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Chapter 40

August

The lights started flickering first thing in the morning.

They gave out entirely just before lunch.

A collective groan went around the bullpen as it went dark. The only light now was the reedy sunlight that had managed to fight through the storm clouds that were gathering. The police report of Verity Holtzfall’s death that August was holding blurred suddenly in the gloom. He rubbed a hand across his face, trying to focus.

He’d barely slept last night after their little misadventure with the Grims and the troll. August had never thought he’d see a troll outside of the woods, and now there were photographs of one splashed all over the front of papers. Meanwhile, the one he’d taken last night at the rally idled at the bottom of his desk drawer.

It showed the troll standing off against Nora. It was impossible to mistake her. And impossible to publish without revealing the fact that she had been in the midst of a Grim rally last night. Mr.Vargene wouldn’t have it. A Holtzfall in their midst was a dangerous thing to admit.

August slammed the police report shut. Reading it over and over wasn’t doing him any good, but he’d needed something to focus on instead of gnawing on his anger with Nora. And at himself, for thinking that she might have been better than her upbringing.

Which then became anger at himself again for giving a damn.

The Bullhorn was probably the only paper with this many people sitting around desks today. Every other journalist would be out chasing election stories. But the Bullhorn knew it was already a done deal. The upper circles had voted for their own. Hugo Arndt would be the next governor, and the lines of expectant voters in the lower circles wouldn’t do anything to change that. Mr.Vargene wanted stories that were actual news from them.

And August almost had one.

With or without Nora, he needed to get to the bottom of this story.

The Grims’ promise was that they would raise everyone up. But August had always known better than to trust anyone else to better his place in the world. Not his father, not the government, and not the Grims. He ought to have known better than to trust an heiress.

He needed to make the front page. He needed to make something of himself in this life.

“All right, all right, settle down and listen up.” Mr.Vargene emerged from behind his glass door where the words Editor in Chief were stenciled. “It’s not a power outage. Looks like LAO has doubled the costs for the lights in this building.” He held up a letter on thick cream paper. August recognized the stamp of LAO Industries at the top. “Now, I’m sure the fact that LAO is in bed with the Holtzfalls has nothing to do with the fact that we’re the only building on the block to get our rates hiked.”

August shifted in his chair uneasily. Was it a coincidence that the day after falling out with the granddaughter of the owner of LAO, they’d raised the rates on this building? He’d seen the kind of spiteful anger Nora was capable of. And more than that, he’d seen what the Holtzfalls were capable of.

“So here’s the thing, I can’t make this paper without printers, but I can make it without five of you. Which means you’ve got until the end of the week to give me something that’ll convince me you’re going to help me sell papers, or you’re fired.”

“End of the week?” August called over the sudden outcry. “That’s in two days!”

“Well done, you can count. Now show me you can come up with a decent story.” The cacophony of dissent reached a crescendo. But Mr.Vargene was louder, grabbing their newspaper’s namesake from his desk. It was mostly a prop; August had only seen him use the bullhorn once before. “You’ve got a problem? Take it up with LAO or our good friends the Holtzfalls,” he boomed into the metal mouthpiece before barging back through the door of his office.

Half of the people were already on their feet, but August was closest. He dodged around desks and over chairs, pushing through his boss’s door and slamming it behind him. “Did you hear what I just said, Wolffe?” Mr.Vargene said. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’ve got a story. I’ve been looking into Verity Holtzfall’s murder.”

“The mugging?” Mr.Vargene asked. He’d started pulling open desk drawers.

“That’s the thing, sir, I don’t think it was a mugging.” August knew he didn’t have the whole story yet, but if he got fired…there were bills and empty cupboards at home. “I think the Grims killed her. I’ve been looking into it—”

“We’re not printing that.” He pulled out a bottle of brown liquor from his desk, and a single glass. “Now get out.”

“Sir—” August protested.

“Listen, Wolffe.” Randolf Vargene poured himself a drink. “If you don’t understand why people read our paper, then you’re not as bright as I gave you credit for. Lots of people who aren’t Verity Holtzfall get mugged and killed in this city every year. Do you want our readers to think that we’re giving the Holtzfall Heiress’s mugging more of our attention than anyone else’s because she’s worth more than them?”

“No, but—”

“When’s the last time you were at the pictures?” He didn’t wait for August to tell him that he didn’t have enough time off or money for the pictures. “Ever notice how there are good guys and bad guys? People don’t go to the pictures to watch the good guys do bad things. And people aren’t going to read our papers if we remind them that sometimes the good guys have to do bad things. Isengrim is the good guy, he’s the people’s champion, the Holtzfalls are the bad guys.” He gestured at the dark bulb above his head. “You want to try to tell the people their champion is a criminal and the people who tax them to death get another win?”

The editor finally paused for a sip of his drink. It took August a moment to realize he was waiting for an answer this time. “I’ve got a feeling I’m supposed to say no.”

What he actually wanted to say was it shouldn’t matter .

Journalism was supposed to be the truth, not what people wanted to hear.

But the truth didn’t matter if no one would print it. He could always take what he had to one of the bigger papers. The Herald made a good business bashing Grims. But he didn’t have the proof. Even if he went with what he did have to one of the other papers, they’d likely take it and assign it to a senior journalist who already worked for them. They might slip him a check to go away, but it wouldn’t be the story that made him.

“Well done. You’re already smartening up.” His editor recorked the bottle. “Now get out of my office and go write something our readers actually want to hear.”