Free Sharps by K. J. Parker Page A

hysterical mystery cults that periodically sweep through the Eastern Empire breaks out in some of the smaller fields and is allowed to burn itself out. Nothing of the kind is allowed to take hold in the major fields, with their necessarily large and volatile populations, for fear of disruption and lost production.
    Director Kalojan was, therefore, something of a curiosity. A highly placed Board member, responsible for seven major mines in the Home fields, he’d been a sincere and open devotee of the Divine Flame for most of his adult life. It was generally accepted that he’d picked up the habit as a student in Chosroene, at that time the third best university in the Eastern Empire, where he’d been sent to study mathematics and natural philosophy. Although he made no secret of his faith, he never seemed to allow it to interfere with his duties as a company officer; nor did he ever try to convert any of his colleagues, although he was delighted to discuss moral and spiritual issues. He gave a quarter of his income to the poor each year, endowed a chaplaincy at the fire altar, and wore a small silver signet ring engraved with the insignia of the faith. That was all.
    Kalojan did, however, attend services at the altar, which made the assassin’s job relatively simple. At the conclusion of the morning office, celebrants are required to file past the altar steps, dropping a handful of incense into the brazier as they pass it. They then leave the building through the narrow door, which symbolises the true way of the believer. Part of the symbolism lies in the fact that only one person can go through it at a time (just as no teacher or priest can achieve another man’s salvation; each believer must find truth on his own). Thus, when Kalojan walked out of the altar house into the fresh air on the morning of his sixty-third birthday, he was alone; his usual bodyguards were only a pace or two behind him, but that was enough of an opportunity for the killer to step forward and stab him through the right ear with a Mezentine left-hand dagger. Two of the bodyguards gave chase, but the killer eluded them easily in the crowded streets of the Fruit Market. Kalojan died instantly.
    The first reaction to his death was astonishment. Company directors used bodyguards because, by the very nature of their office, they could expect to be attacked at any time. Of all the Board members, however, Kalojan had been considered the least offensive to the greatest number. He belonged to no permanent faction, had no ambition to seek higher office, had made no serious enemies and was, unusually for a Board member, liked and respected by the mine workers.
    The obvious suspects, therefore, were the Beautiful and Good, the only people who might conceivably have wished him harm, simply because he was a fair and honourable man with the interests of both the Company and the workforce at heart. Too obvious. It was soon being argued in the camps and taverns that if someone wanted to make it look like the Beautiful and Good were out to cause trouble, Kalojan was the perfect target; after all, nobody else could have wanted him dead, so it had to be them. Suspicion soon centred on the Board, who were widely suspected of preparing a last all-out campaign against the remnants of the military aristocracy. There were several riots in the western fields, and three miners were killed at the Blue Bird mine after the prefect sent in the Blueskins. The Empire, choosing to interpret the murder as motivated by anti-religious feeling, registered an official protest and demanded a full investigation, to be observed by three archdeacons of the Fire Church. Meanwhile the Rasen family made a statement, basically saying that the rumours were true and they had proof (which they didn’t offer to share), and calling on war veterans to rally to the family’s castle at Sirven and prepare to defend it against further Company aggression. All the Board could do at first was to draw