“You are the operative most obsessed with everything Divine,” Vinya says gently. “And that is something very different. You may have your interests and pet curiosities, Shara—but you are a servant of Saypur first and foremost.”
Shara nearly shouts, Like you? Who owns you, Auntie? Who’s gotten to you? Why is it that you’re suddenly so much more secretive, and so much more irrational, than you’ve ever been before? But she does not, of course: to tip one’s hand in such a manner would be unwise.
“Perhaps this will be good for you,” says Vinya. “Maybe you will finally, finally learn something from this.”
Shara nods, looking crestfallen, but thinking, I believe I’ve already learned a lot, Auntie.
“I hate to say this, but please don’t contact me like this again, dear,” says Vinya. “Not until everything’s settled. We must be so careful, in the wake of everything that’s happened. We are all being watched very carefully now. And miracles, as you know, are so terribly dangerous.” She smiles sadly. “Good-bye, my dear.”
With a wipe of her fingers, she’s gone.
Shara stands in the empty room, feeling suddenly more alone than she ever has in her life.
*
Shara slowly closes the window shutters. Her hands are trembling with rage. Never has she felt so utterly and completely victimized: it’s as if she watched her own character assassination take place right before her eyes, helpless to stop it. It’s too perfect, she tells herself. Vinya took me apart too perfectly. That’s why I’m so angry—she knew just what to say. This does not, however, make her any less angry.
Shara wishes she had someone to talk to about this. But the only person she’s ever really honestly talked to about the Divine was Efrem Pangyui, for the handful of days they had together.
She looks back at the white suitcase under her desk.
She walks over, pulls out the suitcase, puts it on her desk, and thinks.
Shara Komayd graduated from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs training academy with a record low number of demerits. She graduated from Fadhuri with full marks. And she has always been one of the few high-level operatives in the Ministry to actually, personally, do all of her paperwork herself—a virtue she takes pride in.
Always the good soldier. Never a toe out of line. And look at what it’s gotten me.
But she still cannot quite bring herself to open the suitcase.
Just remember, she tells herself, it’s not like you have any more of a career to throw away.
The latches click open with a snap, and the top lifts up.
Inside is a stack of papers bound together with string. The papers are covered in spidery handwriting, and she does not need to look for the slumping T or jagged M to identify the hand as Efrem’s. The first page is different from the ones below, written hastily, and slapped on the top of the stack.
She will have only today to read it, she thinks. Vinya’s people will definitely be at the embassy soon, after Urav.
Shara nestles down in her chair and cuts the string.
Hello.
If you are reading this, then you have found the safety deposit box belonging to, through a chain of aliases, Dr. Efrem Pangyui of Ghaladesh.
It seems unlikely that you would not know this already, & since the only indication of this deposit box’s existence is a message encoded in a mixture of old Gheshati, Chotokan, Dreyling, & Avranti, then the probabilities suggest that only a person with great experience in ancient translation would be able to find this box at all.
I suppose what I am saying is—Hello, Shara.
If you are reading this, then I am either dead, missing, or safely in your protection. I hope it is the latter: I hope, as you read this, I am across from you, & we laugh over this histrionic letter, & how needless it was.
But as of right now, I am not at all convinced it is needless.
What follows is my personal journal (or at least what I was able to snatch from my offices) recorded over my time in Bulikov, from the 12th of the Month of the Scorpion to the 4th of the Month of the Rat.
I hope what I am giving you is enough to complete my research. I have touched upon a truth in Bulikov perilous enough that I feel my life is in danger—but I am not certain which truth. Yet you are, in many ways, wiser & worldlier than I ever wished to be, & I hope that you may succeed where I have failed.
I hope to see you again. & if I do not, then I wish you safe studies.
Yours,
Efrem Pangyui
16th of the Month of the Rat
Journal of Efrem Pangyui
12th of the Month of the Scorpion
Bulikov
This is ridiculous.