Khorsa’s brown eyes absorb Aiah’s change of expression in this last remark, and she nods, half to herself, and says, “Well, perhaps not every story is an exaggeration.”
Aiah feels a flush prickling her cheeks. “So I’m a hero in Old Shorings. What’s it got to do with Charduq?”
“Quite simply, he’s saying that you’re the deliverer. That you’re an incarnate immortal, or the immortals sent you, and your purpose is to liberate the Barkazil people, and give us our metropolis and our power back…”
“Great Senko!” Aiah sags stunned in her chair.
“And he’s saying it to everybody,” Khorsa says. “Most won’t believe him, or won’t pay attention, but there are those who will listen. You’re going to be seeing a lot of Barkazils in the next weeks.”
“Alfeg?” Aiah wonders. “Could Alfeg be one of the people who paid attention to what Charduq was saying?”
“Old Chavan’s son?” Khorsa thinks for a moment. “It’s a devout family. Chavan is a big supporter of the Kholos Temple and the old Holy Leaguers—wish I had him at my services.”
“But a rich family like that—even if they are devout, one of them wouldn’t listen to some smelly old street sage, would he?”
Khorsa hesitates. “I don’t know enough about Alfeg to be able to say. But in my experience, a person will listen to anybody, provided he has the message one wants to hear.”
Aiah stares for an endless moment at the wall above Khorsa’s head, and then the frustration in her heart boils over. “What am I to do with these people?” she demands. “Even with the expansions my department has less than a thousand people. Most of the jobs require specific skills. Any Barkazils throwing up their lives to come to Caraqui are likely to be the ones with nothing to lose… They’re just going to end up on the dole here, and the dole in Caraqui is far worse than the dole in Jaspeer.”
“Not everyone will be without skills,” Khorsa says. “Alfeg isn’t.” Her calm eyes hold steady on Aiah. “Neither am I,” she adds.
Aiah looks at her. “You’re here to apply for a job?” “Yes.”
“You have it if you want it. But what about the Wisdom Fortune Temple?”
“We have enough trained assistants to take my place, at least for a while.”
Despair wails in Aiah’s nerves. “You don’t believe Charduq, too, do you? I can assure you that I’m not an immortal.”
Khorsa considers this. “I don’t know if it’s necessary that you know,” she says.
Aiah turns away. “I don’t like this game,” she says.
“The Cunning People need something,” Khorsa says. “The heart went out of us when the Metropolis of Barkazi was destroyed. Even though that happened three generations ago, we still live like refugees. You’re a hero to our people—you can change things.”
“It’s a delusion,” Aiah says. “And when nothing comes of it, everyone’s going to be hurt.”
Khorsa looks at her fixedly. “Is what you—you and Constantine—is what you’re trying to accomplish in Caraqui delusional?”
“I hope not.” Aiah again turns away from the intent glimmer of expectation in Khorsa’s eyes. “If Caraqui fails, however, it won’t be my fault. But if every hope the Cunning People hold for me turns to ashes, whose fault will it be? Who will they blame?”
“Different questions,” Khorsa says, “with different answers.”
Aiah tastes bitterness on her tongue. “I somehow doubt they will hold Charduq responsible.”
Khorsa’s voice is soft. “They are coming. I cannot say how many. But they are coming, whether you want them or not.”
“Go back to Jaspeer. Tell Charduq to shut up.”
“He won’t.”
Aiah waves a hand. “Then tell him the time isn’t ripe! Tell him to wait!” She represses a snarl. “Damn it, if I’m an immortal, he ought to do what I tell him!”
A hint of a smile glimmers across Khorsa’s face. “I can tell him that, I think.”
She is half the world away from her large and troublesome family, Aiah thinks, and now they pursue her, larger and more troublesome than she ever imagined they could be.
She notices a new folder on her desk, and knows it contains the results of the security scans performed in the pre-break. She grabs the folder, opens it, pages savagely through it until she comes to Alfeg’s file.
Clean, she discovers; no police spy, no contacts with the government of Jaspeer. No one’s agent… save maybe, in some sense, Charduq’s.
Right, Aiah thinks. You’re a rich boy—it’s time to spend some of Daddy’s money.
NEW CITY NOW
“You’re hired,” Aiah says. “Congratulations.”
Alfeg looks at her with a questioning expression, eyebrows lifted. “You sound as if you resent the fact you’re hiring me,” he says.
“There are some services I wish you to perform,” Aiah continues, “in addition to those covered by the job.”
A frown crosses Alfeg’s bemused face. “I’m sorry? There are conditions to my getting the job?”
Aiah places her palms firmly atop Alfeg’s file on her desk. “Not officially,” she says.
“Ah.” He blinks at her for a moment, touches his chin-lace in a self-conscious way, then nods. “What do you wish me to do?”
“Do you know Charduq the Hermit?”
The knowing smile dances across Alfeg’s face, a smile that suggests he and Aiah share a secret.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m familiar with him.”
“He’s a lunatic,” Aiah says, and watches Alfeg’s self-satisfied little smile twitch away. “He’s telling stories about me that aren’t true, and he’s trying to persuade Barkazils to give up their lives and come to Caraqui.”
“Ah—he’s—,” Alfeg stumbles. Aiah holds out a hand.
“Let me finish, please,” Aiah says. “Since it seems I can’t stop him from talking, and since it would appear that some Barkazils, at least, are coming—and mostly those who have little to lose, I suspect—I want you to establish an organization for their reception. Help find them work, a place to live, that sort of thing.”
Alfeg takes a moment to process this. “Will I be receiving any funds for this project?” he asks.
“No,” Aiah says. “None but what you can raise yourself.”
“I—” He blinks.
“And you’ll have to do it in your spare time,” Aiah says, “because you’ll be starting here right away, and we’re all working shifts-and-a-half.”
Alfeg clears his throat. “Is this some kind of test?” he asks.
“No.”
He stares at Aiah, searching her expression for a clue which Aiah refuses to give. Then, after a long silence, he gives an uncomfortable tug to his collar and turns away. “I’ll do it,” he says.
“Thank you.” Briskly. She hands him a paper. “Your office will be Room 3224, which you’ll share with one or two others. You’ll be in Ethemark’s division—report to him tomorrow at 08:00, start of work shift, for orientation and assignment. Your badge will be waiting at the reception area, northwest gate.”
“Yes. Ah.” He licks his lips, stands. Aiah rises from behind her desk and shakes his hand.