“Very well then,” said Tarc. “My men will show you to your quarters.”
“Wait,” said the nervous man from the bus. “Some of us weren’t planning on staying here.”
“I don’t care about that,” said Tarc.
“The bus driver…”
“I also don’t care what the bus driver said. He lied.”
“What do you mean he lied?”
“I paid him to lie,” said Tarc. “I paid him to get you all here without incident.”
“So we’re stuck here?” said the man. His face had turned a passionate red. “Look—we came here because Remirion is supposed to be the land of the free. And you’re saying we can’t even leave the camp without your say-so? This is an atrocity of human rights.”
Tarc was unmoved. “My hands are clean on that matter, actually: you can thank the Governor for that rule. He’s declared a state of war, and no foreigner is allowed into the city. If you were to leave, sir, there would be nowhere to go. This is the only place on Lamora where there is a home for you.”
“That’s a lie, too,” said the man, pointing a finger. “Just like you told the driver to lie, you’re lying to us. There’s no state of war. Who is Remirion at war with?”
“With nobody in particular,” said Tarc. “But the governor suspects that the security of Remirion—or Falcon Point as we call it here—is in jeopardy, and, frankly, only an idiot would disagree with him. I’m sure we’ve got a few idiots in our employ, but they will find themselves utterly powerless to change the Governor’s policies or mine. As I said, the times will get better. Stability will return eventually, and this restriction will be lifted as soon as possible.”
The man focused a hot stare at Tarc. “This is inhuman. Foreigners aren’t allowed in your city. So you make them into slaves.”
Tarc turned to the guard who had announced his coming. He spoke loud enough for everyone in the room to hear: “Give him the idiot treatment.”
The man with the red face went on, “I thought Remirion—Falcon Point—stood for justice and equality! I thought this was the great bastion of freedom in the modern world.”
A rod struck him in the forehead. The bright red of his face gushed out into a puddle on the floor and his body collapsed, knocked unconscious by the blow.
The other passengers grew defensive. Some grumbled to one another, others shouted at Tarc and the guards. Kyrie’s father called him a monster. One of her brothers told him to burn in Barathrum. Jaysynn was quiet, desiring not to be recognized.
But Tarc’s voice was powerful enough to squelch them all, and his stance was as bold as Governor Vac’s had been when he faced the mob. They were similar men with a similar build, but Tarc was bigger, and not so old. “You’re in a room full of armed guards who will cause you all the pain I want them to,” he said. “And it’s lucky for you that I’m a more generous man than you think I am, and that I don’t want them to raise a finger.” He paused to let them consider the possibility of his violence, and the possibility of his mercy. “You’ll be surprised at how quickly you learn the new rules,” he said. “Now, I’m sure you’re eager to see your new quarters.”
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