He saw the muscles in Imanuel’s jaw working, but Ory knew there was no response that would win over his plea to do something to honor Paul’s memory.
“Good,” he said at last, and nodded to Malik. He didn’t look back at Imanuel. He didn’t want to give him another opportunity to argue. That, and he wasn’t sure of what he’d seen in Imanuel’s face.
Of course Ory did want to help, even if he had ulterior motives. But the expression on Imanuel’s face hadn’t been guilt over not wanting to spare the resources or men to help find Max. It had been blind fear.
“IS HE NORMALLY SO WORRIED BEFORE A MISSION?” ORY ASKED Malik on the way down the stairs. Ahmadi was far ahead of them, already disappeared into the lobby on the ground floor.
Malik shrugged. “You’re his late husband’s best friend. The Reds aren’t someone I’d send my almost-family to face.”
“I volunteered,” Ory corrected.
Malik nodded. “I know. And I’m not in the business of turning down a willing soldier.” Ory felt Malik’s hand on his arm then, to slow their descent. “When I said that you might find help here, I didn’t realize that your Max wasn’t in D.C., that you lost track of her pretty far from here—or that she’s shadowless. If the only reason you’re doing this is for the General’s help, I’m sorry, but I don’t think he’ll give it to you. A shadowless alone, for that long . . .” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I don’t think your wife made it across the river. I don’t think the General believes she did either. He can’t justify sending one of his own on such a dangerous mission.”
Ory took his arm away. “She’s alive,” he said. “She’s in D.C.”
“I hope you’re right. I just don’t think you’ll find the help you want here. If you want to stay and try anyway, that’s on you. If you want to walk away now, I won’t stop you.”
“I said I’d do this one for Paul. We’ll see about afterward.”
Malik started walking again. “Welcome to the war.”
Ory fell in behind him as they reached the landing. “Why does he call himself the Red King?”
“We call him the Red King,” Malik replied. “We don’t know what he calls himself.”
It was still raining outside. In front of them, Ahmadi pulled her coat around herself and grumbled.
“So the Reds are . . . They’re just destroying everything in the city for fun?” Ory asked as they stood under the overhang. Behind them, ten soldiers checked their makeshift armor and lined themselves up double file. One of them was carrying twice the clothes and weapons in his arms—a set for him, Ory realized.
“Not exactly.” Malik shook his head. “Plenty of other shadowless do that. They’re unorganized and haphazard, though. The Red King is different. He’s managed to create a group and a territory. They all paint themselves red; they all live together in the old library.”
“Strange,” Ory said. “It’s almost like . . .”
“It’s almost like they remember, or he remembers for them,” Malik finished for him. “At least one thing, anyway.”
“What do you think that one thing is?” Ory finally asked.
Ahmadi shrugged. “Fuck if we know.”
Ory sighed. He didn’t know if it was encouraging or more terrifying, this idea that the Reds all might be remembering a little, or one thing, or the same thing. He glanced at the soldiers behind him. “This will sound . . . ,” he started.
“Why do we risk trading instead of just killing them all?” Malik said. “We would if we could. But they outnumber us ten to one. Our only bargaining chip is to keep them thinking we have knowledge or supplies to trade in exchange for their books. But we’re running out of things to offer them that they haven’t already misremembered back into reality.”
“How are we going to win the war, then?” Ory asked.
“We aren’t,” Ahmadi said. “We’re going to lose. We just have to get Paul’s book before we do.”
I HOPE OF ALL THINGS, I FORGET YOU LAST, ORY. I HOPE I FORGET you even after I forget where we’re going. I’d rather drive forever and never reach New Orleans, but still remember you.
This morning was cold enough that when I woke up, there was a tiny bit of frost on the outside of my tent. It crackled as I unzipped the flap, a thousand tiny rolling snaps. The sound was so nice, I went to every side and bent the support poles slowly until each fabric sheet crinkled. When I came around the front side again, Dhuuxo was outside hers as well, bundled against the crisp dawn, head wrapped in a scarf so that only her eyes and the bridge of her nose showed. When our gazes met, she winked at me. “Small pleasures,” she said.
I grinned and nodded back. It’s only my sixth night with all of them. I still feel shy, as if this is only temporary and I won’t be allowed to stay. Well, it is temporary. But for another reason.