The Blood Tree Read Free

sure,” he said. “That idiotic woman says I need to get out of the house more. She thinks I’m—”
    â€œListless. So I heard. Too many dirty Latin poems, that’s your trouble.” Since he resigned from the Council in 2013, the old man had returned to his first love, the classics. He spent most of his time buried in old tomes.
    â€œDon’t be flippant, laddie. There are plenty of parallels between late Republican Rome and this city in 2026.” He gave a long sigh. “More’s the pity.” He looked past me. “Is that you, Davie?”
    â€œIt is,” the big man said. “How are you doing, Hector?”
    â€œNever mind me. What has that old tightarse in charge of your directorate been up to?”
    Davie grinned at that description of his boss, then frowned when he saw how happy it had made me. The public order guardian, Lewis Hamilton, was a founder member of the Enlightenment Party and had been on the original Council with my father.
    â€œI haven’t seen much of him,” Davie replied. “He’s serving his month as senior guardian.” The Council instigated a rotating system for the top job a couple of years back because of abuses when the position was permanent. My mother had been one of the holders of the city’s senior office, much to Hector’s disgust. They hadn’t been getting on for years and had taken advantage of the celibate state that used to be required of guardians to ignore each other completely.
    â€œMay the Lord protect us,” the old man said, taking refuge in divine power like all the best atheists. “Lewis must be almost as doddery as I am.”
    Davie laughed. “Not quite.”
    Hector looked up, gave a stern stare then laughed weakly. “Very good, lad. Very good.” He started to cough again.
    Dave and I exchanged glances. The old man didn’t sound too healthy, but he was still quick enough to latch on to our concern.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with you two?” he complained. “Have you never seen someone who’s reached the end of the line before?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” I demanded. “I’m worried I’ll be spending the rest of my life coming down to Trinity every weekend.”
    The old man broke into a high-pitched laugh. “I know how much you look forward to these visits, Quintilian.” He turned his hooded eyes back to Davie. “You didn’t answer my question, Hume 253. What’s been going on in the Public Order Directorate?”
    I must have needled Hector. He’d normally have asked for my sarcastic take on the Council’s crime prevention activities first.
    Davie glanced at me uneasily, picking up the edge in the old man’s voice. “Well,” he said, “do you want the good news or the bad news?”
    â€œGive me the bad first, laddie,” Hector said, struggling to pull himself upright in the chair and glaring at me to discourage any offer of assistance. “That’s what we’ve got used to in this benighted city.”
    â€œEm, right.” Davie ran his fingers through the matted hairs of his beard. “Thirty-seven arrests for disorderly conduct in the suburbs in the last week – thirty-one of them involving minors.”
    â€œDisorderly conduct?” the old man asked. “What does that cover?”
    Davie raised his shoulders. “Anything from stoning guard patrols to nicking old ladies’ food vouchers. There’s a mandatory six-month spell in a Youth Development Department facility for anyone under twenty who gets taken in.”
    â€œExcept those places are all full now,” I pointed out.
    â€œSo we send them down the mines instead,” Davie said with a broad grin.
    â€œWhat else?” Hector asked, the question ending in a long wheeze.
    â€œFive holes cut in the fences on the city line, no smugglers or dissidents apprehended yet.”