The Wasteland Soldier, Book 1, A Fractured World

Nineteen

"Chancellor?"

A hard pedalling convoy of tricycles was on the street below, each one fitted with a large wire basket, strapped down boxes of supplies, replenishments for Hamble Towers. The riders wore blue caps, dark red overalls, and black boots. The sky above was dark. The clouds were thick and heavy. Scattered lights showed from apartment windows across the city. Further, beyond the flat rooftops, he saw the tallest building of Hamble Towers, the top floor brightly lit.

His eyes continued to gaze at it.

"One day," he muttered.

"Sir?"

"Come in, Mason."

The newly promoted First Minister stepped into what had been Jorann's office less than a week ago. His reached for the door handle until Gozan said, "There's no need, everyone has left."

Gozan was right, in a way, everyone had left this floor, a long corridor flanked with offices, but they had not left the building and had retired to private rooms and bedchambers on the lower floors. Mason followed the instruction and left the door open, lingering awkwardly, unsure if he should sit or not. Gozan had his back to him, one arm neatly folded across it. He noticed his Chancellor was holding a fine cut glass in his other hand. It was brimming with drink. He had never seen Gozan consume drink before. It was readily available at the Towers but never here in the city, possibly illicitly down in the markets, but certainly not inside the House of Leadership. Sloppy heads, sloppy work, thought Mason.

Gozan turned, smiling, and offered him a glass, but Mason politely declined. Drink did not agree with him. His response was ignored, though, and a glass was poured anyway. Reluctantly, he accepted it, held it for a moment before taking a light sip. The liquid warmed and burned. Gozan gestured for his companion to sit. Both men faced across Jorann's desk and there was a peculiar silence with only the sounds of the city.

"Do you know what I feel sitting here, Mason?"

Mason knew he was next in line to sit in the Chancellor's chair and rule the city but that was a long way off, ten years away, possibly more, and First Ministers had been demoted before, so nothing was certain. He had no idea what it felt to sit in that chair. To rule Chett. To rule Gallen. To control everything.

"Powerful?"

The utterance sounded lame, and he regretted it immediately.

"No," said Gozan, shaking his head, glumly. "I feel sadness. A wretched sadness that only an older man can feel for a dead friend."

"Chancellor Jorann was a remarkable leader, sir," said Mason, half raising his glass in salute.

"He was an awful leader," said Gozan, raising his voice. "I thought you were a perceptive young man, Mason. Jorann was a terrible Chancellor. A puppet figure head for fifteen years whilst ... he was a superb First Minister, honest and fair, but a hopeless, bloated, lovesick Chancellor."

Mason was stunned. Was this more games from Gozan? Was he being tested? Should he agree to curry favour? Or vehemently protect the reputation of the murdered man?

"I think he was a good Chancellor, sir. Yes, he had his failings, he was soft when a firm hand was required although, to be honest, this came more in his later years than his early terms."

Gozan chuckled, swirled the drink in his glass.

"Nothing is certain with Chett politics, Mason. I admire your courage to speak your thoughts. I do not want a yes-man as a First Minister. Nor was I testing you. Jorann was a foolish Chancellor ... but he was a good friend. I miss my dear friend. I do not miss my Chancellor."