City of Stairs (The Divine Cities, #1)(45)

“You are not a woman,” says the boy. “You have to be human first. Shallies don’t count.”

Shara smiles pleasantly. “If that’s true, then why are you so nervous?”

The boy does not answer.

Shara does not consider herself excessively attractive, but she is always willing to try anything. “I find it quite hot in here,” she says. “Don’t you? My hands sweat when I get hot.” She pulls off her gloves, finger by finger, delicately folds them, and places them on the table. “Do your hands sweat?” She reaches out to his injured hand.

He pulls away as if she’s made of fire. “Do not touch me, woman! And do not try to ply me with your … your secret femininity!”

It takes a lot of effort for Shara not to laugh. She has not heard that term spoken aloud outside of her history classes, and she’s never heard it spoken with such sincerity. “For someone who refuses to talk, you’re talking quite a bit now. But, I admit, you’re still talking less than your friend.” She pulls a file out of her satchel and consults it.

“Who?” says the boy suspiciously.

“The other one we captured,” says Shara. “He wouldn’t give us his name, either. Even though he was close to death. But he talked about many other things.” Of course, none of this is true—Sigrud very much killed all of the other attackers, except for the one who vanished—but she smiles at the boy, radiating cheer, and asks, “How does the disappearing trick work?”

The boy flinches.

“I know that’s how you get across the city,” says Shara. “Cars. People. They find some street or alley, head down it, and then poof. They’re gone. It’s quite … miraculous.”

There is a gleam of sweat next to the boy’s ears.

“He was rambling,” says Shara. “Weak from blood loss, you see. I wasn’t quite sure what was true and what wasn’t, but … I’m tempted to think almost all of it is. Which would be quite remarkable, really.”

“That … that can’t be true,” says the boy. “None of us would ever talk. Even when dying. Throw us in Slondheim, and we still wouldn’t talk.”

“I could make that happen, actually,” says Shara. “I’ve been to that prison. It’s worse than you can imagine.”

“We would never talk.”

“Yes, but if you don’t possess full control of your faculties … It’s perfectly understandable. What else will he tell us? If you tell us now, and tell it to us honestly, we’ll be lenient on you. We will make sure you get home. We can put all of this behind us. But if you don’t …”

“No,” says the boy. “No. We could never … We will be rewarded.”

“With what?”

The boy takes a breath, disturbed, and begins to chant.

“What’s that?” says Shara. She leans in to listen.

The boy is chanting, “On the mountain, by the stone, we will be rewarded, holiest of holies. On the mountain, by the stone, we will be rewarded, holiest of holies.”

“Rewarded with jail, death … ,” says Shara. “So many of you died already. I saw it. I know you did, too. Are they rewarded? Did they get what they wished?”

“On the mountain, by the stone, we will be rewarded, holiest of holies,” says the boy, louder. “On the mountain, by the stone, we will be rewarded, holiest of holies.”

“Are their families rewarded? Their friends? Or do they not even have these?”

But the boy simply keeps chanting, over and over again. Shara sighs, thinks, and excuses herself from the room.

*

“I have need of you, soldier,” says Shara.

Sigrud cracks an eye. He is slumped in the corner of his cell. His hand is wrapped in bandages, and he has been scrubbed somewhat clean of blood. Shara can tell he is awake, though: his pipe is still smoking.

“They will be releasing you in just a short while,” she says. “I’ve managed to get all that arranged despite the … casualties. Hostages corroborate that you acted like a hero.”

Sigrud shrugs, indifferent, contemptuous.

“Right. Now. I asked you to send feelers out and look at hiring a few contractors. Did you have any luck?”

He nods.

“Good. We’ll need some thuggish assistance, if you please. When you’re released, I want you to snatch up that maid from the university. The one who worked alongside Pangyui, the one who was tailing us the other day. We should have done it immediately, but we were … occupied. Grab her, and get her to the embassy. I want to question her myself. I want your contractors to stay back and watch her apartment, and see if anyone comes or goes. I will need this done by …” She consults her watch. “… six in the evening. And you must be discreet. Assume both you and her are being watched. Understand?”

Sigrud sighs. Then he pulls a face, as if mulling over his options and realizing he really had nothing better to do tonight. “Six in the evening.”

“Good.”

“The survivor,” he asks. “Is he talking?”

“No. And I can tell he’s not the talking type.”

“Then what?”

Shara adjusts her glasses. “I’ve stalled for more time, but not nearly enough to crack him via the normal means.”