CHAPTER NINETY-SIX - BRIGHTEST OF CALMS

The mansion welcomed her, as it always did, but the air of the place had changed beyond recognition. It was hers. She knew it, she owned it, she'd remodelled it with a sledgehammer. The soldiers waiting in the front snapped off smart salutes upon seeing her, and she thought... if Canima tried to order them around, they'd refuse. Which was an odd thought. She knew the rooms, the layout, the tunnels which wound throughout, the secret office... hers. Remembered when she'd blocked up the door to the study with chairs to stop people getting in, remembered carrying all her files around because she was terrified of them getting stolen, remembered hiding copies of her notes to make sure that her death wouldn't end the investigation. An investigation she'd just ended herself, on her own terms, by lying through her teeth and framing a man who was... a complete psychopath, had caused three deaths in a single night, had killed one of his own colleagues to cover the trail, and... hm. Thoughts occurred, pragmatic ones, about how to actually find him. They said they were watching all the exits, but... she thought Lyur had maybe helped Tom-Tom escape, and he might have a better command of the tunnels than anyone else besides the Rekidans. Definitely seemed that way, based on how he'd been the one to hunt her down when she fled Vyuli.

Quite possible he knew routes no-one else did. No-one but the Rekidans.

Of course, the issue was... how could he escape? The colony was, as she'd noted so often while investigating the governor's death, a closed system. Nothing came in, nothing got out, not during the winter. And she'd been right, that everything had been involved in the governor's death - every layered conspiracy, every article of corruption. The murder had come from below, not from outside. So... where was Lyur going to go? Where could he hide? Flee the colony, die in the cold. Stay in the colony, die to the cartel, or to the soldiers, or to her. Could get to the underground river, head down the route she'd used, but... the taste of blood on her lips reminded her that the underground was hardly a sustainable solution. Possible that he was in the tunnels, but she had to take everything into account. Plans began to blossom, and she nodded to the soldiers, before politely asking them to fetch Sersa Bayai for her. Needed to enquire about a few things.

She hesitated.

And corrected herself.

"Could you fetch... now, I'm very sorry, her name escapes me, but she's... highly enthusiastic, works in the armoury, blue eyes...?"

Come on, come on, say her actual name, then she could end this awkwardness and...

"Oh, I know her. I'll head along and fetch her, ma'am."

Her? Her? They couldn't say a name? A few damn syllables, and... no, anyway. She thanked them and stalked upstairs, a little of her confidence shaken by the fact that she still couldn't ask for someone's name. For crying out loud... also, ma'am? Was that... did they prefer answering to a 'ma'am' than an 'honoured judge'? Had her image changed in their eyes to such an extent, or were 'judges' so heavily tied up with certain ideas that... any kind of move to real authority demanded a bit of a shift? Wanted to ask. But it'd be deeply improper to ask.

She paused at the dining room.

Couldn't hear any snoring.

Hm.

Almost knocked. Almost. But then she realised... gods, she hadn't really... she was wearing a dress, but it was a spare dress, stained in a few places. And her undergarments and stockings were the same she'd had in the underground river, and she swore she could still detect a little of the bone orchard's stench on herself. No time for a proper bath, but she could splash water on her face, and change. She advanced to her... no, didn't have a room, just had a waiting room that she did everything inside. Felt wrong, now. Felt almost like she should take the governor's bedroom for herself, it was certainly nice enough. Sleeping under his sheets would be distressing, of course. Hm. Stick to the basics. She shivered at the chill of the study - Yan-Lam was still in the garrison, not maintaining the fire. And Tanner liked to imagine that the distant darkness of the underground study was belching out frigid air from the bowels of the earth. Well, she said liked...

Anyway.

She began to rummage through her bags, mood worsening as she saw the sheer lack of clothes she had left. Had meant to send more off to be cleaned, but... never quite got round to it, and once she started being threatened, never quite mustered the courage to let any of her personal effects fall into the hands of others. Done that with the fuel for her stove, and that had almost gassed her to death. So... she had a little remaining, could repurpose some old dresses... wouldn't be pretty, but maybe she could start asking Ms. Blue to stitch up more dresses, or...no, the woman wasn't her personal seamstress, she was an armourer, a soldier.

...could ask her to repair the sleeve on this one, though. If Yan-Lam wasn't able to do it.

Hm...

She dug down, down, looking for anything, contenting herself with odd socks and her less-than-favourite undergarments, just trying to feel clean...

Her hands bumped against something.

She blinked.

What... hm, had she packed something else? Or was this an assassination attempt, or... no, no, nothing was biting or stinging or leaking or oozing. Just felt... she gently moved clothes aside, and moved the bag a little so she could get a closer look in the pale light of the governor's office. Stared.

...oh.

It was her mother's umbrella. Well. Her grandfather's. But her mother had given it to her, when they'd last met for tea. Fine old thing, not too large, easy to pack away, easy to forget about, apparently. Good fabric, unmarked, unstained. Gleaming metal spike at the end. Sturdy construction of good-quality wood. A handle shaped elegantly into a swan's head, with her hand settled into the crook of the neck, and her knuckles wrapped up by the extension of the beak. Mother had never liked using it, too... solid, ladies used parasols, not big old umbrellas. Father had been a workman, wouldn't carry around such a fine thing on his daily errands. Mother had given it as a... a peace offering, of sorts. After she'd sent Tanner away, gotten Tanner involved in the lodge, had a few... fights with her, after father's accident, when they were both stressed and said things they didn't mean. Tanner had appreciated it.

But she'd forgotten about it.

She removed it slowly, turning it over to make sure nothing had been damaged by... everything. Gods, just... forgotten about it.

What was she doing?

The buffalo fur itched against her neck. The axe leaning against the door was obviously stained by blood and gore from times long-gone. Her hair was wild and dirty. Her clothes were stiff. The smell of rot hung lightly around her, alongside the slight rancid tinge of sweat and blood. Her knuckles were sore and red where she'd beaten one of the Rekidans half to death, her legs were mottled with bruises from the ride on Mr. Horn's back, her throat was full of the taste of copper, each breath rattling a little to remind her of the decontamination happening inside her system. There was a cold lingering in her flesh, cold from all her excursions into the snow, and it made... she was aware of every hair rustling over her arms, every last contraction of every last muscle, every breath and the most minute expansion of her lungs. Some sort of tension momentarily unwound in her spine. Just for a moment.

And she felt like locking the door to the study, and not coming out for a long, long time. She slowly set the umbrella down, and leaned over the nearest table, palms down, breathing heavily.

The reality of what she was doing started to emerge.

She was framing Lyur for the governor's death. She was working with the governor's actual murderers. She was trying to drag a colony through a crisis despite lacking experience with anything but fishing, gutting, and judging - and the last one for only a year, really, if she considered her education to have just been a preamble. She wasn't... stop it. She was just carrying herself with a smidgen of natural talent, a size that allowed her to be more intimidating and to win more fights than she should, a face that was adamantly flat the more panicked she became, and a complete detachment from the systems which had bound everyone else.

When you were surrounded by fire, someone immune to burns was a wonderful companion. But that didn't make them a trained architect, or fire safety expert, or the most qualified leader of an evacuation. It just made them immune to fire.

Didn't even make them immune to a wooden beam falling and crushing their spine.

Stop it.

And with a shiver, she forced it all down again. Remembered... remembered the absolute focus which came from adrenaline, and pinched the soft flesh of her wrist until it stung, until she could feel the small, thin, weak bones that articulated her hands, pinched until she could almost tear the skin... took deep breaths... remembered the calm she felt. The calm of purpose.

The momentum had started. If she stopped moving, she'd be crushed by that momentum. If she rode with it, she'd be fine. And after all - it was momentum she'd started up in the first place. Survive to see tomorrow. Then tomorrow. Then tomorrow. Next year was hundreds of tomorrows away, the rest of her life was made of infinite tomorrows until she was cold and still.

Find the next sunrise. That was all. Then find the next one after that. No other priority mattered. Not for her. Not for the colony.

A knock at the door.

She straightened. The umbrella was carefully returned to the bag. A deep breath - and she was back.

Tanner was back.

Not the cowardly thing that had briefly ridden on her back. That was gone. Crushed. She picked up her axe, and moved for the door.

"Ah, you-"

Not Ms. Blue.

Marana.

Staring at her with wide, bloodshot eyes.

Tanner blinked.

"Hello, Marana."

"What did I tell you."

Tanner backed off as Marana moved in, closing the door hurriedly, her fingers shaking almost too much to grip the wood solidly. Tanner backed away further as Marana advanced.

"I-"

"What did I tell you? I told you something, I remember that much. Please, what did I say?"

"You..."

A pause.

"You told me about Fyeln."

"Fine, sure, I did that, but there was something else, wasn't there? I can feel it, I remember Fyeln, but there was something else, what was it?"

Could lie.

...no point.

"You told me about Eygi, too."

Marana stared.

Sagged against the door.

Let out a long, strangled breath.

"Oh."

"It's fine. I needed to learn that. Not going to... embarrass either of us further. This was the best outcome, I just wish it could've happened earlier. I'm... sorry for making you carry that information around for so long, I can't imagine it was easy."

The stare continued, and Marana slowly, carefully spoke.

"You're apologising to me."

"Well, yes."

"I told you about that girl, and you're apologising to me. And... and you have an axe, and a cloak, and... what's going on?"

Tanner told her.

Marana didn't even have the willpower to laugh.

"...I fall asleep for a bit longer than usual, everything goes mad. Everything. Rekidans, you're taking control, it... I don't... please, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to do this. I'll-"

"Stay."

"...why?"

"I wanted..."

Tanner paused.

"Wanted to tell you something."

Marana sighed, straightened her back, and nodded resignedly. Expecting a tirade? Or something... unpleasant? Tanner shifted her weight from foot to foot, placing the axe back against the wall - no need to intimidate Marana. Didn't hate her for what she'd said, not remotely. Didn't even hate her for taking so long to say it - now, if Tanner had, throughout their acquaintance, written a fleet of letters for Eygi that winged across the continent to find her, while Marana said nothing, she might be more annoyed. But the only one had been a telegram sent at the surrealist's conference, and Marana hadn't even known about Eygi and Tanner's relationship at that point. Probably. Either way, Tanner didn't blame her, nor did she hate her, nor did she dislike her. She thought of her like she always had. An erratic middle-aged woman who was deeply unhealthy in her habits and had randomly decided to hang around Tanner and 'tutor her in the ways of righteousness'.

To her credit, Tanner had no desire to drink alcohol, was developing a deep aversion to any kind of narcotic or intoxicant, and had... perhaps seen someone who was concerned enough with how others saw her that it made Tanner's own habits stand out sharply. If Tanner's relative existence ended with her lying about having lovers, and putting on countless airs of worldliness and sophistication while developing a crippling alcohol addiction, yes, she'd quite like to abandon that way of doing things.

Tom-Tom, Marana... both of them endings to the same route. Tom-Tom doing idiotic things and asking to be punched so she could save face, and Marana lying through her teeth and drinking herself to an early-ish grave.

"I... had a moment. In the underground river. And... now, too. Riding back to the colony. It's hard to explain, but you're probably the only person I can explain it to. You remember the surrealists?"

Marana blinked.

"...yes. I do. Why?"

"I think I might understand them a little better. This... super-reality you talked about. Getting beyond everything, unifying yourself, becoming one with everything, and then experiencing the world in a way you couldn't before. You said humanity was a fossil, crushed under interminable layers, and the only thing you can do is clear the layers, or content yourself with becoming oil. You said surrealism supported the former. Is that an appropriate summary?"

"More or less. But why... how... you said you found nothing in common with the surrealists, nothing at all. Seemed to think we were rather silly, that judges did more in a day than we did in a year."

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"I envied you, though. The fact that you could do that, without reflecting or doubting. Just... incomprehensible to me. And you had functional social lives."

A flutter of shame over Marana's face. Remembering Fyeln, most likely.

"...some of us do, yes."

"I think I understand what you were talking about. Just this... feeling, like you're in total control, like you're just... emotions, and rationality, and action all blurring into the same thing, like you're a living piece of momentum, like you're a log caught in the middle of the ocean - no oars, no sails, just you, and the deeper currents, smashing everything else out of the way. I mean, it's... being in control, but also having no control, and it's..."

She trailed off, embarrassed at her own rambling.

"I think I understand you."

Marana stared.

"...really?"

"Well, if it... sounds like what you tended to do."

"I mean... yes, yes, superficially, from what you're saying. Though we... tended to create art, rather than... usurp control of a colony, ally with mutated nobility, and try to defend against a red tide of other, unrelated mutants. Not quite our usual playing field."

A tiny flash of her old sardonic nature, waking up under the layers of addiction and worry and shame.

"Well... I mean, doesn't it feel like a fusion of the two, then? I mean, your way of doing things, my way of doing things... breaking limits, going past obscuring layers, you do that by drawing art that's designed to provoke or unnerve, I do it by... by allying with unusual people, taking more command than I should, being more forceful, doing my best to brush past all the layers that have been strangling the colony."

She paused.

"I'm sorry. Rambling. I just... there's really no-one else I can talk to about this. But you've had the feeling, haven't you?"

"From time to time."

"And... it's useful?"

Marana smiled nervously.

"It usually means I'm not being reflective enough, honestly. I feel like I'm producing my best work, then I turn around and realise... I'm being terrifically self-indulgent."

Tanner blinked.

"But shouldn't that... isn't that being stuck under layers, losing touch with-"

Something lively re-entered Marana's voice.

"Yes, yes, and other surrealists love talking about that, you remember that ghastly woman with the bobbed hair, she was of the opinion that every form of art that wasn't interpretive dance was just a half-hearted attempt to get in touch with super-reality, to allow it to flow through oneself. For her, surreal art could only be done with the whole body, and done in such way that each movement was the art piece, ending the moment it was completed, operating in four dimensions rather than the two of conventional painting, or the three of conventional sculpture. The point is, Tanner, that yes, there's always going to be an intermediary, something that really delays the motion. And when I remove that completely, I'm generally just being overconfident."

Tanner hummed, thinking. Never had this sort of conversation before, she was usually just thinking about... how to come up with something else to say, the actual process of thinking up genuine, deeply-held principles to place against someone else's was beyond her. Something rather unnerving about it.

"Even so, you're still removing layers that obstruct you - like accepted forms, or ideas of what art should look like, getting away from depicting things literally."

"Certainly."

"And for me, there's obviously still intermediaries - I have to say things rather than just think them, I have to act instead of just spontaneously manifesting, I still obey all the laws of physics..."

"Yes, Tanner, you're not floating or exploding, terrifically good observational powers-"

She cut herself off, flushing. She'd come here to apologise, and she was being mocking. Tanner waved it off. Genuinely didn't mind about Eygi. Tanner was a firm believer in not shooting messengers, on account of judges generally being the messengers or mediators in question. Glad she hadn't told her earlier, honestly! Think about it - the process of learning about Eygi when she was helplessly dependent on her memory, as opposed to when stress and blood and the endless snowy nightmare had eroded away everything else. She'd just have been miserable if she learned earlier. At least this way she'd learned something.

Right?

Right.

"So... yes, intermediaries. The point is, though, this kind of... connection to what you surrealists like, this higher form of reality where everything's melding together and all the old barriers feel like they don't exist, and you stop seeing yourself through others and start seeing yourself as yourself, going from relative to objective - at least, a self-contained objectivity - and you stop... the image I keep having is a fractal. And... I imagine being a fractal, expanding in terms of complexity, but never growing outwards, and then... rupturing. Suddenly expanding. Opposite of what the Rekidans did for most of their history. And then I can change things, like this connection expands, becomes an actual influence, and suddenly people are listening to me for once, and..."

She paused, getting her breath, and her dignity, back under control.

"...I feel like I understand your way of doing things, Marana. Your whole school. I just feel like I'm not making art, I'm actually changing things."

Marana was very pale indeed.

"...Tanner, the idea of surrealism isn't to just create a new system then expand it to everyone else, it's breaking things down so each person can... experience what you've experienced."

"But then it's just self-contained. I mean, if that was the case, nothing needs to change. Everyone can just be a self-contained universe. Which we already are, and..."

Get her thoughts under control.

"...I just feel as though what I'm doing, maybe, is... a combination of your way of thinking and my way of acting. Breaking barriers, breaking codes, and I know there's things about this I'd never recommend to others, but for now, in the middle of a crisis... isn't this the sort of thing your lot's interested in?"

Marana blinked rapidly. Took a... few deep breaths. Goodness, her skin was pale, absolutely bloodless...

"Tanner, you're scaring me a little."

Now it was Tanner's turn to blink.

"What?"

"You're... Tanner, you're a judge, you're a stick-in-the-mud who loves eels. I'm not sure if... that Tanner would walk around with a giant axe, deciding to take over and... the things you're saying, if an artist was saying them I'd think it was interesting, but when someone with power is saying it, it feels downright alarming. Now, I apologise for what I said about Eygi. I didn't want to hurt you, I know I did, and I apologise again, again, and again. But-"

Tanner straightened her back suddenly.

"Marana, I think... maybe we shouldn't talk about this, then."

"No, no, we should, we very much should, because there's something deeply concerning about the way you're talking, and... I don't know, if you were just being brutally pragmatic about this all, it would still be worrying, but not terrifying, and the fact that you're trying to fashion some sort of... justification, it-"

"Marana."

Her voice was firm.

The conversation was over. Marana hadn't understood what she was getting at. She was trying to say that... well... thank you. Marana had told her about this sort of thing, and maybe it had left an impression, some sort of path she could follow when everything else broke down. When her faith in the law had strained and snapped, when her faith in her profession had withered, when every little network of chains she'd built over the years felt weaker and more ridiculous than ever, Marana's ideas had stuck. Be cynical - see the networks of power and control, see how everyone was manipulating everyone else, see how everyone wanted to rule. Used that when talking to Vyuli, when seizing command from Canima, when ordering the soldiers, when understanding the patterns of the crowd, the evacuees, all of it. Then... break them. Break those networks when they weren't convenient. Rekida, the city, was being repurposed by the colony - old metal being melted down, old stone being used to build garrisons, from the tapestry of old, binding systems, there came something new and useful, a kind of revitalisation and renewal, flowing from a simple understanding that nothing was unbreakable, nothing was totally constant beyond basic physical laws.

Well.

Enough thinking.

Time to move.

Ms. Blue knocked quietly, entering and giving a smart salute, followed by a click of the heels. Her mouth was set in a firm line... that had to keep fighting to avoid becoming a broad, excited smile. Woman looked liable to pop her jaw off its hinge, she was straining so much to avoid smiling.

"Ah. Good. You're here."

"Yes, ma'am! Sorry for my tardiness, no excuses, only explanations - I had to push through a very large crowd, you've really worked the men into a frenzy, ma'am! Everyone's asking about what's next, and when they get to see the new boys, the big boys! Very impressive move, ma'am, like something out of Tenk!"

Of course she listened to the Annals of Tenk. Of course.

Hm. Wonder what she thought of Princess Yallerilli.

No. Stop it.

"Quite. To clarify a few points - first, the cartel is working with us, they're willing to put aside any squabbles until the current crisis has passed. They're not to be considered enemies, nor threats. At least for now."

"...ma'am, it's not been more than an hour or so, how-"

"I had a talk."

"...we've... been stuck in the garrison fearing an attack, how on earth-"

"I had a talk."

Ms. Blue was staring at her with naked adoration, and Marana was giving her a very, very dirty look. Oh, what, because the soldier liked what she was doing? Because she approved, and wasn't coming up with nifty little counterarguments against the one person who was doing something? No, no, stop being spiteful, just... Marana was an artist, she thought about artist things. Talk to Ms. Blue about soldiering matters, and Marana about artistry matters. And wine. And colonial politics.

"Now, second, I want you to relay this to Sersa Bayai - I'd be telling him myself, but I understand he's very busy. He's still in charge, the other Sersas are to stand back and let him operate. I know the cartel's on our side, but I'd still rather have one of my own running things."

"Understood, ma'am!"

"Good. Now, relay to Sersa Bayai that he's to check the water supplies for the bunkers, the food supplies are to begin moving there immediately, and he's to tell Vyuli that he's operating on my authority when he does so. I want everything checked - water, food, bedding, air filters, gas masks, nothing that goes into the bunkers should be contaminated. Make the requisite announcements, use the cartel to spread awareness, tell people to get ready to move into the city."

"Will do, ma'am!"

Another click of the heels.

"And... last, there's been some soldiers. I've noticed them hanging around, talking in hushed tones, they stop when I come close and look somewhat ashamed."

Normally she'd gather more evidence, but she was an engine of raw momentum, she acted, dammit. She acted, because everyone else was busy thinking about ten thousand other priorities that ought to have no bearing on the present. Caution, politeness, due process, an avoidance of hunches as a basis of behaviour...

Screw it all.

"Now, I want to know - have there been any rumblings, any rumours, any... sign of dissent?"

Ms. Blue looked offended on her behalf, furious at the notion of people defecting.

"No dissent that I know of, ma'am. They know the cartel would want them dead, no love for them at all. The Sersas were the only ones who looked likely to work for them, and we could see that from a mile away, ma'am. People like you, they like the fact that you're doing things, and... well, that's really about it, you're not like Mr. Canima or the other two Sersas, more like the governor, if he was much taller, stronger, walked around fighting bouncers, and, you know, did things. Not that he was a poor governor. But..."

But Tanner was more appealing to soldiers. Probably more approachable.

Nice to know she was appealing to someone. Very odd, that notion.

Hadn't really thought of being appealing to anyone, honestly...

Alright then. Apparently Tanner Magg was an appealing individual. How unnatural.

"I see."

She thought to herself. Well, it could be nothing. She turned sharply to Marana, launching into her request without any prevarication.

"I need to ask you for a little help. Just a small thing, and you can decline if you want to. The merchants, the business owners, the people you were infiltrating - I assume you know the large movers and shakers."

Marana blinked in surprise, and her voice dropped a little.

"...Tanner, I think we really... uh, yes. Yes, I do. But Tanner-"

Overridden.

"Marana, there's a crisis. I was just having a small chat before getting down to business."

Marana's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, and her bloodshot eyes danced about nervously.

"You were talking about using surrealism as a model for how to govern a colony, that's not a small chat."

Tanner looked down at the surrealist alcoholic who was, with all due respect, judging her. Tanner was already being nice by being courteous and polite and reasonable after the Eygi business, surely she'd earned the right to not be judged on something like this? When she was doing things? She spoke at an ordinary volume, making Ms. Blue (who'd been straining her ears to listen in) jump halfway out of her skin.

"They were thoughts. Now, if you know them, I want you to go to them and talk about what measures they're taking to deal with the potential collapse of the colony. I want to know if the company owners are doing anything stupid - trying to hire private security from the soldiery, trying to use bribery to obtain more supplies or defences, trying to work towards an evacuation, creating plans that divert from our own. You know them, I don't. Been meaning to check on them anyway. Can you handle that?"

Marana squirmed under Tanner's gaze, mouth opening and closing a few times, a very strange look in her eyes. A look Tanner couldn't quite identify. What, was it... fear, or anger, or irritation, or drunkenness, or... no, she'd seen something like that look, was it guilt?

Was Marana feeling guilty?

Why?

After a minute, she spoke

.

"I can try. Let it not be said that I sat around getting drunk when I had work to do - I'll head over now, can't promise anything, they know I'm connected to you. But I'll do my best, claim that I'm just trying to get in on whatever scheme they have."

"Thank you. If it gets risky, you can come back, no shame in retreating."

"Like I'd retreat, goodness, what do you take me for you... tumescent sponge."

Ms. Blue's clenched her teeth with surprising vehemence. Was she feeling protective? Offended on Tanner's behalf?

Today was weird. Today was very weird.

Not sure if she wanted it to be over, though. Marana remained in the room, though Tanner switched her attention back to Ms. Blue.

"One more thing. Small. But are you familiar with a soldier I've worked with in the past - young man-"

Contemporary-looking young man, oddly flexible, with hands that reminded her of a stage magician.

"-worked with me when were apprehending Dyen, and went on to chase Dyen, capturing him while being a little injured in the process?"

A blink.

"I believe so. I'll need to ask, but he sounds familiar."

"When you find him, tell him to come here immediately. I need to talk with him."

"Understood, ma'am. Will there be anything else?"

"Nothing for now."

The woman hovered uncomfortably for a few more seconds. What. What was going on. Why was- oh.

"Dismissed."

The heels clicked once more, the salute snapped once again, and Ms. Blue turned on her heel and departed with a few more enthusiastic repetitions of 'ma'am', punctuating sentences of no great meaning or relevance. Marana lingered a little longer, but... something in Tanner's expression must've said that their conversation was concluded, and Tanner had work to do. Which she did. The woman opened her mouth to say something... then closed it. Her eyes were red, her face was pale, and Tanner could see her hands shaking. Still didn't know why she was doing that. Just... Tanner had business, she had a crisis to solve. Shared a few of her thoughts, and when Marana had questioned them, said 'that's not how surrealism works', it'd... inspired an irrational anger in her. Marana was an alcoholic cocaine-addicted artist who had gone through something horrific in Krodaw, but she'd done that as a witness, not an active participant. Observed a huge amount, but done very little, because she was a young heiress and wasn't meant to participate. Tanner didn't have that luxury.

Maybe that was one of the reasons she'd chosen to seize control. Even now, she was over-analysing her own decisions, because no major decision emerged from a single source of inspiration. One of them, something she might've been unconsciously aware of, it... Marana had talked over and over about Krodaw. And that place had broken her - planted the most rotten seeds of them all, helped encourage addictions, helped encourage a deeply cynical outlook, and... well, it hadn't exactly improved her. Maybe a version of Marana who hadn't gone to Krodaw could've moved on with her life, done things. And... yet Marana had only observed, really. Brought there because her father was appointed, then waited, watched, grew stranger and stranger, then left when the colony collapsed. Tanner didn't have that option. And maybe seeing how Marana just caved in whenever she talked about Krodaw, how it infiltrated her every dream, polluted every recollection, inspired the worst of all her habits and sustained them with the pressing weight of its nightmares...

Maybe she'd just wanted to avoid becoming like her.

Act. At least, take her own fate into her own hands, and stand her ground.

Not like she had a choice, running not being an option, but...

Looking at Marana now, bloodshot eyes, shaking hands, pale skin, needle marks in her arms, nose swollen with years and years of alcohol...

She thought she'd made the right choice.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Gods, she hoped...

And no matter what, she refused to think about the umbrella.

Marana left in silence, and Tanner could hear her breathing erratically for a second outside the door... before walking away with rapid, panicky steps. Tanner was alone once again. She had nothing to do - no files to analyse, no ledgers to consult, no investigations. Not really. She'd made her moves, now she just waited for things to happen, and people to walk over to her. Summoning the soldier with the stage-magician hands, the one she'd nicknamed Mr. Supple in the odd little contours of her brain, was based on a hunch. A complete hunch. The sort of thing Sister Halima (thinking of her brought a small spike of doubt in her mind, dismissed a second later) had cautioned her against on many, many occasions. She looked around at the endless ledgers, the endless files, some detailed, some deliberately obscure, lists upon lists of numbers and names... and she realised that there was no time for any of this. And ultimately, she didn't care. All that research, and she'd just been drowning herself in the layers of conspiracy that were strangling the colony, to mix her metaphors a little. In the end, the most decisive things she'd done were based on things other than research - if she'd marched out into the cold-house and insisted on exploring the tunnels beneath, she'd have found Vyuli, he'd have interrogated her, revealed a great deal, done. Had no idea the Rekidan nobles were alive before she found them, only had vague notions of what they were like from Tal-Sar. And instinct had brought them into the fold, not long, careful planning.

Maybe if she'd been more impulsive, moved faster, arrested with more swiftness, Lam would be alive, Tyer would be alive, things would have worked out very differently indeed.

She paced a little, thought a little, broadly did nothing at all...

And half an hour later, a certain fellow knocked, and entered once summoned.

Mr. Supple looked... well. He'd been slightly battered by his encounter with Dyen, but now most of the bruises had faded to mild discolourations, nothing inhibiting his movements to a serious degree. He looked up at her, shivering slightly. Ah. Last he'd seen her, she'd been... well, a fairly spineless judge who failed to capture a single bouncer, then locked herself in a study for days and seemingly did nothing at all.

Things had changed.

"Would you like to sit?"

"No... honoured judge, no, I'd rather stand."

"Hm. Alright."

She leant on the axe a little, drumming her fingers along the haft, dull metallic thumps filling the tense air.

"I wanted to have a talk about... two occasions. Just two. I want some clarifications from you."

He shivered, and held her gaze with some difficulty. Why were people finding it hard to meet her eyes these days?

Downright rude.

"Yes, honoured judge. Happy to."

"First, the night when Tyer was murdered."

Ah. A small reaction. Her face remained flat, of course. Even now, felt a little trepidation at getting things wrong - and even that little spark of panic froze her face into a sort of premature death mask.

"Two people told me that Tyer had been sighted while I was talking with Ms. Beldol. One of them was a man called Myunhen, now deceased. The other was you."

"That's right, ma'am."

"How did you encounter Myunhen?"

"...patrol, honoured judge. Patrol, he reported it to us given that we were closer."

"And who exactly was part of this patrol?"

He listed a handful of names with relative smoothness, and she nodded silently to each one, committing them to memory. But she could smell the lie. Where she'd usually note things down and research later, finding all the evidence she needed within a day or so... she really had no time. And no inclination, either.

"I see. And... then the business with Dyen."

She stared hard at Mr. Supple, watching as he wilted a little.

"You chased him. He injured you, but you managed to win overall before taking him into custody. Very good response. But... Dyen, while being pursued, shifted his story dramatically. He went from being on the verge of confessing everything, to confessing a complete, well-planned lie."

"...if you say so, honoured judge. I wasn't privy to the interrogation."

"No. You weren't."

She leaned a little closer, eyes boring a hole in his skull - his skull, not his eyes, which were darting about to fix on anything else. Credit where it was due, he wasn't succumbing to the amateur mistake of lying through excessive elaboration. Very clipped gentleman.

"And when I was interrogated by the leader of the cartel, a Mr. Vyuli, I found out that, yes, the cartel arranged for that story to be fed to me. Distraction from investigating them. Now, I assume that means Dyen escaped, went to the cartel, then came out... and ran directly into you. Deliberately."

Silence.

"If that's the conclusion you've drawn, I imagine-"

He swallowed involuntarily.

"Well, I imagine that's the case. Excuse me."

Tanner was very silent. Could see a tiny bead of sweat gleaming in his scalp.

"Since when have you worked for Lyur?"

He blinked.

"Pardon, honoured judge?"

She sighed, in a world-weary fashion, leaning a little heavier on her axe.

"Please, don't pretend. The present crisis means I'm a little pressed for time. We're looking for Lyur now, and if we find, for instance, that you've been colluding with him, I assure you, both the colonial forces and the cartel will be very, very annoyed."

She leaned in a little further.

"And you know what the cartel does to those who annoy it."

There was a solid minute of staring. Nothing more to add. He knew the stakes. She had no more evidence to throw at him beyond vague hunches and far-fetched 'deductions'.

He squirmed.

Kept looking at the axe.

Out of his depth. Unsure.

And finally, finally...

"...I've worked for him for about a year, now. There's not many guards who work for the cartel, and he wanted one to work with... closely. Reporting directly to him. Mr. Vyuli didn't like talking to guards personally."

"How much did he pay you?"

"Enough."

"And I imagine you clung close, because..."

"He paid well, and... I was afraid of the consequences. I'm happy to help you, if you'll give me amnesty, honoured judge."

Never trust a traitor, hm? He'd already proven willing to betray his colony for the sake of money, he'd definitely betray his employers for the sake of avoiding punishment.

"I'll look into it. What I want from you is a list of all individuals in the employ of the cartel within the garrison."

"Can't do that, honoured judge. They never wanted one of us to be able to rat everyone else out."

Understandable.

"I see. Now. Lyur. Where does Lyur tend to hide, if he needs to?"

"The tunnels, honoured judge. Always the tunnels, if he can manage it."

"And... on the surface?"

A few blinks, and a furrowed brow...

"...there's a disused shack outside the colony, he put a stove inside, uses it from time to time, I think. Good for... interrogating people."

Torture shack. Sounded about right.

"Lead me there. I'll bring some friends."

"...I'll be safe?"

"You'll be safe. I'm only interested in Lyur."

"He might not be there, honoured judge. I really can't promise anything."

"No. But you're coming, nonetheless."

He swallowed down his nerves, and forced a little smile on his face that was probably meant to be endearing. Tanner didn't react.

"Understood, honoured judge. Can do."

"Hm."

And that was all.