by C. L. Polk
“It is,” Zelind said. “I’m surrendering it to the King.”
Miles glanced at the door to Grace’s office. “Something happened.”
“You could say that,” Zelind said.
Miles’s face went sour. “That’s just wonderful.”
The door lever sank with a click, and King Severin walked out, dressed in sporting clothes. Safety goggles hung from a rubber cord around his neck. His tweed jacket was quilted at the suede-covered shoulder. He halted, regarding the three of us.
“Is that my turbine?” King Severin asked. “Good of you to bring it so quickly.”
“How could I do otherwise, Your Majesty?”
How Zelind managed to say that without a hint of bitterness, I’ll never know.
“Take it out,” the King said. “I want to see it work.”
Zelind lifted the deep lid from the box, displaying the model turbine and lightbulb. Khe presented it to the King and exerted kher power, making the rotor blades spin so fast they blurred. After a moment, the lightbulb glowed.
Severin watched the rotor spin with a delighted smile. “It works. And you brought your design plans, detailing how you made the device?”
“I brought everything,” Zelind said. “Including my notarized surrender of my rights of invention to the public wealth.”
Severin’s mouth dropped open. He stared, completely speechless, closing his mouth, and opening it again. He pointed at Zelind, at the glowing lightbulb shining in kher hands. “Your surrender—what have you done?”
“I demonstrated my model in the offices of Kingston’s biggest newspapers and left behind copies of these documents for them to print,” Zelind said. “The fastest way to get aether back into the hands of the people is to freely distribute the means to produce and install turbines. I expect local businesses will start building them as fast as they can, and the country’s households will have a source of aether powering their homes before long.”
“You defied me,” Severin said.
“You asked me to surrender my invention to you, Sire. I’m here surrendering it. You—and every other Aelander—can build as many Thorpe turbines as you wish.”
“Some households and businesses will still have need of power from the national network,” Grace said. “Mx. Thorpe has acted for the sake of the public good—”
“And broken the monopoly on aether in the simplest, fairest way,” Miles said. “I’m certain the Grand Duchess will approve.”
“I’m sure she will,” King Severin said. His mouth twisted. He stared at Zelind for a long, unspeaking moment. “You’ve forfeited the prize money, you know.”
“I accept that,” Zelind said. “Where would you like me to take these plans, Sire?”
“I’ll take them.” Severin held out his hand. “Give them to me.”
“The Chancellor’s office will acknowledge receipt,” Grace said, and Severin’s face went red.
“That would be helpful, thank you.” Severin took the plans and marched out of Grace’s office.
We watched the door swing closed. We didn’t utter a word for one breath, then two, until Grace let out a sigh.
“Well,” Zelind said. “Huzzah for me; I’ve enraged a king.”
Tristan nodded. “Grace, does Severin carry grudges?”
“Over something this big? Yes.” Grace frowned at Zelind. “Are you sure you want this fight?”
“I’m sure I’m the only one who can fight it,” Zelind said. “I can’t let him use my turbine the way he used me, or any of my friends.”
“All right. I’ll try to talk him down, for your sake.” Grace turned to her brother. “I imagine you came to chide me into eating lunch, even though it’s long past.”
“Did you eat lunch?”
Grace smiled. “No.”
“Then let’s all go back to the suite,” Miles said. “Besides, Robin had me looking into something for her. I have some interesting information as a result.”
“What? About the—” I went silent. “I’d like to know what you found. Are you hungry, Zelind?”
“I’m always hungry,” Zelind said. “And curious.”
“I’m curious too,” Grace said. “Onora, please take messages from anyone who calls on me. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
SIXTEEN
Yellow Ribbons
Lunch was simple fare—creamy mushroom soup and sandwiches we had to make ourselves. We each had two before retiring to the sitting room.
Miles sat tucked under Tristan’s arm as we shared short glasses of spirits, warmed and mixed with syrup and bitters. “There. I have ensured that my sister won’t fall down from exhaustion because she never remembers that there’s such a thing as mealtimes.”
“Thank you, Miles. Did you ever think I skip lunch just so I can spend an hour in your company?”
“Is that true?”
Grace smiled against the rim of her glass. “I’m going to miss having you at the palace.”
Miles smiled back. “I’ll have to interrupt you with a basket. But I had to tell Robin about my progress in investigating Jacob’s murderer.”
“Yes. I’ve been politely dying for the last hour,” I said. “Did you find a woman like the one we were talking about earlier?”
Miles leaned away from Tristan and walked across the sitting room to a desk. “I found five women who held the rank of corporal-specialist currently residing here in Kingston.”
“Five? That many?”
“Just in Kingston,” Miles said. “There’s more who went in-country. Here.”
Miles returned with files. Each one had a grainy photograph of a woman clipped to the front.
“How’d you get those?”
“I took photos of their Service portraits.” He passed one to me, and I inspected a round-faced woman with a tiny smile as she looked at the camera. Did murderers smile?
“This is Millicent Roebuck. She was an archery champion in school, and volunteered for Service in exchange for paid tuition, where she exhibited her abilities with long-range shooting.”
“She served in the war?”
“She was discharged a month before Stanley declared war, and she declined to return to the Service. She’s going to have a baby any day now, but it’s touch and go. She’s been on bedrest for the last month.”
“Poor woman. And not our woman.”
“I don’t think so, no.” Miles produced another grainy photograph of a woman who kept up the constant battle to stay blond. “This is Caitrin Scholar. She’s a housewife, also pregnant, and she’s in a string quintet. She plays cello, violin, and viola.”
“Sniper rifle would fit in a cello case,” Zelind noted, and passed the photo to Grace.
“It would. I haven’t gotten close enough to her to know if she has an alibi for the murder.”
I nodded. “Who’s this next one?”
“Probably not one of our suspects,” Miles said. “Have a look.”
I picked up the photograph. I recognized her immediately, though her gaze looked at something above the camera and her mass of thick braids was pulled back from her face. “Isn’t that Amelia Summer? From the battle fatigue units at Beauregard?”
“She is, and she’s still there,” Miles said. “I don’t think she’s recovering swiftly.”
“Easy enough to find out if she took out a pass.”
“Indeed. These last two are interesting. This is Evelyn Plemmons. She’s a brand-new constable on patrol in Riverside—but she’s out of East Hillside, not Central.”
Evelyn stared at the camera as if she wanted to fight it. She had a long chin and a thin mouth, and wisps of pale hair slipped free of the style that was supposed to keep her hair back.
“I want to know everything you can find out about her. Who’s the last one?”
“Laura Debenham.”
“Laura?” Grace sat up. “What about her?”
Miles lifted the photograph. “You know her? I was about to say that she’s a royal guard.�
�
“She’s one of Severin’s bodyguards. He’s always preferred women for the job.”
Laura Debenham was perfectly composed in her recruit file picture. She didn’t smile. She didn’t frown. Dark hair, an oval face possessed of that peculiar symmetry that made it pretty.
I tapped the corner of the photo. “Does he usually pick pretty ones?”
Grace nodded. “Usually.”
“So she’s got a demanding job that keeps her busy,” I said. “So. Caitrin Scholar or Evelyn Plemmons, with Laura Debenham as the outside possibility.”
“I checked the duty roster at the palace. Miss Debenham was on shift with the King when Jacob was murdered. The report had them in the basement gun range—Severin’s an excellent shot himself, you know.”
“I had heard that.” I spread the photos out, pushing Millicent and Amelia off to the side, and then, after a moment, I pushed Laura’s photograph aside too.
Had I ever seen Caitrin or Evelyn? Caitrin didn’t live in Riverside, but her address was inside Albert Jessup’s electoral riding. Evelyn lived in the neighborhood she policed, however, and her address wasn’t that far from Clarence Jones Memorial. Or the stately, luxurious house where the Bays lived.
“Can you connect either of these two to Albert Jessup?” I asked. “He’s our most likely enemy. He has the reason to want Jacob dead—personally and professionally—and he certainly has the money to pay an assassin.”
“But how would he find one?” Miles asked. “Assassins don’t advertise in the paper, do they? What sort of access do you think he has to the criminal underground?”
I huffed. “I don’t know who Albert Jessup knows. He could have connections.”
“This is as far as I’ve gotten,” Miles said. “Where do you want to take this?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t want to accuse anyone until I’m certain.”
“This is where I come in,” Grace said. “I can do background on Albert Jessup. Do you mind if I scare him a little?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Audit his office finances,” Grace said. “Looking specifically for peculiarities. I’ll send in the accountants especially noted for finding fraud and laundered money. And I won’t be quiet about it.”
“Grace, you’re a brick,” Miles said. “That would help tremendously.”
Grace’s efforts might turn up a payment no one could explain. But what if it found regular contributions, smaller consistent payments? Albert could be funding whoever was sharing Solidarity’s secrets.
If Albert had hired an assassin, it wasn’t that much of a stretch to believe that he was responsible for the theoretical spy in the committee. We had a meeting in two days. I would find out if Tristan was correct, or if I was right to trust my people.
* * *
The Riverside Community Clinic held space in the basement of the community hall. I snuck in the back way, unseen, or else people would think I was there to examine patients and lend a hand. Someone had neglected the dishes in the tiny break room, and I washed cups until Theresa could smuggle me into the conference room for the meeting. But it was Tupper Bell who walked into the little kitchen, and my back crawled as I smiled at him.
“Theresa asked me to come and fetch you,” Tupper said. “I was hoping you’d have a minute.”
“For you, I have two,” I said, every nerve on alert. “What can I do?”
Tupper glanced behind him and then shut the door, leaning against it. “Have you heard anything about leads in Jacob’s murder? Anything at all?”
Would he be that bold? Did Albert know I was seeking out suspects, somehow? “I’m the best lead the police have right now.”
Tupper scoffed. “You?”
“They seem to think I was jealous of Jacob’s prominence in the movement.”
“Lazy fools,” Tupper muttered. “But there’s nothing else?”
“Nothing. The police aren’t doing a blessed thing.”
“And a murderer is walking around free. Maybe we should conduct our own investigation. Go to the papers.”
My tongue went dry. I couldn’t tell him not to do that. I had to tell him something. “I have someone making some discreet inquiries.”
“Discreet?” Tupper looked puzzled. “Don’t you think you should be more vocal about it? They suspect you.”
“All right,” I sighed. “I have someone doing some research into how one goes about obtaining a long-range sniper rifle as a private citizen, but it hasn’t turned up any leads yet.”
“You’d better find something fast,” Tupper said. “That trail’s getting colder every minute.”
I kept my shoulders square, and I held back the urge to sigh. I wasn’t any good at setting a trap for a spy, but Tupper had accepted my word. It was a plausible lie, and if repeated, wouldn’t lead to what we did know.
“We’d better get to the meeting before anyone wonders what’s keeping us.”
Tupper led the way to the meeting room, and I took a seat in one of the scarred but still sturdy rolling chairs around the battered walnut table.
Judita Linton slipped a ribbon bookmark into a hand-sized volume I assumed was a popular novel. “Good morning, Robin. I haven’t seen you since Jacob’s funeral. How are you?”
So friendly, but was she fishing for more information? If I took Tristan’s word for it, one of these people who had directed the path of the Solidarity movement was a spy.
Which one was it? Tupper Bell? Judita Linton? Dr. Smith? Agnes Gable? Gabrielle Meadows? Preston Grimes? These were my friends. These people were pillars of the movement. The foundation of the community. How could it be? I trusted every one of these people. I liked them. And one of them was supposed to be reporting our decisions to an enemy like Albert Jessup?
“I’m sorry I’m late.” I took a seat next to the tiny windows set high on the wall. Heat from the radiator warmed my back, but I kept on a pair of fingerless gloves against the chilly room.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Preston poured water into a glass made cloudy with scratches from years of scrubbing. “At last.”
“She couldn’t come in through the front door.” Theresa took a seat near the black slate chalkboard and put on her glasses. “But that reminds me. Can you take time in your schedule to do a shift at the clinic? The papers could show you as dedicated to the care of your community.”
“That’s a fine idea,” Preston said. “When do you think you’ll be able to do it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I could probably organize something after the Free Parliament goes into session. And I’ve been trying to figure out where to have those sessions when we’re not on display for the press.”
“Are you sure you want to have your meetings in the square in front of Government House?” Judita asked. “Maybe we should book Kingston Arena for the next one.”
“We’ll need to raise more money for a meeting space.” I found my pen and uncapped it, notepad in hand. “I think we could keep doing it where the public are welcome to attend, but the weather could turn bad any day. We need an indoor location.”
“We’re wasting time with this,” Agnes declared. “Didn’t you all read the papers?” She unfolded a copy of the Riverside Examiner’s special pull-out section detailing Zelind’s turbine, including the instructions on how to make one. “This is a breakthrough. An incredible breakthrough! Though I don’t know why you didn’t tell the bigger papers.”
“We did,” I said. “We gave them everything the Examiner decided to print.”
“Huh,” Agnes said. “Didn’t they believe you?”
“They seemed to.” I shrugged. “But only the Examiner ran it.”
Both the Herald and the Star had been properly impressed by Zelind’s model. It should have been front page news. But the Herald ran a story introducing the Elected Members of Severin Mountrose’s election, and the Sun had concentrated on the King promising to get the network back up and running as soon as possible,
with a flattering picture of King Severin posing by a glowing lamp. The Thorpe turbine wasn’t mentioned in the article.
“It’s serious,” Agnes said. “Your Zelind has invented a means of producing aether, and the king is claiming to have a solution at the same time.”
“His solution is Zelind’s turbine,” I said.
“But why didn’t Zelind enter to win the contest?” Tupper asked. “Why did khe give the design away for free?”
My tongue turned to lead. I picked up the water pitcher and poured cold water into a glass. What could I tell them? Normally I would have told them everything. I wouldn’t have thought twice to tell them the whole story. But if Tristan was right, somebody here couldn’t be trusted.
“That’s a long story,” I said.
“You have time to tell it,” Judita said. “I believe that Zelind’s design works. But what I can’t understand is why khe turned down two hundred and fifty thousand marks.”
Anything I said was going to leave this room. Anything I told the committee would go straight to Albert Jessup’s ears. I couldn’t refuse to tell them. That would lead to questions. If we had a spy, I couldn’t let on that I knew.
But they were going to report everything said in the meeting, including my “surprise” day at the clinic. All of our information was compromised. Tupper might be the spy, but he might not. Same with Preston, though I winced at the thought. And while Albert would be looking for something damaging, the only person who looked bad in this story was the King.
“The contest had unacceptable conditions,” I said. “They required the inventor to give up their right of invention.”
“That’s so unfair,” Gaby said.
“Zelind surrendered kher rights when khe released it to the public wealth,” Judita said. “There has to be more to it than that.”
“I can guess the rest,” Tupper said. “The King wanted to take whatever generator worked and repower the network. And Aeland Power and Lights, which is not a Crown corporation but a private one, would go right back to shoveling in money. Am I right?”
The committee turned to me. “Is he right?”