Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 200
A look of disgust slowly spread across Chan’s face. He
tilted the glass, pouring the wine out on the floor. That was all
right, Turcaret decided; he’d probably drunk enough by now.
"People are not property," said Chan quietly. "They have
rights, even in this godforsaken country."
"Rights? Yes, let's talk about rights, now," said Turcaret.
"That girl was just a thing, of no consequence, and no one
would protest her fate, because no one can do anything about
it. She was my right, she was the payment of a debt, and that
was the beginning and end of it. "But you! You have the gall
to be indignant about that little trollop when you yourself are
nothing but a thief yourself--the thief of a title of Ravenon!
You are the one befouling propriety here, and I'd be within my
rights to have you summarily executed right here and now."
"You and what army?" asked Chan. He shook his head
stupidly; the plant extract the priests had prepared for Turcaret
must be starting to work.
"You’re referring to the fact that we’re alone. Perhaps
you think you could take me in a fair fight. Maybe. But you
wouldn’t get far, even if you avoided my men and escaped the
grounds."
"‘Zat so?" Chan seemed to suddenly realize what had
happened to him. He tried to stand, unsuccessfully.
"Oh, yes, you’ve been drugged," said Turcaret. "But
that’s not why you’ll never get out of here. The Winds have
chosen you to play a part in the events that are about to unfold.
The Winds are on our side. We know they favor us. By the
time this evening is out, everyone will know it."
"Go to hell," muttered Chan. He didn’t seem afraid at all.
Angry, maybe. Turcaret supposed he was stupider than he
looked, after all.
The controller smiled, not trying to hide his smugness.