“As this embassy is technically Saypuri soil—,” says Mulaghesh.
Wiclov laughs. “Oh, I am sure you would be giddy to see all the world called Saypuri soil!”
“As this embassy is part of Saypur,” says Mulaghesh, through gritted teeth, “we have no obligation to inform you of who is or who is not on our property.”
“But you do not have to! For my own friends and colleagues personally observed the woman being taken here!”
Shara glances at Sigrud, whose brow is furrowed in concern: normally he can spot nearly any tail, so if anyone escaped his watch, then they must be talented indeed.
Wiclov continues: “I tell you, Governor Mulaghesh”—he intentionally butchers the pronunciation of her name—“if a child of Bulikov is harmed or threatened by your familiars in any way, then the streets will ring with calls to tear down your embassy, and your quarters, and to cast you out as we should have done years ago!”
“You can cut the rhetoric, Wiclov,” says Mulaghesh. “There’s no crowd. There’s just you, me, and an empty courtyard.”
“But there will be a crowd if you do not release that woman! I guarantee that there will be riots if that poor woman is not released!”
“Released? Anyone who’s here is here voluntarily.”
“Voluntarily! After being visited by that?” Wiclov points a finger at Sigrud, who scratches his nose, bored. “This is intimidation! Threats! How is that any different than capturing her?”
Shara clears her throat and says, “You are mistaken, sir. Mrs. Torskeny has been having coffee upstairs with me. I can personally testify to that.”
He shifts his scornful gaze to her. “And who are you? Oh, are you the replacement for that vile oaf Troonyi? If so, then I no more accept your authority in this matter than I would a drunken simpleton!”
Shara blinks slowly. It has been a while since she’s been spoken to like that. She asks, “You would be Ernst Wiclov, I take it?”
He nods savagely. “I know my name must be on one of your lists somewhere. ‘Enemy of Saypur,’ I am sure, and I am proud to wear the target you lay upon my chest!”
“Quite the opposite, sir,” says Shara. “I only read about you in the paper last night.”
Mulaghesh covers her mouth to prevent a laugh. Wiclov colors. “Insolence is one of the few things your kind actually excels in,” he says. “Little miss, neither you nor your governor can lie your way out of this. There are no diplomatic tricks to play. The facts are plain: you are holding a citizen of Bulikov hostage, almost certainly as an act of petty revenge for the scuffle last night!”
“Scuffle?” says Mulaghesh. “Sixteen people are dead. Violently dead. I was there. I saw the bodies. Did you?”
“I do not need any further confirmation,” he says, “of your people’s barbarism.”
“First a scuffle, now barbarism,” says Mulaghesh.
“The matter is moot,” says Wiclov. “Do you have a woman named Irina Torskeny on your property? If you persist in lying, and claiming that you do not, then I and my colleagues shall make the case at the highest level that your actions are in violation of multiple international treaties! I shall personally see to it that you are banned from our lands, never to return again! Does that make sense to you?”
Shara grimaces. She is not, of course, intimidated by such ridiculous bluster: but Wiclov appears quite talented at attracting undue attention, and that is not something she needs right now. Ever since her visions in the jail cell, Shara has felt like she is sitting on a drum of volatile explosives and people keep trying to kick the drum over.
“Ah!” shouts Wiclov suddenly. “There she is! There she is!”
Everyone turns around. Shara’s heart drops when she sees Irina Torskeny peeping out from the embassy front doors.
“Do you see!” shouts Wiclov. “Do you see her? She is being held captive! I told you so! That’s her, is it not?”
Shara marches over to Irina, who is staring at Wiclov with wide, awed eyes. “Irina, you should not be downstairs,” says Shara. “It isn’t safe.”
“I heard my name,” she says softly. “Is that a City Father? Is it City Father Wiclov?”
“Do you know him, or any of these men?” asks Shara quietly.
Irina shakes her head. “Are they asking for me?”
“Irina!” shouts Wiclov. “Do not listen to her! Come over to me, Irina! Do not listen!”
“I believe someone was watching your apartment,” says Shara. “They were tracking you, keeping tabs on you, even after you did work for them.”
“Irina! Walk to us! Ignore her!”
“I would advise you do not go with them, Irina. I do not know why they are here for you, but I can’t think it’s honest.”
Irina stares across the courtyard. Wiclov rattles the bars on the gates. Mulaghesh snaps at him to stop it, but Wiclov shouts, “They mean you harm, Irina! They mean to do you and Bulikov ill! Do not listen to that silly woman!”