Behind Jehovah the crier announced, “The Honorable Mycroft Guildbreaker, Prases Minor, Nepos Imperatoris, Familiaris Regni, Ministerque Porphyrogenis, and the Reverend Father Dominic Seneschal.”
The two wore the formal livery Madame had designed for this room, Dominic his black suit, Martin a light gray uniform, corded and military to match his Emperor’s, with white cording on his right shoulder to represent the white sleeve of his Ordo Vitae Dialogorum. The pair brought printed lists on paper, and handed one to each Power within the room, ready to be kept forever as evidence, or destroyed at once, as the holder willed.
“Who knew about this?” Kosala asked. “It’s some low-level conspiracy, right? It can’t have been the leaders, they…” She winced as she found her eyes already straying to Andō and Ganymede. “You didn’t know, right? Andō?”
Would he have tried to lie, I wonder, had he not raised his eyes to find Jehovah’s staring at him? Men tell me that Jehovah’s eyes look dead, a blackness which focuses on nothing and reflects nothing, lightless as the emptiness of Space. They must, I think, be atheists who say this, for, to me, the black of heaven that we see behind the stars is more alive than anything.
“This system is older than its current leadership,” Andō began, “remember that. We inherited this, one of the powers of our offices. We could no more abandon it than you could throw away that black sleeve, MASON.”
Caesar’s eyes fell to his left hand. “Have you killed Masons?”
“One thousand and twenty-one Masons,” Jehovah supplied, “seven hundred and eighty-two Cousins, two hundred and fifty-six Brillists, twenty-eight Hiveless, and one hundred and seventeen Europeans in the years before Europe joined the conspiracy.”
“I want Andō to answer, Fili.”
Never let it be said that the Mitsubishi Chief Director cannot meet Caesar’s iron gaze. “I have a duty to my Hive as you do, MASON. This is part of it.”
“That’s right,” Perry chimed in. “It’s like the Emperor’s duty to torture their successor, or how the Déguisé inherited all the duties of the Anonymous, even the shady ones.” He avoided Bryar’s hot glance. “We didn’t create this system. You think we want the world to be dependent on murder?”
I spotted tears in Spain’s eyes. “You knew, Prime Minister?”
Perry forced himself to face the King. “Yes, Your Majesty, I’ve known for years, ever since I was appointed to the Special Means Committee. That’s what they … we … do. The committee was created a hundred and twenty years ago by the subministers that made the deal to join this three-way alliance. It’s been so good for Europe, you can’t possibly imagine. The committee existed to let Europe participate in the system without the knowledge of the Prime Minister, to protect you and your predecessors from involvement with the assassinations because … because…”
“Because His Catholic Majesty goes to confession,” Madame supplied.
Kosala could hardly keep herself from ripping the paper in her shaking hands. “You mean because Spain has a conscience, unlike some.”
“Conscience?” Andō repeated, hoarse with scorn as if Kosala had just recommended some useful artifact to its inventor. “My conscience could not be clearer. Thousands, perhaps millions of lives are saved by every war we stop. All your charities have never given so much as a band-aid to so many.”
“War?”
Just as, at sunset, the battlemented fortresses scattered across the Greek coast by the old Venetians stand in black blocks against the sea’s rose gold, so Andō stood stark against the sparkling twins. “War, Bryar,” he confirmed. “Riots. Slaughter. Death. Déguisé can tell you, they watch the numbers more closely than any of us. How many close calls have we had, Déguisé? How many ripples in the Hive balance that would have exploded if something invisible hadn’t tipped us back from the brink?”
“I … the self-correction. It’s tr-ue.” The words cracked as they rose from the Anonymous’s manikin. “That’s what the self-correcting push is. I’d noticed it. I didn’t understand it until now, but the worst of the trends always reset, settle down just before the point of no return. I always worried about recessions in the past, economic contraction, but since Sniper shared Tully Mardi’s speech at Ingolstadt this morning I’ve realized the ripples have been threatening something a lot worse than a recession. The Hives are not as friendly to each other as we like to think. It’s true. It has been stopping war.”
“What are you saying?” Bryar cried. “That it’s okay? That they should get away with murdering thousands of people?”
“Of course not,” the Anonymous replied, “and certainly not in secret to further their Hives’ interests against the others. They’ve been doing that, too, I can see it now. The inexplicable resets always favor those three Hives.”
Kosala rushed a pace toward the doll, as if to seize or slap it. “That’s what matters to you most? Hive bias? Then I suppose it would’ve been okay if they did it for everyone equally?”
“We did.” Andō’s declaration brought not only Bryar’s glare, but everyone’s. “A ship that boards too much cargo will sink, however strong. The Masons have benefited from this as much as we have. So have your Cousins. We can even save your CFB now if you like, we have a plan all ready. We were going to do it for you in the spirit of goodwill, but if you’d rather we can let you fall apart.”
Would you expect the lady to threaten tears here, reader? That Kosala did, but threatened fists as well.
Headmaster Faust glanced up from reading. “I have students on this list.”
Director Andō nodded acknowledgment. “Not as many as you would have lost in wars.”
Faust glared. “I was talking to the system’s creator, Andō, not to you.”
“The system is three hundred years old, Felix. Its creators are long dead.”
The old Headmaster shook his head. “Not their ideas. The Humanists created this. No one else sees history as composed of individuals. On their own the Mitsubishi would target corporations, Masons governments, Europe nation-strats, me bash’es, the Anonymous ideas. Only the Humanists still think the world is made of individuals.” He leaned forward. “Ganymede? You can’t pretend you aren’t the heart of this.”
The Duke President had sat detached, giving the papers a half skim as he continued to sooth his trembling sister. “This list is just names.” He looked to Jehovah. “Does Your Highness have more exact proof?” Even in such crisis His Grace does not forget the title due an Emperor’s Son.
“Not yet, Your Grace,” Jehovah answered, “but the Commissioner General is close to proof.”
Ganymede’s lips pursed for a moment—a stifled wince perhaps? “The Commissioner General. How many of their staff know?”
Kosala’s face grew dark. “Ganymede, you still haven’t answered if you knew.”
The Duke crossed his arms, the yellow diamond fabric flashing like the Sun without its warmth. “A leader is responsible for the actions of his Hive, regardless of personal involvement. Even if I didn’t know, if my Hive is guilty then I am, so are Andō, Perry, His Majesty, and all others who have led our Hives in the last three centuries.” He waited for Spain to nod. “But blame can wait. What matters now is that we stop the police from exposing this without warning and throwing the world into—”
“Donatien,” Faust interrupted, “is Ganymede a murderer?”