A Conflict of Orders (An Age of Discord Novel Book 2) (69 page)

Perhaps it was the nomosphere. The two of them were the only people he knew who could access it. The Serpent, the Duke of Ahasz, could too, of course. But he would never leave Shuto again. It might be that Lady Mayna wanted someone she could meet in the nomosphere and, as someone had pointed out on
Vengeful
all those weeks ago, so communicate instantly across weeks of travel-time.

It was, he supposed, an uncontroversial role to perform. It would not involve conspiring against the Imperial Throne. It would require travel—and he had always enjoyed travel.

“Very well,” said Lady Mayna, with a sigh. “Your paramour stays. We shall find some position for her on the books to account for her presence. For the time-being, you are both my guests. My staff are at your diposal. Please don’t leave the townhouse, however. You are safe here.”

Ormuz nodded. And he wondered if this could be the end. He had fought in a civil war, led the battle against the rebel duke who wished to change things, upheld the status quo. Then he had been discarded. He had no role to play in the future of the Empire, he had no future himself except obscurity. Lady Mayna offered him more—but it was not the destiny he had imagined for himself during the journey to Geneza.

He had lost that destiny when he threw down his sword at the Admiral’s feet.

F
rom the window of her office, Finesz could see Headquarters’ parade ground, and beyond that ordered lines of barracks blocks. They made her feel more like a soldier than an investigator. As did the uniform she must now wear every day. Her cap hung rakishly from a peg on a stand beside her desk, her sword and sword-belt beside it. Her jacket was carefully draped on a hanger so it would not crease. She did not object to the uniform as such—if anything, she felt she looked rather dashing in it. But having to wear it every day, to salute and scrape and bow to those she met in Headquarters’ corridors, to actually turn up to work at a set time and be visibily
working
…

She had not joined the Office of the Procurator Imperial to become a bureaucrat.

With a sigh, she cupped her chin in her hand and continued to gaze out of the window. She’d put it off for as long as she could, but she’d always known that sooner or later she’d have to report to Headquarters and reveal she was back on Shuto. There was also the fact she wanted to look in the OPI archives for whatever it was Ahasz had been talking about.

One thousand years ago had been the height of the Intolerance, during the regency of Daemni, Poer I’s widow and Willim I’s grandmother. The Empire had been only a couple of centuries old and even then the Shutans were far from secure in their rule. The Pacification Campaigns were still carving out the provinces. Many of the Empire’s institutions had been founded during the Regency—the Imperial Regiments, Imperial Admiralty, Imperial Treasury… Could Ahasz have been referring to the attempted coup by the Imperial Guard? They had stormed the Imperial Palace as was—the Old Palace now—and been rebuffed. And subsequently disbanded and the regiment’s secret history made public.

Interesting times… Perhaps even as interesting as the present.

Or rather, they
had
been interesting. No longer. Finesz was no historian and could make little sense of the events she’d researched. Perhaps if she had more time… But no, she had other tasks and she could not see the sense of them at all. It was all make-work, she was convinced of it. Writing analyses of reports. Collating statistics. Dull, dull stuff. She hated it.

She wouldn’t be doing this if Norioko were still her superior. Reporting to Headquarters had been a mistake. She’d entered her office to discover she’d been transferred. She now reported to some grey humourless superintendent who seemed determined to punish her for her prior freedom of action.

She dropped her eyes and focused on the report on the glass laid flat into her desk. A listing of transactions by a syndicate of yeomanry. She’d been instructed to search for irregularities in the finances. But she couldn’t concentrate.

Ironically, financial irregularities were what had begun all this, that had sent her to Darrus on the trail of a regimental-lieutenant. Where she had met Caismir Ormuz. And somehow been recruited to his cause.

She couldn’t do it. With a sound of disgust, she pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. The report could wait. Superintendent Nudny could wait. She was in no mood to do this work now.

Finesz took her jacket from the hanger, pulled it on and buttoned it up. She fastened her sword-belt about her waist and set her cap on her head. She pulled open the door to her office and stepped out into the clerks’ office. None looked up as she marched past. They were not privy to her orders.

Fortunately, she had kept Troop-Sergeant Assaun. Possibly, she suspected, because Nudny did not want to pay the expense of returning him to Darrus. She only wished she could do so herself. The man deserved to go home. But for now he remained useful to her.

She picked him up from ready-room to which he had been assigned as she left the Enquiry Building. They commandeered a staff car from the transport pool and Assaun drove her north out of the city.

This thousand-year-old mystery: she need to ask Ahasz about it. She had a handful of disparate historical events and not one of them seemed relevant to the recent rebellion. Another coup by descendants of the Imperial Guard? It was laughable. No one held a grudge for a millennium. How many generations had passed since then? Forty or more.

Throughout the trip to the House of Rectitude, Finesz considered her ancient history. Enemies a-plenty had been made in those far-off days. Not just the Imperial Guard or the Henotic Church, but also all those worlds which were “persuaded” to join the Empire during the Pacification Campaigns.

She was no closer an answer when the staff car finally drew up before the main entrance to the House. Assaun scrambled from behind the wheel and hurried to open her door. As she climbed out, she looked up to see the warden descend from the front door. She opened her mouth to greet him, but was surprised into silence by the expression on his face.

“Are you here to see his grace, my lady?” he asked mournfully.

She was immediately suspicious. “Yes. Why?”

“Then you were not informed?”

“Not informed of what?” She glanced back at Assaun, who now stood on the other side of the car. But he hid his mystification as well as he hid all his emotions.

Turning back to the warden, she said, “What’s going on? What’s happened to Ahasz?”

“Oh dear. I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid his grace was executed yesterday.”

For one brief vertiginous moment, Finesz thought she had misheard the man.
Executed
? That had been the expected sentence, yes. But after due process of law, after Ahasz had been indicted, found guilty in a court of law and sentenced.

Not secretly.

“You killed him?” she asked in disbelief.

“Not myself, no, my lady. Some gentlemen from the Imperial Household visited and his grace was permitted to take poison.”

“You allowed this?”

The warden wobbled his head. “I am no position to refuse them, my lady. They represented the Imperial Throne and had all suitable documentation. It is the Throne’s privilege to demand execution without trial for certain felonies.”

Finesz closed her eyes and screwed her hands into fists. She was still finding this difficult to credit. “No,” she said slowly, trying hard to keep her voice even. “No, the Throne does not have that privilege. Only the Bench can dispense justice. It’s in the Subject’s Charter—‘all subjects have the right to representation in law’.”

“I am not a jurist,” the warden complained. “They were careful to explain to me that they operated within the law. How was I to know they lied?”

She turned away from him. Eyes narrowed, she gazed the length of the drive to the bailey. Empress Flavia had murdered Ahasz. The woman who had once loved the duke had executed him secretly and illegally.

And there was nothing Finesz could do about it.

There was nothing anyone could do.

“This is bad,” she muttered.

Her hand was aching. She had been clutching the hilt of her sword, so hard she could feel the knobs and whorls of the pommel etched into her palm. She let go, brought her hand up before her face and flexed her fingers thoughtfully.

She had felt powerless many times. On occasion, she had felt fear too as a result of that powerlessness. At Headquarters, she had no authority, no responsibility. They would not discharge her unless she did something indictable. They knew she still hadd friends and allies on Ministries and Congress. Instead, they gave her trivial make-work tasks.

That was powerlessness.

During the siege, when she had tried to reason with Ahasz and he had taken her prisoner. Then she had been powerless
and
she had felt fear.

Now, she felt both again. She knew she could say nothing, do nothing.

Finesz returned to Toshi with no destination in mind. Ahasz’s death had entirely destroyed her future. She did not know what to do, she did not know where to go. She had questions but no answers.

She would not return to Headquarters. She’d had enough of the OPI. She’d send them her resignation later. She thought about going home but she needed to tell someone what had happened to the duke.

But who?

Casimir Ormuz, of course.

She leaned forward and said to Assaun, “We need to go to Gahara. The townhouse of the Marchioness Angra.”

Lady Mayna had taken Ormuz under her wing the day before. He needed to know—they both needed to know—what had happened to Ahasz. Finesz thought it unlikely they had been told.

She stared out of the window of the staff car as it returned to Toshi, her chin in her hand, the scenery passing unnoticed before her gaze. She should, she supposed, feel anger at such a blatant disregard for the rule of law. And she had
liked
Ahasz. She felt as though a friend had been murdered. Perhaps that explained the numbness.

Something else had died too, however. The system she had held dear, the reason she had chosen to wear this black uniform… everything, in fact, represented by the sword on her shoulder and on the sides of her staff car. What was it Ahasz had said? Empress Flavia is “a firm believer in justice”. Apparently not.

Yet Finesz had met Empress Flavia—the Admiral, as was—on a number of occasions. She could not say she knew the woman but this secret execution did seem out of character. Finesz had known the Admiral was a hard woman—She had, after all, mutinied because She thought it the only way to safeguard the Imperial Throne. And Rinharte had mentioned several instances of commerce raiding during those mutinous six years. Not to mention forcing Ormuz’s data-freighter,
Divine Providence
, to crash on Bato.

The Empress and Ahasz had history, of course. Had She hated him so much She’d do this? Yet Ahasz had hinted that their enmity was as much a part of a conspiracy as the millennia-old mystery he had mentioned.

Finesz blinked and realised the staff car was climbing the main road into Gahara. The journey from the House of Rectitude had seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. She sighed and sat back in her seat, her arms tightly folded across her bosom.

She remained in that pose as the vehicle entered the narrow streets of Gahara and eventually pulled up at the main entrance to Lady Mayna’s residence. An under-butler hurried out from the townhouse and pulled open Finesz’s door.

“Is Lady Mayna home?” Finesz asked as she climbed out. For appearance’s sake, she pulled her cap onto her head and, for the last time, pretended to be on official business.

“And Casimir Ormuz?” she added.

“Yes, ma’am. I will see if they wish to see you.”

“Tell them it’s Inspector Finesz.”

She followed the under-butler into the townhouse, nodding her thanks to the two footmen who held the door open. She had no sooner tucked her cap under her arm then the under-butler was back. He bowed deferentially.

“Her ladyship will see you, ma’am. If you would follow me?”

He led her deeper into the house, from the entrance hall and into a central atrium of dark-veined marble three storeys high. A wide staircase of polished black wood circled this space in an elegant curve and up this they trod. They passed the ballroom on the first floor and continued up to the reception rooms on the second floor. The under-butler stopped before one door, tapped lightly and then pushed it open. He stood to one side and gestured for Finesz to enter.

When Lady Mayna threw assemblies, Finesz suspected the room in which she found herself would be used for the playing of games. It was not really large enough to serve food—not unless the assembly were a very intimate party. At present, it was furnished with a sofa to seat six against one wall and a line of five armchairs against the wall opposite. It was otherwise unfurnished. The chairs were spartan in design, but their upholstered cushions and backs had embroidered upon them the winged snake of the Vonshuans. Finesz stood in the middle of the empty room, one hand to the hilt of her sword, and waited patiently for the lady of the house.

The marchioness entered five minutes later, stepping through a side-door to Finesz’s left. At her appearance, the inspector turned towards her and bowed.

“Inspector Finesz,” said Lady Mayna. “My brother has spoken kindly of you. As has Casimir.”

She crossed to the sofa and lowered herself gracefully onto it. Finesz was, perversely, struck by how much more regal this woman appeared in comparison to Empress Flavia. Yet they were so very different. Finesz had seen the broadcast by the Imperial Office of Promulgation, and had been embarrassingly amused by the sight of the Admiral with hair and wearing cosmetics. If Ahasz had won, Lady Mayna would now be a princess —

And that abruptly reminded her of the reason for her visit.

“I have some sad news, your ladyship,” Finesz said. “It’s his grace your brother. I’m afraid… well, I’m very sorry to say that he has been executed.”