“You mean you will not offer a lower rate,” said Daoud. “Very well, there are other rail companies in Gedda.”

Aristide wished they were sat close enough for a sharp kick to the shin. He settled for sending a quelling glance over the casserole dish, which Daoud took with a bland smile. Anger seared him through, smoldering into inconvenient lust.

“There are,” said Custler, watching Daoud closely, then sliding her eyes to Aristide.

“None so discreet,” he said. “Jamila tells me you have some experience with shipments … similar to ours.”

“Sure, we’ve moved a little contraband here and there. Who hasn’t? But this kind of thing, this scope, you’re looking at a lot of trust on both sides. When deals like this go bad, folk end up in prison, if not worse. Emmy’s running for prime minister; you can understand she might be nervous.”

“Emmeline Frye,” said Aristide, “is not acting president of this company.”

“But how many people will care, if we get caught moving half a ton of poppy tar deep into Gedda? If somebody was suspicious, they might almost think you were trying to load us up with a plant, so when somebody sings we get caught up to our wrists.”

“Far be it for me to downplay your concerns.” Aristide held his wine, turned the glass, and inspected its legs. Rather thin, for the cut of meat she’d served. “Suspicion has saved me many heartaches in the past. But I am in no way invested in the outcome of this election.”

“You were friends with Lehane,” said Custler. “So was Saeger. And you’re speaking at this Catwalk dedication. I think that argues at least a scrap of partiality.”

“I am speaking,” he said, “out of a sense of deep personal obligation.” Truth came to him with difficulty, and the strain told in his tone. Daoud began to look concerned.

“To who? Lehane? Or the temps, maybe? I got word—from where I don’t care to tell—it was Lillian DePaul who leaned on you to come.”

“She invited me, if that’s what you mean. Is she mixed up with Saeger, somehow?”

Custler laughed and picked up her long-abandoned twist, drawing on it so the tip burned bright. “She’s got her fingers in both pies. A real nice-maker, y’know? I get it. She wants to hammer down a place for herself no matter who ends up on top. That, I understand. I ain’t worried about her. I just got questions about you. Why are you here now, offering this deal? Are you Saeger’s patsy, or are you just doing a favor for the sister of your old cockmuff?”

Cold steel slid through his middle. It had been in the news, some years ago. The Ospies, angry with Lillian, had flung all the DePauls’ dirty linens across the lawn. His affair with Cyril was one of the stained sheets.