‘Too much emotion in your speechifying, Tehol Beddict. Marks deducted.’
‘Retreating to dry humour, janath?’
‘Ouch. All right, I begin to comprehend your motivations. You will trigger chaos and death, for the good of everyone.’
‘If I were the self-pitying kind, I might now moan that no-one will thank me for it, either.’
‘So you accept responsibility for the consequences.’
‘Somebody has to.’
She was silent for a dozen heartbeats, and Tehol watched her eyes-lovely eyes indeed-slowly widen. ‘You are the metaphor made real.’
Tehol smiled. ‘Don’t like me? But that makes no sense! How can I not be likeable? Admirable, even? I am become the epitome of triumphant acquisitiveness, the very icon of this great unnamed god! And if I do nothing with all my vast wealth, why, I have earned the right. By every rule voiced in the sacred litany, I have earned it!’
‘But where is the virtue in then destroying all that wealth? In destroying the very system you used to create it in the first place?’
‘Janath, where is the virtue in any of it? Is possession a virtue? Is a lifetime of working for some rich toad a virtue? Is loyal employment in some merchant house a virtue? Loyal to what? To whom? Oh, have they paid for that loyalty with a hundred docks a week? Like any other commodity? But then, which version is truer-the virtue of self-serving acquisitiveness or the virtue of loyalty to one’s employer? Are the merchants at the top of their treasure heaps not ruthless and cut-throat as befits those privileges they have purportedly earned? And if it’s good enough for them, why not the same for the lowest worker in their house? Where is the virtue in two sets of rules at odds with each other, and why are those fancy words like “moral” and “ethical” the first ones to bleat out from the mouths of those who lost sight of both in their climb to the top? Since when did ethics and morality become weapons of submission?’
She was staring up at him, her expression unreadable.
Tehol thought to toss up his hands to punctuate his; harangue, but he shrugged instead. ‘Yet my heart breaks for a naked hen.’
‘I’m sure it does,’ she whispered.
‘You should have left,’ Tehol said.
‘What?’
Boots clumping in the alley, rushing up to the doorway. The flimsy broken shutter-newly installed by Bugg in the name of Janath’s modesty-torn aside. Armoured figures pushing in.
A soft cry from Janath.
Tanal Yathvanar stared, disbelieving. His guards pushed in around him until he was forced to hold his arms out to the sides to block still more crowding into this absurd room with its clucking, frightened chickens and two wide-eyed citizens.
Well, she at least was wide-eyed. The man, who had to be the infamous Tehol Beddict, simply watched, ridiculous in his pinned blanket, as Tanal fixed his gaze on Janath and smiled. ‘Unexpected, this.’
‘I-1 know you, don’t I?’
Tehol asked in a calm voice, ‘Can I help you?’
Confused by Janath’s question, it was a moment before Tanal registered Tehol’s words. Then he sneered at the man. ‘I am here to arrest your manservant. The one named Bugg.’
‘Oh, now really, his cooking isn’t that bad.’
As it turns out, it seems I have stumbled upon another crime in progress.’
Tehol sighed, then bent to retrieve a pillow. Into which he reached, dragging out a live chicken. Mostly plucked, only a few tufts remaining here and there. The creature tried flapping flabby pink wings, its head bobbing this way and that atop a scrawny neck. Tehol held the chicken out. ‘Here, then. We never really expected the ransom in any case.’
Behind Tanal a guard grunted a quickly choked-off laugh.
Tanal scowled, reminding himself to find out who had made that noise. On report and a week of disciplinary duty should serve notice that such unprofessionalism was costly in Tanal Yathvanar’s presence. ‘You are both under arrest. Janath, for having escaped the custody of the Patriotists. And Tehol Beddict, for harbouring said fugitive.’
‘Ah, well,’ Tehol said, ‘if you were to check the Advocacy Accounts for the past month, sir, you will find the official pardon granted Janath Anar, in absentia. The kind of pardon your people always issue when someone has thoroughly and, usually, permanently disappeared. So, the scholar here is under full pardon, which in turn means I am not harbouring a fugitive. As for Bugg, why, when you track him down, tell him he’s fired. I will brook no criminals in my household. Speaking of which, you may leave now, sir.’