On-Grid
Cardfall Casino
“Principal ziaGorn.”
Mardek was on the bar—Mardek had been on the bar since his father had opened the casino, before Majel was born. He was a Sensitive, as all bartenders were Sensitives, and the fact that he looked worried was—telling.
“Old friend,” Majel murmured, coming to the bar and putting his foot on the rail. “Is something amiss?”
“You’ll know that better than I,” Mardek said, pulling a glass from the overhead rack, and placing it on the bar. He reached beneath—sent a bright glance into Majel’s face—and brought out the cut crystal bottle, from which he poured liberally.
Well, Majel thought. There was nothing to protest, there. It had been an unsettling evening, following a stressful day. A glass of the Andram would be—welcome.
“Surda vinsEbin is in the booth. She is waiting for you, and she has been waiting for some time.”
The day wasn’t done with him yet, Majel thought, resignedly. He glanced at the glass Mardek had poured for him and thought of asking for the bottle. Which—
“How many has she had?” he asked.
“The second bottle was opened a few minutes ago.”
That was restrained, indeed. Durella must really want to speak to him.
“Thank you,” Majel said to the old barkeep. “I’ll go to Surda vinsEbin. If any call comes from the floor, do interrupt me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Majel picked up his glass, and went down the room to the privacy booth.
* * *
Possibly, Durella had begun drinking before she had gotten to the casino. Her face was flushed, and her eyes red. A single bottle of wine would not have produced such effects in so experienced a drinker. Also, he saw as he took the seat across from her, her hand was unsteady as she raised her glass.
“You’re early,” she remarked, and then pointedly looked at his glass. “Have you come to a sense of what you’ve done, Councilor? I must say that I’m surprised.”
Majel sighed, and raised his glass, allowing himself a sip. He closed his eyes to savor the smooth heat before he set the glass aside and opened his eyes to Durella’s angry face.
“It has been a long day, fraught with stress, not the least of which is an apparent attempt on the casino. Be brief, Durella.”
“Brief?” Her eyes narrowed. “Very well. You’re an ambitious idiot who will be the cause of the Deaf losing everything they have gained over the last twenty Standards.”
This was a familiar theme—Durella had always decried his ambition. However, there was a new pleat—that his fall would raze the Deaf. The usual tale of his downfall ended with Durella coming out of retirement to resume her painfully careful game of advancing the Citizens into Civilization.
Not that she had accomplished nothing during her years of service, Majel told himself. In the early years, she had made significant gains toward equality. For the last decade, however, she had confined herself to preventing the likes of seelyFaire from passing laws that took those gains away, or infantilized the Deaf in some other way.
Though that had, as Majel also acknowledged, taken a good deal of political maneuvering and social engineering.
“What’s changed?” he wondered now, as Durella knocked back her half-glass of wine.
She paused in the act of reaching for the bottle.
“Did you or did you not put yourself forward as the liaison between the Council and the Tree-and-Dragon Trade Mission?”
“I did. It was just the sort of opportunity I’ve been looking for. Ambitious or not, I am qualified to stand as liaison. I am in business; I understand and can navigate particular levels of bureaucracy that might frustrate a stranger to Colemeno; I have been appointed by the Council, and therefore have its ear. I have an opportunity to match useful people from my constituency with the aims of the trade mission. Deaf might even gain positions on the ships that will be arriving. Not only will the Council and the Civilized see that we are neither frail nor foolish, but it is an opportunity to advance twenty years in one step. I would be a fool not to seize it!”
There. He had perhaps been too warm, even given that Durella could strike temper from a paving stone. But it was said, and said truly. He did not regret that.
He allowed himself another sip of Andram. Across from him, Durella refreshed her glass.
“I ask you, Councilor, to imagine that this bold plan for success and acceptance—goes awry. I do not ask you to imagine how this happens. We have both seen enough to know that any plan may go awry, for any reason, or none.”
Majel tamped down on the flare of irritation. This was an old game. His father had taught him the first level: Every bright thing casts a shadow, my child. Remember to look into the shadows.
And Durella herself had taught him the political form.
Imagine that the plan goes wrong—it doesn’t matter why, only that it has. What is the worst that can happen? Is it acceptable? No, never mind the original plan—that’s gone. You must now decide what you can salvage, and if it is enough to fight for.
“If I fail,” he said now, “then we return to the square we now occupy. If I fail spectacularly enough, I may have to resign in favor of another. I will do what I can to be certain that whoever is chosen as my replacement will be ambitious on behalf of our constituents.”
Durella sighed.
“I had thought you had learned better. Is seelyFaire no longer a Councilor?”
“You know that she is.”
“Yes. And I know that what she will see in a failure is proof that the Deaf are in fact—what was it you said, Councilor? Frail and foolish. In need of protection. We will see what few rights we have stripped away, and caretakers again set up to oversee us, and shield us from harm.”
He opened his mouth—
“Hear me, Dreamer ziaGorn! That is what I held against. It had been brought to the table more than once during my time. Once, it came far, far too close to being implemented. We fought it to a standstill—I and tryaBent and krogerSlyte. Then we fought the compromise. We held. But seelyFaire is only biding her time. Give her anything to build into a case for another Citizens Protection Act, and she will do her utmost. Which is not inconsiderable. And she learns from her mistakes.”
“If it should happen that I fail,” Majel said, evenly, “then I will fight. And if I fail there, too, then perhaps it is time to implement that other plan, which was always deemed too bold: to form our own council in truth, and declare ourselves separate from Civilization.”
Durella stared at him.
“Because that has worked out so well for the Haosa.”
“The Haosa are few, as we are. It comes to me that we are natural allies, and might usefully band together.”
“The Deaf band with the Wild? You had used to have wits, Majel, but—”
There came a knock at the door.
Majel touched the button for the comm.
“ziaGorn.”
“Principal, it is Seylin. The last patrons have left us, and the floor supervisors have gathered in the meeting room, as you requested.”
“Thank you. I will come at once.”
Majel looked across the table at Durella.
“I’ll send someone to escort you home,” he said, expecting her to deride the suggestion that she might need such an escort.
She sighed; looked at the bottle, the empty glass—and met his eyes.
“That is a gentle courtesy. I will await them here.”