Stars Rise

XXXIX. Hora Secunda

"Good morning, Boss," said Cristo.

He appeared out of thin air while the boss had his head buried in uselessly tangled disorganized reports. Careless, from the tone he said it in, that he made the boss wait for him, unconcerned that any of his half-truths had unraveled, and not at all anxious about disappearing or what Leander might have said while he was gone.

Like that Cristo had been lying when he said that Louis Reveur sent him to save Ilan's life last night.

It was curious, too, that he called it morning, as if there was nothing strange about the sun having reached halfway to its pinnacle at the crack of dawn.

It wasn't wrong and it wasn't right, so Ilan said back, "Good morning, Cristo." At least Cristo didn't look up and check the sun's position in the sky every seventeen seconds, unlike everyone else in the world.

Cristo took the seat next to the boss without waiting for an invitation. "So, what's the plan? What are you going to do about the assassins?" His voice, absurdly, held the enthusiasm of youth.

Ilan clamped his teeth together and tried to remember his contract last night. He had promised not to interrogate Cristo until the day was over. But that didn't mean he had to confide his plans — or that Cristo had any right to ask. 

Cristo said, "I was hoping we could determine who sent the assassins. Together. Have the prisoners given up any information yet?"

"No," — just as Cristo had predicted last night. The prisoners weren't responding to Ilan's interrogators — but Ilan was still surprised the conspirators were so silent.

Cristo pretended to be thoughtful. "Boss, I'm not sure we have much time. Rebels might attack again while you're weak."

"Weak? I'm in perfect condition, thanks to you. Potestas Tower is on high alert. The security theater is ridiculous, there are guards in my garden and at every entrance and egress to the tower — and there are a lot of those since the inception of link teleportation. I'm paying time and a half for triple shifts today. I couldn't possibly be safer."

"May I remind you there was a breach in security?" said Cristo. "Someone connected assassins to Potestas Tower's magic. Stephen Aurelian sounds confident that he can find out who did it. He said he can read—"

"He can't," said the boss. Some small part of him felt a pinch childish. But he added, "I won't incriminate one of my employees — someone thoroughly vetted, someone I trust to handle magic — based on my son's inexact science. Even if he's right, there would always be an element of doubt. It's a waste of time."

"Will you forbid me from wasting my time, Boss, or may I invite Stephen to join my investigation?"

"If he has nothing more important to do with his time, which I don't doubt, I won't forbid it. I might even join you."

"Could you call your son for me please, Boss?"

Ilan considered a moment. His mind came to a choice with surprising detachment that almost made it feel as if he wasn't in control of the decision it made.

Seconds later he couldn't remember what thought process or logic led to it, but he found himself reaching below the tabletop of the patio table in front of him; on the shelf there he felt his pistol, and next to it the one he had given to Louis — the one Cristo fired to neutralize two out of three of the rebels.

Sighing, Ilan said, "Call him yourself," and he gave the weapon back to Cristo. Now Cristo would be connected to the magic router himself. The spoken permission was the consent Cristo would need to be able to fire the weapon and, within the level of his magic literacy and tutelage, access Potestas Tower's magic for whatever he wanted.