From the outside, the Justman's Hall looks little different from the other buildings in Griswold, the vapour storms in the area giving it no partial treatment for its importance. The yellow stone walls are dusty and the wooden stairs leading up from the boardwalk squeak. Inside, however, mimics the sacred forest groves our ancestors used to settle disputes in. This idea is present in every governmental building in the empire (even the white and gold Fire-keeper base) but I've never seen it this strong, before. There's a lamp on the secretary's desk before the door into the Justman's office, but otherwise most of the light comes through skylights between ceiling beams that are carved to look like vine-strangled trees. Dark-green draperies and art panels all drawn from traditional motifs symbolizing the various branches of government cover the teal-painted walls, and potted plants are everywhere among file cabinets and side tables. I almost don't see the Justman's desk, it's so surrounded by leaves.

The Justman is pretty noticeable, though. The data screens around her illuminate her like a dramaturge on the East Boardwalk showstage, the large imperial flag on the wall behind her a melodramatic backdrop. Also, there's a crow on her shoulder. It screeches like a fire alarm as soon as I get close.

The Justman herself doesn't say anything at first, just sits back in her swivel chair and looks at me over her black-rimmed glasses with her eyebrows raised. The crow croaks and ruffles its wings on her shoulder. Between it and the thick necklaces she's wearing, the Justman seems more like the questionable town healer than a government official.

"Ilvan!"

The Justman bellows out the name, and her secretary hurries through the door to stand beside me. He's bald, taller than the Justman by at least half a metre and must have been a well-built man years ago, to judge by the now ill-fitting cut of his suit. But he can't compete with the Justman. Despite her bright blue sweater and the flower clips holding back her many little braids, her stare holds me like my auntie's did at family dinners and you tried to eat something before the traditional sung recognition of all the work that went into making the food was finished.

"What you let this-here fool in for, Ilvan?"

Ilvan aligns the toes of his wingtips with a stripe on the green carpet's pattern – it's an old pattern, mimicking the layers of mist rising from a forest.

"She's with the broadcast, Justman."

"Where's your books, Ilvan?"

"On my desk, Justman."

"They have any notice of the broadcast coming to talk to me today?"

"No, Justman."

"Then no broadcast going to talk to me, today. Come back tomorrow, girl." The Justman pulls up her clunky datascreen and begins typing, her emotionless round face half-hidden behind the scrolling text. "Ilvan, you seen this tax data from last week? Old man Farlow's late again. Get one of the boys to talk to him. He got a gold tooth, don't he? Take that if he don't pay up. We got deadlines and stuff to make."

Ilvan's gestures towards the door behind me, but I dodge his arm and step up to the fortress-like wooden desk. It's a quick, practiced move, learnt from boxing, and I hope my glasses and tweed will distract from how easily I pulled it off.

"Please, ma'am, I won't take up much time at all. I'm Pershanna Garrow, of the Blazon Intelligence, and I've got deadlines of my own to meet. I'm only in town until tomorrow, so if you could –"

Justman Liuen glares at me over her glasses again. "Honey, you want me to sic this crow on you? If you're not in the books, you're not in the books, and I don't got time for what ain't in the books. I got me townsfolk to think about. They come before interviews."

I put my hands on the desk and lean towards her. She might be like my auntie, but auntie never broke a man's rib with one kick or jumped onto moving transports or faced off with a major Guild member.

"The same townsfolk you're going to tear the teeth out of?"

"Old man Farlow is always losing teeth. He already lost the gold one, anyhow, else how would it be gold?"

It was a mistake to call her ma'am. Or to say please, to begin with.

I straighten and cross my arms over my chest. "I could report you for abuse of power."

Justman Liuen doesn't even look up. "I reported so many of you Noses for obstruction of law enforcement I could make myself a little scrapbook of 'em to show off at dinner parties if I had the mind. Or the time for such fool-idiot stuff. What else I don't have time for is this. Which I'm wasting time telling you again."

I take a deep breath, but don't move. This would usually be the point at which Core would interject over our comm link and suggest a tactical move that would turn the conversation around. But with the Guild so in control of the town, as soon as I was out of Wolf's copper-lined basement, Core and I agreed to keep radio silence unless an emergency arose. This is on me, alone.

Trying to ignore the crow's too-bright eyes, I look Liuen in the face again but this time with my arms relaxed and neutral at my sides. It takes a lot.

"Justman, I understand. You've got a job to do, but so do I. You've got a duty to the people of this town, to make sure it's run well, and I've got a duty to the empire, to make sure all the citizens know what's going on, and that their voices are heard. I've heard from a reputable source that there haven't been any Enforcers in Griswold for over a year and a half. That can't be good for your people."

Justman Liuen stops typing and glances up at me without moving her head. "Ilvan, see to old man Farlow, then tell me ten o'clock meeting that we gotta push back to eleven."

"They're not going to –"

"They not gonna like it if they have our meeting with a Nose sitting in on it, either, Ilvan, so move that arse of yours and rearrange the books!"

Ilvan clasps his hands and bows slightly, and then retreats, shutting the door softly behind him. For a moment the Justman and I stare at each other, the only sound the hum of the datascreen hardware and the ticking of the large clock behind the Justman's chair.

Then she snorts and closes the datascreens. Pushing the crow off her shoulder and onto the bookcase beside her – impressively full of actual old paper-page books – she scoots her chair back and pulls a matchbook out of her trouser pocket.

"Pull up a chair, fool, we gonna talk," she says as she rummages in her cluttered desk drawers for a cigar box.

I find a chair among the potted plants along one wall, and sit as she lights one of the cigars and hisses blue smoke between the gap in her front teeth. She takes her time getting comfortable in her chair, and I wait in silence. This is her stomping ground, and I don't doubt she could easily boot me out the door with her thick leather pumps. She takes a few more sips of the cigar, the end glowing in the dim, forest-like light of the room.

"So you wanna talk about Enforcers. I bet you have lots to say on them. Know a lot." She eyes me, sitting bolt-upright in the cushionless wooden chair. "You're a lot more aggressive than most Noses, too. Usually they do a lot more flattering and 'please ma'am's than what you did. You got some shite in you. Trained in, I guess. How many years?"

She may be government. But with what Wolf tells me about the lack of opposition to the Guild in the town, I can't risk telling her who I am.

"I'm not an Enforcer. I'm a reporter, as I said, for the –"

"Honey, if you're a reporter, I'm the empress."

I smile. "You do have an air of command."

"Hah, there's the flattery." She chuckles, her whole body shaking. "Who are you, really?"

"I do have training, you're right, but my investigation on the lack of Enforcer presence here is not Enforcer-sanctioned. Third-party insurance of accuracy and credibility."

"That, and Enforcers don't give a rat's arse what goes on out here."

"So it's true? There haven't been any Enforcers in Griswold within the past year?" The temptation to reach into my pocket and double-check that my recorder is on is so strong, I have to fold my hands in my lap.

"Not a single badge or impact-shield in sight."

"Were you in office at the time the Enforcers left?"

She chuckles again. "I been in this office for fifteen years, honey. You was probably having your first crush and trying to figure out how to tongue-kiss behind a barn then. And the Enforcers didn't leave. We never had Enforcers here to begin with. We fix our own problems. Most of them just the cattlemen fighting over land or who's gotta cover the tab over at Strony's, anyhow."

"But Enforcers had come through town before?"

"Oh sure," The Justman waves her cigar, wafting the thick, faintly-sweet smoke back and forth in front of her. "They'd come in, check on us once in a while, see we doing fine on our own. I guess that's why they stopped comin' around. You don't stick where you ain't needed."

"Well, you've obviously been needed here. Fifteen years is nothing to sneeze at."

"Honey, this town would fall apart without me here." Justman Liuen rolls her eyes. "Even Ilvan can't do his own cufflinks without me telling him to."

I frown. "So the lack of Enforcers doesn't concern you at all?"

She shrugs, picks a bit of lint off her sweater. "No."

I make a mental note to check for communications between this little hall here, and the District Justman's hall. Maybe a higher-up will be more concerned about the lack of Enforcers out here.

"Then why did you agree to talk with me?"

"Because if you ain't frank with a Nose, they think there's more to the 'scoop' and keep diggin' around, making a mess, for nothing. I don't need you making a mess in my town. It's good people who live here, save a few boozers and low-lifes, but they ain't nothing you won't find anywhere else. So really, honey, I think you're better off doing your whole third-party thing for the Enforcers someplace else."

I sigh. "My boss won't like that – I'll have come out here for nothing. Could I at least have a copy of any town records that might chronicle the comings and goings of the Enforcers?"

"Ilvan'll have that in his books, if he's kept them like I told him to. Talk to him." Liuen stamps her cigar out in an empty coffee cup and pulls her chair up to her desk again. "Now honey, I given you all of fifteen minutes I don't got. I'm going back to me work now. You look pretty bright, I reckon you remember where the door is."

"Certainly. Thank you for your time." I stand, and move to shake her hand when she lifts it, but she's only reaching for the crow, which hops onto her wrist and then to her shoulder again. It watches me as I return the chair to its place among the potted ferns and shade-plants. Then, the Justman half-obscured by her datascreens again, it croaks as if saying goodbye for her as I show myself out.

The yellow glow of Ilvan's desk lamp – whether really electric, or disguised soal, I'm not sure – in the tiny entryway is welcome after the green intensity of the Justman's office. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd pulled out a few charm-dolls and breadfruit to read the future with in there. Here, on the worn brown carpeting between the two wooden waiting chairs and Ilvan's squat desk, the dry-cleaning, dust, and stale coffee smell of government is comfortingly bland and familiar.

In the pretense of looking for a pen, I check on my recorder in my blazer pocket. Still running. Good. It caught my whole conversation with the Justman. I pull both the pen and my little notebook out of my purse now, and approach Ilvan's desk – a feat that requires all of two steps in the cramped quarters.

"Mr. Ilvan?"

He looks up from what I assume are 'the books', a surprisingly up-to-date portable datascreen with three additional thumbnail-sized hard drives connected along one side. He seems bigger than before, stuffed behind that desk. But his low seat coupled with his loose collar makes him turtle-like, and the smile I give him at his mildly-startled expression is genuine.

"Mr. Ilvan, the Justman gave me permission to view the town records. Where will I find them?"

He nods and opens one of the drawers of his desk. His big hands move quickly among the neatly organized boxes and dividers before procuring another hard drive, which he sticks it into the last free port on his datascreen.

"One moment, please."

The transfer completes a half minute later, and he hands me the hard drive, the tiny piece of tech still warm from the connection.

"I hope you find what you're looking for, ma'am," he says quietly, hands folded on his desk. "We haven't had the broadcast out this way in years. I look forward to receiving your story."

Outside, Wolf is pacing along boardwalk, hands in his pockets. When he sees me step out of the Justman's Hall, he shoots a glance up and down the quiet street then bolts to my side.

"You don't look like a bison trampled you – you got more backbone than most that talk to the Justman, dame. Get anything out of her?"

"Not much." I pocket the hard drive for Core to dig into on board the Verve later. He'll uncover any relevant data much faster than I will. "But something is going on here, for sure. No town, even as small as this one, should be this self-regulated in the empire. The Justman doesn't seem bothered by the lack of greater government representation or interest out here."

"I don't think anything bothers her." Wolf actually shivers. Then he wipes his forehead with his wrist. "Let's leg it from here quick. Your soal-powered stuff is burning holes in my pockets, and I seen two cattlemen that I know got connections with the them come into town, already."

I check the high street. Some children play under the only trees in sight, a shopkeeper stands in his doorway, and a few women gossip on the corner of the one intersection in town, their transports as good as parked as they lean out their windows and talk about neighbors and husbands.

"Where are the cattlemen now?"

"Well, they know I'm closed up mornings, so only place they'd be going is the techforge, for gear repair."

We start walking back towards the pub, three blocks down the high street. "A techforge? Those are rare this far out in the scrublands, I imagine. The Guild set it up? Soal is hard to transport without well-regulated and specialized equipment."

Wolf pulls on his beard. His eyes haven't stopped moving since we stepped out of the cellar. "Nobody says so."

"I thought so."

"You gonna go over there?" Wolf eyes dart at me, and he practically twitches.

"No, that'd be dangerous." Oh, Core would be so proud. "How many cattlemen are under Guild control?"

"We got a about two dozen that actually have houses here, or leastaways bunks at the stayhouse down the street, and all of 'em gotta turn in any soal what lands on their territory to them as far as I've overheard in the pub. But I see a lot of cattlemen who ain't local share a round with Cargon or Lake, too."

Wolf doesn't mention them by name, of course, but every time he refers to the Guild the cord-like muscles in his neck tighten. I notice his hands shake as he tugs a sheath of passkeys from his shirt pocket and override the scanners of the pub door. We step inside, and he shuts and reactivates the door at once.

The sun is high enough now that little light falls directly through the windows, and after the shadeless high-street, it takes a while for my eyes to get used to the dimness. Lacking the glow of the neon, the painted tiles and vinyl seating are faded, and without the recorodion playing you can hear every squeak of the wood in the wind, and the faint clicking of energy in the circuits in the walls. The whole pub reminds me of a drunk in daylight, actually: dull and drained, as if it's sick of surviving on home-brewed booze alone, too.

But Wolf told me there aren't any Guild bugs in the building – presumably to avoid any incriminating evidence being seized should any Enforcers come around. So the pub, for all it's flaws, is a safe place to talk.

"You're pretty alone out here though, aren't you? There's four hours of flying time between here and Essenmark."

Wolf straightens a napkin dispenser with weary dedication, then starts pulling my soal-powered gear from his pockets and lines them up on the bar. "Yeah. And all that is grazing grounds."

Having rid himself of my gear, Wolf wilts onto a stool and leans his elbows on the bar to drop his head into his hands.

"Who owns the land closest to here?" I ask.

"All our local cattlemen, they each got about equal shares of the thirty kilometres around the town here. Cargon's got a bit more, though. He gets the most soal, anyhow, another reason why they're so keen on him."

"How much soal does he get, say, a year?"

"Not sure. They don't get that specific even in here. I don't make it a point to listen too much, either." Wolf drops his head some more to slide his fingers into his hair. "Don't want to hear what they're doing."

"Then how do you know he gets more soal?"

"The other cattlemen, they say so. Complain when they've got a bit much sauce in them, you know. Can't help but hear when you're carrying 'em out on your back at closing time. He really don't have much more land than the others, so maybe he's taking what the other's get, but I don't know, dame. I don't know. Can't take many more questions today, anyhow. If you don't get Melna and me out of here before too much longer, I might just drop from the stress."

I pick up the prods from the bar and stick them in my purse, then reload the pistol and slide it into the back of my skirt's belt.

"No more questions for today, I agree."

"What you gonna do?" Wolf lifts his head from his hands and eyes the pistol before I let my blazer drop to hide it.

"With all the trace in this area, I'm guessing Griswold's right outside a hotspot for soalfall landings, and I'm also guessing that hotspot is on Cargon's land. I've only got one day left in town, here, so if it's too dangerous to question how they bring in the soal, I'll just poke around where they bring it in from."

Wolf stares at me for a moment, the dust in his hair making it look almost grey. Then he just shakes his head and drops it onto his hands again.

"Look out for his dog."

I tell Wolf to discreetly get together what belongings he and Melna can easily carry, and hold them ready for departure at any moment. Then, under the pretext of 'getting a taste for the local way of life', I rent a horse and a pair of trousers and some boots from the wife of one of the cattlemen. It would be faster to use Duster's mono to search Cargon's grazing land, but far too risky, as well. Besides, it's been a while since my polo-playing days in grammar school, and it feels good to sit a horse again.

I keep my posture astride awkward as I ride out of town, past the metal barn that is the techforge right off the high street, though. The ruse works, triggering laughter from the cattlemen standing just outside the glow of datascreens and soldering machines, the shadowy figure of a techsmith inside flitting back and forth behind them. Wolf was right about the townsfolk not saying anything about the techforge – it's inappropriateness among the outdated, vapour storm-blasted buildings and machinery of Griswold goes without saying.

"Need