City of Stairs (The Divine Cities, #1)(30)

“To a small extent. I could force them, perhaps, unless the box is being watched. And it seems Pangyui was being watched very, very closely. He was dealing with things … that I did not know he was dealing with. He did not tell me, it seems, the whole truth.” She looks up at Sigrud. “I am not sure if I should tell you, in fact. But I will, if you ask.”

Sigrud shrugs. “I do not really care, to be frank.”

Shara does not bother to hide her relief. One of the things she values most about her “secretary” is how little he cares for the intricacy of obfuscation: Sigrud is a hammer in a world of nails, and he is satisfied knowing only that.

“Good,” says Shara. “I would not wish to make it known that we have unusual interest in Pangyui’s researches—for them to know that we do not know what Pangyui knew would be … Well. Unwise. We will need to be more subtle in our arrangements. I am just not quite sure how, yet.”

“So what do we do now?”

At first Shara is not sure what to say. But then she slowly realizes she has been thinking of a strategy all night: she was just not aware she was thinking of it.

Her heart sinks as she realizes what the solution is: yet she is so sure it would work she knows she’d be a fool not to try it.

“Well,” says Shara. “We do have one lead. Who do we have at the Ministry who’s good with finance?”

“Finance?”

“Yes. Banking, specifically.”

Sigrud shrugs. “I think I recall hearing Yonji is still there.”

She makes a note of it. “He’ll do. I’ll have to contact him very soon to check. … I think I am right. But I will need him to confirm the exact financial arrangements.”

“So we are still on our own? Just you, and I, against the whole of Bulikov?”

Shara finishes her note. “Hm. No. I doubt if that will do. Start sending out feelers. I expect we will need to recruit at least a few bodies, or a few eyes. They cannot know this has any involvement with the Ministry. But you are usually quite good with contractors.”

“How much are we willing to pay them?”

Shara tells him.

“That is why I seem so good with recruits,” he says.

“Very good. Now the last thing. I must ask you—do you have any party clothes?”

Sigrud lazily gestures at his mud-spattered boots and smog-stained shirt. “What about this,” he asks, “isn’t appropriate for a party?”

*

In the predawn light, Shara waits for sleep, and remembers.

It was toward the middle part of their relationship, though neither she nor Vohannes knew it then. She had found him sitting beneath a tree, watching the rowing team practicing in the Khamarda River, next to the academy. The girls’ team had just set their shell in the water and was climbing in. When Shara joined him and sat in his lap, as she often did, she felt a soft lump pressing into her lower back.

“Should I be worried?” she asked.

“About what?” he said.

“What do you think?”

“I try not to think at all when outdoors, dear. It tends to ruin things so.”

“Should I be worried,” she said, “that your favor might one day wander to another girl?”

Vohannes laughed, surprised. “I didn’t know you were so jealous, my battle-ax!”

“No one is jealous until they have reason to be.” She reached around, grabbed the lump. “And that seems like a reason.”

He grunts, not displeased. “I hadn’t realized we were quite so formal.”

“Formal? This is an issue of formality?”

“It is to me. So, what is it to be, then? Are you saying you assume you are mine, and I yours, dear? Are you sure you wish to be my girl, forever and ever, and belong only to me?”

Shara was silent. She looked away.

“What?” said Vohannes.

“Nothing.”

“What?” he said again, frustrated. “What have I said now?”

“It’s nothing!”

“It’s obviously not nothing. The very air has just turned colder.”

“It should be nothing. It’s … it’s my thing. A … Saypuri thing.”

“Oh, just say it already, Shara. Let me learn it, at least.”

“I suppose it doesn’t mean anything to you, does it? Calling someone yours. Saying they belong to you. Me being your girl. But we don’t say things like that here. And you might not understand … but then, your people have never been owned. And it sounds very different coming out of your mouth, Vo.”

Vohannes took in a sharp breath. “Oh, gods, Shara, you know I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t. I know that to you, it was a perfectly innocent thing to say. But being owned, and making someone yours—they have different meanings here. We don’t say them. People still remember what it was like, before.”

“Well,” said Vohannes, suddenly bitter, “we don’t. We lost that. It was taken from us. By your damn great-grandfather, or whatever.”

“I hate it when you talk about tha—”

“Oh, I know you do. But at least your people have your memories, however unpleasant they are. You’re allowed to read about my history here. Hells, this school’s library has more information on us than we do! But if I tried to bring any of it home, I’d be fined or jailed or worse, by your people.”