“It’s not in keeping with the formal tone he feels is professional in office environs. He is looking forward to correcting the laxity.”
Kaylin’s bread now resembled clay. Her stomach was kind enough to stop growling, so her throat could pick up the sound.
“Change your clothing,” he added. “And you may have to get your hair cut.”
“What?”
“I think you heard me.”
“My hair?”
“It’s not regulation length.”
“Neither is Teela’s!”
“I believe he intends for all of the Hawks to sport regulation cuts.”
If she hadn’t swallowed the mouthful, she would have probably sprayed it across the room. “He thinks he can make the Barrani cut their hair?”
“He hopes to make his mark on the office,” Severn replied, a perfectly serious expression smoothing out the lines of his face. “I think he believes it will speak well of his tenure if he can be seen to have effected changes that Marcus could not.”
“Marcus never tried.”
“No. But there are no Barrani in Missing Persons. There are no Leontines. There are no Aerians.”
“So what you’re saying is you think he failed Racial Integration classes as well.”
“Pretty much. Oh, I imagine he passed them—some people can pass a test without ever looking at the content.”
“The Aerians pretty much go by regs. I keep my hair out of the way.”
“I don’t think that will be a convincing argument. Stay clear of it if he brings it up.”
“What does that mean?”
“Say yes, and ignore him for a day or two. Your yes will pale beside the very Barrani No he’s likely to get from twelve of his Hawks. He’s not a fool. I imagine that the dictate will be quietly set aside as insignificant given the flaws that he obviously sees in the present office bureaucracy. By which I mean reports and paperwork. He will feel the need to impress upon his superiors the qualities that he can bring to the job, particularly if those qualities are ones which his predecessor lacked.”
She nodded, and finished eating. Then she picked up what was hopefully a clean shirt, and began to change. It was going to be a long day.
“Kaylin?”
“Hmm?”
“Someone mirrored you.”
“Oh, right. I didn’t want to look in case it was Mallory. Who was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well look.”
He was silent for a moment, after which he said, “Your mirror isn’t keyed?”
“Hells no—that costs money.”
“Kaylin—the Hawks would pay to have it done. Some of our investigations would not be helped if anyone could listen in on more sensitive discussions.”
“Look, if someone’s listening in on my life, they’ve got no bloody life of their own, and they’re welcome to be as bored as they like. Usually it’s just Marcus screaming about the time, anyway.”
She could tell by the set of his lips that the conversation was not finished. He did, however, touch the mirror and ask for a replay.
The mirror hummed a moment, and then went flat.
“You said this wasn’t keyed.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s not playing.”
“Crap. If it’s broken, I’ll—I’ll—” She shoved a stick into the bun she had made of her hair, and stomped over to the mirror. What she did not need right now was anything she couldn’t afford. A new mirror being her chief concern.
“Mirror,” she said, in the tone of voice she usually reserved for choice Leontine words. “Replay.”
The mirror shimmered, the neutral matte of its sleeping surface slowly breaking to reveal a face. A Leontine face.
“The mirror’s not keyed,” Kaylin said, her voice losing heat as she struggled with her very inadequate memory. The woman was familiar. Not one of Marcus’s wives—she knew all of them on sight, having been to their home dozens of times before she was allowed to join the Hawks.
“No,” Severn said thoughtfully. “But the message is. I can wait in the hall if you want the privacy.”
“Don’t bother. It’ll save me the hassle of repeating what it says. I know her,” Kaylin said suddenly. “I saw her when I went to the Quarter for the midwives. Her name was Arlan. But it was supposed to be—”
“Kaylin Neya,” the woman said, her voice so hushed Kaylin wasn’t surprised when the image in the mirror turned and looked over its shoulder furtively. “You came. You helped birth my son, Roshan Kaylarr. He has need of your aid, and there is no one else I can ask. I humbly beseech you, return to him.” She looked over her shoulder again. “I cannot speak freely. But come again this evening at the same hour you arrived in my den on your first visit. Come alone, if it is possible. Bring only people you can trust, if it is not. I must go.” She faced the mirror fully and said a phrase in Leontine before the mirror blanked.
Severn looked at her. “What did she say?”
“You don’t know?”
“I didn’t understand all of the Leontine, no.”
“But you always understand more than I do.”
He raised a brow.
“She said her throat was in my claws.”
“That’s what it sounded like. What does it mean?”
“She’s begging. More than begging. She’s promising that she’ll do anything—anything at all—that I ask of her in return for this favor. No, it’s more than that—she’s saying that if I don’t do this, she faces a fate worse than death. Yes, it’s a little over the top. They don’t use it much.” She closed her eyes. “Her son was the only cub in her litter, and he barely survived the birthing. If something’s gone wrong with him—”
“She would have called you now, not at some unspecified hour.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Kaylin replied, rearranging her hair thoughtfully. “I’m also thinking that it can’t be entirely coincidence that something’s wrong in the Quarter at this time. I went in to help with the baby—Leontines don’t usually call in the human midwives, but…it was an odd birth. None of her wives were present and she was alone. The entire place was empty. I left the midwives behind because it was the Leontine Quarter, and they allowed it—barely.”
“She looks—and I admit I’m not an expert in Leontine physiology—young. Maybe she has no wives yet.”
“Maybe. And maybe she got my name from Marcus the first time I visited, and maybe she can tell us something about what’s happening to him.”
“Careful, Kaylin. You don’t want to start an intercourt incident.”
“I never want to start an incident,” she replied, opening the door. “Then again, I never want to stand in the rain getting soaked either. Some things are just beyond my control.”
As if in reply to this, he reached into his pouch and pulled out the heavy, golden bracer that she wore when she wasn’t with the midwives. Or, more accurately, when she wasn’t being called upon to use the strange magic that came with the marks on her arms, legs and back.
“That’s why you came?” she asked, taking the bracer and clamping it firmly shut around her wrist.
“That,” he replied, “and to make sure you get to work on time.”
Clint was on duty. If she had the timing right, he’d flown to the Southern Stretch, slept and flown back, without much else in between. He didn’t look surprised to see her and, given she had been on time two days in a row, this said something. It wasn’t a good something, but it was something. He let them both in without a word, although he returned Severn’s nod as they passed.
Her first stop was the Quartermaster. Given the silent war they’d been waging for the past several weeks—over a stupid dress, no less—she expected bad news. She had no doubt at all that the acting Sergeant had asked for a general inventory of items, and the various Hawks those items currently resided with. Kaylin’s minor problem was that she’d lost one hauberk, one surcoat and two daggers. If she had lost them i
n the line of Official duty—which did happen in some of the messier takedowns—that was considered an expense for the Departmental Budget; if she’d lost them—as she had—to work that must remain unofficial, she was going to be out the money.
Or out the door.
Begging was something she’d done in her time, but it didn’t come naturally now. Nor did letting down her guard. She had, however, decided to take Severn at his word. She needed to play nice, to be official.
The Quartermaster was clearly in the middle of the inventory that she guessed he’d been asked to take. He took about five minutes to look up, a sure sign that he’d seen her coming.
He surprised her. “I see you’ve managed to hold on to the surcoat for a day. Color me surprised.” He bent below the counter and came up with two daggers, in reg sheaths, in his hand. “Put them on. Don’t lose them.”
She was almost speechless.
“I don’t like your attitude,” he told her. “I never have.”
She nodded. The fact that she felt the same about him was not something the conversation needed at the moment. It seemed to be—miraculously—going well on its own.
“But you’ve earned your rank, such as it is. And you’ve got keen sight. Maybe in ten years, experience will grind the edges off you. Maybe it won’t. But if you want to get yourself cashiered, it’ll have to be for a better reason than losing armor and weapons while saving the City. I’ve marked the loss as in the line of duty. If he asks, lie.” He paused and added, “If you repeat that, I’ll have a sudden change of heart. Is that understood, Private?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Go away. I’m busy.”
“Yes, sir.” She made it about four steps from the desk when he said, quietly, “Good luck, girl.”
Severn said, much more quietly, “If nothing good comes of Mallory, at least you’ve made peace with the Quartermaster. Try to make it last.”
Even before they made it to the heart of the office, Kaylin noted one change: the duty roster. It had been rewritten on a pristine roll of paper, in a fastidiously tidy hand, and the only holes in it were the ones beneath the pins. She saw that she was still marked for Imperial Palace duty, as was Severn. If she’d hated the idea when she’d first seen it, she was grateful for it now—it meant time away from the office.
To one side of the roster, in an equally neat hand, was a smaller piece of paper. On it, under a prominent heading that said Code of Conduct were a bunch of lines with numbers beside it. Usually, this was exactly the type of document the Hawks ignored, if they noted it at all. Kaylin, aware of how much she would have to change in order to remain a Hawk, grimaced and read.
All official documentation is to be written in Court Barrani.
For investigations in process: All reports are to be tendered no more than forty-eight hours after the relevant investigation takes place.
For arrests: All reports are to be tendered no more than twenty-four hours after the relevant arrest takes place.
There will be no betting or drinking on the premises. There will be no betting or drinking while on duty anywhere.
The Official City languages are not to be used to promulgate obscenities.
Before beginning your rounds, you will clock in. There are no exceptions to this rule. When finished, you will clock out.
Regulation dress and grooming is mandatory while on duty.
Kaylin said nothing while she read. She said nothing after she finished, taking a moment to school her expression. When she was certain she looked calm, she turned to face the rest of the office. The first thing she should have noticed was Marcus’s absence. But the first thing she did notice was that Caitlin was missing. At the desk beside the mirror from which most general office business was done, an older man sat. He was trim and fit in build, with a very well-groomed beard; his hair had grayed enough to be salt-and-pepper, but not enough to be white.
She hesitated for a moment, and managed to stop herself from running up to the desk and demanding to know where Caitlin was. But it was hard. Had Severn not been at her side, it might well have been impossible.
The rest of the office seemed to have taken the change in stride, if you didn’t notice the silence that hovered above a group of people famed for their gossip and chatter. One or two of them met her eyes in silence.
“Who is he?” she asked Severn, her voice a muted whisper.
“Caitlin’s replacement. Sergeant Mallory wished to work with a man who’s accustomed to him. It comes with the job,” he added, before she could speak. “His name is Kevan Smithson.”
“He worked in Missing Persons?”
“For eight years. Before that, he was part of the office pool here. Let’s get this over with,” he said, and began to walk toward the desk that Mallory now occupied.
She’d burn in hell before she called it his desk.
“Corporal Handred,” Sergeant Mallory said, looking up from his paperwork. Kaylin was barely willing to give him this: it was half the size of the stack she’d last seen, and it was a good deal more tidy. “Private Neya.” He rose as he said her name. She stood at attention. She wasn’t particularly good at standing at attention on most days, but on most days, it wasn’t demanded.
He didn’t, however, seem to notice. “You are both on call at the Imperial Palace.”
“Sir,” Severn replied.
“I have attempted to ascertain the duration of your work at the Palace, but the Imperial Court could not be precise.” He turned, then, to look at Kaylin. “You are not the Hawk I would have chosen for that duty,” he said, reaching behind him to pick up a folder. There was no immediately visible writing on it, but Kaylin had a pretty good idea of what it contained. “And I have spoken with the Hawklord about this matter. Apparently, you were specifically requested.”
“Sir,” she said, hoping she sounded as curt—and as correct—as Severn.
“You will report to the office before you leave for the Palace while you have duties there.”
“Sir.”
“And you will tender a report of your activities to Mr. Smithson at the end of each day.”
“It’s neither an investigation nor an arrest,” she told him.
“Yes. I’m aware of that. But given the delicate nature of relations with the Palace, and given the probability that I will be called upon to explain your behavior while there, I require a report.
“Ah, and I wish you to lift your right arm.”
She did as he ordered.
He walked over to her and rolled up her sleeve. The golden surface of the bracer caught the ambient light, reflecting it perfectly. “I will also require you to show proof of your compliance with the Hawklord’s orders when you report.
“You are aware, perhaps, that the former Sergeant and I did not see eye to eye on many things. I have spent some time perusing your file,” he said, lifting and waving it as if it were a red flag and Kaylin were a bull, “and while I better understand some of his decisions with regards to your behavior, I feel that he placed too much emphasis on your possible import.
“I will be watching you, Private Neya. Do one thing to embarrass this department, and you will no longer be part of it. Is that understood?”
“Sir.”
“Yes or no, Private.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Dismissed.”
Kaylin took a breath and walked away from his desk.
“Private! That is not the way to the carriage yards.”
She turned on heel. “No, sir. I’m reporting to the Hawklord.”
“No, Private, you are not. I report to the Hawklord. You report to me. Is that clear?”
She was almost speechless. Having to walk past Mallory—and be interrogated by him—was one thing. Being told that all communication between the Hawklord and herself was forbidden was another. Her hands slid up to her hips.
Severn stepped on her foot. She met his gaze and saw the warning in it.
&
nbsp; Was about to ignore it entirely when Severn said, “If you’re cashiered, you can’t help Marcus.”
“Sir,” she said, in a slightly strangled tone of voice.
“Good. Do not be late for your assignment.” He went back to the desk that, damn it all, he shouldn’t be behind, and took the chair. “I look forward to your report this evening.”
“Kaylin, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Severn told her quietly. “There’s every chance that Mallory will keep an eye on you for the first couple of weeks.”
Kaylin said nothing. Instead of making her way to the carriage yards, she had made her way to the Aerie. In it, high above her head, and just below the vaulted ceilings, the Aerians were flying. She knew most of them by name. Certainly all of them on sight.
“I know what I’m doing,” she told him, each word a little bolt of fury.
“I know what you intend to do as well,” he replied. “I just don’t think it’s wise.”
“I’m not asking you to come.”
“No. You are not, however, on your way to the Palace.”
“Rennick won’t even be awake.”
“True.”
“So there’s no point in going there now.”
“Less true,” Severn said.
“You didn’t tell Mallory that we’re not required until well past lunch?”
“No. I thought we might make use of the time.”
“I am.”
“In less obvious disregard of your superior officer’s orders.”
She made her way to the middle of the Aerie and waited. In about five minutes, three of the flying Aerians began to circle lower, and eventually they landed. Two of them were Hawks; one was a Wolf. The Wolf nodded carefully at Severn, who returned the nod.
“If the change of leadership doesn’t suit you, Corporal Handred, the Wolves are waiting.”
“It’s an internal matter,” Severn replied, with care. “But I’ll remember what you’ve said.”
The two Hawks watched Severn for a moment, weighing him. Severn had been a Hawk for a couple of months—at most—and most of his duties didn’t bring him in contact with the Aerians. Most of Kaylin’s didn’t, either, but that hadn’t always been the case, and with the Aerians, history counted for something.