for him. He seemed so tortured, so alone, perhaps even more than I am.
“… They’ve even snatched my child, the gangsters – my little girl. What did she ever do to them, the comfort of my twilight years? All day she irons Regina’s underwear so I get to see her only on her days off and even then, with her eye constantly on the clock. What father can take that kind of thing?”
Then it dawned on me that he was dangling a hook cleverly hidden by the wriggling bait. I redoubled my efforts to measure my words because this Judge is danger incarnate. His crocodile tears about Bianca, his daughter, his profitable investment, had given him away. I reminded him that we were on duty and he ought to get a grip of himself so that he could verify the authenticity of the Green Box by palpating the special indentations on its sides. In the state he was in, I very much doubted that he could find the indentations – if he could find the Box at all.
The Judge had been offended. He gave me a sharp poke in the ribs as he slurred, “I really don’t think you have the right to speak to me in that tone,” and he thrust his chest out so that I could better see the Purple Star, proof positive of the Governor’s favour, a mark of distinction that I, a mere Secretary, lack. I suppressed my emotions. Bera had handed out five of these Purple Stars, to the other authors of the letters which you will read, elevating them to a kind of “courtier”, and it has gone to their heads. He had obviously been trying to create a core of an aristocratic class in the newly founded Colony which would inspire others, but had only managed to corrupt the recipients themselves. Wearers of the Stars are entitled to a villa in Hesperides, household staff, a box at the Opera and a seat at the Governor’s table, subject to invitation, of course. I find it extraordinary that Lady Regina, his wife, was included in the select five, as there is no imaginable reason why she deserved the decoration. To honour the other four or to demean her? It’s difficult to decipher the Governor’s machinations. Twenty years I’ve served him, twenty years he’s left me speechless.
We heard the hoarse siren of the ship and the creaking sound of the ship’s cables stretching. The tow-boatmen were signalling to the winch operators by waving their phosphorescent oars in the air to indicate adjustments necessary. The oars are long and pointed like poles and they are used to propel the boat by jabbing them into the surface and pushing, much like a gondolier. The boats have no keel, they are flat-bottomed like a raft because of the water’s density. As one gets closer to the saltworks, where the underground salt-bearing stream pours into the sea, the water becomes even more dense, like jelly.
After the delay of berthing, the ship’s gangway was lowered. Captain Cortez had disembarked first to scrutinise our faces and satisfy himself that we were present as the regulations demand. We shook hands. Cortez is an experienced captain of the Consortium and he’s always entrusted with one of the Correspondence Ships. His hollow cheeks and his glass right eye terrify you, but mind you’re not fooled by that false eye – it sees more than the real one. He introduced us to Lieutenant Richmond, a slim lad that seemed feverish. Cortez added that the youth would be the fourth member of our procession because the First Mate had been laid low with diarrhoea. A virus had invaded the ship and all the men were on their backs. Richmond had not yet attained the rank the regulations stipulated for this procedure, but Cortez had growled that he had no other officers on their legs and that carrying is hardly a demanding task. He would prefer to exhaust the young Lieutenant, who was looking obviously sick, and protect his First Mate for the return journey. We had no choice but to accept the substitution.
So, we climbed on board and went to the Captain’s cabin. Using the key that only the Private
“… They’ve even snatched my child, the gangsters – my little girl. What did she ever do to them, the comfort of my twilight years? All day she irons Regina’s underwear so I get to see her only on her days off and even then, with her eye constantly on the clock. What father can take that kind of thing?”
Then it dawned on me that he was dangling a hook cleverly hidden by the wriggling bait. I redoubled my efforts to measure my words because this Judge is danger incarnate. His crocodile tears about Bianca, his daughter, his profitable investment, had given him away. I reminded him that we were on duty and he ought to get a grip of himself so that he could verify the authenticity of the Green Box by palpating the special indentations on its sides. In the state he was in, I very much doubted that he could find the indentations – if he could find the Box at all.
The Judge had been offended. He gave me a sharp poke in the ribs as he slurred, “I really don’t think you have the right to speak to me in that tone,” and he thrust his chest out so that I could better see the Purple Star, proof positive of the Governor’s favour, a mark of distinction that I, a mere Secretary, lack. I suppressed my emotions. Bera had handed out five of these Purple Stars, to the other authors of the letters which you will read, elevating them to a kind of “courtier”, and it has gone to their heads. He had obviously been trying to create a core of an aristocratic class in the newly founded Colony which would inspire others, but had only managed to corrupt the recipients themselves. Wearers of the Stars are entitled to a villa in Hesperides, household staff, a box at the Opera and a seat at the Governor’s table, subject to invitation, of course. I find it extraordinary that Lady Regina, his wife, was included in the select five, as there is no imaginable reason why she deserved the decoration. To honour the other four or to demean her? It’s difficult to decipher the Governor’s machinations. Twenty years I’ve served him, twenty years he’s left me speechless.
We heard the hoarse siren of the ship and the creaking sound of the ship’s cables stretching. The tow-boatmen were signalling to the winch operators by waving their phosphorescent oars in the air to indicate adjustments necessary. The oars are long and pointed like poles and they are used to propel the boat by jabbing them into the surface and pushing, much like a gondolier. The boats have no keel, they are flat-bottomed like a raft because of the water’s density. As one gets closer to the saltworks, where the underground salt-bearing stream pours into the sea, the water becomes even more dense, like jelly.
After the delay of berthing, the ship’s gangway was lowered. Captain Cortez had disembarked first to scrutinise our faces and satisfy himself that we were present as the regulations demand. We shook hands. Cortez is an experienced captain of the Consortium and he’s always entrusted with one of the Correspondence Ships. His hollow cheeks and his glass right eye terrify you, but mind you’re not fooled by that false eye – it sees more than the real one. He introduced us to Lieutenant Richmond, a slim lad that seemed feverish. Cortez added that the youth would be the fourth member of our procession because the First Mate had been laid low with diarrhoea. A virus had invaded the ship and all the men were on their backs. Richmond had not yet attained the rank the regulations stipulated for this procedure, but Cortez had growled that he had no other officers on their legs and that carrying is hardly a demanding task. He would prefer to exhaust the young Lieutenant, who was looking obviously sick, and protect his First Mate for the return journey. We had no choice but to accept the substitution.
So, we climbed on board and went to the Captain’s cabin. Using the key that only the Private
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