Babylon Steel (51 page)

“How nice of them,” I said.

“You are known and liked among the Ikinchli community.” Damn, did that mean he knew about Kittack? Probably.

“And you obviously have an ability to handle yourself in difficult circumstances.”

I shrugged. “I have a habit of getting into them. I’m trying to break it.”

“On Tiresana, I understand, you managed an extremely volatile situation quite remarkably.”

“How the hells do you know what happened on Tiresana?” I realised my hand had gone to my jaw. The scar was still there. I kept hoping it would fade, but it didn’t.

I was trying not to think about what that might mean.

Fain smiled. “Obviously I would like to hear your own version, if you feel inclined. But didn’t you wonder why the militia never questioned you further about the death of one Frithlit Oprentic?”

I stared. With everything that had happened since, I’d almost forgotten that little mouse-eared fraud existed.
Had
existed.

“You arranged that, did you?”

“Let us say I... smoothed things over. After all, his murderers are outside our jurisdiction, are they not?”

“And why would you do that, Mr Fain?”

“Because I want to ask you a favour, which you would find difficult to perform if you were incarcerated.”

“A favour.”

“How would you feel about acting as an unofficial Scalentine envoy? Firstly to Incandress, later, possibly, elsewhere?”

I almost choked on my wine.
“What?
You’re joking. Aren’t you?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, you should be,” I said. “I have a job, and a life, here.”

“You wouldn’t have to leave them. It would require occasional visits, only.”

“Doing what?”

“Observing the situation. Assessing. Creating contacts. Reporting back.”

“I believe the word is ‘spying,’” I said. “And, no offence intended, but were you drinking before I got here? Because, me? I’m not the discreet type. Nor am I particularly inclined to go about things in the approved fashion. I can hardly imagine anyone less suited.”

“Aside from all the reasons I have just given, that is why I am inclined to think you might be precisely suited.”

“You... what?”

“Madam Steel...”

“Oh, hells, you might as well go back to Babylon.”

He raised his glass. “Let me put it this way. The Diplomatic Section, or some version of it, is as old as Scalentine. And that has its advantages, in terms of experience, and knowledge. But it also has massive disadvantages.”

“‘The right orders, correctly signed’?” I said.

“Indeed. That sort of attitude can be a dangerous drag on getting things done. You do not seem to suffer from that kind of... over-caution.”

That time, I did laugh.

I said, after another glass, that I’d think about it.

And I will.

But I’m going home to the Lantern, first, and I’ll invite the Chief to eat supper with me and the crew. He’s one of us, now.

It’s the best life can offer. Better than godhead any day. Good food, good drink and good companions, safe under a friendly roof.

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

G
AIE
S
EBOLD WAS
born in the US to an American father and English mother, and has lived in the UK most of her life. She now resides in that bit of South East London known as ‘not as bad as New Cross.’

She began writing shortly after learning to read, and has produced a large number of words, many of them different.

She has worked as a cleaner (don’t laugh, Mum), secretary, till-monkey, stage-tour-manager, editor, and now works for a charity and runs occasional writing workshops. She is an obsessive reader, enthusiastically inefficient gardener and occasional poet.

She has a wonderful boyfriend, a paranoid cat and too much stuff.

Find out more at
www.gaiesebold.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A
LIST LIKE
this is always incomplete and will no doubt riddle me with guilt when I realise who else I haven’t mentioned, when it’s too late. However.

My parents, for bringing me up in a house full of books and trying to encourage me even when they didn’t know why I wanted to write this weird stuff. My sisters, for their constant support. Michelle Crawford, for being a wonderful teacher. The Noises Off bunch – you know who you are. The extraordinary T Party Writers (
http://t-party.org.uk/
) – I really couldn’t have done it without you.

Martin Owton for constant nudging. Sarah Ellender, superlative friend, muse, and ever-absorbent shoulder; and Luke, who lets me appropriate her a lot. My lovely agent, John Jarrold. The fabulous people at Solaris.

Dave, for more than I can possibly say. Thanks, sweetie.

And you, dear reader, for being interested enough to read at least this far.

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