‘Why?’

Gelasis paused with the silver soup spoon almost at his mouth and gave Slvasta a stern glance. ‘Please don’t pretend to be that naive. Besides, Democratic Unity supports the killing of mods. Your public policy is quite clear and explicit about that.’

‘We support severing our dependence on them, yes.’

‘You’re talking genocide.’

‘I’ve faced Faller-controlled mods twice in my life now. That’s two times too many. Both times I was lucky to escape alive. I don’t want it to happen a third time. The odds aren’t in my favour any more.’

‘That’s understandable. And now you may well have your wish. People were badly shaken by the stampede. Two of the smaller stables in town have already closed. It’s only a matter of time until the rest collapse.’

‘You expect me to show sympathy?’

‘No. But you have to admit, we’re off the map with this one. The Treasury doesn’t even know if the economy can remain intact without mod labour.’

‘As you said, everyone will have to tighten their belts.’ Slvasta raised his spoon to make the point. ‘Except the people who had nothing to start with and now find themselves overwhelmed with offers of jobs. The underclass finally has new opportunities opening up.’

‘And the votes for Democratic Unity will flood in, no doubt.’

‘Here’s hoping.’

Gelasis nodded sagely. ‘What do you want?’

‘You’re the one who invited me.’

‘I did, didn’t I? May I speak plainly and in confidence?’

‘Frankly, it would be a relief. If I’ve learned anything from council meetings, it’s that I’m not the world’s greatest politician.’

‘I’m surprised you’re not mayor of Nalani, now.’

‘Are you? Look what happened to the last mayor.’

‘Touché. All right.’ Gelasis pushed his soup bowl to one side and gave Slvasta an intent stare. ‘I have friends in the National Council who are keen to come to an accord with Democratic Unity.’

‘Members of Citizens’ Dawn want an agreement? I find that hard to believe.’

‘Very senior members, yes.’

‘Ha. Who don’t like losing backwater boroughs like Nalani.’

‘Slvasta, face facts, nobody gives a crud about Nalani. Uracus, your party might even do some good there! Giu knows, nobody else cares about it. But the mid-term elections are coming up in less than eight months. A third of Varlan’s boroughs, many of them poor ones. There are also seats on the National Council up for grabs, too.’

‘And your friends are getting concerned about that, right?’ Slvasta asked. Bethaneve and Coulan were already recruiting potential candidates to stand in the boroughs. They weren’t short of volunteers; everyone was fired up after Democratic Unity’s recent success. And, just possibly, they were impressed by the Hero of Eynsham Square, too.

‘Some of those boroughs could be yours,’ Gelasis said. ‘Maybe even a National Council seat. Langley, for example.’

‘What?’ Slvasta desperately wished it was Coulan or Bethaneve sitting here in his place. Politics and its labyrinthine deals and bluffs and weasel words was something he could never quite grasp. He was always worried he was being played for a fool when convoluted clever deals were suggested. And, as for making equally smart counter-offers . . .

‘Hear me out,’ Gelasis said smoothly. ‘I really did mean yours.’

‘Ours?’

‘No: you. Personally. You would be a superb addition to the National Council. Think about it. You’re not from a wealthy family, which brings so much resentment among a huge proportion of the population, but you served your regiment with distinction. The city witnessed you going head to head with Fallers. You have integrity. People trust you, rightly so. You’re a perfect candidate.’

Slvasta thought back to a similar conversation not so long ago, how his friends were just waiting to push him forward as the head of Democratic Unity. ‘I can’t believe Citizens’ Dawn is offering this.’

‘You’re the right type, Slvasta – a decent cove who wants the best for people. All the people. And having you on the National Council would make the recessive elements of Citizens’ Dawn sit up and take notice. They’ve been excluding and ignoring the poor for too long, don’t you think?’

‘Well, yes. That’s why we formed Democratic Unity.’

‘Tuksbury holds Langley, has done for the last thirty-six years. He’s a stupid, petty, vain little man, running a rotten district, serving his family and their companies before everything else. The worst type of Bienvenido politician. If you were to stand, I have been given assurances that Citizens’ Dawn support for Tuksbury would be non-existent. You’d win. It’s that simple.’

‘And Citizens’ Dawn are happy with that?’ he asked sceptically.

‘Listen, Slvasta, you’re a reasonable, rational man. You understand what should be done, and you’re not a raving hothead about it like all the other hate-the-rich dissenter rabble. People who run the world need to be sensible and cogent, to understand give and take.’ Gelasis gave him a friendly smile. ‘And think how many friends you’d have in the regiments. You could give us a direct voice in the heart of government, instead of trying to worm progress through the Treasury one request form at a time. That is the ultimate aim for all of us, isn’t it? To give the regiments the ability to defeat the Fallers once and for all? After all, if not, we’re all doomed.’

‘I think that would take more than one lone voice.’

‘You have more supporters than you think. Your party only existed for a few weeks before the Nalani election, and look how many votes you got. And we both know you’re building support in new boroughs, ready for the next elections. You know full well that nothing will be accomplished if your candidates are just a collection of firebrands and ideologues. Building a reputable party capable of achieving your aims will be tough. If you don’t step up, it will be damn near impossible, eh?’

Slvasta let out a long breath. ‘You don’t have to tell me how tough it is.’

‘So you’ll consider it? Standing for Langley?’

‘I’d be foolish not to.’

‘Excellent. So, let’s get those steaks in here, shall we?’

*

Bethaneve waited in a small clothing store on Vesuvian Street opposite the six-storey tenement. The monolithic building was a couple of centuries old, and completely covered in the heavy blue-white leaves of a skirs vine. She didn’t know if the walls were brick or stone – even the windows were slowly shrinking behind the vigorous shoots. Hordes of children played lively games on the street outside, their exuberance a reaction to the tiny rooms they were forced to share inside.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go into the tenement herself; her reluctance came from a deeper place, the need to avoid exposure. The revolution might be undeclared so far. But that didn’t mean it had gone unnoticed. And the First Officer was often seen at Trevene’s headquarters at Fifty-Eight Grosvner Place. The risk—

Bethaneve put a fast stop to that line of thought and glanced at the tenement again. Coulan was coming out of an open archway, walking briskly across the road. His thoughts as urbane as ever. She left the shop, her ex-sight scanning for any mod-birds. This level of vigilance was routine now.

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘Kolan’s not been home for two days now,’ Coulan said, maintaining his neutral face and shell.

‘Crud!’ Yesterday she’d heard that Trevene’s weasel teams were asking about Kolan, the man who’d stood with Slvasta in Eynsham Square. Kolan, a fifth-level cell member whom she’d instructed to help defend the children. Not directly, the request came slipping and slithering through three other cells before it got to him. But still . . .

Her people told her the questions were closing in on Vesuvian Street, then they had the name. They were good, her people. Special. Quiet. Clever. Elites, a group chosen by her from various cells for specialist tasks. Not the kind of aggressor duties Coulan was training his militia for; her elites were used to tracking people across the city, to ask discreet questions, to follow rumour to the source and gain the truth. They were developing into a useful asset in the unseen quiet struggle with Trevene’s informers and spies and thugs. She hadn’t quite got round to mentioning them to Slvasta. The arrangement was that she handled details, leaving him free to lead the revolution.