Chapter 147 Hypocrisy
POV: Lord Silvain Mordaunt | Crimson Parliament Chambers
Mordaunt had given this speech, in various forms, for six hundred years. The language updated itself to suit the era. The structure never changed. You identified a threat, you named it in moral terms, you proposed a solution that happened to benefit you, and you delivered all three with the conviction of a man who had arrived at his conclusions through reason rather than interest.
He stood at the Parliament podium with his notes face-down and unused, because notes suggested uncertainty, and he was never uncertain at a podium.
"This body has spent considerable effort this year discussing reform," he said. "Consent laws. Territorial recognition. The language of rights and recognition." He paused, not for effect but to let the pause do work on its own. "I supported these conversations. Oversight and structure protect everyone, including the communities they govern. I have no objection to oversight."
Around the table, twelve vampires listened with the focused attention of people trying to work out what was coming before it arrived.
"What I object to," he continued, "is the absence of reciprocity. We have extended recognition and protection to the Rookeries autonomous zone. We have passed feeding consent laws that constrain this body's members in meaningful ways. We have, in short, made significant concessions to a community that has not, in return, demonstrated either compliance with existing regulations or good faith participation in supernatural governance."
He let that sit.
"Unauthorized construction continues in the zone. Business operations run without licensing. Medical supplies move through informal networks that bypass regulatory oversight entirely." He turned a page he didn't need to turn, for the rhythm of it. "I am not suggesting malice. I am suggesting that a community operating outside the regulatory framework is a community that exists outside protection of that framework. For their sake as much as ours, we should require compliance."
Count Alteroni sat three chairs down and to the left. He had the expression he always had during Mordaunt's speeches, which was the expression of someone doing arithmetic rapidly and not liking the sums.
He spoke when Mordaunt finished.
"The reason they operate outside the regulatory framework," Alteroni said, "is that the regulatory framework is not processing their applications. I have documentation showing seventeen permit applications submitted over two months with no response beyond pending stamps." He set a folder on the table. "The Rookeries is not choosing to operate informally. It is being denied the formal pathway."
"Administrative backlogs are not conspiracy," Mordaunt said.
"No. But they are convenient."
Mordaunt looked at him with the patience of someone who had six centuries of practice at patience. "I move that we establish a compliance requirement for autonomous zone status. Communities seeking recognition must demonstrate regulatory adherence within ninety days. Non-compliance results in suspended autonomous status pending review."
Alteroni said, "I move that we investigate the permit processing delays before imposing compliance requirements that the processing delays make impossible to meet."
Both motions went to vote.
Alteroni's motion failed. Six to six, tied, killed.
Mordaunt's motion passed. Seven to five.
He gathered his notes from the podium as the session continued around him, other business, other voices. He returned to his seat and accepted the quiet acknowledgment of his allies with the minimal nod that was all such things required.
Alteroni was still looking at him from across the table. Alteroni always looked at him like that after votes, measuring something, working out what he'd missed.
He hadn't missed anything. That was the straightforward answer. The vote was the point. The regulations were the mechanism. The compliance deadline was the lever. Ninety days to meet standards that the administrative office would not process in ninety days, which meant suspended status, which meant the Rookeries autonomous zone existed on paper and nowhere else, which meant Parliament hunters could legally operate there again.
Legal, clean, and effective.
He had said that to Holt last month and he had meant it completely. Violence was inefficient. Violence created martyrs and evidence and international attention from the Ancient Council in Geneva who had already sent one letter of inquiry after the battle. Legal pressure created paperwork. Paperwork created exhaustion. Exhaustion created compliance or collapse, and either outcome served his purposes.
He gathered his coat and left the chamber while the next item was being read into the record.
Outside in the corridor, one of his younger allies fell into step beside him.
"Ninety days," the young vampire said.
"Ninety days," Mordaunt confirmed.
He walked the corridor toward the exit and did not look back.