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was a joyful drum echoing down the valley.
    Up
from the meadows rich with corn, clear in the cool September morn.
Round about them orchards sweep, apple and peach trees fruited deep.
Fair as the garden of the Lord.

    It
was a poem, or at least the last paragraph was. Hadrian puzzled over
the words. They sounded vaguely familiar, but incomplete. The last
couplet was not finished. He pushed the edges closer together, as
though new words would appear, not knowing what he had missed but
with a rising suspicion that there was something else, a hidden
message. Jonah Beck had delighted in the mysteries of language, in
word plays. The passage on its face was a lyrical description of the
major event of the past week. It could have been published in the
daily paper. Yet it had been part of Jonah's secret journal, had been
quite deliberately destroyed. He paused, looking out the window. But
when? During his murder, or just before?
    Hadrian
separated the pieces and slowly reassembled them, taking several to
the window to hold them in the sunlight, marveling again over their
artistry. He knew from experience that Jonah might spend as long as a
week on a single page, working on it in the late afternoon and
evening as one of his many pastimes after long days bent over
blueprints and designs. While he had not exactly hidden his journal
from Hadrian, he had never spoken of it in detail. Hadrian had always
assumed it was simply the old man's account of daily life in the
colony.
    Fatigue
swept over him as he stared at the page in frustration. Gathering up
the pieces, he stretched out on his pallet.

    It
was nearly noon
when a square-set figure roughly tapped Hadrian's stomach with his
truncheon. "You need to clean yourself up if you're going to see
the governor," Sergeant Kenton growled, pushing Hadrian down the
corridor to the horse trough outside. When he finished, Kenton tossed
him a yellow armband, the mark habitual criminals were required to
wear in public. The sergeant wore an expectant expression as Hadrian
slid the band over his sleeve. He had not yet punished Hadrian for
the day before. Kenton was biding his time, waiting for the governor
to draw first blood.
    When
Kenton left Hadrian in Buchanan's office, the governor acknowledged
him only by shoving a thin newspaper across his desk. The colony did
not have enough paper to circulate the news to all its citizens. Only
senior officials received personal copies, with the remaining ones
posted on boards scattered about the colony.
    With
an angry heart Hadrian quickly read the first article, its headline
announcing the suicide of legendary scientist and Council member
Jonah Beck. Police arrived moments too late to resuscitate him but
then discovered a fire that had tragically broken out elsewhere in
the building. Courageous efforts saved the structure and most of the
book collection. Governor Buchanan had declared the next day an
official day of mourning, with a state funeral at noon.
    When
Buchanan finally looked up, Hadrian spoke first. "You don't need
me. You've already settled everything. Jonah succumbed to a suicidal
compulsion. You decreed that the fire was unrelated. Hastings's body
by now is no doubt under a thousand feet of water. You've done what
you do best when reality overtakes you. Manipulate the truth in the
name of public order."
    Buchanan
was silent a long time. Low voices rose from out in the hall.
Hadrian's eyes widened as he turned and saw the policeman at the
reception desk being relieved, handing over his pistol to a tall
blond bull of a man.
    "My
god!" he said. "You think you're next."
    Buchanan
rose. "No one comes in, Bjorn," he instructed his new
sentry, then shut the door.
    "You
tell the colony Jonah was a suicide," Hadrian spoke slowly,
studying the governor, seeing now the lines of worry around his eyes.
"But behind closed doors you fear the killer."
    The
governor stood at the window, gazing out over the inland sea, grey
and choppy under a brisk autumn wind.