The Burn (A Runner Series Companion)

Chapter 9: The Madam

209 A.B.

(5 months after the Runner's Rebellion)

"That concludes this evening's announcements. Remember, a united Babel is a prosperous Babel. Progress is power, my friends."

I switch off the microphone and lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes hard enough that my vision spots. There is a dull ache throbbing behind my brow - the beginnings of another migraine.

"Trenton!" I bark, palms still plastered over my eyelids. "Bring me my medicine."

I hear the brisk footsteps of my faithful attendant as he crosses over to the cabinet and shakes out a bottle of pills, moving towards me a moment later and dropping the dosage into my outstretched hand.

I ignore his offer of water and swallow the medicine dry, ignoring the instinct to choke when the hard tablets grate against my esophagus.

"I have decided to continue pushing the curfew up one hour each night." I say. "It's good to make the citizens feel unsure from time to time. It keeps them alert."

"Very good, Madam." Trenton's accent is crisp and refined, echoing his youthful, polished appearance. Without looking at him, I know that his sandy hair is combed and parted precisely and that his collar is buttoned high to his chin and covered by a pristine white handkerchief.

The pain in my temple recedes with the knowledge that my remedy has begun its work. I swivel in my chair, pushing myself up by the armrest and crossing to my vanity.

"What news?" I ask, reaching out to turn up the light next to my mirror.

There is the shuffling of papers as Trenton sorts through his notes. Sighing, I prod gently on the swollen skin underneath my eyes, frowning at my reflection. I pride myself on being a woman of science, but that doesn't mean I am exempt from feeling annoyance at the havoc time has played on my hair and complexion. My skin is sallow from years of working indoors, and my once-vibrant auburn hair is streaked with grey. Not silver, but a dull, dirty grey.

"There is one trifling event I need to speak with you about." The slight edge to Trenton's crisp tone sets me on edge.

I cease poking at my face and stare at him in the mirror, waiting.

"Lynal Grayson has been taken prisoner by the City." Trenton's dark eyes meet mine and he swallows once, the nervous gesture nearly missable behind his starched collar.

The dull throbs sounds again beneath my brow. I sigh, turning to face him and leaning back against the vanity. "Do we know what charges are being laid?"

"We don't know as of yet, Madam." Trenton speaks hurriedly. "But rest assured that I have all of my inside people on top of the matter, and that we will receive word as soon as they have any information."

I move my hand down from my temple to my chin, regarding Trenton carefully. He holds my gaze for barely an instant before casting his eyes back down at the pile of paper clenched in his fists.

"Do you suppose, Trenton," I speak slowly and carefully, as though I am addressing an ignorant child. "That Queen Megra has learned of Grayson's dealings with us?"

"I... I do not know, Madam." He stammers.

"Well, go on then." My voice lowers a decibel, bordering on danger. "Take an educated guess."

He chances a look up at me. "...yes, I believe she has."

My fists slams down on the surface of the vanity with such force that the glass bottles scattered across it rattle violently and fall to the ground. Trenton jumps, a high colour rising to his aristocratic cheeks.