She saw him about to protest before a grimace of reluctant acceptance showed on his face. Their contingency consisted of a bag filled with all the Ironship scrip and exchange notes they could spare, plus a pair of revolvers. There was also a sympathetic Independent ship’s captain in the harbour willing to take them to a friendly port. “You think it might be necessary?” he asked. “The entire expatriate Carvenport population will riot if they lay a hand on you.”
“Desperation may force them to extreme measures.” Lizanne reached for the toast. “I must confess I haven’t the faintest idea of how this day will turn out. But, if there’s one lesson we learned in Arradsia, it’s the value of contingency.” She buttered the toast and took a sizable bite. “There are two Exceptional Initiatives agents in the house opposite and another two playing the role of vagrants in the alley behind the workshop. I believe only one is Blood-blessed, a woman posing as one of the vagrants. If I fail to return by six o’clock and the agents at the front make themselves visible it means I’ve been arrested. You’ll need to kill the Blood-blessed first. Jermayah’s prototype portable Growler should suffice for the task. Assuming the refugees oblige us with a riot, it will provide sufficient cover to make it to the docks.”
She finished her toast and glanced at the clock once more. “Forgive me, Auntie,” she said, rising from the table. “It appears I shan’t have time to finish breakfast.”
“Don’t you want to see your father before you go?”
Lizanne looked at the door to the workshop, hearing the rising pitch of voices as her father and Jermayah commenced yet another argument. “As ever, he appears to be preoccupied with more important things.”
? ? ?
Although the Ironship Trading Syndicate had never been overly fond of ostentation in its architecture the early Board members had felt compelled to make an exception for their Feros Headquarters. The building stood five stories tall and had a castle-like appearance, being formed of four corner towers linked by recessed walls. The archaic impression was alleviated by the many tall glass windows behind which countless clerks, lawyers and accountants laboured to maintain the bureaucratic machinery of the world’s largest corporation. Lizanne’s visits here had been infrequent over the years, the nature of her employment requiring that she minimise any risk of identification by agents from the Corvantine Empire or one of the syndicate’s many competitors. Of course, such concerns were now largely irrelevant. She was, after all, quite famous.
Before making her way to the main entrance Lizanne took time to note the building’s enhanced defences; Thumper and Growler batteries placed on the towers and also the roof-tops of surrounding ancillary offices. Despite Arradsia being a considerable distance away it seemed the Board had not been entirely deaf to the warnings contained in her initial report.
Normally she would have been required to report to the main desk and spend a tedious half-hour pacing the foyer before being granted entry. Today, however, things were very different. Two Protectorate officers, both with side-arms, met her as soon as she stepped through the revolving door and she was conveyed to the Board’s private, steam-powered elevator after only the most cursory greeting. They made the journey to the Board-Room in total silence and Lizanne took care to note the pale patches of skin on the hands of her two escorts, the legacy of the Blood-lot. The Board, it appeared, were unwilling to take any chances today.
She had only been granted access to the Board-Room once before, the day she received her shareholder’s pin. It had been a formal affair shared with a dozen other young managerial types summoned to receive their reward for exceeding predicted profits or, in her case, successfully stealing the designs of a competitor. Incredibly, that had been less than a year ago and now here she was, called to suffer their judgement.
She was surprised to find all but three of the Board’s ten members in attendance, unusual for a body that could rarely count on half its number at any given meeting. Ironship’s truly global reach meant that those appointed to lead it were often called to far-distant climes and would receive a full recording of the Board’s deliberations via Blue-trance before a final vote on any major matter was taken. For practical reasons the day-to-day decisions were made with a quorum of no less than five members. Today, however, was a far-from-mundane matter and it appeared most of the Board preferred to hear her testimony in person before casting their vote.
The Board sat at a semicircular table in front of a large stained-glass window featuring the Ironship company crest. The window’s predominant colour was blue, which gave the ambient light in the cavernous room a strangely surreal cast, reminding Lizanne of a Blue-trance she had once shared with a fellow agent on the brink of death following an encounter with a Corvantine assassin. It wasn’t an encouraging portent. She took her place, a spot where the blue light from the window disappeared to form a small white circle. A chair had not been provided and the two Protectorate officers took up station on either side of her, just far enough back to evade her eye-line.
Her gaze swept over the Board members, recognising them all but searching for one in particular. She found him seated at the extreme left of the semicircle, a large, bearded man of notable girth dressed in a slightly shabby suit Arberus wouldn’t have been seen dead in. Taddeus Bloskin, Director of the Exceptional Initiatives Division, who this day could prove to be either her best ally or worst enemy. She truly had no idea which; he had never been an easy man to read.
“State your name and employment status.”
Her eyes snapped to the Board’s Chairperson. The position changed hands every year and was currently occupied by a small woman of deceptively fragile appearance. Madame Gloryna Dolspeake had spent the bulk of her career in Mergers and Acquisitions, an arm of the Syndicate that tended to foster both a predatory mind-set and a fierce attachment to company loyalty. She stared at Lizanne over a pair of half-moon spectacles, pen poised over her papers with what seemed to Lizanne to be a dagger-like anticipation.
“Lizanne Lethridge,” she stated. “Shareholder and lifetime contracted agent of the Exceptional Initiatives Division, currently under suspension.”
A few pens scratched on paper but otherwise silence reigned until Madame Dolspeake spoke again, “For the sake of the record please confirm that you are the author of this report.” She held up a bundle of papers bound with a black ribbon, the one-hundred-page report Lizanne had compiled on return to Feros. “Board file number six-eight-two, submitted on the second of Harvellum, Company Year two hundred and eleven. Title reads: Report on operations undertaken and events witnessed by Shareholder Lizanne Lethridge during deployment to the Arradsian Continent.”