“It’s all public record,” I ventured in a small voice. “I’ve seen nothing that isn’t open to anyone who looks in the right places and connects the pieces.”
“What have you seen, child?” asked Sohwetti. His voice was calm, even soothing, but it didn’t make me feel better.
“Maps,” I said dully. “Charts of land parcels. Letters of agreement. Contracts issued by Future Holdings and signed—”
“I see,” said Sohwetti, interrupting. “Yes.”
He rose and turned to the desk so that for a moment I could not see his face. I felt a curious, thoughtful stillness about the man, although when he turned round again, he was his usual, beaming self.
“I know what you are referring to,” he said. “A small matter we did not think worthy of attention, but your curiosity—and your dedication, Corporal Emtezu—suggest that we may have miscalculated, and for that I thank you. We can resolve the matter publicly before anyone gets, as they say, the wrong idea.” The smile bloomed again, showing white, even teeth.
“And the dead herder?” asked Emtezu.
“That is most serious,” said Sohwetti. “I will follow the police investigation closely, publicly if necessary, and if it seems that it is being swept under the Glorious Third’s rug, as it were, I will bring the matter to the council itself. Times have changed. Some of our northern brethren have been reluctant to accept this fact, but if they think they can torture and kill our citizens because they have lost a thimbleful of their power, they are deeply and tragically mistaken. We will bring the wrath of eight hells down upon them.”
His voice had swelled and his face darkened as he spoke, but now he breathed again, shrugging off his stately passion. When he smiled, he seemed ordinary.
“This has been most helpful to me and to the Mahweni Nation,” he said. “I am in your debt, Corporal.” He took the younger man’s hand once more, clasped it, then made a fractional turn, which presented Emtezu with the door.
“And there is nothing else I can do, Excellency?” he asked.
“Nothing at all,” said Sohwetti genially. “I will see that my carriage gets you back into the city.”
Emtezu bowed, took a step toward the door, then glanced back to where I had begun to get to my feet.
“But Miss Sutonga has not enjoyed my hospitality before,” said Sohwetti. “She should stay here awhile.”
“I need to get back to work,” I said.
“Nonsense.” Sohwetti smiled, flicking the notion away with his fly stick. “I won’t hear of it. I will treat you to a true Mahweni banquet. You have never had the like, I guarantee it. I will show you the estate personally and see to it that you get back home safely this evening.”
I hesitated. Emtezu was lingering in the doorway, one hand on the knob, looking back at me unreadably.
“I really can’t stay, Your Excellency,” I said, trying for politeness. “My employers will be worried.”
“I will send word of your whereabouts to assuage their anxieties,” he said, magnanimous in his certainty. “I would take it as an affront if you were to decline.” He made a mock show of offense, though the smile crept back into place like a jackal stealing into an untended kitchen.
I gave Emtezu a last, uncertain look, but knew he could do nothing without upsetting the great man for no real reason. A moment later, he was bowing his way out, leaving me alone with Sohwetti.
“Sit,” he said, doing so himself. He said it almost casually, but the smile was gone. He took a long breath and reached for a silver box on the desk beside him. He opened it, took something, and pushed the box toward me.
“Help yourself,” he said. “Dried cadmium grapes. Sweet and tart. They are a small addiction of mine. Quite harmless, I believe, but it bothers me nonetheless, feeling like a slave to my body’s cravings. Do you ever feel that, Miss Sutonga, that you are not completely in control of your own life?”
“I’ve never felt otherwise,” I said.
He nodded thoughtfully. “I used to feel that way,” he said, as if we were old friends at the end of a long evening’s catching up. “Long ago. I used to feel powerless in the face of all I could not do because the world had taken from me what should have been mine. And not just mine. My whole people’s. Robbed by diplomats whose friends had better weapons.”
He smiled again as broad as before, but bleak now. He chewed one of the dried grapes reflectively.
“It is a terrible thing, not to be in control of your own life,” he concluded.
“It’s just how things are,” I said.