Bitter Cold Truth: A Tale of the Everburning City

(12-2) Intoxicating sorrow

And Samuel, having spent the last three days learning how much was riding on his shoulders, found he had no patience for being pacified by a civilian.

Samuel drew his badge and held it out. "Inspector Samuel Fraser, First Billows Precinct. I need to speak to the sergeant who heads your community liaison work. I also need a courier, priority blue."

The poor woman could do nothing more than stare at him, her mouth trying and failing to form words. Samuel forced back his own irritation, to keep it from guiding what he did next.

"Best to field me off to someone who can help me, then. Is your captain in?" Samuel asked.

The woman nodded mutely and pointed down the hall. Samuel nodded and marched through the back door, into the vast, empty space that served as the precinct's main hall.

The precinct's appallingly empty hall.

Desks outnumbered the officers doing paperwork by at least four to one. What officers were present did not have the harried, world-weary appearance of the officers and inspectors in the Billows. Nor even the guarded wariness of the Agora's security detail. These officers looked fat, soft, unscarred by the brutality of their profession. If it weren't for the uniforms, and the small mountain of paperwork, Samuel would hardly recognise the place or the officers as his brothers in arms.

"Northwatch Hill must be a peaceful district," Angela remarked, beside him. "I don't think I've ever seen the Billows so quiet."

"There's something wrong here," Bertram muttered, just at the edge of Samuel's hearing.

"A precinct should never be this quiet," Samuel agreed.

"No. Worse, but I can't quite put my finger on why," Bertram said, shaking his head. "You ever felt nervous for a reason you couldn't explain?"

"Probably just nerves," Angela said, smirking. "I always thought being a shadow was a dangerous line of work."

But of the three of them, Bertram was the most comfortable with danger and violence. The shadow had proven that last night, seeing where the incident at the Frosty Hearth was headed before anyone else other than Clovis, and acting to save their lives. Bertram's instincts, perhaps not as perceptive as Samuel's focus was certainly more sensitive.

And so Samuel forced his down disgust aside and focused.

The uniformed orderly whose desk they were passing. Uniform neat and pressed, but more than that, slightly darker in hue, as if the cloth were freshly dyed. The boots, freshly polished, no scuffs or wear in the side of the tread. Her hair was only partially tied up.

Next officer. Lunch on his table. Water with lemon, fresh bread, cheese, and some sort of bean soup. Chocolate left in a small napkin next to his lunch.

The chairs were large, cushioned. Desks made of marble rather than simple stone.

Samuel took out his pad of paper, flipped to a blank page, and wrote on it.

This precinct is taking bribes.

"We'll address it, but our current case takes priority," Samuel said, quietly but firmly. Angela and Bertram both nodded.

Samuel lead the way to the largest room at the far end of the hall, where a surprisingly round man in an orderly uniform, with a beard grown well beyond regulations was conversing with a young woman sitting across from him at his desk.

Samuel didn't bother to knock, instead pushing the door open and stepping inside.

"Who the burning hell are you to barge into my office like this?" the fat man asked. Despite the uniform, despite the rank and the respect it deserved, Samuel had trouble seeing this man as a captain.