She smiles her serpent smile. ‘And you won’t be going alone, Jean,’ she says. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Mieli feels almost content when they finish the meal. She hums to herself quietly. The rebuilt statues in the walls dance slowly to her tune.
‘Not that I’m particularly attached to this body,’ the thief says, ‘but do you mind telling me what you are going to do with it while I’m gone?’
‘Keep it out of sight,’ Mieli says.
They finish the last of the food in silence. The dessert is her masterpiece: golden cloudberries with spidermilk. That keeps even the thief quiet for a while.
‘What are you going to do when this is over?’ he asks, suddenly.
Mieli looks at him. ‘It’s time to go,’ she says. She flips to spimescape and thinks Perhonen’s thoughtwisp launcher ready. They are going to inject the thief’s mind into the Sobornost communications network, download him in compressed form into the smartmatter patterns of a delicate disc, thinner than a soap bubble, propelled towards Earth ahead of Perhonen.
‘All right. See you on Earth,’ the thief says. ‘Wait for my signal.’
‘Kuutar and Ilmatar go with you,’ Mieli says quietly.
‘Two goddesses? That’s quite a crew. But I guess that’s what it takes to get the job done.’
He closes his eyes and is gone. The thoughtwisp accelerates, pushed by the ship’s lasers, and vanishes into the dark.
16
TAWADDUD AND CASSAR GOMELEZ
As usual in his few spare hours, Cassar Gomelez is in the kitchen.
It is said amongst the older members of the Council that if Cassar had not followed his family trade, he would have become a chef in one of the finest restaurants of the Green Shard. The air is heavy with the smell of spices, the athar full of recipe fragments. Jinn servants prepare ingredients in small pots and containers, and Cassar himself is chopping vegetables into fine chunks, a huge knife in hand, broad back bent. His movements are delicate and quick.
For a moment, he does not acknowledge the presence of his two daughters. Then he puts the knife down, looks up and wipes his hands on his apron.
‘Father,’ Tawaddud says and curtsies. Her entire body still aches, but at least she has had time to change into clean clothes and clean up. She spent half an hour deciding what to wear, finally settling on a simple dark green robe and a white sash, covering her hair with a net and keeping her face plain.
Cassar looks at her, face set. Then he turns away, gathers the ingredients from the chopping board and drops them into a huge, steaming pot.
‘I see my daughter is unhurt, now. That is good. How is our guest?’ he asks, without turning around, studying the concoction. No matter what his mood, there is always a slight mournful note to Tawaddud’s father’s voice.
‘Lord Sumanguru is recuperating from his injuries,’ Dunyazad says. ‘His Seals appear to be intact in spite of being exposed to wildcode and a barakah gun.’
‘Thank the Aun for small mercies,’ Cassar says. ‘It would not have been good to lose a Sobornost envoy in a mad chase above the city.’
‘The Soarez are also complaining about the damage to their rukh ships. And Lord Salih is making a fuss about the destruction of the qarin and demanding—’ Duny begins.
‘We can handle the Soarez.’ Cassar waves a dismissive hand. ‘We have more important matters to discuss, now. Tawaddud.’
Tawaddud’s heart jumps.
‘Young Lord Nuwas . . . convinced me to allow you to be involved in this unfortunate affair. Whether that was wise or not remains to be seen. Now. Let me say that while it is good to see you take initiative and show interest in the affairs of our family, blackmail is not the way you should go about it. You should have come to me first. You will do so in the future. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
Back still turned, Cassar inspects the containers that are stirring themselves.
‘No matter. Young Abu appears to be quite smitten with you, and that is useful. What did you discover in your investigation?’
Tawaddud takes a deep breath. She has been thinking what to say, going over the words again and again.
‘That Lady Alile was murdered through a possession, that whoever did it sought a Secret Name she had, and that whatever that is was enough for someone in the Council to try to have me and Lord Sumanguru killed,’ Tawaddud says. ‘And that Repentant Rumzan cannot be trusted. And I may . . . know the jinn who possessed Alile. He may lead us to whoever is behind this plot.’
‘I meant what did you discover about him. Sumanguru.’
Tawaddud stares at her father. His slightly protruding ears would make him look comical under the white cap if his expression was not so stern.
‘I do not understand. I thought my task was to—’
‘Use this opportunity to learn anything we could use against the Sobornost. That was the task I originally gave to Dunyazad.’
‘But— She didn’t—’
Dunyazad smiles sweetly at Tawaddud, one painted fingernail pressed against her lips. ‘Did I not tell you, dear sister, that this is not a game?’
Cassar sighs. ‘The investigation was always irrelevant. It was clear all along that the masrurs are behind this. I summoned a Sobornost representative for different reasons entirely.’ He tastes the contents of the pot with a ladle and makes a face.
‘Now. As for Repentant Rumzan, he has disappeared. We knew that he had masrur sympathies, even if he is not a Sword of Vengeance himself. It is my belief that the attack on you was directed at Lord Sumanguru – it is regrettable that you were in danger, of course. However, the qarin – and whatever secret you may think you found – had nothing to do with it. Of course, this Name may be valuable, and you should examine it with Chaeremon when the present crisis is over. But I ask you again: what did you discover about Sumanguru?’
Tawaddud bites her lip. ‘He is . . . afraid of heights.’ Her thoughts race. ‘And there are things in the Sobornost called Dragons that have no self-loops. He has enhancements for capturing minds in virs, for torturing them. But . . . he does not seem to enjoy it, even though he claims he does. . .’ She swallows, her mind suddenly blank. ‘There are a few other things, I can try to remember—’
‘Is that all?’ Cassar asks, hands behind his back. He shakes his head. ‘I would have hoped for more. You can tell these things to the political astronomers of the Council. They are no use to us. My daughter, I think I have fulfilled my obligation to Abu Nuwas. From now on, you will take care of our guest’s medical needs. When he is recovered, Duny will continue the investigation: she has already prepared many leads for Lord Sumanguru to pursue that will keep him busy for a long time. You can return to your own pursuits with the Banu Sasan. At least they show you have a good heart. And Lord Nuwas will make you a perfect husband.’
Tawaddud bites down tears.
‘What about Lady Alile? What about finding her murderer?’
Cassar bows his head.
‘Alile was a friend, and I regret her passing more than I can say. We will punish the masrurs for her in time. But meanwhile, she would want us to go on, do our duty for Sirr.’
It was the Axolotl, she wants to shout. I can find him. I can bring him to you. But she can’t bring herself to say the words.
Cassar’s eyes flicker: he gives her a sideways glance and looks away again.
‘I see you do not understand our duty, our responsibility. When Sirr-in-the-Sky fell, when our people were almost lost, it was a Gomelez who guided them. It was a Gomelez who spoke to the Aun and forged the pact that allows us to exist. Our burden today is the same: to find a way to survive.
‘The Cry of Wrath showed that the Aun do not love the Sobornost. When they tried to take our minds last time, the desert itself rose up against them. But if the whispers from our agents amongst the mercenaries are true, things have changed. The hsien-kus are gentle, but some of the other Founders are not. Some of them are far more powerful, and it may be
that even the Aun cannot stand against them. So, for now, we must find a way to yield so as not to break – but without giving away what makes us who we are.’
‘By letting them send their machines to the desert to dig up souls?’ Tawaddud almost shouts, voice breaking.
‘That is what they have asked. Our answer depends on what they offer to us in return. But we need to know them, and I fear that you are not the right person to know this Sumanguru.’
Tawaddud looks down, biting down tears. Her face is numb. Her head and chest feel hollow.
‘If I could just explain—’ she whispers.
‘That will be all,’ Cassar Gomelez says, and turns back to his cooking.
Tawaddud and Duny walk down a pillared corridor back towards the living quarters. Halfway, Tawaddud can’t take it anymore. She slumps with exhaustion and sits on a stone bench, letting the purple evening light wash over her face. Her eyes sting, and she does not have enough strength left to handle a Secret Name to restore her energies. She is too tired to be properly angry. There is still no feeling in her lips.
‘You played me,’ she whispers.
‘Sister,’ Dunyazad says. ‘You wanted to play. Do not complain when you lose. I tried to help you. I asked you not to get involved. You did not listen.’ Then her expression grows serious. ‘And you were in danger. You could have died, chasing after the Fast Ones like that. Whatever our differences, you must believe me when I say that I would never wish to see you hurt. My thanks to the Aun came from the heart.’
‘I’m sure they did. And you have so many things to be thankful for. Are you happy now? Naughty Tawaddud has been spanked, and all is right in the world.’
‘Not yet.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We still need to take some precautions with our guest, and I could use your help.’
‘After what you just did, you still want my help? Are you insane?’
Dunyazad looks at the setting sun.
‘Do you want to do your duty as a Gomelez?’ she says softly. ‘I think we should set our petty games aside: there are many more of those we can play when Sirr is safe. Don’t you agree?’
Quietly, Tawaddud nods, gritting her teeth.
‘Listen. I have already been in touch with the hsien-kus, on Father’s behalf. Strangely, they don’t seem to be very concerned that their envoy was in danger. Like I told you, there is politics here that we simply do not know about. Or time: sometimes you find Sobornost communities entering Deep Time, leaping forward a generation in what is just days to us, and then they have forgotten what the previous negotiations were all about.’ She smiles a knowing smile. ‘Of course, sometimes it may suit their purposes to make such claims.’
She takes a small box from the folds of her robes and gives it to Tawaddud.
‘You should go and talk to Sumanguru, have a look at his wounds. When you treat him, insert this under his skin, somewhere not visible. Preferably close to the brain. Our studies of sobortech after the Cry of Wrath have not been entirely fruitless. Once that is done, you don’t need to worry about what comes next.’
Dunyazad opens the box. Inside is a tiny object, like a shard of glass, held delicately between metal pincers.
‘What does it do?’
‘Like I said, you do not need to worry about that.’
‘Why don’t you do it yourself?’
‘Because he trusts you. And you have proven yourself to be a capable doctor, if not a politician.’ Duny touches Tawaddud’s arm.
‘I know it is hard to believe, but you made progress with Father tonight. In time, he will come to see you as I do: a Gomelez. A member of our family.’
Tawaddud closes her eyes.
‘Will you do this one thing for me, please?’ Duny asks. ‘Or if not for me, for Mother?’
Quietly, Tawaddud nods. Duny kisses her forehead. ‘Thank you. After that, you should get some sleep.’
She lifts a jinn ring to her ear, frowning. ‘Or perhaps not. It seems that Abu Nuwas is here to see you.’
‘I came as soon as I heard,’ Abu says, when Tawaddud receives him in her assignation room. She applied some makeup hastily, but washed it away almost immediately: her tired face shone through the thin layer. Still, the calm of the room and a friendly face make her feel better.
They sit down on the pillows. Tawaddud lights two candles on the table. Abu’s brass eye glitters in their warm light.
‘How did you find out?’ she asks.
‘A high-speed chase over the Shade Quarter?’ Abu shakes his head. ‘Not exactly a secret. I’m glad you are all right.’
He reaches across the table and takes Tawaddud’s hand. ‘I had no idea it would be something so dangerous. I feel terrible for putting you in such a position. It is one thing to seek your father’s trust, but to throw your life away pursuing it—’
He shakes his head again. ‘Trust me, I know the price of dreams.’
‘Well, looks like my involvement in such dangerous matters is over,’ Tawaddud says and pulls her hand away. ‘My father does not even think I’m worth looking in the eye. And . . .’
She tries to keep the tears down, but they come anyway.
‘What is it?’ Abu says. ‘You can tell me. I know I’m a stranger, but if it helps, I’m here.’
He understands. Tawaddud dries her tears on her sleeve.
‘It’s stupid. This whole thing. I found something, in Alile’s qarin. And I think I know who killed her. But I have no proof. I can’t tell Father, he will never believe me.’
Abu touches her shoulder.
‘If . . . if you want, you could tell me. I could go to your father, talk to him again. He will listen to me.’
His voice is gentle. She remembers the fire in the doctor’s tent, the all-consuming flame inside her. In the flickering light, a trace of it flashes in his human eye. A cold finger of fear travels down her spine. She shakes her head. Stupid. I’m just tired.
‘Thank you, but no,’ she says aloud. ‘You have done enough, and once my father has made his decision, the only one who could ever change his mind was my mother.’
Abu looks away.
‘As you wish.’ He pauses. ‘So. What about us?’
‘I don’t know, Abu. I’m tired.’
‘Of course. I should let you rest.’ He gets up. ‘I have a proposal: come have dinner with me tomorrow, at my palace.’ He raises a hand. ‘No obligations: you showed me your world, and I simply want to show you mine.’
Tawaddud nods. ‘I would like that.’
‘Good. You know, I did not quite finish my story the other night. Perhaps it will help you.’ He rubs his brass eye. ‘After the mutalibun got what they wanted, they left me alone in the desert to die, so that I could not lead anyone else to what they found. I was all alone in the wildcode desert, in the Fast Cities. There were houses whose windows were eyes, carbeasts, machines that looked human but were not, and . . . worse things.
‘But I walked home. I survived. There were a hundred times I thought I was going to die, but I kept going. I had a destination and it kept me alive, no matter how bad things got.
‘So do not give up on your father. Maybe you can still show him who you are. I will help you, if you will let me. You don’t have to walk through the desert alone.’
Tawaddud feels warm.
‘Thank you,’ she says.
She kisses him at the door. His lips are cold, but he embraces Tawaddud hard.
He smiles when she finally pulls away. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘What was it?’ Tawaddud asks.
‘What do you mean?’
‘What was it that kept you going?’
Abu smiles.
‘Revenge,’ he says. ‘What else? Good night, Tawaddud.’
When Abu is gone, Tawaddud picks up Dunyazad’s box.
Revenge.
The Cry of Wrath. She was eight years old. There were mountains in the sky. Crystal clouds, diamond pyramids, blocking out every bit of blu
e. Distant thunder. Shouting, fearful cries, carried up to the Shard. White beams coming down from the heavens. She laughed with delight when she saw it.
‘Mother,’ she shouted. ‘Look, it is raining light!’
Her mother looked at the Sobornost sky in terror. She had not been the same since the star of madness, prone to silences and nightmares. Tawaddud thought the wonder in the sky would make her laugh again.
Instead, her mother ran to the balcony and leaped.
The candles flutter in the wind from outside. She closes her window, takes her doctor’s bag and goes to see Sumanguru.
The guest quarters are in the Tower of Saffron, the tallest of the five horizontal towers in the Gomelez palace, in the tip with a magnificent view of Sirr. Tawaddud chooses a long, winding staircase from her own rooms that takes her around the main living areas of the palace, climbing along the curving shell of the Shard. The night air and the exercise clear her head. Sirr is a sea of golden light far below, reminding her of the other Sirr Abu showed her in the athar. She finds herself missing him. At least there is one good thing that came out of this.
Sumanguru opens the door. He is wearing white trousers and a plain shirt from the guest wardrobe, stark against his dark skin: they make him look like a wirer, except for the scars. He looks at Tawaddud curiously.
‘I did not expect to see you so soon,’ he says. ‘Do you have something to tell me?’
Tawaddud looks down. ‘Lord Sumanguru, I wanted to make sure there were no aftereffects from the barakah gun or the exposure of your Seals, not to mention your injuries. My father is concerned about the welfare of his guest.’
‘I am not overly concerned about this body, but I can hardly turn down a gesture of hospitality. Please come in.’
At Tawaddud’s request, Sumanguru sits down and removes his shirt. His body is hairless and smooth, every muscle impossibly perfect. His chest is covered in innumerable tiny wounds, but most of them appear to be healing already, faster than any baseline human. In athar, his Seals are still intact. Looking closer, she can see a network of nodes under his skin, complex machinery that athar does not know how to represent.
‘I did not know you were a doctor,’ Sumanguru says.