“Not all prices are measured in eagles,” Orlanko said. “Perhaps he craves some honor from His Majesty. Or an introduction at court. Or”-he paused significantly-“a seat on the Cabinet.”
Grieg looked pale and angry.
There was a long silence, which Torahn broke with a loud harrumph. “Make him Minister of State, I say. Almire hasn’t bothered to turn up to a meeting in years, and that just means more work for the rest of us.”
Grieg and Orlanko both ignored him, preferring to glare at each other. They broke off and looked up only when Janus gently cleared his throat.
“Surely,” he said, “the issue is whether Danton has committed a crime or not.”
Both Grieg and Orlanko seemed stunned by this assertion, and Marcus suppressed a laugh.
“After all,” Janus said, “we are a nation of laws. Freedom from arbitrary arrest was one of the rights Farus IV fought the Great Purge to win.”
“Indeed-” Orlanko began, but Janus spoke right over him.
“Danton has given a speech in the Triumph. That is not, as far as I am aware, a crime. There is a long precedent of tolerance there, except in cases of direct incitement to treason. Speaking against a foreign bank can hardly be treason, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“It can be treason if it goes against the interest of the government-” Grieg said.
Janus ignored him, too. “Danton has also distributed a large number of Second Pennysworth bills to underprivileged citizens, in a laudable act of charity. This, too, is not a crime. We should always encourage the most fortunate among us to extend a hand to the least.”
Orlanko was smiling now, and Grieg clenching his teeth. Janus put on a thoughtful look.
“And yet,” he said, “the combination of these two acts and the content of his speeches certainly makes it appear as though he is engaged in a deliberate attempt to defame or injure a commercial enterprise, namely the Second Pennysworth Bank. And that, I’m afraid, is a crime. It remains to be proven, of course, but there are certainly grounds for an arrest, and I’m sure the truth will come out in the trial-”
“Don’t be stupid,” Orlanko snapped. “Arresting him is bad enough, but if you bring him to trial the streets will go mad.”
“I have no choice, Your Grace,” Janus said. “I’m charged with upholding the laws of Vordan. I swore an oath to the king to that effect.”
Now Grieg was smiling. Orlanko looked from him to Janus, and Marcus could picture the tiny gears behind those glass lenses whirring at phenomenal speed.
“Captain,” Janus said.
“Sir!” Marcus came to his feet and saluted crisply. He could tell when he was being used as a prop, and thought he might as well play the role to the hilt.
“You are to take Danton Aurenne into custody as soon as possible, along with any other individuals who may have contributed to his conspiracy. He is to be given all due rights and processes. Is that understood?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Don’t be foolish.” Orlanko turned to appeal directly to Marcus. “Captain, you must know what will happen if you arrest Danton. It is your Armsmen who will be on the front lines in the event of rioting. I urge you to reconsider.”
Marcus kept his face calm with an effort, but inside he was grinning savagely. “With respect, Your Grace,” he said, “I take my orders from the Minister of Justice, not from you. I also swore an oath to the king. If you would like them changed, I suggest you take the matter up with my lord Count Mieran.”
Something played at the corner of the duke’s mouth, but his eyes remained invisible blurs behind his spectacles.
“Well,” he said, “if the Minister of Justice has quite made up his mind, I have preparations to make. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
All eyes followed Orlanko as he rose stiffly and left the room. He nearly ran into a footman in the act of knocking on the door on the way out, and pushed past him without a word. The footman, red-faced, stepped to one side and then met the assembled gazes of the most powerful men in Vordan with evident embarrassment.
Janus rescued him. “Yes? Did you have something for us?”
“Yes, my lord,” the man said, bowing deep. “Doctor-Professor Indergast begs an audience with the Cabinet.” His eyes flicked after the vanished Orlanko. “Shall I tell him the meeting has ended?”
Grieg started to say something, but Janus overrode him. “His Grace has departed, but the rest of us are still here. Bring him in.”
The footman bowed, withdrew, and returned a moment later leading an old man in the silver-threaded black robes of a University professor. Indergast had only a wispy remnant of silver hair, and he walked hunched over, as though there were a great weight on his shoulders. When he raised his head to look around the room, however, his sunken eyes were sharp and intelligent.
“Doctor-Professor,” Janus said. “Welcome. I regret that we have not had the chance to meet before this.”
“Count Mieran,” Indergast said, with a faint Hamveltai accent. He ducked his head. “Forgive me if I do not bow, but I am afraid I might not be able to straighten up again.”
“Of course. Please, take a seat.”
“No, thank you, my lord. I will not keep you long.”
Janus nodded. “You have news for us, then?”
“I do.”
“Good news, I hope,” Torahn drawled.
“I’m afraid not, my lords.” Indergast cleared his throat. “The malignancy in His Majesty’s left armpit is on the verge of reaching the major vessel there. If it is not removed, it will kill him within a few weeks, at the longest, and much of that time he will be in terrible pain. If he is to be saved, I must operate within the day.”
Janus looked across the table at Torahn and Grieg. The former shrugged, while the latter would not meet his gaze.
“Then you must operate, of course,” he said. “Is there anything you require?”
“It is not as simple as that,” Indergast said. “His Majesty is not a young man, and the malignancy has greatly weakened him. There is a chance-a very good chance, I’m afraid-that he will not survive the surgery, or that he will lack the strength to recover.”
There was a long silence. Torahn coughed.
“Seems clear enough,” he said. “If you operate, he might live. If not, he’ll die for certain. Better to throw the dice, eh?”
“Has His Majesty expressed an opinion?” Janus said.
“Regrettably, he has not been conscious for some time,” Indergast said. “I waited as long as I dared, hoping to put the question to him, but now I believe he will not wake until after the surgery, if at all. I have therefore come to you, my lords.”
“His Majesty was never one for letting go of something if there was a chance of making it come out right,” Torahn declared. “He would have wanted to chance it.”
“I must agree with the Minister of War,” Janus said. He glanced at Grieg, who gave a brief nod. “Very well. Please proceed, Doctor-Professor. I wish you the very best of luck.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Indergast said. “As I have said, the prospects are dim, but if we have faith perhaps God will have mercy.”
“One thing,” Janus said. “The city is in a delicate state. I must insist that this news not spread any farther, and that no one be allowed to leave the king’s chambers once you begin the operation.”
“Yes,” said Grieg fervently. “Wild rumors are the last thing we need.”
“I understand,” said Indergast. “I will begin the preparations.”
They watched the old man hobble painfully out of the chamber. Once the door closed behind him, Torahn said, “The princess ought to be told, at least. Preparations need to be made, just in case.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Grieg snapped. “If we start polishing up the funeral carriage, you don’t think that will start a rumor?”
“Still, common decency and all that. The girl deserves to know about her own father.”
“Agreed,” Janus said. “But we dare not trust the information to a servant. My lord Torahn, if you would be so good as to visit Her Highness personally? And impress upon her the need for secrecy.”