Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [42]
Had he failed Teller Conlon? And if he had, did it really matter any longer?
What was the proper course of action now? What did a man do when a friend died, anyway? See this investigation through, as a sort of memorial to the man Teller used to be, as opposed to the man he’d become? See his killer brought to justice?
Of course. All of that.
Would it be enough? When it was over, would he feel that he had set Teller’s soul to rest?
There was only one way to find out. Getting up, he took one last look at the dead man. Then, slipping his glove back on, he turned and started back up the escarpment.
He was peering at the rocks above him, trying to determine how Lyneea had hauled herself out, when he heard a sharp, distinct yelp.
Damn. He scampered up the rest of the slope, saw a rocky projection that might give him the access he needed, and used it to boost himself toward the exit. His fingers caught the cross piece; he swung a leg up, lodged his heel against the lip of the pit, then pulled and twisted his body up after it.
Riker was sprawled on the ground above the hole, one leg still dangling within, when he caught sight of Lyneea.
Contrary to his expectations, she didn’t seem to be in any trouble. True, she was kneeling as if doubled over, but there was no sign of pain on her face. In fact, she looked as if she’d just remembered something funny.
“What’s going on?” he asked, getting to his feet. “When I heard you yell, I thought the killer had come back.”
Lyneea glanced at him. “No such luck.” Picking something up off the ground, she held it out so he could see it.
It was an emblem of some sort, with torn cloth and threads around it, as if it had been removed by force from whatever garment it was meant to adorn.
“May I?” he asked, holding his hand out. She gave it to him.
A black field cut into two parts by a large yellow lightning bolt. In the upper right-hand corner, two yellow sheaves of grain. In the lower left, two yellow aircraft.
All along the bottom edge, something had made the material stiff and maroon-colored. Riker recognized it as blood.
“The emblem of Madraga Rhurig,” explained Lyneea. “Agriculture, hydroelectric power, air transport—the industries they control in various parts of Imprima.” She paused. “The stuff on the bottom wasn’t part of the original design.”
“Rhurig,” Will repeated, recalling Norayan’s suspicions but unable to identify them as hers. He turned the emblem over in his hand. “You think they would stoop this low? Would they steal Fortune’s Light or arrange to have it stolen?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them. They’ve never seen eye to eye with Criathis.”
“And the merger would only have made Criathis more powerful. So they moved to prevent it the only way they could.”
“Yes,” Lyneea said. “And then—who knows? Maybe it was their intention to kill Conlon from the start, so that he couldn’t tell anyone what had happened to the seal. Or maybe he tried to hold them up for more money than was originally agreed upon. To blackmail them.”
“Either way,” said Riker, “they killed him.” He could feel the excitement of discovery giving way to the heat of anger. “And whoever belongs to this patch must have been in on the deed—and lost it in the course of a struggle.”
His partner nodded. “This is big, Riker. It’s no longer a matter of an individual, or even two. We’re talking about a madraga that has helped shape Impriman history for nearly eight hundred years. If Rhurig is involved with this, and it can be proven …”
“Then Rhurig will be ruined,” he said. “Shunned by the other madraggi until it collapses of its own weight.”
“Or worse.” She shook her head. “It’s hard to say what would be done. Nothing like this has ever happened before. But I can tell you this—the economic repercussions would be massive. Global.”
For the first time since they’d known each other, Riker thought Lyneea seemed uncertain, almost overwhelmed.
“This is big,” she repeated. “Very big.”
He looked at her. “You’re not suggesting that we shouldn’t pursue it, are you? Just because of the implications?”
“No,