Steeplejack (Alternative Detective, #1)(100)

“You are Mnenga’s brothers,” I said.

One of them nodded. “Mnenga said you might need help,” he said. “That you were alone among hyenas.”

“Thank you,” I gasped. “I was.”





CHAPTER

37

ONE OF THE BROTHERS—the elder, whose name was Embiyeh—led Von Strahden out of the cave and down by a hidden path to a point closer to the freight line, and I followed with the pistol while the other brother, Wayell, went back to guard Vestris, remaining in the antechamber so that he would not be exposed to the mineral.

The mineral that is slowly killing my sister, moment by moment.

We had not reached the bottom before we saw the mismatched carriages barreling along the Bar-Selehm road in a column of dust.

Among them were Andrews and a squad of armed officers, Willinghouse in the family coach, and a pair of cabs stuffed with reporters led by a dictatorial Sureyna. The last to emerge was Mnenga, who embraced his brother and spoke to him softly in their own language. Me, he kept his distance from, giving me simply a nod and a bashful, cautious smile when he found me looking at him.

I walked to him, folded him in my arms and held him tight to my breast, breathing my thanks and apologies. I felt the strength of his grip around my shoulders, the shuddering of his breath against my chest, and I was not surprised to see the tears in his eyes when we finally parted, though he immediately took a step back and away. The space between us yawned like a chasm, and for a long moment we just looked at each other. Then Willinghouse was beside me, and Mnenga took three quick strides away.

“Are you all right?” asked Willinghouse, his face pale save for the sickle-shaped scar, which glowed like hot metal. “That looks like a nasty cut.”

I unfastened my hair, shook it loose, and considered him.

I wanted to ask him how much he had known or suspected about Von Strahden, how much he had not told me, even though that might have put my life in jeopardy; I wanted to yell at him, to blame him, but I could not.

After a moment, he broke eye contact, gazing out across the bush toward the city, and he nodded. “Good work, Miss Sutonga,” he said.

Again, I considered him, and he opened his mouth to say something else, but then looked at his shoes. I had never seen him so ill at ease, and for all his finely cut clothes and air of authority, he looked thoroughly out of place.

“I’m glad that…” he said, then hesitated. “Well. Yes. Very good work indeed.”

And then he was walking away, and through the space where he had been, I saw Mnenga watching. For a second our eyes locked and something sad and pained passed between us, and then he too turned to face the city and began to walk away.

“Excuse me, Anglet, if it isn’t too much trouble!”

The voice came from the Willinghouse coach. The window screen was down, and Dahria was leaning out, her eyes full of exasperated boredom.

“Dahria,” I said as I approached.

“First name terms now, is it?” she said.

“I’m not pretending to be your maid anymore,” I said.

“Quite,” said Dahria. “Well, I have one final duty for you, and I would be obliged if you would take care of it immediately because it is exceedingly tiresome.”

“What?” I asked.

She opened the door and leaned back so that I could see inside.

Tanish was sitting in the corner—pale, tired, and bandaged, but very much alive and smiling like the spring.

“No time for children myself,” said Dahria, “but I thought it would cheer you up, his not being dead and all.”

“Out of the way, you maddening, bloody woman,” I muttered, climbing in and throwing myself on the boy, who laughed, albeit with difficulty.

I gripped Tanish to me, like holding life itself, laughing and crying at the same time till he begged me to stop.

“And there’s this,” Dahria added, picking up a basket covered by a blanket.

It was Kalla. I lifted her to my heart and kissed her forehead, inhaling the life of her.

I stepped down from the carriage and found Mnenga with my eyes. He hadn’t left after all. He was loitering at a distance, but watching so that I did not need to call my thanks. He met my eyes and nodded once, smiling in spite of everything.

“Well, yes,” said Dahria, regarding the baby like an unwelcome parcel. “Quite. It’s very hot out here. Has anyone noticed? It would be much more pleasant at home. I merely mention it—”

“You have a baby,” said Willinghouse, nonplussed. “Whose is it? Why do you have a baby?”

“Oh yes,” said Dahria, dry as the desert air. “Master detective, you are.”

*

MNENGA’S BROTHER WAYELL CAME staggering down the path all by himself. After a good deal of heated chatter with his brothers, he told a story of how he had waited for a long time before venturing back into the false-luxorite cave, but found no sign of Vestris. It was so bright up there that I had not seen the other passage, which seemed to turn into the mountain before creeping out into the air.

Embiyeh fumed and said he had let the family down, and Andrews chuffed about the killer’s escape, but I was neither surprised nor—in the face of Tanish’s survival—as upset as I might have expected. Vestris was sick, sicker than she realized, but there was no point searching the mountain for her. She would climb and she would hide—she was good at both—and eventually the strange illness that came from the false luxorite would overcome her. Animals would get to her body, and we would not see her again.