for. But if not, then why?
For weeks, the reports had been coming out of Ironside, each one carefully contrived. An appalling though plausible level of depletion had been meticulously depicted. An orchestrated plunge of critical numbers that cried out urgently: the city is starving!
Unless . . .
Unless someone knew about the blueprints!
The only reason Caliph had changed his mind and sanctioned the solvitriol project had been because he believed the city was on the brink of gobbling up the last remaining cubic feet of metholinate in its stores. Someone had duped him. Someone had known.
But who besides Sigmund . . . unless Sigmund had talked? Who could benefit—specifically—from solvitriol power?
He imagined Simon Stepney, the burgomaster over Growl Mort who had given him the statue of the factory.
No. That wasn’t the right question. The right question was: who might benefit from proof that the Iscan government was conducting solvitriol experiments? Someone who wanted to sell the other set of blueprints! Someone who would send government lab notes to a potential buyer as proof of product! What about blackmail? Or, thought Caliph with sudden clarity, what about someone who was truly, honestly loyal to the Duchy? Someone who knew I didn’t want to give Sigmund the go-ahead . . . someone who knew a false crisis would prod me into a course of action that (even though I found distasteful) would ultimately save the Duchy?
Caliph felt sick. He paced around his room trying to figure out who might have been able to discover such sensitive information. The pile of names dwindled quickly. He sat down in a high-backed chair to think.
When Sena opened the bedroom door she could see instantly that something was wrong.
Caliph looked up. “Hi.” His voice was soft and expectant. “How’s your head?”
Sena touched her forehead where the pain of her familiar’s death still ached occasionally. “I’m fine.”
She could tell by the way he asked that he wanted something. At first she thought it was sex. They hadn’t made love in two weeks. But as she came into the room and shut the door, she could see by his expression that wasn’t it.
He whispered, “I have something . . . a favor to ask. I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to do. It could undermine . . . a lot of things.”
Sena said nothing. She walked over and sat down beside him, looking at him intently. She had never seen him so nervous.
Caliph reached out, as though to reassure himself, and touched her fingers.
“What?” she coaxed. “What do you want me to do?”
Caliph looked around the room as though paranoid of peepholes or vents capable of conducting sound.
“I—want you to . . .” He couldn’t seem to get it out. “I want you to find out everything there is to know about . . . Zane Vhortghast.”
The spymaster came to Caliph’s room the following evening looking paler than usual. He took a seat only when Caliph bid him to do so and adjusted the ascot beneath his vest.
“I heard there was a discrepancy in the metholinate reports.” As usual, Zane’s expression gave nothing away.
Caliph was standing at the windows, looking west into a colorless sky.
“Yes. I had some technicians arrested. I was hoping you could shed some light on this . . . what with your numerous connections.”
Zane remained cool.
“Unfortunately it’s news to me, your majesty.”
Caliph turned and met the spymaster’s fearless eyes.
“I was afraid of that. I have suspicions of my own.”
Zane grew genuinely interested. He leaned forward in his chair and asked who.
“Simon Stepney,” said Caliph with an air of strange mystique. “He and Ben Ngrüth would both have a vested interest.”
Zane nodded slowly, as though weighing several things on the side.
“That’s good thinking. I should check into them . . . both.”
“I want you to go tonight. Personally. I don’t want any blood or threats. Not until we know something for certain.”
Zane smiled. Caliph had to look away.
The lock to the spymaster’s quarters was much more difficult to pick than David Thacker’s had been. It didn’t have a master key and there were several serrated drivers that tended to false set.
Sena took her time, knowing that the spymaster had been sent across town. She managed to have it open in under a minute and a half.
The spymaster lived in an attic suite atop a cluster of town houses in the bailey’s western quarter. Because of this, Sena had the option of going in through one of many windows. But in the end she opted