At last Malgiers said, “Sir, I am commanded to quote the comtesse … her words, sir, ‘You tell that flea-bitten, mange-ridden, curtain scratcher to pull his fuzzy head out of his bunghole and write me a proper report, or I swear I will rip his whiskers out and use them to tattoo the instruction on his eyeballs.’”

Bitterlich very nearly chortled. This was not the first time Impervia berated him for neglecting to provide her with context for his information requests. Possibly only the fact that he was using poor Malgiers as an intermediary kept her invective from getting really creative.

“Noted,” he said. “Was that the entirety of her response?”

Malgiers relaxed slightly. “No, sir. She said at least now they know why they weren’t having any luck finding Hasdrubal in Rocher Royale. She says something stirred up the Skaladin spies in the city just after the Thunderclap left, but so far nothing seems to have come of it. Also, she said you needed to know there’s been a great uproar about Capitaine Isabelle. There’s a rumor that she’s gone mad, and now that she’s been incapacitated there’s a petition before the Crown to recall her. Comtesse Impervia wants a report and a recommendation from you.”

A chill trickled down Bitterlich’s spine. It was inevitable that news of Isabelle’s breakdown would be transmitted to Rocher Royale, if only to explain to Fleet Command why Vrain had taken command. Unfortunately, nothing about Fleet Command was apolitical. Isabelle had not been a popular choice for capitaine, even amongst Sireen’s partisans, who defended her spreading branches only because that’s where the fruits of empire hung. The fact that a coveted plum had been given to a no-account woman who had been stripped of rank and title, and who wasn’t even a Sanguinaire, was an offense to their finely honed and delicately balanced sense of entitlement.

If Isabelle were recalled, if she even survived her coma, it would mean not only the end of her mission but of her career. Having been stripped of all other status, even her family name, she would become, in effect, a non-person devoid of rights and privileges.

It was against that future that Bitterlich must raise a palisade, and he must do it with nothing more than the words from his ungifted tongue.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Bitterlich said, and dismissed Malgiers. He would write that report, but first he had to deliver this news to Marie. Perhaps Isabelle would be awake, not that he wanted to greet her return to consciousness with such vile news.