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“Uh, nowhere. Back to the Palace, I guess.”

I changed di­rec­tion; Loiosh kept his com­ments to him­self.

I made it to the Palace with­out in­ci­dent, en­ter­ing through the Drag­on Wing just to be con­trary, and be­cause I was in a mood to glare back. I found some food, then crossed to the House of the Iorich.

I clapped, and, once again, he opened the door enough to peer out, then let me in. One of these days, I was go­ing to have to ask him why he does that.

I sat down and said, “The Em­press is launch­ing an in­ves­ti­ga­tion in­to the events at Tir­ma.”

“Yes,” he said. “I seem to re­mem­ber telling you that. What about it?”

“Do you think it’s a re­al in­ves­ti­ga­tion?”

He frowned. “As op­posed to what?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “A bunch of run­ning around, closed-​door tes­ti­mo­ny, fol­lowed by what­ev­er re­sult the Em­press wants.”

“I doubt it’s that, not from this em­press. I should find out who is in charge of it. That might tell us some­thing.” He stood up. “I may as well do it now.”

“Should I wait here?”

“Yes, but re­lax. This might take a while.”

I nod­ded. He slipped out. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. I guess I fell asleep, or at least dozed. I had some vague­ly dis­turb­ing dream that I can’t re­mem­ber, and woke up when Perisil came back in.

“Were you sleep­ing?” He seemed amused.

“Just rest­ing my eyes,” I said. “What did you learn?”

“It’s be­ing run by La­dy Jus­ticer De­saniek.”

He sat down be­hind his desk and looked ex­pec­tant­ly at me. “Sor­ry,” I said. “I don’t know the name.”

“She’s one of the High Jus­ticers. I trust you know what that means?”

“More or less,” I said.

“I know her. She isn’t cor­rupt­ible. She’s a lit­tle fast and loose with her in­ter­pre­ta­tions of the tra­di­tions, but com­plete­ly unim­peach­able when it comes to judg­ment and sen­tenc­ing.”

“So you’re say­ing that the in­ves­ti­ga­tion is straight.”

“Prob­ably. She’d be an odd choice if the Em­press didn’t want to ac­tu­al­ly learn what hap­pened, and why.”

“Might there be oth­er pres­sures on her, less di­rect than or­ders to rig it?”

He hes­itat­ed. “Maybe.”

“So then, how would some­one stop it?”

“Stop it?” he said. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Not me. There are oth­ers.”

“Who?”

“Let’s say pow­er­ful in­ter­ests. How would they go about stop­ping it?”

“I can’t an­swer that un­less you give me more in­for­ma­tion. What in­ter­ests? Why do they want to stop it? Pow­er­ful in what way?”

“All good ques­tions,” I said. I paused to con­sid­er just what I could tell him. It was frus­trat­ing: he could al­most cer­tain­ly tell me use­ful things if I didn’t have to wor­ry about what he might be made to tell.

“Just sup­pose,” I said, “that there ex­ist­ed a large crim­inal or­ga­ni­za­tion.”

I hes­itat­ed there; he watched me, lis­ten­ing, not mov­ing.

“And sup­pose,” I said, “that they had come up with a great idea for chang­ing the law in such a way that they made a lot of mon­ey, and that they were work­ing with cer­tain oth­er very pow­er­ful in­ter­ests.”

“How pow­er­ful?”

“As pow­er­ful as you can be at the bot­tom of the Cy­cle.”

“Go on.”

“And sup­pose that this idea for chang­ing the law re­quired putting pres­sure on the Em­press, and that this in­ves­ti­ga­tion had a good like­li­hood of re­liev­ing that pres­sure.”

“I’m with you.”

“How would such a hy­po­thet­ical or­ga­ni­za­tion go about stop­ping or sab­otag­ing the in­ves­ti­ga­tion?”

He was silent for a minute or two; I could al­most hear his brain bub­bling. Then he said, “I can’t think of any way.”

“Heh. Sup­pose they killed De­saniek?”

“Would they do that?”

“They might.”

“It wouldn’t work any­way. The Em­pire would find some­one else just as good, and make sure it doesn’t hap­pen again, and hunt down who­ev­er did it.”

“I sup­pose so. In any case, I apol­ogize; I un­der­stand this is out­side of your usu­al line of work.”

He shrugged and a wisp of a smile came and went. “It’s a wel­come break from think­ing about rules of ev­idence and forms of ar­gu­ment.”

“Oh? You don’t en­joy your work?”

“I do, re­al­ly. But it gets te­dious at times. This whole case has been a bit out of the or­di­nary for me, and I ap­pre­ci­ate that.”

“A plea­sure to be of ser­vice,” I said. “I can’t imag­ine do­ing what you do.”

“I can’t—that is—nev­er mind.”

“Do you care whether the per­son you’re de­fend­ing is ac­tu­al­ly in­no­cent or guilty?”

“In­no­cent and guilty are le­gal terms.”

“You’re evad­ing the ques­tion.”

“You should be an Iorich.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“The House has de­creed that, what­ev­er a per­son may or may not have done, he is en­ti­tled to be de­fend­ed. That is suf­fi­cient for me.”

“But if he tells you he did, doesn’t that—”

“No one would tell me that, be­cause I’d have to tes­ti­fy to that fact.”

“Oh, right, I knew that. But if, say, the per­son im­plies it, or hints at it—”

“I still give him the best de­fense I can, be­cause that’s what the House dic­tates, and what Im­pe­ri­al law de­crees as well.”

“And you feel good about that?”

He looked puz­zled for a minute. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Huh? Me? I’d feel bet­ter about it if the poor bas­tard was guilty. But I’m not an Iorich.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“It feels good if a guy walks away, then?”

“What are you get­ting at?”

“Noth­ing, re­al­ly. I’m mak­ing con­ver­sa­tion and let­ting the back of my head work on this prob­lem.”

“Oh.” He gave me an odd look, then said, “It feels good to make the best ar­gu­ments I can, and it feels good when, some­times, it ac­tu­al­ly has some­thing to do with jus­tice.”

“Jus­tice? What’s that?”

“Se­ri­ous ques­tion?”

“No, but an­swer it as if it were.”

“I don’t know. I don’t get in­to the deep­er, mys­ti­cal as­pects. Some do. But jus­tice? Edicts oc­ca­sion­al­ly have some­thing to do with jus­tice, but statutes al­most nev­er do.”

“Uh, what do they have to do with?”

“Prac­ti­cal­ity. For ex­am­ple, right here in Adri­lankha, when meat­pack­ing be­came such a big in­dus­try, they passed lo­cal statutes say­ing that any peas­ant who fell short for the year could be kicked off his land. The no­bles raised an out­cry, but didn’t have the clout to do any­thing about it.”

“I don’t un­der­stand what that has to do with meat­pack­ing.”

“Kick peas­ants off the land, there’s your la­bor force for the pack­ing plants. Along with a lot of East­ern­ers, of course.”

“Oh. Are they that, I don’t know, ob­vi­ous about it?”

“Some­times. In the area around Lake Shalo­mar—right where Tir­ma is—they dis­cov­ered sil­ver. First thing that hap­pened was an in­flux of min­ers, the sec­ond thing was an in­flux of mer­chants sell­ing to the mi­nors. So the Duke passed a statute tax­ing both the sale and the pur­chase of min­ing equip­ment, set tax­es to some ab­surd lev­el, and pro­vid­ed for the con­scrip­tion of any­one un­able to pay the tax. That’s how he re­cruit­ed his army. I don’t think you’d call that jus­tice.”