Steelhands - Jaida Jones [155]
“Isn’t that a comfort,” Luvander said, standing up at once. “Well, dear friends, as they say when mired in the filthy muck that passes for water down by the Mollydocks: We’re all in deep shit now.”
“Still, better off than Adamo,” Laure muttered, looking quite content to start a fight with anyone who disagreed.
No one dared. We veterans could smell a battle coming and knew how to avoid it altogether.
“I looked into Germaine’s business, myself,” Royston said thoughtfully. “But I suppose the gossiping of the Basquiat doesn’t concern him as much at present. It’s more what Adamo represents, I believe. There isn’t any statue of me in the middle of the most popular street in Thremedon.”
“Do you think we might at least be able to see him?” I asked; someone had to be the man to get his hopes up, after all. “Perhaps the Esar—he must see reason. We’ve done nothing wrong. As far as any rational man is concerned, we’ve done nothing at all.”
We’d all agreed to let the Esar act first for this very reason. I didn’t think anyone had ever dreamed this would be the first action he’d take—especially when the most Adamo could be accused of was forcing me to eat breakfast when I wasn’t hungry. Some mornings it seemed like a crime, but it was hardly an arresting offense.
“You’re assuming this is a man with whom one can reason at all, by this point,” Margrave Royston said, still looking grim. “After the war—not to mention what happened to our diplomats in Xi’an—his state of mind has been increasingly … fragile. No; that isn’t the word. Suspicious. Antoinette can barely get him to agree to see her these days, and all because she practically runs the Basquiat. He doesn’t want her to know his thoughts; I doubt he wants anyone to know them. He doesn’t trust anyone anymore, and like it or not, Owen cuts a rather threatening figure.”
“That he does,” Luvander agreed, tugging at his scarf. “What’s more, he’s our threatening figure. Surely you don’t mean to suggest we do nothing at all? As much gossip as we’ve heard about you, I’m sure one or two stories about the Dragon Corps and its complete lack of common sense must’ve reached your ears in return. That’s not exactly how we play it, diminished numbers or no.”
“When did I insinuate that? Such a course of action is hardly what I’m counseling,” Margrave Royston said. If the reminder of his past stung, he didn’t mention it. Thremedon rarely forgot its scandals, but at least it did stop caring about them after a while. “All I meant was that we have to be cautious, for Owen’s sake. And to remind impetuous youth that, according to law as it stands, the Esar does not technically need a reason to arrest anyone. People tend to forget that. He is the Esar, and if he wished, he could arrest anyone wearing blue on a Saturday. The people wouldn’t like it, and he’d never be so careless with their support, but it is possible.”
“Someone oughta change that law,” Laure said.
“It’s in place from the war,” I found myself explaining. When I’d been learning all the rules and provisions that comprised Volstov’s system of government, in order to be ready to take my place with the other diplomats, I’d found most of the memorization boring, but at least the knowledge had stuck. And now, here it was, proving useful in a most unexpected way. “I … suppose that, what with one thing and another, and the continued threats from the Ke-Han, they never got around to rewriting it.”
“Rather convenient for the Esar,” Toverre murmured, deep in thought.
“And inconvenient for us,” Royston agreed. The two seemed similar in some way though