Then he walked across the street and handed Grimshaw the slip of paper with the phone number on it—and hoped that number had belonged to a college boy they already knew was dead rather than to a fresh corpse.
CHAPTER 37
Ilya
Watersday, Novembros 3
We can’t have our roads closed by blocks of ice and mounds of dirt,” Mayor Roundtree said, his face flushed. “It’s bad for bidness.”
“What business? The established businesses in the village are mildly inconvenienced, but no more than that.” Ilya sounded calm, but his mind raced because he had the impression the established businesses weren’t the ones calling the mayor to complain about road closures. That meant newcomers.
The Sanguinati who handled property owned by Silence Lodge would have told him if they had leased any storefronts to Sproing’s new residents and what kind of business would be going into each space. Which meant none of those new enterprises were in buildings owned by the Sanguinati. Coincidence? Or something less benign?
“What do you mean, what bidness? We’ve got tourists trapped here! You think that’s going to help our village grow? That we can expand and prosper? You think people are going to come here to live if you all close the roads whenever you get a bug up your butt?”
The being that was prowling the land around Lake Silence and actively hunting for a contamination was a lot more than a bug—and certainly wasn’t anything humans should dismiss as unimportant.
Grandstanding. Denying the truth in the face of reality. It wasn’t completely out of character, because Roundtree, as humans put it, changed his opinion more often than he changed his underwear. But even for Roundtree, that question about expansion was . . . odd.
Studying the mayor, Ilya wondered how much of what was said at this private meeting would be repeated at a public meeting or show up in Sproing’s weekly newspaper. He could almost write the headline: Mayor Stands Up to Sanguinati Leader About Road Closures and Declares the Others Are Bad for Bidness.
There were advantages to working behind the scenes, but that was no longer an option. After Silence Lodge took open control of the village’s only bank, dealing with the village government became inevitable, and a task that fell to him as the Sanguinati leader because the Sanguinati were the dominant form of terra indigene around here—at least where dealing with humans was concerned.
It wasn’t his job to know everything about every human in the village or the surrounding farms. The Sanguinati were supposed to monitor human behavior to protect the terra indigene’s interests—and that included maintaining the boundaries between land the humans could use and what belonged to the Others. Was Roundtree’s talk of expansion a prelude to an attempted land grab? Or was this perilous change in attitude somehow connected with the contamination? If it was, how had Roundtree been contaminated?
“Growth,” Ilya said quietly. “Expansion. Prosperity. That sounds like a reelection platform rather than practical reality. The village cannot expand beyond the boundaries that already exist. It cannot alter the use of farmland and replace pastures and crops with houses or businesses. There is still some room for growth in terms of population. Sproing has gained about a hundred people in a very short period of time. Not all of those people are adults, and not every adult has a separate dwelling, so there are still some residences available for people who want to relocate to the village—and work in the village.”
Ilya smiled, showing a hint of fang, and watched Roundtree pull into himself. “I’ve heard some storefronts have been rented,” he continued, “but no one has seen any indication of businesses making use of those spaces. It has been my observation that humans are not casual about earning a living, since they need money for things like food and shelter. Now I’m wondering why the people renting those storefronts aren’t making an effort to get their businesses up and running.”
“Some of our new citizens might work elsewhere—which is another reason having those roads closed is making the village look bad,” Roundtree said, flustered.
That confirmed his suspicion of one reason the mayor was fielding calls about closed roads and lobbing a complaint at him.
“Hmm. Perhaps. But if people are working elsewhere, why did they leave the town where they are employed? Even commuting from Crystalton or Bristol every day isn’t practical. Are the new residents living here on the weekends in order to do a kind of double-dipping by claiming a share of rationed goods in both locations?” Ilya paused, not because he needed to think but because he wanted Roundtree to pay attention. “Every adult who came to Sproing recently and took over an abandoned dwelling or leased an apartment would have come to the village hall to provide your government with their name, new address, and their contact information. You would need to know that to add them to the tax roll since they would be making use of the available water and government services like garbage pickup. Human forms also usually have a space to fill out for occupation.”
“That’s optional,” Roundtree said quickly.
“Not anymore.” Ilya stood. “Before I discuss anything with the Elders about opening the roads, you are going to supply me and Chief Grimshaw with information about the people who have taken up residence in Sproing since this summer. You should have most of that information available already. I also want to know where they lived prior to their move to Sproing and where they are working. If they are opening a new business here, I want to know what kind of business. And I want to know who signed the leases on the storefronts that are supposed to have new occupants. I’ll give you seventy-two hours to get that information to me. If you can’t—or won’t—do this, I’ll send someone who can.”
Roundtree shot out of his chair. “You think you can order the police to go knocking on doors and harass our citizens just because they want to live here?”
Ilya smiled. “Oh, no, Mayor Roundtree. If I have to get the information, I won’t be sending the police.”
CHAPTER 38
Vicki
Watersday, Novembros 3
After Boris Sanguinati arrived with two boxes of books and the Cornleys’ luggage, Michael and Ian Stern helped me set up the long folding tables that would become Lettuce Reed’s auxiliary bookstore, which Michael had dubbed Mini Munch.
I made two tabletop signs: used books and new books. New books had to be purchased. Used books could be swapped, equal exchange. I wasn’t sure what Julian expected me to do if his special customers wanted to purchase a new book. He hadn’t covered that possibility.
Well, I would hand over the book. That’s what I would do. And leave Julian a note to keep his ledgers balanced.
Michael and Ian made a display of the new books on the second table while I handled the used books on the table closest to the library’s door.