Tomorrow, the Killing by Daniel Polansky Page B

and his seed had done little to inure themselves from eavesdroppers. The door to the office was half open, and if they weren’t yet yelling outright, it was clear the conversation was moving in that direction.
    ‘They can’t very well name me High Chancellor with my eldest child calling for the abolition of the damned monarchy!’
    ‘There are more important things in the world than your political career, Father,’ Roland said. His voice was calm but not quiet, and I thought I detected in it a hint of mockery.
    ‘Like yours, for instance?’
    ‘Like the interests of the men who served beneath my command.’
    ‘And how are their interests served by you making trouble in the streets? By threatening the Crown and the government?’
    ‘I’m simply asking that the Queen appropriately reward the men who died keeping her aloft. If she chooses to take offense, I can hardly be blamed.’
    ‘Should she take offense at your marching armed through Low Town? Of instigating feuds with drug dealers and criminals?’
    ‘I can hardly imagine the Throne would object to concerned citizens defending their families.’
    ‘The Throne would object to your building a private army, regardless of who you choose to aim it at.’
    ‘The Throne built the army, Father. I’m just borrowing it while it’s not in use.’
    There was a choking sound, then a long silence. When next the general spoke, it was with that studied composure that lies a short step from open rage. ‘Flippancy ill-suits you, or the gravity of the situation. Pensions, almshouses, jobs – as High Chancellor I’ll be in a position to provide these things. If you cared as much about them as you did your own grandstanding, you’d cease your provocation and fall in line!’
    A movement in the shadows betrayed that I wasn’t the only one interested in the goings-on of the Montgomery clan. Botha stood silently outside the study door, an impressive degree of stealth for a man of his size. I wondered what it meant that he hadn’t bothered to chase me off. His smirk had worn a groove into his face – a bitter thing, devoid of levity.
    I followed the hallway back toward the party, taking a seat on a small sofa near the exit. It was getting late, and unlike the rest of the attendees, I had things to do in the morning. I could hear Roland and his father continue with their dispute, the distance I’d added made up for by the increase in volume. It was too garbled to make out specifics, and I didn’t strain myself trying.
    After a moment I noticed someone peering out from around the corner. A young girl, ten or twelve, I’m bad at that sort of thing. She had her brother’s red hair and her father’s fierce gaze.
    I crooked one finger in hello. She scowled and approached me.
    ‘It’s my brother’s birthday,’ she said.
    ‘Is that why all these people are here?’
    ‘Of course,’ she said, clearly thinking me very foolish. As a line, the Montgomerys had many virtues, but not one of them possessed anything resembling a sense of humor.
    ‘Are you supposed to be up so late?’
    ‘No one cares what I do,’ she said.
    At her age I had been five years on the streets, orphaned by the Red Fever, scraping by on theft and low cunning. It had been quite literally the case that no one cared what I did. ‘Don’t you have a nanny or something?’
    ‘She thinks I’m in the privy.’
    ‘A budding criminal genius.’
    ‘I don’t want to be a criminal,’ she said.
    ‘Most don’t.’ I very much had the urge to smoke a cigarette, but decided it was better not to offer the pubescent an opportunity to feel morally superior to me. We stared at each other for a while.
    ‘Do you want to sit down?’ I asked.
    ‘Will you tell Father that I’m out of bed?’
    ‘I won’t.’
    ‘Do you promise?’
    ‘I promise.’
    She rolled over the worth of my word. ‘I shouldn’t believe you,’ she said. ‘But I will.’ She plopped herself next to me on the sofa.
    ‘That’s very