“It’s a fake?” asked Ingray, astonished.
“It is,” Pahlad agreed. “And the Rejection of Further Obligations to Tyr is also a fake. Not the text itself, of course, that’s genuine, those were the words that were presented to Tyr, when the debt was fully paid off. But the actual document in the System Lareum is a fraud. The lettering is a style that didn’t come into use until well after independence, and the fabric is only about four hundred years old. Really, anything in the System Lareum that was suddenly ‘found’ in someone’s attic or a dusty storeroom was probably ginned up a few months before. As soon as you try to do any kind of research or authentication outside Hwae, it becomes pretty obvious.”
Ingray wasn’t sure what to say. The Rejection of Further Obligations to Tyr, a fake? She remembered looking at it, and even though she had often been in the buildings where the Founders had stood, and met people whose names had come down in an unbroken line since before then, seeing that document, the original copy of the very basis of Hwaean independence and government, had impressed her to thoughtful silence. But if it was fake, then there was no difference between seeing that sheet of linen in the lareum and reading it in an information file. It was only the words themselves that were real.
“My actual crime,” Pahlad continued, as the prolocutor looked on in stony silence, “was trying to learn more about the family vestiges that it was my duty to care for. I went looking for information in places where they know more about the Garseddai. And I discovered that away from here, nearly every expert in the topic knows about the Budrakim vestiges, and knows they’re fake. I didn’t believe it at first, but the more I learned the more obvious it became. So I told my father what I’d discovered. Because it was a very serious matter. If the vestiges that proved Ethiat Budrakim’s origin and ancestry were fake, well, where did that leave us? And besides, the family vestiges had been placed in my care, and I took that responsibility seriously.”
“You tried this lie when you were first confronted with your crime,” said the prolocutor, with a sudden grave sadness. “It failed to convince me then.”
“Oh, no, I convinced you! Which is why a few weeks later you suddenly discovered they were actually inferior copies of the originals, and accused me of stealing them. It was easy enough to use the information I myself had given you to make a case for them being forgeries. And now if I told anyone the truth, it would sound like a desperate lie. But it would be all right, you assured me when I was arrested. It was the only way to preserve the reputation of the Ethiat who had set them up as family vestiges to begin with, and you would take care of me so long as I kept my mouth shut. And oh, you took care of me.” E turned to Ingray again. “Like I said, what I want is to tell the news services about the way I was unjustly convicted of a crime I didn’t commit, and hopefully end the prolocutor’s political career—or maybe even see him end up in Compassionate Removal, but I’m not sure I could manage to do it. But forcing him to play along with digging up the parkland when there’s nothing there, well, that I might be able to do … and if I’m lucky it will ultimately lead to the same result. So do me a favor and be sure to tell the news services that I buried the vestiges near the hill where Excellency Zat died.”
“Oh, they’ll like that,” said Ingray in admiration, unable to stop herself.
“Won’t they just,” agreed Pahlad with a tiny quirk of a smile. “Be sure to tell your mother, too. I’m certainly planning to tell every guard I meet from here on out.”
Prolocutor Budrakim appeared to have reached a conclusion. “But our conversation here is being recorded,” he said. “You’ve just claimed that you never stole the vestiges, so how could they be in Eswae?”
“Good point,” said Pahlad. “Do let’s have the entire conversation sent to the news services. The public can make up their own minds about it.”
That seemed risky to Ingray—if nothing else, she doubted any Hwaean would react favorably to Pahlad saying the Rejection of Obligations was a fake, and Pahlad had contradicted emself several times during the conversation. But it seemed Pahlad had decided e had nothing left to lose. And Ingray knew when to play along. “It is coming up on elections, after all,” she said, her voice pious.
“And you’ve just said the System Lareum is full of fakes,” pointed out Prolocutor Budrakim. “That won’t exactly make you popular, or convince people to listen to you.”
“It’ll get me a lot of attention, though,” Pahlad pointed out. “And now I’m done talking. To you, anyway, Prolocutor. I have plenty to say to the news services, I find.” E smiled, a slight upturn of the corners of eir mouth that did not reach eir eyes at all. Ingray shivered.
Prolocutor Budrakim was stonily silent as he walked through the door into the corridor. A spindly mech came up beside him and chirped an offer to see him out, but he only turned and walked away, the mech tottering after him.
Another mech took Ingray back to Taucris’s office. “Ingray,” said Taucris, rising from her seat as Ingray entered. “There’s a problem.” She glanced over Ingray’s shoulder as the mech that had accompanied her backed out and shut the door. “The Omkem consul has said the Federacy is going to litigate to get Excellency Hevom released to them.”
“I expected that,” said Ingray.
“Yes, and that’s bad enough. Just an hour ago, searchers found Excellency Zat’s mech. And the knife. The other knife, I mean, the one that Zat was stabbed with, not the one Pahlad had in eir bag.” Her eyes went to the black bag, still on Ingray’s shoulder, and back to Ingray’s face. “It was in the storage compartment inside the mech itself.”
“Where was the mech?”
“In the middle of the river. One of its legs was caught in a crevice between pieces of glass on the bottom.”
“And one of its marker spikes was gone.”