Session 148 - Embezzlement and Other Journeys

Previously, Across the Horizon...
Bast's interrogation of the Nanab Foundation's Board of Directors saw the captain's continued transformation into someone he couldn't rightly say he recognized.
The Triad schemer had long used his words to his advantage, both within his own gang and to the detriment of rival operations. He understood the value of drawing attention to himself to allow an ally to get the drop on a hated foe. He knew the logic behind pandering to an overwhelming ego to keep someone talking long enough for a knife to find a gap in a ribcage. Bast understood lying. Bast understood stalling. Bast understood playing the game.
But now he understood so much more.
He understood timing. He understood staging. He understood narrative cues. He understood that if a loaded crossbow is on a table at the beginning of the confrontation, it must go off by the end. Not because someone must die. Not because someone must learn a lesson. Not because bolts have a cost. But because everyone expects it to go off.
As Lynn Fairband quivers anxiously before the Board of Directors, her entrance foreshadowed and then paid off with expert timing honed from months of trying to block out lessons learned from watching the crew, Bast sees the stage set before him and, for once, isn't checking it for assassins.
We join our brave adventurers as the performance continues...
**
Lynn's pen scratches along her notebook. Her words follow it, separated by less than a second now. "I did have protective staff on hand during Miss Meracydia's presentation three months ago."
"They didn't find that odd? I mean, do presentations to the Foundation normally call for armed support for the audience?" Linnet asks.
"Of course not," Doctor Annika Durrie says. She huffs dismissively. "Fortunately for her, she had them, since Celeste's presentation brought about such danger for everyone involved."
"As I recall, it was neither Celeste nor the presentation that brought that danger on. But we'll get to that. Ms. Fairband, could you tell us what their actions were once the attack began?"
"They hurried me out of the auditorium for safety. I remember Guston being very surprised; he said to his associate that he didn't there'd ever be any real danger here." Most people don't speak in semicolons, but most people don't write out their conversations ahead of time.
Bast nods slowly. "Thank you. Their help would not have gone amiss, but I understand they were doing work they were hired to do. Though that does make me curious about something else. What do you know of your sponsor outside of his involvement in your studies?" "I know about the tragedy that befell his family years ago," Lynn writes. "We do not speak on much else."
"Nothing about his own work?"
"He speaks of his late wife's, but not his own. I believe he prefers to be thought of as humble."
Bast rubs his chin, tapping his lips with his thumb before he speaks up again. "I'm curious because this level of protection strikes me as...unusal? The expeditions I could understand, but I wouldn't expect a need for it around town. Or is working for the Foundation normally so dangerous? Perhaps the Board can speak more to that." He glances over at Annika, lingers for a moment on Lake, then turns back to Lynn. "Expensive, too. I wonder if he was paying for this protection with the Foundation's money? Or his own, and whether work for the Foundation pays so well that a team of guards for many months is a normal expense." "The Foundation sees to the needs of its members," Professor Sami Lake says. He glances at the other directors, and then back at Bast. "That being said, funds are hardly unlimited, and the presence of hired help this regularly is most unusual. I trust I need not tell you the cost of keeping a team of mercenaries on retainer at all times, Captain."
"If he's paying for mercs at all times, he's got external funding," Captain Antonia Kasurinen muses. "Or he's independently wealthy. Or there's another angle..."
"Just what I'm thinking, Captain Kasurinen. If someone is throwing around the kind of money they're not known to possess...where is it coming from?" He sighs, then returns to Lynn once more. "For what it's worth, I haven't asked Celeste myself, but I haven't heard of her receiving any letters from you. Did you go with the general post, or is there some sort of mail service for the Foundation?"
Lynn looks up sharply. "I put it with her things when her office was sent into storage," she says, foregoing the pre-writing this time. "I was sure she would see it when she came back to get her things. I didn't know she would have left the city entirely."
"Ah. I'm not sure she's gone back for those yet - she needed a safer place to stay on rather short notice, and we needed a navigator, and there was a lot of confusion all around. I'll mention it to her." Lynn gets a smile that doesn't, for a change to those who know Bast, look menacing in the slightest. "One more thing, I suppose. Do you know of any reason Osvald Temenos would have to want Celeste to fail? Or you to succeed, beyond a mentor's pride and whatever satisfaction he finds in it? Does his own career depend on either point somehow?"
She writes her answer first, returning to the prior communication method. "I don't know. I am sorry."
"Don't worry, you're far from alone in that. It seems no one knows much about him - or even about his family. His wife is dead, you said? Does he have any children?"
"He has no other family. He said his wife passed before they were able to have children," Lynn answers.
"And yet he's been talking about how his work at the Foundation helps him support his family, not a week ago. And that on top of paying a team of mercenaries. And no one here seems to know what exactly it is he does?" Bast's raised eyebrows lob the question at the Board.
As the rest of the Board murmur between each other, Lake looks coolly at Bast as if no one else is in the room at all. "Do you?"
"Well, sorta." Linnet pulls out a sheaf of paper from somewhere in her messenger bag...
Previously, on Ducorde...
Linnet, in her Earnest Student Disguise, has infiltrated deeper and deeper into stacks of paperwork. A plate of cinnamon rolls to the clerks and an apologetic patdown for her badge got her in as "Professor Grevendonck's intern," looking into his expense reports to confirm a book that went missing. Now, she's attempting to invent the field of forensic accounting, starting by staring at columns of numbers in Temenos' obnoxiously tiny handwriting, swigging periodically at Yves' potion to keep her eyes from crossing. To anyone else, the sheet full of scribbles at her side would be total nonsense. As is, she's trying to figure out whether business math is usually this odd; whether all academics are just naturally bad at money; or whether Temenos' variety of small math errors add up to something worth noting.
Linnet emerges half an hour later with a tired laugh and a sincere apology to the tonberry clerk who let her in. "I don't know how you do what you do all day, every day. Is it a requirement that academics have to have cramped and illegible handwriting? Do they give a written exam for professorship, and if the graders can read it, you fail?"
The clerk cannot help but laugh. He slides a paper over so Linnet can look at the absolute nonsense etched all over the page. "I'm supposed to ensure the references here are accurate. Somehow. Hang in there, friend -- we've all been there."
Linnet's head turns nearly ninety degrees before she confirms that the paper doesn't make any more sense that way. "Next time I wind up in this silverfish-infested paper cave, I owe you that drink. Fair winds, my partner in squinty headaches." Linnet waves and departs, chewing on her lip and thinking.
Present day... "Well, okay, this isn't precisely what Temenos does to earn his money, only what he does with it. First of all, he writes so small he might as well be keeping accounts for ants." Linnet moves to a convenient table and lays out her notes, alongside Temenos' own scribblings. "But if he told you all what he's paying for this Antares group he hired, he's underselling them. I do know market rate for mercenaries - I'm not charging it myself, of course, but we've had occasion to discuss it - and what he's paying them is about twenty percent below that. Whether that was a marketing promotion on their part or a bargain on his, I'm not sure. Also, it looks like your reimbursement for that rate? He's taking half of it." Grevendonck, Faden, Ehreth, and Randle walk over to review the documents personally. Durrie makes her own notes. Kasurinen makes a series of faces as she runs the numbers in her own head. Lake merely watches the Starfall contingent with interest.
Linnet stabs the paper in question with a finger. "Now, I don't know if skimming is a common practice at the foundation, but I do know that if you're trying to hide it, you incorporate it into the rest of your notes. Not scribbled on the margin of monthly meeting notes in miniscule font in a faded pencil. Auditors and editors read the marginalia. Many things about this don't add up, and they also don't subtract, multiply, divide, or form neat integrals. But whoever this family is Mr. Temenos is supporting, they're either living high on the metaphorical hog, attending several expensive universities with no financial aid to speak of, or finding some other way to cost you upwards of a quarter million gil in barely half a year. Which, well. It's up to you to decide how much of a problem that is." Six Board members sputter. The seventh, Lake, narrows his eyebrows. The taxidermied bird by his shoulder squawks.
Linnet steps back to behind Bast's shoulder and clasps her hands behind her back.
"Two questions raised by this latest revelation," Lake says without looking away from Bast. "Who is Antares, and who is spending the Foundation's gil?"
"Far as I could tell, Antares is the mercenary group that's been protecting Miss Fairband. And, that's an excellent question; I only saw the scribblings of it, not the actual gil changing hands."
"And the Foundation can afford to overlook this kind of expenses? Perhaps I should consider a more scholarly career. People shooting at me, I'm already used to." Bast meets Lake's gaze unflinchingly.
(Outside the door, Yves is engaged in an enthusiastic low-voiced conversation with a passing intern who has an interest in ancient automated water features. But he's probably still paying enough attention that he'll notice if the door gets the right number of knocks to alert him for Sack Time.)
"I assure you, a thorough review of the accounting processes is coming." Lake digs the point of his cane into the ground in the first show of frustration yet for the Board's apparent leader. "As will an investigation into the background of this 'Antares' organization. Unless," he adds meaningfully, "you have more surprises in store."
"Perhaps." A corner of Bast's mouth curls up. "But business before pleasure, and all that. Would you say we've established that the accusations of poor work by Miss Meracydia were fabricated by Temenos?"
"Well?" Lake asks without looking away.
Martti Ehreth rolls his jaw so far it pops. "Suffice it to say my concerns with Celeste Meracydia's presentation have changed to merely poor risk management," he says sourly.
"Well. Let's address that, then. How, in the Board's view, were her actions deficient in this regard?"
"The secret she uncovered held such value that a band of people felt it necessary to attempt to silence her. Permanently." Ehreth scowls down at the papers revealing Temenos's financial lies. "Bringing that threat into the Foundation where it put other members and prospective members alike in danger is foolish. Not disqualifyingly so, but foolish regardless."
"It seems to me that the Foundation makes it its business to uncover secrets. Many of them quite valuable. And yet they're brought home with no special precautions, and given a place of pride in your collection. Was there a reason to treat this particular line of research differently, ahead of the first attack?"
(Yves is now showing the intern diagrams in his notebooks. A passing junior researcher has paused to add to the conversation, asking if anyone has considered a particularly finicky set of valves that might be able to handle sudden changes in orientation and acceleration, though of course it's nearly impossible to get the parts for such a thing, it's a custom order. One in which Artemicion might express an interest...)
"Exposing the general public to such danger is the sort of thing we aspire to avoid, Captain," Lake says. "While Miss Meracydia showed tremendous bravery in the face of such a threat and acquired protection, inviting that danger into the presentation hall itself shows poor judgment. Correctable judgment, mind, but poor nonetheless. More should be done to keep the people safe."
(Linnet slips over to Lynn's side in the meantime. "Everything okay with you? Any way we can help? Do you want a snack?")
"That seems reasonable to me." Bast nods, examining his nails. "So - after a an assassin attacked a researcher of the Nanab Foundation. For work performed for the Nanab Foundation. On the grounds of the Nanab Foundation. And made his escape. What measures, exactly, did the Nanab Foundation take to ensure Miss Meracydia's and the public's safety? And why was it that not just the first but the second attack in a matter of days cost no lives only because several of her friends were around? I do not recall anyone in this room fighting by our side."
("I'm quite all right," Lynn assures Linnet. "I appreciate your concern.")
Lake considers this. "Who was in charge of the event's security that evening?"
(In the corridor, a foundation secretary has joined the group to offer his opinion on whether or not it's necessary to account for complete vertical flips in the process of airship maneuvers. No, he's not an expert in water features, but he has been working for an expert in military history for several years, and keeps being required to write all the correspondence to students, and letters to journals, under dictation, so he's picked up on a few points.)
"My team," Kasurinen says.
Lake waits patiently.
"The security detail on that night was found to be derelict in their duty," Kasurinen says. She pulls on the end of her scarf. "The results of the internal investigation are still pending."
"So - does the Board normally blame applicants for failing to hire security for their presentations, on the chance that the official team wanders off for a game of cards? Or is this a special occasion?"
"The internal investigation will surely shed light on your reasonable frustrations, Captain," Lake says. "Again, unless you have new information you care to bring to light with your particular flair."
"How long do your internal investigations tend to run, Professor? So we know whether we should be looking to rent hotel rooms or long-term lodging."
"Oh, I see no reason to stick my nose in your internal investigations yet, Professor Lake." Bast smiles up at him. "But my question remains unanswered. It seems to me that there was no reason to expect danger from this line of inquiry before we stopped the first assassination attempt." He lifts an imaginary hat and sketches a tiny bow. "What should Celeste have done differently, before we had to thwart the second attempt in a much more public setting?" The hat is brought up to cover his heart, all sincerity. "I'd love to hear more about what the Board expects of its applicants."
"My patience is waning, Captain," Lake says. "Rhetorical questions may have carried you through university debate, but you are ill-suited to such a performance among adults. If you have more to share regarding your crew member's innocence, you are encouraged to do so. If your goal is merely to grandstand before an audience of your elders, we will have to draw the curtain early."
The smile is wiped out entirely.
"I seek answers, Professor, and I am not getting them from you. What I see before me is a group of people who have failed in their duties. You have swallowed vile lies without thinking twice. You have allowed theft on a grand scale to go on under your very noses. You failed in the most basic duty of keeping your people safe in an hour of obvious need, and you still blame a student for that failure.
We did all of that for you. My patience with doing your work for you is wearing thin. If, in the aftermath of yet another assassination attempt, you continue to pretend my questions are rhetorical and look for ways to excuse your own failings by shifting responsibility onto Miss Meracydia, I will have no choice but to conclude that the Foundation is indeed complicit in at least one attempt on her life and proceed accordingly."
He is still, not pacing or frothing in rage, but there's something about his eyes that calls up blood and steel.