Dark Foundations (20 page)

The envoy leaned forward as if gazing into Merral's soul. “Above all, watch yourself.”

He shook his head as his form slowly dissolved, his darkness passing into the less solid darkness of the room.

“Wait! How much time do we have?”

“Very little,” came the answer, the words already fading away. “Before summer ends in Ynysmant, war will come to Farholme.”

8

“T
hree months.” Vero nudged the accelerator lever a fraction. “We have only three months before we are at war. That's my reading of what the envoy said.”

Merral glanced over his shoulder to reassure himself that the two-seater Lloyd drove still followed them. Vero had met them at the airport and after dropping Jorgio off at Brenito's old home, they now headed back into the main part of Isterrane.

The sun set behind torn clouds, tinting everything orange.

“I agree, but I wish he'd been more explicit,” Merral replied. “We always consider summer at an end when the schools restart. Say twelve weeks away. By any standards we don't have much time.”

“Very little. And the envoy just vanished?”

“Not a trace. No one else in the house heard anything.”

“Hmm.”

“In hindsight there's a lot I wish I'd asked him. But I was stunned—no,
appalled
—by the vision he showed me. Anyway, what I saw and heard confirmed your decision about the irregular forces. You have my full support.”

“Good. But the time scale is now desperately short. I had hoped for at least a year.”

“Can the work on the defenses be speeded up?”

Vero frowned. “We'll do what we can. But your account of what the envoy said has a detail that alarms me. ‘Be careful who you trust.' I don't like that at all.”

“Me neither. How do we guard against that?”

“A good question. We can start by being careful of what we say and who we say it to. We must always ask now, ‘Do they need to know this?'”

“But, Vero, every principle of the Assembly centers on openness.”

“Ah.” The word was drawn out. “But that was the past.”

There was another long and absorbed silence. A glance out of the window showed the Gardens of Querantal. Merral breathed in to catch the famous scent of the orange blossoms. The fragrance reminded him painfully of the innocent and tranquil world he had once known that now seemed to be lost forever.

“Incidentally, my friend,” Vero commented, “the presentation of that medal to you was seen everywhere.”

“You're joking! That was a local affair.”

“Perhaps, but you are a global personality now. Everyone saw it. There is an extraordinary interest in you. Your final comments have been much praised.”

“Oh, dear. I'm afraid I said too much. They were a mistake. I was rebuked.”

Vero stared at him, his eyes gleaming faintly. “Ah. I felt there was more to the envoy's appearing than you said. And how did Isabella take it?”

“Very badly. We were at a meeting this morning. Every time our eyes met I saw she was glaring at me.”

“‘Looking daggers' I believe they once called it.”

“A phrase I now understand. Anyway, I have written her an apology, but I fear the damage is done.”

“Ah.” Vero gave a sigh of unhappy resignation.

“Yes. Lloyd did a good job of protecting me from others. I should have warned him that I needed protecting from myself.”

Not long after, they entered what Merral considered the educational area of Isterrane. Vero pulled off onto a gravel driveway and stopped the vehicle before a single-floor structure tucked between two taller administrative buildings.

Lloyd pulled alongside and together they walked to the door.

“This,” Vero said, as he tucked his dark glasses in his shirt pocket, “is where you're going to be living. Narreza Tower is too public.” There was a pause, and Merral wondered if it was too close to Anya.

“This is the Kolbjorn Suite—an apartment unit for visiting off-world scholars.” After finding a key Vero opened the door. “Sorry about the lock. Security is now important.”

As they walked in, Merral glanced around. The suite was a large, four-bedroom apartment recently refurbished. There was a smell of new paint.

Vero pointed to a front room. “I suggest that Lloyd take this room by the door and you take an inner bedroom. It's more secure.”

Lloyd nodded.

Again we use the words
secure
and
security
.
Am I irritated or alarmed?

He trailed behind as Vero strode through the apartment and threw open the rear door. Lights came on to reveal a small, enclosed courtyard with a single palm tree, a few seats, and a small ornamental pond stocked with goldfish.

Vero stood beside Merral. “One of the big attractions is that it's not overlooked. You can sit here and no one will know whether you're here or not.”

“Does that matter?”

Vero's smile seemed pained. “My friend, the days when you could sit on an open balcony in full view of everybody are gone. At best, you are going to have a lot of unwelcome attention and at worst . . .” Vero shrugged and motioned Merral back inside. “You can look around here later. It's late, and I'm afraid I have a lot to do. Your encounter with the envoy only adds more urgency to my tasks. But I have one more thing to show you.”

Vero led them down a side corridor, stopping in front of a full-length mirror.

“Watch,” he said, pressing two tiny silver buttons at the side of the frame.

The mirror swung noiselessly and smoothly outward to reveal a narrow, poorly illuminated vertical shaft with a metal ladder at the rear.

“What is this?” Merral asked, suddenly aware of the smell of fresh dust and powdered stone.

“The Kolbjorn Suite is close to the center of the city and lies above one of the main utility passageways. I had a link put in last week.”

“Fascinating,” Merral said, beginning to uneasily formulate a guess at why the link had been made.

Vero pointed down. “It seemed too good an opportunity to miss. This is a way of entering and leaving the building without being seen. Twenty meters down is a passageway that leads to the Planetary Administration building. That's about a ten-minute walk away. I'll teach Lloyd the route soon. It may be useful as an emergency escape. And it allows me to visit you.”

“Aha,” said Lloyd, with a knowing glance at Merral. “Nice one, Mr. V.”

“I'm glad someone appreciates its value,” Vero said with a hint of frustration. He raised a finger in caution. “And don't reveal the existence of the route to anyone.”

“Why not? What else is down there?”

Vero's smile was pinched. “Oh, just the foundations. That's all.” He looked at his watch. “Now, I'm afraid I have work to do.” He raised his hand in a half-jesting salute. “Welcome back, Commander. Remember, you're down to see Corradon tomorrow at eight, and I expect you'll see Clemant afterward. So, when you are free, I will take you to your office.”

With a surprisingly nimble motion Vero grasped the ladder and lowered himself into the gloomy depths.

“Where are you off to?”

“Ah, it's a secret. We now live in a world of secrets. Good night to you both.”

And with that Vero disappeared from sight.

The next morning, Lloyd and Merral drove to the Planetary Administration building. As he entered, Merral was again made painfully conscious of curious faces turning toward him.
Can I ever be anonymous again?

After sending Lloyd to look for the new FDF offices, Merral made his way to Corradon's office and was shown in immediately.

He found the representative jacketless and with an open-necked shirt, stooping over a pot of yellow anemones on a corner table. As Corradon looked up and smiled, Merral wondered whether the smile revealed welcome or relief.

“Ah, Merral,” he said, walking over to shake hands. “Good to see you. You are recovered?”

“Largely, sir.” Merral couldn't bring himself to call the representative by his first name. “I should have the chest cast off this week. Then I can start gentle exercise. But I'm to avoid too much stressful physical activity for a bit.”

As Corradon slowly nodded, Merral looked at the representative carefully, trying to read his mood.
He seems dignified and unruffled,
but I must remember that with this man, surface appearances cannot be relied on
.
Here, in this public office, he wears his public face
.

“First time you've been here?” Corradon asked, waving a big hand around.

Merral nodded, looking about. The room was fuller and much less formal than he had imagined it would be. There were numerous books, statuettes, and plants on the shelves and the walls bore a series of maps, paintings, and family images. On the desk was an untidy pile of paper and datapaks and a small painting of a woman whom Merral recognized as Corradon's wife, Victoria. The single large window looked south to the sunlit sea, and on the floor were a number of large potted plants.

“I like the plants,” the representative observed in a melancholy voice, evidently catching Merral's gaze. “Increasingly, in fact. They are much less trouble to manage than people.” He gestured for Merral to sit on one of the two easy chairs in front of the desk.

“I saw your speech,” Corradon said, sitting heavily in the other chair. “Well done. Fine words.”

Merral considered confessing that it had been a bad mistake, but refrained.
I like Corradon
,
but I feel reluctant to trust a man who seems to be two separate people
. “Sir,” he said, “if I'd known it was to go out globally, I would have thought more about what I said. But I gather you have been giving a lot of speeches too.”

In an instant Corradon's look of dignified control dissolved into one of sad weariness. “Ah. Too many. A dozen speeches in five days. I have traveled a long way.” Corradon stared stiffly out of the window, then turned with a forlorn look on his face. His large frame seemed to sag. “And, of course, I had to see the bereaved. Widows, orphans, mothers, fathers. That's my job too.”

“How was that?”

“It was . . .” For a moment, Corradon seemed unable to speak, seemingly wrestling with his emotions. “Somber? Moving? Inspiring? All of these; there was courage also.” The words rang with affirmation, but the tired blue eyes told another story.

“I ought to meet them.”

“They will be here for the memorial service in ten days' time.” Corradon shook his head gloomily. “But there were too many, Merral. Too many.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No, you misunderstand me.” He leaned forward and brushed the leaf of an aspidistra by his feet. “I wasn't blaming you. I just found the losses . . . well, let's say I
felt
them—every single one of them.” He shook himself as if trying to free himself from something, and then turned to Merral. “Now, I suppose we'd better turn to business. You are happy with Sentinel Enand's irregulars?”