‘I can’t help you. I can’t intervene right now. We are too weak to risk a full-blown civil war. The zoku are watching and waiting. I know they look weak – but remember what the Kaminari did. We need to keep up the illusion that we are stronger than them. I will not risk a civil war to save a few of you.’
‘What exactly are you doing here, Matjek? Wrapping yourself in memories? This is not like you.’
He laughs. ‘The innocent inherit the Kingdom of Heaven. Would you have believed that innocence is key to the Kaminari jewel? To think how I always found Christianity ridiculous. Trust me, if I find what I’m looking for here, everything will change. In the meantime, I ask you to survive. That is what you do best in any case, isn’t it?’
‘You would let me die? Is that how you pay me back for all these years? You would have me become a ghost, just because it’s convenient?’
The vir dissolves around them. Matjek assumes his Prime aspect, the voice of a billion gogols, the Metaself, the keeper of the Plan, the Father of Dragons.
‘I will sacrifice every Sobornost gogol, every conscious mind in the System, to make the Plan come true. But you never understood that, did you?’
His voice is strangely gentle. In other virs, other pellegrinis and chens are having the same conversation. How much easier it would be if she could truly share his mind, to see what goes on in his head. But that way lie Dragons.
Instead, she laughs. ‘It seems that you have become a slave to our own convenient fictions. How endearing. But then you were always a dreamer. Why don’t you dream us a new world, Matjek – a world without Dragons and entropy and zokus? Let me know when it arrives.’
In the virs below, from their god-view of the firmament, they watch the other outcomes. Violence. Love. But mostly, resentment.
‘Don’t come to me again. I know what you tried to do with the Experiment and the thief. You are on your own. I’m sure you will manage just fine.’
She withdraws, severing the links between her temple and his guberniya.
‘You never did want to grow up,’ she says.
23
TAWADDUD AND THE THIEF
Abu and Rumzan take them to a viewing gallery near the top of the Ugarte Shard. The walls and floors of his palace are white and stark. Without athar glasses, Tawaddud sees only flickers of what is invisible: dense mandalas and geometric shapes decorating every surface. The wide window has a view of Sirr at night, dominated by the golden flame of the Station. She stares at it until it feels like it’s going to fall down, and the rest of her world with it.
‘My father knows we are here,’ she says. ‘You are finished.’
‘Dear Tawaddud,’ Abu Nuwas says. ‘You may be able to lie to your jinn clients, but I can see right through you.’ He taps his brass eye. ‘Literally.’ He shifts the gun in his hand, pointing at Sumanguru.
‘You might want to know that this is not Sumanguru of the Turquoise Branch. There is someone else lurking beneath his ugly face: a thief and a liar called Jean le Flambeur.’
Tawaddud looks at Sumanguru. The other face that she has glimpsed before is fully visible beneath the scars now, intense eyes, a sardonic smile. He raises his eyebrows and shrugs. ‘Guilty as charged.’
‘What shall we do with you? I suppose it doesn’t matter. Accidents do happen near the wildcode desert, after all. And we have time to discuss that. Please, make yourselves comfortable. We are still waiting for someone to join us.’
He gestures, and foglet chairs appear, transparent, curved shapes, floating in the air. He sinks into one, a leg over one knee. Gingerly, Tawaddud sits down facing the gogol merchant.
‘Why?’ she asks.
‘I told you. Revenge. Because I hate this place. Because of what Alile and her friends did to me. Yes, it was her; she bought me from the entwiner. She used me to find the Jannah of the Cannon and then left me in the desert to die. I told her the Name that opened it and she took it from me.’
He squeezes the mind-trap in his hand, making a fist.
‘Well, I survived. I came back. I went to an upload temple first, but the hsien-kus could not undo what was done to me, to wash the desert away, not until they made Earth theirs. I found other ways to serve them. They were kinder mistresses than Alile, and far more generous.
‘But it’s not just about me, Tawaddud. You have seen it, too. Sirr is rotten: it makes monsters to survive and feeds on souls. We live in dirt when others in the System build diamond castles and live for ever. Don’t your beloved Banu Sasan deserve better than that?’
It’s not like that, Tawaddud thinks, remembering the Axolotl’s words. But she says nothing.
‘The Accords mean nothing. They have been a convenience for the Sobornost, nothing more. They were burned by the Aun, but they are ready now: what do you think the Gourd is for? When your friend here,’ he tosses the mind-bullet into the air and catches it, ‘tells me what I want to know, there is no need for the hsien-kus to take things slow. Earth will be uploaded, and I will have my reward. I will be made whole.’ He smiles sadly. ‘I wish I could say I’m sorry.’
Tell them lies they want to hear.
‘You can never get it back,’ Tawaddud says. ‘What she took from you, you can never get it back. But you can find something else to replace it. Believe me, I know. Without the Axolotl, I was hollow, I was lost. But then, I met you.’
Abu looks at her, human eye gleaming, his mouth a straight line. Then he starts laughing.
‘For a moment, I believed you. You did touch something, something I thought I no longer had.’ He shakes his head. ‘But you just used me to play your father. The body thief named you right. You are the Axolotl’s whore. Why do you think I was so interested in you in the first place? Because that’s what everybody calls you. When he gave me the slip, you were the obvious route to him. His weakness.
‘So don’t look so sad. We both got what we wanted. But enough of that. I do believe my other guest is here.’
A door opens, and a hsien-ku in a black Sobornost uniform walks in. She gives Sumanguru a curt nod.
‘Lord Sumanguru – or should I say Jean le Flambeur? Apologies for arriving slightly late. My branch prides itself on punctuality.’
I watch as Abu Nuwas hands the mind-trap over to the hsien-ku. Tawaddud is corpse-pale and shaking. Poor girl. I will make this up to you somehow. I promise.
Except that the worst is still to come.
‘We owe you thanks, le Flambeur, for alerting us to the existence of a primordial Chen gogol in the first place,’ the hsien-ku says. ‘It will be excellent currency to keep him off our backs while we move against our sister, who I believe is your current employer, am I correct? Perhaps there is an opportunity for you to offer your talents to us instead.’
I run through the options in my head. A voice is suggesting that perhaps misplaced loyalty to Joséphine at this juncture is not such a good idea. But then there is Mieli and my debt to her to think about – and I doubt the hsien-kus would be able to do anything to the locks inside my head.
‘I’ll consider it,’ I say. Tawaddud stares at me, wide-eyed.
‘It is only now that we dare to move openly: obtaining the gogol is far more important than our relationship with Sirr. Once we have dealt with our sister – with the help of our brothers the vasilevs – we will be back. And then there will be no need to dance to the whims of the gogol merchants. We will make Earth live again.’