City of Stairs (The Divine Cities, #1)(51)
It must have seemed to the newly founded Saypuri Parliament an easy if not satisfying decision: Saypur, for so long the subservient nation, would intervene in the Continent’s affairs and bring order. They would reinvade, this time under a banner of peace, and reconstruct.
But I am not sure if they truly understood the memory of the Continent—which, despite the Blink, despite the Plague Years, despite the bandit kings—remains to this day quite long, and bitter.
They remember what they were, and they know what they have lost.
—“The Sudden Hegemony,”
Dr. Efrem Pangyui
Dangerously Honest
Hazy morning light trickles across the rooftops. Shara squints as she tries to discern exactly where the walls of Bulikov start and stop, but she can see only the early morning sky—or perhaps she only imagines the diamond-flecks of stars glittering above the dawning sun. It’s not really the sun, she thinks. I’m not seeing the sky. It’s just the picture of the sun and the sky, produced by the walls. Or, at least, I think it is . … The Bulikov pigeons can tell no difference: they emerge from their roosts, fluff their feathers, and descend to the city streets in wheeling clouds.
Shara is not afraid. She tells herself this repeatedly, in the calm, cool voice of a doctor.
I have never thought of knowledge as a burden, thinks Shara, but how heavy this weighs on me . …
But inside her a small, quiet voice reminds her that this isn’t completely surprising. Shara spent enough time buried in the restricted information at the Ministry to understand that the history taught in Saypuri schools is just one variation on a story—one with many, many holes. But just because the nightmare you expected comes true, she tells herself, it doesn’t make it any less terrifying.
More and more, she worries about what could be in the Warehouse. And, more and more, she worries that someone other than Efrem could have gotten access to it. That should be impossible; but having just had what should be a dead Divinity directly address her, she knows the impossible cannot really be ruled out.
She picks up the morning paper on her desk and reads the account of the deaths last night for the hundredth time, paying close attention to two paragraphs in particular:
Vohannes Votrov expressed grief for his slain staff members and regret that the attack happened, but said he was not surprised: “With the current discourse we’re seeing in the city, I am not shocked at all that some citizens felt violence was the only answer. They are told day in and day out that [New Bulikov’s] vision for the city is one of destruction and death, that we are liars and deceivers. I have no doubt that such men felt they were acting out of a moral principle—and this I regret perhaps most of all.”
City Father Ernst Wiclov, a frequent opponent to Votrov and New Bulikov, was quick to condemn these accusations. “The very idea that someone would capitalize on such a tragedy for political gain is abhorrent,” he said in an interview mere hours after the attack. “This is a time for mourning and reflection, not self-righteous posturing.” Mr. Vohannes was not available for response.
There’s a knock at the door, and Mulaghesh sticks her head in. “I didn’t want to open up shop for anyone, but I thought I’d make an exception for this—your boy is here.”
“My what?”
Mulaghesh pushes the door open the rest of the way to reveal Vohannes standing in the hallway, looking quite awkward despite his elegant gray suit and thick white fur coat.
“Ah,” says Shara. “Come in.”
Vohannes limps in. “I must say, I am happy to see you in one piece. … Two attempts on your life in one day! I thought you were important, Shara, but not …” He rubs his hip. “Not that important.”
Shara rolls her eyes. “I see your charm has not been dulled by all the excitement. Please sit down, Vo. I have some rather bad news for you.”
As he does, Shara finds she only hates herself a little for finding this all a fortunate coincidence: she needs Vohannes to be frightened in order to do what she needs him to.
“Bad news?” asks Vo. “Beyond all the damage and … and stains done to my home?”
“We are happy to compensate you for that,” says Shara. “Those damages were done, after all, by a Ministry employee.”
“That man works for the Ministry? For you? But he’s a Dreyling, isn’t he? Haven’t they all become savages and pirates since their little kingdom collapsed?”
“Maybe so,” says Shara, “but he saved your life.”
Vohannes pauses while taking out a cigarette. “Well, I don’t think … Wait, what? My life?”
“Yes,” says Shara. “Because those men were not there for me. They were there for you, Vo.”
He stares at her. The cigarette hovers an inch from Vohannes’s open mouth.
“That would be the bad news I just mentioned,” she says gently.
“He … He what?”
Shara summarizes what she learned from her interrogation of the surviving attacker. “I can say, though, that you are quite lucky to be sitting in front of me,” she says mildly. “I am probably the only person on the Continent right now who can help you.”
“Help me what?”
“Help you stay alive. Did you see how those men were dressed?”