

Sometimes, everyone else was going insane. And you weren't. You were the only sane one in the room. And even when everyone chides you for not going along with their madness... stay firm.

Well. The governor's death had been insane. And she was resisting it. She was clinging to her guns.

And she remembered something else notable.

Something else interesting.

When Tom-Tom had approached her, that night, to report her concerns... she'd gripped her arm. Seemed to be an accident at the time.

But she'd gripped Tanner's arm.

And Tanner, for all her strength...

She'd felt it. She'd felt it keenly. And Tom-Tom had mentioned, some time ago, coming up to the mansion... not infrequently. Giving fresh fish to the governor's kitchens. And she was sure she could confirm that easily enough.

Maybe it was minor. Maybe it was nothing. But Tom-Tom having a powerful grip, and a potential habit of gripping arms to emphasise a point. Mr. Lam's daughter having a bruise around her arm. Mr. Lam then confessing in support of Tom-Tom, while accounts from others contradicted her strongly.

It was doubtless very little indeed.

But there was a thread.

And now he was going to pull on it.

The chambermaid shivered like a leaf under Tanner's near-unblinking gaze.

"Yes, honoured judge. Whatever you say, honoured judge. Happy to assist you in any fashion I can, honoured judge."

Gods, she was terrified. Tanner tried to soften her gaze.

"It's nothing serious. Not at all. I promise."

The girl stared at her.

Stared a moment longer.

And a second later, they were both walking through the corridors of the mansion, Yan-Lam shivering so much she could barely walk in a straight line, and Tanner suppressing the churn in her stomach, the dew on the back of her neck, the feeling of wildness twitching around her fingernails and inside her teeth.

She was the sane one in the room.

She was, without a doubt, the sane one in the room.