The Windup Girl(76)

"I used to be on the poison details for cheshires," Somchai says finally.

"Now it's you who shows your age."

Somchai shrugs. "I had a family then."

"I didn't know."

"Cibiscosis.118.Aa. It was quick."

"I remember. My father died with that one as well. A bad iteration."

Somchai nods. "I miss them. I hope they reincarnated well."

"I'm sure they did."

He shrugs. "One can hope. I became a monk for them. Ordained for a full year. I prayed. Did many offerings." He says again, "One can hope."

The cheshires yowl again as Somchai watches. "I've killed thousands of them. Thousands. I've killed six men in my life and never regretted any of them, but I've killed thousands of cheshires and have never felt at ease." He pauses, scratches behind his ear at a bloom of arrested fa' gan fringe. "I sometimes wonder if my family's cibiscosis was karmic retribution for all those cheshires."

"It couldn't be. They're not natural."

Somchai shrugs. "They breed. They eat. They live. They breathe." He smiles slightly. "If you pet them, they will purr."

Jaidee makes a face of disgust.

"It's true. I have touched them. They are real. As much as you or I."

"They're just empty vessels. No soul fills them."

Somchai shrugs. "Maybe even the worst monstrosities of the Japanese live in some way. I worry that Noi and Chart and Malee and Prem have been reborn in windup bodies. Not all of us are good enough to become Contraction phii. Maybe some of us become windups, in Japanese factories, working working working, you know? We're so few in comparison to the past, where did all the souls go? Maybe to the Japanese? Maybe into windups?"

Jaidee masks his uneasiness at the direction of Somchai's words. "It's impossible."

Somchai shrugs again. "Still. I could not bear to hunt a cheshire again."

"Then let's hunt men."

Across the street, a door is opening and a Ministry worker steps outside. Jaidee is already crossing the street, sprinting to catch the man. Their target strides to a rack of bicycles and bends down to unlock a wheel. Jaidee's club slides free. The man looks up and gasps and then Jaidee is on top of him, baton swinging. The man has time to raise an arm. Jaidee swats it aside and then he is inside the man's reach and clubs him across the head.

Somchai catches up. "You're fast for an old man."

Jaidee smiles. "Take his feet."

They lug the body back across the street, slipping into the puddled blackness between the methane lamps. Jaidee goes through his pockets. Keys jingle. He grins and raises them to show the prize. He ties the man quickly, blindfolds and gags him. A cheshire drifts close, watching, a molting of calico and shadow and stone.

"Will the cheshires eat him?" Somchai wonders.

"If you cared, you would have let me kill them."

Somchai ponders this, but doesn't say anything. Jaidee finishes binding the man. "Come on." They jog back across the street, slip to the door. The key enters easily, and they are inside.

In the glare of electricity, Jaidee stifles the urge to locate light switches and plunge the Ministry into darkness. "Stupid to have people working so late. Burning all this carbon."

Somchai shrugs. "Our man may be here in the building, even now."

"Not if he's lucky." But Jaidee has the same thought. He wonders if he will be able to restrain himself if he catches Chaya's killer. Wonders why he should.

They slip through more lighted halls. A few people are still present, but no one gives them a second glance as they stride by. Both of them walk with authority, have the air of men others must defer to. Jaidee acknowledges others with a quick inclination of his head as he walks past. Eventually he finds the records offices he requires. Somchai and Jaidee pause in front of glass doors. Jaidee hefts his baton.

"Glass." Somchai notes.

"You want to try?"

Somchai examines the lock, pulls out a set of tools, sets to work probing the aperture, massaging its tumblers. Jaidee stands beside him, waiting impatiently. The corridor blazes with light.

Somchai fiddles with the locks.

"Eh. Never mind." Jaidee hefts his baton. "Move aside."

The shattering is quick; the sound echoes and fades. They wait for footsteps but there are none. They both slip inside and proceed to rifle through the cabinets. Eventually Jaidee finds the personnel files, and then there is a long period of examining poor photographs, of setting aside ones that seem familiar, sifting, sorting.

"He knew me." Jaidee mutters. "He looked right at me."

"Everyone knows you," Somchai observes. "You are famous."

Jaidee grimaces. "You think he was at the anchor pads to collect something? Or just there for the inspections themselves?"

"Or perhaps they wanted whatever was in Carlyle's holds. Or some other dirigible that aborted arrival and dropped in Occupied Lanna, instead. There are a thousand possibilities, no?"

"Here!" Jaidee points. "This is the one."

"You're sure? His face was narrower, I thought."

"I'm sure of it."

Somchai frowns as he scans the file over Jaidee's shoulder. "A low-level man. Not important at all. No one with influence."