Dominions

24

24

- 24 -

As the lift descended, Rodin cursed himself for not acting back in Leopold’s office. He’d missed opportunities before, on other contracts, and it always made the job more complicated. The quick removal, at the first decent opportunity, was always the best option.

But he couldn’t focus on the Councillor. His mind threw up images of those graphs, and he wondered one thing‌—‌what potential would his own graphs reveal?

Of course, that would never happen. The tests needed data from the subject’s formative years, and Rodin had no past. He’d been a mercenary for ten years, and for two years before that he’d been ‘in training’, struggling to survive on the edges of the districts. But before that, nothing. No memories, no records, no data. He did not exist.

Rodin had no past, and he had no future. If he thought of the next year, the next month, or even the next day, he never saw himself, only others. He saw Genna, older, still as formidable as ever, a powerful matriarch to her district. He saw Jimny, still running his cafe, helped out by a younger relative, using sharp words to keep him in line.

Rodin only had today, only had his job. He was paid to remove people, and he did this with efficiency and without sentimentality. If he had any potential, it was shown in how his training had brought him to this role. He’d learnt to be quick and agile, how and when to use weapons.

And he’d learnt to be observant. Otherwise he might have missed the person following him.

He noticed the footsteps as he walked past the beach scenes. They clacked‌—‌the shoes were not soft-soled‌—‌but with a hesitancy that suggested someone trying to be quiet.

Rodin didn’t turn. He walked out into the sunshine‌—‌there was not a cloud in the sky now‌—‌and followed the path that circled all four Council buildings. The steps came no closer, but neither did they fall back.

The path twisted and turned through trees and around flower beds, often doubling back on itself. It would be hard for anyone following to remain hidden.

On the first bend, Rodin caught sight of a long-sleeved top and a hat pulled down low over the face. The figure was tall, possibly female. The path twisted again, and this time the building’s windows acted as a mirror. His pursuer wore a long skirt, free-flowing enough that it wouldn’t hinder movement, and loose enough that it could easily conceal weapons.

He slowed his pace as trees approached, testing her, keeping his peripheral vision trained on her as the path twisted. Her foot twisted to one side and she almost fell. Balancing on one leg, she seemed to be inspecting the soul of her shoe. When she continued walking, her pace was slower, matched once again to Rodin’s.

That wasn’t an accident. She knew what she was doing.

Ahead, the path ran alongside a stone wall, high enough that Rodin could only just reach the top. He recalled the plans of the area he’d seen, and believed this was one of the occasional walled gardens. The path skirted three sides, if his memory was correct‌—‌and that gave Rodin an opportunity.

He followed the path round the corner, and scanned the area‌—‌a couple lounging on the grass, a few others wandering by the flower beds, but none were looking his way. Perfect.

Perfect.With a couple of quick steps, Rodin launched himself at the wall, grasping the top as he ran his feet up the brickwork. A final lunge and he was over, dropping to the grass on the other side.

The lawn was long and thin, maybe a hundred paces by twenty. Half-way along the long wall to his left was an ornate metal gate, and opposite was a tree, growing close to the right-hand wall. Rodin ran across the grass, then used a couple of branches to climb up.

Perching on top of the stone-work, Rodin looked down to the path he’d walked along a few moments before. The woman was not in sight, but he could hear her footsteps. They stopped, then continued slowly.

So she was round the corner, no doubt confused by his disappearance.

He dropped to the path and padded to the corner. Pulling his screen from a pocket, he angled the glass round the edge of the brickwork and studied the reflection.

She was at the gate that led into the walled garden. She disappeared inside, returning a moment later. Her confusion was clear as she looked up and down the path, then across the grass, before heading back his way.

Her features became clearer in the black glass, especially when she pushed the hat further back on her head.

There was no mistaking that face.

Why would Shae be following him?

Why would Shae be following him?He glanced around‌—‌still not many others around, but enough that a scene would be noticed. Rodin judged that Shae would not be seeking that kind of attention.

She approached the corner. Rodin slipped the screen into his jacket then stepped onto the path, head cast down as if in thought.

As they collided, he moved his hands to grasp her shoulders.

“Sorry! I was miles away.” He looked her up and down, noticing how her tight-fitting top showed no unnatural bulges. There were slits in the side of her skirt, though, that could give access to weapons hidden beneath the material.

She let out a small cry, then drew in breath. Her eyes met his, and they narrowed. “Foolish! You should have been paying more attention.”

“I do apologise. I’ve had things on my mind and‌…‌I should have been more observant.” He felt her breathing come under control, and he lifted his hands from her shoulders. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Do I look that frail?”

Her response was sharp, unlike the common pleasant tone used in the Dome, and Rodin reminded himself that she was protecting Leopold. But there was something else in her voice. Something he recognised.

“I meant no offence. Once again, I apologise.”

“And those words are supposed to help, are they?” Again, the phrasing was harsh, and she showed none of the fawning bonhomie he’d grown to expect under the glass. And he’d definitely heard this woman before.

But he hadn’t seen her. Not clearly, anyway. It had been dark, there had been too much else happening, and he’d been angry with his failure.

“You seem familiar,” he said, tilting his head. There was anger in her expression, and he needed to tread carefully. “At least I think I’ve seen you before. Was it you, the other evening, on the lake?”

She breathed deeply, pushing her shoulders back. Her eyes narrowed.

“When you foolishly capsized that dinghy? You were lucky I was there, both you and the Councillor.” And she said that like an accusation, like she didn’t believe in luck.

“Then I’m in your debt. I can’t thank you enough for rescuing us. Especially the Councillor. Thankfully, he’s already much recovered, but without your assistance‌…‌well, I shudder to imagine what might have happened.”

“Quite.” She practically spat the word. “Maybe you won’t be so reckless in the future.”

Rodin nodded. “Of course.” Next time I’ll be more careful, he thought. Next time I won’t make any mistakes.

Next time I’ll be more careful,Next time I won’t make any mistakes.“Good.” She went to turn, and Rodin stepped to one side, partially blocking her path. “But I know you from somewhere else, don’t I? A party maybe?”

“If you saw me, we definitely didn’t converse. I’m very particular about who I socialise with.”

Rodin allowed a smile of recognition to spread over his face. “Ah! Now I remember. I saw you in the park, with Miss Paskia. You’re her aunt, right? She mentioned your name‌—‌oh, it’s on the tip of my tongue, but all I can think of is sheep.”

The bizarre turn of conversation had the desired effect as Shae froze. She glared at Rodin. “Sheep?”

“Your name‌—‌it’s something to do with wool, or bleating. No, shearing‌—‌that’s it. Miss Shearer!”

She huffed. “My name is Shae. If you paid attention to my niece’s words instead of her body you might know that.”

“Once again I apologise, Miss Shae. And please, set your mind at rest. As attractive as your niece is, in those sessions with Sertio my only concern was to hold the pose correctly.”

“I suppose I’ll have to take your word on that.” Then a twist of her head, changing gears. “But you’re not with the artist today? What brings you to the Council?”

There was no point lying‌—‌she knew anyway. “I received an invitation to meet Councillor Leopold.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Quite the social climber! Standing n***d in front of an artist one day, and the next your presence is requested by a well-respected Councillor. What next I wonder‌—‌honoured for services to Society perhaps, or an offer to present a talk at a youth centre? How I rose above the difficulties of my younger days to become a success. How I came from outside,” and she paused, “this Dome, and found acceptance and friendship without even trying.”

She turned her head, looking to the left and right, and Rodin was sure she was avoiding his eyes. She was clearly agitated, but she took a breath, and when she continued speaking she’d regained her control. “So tell me, what do you make of Councillor Leopold? You don’t find his views to be on the extreme side?” Her tone was almost friendly, but there was a mocking edge to it, similar to the way she wrote those articles.

Rodin wouldn’t let her catch him out, though. He paused, looking up while pulling a face. “He’s careful with his words,” he eventually said. “He didn’t express his views as much as posit hypotheses. Councillor Leopold is a deep thinker, and I have a great deal of admiration and respect for him.”

“Indeed.” She didn’t believe him. “There are many who oppose his honesty, of course. There are those who feel threatened by the notions he discusses. But he also has many powerful friends. More than even he is aware of. There are many of us who believe whole-heartedly in the Councillor, and are prepared to defend his right to express his views.” She leaned in, close enough that Rodin caught the warmth of her breath. “Those who wish to silence him would do well to remember that.”

She moved back, and before he could respond, she continued. Again, the mock-friendly tone returned. “There’s a popular idea, that what we receive in life is in proportion to what we give. Tell me, what do you think of this idea?”

“I believe we each have to do the best we can.” The vagueness of Shae’s words didn’t deserve anything more concrete.

She huffed. “Close enough. But there’s a flip side‌—‌the belief that those who act against others will receive suitable punishment in due course.”

She was obviously angling for something, playing a game. Rodin frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

Her eyes bore into him, and behind them he could see something like hatred. It gave her the strength to hold his gaze.

“I pity those who would silence Councillor Leopold. I pity them not because they don’t understand, but because their actions will ultimately rebound on them, and the suffering they intend for others will become their own. I pity them the pain they will endure.” She raised a finger, her hand trembling. “You’d do well to remember that, Mister Terrell.”

Shae spun round and walked away, as fast as she could.