A Drop of Corruption (Shadow of the Leviathan, #2)

by Robert Jackson Bennett

“This is Old Town?” I asked dubiously. “Used to be the high seat of Yarrow, many years back,” said Malo. “The place of the king and his noble court. Do you not find it impressive?” I eyed a tumorous growth of mold crawling up one wall. “It seems rather lived in.” “That is one term for it,” she conceded.

“The king simply left his people here? With no arrangements?” “Yes?” “Why would he do so?” She paused and looked back at me, studying my face as if suddenly worried I was some reckless cretin. Then she shook her head and we continued on.

“Beg pardon,” I said. “But—the Treasury delegation was lodged here?” “It’s as I told you.” Malo grunted as we climbed a short, awkward stair. “No one loves the tax man, Kol. Don’t want him to stay, stick him somewhere shit. The king of Yarrow apparently delights in torturing the Treasury officers they send to speak with him, and requested they stay here.

“You know, you are not a stupid person, Din.” “Thank you, ma’am,” I said, pleased. “Or, rather, not an unusually stupid person.” “Thank you, ma’am,” I said, far less pleased.

“Yet the man’s clothes had a citrus smell, you say?” “They did. Signum Malo assumed that was done to cover up the sce—” “Quiet,” she snapped. “I am thinking! Hm. You say Sujedo also tapped his leg as he went about his business…And he asked the guard about the man’s wedding, you say? Despite being an axiom?” “Yes. I thought that very odd, too.” “Being as axioms are usually as socially cognizant as a wet fucking brick, yes,” she said. “It is quite damned odd.” I pursed my lips, for Ana’s own grasp of social decorum was often nonexistent, but refrained from comment.

“Allow me to enlighten you on the situation, Dinios. For history, as always, has predetermined much of the circumstances here.” I sighed, nodded, but said nothing. When Ana talked history, asking questions simply made things last longer.

And now—this! A fucking note! I feel we needn’t bother looking at faces to find this man, Din! Just keep an eye out for the fellow with testicles large enough to cause back deformities, and we shall have our culprit!”

said Ana, attempting a sane smile.

“She wrote a story in her mind, with herself as hero, clad in the trappings of triumph. It’s possible the greatness she has accomplished here could have been done with no deception, and thus less disaster. But a prideful creature can talk themself into believing that every deed they do is legitimate. Thus, they both giddily and greedily spin their own doom.”

Then—and this is very important!—I want both of you to find and assemble your dress uniforms before tomorrow morning.” “Our…dress uniforms, ma’am?” I asked, puzzled. “May I ask why?” “Perhaps to see if you can follow a single fucking order without comment!” snapped Ana.

“Is she mad?” Malo asked me. “For I resent her for pouring such wild suggestions into my mind, and then asking me to sleep!” “She is mad,” I conceded. “But…not often wrong.”

“It seems we are now in the business of court intrigue!” said Ana. She wrinkled her nose. “How trite.” At that, Malo turned about, opened the door, walked to the porch railing, and vomited into the yard.

“There is no one more forward with the unpleasant truth than a powerful, prideful man with a grudge.

The Engineer can see a bridge span a river, and marvel at what they made. The Legionnaire can look upon the carcass of a leviathan, and know they’ve saved countless lives. And the Apoth can watch a body mend and heal and change, and smile. But the Iudex…we are not granted such favors.” She leaned closer to the glass. “This work can never satisfy, Din, for it can never finish. The dead cannot be restored. Vice and bribery will never be totally banished from the cantons. And the drop of corruption that lies within every society shall always persist. The duty of the Iudex is not to boldly vanquish it but to manage it. We keep the stain from spreading, yes, but it is never gone. Yet this job is perhaps the most important in all the Iyalets, for without it, well…the Empire would come to look much like Yarrow, where the powerful and the cruel prevail without check. And tell me—does that realm look capable of fighting off a leviathan?”

“His perfect marks, perfect scores, perfect service record. It was data. Records. It was not knowledge. Not comprehension.” The man, wistfully, dreamily: “To serve with him was akin to loving a person made of glass. So difficult to perceive. So still, so cold, so hard to the touch.”

“I was not thinking of my people. My eyes are clear now. I was thinking of myself. To serve is a tremendously humbling thing. How easy it is to mistake glory and fame for duty! But duty is thankless, invisible, forgettable—but oh, so very necessary.”

“But…do you know what hurts worst, Din?” “What, ma’am?” “Why, it’s the…the crushing disappointment of it all. The investigation ends. It’s all over now. No more riddles, no more need for imagination. And all was so small, at the end. It was for money, and land, and brutal, petty nihilism. Honestly, how…how tremendously disappointing.”

“It is good to place oneself before the vast expanse of this world,” said Ana. “The ocean cannot tell the difference between a rich man and a poor one, nor one full of happiness, or despair. To those waves, all are so terribly small.”

Because all the characters in this story—like all of humanity, apparently—have a little blank spot in their heads that says, “Kings. What a good idea.” The idea is powerful, and seductive, and should not be underestimated. To be a civilization of any worth, however, means acknowledging the idea—and then condemning it as laughably, madly stupid.