City of Stairs (The Divine Cities, #1)(95)

Shara winces in her office. Mulaghesh has completely taken over the embassy offices downstairs, commandeering every telegraph machine and posting troops at all entrances. Normally she would be doing this from her quarters, but the embassy was much closer. “Contact General Noor at Fort Sagresha,” Mulaghesh shouts. “He needs to be notified of this, and tell him we need all the support he can offer. Interrupt me as soon as you hear, even if I specifically say not to interrupt me!”

Shara rubs her temples. “By the seas,” she mutters, “can the woman speak at any other volume?” Shara is content to let Mulaghesh handle this disaster, and since this is technically Mulaghesh’s jurisdiction, Shara has plenty of reasons to stay out. But privately she wishes Mulaghesh and the rest of them would just leave.

Sigrud sits in the corner of her office and sharpens his black knife. The skritch-skritch seems to grow until Shara’s head echoes with it.

“Must you do that now?” she asks.

Sigrud scrapes the knife a little softer. “You seem to be in a mood.”

“I was nearly blown up tonight.”

He shrugs and spits on the knife. “Not the first time.”

“And we burned down hundreds of years of priceless history!” she hisses, not daring to shout it.

“So?”

“So I have … I have never experienced such a failure in my professional career! And I do not enjoy failure. I am unused to it.”

The skritch-skritch slows as he thinks. “It is true that we have never encountered a mistake such as this.”

“A mistake? Ever since we’ve set foot in Bulikov, we’ve done nothing but stumble!” She quaffs tea with the air of a sailor drinking whisky.

“I suppose it is good to get all of your mistakes out in one run.”

“Your optimism,” says Shara, “is not appreciated. I almost regret coming here.”

“Almost?”

“Yes, almost. Because as … as shit-bedecked as this operation is, I still wouldn’t trust it to anyone else in the Ministry. Think what would happen if Komalta was here, or Yusuf!”

“I didn’t even know those two were still alive. I would have thought they’d have gotten themselves killed by now.”

“Exactly!” She stands up, walks to the window, and pushes it open. “I need air. My head is filling up with noise!” She breathes for a moment, listens, and rubs her eyes in exasperation. “Even the streets outside are screaming! Is there no quiet place in this whole damnable ci …” She trails off. “Wait, what time is it?”

Sigrud joins her at the window. “Late. Too late for such noise.” He tilts his head. “And it is screaming. You were not exaggerating.”

Shara surveys the dark streets of Bulikov. “What’s going on?”

Another howl in the night. Someone comes sprinting down the street outside, shrieking incoherently.

“I’ve no idea,” says Sigrud.

Downstairs, Mulaghesh is angrily dictating a response to General Noor specifying that this was not a direct attack, because that would be an indictment of their security, but Noor should be responding as if it was a direct attack, as they need assistance immediately.

Shara opens the window all the way. She hears a rumble toward the river. A cloud of white dust rises above the rooftops. “Did a building just collapse?” she asks.

More people are running through the streets. Candles are lit in windows; doors are flung open. A man cries out, asking what’s wrong, over and over. Finally someone answers: “There’s something in the water! Something in the water!”

Shara looks to Sigrud, but can only say, “What?”

Then a shout from downstairs: “Shara!” cries Mulaghesh’s voice. “There’s some idiot here to bother you!”

Shara and Sigrud troop downstairs. Pitry stands in the entryway with a very nervous-looking Bulikov police officer.

“A message from the Bulikov Police Department,” says Pitry, “for Ambassador Thivani from Captain Nesrhev.”

“Get rid of this guy,” says Mulaghesh. “I’m drowning in enough shit as it is.”

Shara fruitlessly searches for her inner calm. “What would be the issue?”

The officer swallows, sweats. “Ah, w-we’re evacuating all homes and buildings near the river. The embassy’s a priority”—he says this as if to suggest, And I just had to get this duty—“so we need all of you outside, immediately.”

Mulaghesh finishes another communication, then breaks away. “Wait, what the hells are you talking about? We’re not going anywhere.”

“Well … Captain Nesrhev—”

“Is a fine and good officer, but he can’t tell us to do a damn thing. This is Saypuri soil.”

“We’re … quite aware of that, Governor, but it’s … it’s emphatically suggested that you and the ambassador evacuate.”

“Why?” Shara asks.

The officer’s sweating quintuples. “We’re … Well, we can’t quite say just yet.”

“Would this have to do with what’s happening outside?” asks Shara.

The officer reluctantly nods.

“And what is happening outside?”

The officer appears to debate telling them; then his shoulders slump like he’s about to make an embarrassing confession. “There’s … something in the Solda River,” he says. “Something big.”