Despite her best efforts she now found herself in a room full of them. Governor Innate stood by the hearth here, in his private study, one arm resting on the mantel. Arrayed before him were the men and women of his executive staff, a hearty bunch who didn’t seem nearly as groggy as the constables and guards who had been called up in the middle of the night.
In fact, the group displayed a distinct energy as they discussed the crisis. Their words tumbled over one another in their eagerness to express their opinions, like children vying for parental approval. Marasi stood beside the window—where the governor had put her, saying he’d get to her later. So she waited, listened, and circumspectly took notes on her pad. If the kandra happened to be hiding among them, she doubted a verbal slip would enable her to recognize Bleeder, but it seemed the best use of her time as long as she was required to stay put.
“It will all blow over,” repeated the city sanitation director. He was an attorney who had been through the same program she’d completed, albeit many years ago. Marasi wasn’t sure why he needed a law degree to run city sanitation. “Rep, you’re taking this too seriously.”
“I am taking an attempt on my life too seriously?” Innate asked. “An attack that left one of my lifelong friends dead?”
That brought a stillness to the room, and the sanitation director settled back down, red-faced. Innate had changed his shirt from the one stained red with blood, but Marasi knew they all had seen him before he’d done so. She rather thought he’d delayed changing until they had.
“I wasn’t talking about the assassination attempt,” the sanitation director said. “I meant the ruckus outside. It will blow over.”
“They’re already looting,” the minister of trade noted, a bespectacled woman who had brought two aides to take notes for her. She hadn’t offered them seats.
“There will always be looting,” the sanitation director said. “It happens. We hunker down, let burn what needs to burn. Contain, rather than try to stamp out.”
“Foolishness,” said the secretary of education, a corpulent woman who sat with her feet up by the crackling fire. “This is a time for decisiveness, my lord governor. You need to show your rivals that you are not easily cowed. You know the Lekals have been getting traction lately, and your brother’s scandal will only fuel their ambition. Mark my words, they will present a strong candidate to rival you at the next election, and he will lean on this night’s events to discredit you.”
“Yes,” said the minister of public affairs. “Could they be behind the assassination attempt, perhaps?”
The governor glanced toward Marasi—the first time he’d acknowledged her since the meeting had begun. He knew about MeLaan now; she’d shown her true nature to him just before the meeting started. He believed, and had begun by explaining to the executive staff about the rogue kandra. The others obviously considered it foolishness and, after the way of their kind, were simply ignoring what he’d told them.
Marasi met his gaze calmly. Once upon a time she had dreamed of being a participant in meetings like this one. Gatherings where important decisions were made, where laws were drafted and political strategies adopted. Now, she found herself frustrated by all the talk. Waxillium was rubbing off on her, and perhaps not in ways she should appreciate.
“No, no,” the sanitation director said. “The Lekals aren’t behind this. An assassin? Are you mad, Donton? They would never be caught engaging in something so potentially damaging.”
“Agreed,” said the secretary of education. “This was someone far more desperate. I repeat, my lord governor. Decisiveness. Leadership. You asked about martial law? Well, that is the minimum you must do, I say. Send the constables out in force. Crush the looters, scatter the rioters, be seen protecting the city.”
Others voiced their opinions on this, and the governor quieted them. “I’ll consider. I’ll consider.” His tone was sharp, sharper than Marasi had heard from him before. “Out with you all. I need to think.”
In that moment he looked haggard. The counselors quieted, then made their way out. Marasi moved to join them, reluctantly.
“Miss Colms,” the governor said, walking to his desk, “a moment.”
Marasi obeyed, stepping up before the desk as he settled down. He reached to the floor, pushing back the rug and exposing the top of a small safe, which he absently unlocked with a key from his desk. He reached inside, taking out his seal of office, then settled down to begin writing.