The Windup Girl(65)

Anderson thinks of the few buildings he glimpsed as he was escorted to the temple. They were all dilapidated. Water stained and covered with vines. If the Tiger's fall isn't proof enough, the fallen trees and unkempt grounds are fine indicators. "You must be very proud of what you've accomplished."

Carlyle draws on his cigarette and exhales slowly. "Let's just say it's a satisfying step."

"You've impressed them." Anderson nods toward the Farang Phalanx, who seem to be already drunk on their reparation money. Lucy is trying to convince Otto to sing the Pacific Anthem under the stern gazes of the armed white shirts. The trader catches sight of Carlyle and lurches over. His breath stinks with laolao.

"Are you drunk?" Carlyle asks.

"Completely." Otto smiles dreamily. "I had to finish everything at the gate. Bastards wouldn't let me bring the celebration bottles inside. Took Lucy's opium, too."

He drapes an arm over Carlyle's shoulder. "You were right, you bastard. Right as rain. Look at all these damn white shirts' expressions. They've been eating bitter melon all day!" He gropes for Carlyle's hand, tries to shake it. "God damn it's good to see them taken down a notch. Them and their thieving 'gifts of goodwill.' You're a good man, Carlyle. Good man."

His grins blearily. "I'm going to be rich because of you. Rich!" He laughs and paws for Carlyle's hand again. "Good man," he says as he gets a grip. "Good man."

Lucy shouts for him to get back in line. "Rickshaw's here, you drunk bastard!"

Otto stumbles away and with Lucy's help tries to crawl into the rickshaw. The white shirts watch coldly. A woman in an officer's uniform studies them all from the top of the temple steps, her face expressionless.

Anderson watches her. "What do you think she's thinking?" he asks, nodding up at the woman officer. "All these drunk farang crawling through her compound? What does she see?"

Carlyle draws on his cigarette and lets out smoke in a slow stream. "The dawn of a new era."

"Back to the future," Anderson murmurs.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing." Anderson shakes his head. "Something Yates used to say. We're in the sweet spot, now. The world's shrinking."

Lucy and Otto finally manage to climb into the rickshaw. They roll out with Otto shouting blessings on all the honorable white shirts who have made him so rich with their reparation money. Carlyle quirks an eyebrow at Anderson, the question unspoken. Anderson draws on his cigarette, considering the branches of possibility that underlie Carlyle's question.

"I want to talk to Akkarat directly."

Carlyle snorts. "Children want all sorts of things."

"Children don't play this game."

"You think you can twist him around your finger? Turn him into a good little administrator, like in India?"

Anderson favors him with a cold eye. "More like Burma." He smiles at Carlyle's stricken expression. "Don't worry. We're not in the nation-breaking business anymore. All we're interested in is a free market. I'm sure we can work toward that common goal, at least. But I want the meet."

"So cautious." Carlyle drops his cigarette on the ground, grinds it out with his foot. "I would have thought you'd have a more adventurous spirit."

Anderson laughs. "I'm not here for the adventure. That's for all of those drunks over there…" He trails off, stunned.

Emiko is in the crowd, standing with the Japanese delegation. He catches a glimpse of her movement in the knot of business people and political officers as they cluster around Akkarat, talking and smiling.

"My god." Carlyle sucks in his breath. "Is that a windup? In the compound?"

Anderson's tries to say something, but can't make his throat work.

No, he's wrong. It's not Emiko. The movement is the same, but the girl is not. This one is richly dressed, with gold glimmering around her throat. A slightly different face. She lifts her hand, stutter-stop motion, tucks black silk hair behind an ear. Similar, but not the same.

Anderson's heart starts beating again.

The windup girl smiles graciously at whatever story Akkarat is telling. She turns to make introductions for a man Anderson recognizes from intelligence photos as a general manager of Mishimoto. Her patron says something to her and she ducks her head to him, then hurries away to the rickshaws, odd and graceful.

She's so much like Emiko. So stylized, so deliberate. Everything about the windup before him reminds him of that other, so much more desperate girl. He swallows, remembering Emiko in his bed, small and alone. Starving for information about windup villages. What are they like? Who lives within them? Do they really live without patrons? So desperate for hope. So different from this glittering windup that threads gracefully between white shirts and officials.

"I don't think she was allowed in the temple," Anderson finally says. "They couldn't have gone that far. The white shirts must have made her wait outside."

"Still, they must be seething." Carlyle cocks his head, watching the Japanese delegation. "You know, Raleigh has one of those, too. Uses it for a freak show in the back of his place."

Anderson swallows. "Oh? I hadn't heard."

"Sure. It'll f**k anything. You should see it. Truly bizarre." Carlyle laughs low. "Look, she's catching attention. I think the Queen's Protector is actually smitten."