suggested.
Hadrian
gave a bitter grin. "Fine. Here's what you do. Find out if
anyone was working in the library when the fire started. If so,
pretend to ask them questions about who was here, what Jonah was
doing, whether anything strange seemed to be going on."
She
offered a hesitant nod.
"Walk
along the street. Ask passersby if they saw anything. Then write up
your report. Write what the governor wants to hear. Use bold words.
Spice it with rumors gleaned from the street. The citizens grow
concerned over public safety. The people are thankful that running
water had been installed in time to fight the fire. They wonder if
damaged books will be auctioned off for personal latrine use. Twenty
pages at least. The governor favors quantity over quality."
The
sergeant brightened, tore out the frontispiece of the first book
within reach, and began writing.
Outside,
a bass drum began to beat.
The
governing council of
Carthage declared a state funeral once every two or three years.
Children would be released from school. The colony's antique hearse
would lead a procession of somber leading citizens, followed by one
of the town's two bands playing a dirge. But for the burial of Jonah
Beck, the governor had called out both bands and erected a speaker's
platform at the edge of the cemetery.
Hadrian
stood in the shadow of a maple tree, listening as the leaders of
Carthage extolled the old man. The Savior was invoked, and St. Peter
too. The town had long ago forgotten that their resident wizard was a
Jew. A woman waved a stick of incense over the coffin. An elderly
matron famed for starting the colony's first bank took the podium and
described seeing Jonah flying toward the moon in the shape of a great
white bird. It wasn't so much a funeral as a somber circus. Jonah
would have loved it.
Hadrian
found a patch of grass on a knoll above those gathered and sat. It
was a crisp day, the changing weather pushing vast flocks of geese
and ducks southward, the colony's green and blue flag fluttering at
half mast on the whitewashed pole in the graveyard's center. Police
in brown tunics paced along the fringe of the crowd. An enterprising
vendor sold hot cider, fresh apples, and black armbands. Four men
with shovels waited by the open grave. A square-shouldered man in a
suit, smoking as he leaned against a tree, turned away as he met
Hadrian's gaze. Hadrian had enough of a glimpse of his face to
realize he'd seen the man half an hour earlier, outside the library.
Was he following Hadrian?
Hadrian
tucked his knees against his chest and tried to focus on the
speakers. But his gaze kept returning to the gaping grave, and his
grief returned. Seek truth among the first things. Jonah's voice
spoke the words inside his head, stirring him from his numbness. It
could have been a simple reminder to make truth his priority. It
could also mean to seek it among those at the highest level of
authority. He watched absently as Kenton, wearing his new lieutenant
bars, approached Buchanan. The two men urgently conferred, Kenton
pointing vaguely toward the back of the crowd before retreating with
a scowl, clearly unsatisfied.
A
moment later his stout figure broke through the edge of the crowd,
his hand on his truncheon as he marched toward Hadrian.
"If
I see a slag within five hundred feet of the governor," the
lieutenant snapped, "you'll be spending the night in the
hospital."
"I'm
sorry?" Hadrian muttered. He became aware of movement behind him
but did not break away from Kenton's angry stare.
"I
don't play your goddamned games, Boone. I will gladly—"
Kenton's words choked away as he looked over Hadrian's shoulder.
Hadrian
turned. He was surrounded on three sides by children. The boy Dax was
on one side, Sarah and her sister on the other, with at least a dozen
others behind them.
The
lieutenant glared at the children. "You have no idea!" he
spat out before hurrying back to the graveside. For once Hadrian
agreed with him.
When
he turned again to ask
Hadrian
gave a bitter grin. "Fine. Here's what you do. Find out if
anyone was working in the library when the fire started. If so,
pretend to ask them questions about who was here, what Jonah was
doing, whether anything strange seemed to be going on."
She
offered a hesitant nod.
"Walk
along the street. Ask passersby if they saw anything. Then write up
your report. Write what the governor wants to hear. Use bold words.
Spice it with rumors gleaned from the street. The citizens grow
concerned over public safety. The people are thankful that running
water had been installed in time to fight the fire. They wonder if
damaged books will be auctioned off for personal latrine use. Twenty
pages at least. The governor favors quantity over quality."
The
sergeant brightened, tore out the frontispiece of the first book
within reach, and began writing.
Outside,
a bass drum began to beat.
The
governing council of
Carthage declared a state funeral once every two or three years.
Children would be released from school. The colony's antique hearse
would lead a procession of somber leading citizens, followed by one
of the town's two bands playing a dirge. But for the burial of Jonah
Beck, the governor had called out both bands and erected a speaker's
platform at the edge of the cemetery.
Hadrian
stood in the shadow of a maple tree, listening as the leaders of
Carthage extolled the old man. The Savior was invoked, and St. Peter
too. The town had long ago forgotten that their resident wizard was a
Jew. A woman waved a stick of incense over the coffin. An elderly
matron famed for starting the colony's first bank took the podium and
described seeing Jonah flying toward the moon in the shape of a great
white bird. It wasn't so much a funeral as a somber circus. Jonah
would have loved it.
Hadrian
found a patch of grass on a knoll above those gathered and sat. It
was a crisp day, the changing weather pushing vast flocks of geese
and ducks southward, the colony's green and blue flag fluttering at
half mast on the whitewashed pole in the graveyard's center. Police
in brown tunics paced along the fringe of the crowd. An enterprising
vendor sold hot cider, fresh apples, and black armbands. Four men
with shovels waited by the open grave. A square-shouldered man in a
suit, smoking as he leaned against a tree, turned away as he met
Hadrian's gaze. Hadrian had enough of a glimpse of his face to
realize he'd seen the man half an hour earlier, outside the library.
Was he following Hadrian?
Hadrian
tucked his knees against his chest and tried to focus on the
speakers. But his gaze kept returning to the gaping grave, and his
grief returned. Seek truth among the first things. Jonah's voice
spoke the words inside his head, stirring him from his numbness. It
could have been a simple reminder to make truth his priority. It
could also mean to seek it among those at the highest level of
authority. He watched absently as Kenton, wearing his new lieutenant
bars, approached Buchanan. The two men urgently conferred, Kenton
pointing vaguely toward the back of the crowd before retreating with
a scowl, clearly unsatisfied.
A
moment later his stout figure broke through the edge of the crowd,
his hand on his truncheon as he marched toward Hadrian.
"If
I see a slag within five hundred feet of the governor," the
lieutenant snapped, "you'll be spending the night in the
hospital."
"I'm
sorry?" Hadrian muttered. He became aware of movement behind him
but did not break away from Kenton's angry stare.
"I
don't play your goddamned games, Boone. I will gladly—"
Kenton's words choked away as he looked over Hadrian's shoulder.
Hadrian
turned. He was surrounded on three sides by children. The boy Dax was
on one side, Sarah and her sister on the other, with at least a dozen
others behind them.
The
lieutenant glared at the children. "You have no idea!" he
spat out before hurrying back to the graveside. For once Hadrian
agreed with him.
When
he turned again to ask
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