shook his head. ‘Never would’ve picked you as the one. Would’ve picked you last of all.’
‘That’s my job,’ she said as she dropped into the chair opposite.
‘Well, you’re damn good at it. Hope you’re proud.’
‘I’m not ashamed. Folk who keep hold of baggage like shame and pride don’t last a week in the camps.’
‘That much was true, then?’
‘My family died there. All of them.’
‘Then … how can you work for these bastards now? After what you’ve been through?’
‘You’ve got it backwards.’ Vick leaned towards him. ‘After what I’ve been through, how could I not work for these bastards now?’
Malmer’s shoulders sagged. ‘We were promised amnesty. Is that true, at least?’
‘That’s true. But you must’ve known there’d be questions.’ She looked him full in the face, so she could judge every twitch or tick or movement of his eyes. So she could sense the truth. ‘Where’s Risinau?’
He gave a weary sigh. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Where’s Judge?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Just give me something I can give them. Help me help you.’
‘You think I wouldn’t hand over Judge if I could?’ Malmer gave a sad chuckle. ‘I’d cheer at her bloody hanging, the mad witch.’
The answers she’d known she’d get. But the questions still had to be asked. ‘Who’s the Weaver?’
‘That’s what Risinau called himself, when we first met.’
‘When was that?’
‘I was arrested for agitating. Five years ago. Maybe six. All we did was band together to ask for a fair wage, but I got the blame. Seems I’ve a talent for that. Risinau came to me. In a room like this one. Said he saw things our way. Said he wanted to help. Strike a blow for the common man, that’s what he said. Bring a Great Change.’ Malmer curled his lip. ‘Guess I believed what I wanted to. Guess I’ve a talent for that, too.’
‘Most of us do,’ said Vick. ‘You know what I think?’
‘If I did, I might not be in this chair.’
‘Risinau was a fool. He might’ve presided over the chaos, but there’s no way he planned that uprising.’ She eased a little closer, as if she was sharing her secrets rather than winkling his out. Nothing to make people trust you like pretending you trust them. ‘He said the Weaver was a name he borrowed from someone else. Someone who set him on this path.’
It was thin, she knew. Nothing that might convince His Eminence there was some deeper conspiracy. But Vick had never been able to leave a loose thread dangling.
‘What do you owe Risinau?’ she asked. ‘He used you all. A blow for the common man? Don’t make me laugh. Who’s the Weaver?’
Malmer was frowning down at the tabletop. As if she’d made him think. As if he was picking through the past, trying things different ways. Then he blinked and sat back with a grunt, as if he’d suddenly made them fit.
‘There was a man, at the first big meeting I went to. Risinau was so … respectful of him. Awestruck, almost. Like a priest who’d had God turn up to his service. Risinau pointed him out while he was talking. Called him the founder of the feast. The reason we were all there. But he didn’t say a thing. Just watched.’
‘Who was it?’ growled Vick. She could taste the answer, dangling right in front of her.
‘Never heard his name,’ said Malmer. ‘Never really saw his face, but—’
There was a clatter as the doorknob turned and Vick twisted around, ready to snap at the Practical to get out. The words never left her lips.
Superior Pike stood in the doorway, his burned face expressionless, two Practicals at his shoulders, even crueller glares than usual above their masks.
‘Well, well,’ he said in a papery whisper, stepping into the narrow room. ‘This is cosy.’
The legs of Vick’s chair screeched as she stood. ‘Superior Pike. An honour.’
‘The honour is very much mine. That was remarkable work in Valbeck, Inquisitor. Both subtle and bold. Both cunning and courageous. Without you, this uprising might have had a far bloodier ending. But I should not be surprised. His Eminence has always had the trick of picking the right person for a job.’
Vick humbly bowed. ‘You’re too kind, Superior.’
‘Not many people would agree with you on that score,’ said Pike, his eyes shifting to Malmer.
‘This man was one of the leaders of the uprising. I was asking him some questions about its origins.’
‘I thought we had our wayward colleague Superior Risinau to blame for that?’
‘Possibly.’ Vick left it there. Never use more words when fewer