The bridge-troll bureaucrat didn’t look up. “In circulation.”
“Mm-hmm.” Goldie nodded patiently. “Can you tell me who checked them out?”
“Classified.”
“All right. What about when it’ll be checked back in?”
“Classified.”
Goldie’s smile strained at the edges. “Is there a copy? Maybe a charming little duplicate tucked away for the Herald of the Solstice Flame?”
“Classified.”
Goldie straightened, bracelets clinking like warning bells. “Is everything classified, or are you just allergic to joy?”
At that, the man finally glanced up, one magnified eye blinking owlishly. “It’s with the Land Trust. For their closed session upstairs. Don’t expect it back until they’ve finished screaming at each other.” He bit into his almost-finished sandwich, clearly finished with the conversation.
Goldie exhaled through her nose, then flashed him a dazzling smile. “Thank youeverso much. You’ve been a delight.”
The little man grunted, unimpressed.
Goldie strode into the reading room and tapped Nell on the shoulder. “Come on, sweetness. The files have gone walkabout, and we must chase them down.”
Nell looked up from her ongoing argument with Sig, rolled her eyes, and stood. “Let me guess.Classified?”
“Bingo.” Goldie looped her arm through Nell’s and steered her back toward the door. “But apparently the Land Trust has it. So, if we want our answers, we just need to be in the right place when their little screaming match adjourns.”
Nell’s brows rose. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”
“Darling Nell,” Goldie said, pushing open the heavy oak door, “if there’s one thing City Hall does better than paperwork, it’s ominous.”
They returned to the upper floor to find the younger Land Trust members still locked in combat with the glowing orb. One was threatening to sue it for civil rights violations. Another was stomping so hard his Berluti Oxfords squeaked in protest.
Goldie settled elegantly onto a bench, crossing her legs. “Delightful. A front-row seat.”
Nell groaned, slumping beside her. “If I wanted to watch rich bitches throw a fit, I’d turn on the CW.” She winced, rubbing her temple. “Can we please go? Sig is yelling doomsday headlines in my brain and he’sreally loud.”
Goldie flicked her bangles. “No, darling. Those records are my Beltane miracle. Do you know how much easier it will be to place the fire pits if I don’t have to guess where the ley lines actually run?”
The doors suddenly slammed open so hard they rattled on their hinges. Chaos spilled into the hallway. Councilman Darren Swale’s face was puce. Councilwoman Priya Mishra strode past, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“You cannot promise Ashenvale aclean titlewhile the Core’s readings are spiking,” she snapped, her heels striking marble like a metronome. “Disclosure isn’t a magic wand. If you’d stuck to the original agreement instead of shoving in last-minute amendments, the paperwork would already be signed. Now destabilization threatens to wreck the whole thing! What were you thinking?”
Truckenham shouldered through after her, jacket slung, folder clutched like a cudgel. “We give them optics and a number, Priya. Raise a containment ward, make the monitors read steady, and close on schedule. Then you can draft whatever ‘remediation’ helps you sleep. I’m not letting a few moody roots tank a record-setting deal.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Containment isn’t stewardship. And you know it.”
He smiled without warmth. “Stewardship doesn’t close sales. Stability does. Beltane goes on, the Core looks calm, Ashenvale wires the money. End of story.”
Karen Vesuvius, Truckenham’s deputy, stumbled after them under the weight of an overstuffed briefcase. When one of the younger Trust members tried to stop her for answers, she dropped half her files in the crush.
Truckenham didn’t even glance back. “Leave it, Karen. If you can’t keep up, don’t bother showing up.” His voice cracked like a whip, dismissive as gum on a shoe.
Priya spun on him, fury etched across her face. “You’re risking the entire sale just to pad your payout!”
Truckenham’s snarl split the air. “I’m doing this forall of us.”
A trio of Ashenvale delegates filed out behind them in a tight, silent formation, all grey suits and gleaming shoes, murmuring in clipped tones. Goldie caught only fragments as they swept past: “stability guarantees… liability exposure… public optics…”
