Airik grimly made his way back to the ballroom at the Twelve Happiness Luxury Hotel. He had to find a substitute for Upton right away; he needed Elliot to research Qiao & Schopenhour and to figure out, via servants' gossip, what connection existed between his secretary and Miss Qiao; he had to anticipate what arrangements Qiao & Schopenhour would claim Upton agreed to; and, worst of all, he still had to socialize in the ballroom with a pack of greedy, grasping strangers. Every one of those guests had witnessed Upton's accident and would be gossiping avidly about it. His fall was spectacular enough to make the social columns all the way to Barsoom, complete with wild speculation about Upton's drunken habits, a detailed rehash of his skirt-chasing lifestyle (including naming names), and hints about exposure to Red Mercury causing insanity in the Shelleen family.
It was going to be a challenge to steer conversations back to safety equipment.
And there was Mr. Burgess to consider. The younger Mr. Qiao had made a fascinating statement, demanding careful thought. How did Burgess retain his power? He appeared to be a badly dressed buffoon, yet buffoons did not stay employed in any kind of position of authority no matter how powerful their families were.
Hmm. He could add Burgess to Elliot's list of research tasks.
He should, Airik knew, have someone else from the Shelleen delegation doing this work, but he didn't want to reveal any connection to the White Elephant. It had become a refuge in Panschin, a free-city he was rapidly coming to dislike. He did not want to examine why it felt like going home when he saw Veronica Bradwell. And there lay the other, bigger reason. The Shelleen family would have plenty to say to him about associating with the daughter of such a notorious embezzler and scoundrel. Gaston would insist he sever all ties rather than affect Shelleen's own business dealings and he would be correct. The senior members of the family would fully back Gaston on that point. Despite any questions or concerns Elliot might harbor on the subject, he would not reveal them. His valet knew his place.
Airik steeled himself and plunged into the whirl of people in the Twelve Happiness ballroom.
***
Malcolm Cobb read through document after document in the second subbasement under the branch office of the Second National Bank of Panschin. The evidence was damning when examined en masse and in order as opposed to how the documents had been processed, each separate and unrelated from its fellows. Burgess was either the most incompetent buffoon the bank had on staff – unlikely but possible – or he was utterly corrupt; a far more likely possibility. Yet Malcolm couldn't reveal what he found. Burgess had taken great care to implicate his fellow senior officers in the bank. Burgess had ensured that if he fell from power, he'd take all his peers along with him to the Dirac mines.
Anything Malcolm revealed would have to be done with the utmost care so he did not end up being punished for airing the bank's dirty laundry. And worse, the reports indicated Burgess and Simon Bradwell had worked with other banks whose senior executives also would not want their dirty laundry aired out for the free-city residents to see. And sue over.
It was galling. Every name he read in the myriad of documents belonged to an executive or family who were already wealthy and powerful, yet what they had wasn't enough. They wanted more. If he brought this situation to light and public attention, he would be the one to suffer, along with his entire family and Shelby and her little family. Not them. It was grotesquely unfair.
Seeing the record of corruption made Malcolm want, more than ever, to climb to the very top of the ladder at Second National. He wanted to become the president of the bank, along with chairman of the board. With each step up the corporate ladder, he could better clean house. He might not be able to prosecute anyone currently within Second National's corporate structure, but he could do his best to make sure there was closer and more rigorous oversight in the future.
But he couldn't do that if he didn't solve this problem first.
There had to be another way, besides sending anonymous copies of files to the newspapers and the Martian government. Both those options would take far too long and could be ignored by the recipients. Plenty of open and obvious malfeasance already had been. Malcolm had to wonder how much money had changed hands as sumptuous gifts, luxurious travel junkets, lavish entertainments, and well-paid sinecures for friends and relatives. There wouldn't have been anything so clumsy as an out and out bribe.
He thought of Mr. Wong, no doubt rearranging his pencils three floors above him, in his once grand office with the huge windows overlooking the park. Mr. Wong had detailed knowledge of what was hidden in these filing cabinets; he had known exactly where to guide Malcolm's own explorations.
Yet he had done nothing with the information. Why was that? The answer was obvious. He knew exactly how risky it was and he did not choose to risk himself, or worse, his family.
But he would let Malcolm Cobb lay his neck on the line. Yes, indeed he would.
Malcolm could suddenly see how subtle a mind Desmond Wong had. He couldn't fail, no matter what happened.
If Malcolm was prosecuted by higher-ups in Second National for the temerity of revealing all this corruption, then his own, well-detached hands remained clean. Malcolm Cobb was obviously just another uppity scholarship boy who didn't know how things were done; a tunnel rat who deserved everything he got.
If Malcolm succeeded, then Mr. Wong could enjoy watching his enemy, Mr. Burgess, be punished while his own hands remained clean. In addition, Mr. Wong might well have other enemies in Second National who would be put on notice. Hmm. Now that was an interesting line of speculation. Exactly why had Mr. Wong been sent to rot in Dome Two? What was his family background? Malcolm leaned against another filing cabinet, thinking hard. He knew nothing about Desmond Wong. That had to change.
He straightened up and stretched, working out the kinks in his shoulders. Desmond Wong would become another research project, but one that would have to wait until after he had rescued Shelby from Burgess.
Malcolm sighed gustily. He had no idea where to start.
Another thought struck him. He turned around slowly, taking in the ranks and ranks of filing cabinets filling this room in the second subbasement under the main branch office. There were other rooms in the basement catacombs, each filled with row upon row of filing cabinets. What else was buried here, forgotten by all? What else did Mr. Wong know, yet chose not to reveal?
He had a subtle mind.
Malcolm could feel himself smile. If he succeeded in dethroning Burgess, Desmond Wong had provided him with all the information he could ever need in his own rise to the top of Second National. With this treasure trove of information close at hand, there would be no skeleton in Second National's closets that Malcolm wouldn't know about. Some of the confidential memos he had already come across on personnel issues were jaw-dropping.
And all the while, he would owe Desmond Wong.
Mr. Wong, Malcolm suddenly realized, was taking a risk. He was betting on a lizard in the lizard races but not one favored by the odds makers. He was betting Malcolm wouldn't ruin him too. He was betting that Malcolm Cobb, scholarship boy and jumped-up tunnel rat, had more integrity than any of his better-bred peers.
He would reward that faith, as long as Desmond Wong didn't play him false. Whatever he had done in the past to ensure his exile might be found in a filing cabinet. Or would Desmond Wong have carefully removed the evidence? He had access and no oversight to stop him.
His stomach growled suddenly, reminding him it was getting on towards lunch. He didn't have time to eat at the Dappled Yak and he didn't want to join the rest of the branch office's staff. Socializing with them over lunch was still very awkward. Malcolm sighed again. It would be faster and maybe, while he listened to the bank staff gossip about people he didn't know, he'd think of something he could do about Mr. Burgess to save Shelby.
***
Airik left the ballroom with a strong sense of relief. Mr. Burgess had carefully avoided him; it was easy enough to do for both of them since Mr. Burgess, draped in violently colored cabbage roses, could not hide in the crowd. He had learned one thing during his strained conversations. Nobody liked Sajag Burgess and nobody could explain to Airik's satisfaction why he held the power he did. That was interesting and led directly to speculation as to what kind of hold Mr. Burgess had over some of the businessmen of Panschin along with his peers at Second National.
Even more interesting was that Maerski, Atto, Davis, and Fuziwara didn't have an explanation, despite their own extensive dealings and subsidiary holdings in Panschin. He would have expected better. Airik had quite a bit of background information on the political and business leaders in his own free-city of Purnell, despite Shelleen never having been rich enough to influence the city. That situation was changing, thanks to the Red Mercury lode. Similarly, he knew far more about the demesnes surrounding Shelleen than he had in the past and for the same reason.
Yet the daimyos of the demesnes encircling Panschin didn't know what was happening in their own backyard.
That was interesting too, as it implied that the leading demesnes in the Northern Mining Tier weren't nearly as capable in their business dealings as their public relations claimed they were. This could leave more room for Shelleen's own expansion into the mining business. His demesne had substantial mineral deposits, mostly unexploited.
Airik allowed himself a smile. He would make Shelleen rich and do it in such a way that the wealth would benefit his demesne for generations to come. Shelleen would become a powerhouse in the quadrant. They'd no longer be an ignored and scorned backwater, always last on the list for political alliances, business deals, and advantageous marriages.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Gaston," Airik said, storing away thoughts of which site to exploit first and whether or not he should do his own in-house refining, thus earning a better profit.
"I've been sorting through the reports that you had been working on with Upton, getting ready for the next round of meetings. Where is the report on Chung/Banerjee? I can't find it."
"It's not in Upton's case?"
"No, sir. The contents were wildly disarrayed, so I had to check each piece of paper." Gaston stopped and sneezed violently. After recovering and mopping his face clean, he said, "I've seen Upton sneezing. Has Panschin been getting to him? He's normally fastidious about his paperwork for you."
"Yes, it has," Airik said. On his way out of the infirmary, the hotel doctor had uttered the dread word 'pneumonia' as something he was watching out for. "Unfortunately, he's barely conscious in the infirmary so I doubt we'll get an answer from him."
"We have to have that report, sir, for the meeting. It contains all the data from Chung/Banerjee along with my own estimates."
"Is that the only one missing?"
"I believe so, but I was only searching for this report."
"Damnation," Airik said.
He knew where the report was. It was undoubtedly sitting in the stack of papers on the table in the room he was using as an office at the White Elephant. No one here knew where the White Elephant was and he didn't want them to know. Elliot was most likely ensconced at the main library in Dome Six and wouldn't be back for hours. Or he could be someplace else, tracking down a lead. Nunzio couldn't read well enough to be sent to get it and come back with the correct report. If he brought back the entire stack of documents, he'd bring back the report on Simon Bradwell and Gaston might see it.
There was no help for it. On the other hand, he'd get to see Veronica Bradwell again and, perhaps, have her smile at him before he returned to Dome Six and the meeting with Chung/Banerjee. The thought was energizing.
"I have to retrieve it," Airik said.
"What? Can't someone else?" Gaston asked. Maybe he'd find out where Airik was hiding and he could hide there too, away from the increasingly maddening Twelve Happiness Luxury Hotel. The concierge, fully aware of Gaston's tastes in excruciating and embarrassing detail, would not leave him alone. That person (Gaston refused to use the term 'gentleman'), having spotted a lucrative stream of income for the hotel, wanted to keep it free-flowing. Gaston found himself desperately wishing again he had never come to Panschin. It had brought back terrible memories; memories he had tried to bury since his arrival in ways he would have never dreamed he would do.
"No. It won't take long. I'll return in well under an hour. I'll take Nunzio along. I trust you can handle the Chung/Banerjee delegation effectively."
Gaston looked uncomfortable, frowning at him; then his face brightened as he realized what Airik had said. He knew what Shelleen required of Chung/Banerjee and by taking care of things in Airik's absence, he could prove his continued worth to the daimyo of Shelleen. He, Gaston, was the senior head of Shelleen's tiny mining division, after all. It was his duty and his privilege to represent the daimyo.
"Yes, sir," Gaston said, his face much happier. "I'll have them primed for your return."
'Ah', Airik thought. 'With the right push, I can get something useful out of Gaston.'
***
Malcolm sat at the end of the large lunch table in the branch office, cautiously eating his carefully selected sandwich. Whoever had chosen the menu, once they knew he was eating in, had gone to great pains to choose the messiest sandwiches. He felt so paranoid, thinking such a thing, but he didn't let that stop him from selecting the sandwich that seemed least likely to spurt its juicy innards all over his best everyday suit when he bit into it. This particular sandwich wasn't his favorite by any means. Sadly, what he preferred was messy to eat, even if delicious. He wondered, with an inward sigh, when he'd be able to eat something he liked without fretting over his table manners being dissected for flaws.
As he did so, he listened to the conversation swirling around him. Despite the widely different levels in status, the branch staffers all knew each other quite well and, apparently, even socialized outside of work. He wouldn't have believed that Mr. Wong would know anything about his junior tellers' lives or know the names of his loan officers' children. Nonetheless, the idle chatter filling the air showed he did. Mr. Wong had told him all the senior members of the local branch had been exiled here by Burgess, so they held that situation in common. Yet Mr. Wong also knew what his junior tellers' lives were like enough to comment on what they were sharing. It was eye-opening to say the least, seeing how a friendly social life could co-exist with a business life. With enough time, he might be invited into the conversation as well, as the local staffers got to know him better and came to understand he wasn't a threat.
One thing Malcolm had learned from his scholarship experiences was how much business was done outside of an office setting. It wasn't that different really from the Steelio warren. You learned who you could rely on and who you couldn't based on what any given person did at home as well as in the tunnels. But friendships could and did cross status lines inside Steelio. There were a variety of leagues and groups to join, bringing together people with common interests.
Then it hit him. There was his answer.
If he could prove Burgess knew Simon Bradwell on a social level, outside of the office, he could, possibly, demonstrate a connection that couldn't be ignored while at the same time shielding the bank executives that Burgess had carefully implicated in Bradwell's schemes. Based on what he had already discovered in the filing cabinets, Malcolm knew which executive at Second National to approach first: a man who made no secret of his rivalry with and open distaste for Burgess. Some of the confidential, high-level memos he had scanned had been most enlightening. This executive would become an eager ally if it meant seeing Sajag Burgess thrown out on his knees onto a pile of tailings.
Malcolm finished his sandwich hurriedly while he thought hard. Shelby had told him she had never heard of Burgess. It had been patently clear that neither Burgess nor Veronica knew each other. But there was their elderly aunt, Neza Molony. Her niece had married Simon Bradwell. She belonged to the correct social strata. She could know of social organizations or clubs that Simon Bradwell and Burgess might have in common. It was, at any rate, a place to start and Neza Molony had compelling reasons to revisit the past, seeking a connection between the nephew by marriage who had ruined her great-nieces and the man now threatening her and them with homelessness and further ruin.
"Mr. Wong," he said.
"Yes, Cobb?" Mr. Wong answered, taking his time about it. "Eager to get back to those filing cabinets?"
Malcolm caught a gleam in Mr. Wong's eye. He was unsure of what Mr. Wong was implying. That was the problem with being too subtle of mind. It was far too easy for the recipient to miss the clue being sent. He would have to go with what he knew he had to do next and Mr. Wong would have to live with it.
"I am, sir. They certainly did need a thorough scrubbing and I'll be returning to them frequently. However, I need to check in at the White Elephant and reassure the residents that the bank is doing everything possible to assist them," Malcolm said. He very carefully did not mention Mr. Burgess's name.
"A good choice, Cobb," Mr. Wong replied. "You'll clear your lungs out from the dust in the second subbasement and reassure our clients that they come first with us here at the local branch, no matter what outside pressures are brought to bear."
So, he had interpreted Mr. Wong correctly. "Thank you, sir," Malcolm said.
***
On the way over to the White Elephant from the branch office, Malcolm worked out how to follow the lode seam. He'd start with Neza Molony. She had to know something about the social milieu Simon Bradwell and Sajag Burgess lived and worked in. She was born into it and people at that level absorbed the rules and structures through osmosis. She might also be able to supply names to him for further research, names of people who might be willing to speak to him.
The difficulty was that it would all take so much time. He had a sneaking suspicion that Burgess wouldn't give him much time. Burgess had his own agenda, one that involved keeping his own nefarious activities safely undercover. Otherwise, he wouldn't have cared so much about Veronica Bradwell. Was it possible that Burgess was worried about discovery?
Well, sure he was worried. He had to be. Burgess, like Simon Bradwell, knew damn well he was dirty and couldn't bear public exposure. Yet there was something else. Malcolm could almost see the thought waving at him. He had a sudden intuition that Burgess knew he was standing on scree, shifting and sliding beneath his feet. There was no reason to think such a thing. Burgess had been successfully covering his tracks for years. Yet he had reacted very strongly to Veronica Bradwell, threatening to evict her at his earliest opportunity.
It had been too strong a reaction, Malcolm decided. The most sensible response would have been to stalk off in a huff, ignoring Miss Bradwell as dross beneath his notice. Evicting her would resurrect old scandals. Rehashing those old scandals might lead to questions or speculation that would connect Mr. Burgess with Simon Bradwell in a new way, since all the previous case studies and news coverage had never specifically linked their names.
Hmm. Perhaps Mr. Burgess was under pressure from someone else.
Malcolm frowned at his unruly thoughts. Speculating about other pressures on Burgess didn't help him dig out his own seam of ore. Since he knew nothing about other, outside pressures, he could do nothing with the idea.
There was another alternative route he could follow, but it was dangerous and put him in the position of self-corruption and becoming beholden to a group he wanted nothing to do with.
He could ask Jeffen what Blue Sun knew about Sajag Burgess.
Jeffen was low-ranking in Blue Sun's hierarchy. Jeffen wouldn't know anything but someone higher up might know of some activity Burgess needed to conceal from his business and social connections. Unfortunately, merely asking the question would put him in debt to both Jeffen and Blue Sun. They would both expect repayment of their own choosing, on their own schedule. Malcolm could lose before he even got started in his plans for eventually running Second National. Worse, if Blue Sun had no actionable information, he would have put himself in debt for nothing.
Worst of all was the possibility that Burgess was already working with Blue Sun. If he was, then merely asking the question of Jeffen would ensure Malcolm's ruin along with his family and Shelby's. Shelby giving a cloud painting to Jeffen would not protect her. Jeffen didn't have enough clout to protect anyone from his masters.
There was also the issue of the thug. Was that thug connected with Blue Sun? Malcolm hadn't spotted the telltale blue circle but they were never obvious. If the goon was a free-lancer, Blue Sun might be interested but not to help the Bradwells. They'd want someone so enterprising to join their organization. In fact, they would insist. Or, the thug might already be a member, in which case Blue Sun would be even less inclined to help him or the Bradwells. It was better to leave the thug to the police.
No, approaching Jeffen and asking Blue Sun for help was deeply problematic.
Then the scattered passersby approaching him spread out to make room for someone else hurrying through. They automatically provided elbowroom for the daimyo of Shelleen and his hulking bodyguard.
***
Airik expected the crowds to part before him whenever he walked out and about with Nunzio. It happened effortlessly and all on its own. It was a pleasant side-effect of having a hulking bodyguard. Street crowds had never, in the past, made room for him when he was plain Airik Shelleen. They weren't really making room for him now. They were making room for Nunzio and he benefited.
What Airik did not expect was recognizing someone on the street in Dome Two in Panschin, particularly during the business day.
Malcolm Cobb spotted Airik and immediately veered over towards him. Here was a potential ally. The pretend Mr. Jones had shown a definite interest in keeping Veronica Bradwell safe from the thug and he had shown an even stronger distaste for Burgess. It was possible he might have, during his days at the Biennial Mining Conference, learned something about Burgess. He routinely spoke to high-status people who would never speak to a former tunnel-rat.
It was not yet time to tell Mr. Jones that his identity wasn't such a secret to Malcolm Cobb. It also wasn't the right moment to remind Mr. Jones that if he wanted his identity to remain a secret, he should have taken the time to change his obviously non-Panschin clothes (expensive and well-cut as they were) back to the drab standard-issue coverall that he had worn before. The bodyguard, Nunzio, was wearing a coverall but he never blended in no matter what he wore.
"Mr. Jones," Malcolm said. "I was on my way to the White Elephant. May I presume you are going there also?"
"I am," Airik replied.
So, Mr. Jones wasn't going to volunteer information about his activities. Malcolm decided to get right to the point, spurring some kind of response.
"You recall Mr. Burgess's threats to Miss Bradwell?" Malcolm said.
He watched with interest as Airik Jones' face darkened with a well-controlled fury. The daimyo of Shelleen had a connection of some kind to Veronica Bradwell and not just because he wanted to hide in Dome Two for some mysterious reason. Good. He could work with that.
"I do." Airik paused, studying Malcolm Cobb. The banker was still behaving as though he didn't recognize Airik's identity. Good. That gave time to plan what to do when Cobb asked him to invest in some ridiculous business scheme.
"I've been asking questions about Sajag Burgess at the Biennial Mining Conference. How does he retain any power?" Airik asked. "He seems a buffoon, yet no one could provide me with reasons why he isn't on his knees sifting tailings."
Malcolm smiled inwardly. So, the daimyo of Shelleen cared very much. It might be time to lay some of his cards on the table.
"Are you familiar with the name 'Simon Bradwell'?" Malcolm said.
To Malcolm's great interest, the daimyo of Shelleen stopped walking. His bodyguard also stopped walking and watched Malcolm carefully while openly listening.
"I am," Airik replied. His mind raced. What should he reveal? Veronica Bradwell should have meant nothing to him, yet she was becoming very important indeed. He had been looking forward to seeing her again, from the moment he left the Twelve Happiness Luxury Hotel and descended into Panschin's metro system and all during his walk from the transit station. The thought of seeing her, of amusing her, of hearing her liquid laugh and warming himself in her smile had put a spring in his step. He could be sure she had recovered from Dean Kangjuon's attack.
What did he want to admit to some assistant manager of the Second National Bank of Panschin about her background or more importantly, his own? However, during each of their previous meetings, Malcolm Cobb had not seemed like a buffoon. He immediately stepped in when the thug had accosted Veronica. He was most decidedly interested in Shelby Bradwell. He was interested enough to reveal his own checkered background; a background that would have gotten him thrown out of any household that was concerned with keeping up appearances. He had even revealed his background to the PanU Artists' Collective, guaranteeing that he could not conceal it in the future. Malcolm Cobb demonstrated integrity, unlike himself.
His mind made up, Airik said "I am fully aware of Miss Bradwell's relationship to Simon Bradwell. I have only a beginning understanding of her father's criminal behavior towards his clients, since the case is so complex. I believe, based on what I have learned within the last few days, that Simon Bradwell had extensive assistance from someone very highly placed. He must have, in order to conceal his embezzlement for so long. What I do not understand is why no one else seems to have noticed those discrepancies."
Malcolm smiled coldly. "No one noticed because Sajag Burgess worked very closely with Simon Bradwell, covering their tracks. No one noticed because Burgess was very careful to implicate all of his peers at Second National. If they noticed, they would also have been sentenced to the Dirac mines, along with Burgess and Simon Bradwell."
"Ah," Airik said. "You know this to be true?"
"I've gained access to a treasure trove of files, complete in every detail."
"Which also implicate the hierarchy of Second National?"
"Oh, yes," Malcolm said. "I have to be very careful or I, my entire family, and the Bradwells will end up in the Dirac mines instead. I can't air Second National's dirty laundry without punishment."
"I see. May I assume Simon Bradwell enjoyed similar relationships with the other banks of Panschin?" Airik asked.
"I believe so," Malcolm said. "It's logical and explains so much. However, I don't have access to any other institution's files, so I am basing my assumptions on the evidence I have along with the case studies I've read."
Airik thought hard as they walked along. He could offer refuge in Shelleen to Veronica, her sister, her aunt, and, he sighed inwardly, Malcolm Cobb and quite probably Lulu and Florence as well. Then there was Malcolm Cobb's own family. He'd have to take in everyone who was harmed. His own family would have plenty to say to him about harboring fugitives, even if they were fugitives from the justice of a free-city completely outside of the day-to-day purview of Shelleen. No Four Hundred family particularly cared what a free-city got up to as long as they didn't interfere with the aristocracy. Four Hundred families were above the law within the government corridors and made their own law on their demesnes. At least Cobb's family were miners and so could be put to work at once in Shelleen's mines. They might even become an asset.
He would see Veronica every day, while his family scrutinized their every interaction with the single-minded intensity of cats stalking mice.
He wasn't ready for that step. Instead, Airik said, "I watched Burgess threaten to call in Qiao & Schopenhour's commercial paper."
This time, Malcolm stopped walking and turned to Airik in shock, making him stop as well. "Burgess actually said that? Publicly? To Marmaduke Qiao?"
"No. He threatened Miss Winifred Qiao, but by extension the entire firm and both families. He wanted to bully her. I informed Marmaduke and Bertram Qiao upon their arrival after Burgess left."
"Well," Malcolm said, utterly astonished. "Burgess is dancing on the edge of a bottomless pit. I can't imagine why he'd do something so asinine. He must have thought she'd stay quiet."
"She might have, but I wasn't going to."
"You've put Qiao & Schopenhour in your debt."
Airik allowed himself a cool smile. "How are they regarded in Panschin?"
'Still not going to admit who you are to me,' Malcolm thought. 'But since you'll be in my debt, I can live with it.'
Aloud, he said, "Qiao & Schopenhour are a top-notch mining firm in Panschin, along with plenty of other interests. However, get every last detail in your contract spelled out in full and in writing. Don't sign anything without a careful review on your part. Do not make any assumptions, no matter how minor. Marmaduke follows contracts to the letter but if you miss a detail, he'll take full advantage, feeling he shouldn't have to take care of your firm and your needs. That's your job. He's not a social climber either and so does not ever toady to a demesne, like Maerski, say, in order to do business."
"I see," Airik said. "Are there Schopenhours still with the firm?"
"Plenty, along with plenty of Qiaos, but the only person who counts is Marmaduke. He makes the decisions. As long as your firm is thinking of doing business with Qiao & Schopenhour, keep this in mind. Marmaduke won't live forever and it's expected in some quarters that the firm will tear itself apart in a bloodbath as soon as the families are positive he's dead."
"You said in some quarters," Airik said. "Do you believe this?"
Malcolm wanted to leap with joy. The daimyo of Shelleen was listening to him carefully and asking him, a scholarship boy and former tunnel-rat, for his opinion.
"I don't because I don't believe Marmaduke would ever leave the firm in the lurch. He spent his whole life building it with his partner, Kantu Schopenhour, dead these last few years. Marmaduke wants to see it thrive for ten more generations. I'm sure he's got a succession plan already in place and his successor already primed to step in, most likely Bertram. He allows rumors about a bloodbath since then, when he's gone, the firm will be underestimated."
"And now Sajag Burgess has gotten his attention," Airik said. He remembered how the elder Mr. Qiao had signaled the younger Mr. Qiao to speak. Yes, it was quite likely Malcolm Cobb was correct in his analysis.
"Yes. Unfortunately, it won't be fast enough for me to help Shelby," Malcolm replied. "Or Veronica," he added, watching Airik's face closely. "Marmaduke prefers a slow, drawn-out process, sanding off the skin one layer at a time down to the bone. He's never hasty. The people who run afoul of him never forget it, nor do they recover."
"Interesting," Airik said. He was coming to the understanding that Malcolm Cobb was very intelligent and observant; so much so that it was becoming impossible to believe that Cobb didn't know who he was. Instead, Malcolm Cobb was choosing to pretend he didn't recognize the daimyo of Shelleen for reasons of his own.
Malcolm broke the silence since the daimyo of Shelleen wasn't leaping to rescue Veronica or Shelby Bradwell, damn him. He said, "I'm a scholarship boy. I don't have the background or resources to figure out how and where Burgess and Bradwell interacted on a social basis, but I'm sure they did. If I can prove they knew each other well and did business together outside the formal institution of the bank, I might be able to force the issue. I know you're not from Panschin, but it's obvious you're not just another middle manager. Do you have any suggestions?"
Airik gave him a cool look. "Why would you say that?"
Malcolm laughed heartily. "I'm not an idiot. You have a valet, a secretary, and a bodyguard. That's not the norm for midlevel businessmen."
"Nunzio," Airik began.
"Is a bodyguard," Malcolm said harshly, interrupting him. "It's obvious. I saw Nunzio in action at the gallery showing. I saw how the street crowd couldn't get out of his way fast enough. I'm not going to ask you why you need a bodyguard since it's not my business to know. What I want is a suggestion as to where to go after I speak with Neza Molony."
As Malcolm turned back to check the street sign, he caught a gleam of amusement in Nunzio's eyes.
Airik chewed over Malcolm's words. Damnation. Did he want to continue pretending he was plain Mr. Jones from Barsoom to the banker? He tabled that concern and moved on to the one whereby he could help Veronica without revealing his true self.
"I would suggest starting with Steelio, Mr. Cobb. You're from their warren so I assume Mr. Steelio knows you, your family, and knows your abilities and reputation."
"I hadn't thought of him," Malcolm admitted. "I try not to use Mr. Steelio, both because he's already done so much for me and because I'm trying to get ahead on my own merits without reminding everyone I'm a tunnel rat."
"In this case," Airik said, "I believe you should. I've spoken with Steelio twice and he seems competent and honest."
"He is that," Malcolm agreed fervently. "Steelio warrens are the best by far. I'm not the only scholarship boy that Steelio has promoted either."
They had reached Oleander Lane and turned down it, heading towards the White Elephant. As they walked past the ruined mansions encased in cocoons of terraformers, Airik thought of a change of subject, one that would keep Malcolm Cobb from asking him to get involved in some get-rich-quick scheme involving the Second National Bank of Panschin.
"How do the domes stay clean of terraformers?"
"They're electrified," Malcolm said. "A small charge pulses through the glassteel at regular intervals, just enough to keep the terraformers at bay."
"I see," Airik said. "I had wondered. Dome Six, unlike every other place in Panschin I've observed, does not seem overrun with terraformers. How does that Dome manage?"
"Same way," Malcolm answered. "All the buildings have a regular pulse of electricity passed through their structure. Only Dome Six was built to stay self-cleaning. Everywhere else in Panschin, the terraformers have to be manually scrubbed clean off the buildings, every single structure, and everywhere light reaches inside them."
"How much power does that draw?"
"A lot. Enough that the city could have provided streetlights in all the domes and cut the price of electricity by two-thirds for everyone in Panschin," Malcolm said bitterly. "Hey." He stopped at the gate to the White Elephant and stared at the house. "The front door is ajar."
"I don't see Miss Bradwell in the garden," Airik said. He thought of Dean Kangjuon and his attempted assault on Veronica. "Something is wrong."
Airik opened the gate, hearing the now-familiar shriek, and started down the pathway to the partially opened front door. It had never been left open in his experience without the door being attended to by someone.
"Burgess," said Malcolm and ran after him, followed by Nunzio.