“Truly, ma’am?” he said. “That seems preposterous. I mean—she’s a Haza!”
“She’s the daughter of the third prime son of the lineage,” said Ana. “Which is not, genealogically speaking, an elite leadership position within the clan. And she’s been stuck out here on the Outer Rim, standing in the back rooms while her father ran the show—and it seems he kept many secrets from her. She now suspects we have figured out those secrets, but we have not. Not yet, at least. It’s very strange. She sounds so clumsy, so erratic…Like she was told to find things out, but was not told enough to comprehend what she found.” She chewed on her lip for a moment. “I think Fayazi is a puppet.”
“For who?” said Miljin.
“Why, the rest of her family, of course.”
“The rest of the Hazas?” asked Miljin. “Aren’t they one and the same?”
“Oh, no. The Hazas are a far bigger operation than what we see here in Talagray—and Fayazi is in a rather tough spot within that operation. Her father died, and she was suddenly put into power in his place. However, I suspect she quickly came to realize that her father was running secret little schemes for the family, ones she hadn’t been privy to—and, worse still, letters then came pouring in from the family proper, deeper in the Empire. Orders. Directives. Commands. Commands that probably told her nothing, other than what to do, not to ask questions…and to look for something here in the canton. Something important that they’re worried we’ve found. Perhaps this mysterious third. Fayazi is now probably sweating under all those silvery robes—and worried that if this truly goes south, it’ll be she who hangs, and none of her illustrious kin.”
She allowed a silence as Miljin and I absorbed this.
“This, of course, is only conjecture,” she said. “But I feel it’s close to the mark, given what you’ve told us, Din…” A savage grin. “The Hazas seek something—an object, or evidence. Perhaps they seek this third. But what it actually is, I don’t think Fayazi is permitted to know. Fascinating!”
“Maybe something to do with the ten Engineers,” said Miljin. “Being as Fayazi lied to Kol here about that—and he faced down a fucking court plaizaier to prove her wrong.”
I wiped sweat from my face as I struggled to free my mind of that memory. “But I still don’t understand why the ten Engineers would have been there at all,” I said. “Why would Kaygi Haza invite such low officers into his estate?”
Ana laughed gaily. “Oh, that’s simple. The answer is patronage.”
“Patronage?” I said. “As in—giving gifts?”
“Right,” grunted Miljin. “Though it sounds like Kaygi Haza was giving them a hell of a lot more than gifts, though…”
“Aptly put,” said Ana. “The man must’ve been operating here for years. All these bright young officers coming to Talagray for acclaim and attention…and Kaygi gave it to them, putting them on the high road to better positions, better projects. All they had to do was give him information, or do small favors for him…or a big one, perhaps.” She trailed off, as if struck by a thought.
“Like Blas, ma’am?” I said.
“What?” she said, startled.
“It sounds like the treatment the Hazas gave Blas. But he was far older, and his treatment seemed special.”
“Hm. Yes…” she said quietly. “It did, didn’t it?”
Miljin snorted. “But we’re still missing lots of pieces. Patronage ain’t exactly illegal—being as it’s the gentry who have a lot of say in making the laws. We’ve also got no real indication of what Kaygi Haza was actually up to, or how Jolgalgan got to him. Unless Uhad, Nusis, and Kalista give us something useful when we interview them tomorrow—which I somewhat doubt they will.”
“No…” said Ana. “But, Din—there is one thing that’s missing. Tell me, were you unable to get into the Haza rookery at all?”
I hesitated, a lump of ice wedged between my ribs. No avoiding it now.
“I did, ma’am,” I said. “But the Hazas had burned all of the household’s correspondence, claiming a fear of contagion.”
“Damn…” muttered Miljin.
Yet Ana shot forward. “But you didn’t stop there, did you, Din? Surely not.”
I took a breath, trying to suppress the dread fluttering in my throat.
“I didn’t,” I said. “I reviewed all the scribe-hawks of the Hazas, trying to see which locations they were in communication with—as well as which locations had recently sent a message, or received one.”
Miljin stared in astonishment, then cackled. “By hell! Finding out which places the Hazas were watching and listening to? That’s a damn coup, that is!”
Yet Ana cocked her head, sensing the hesitation in my words. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem,” I said slowly, “is that the locations were all written in Sazi.”
“Sazi?” said Ana, surprised. Then she sat back, jaw set. “Ah…”
“Ah?” said Miljin, puzzled. “Why ah?”
Ana was silent for a moment. “Sazi, Captain,” she finally explained, “is one of the trickiest languages to learn—especially in writing. I am Sazi myself, and know the tongue and the letters. But besides Sublime linguas, I’ve never known a soul who’s managed the feat.”
“But…but if you’re Sazi, ma’am,” said Miljin, “and if Kol here’s an engraver, he can just write the letters out for you to read and translate, yes?”
A heavy silence hung in the air.
I watched Ana anxiously. Her blindfolded face had gone inscrutable, but her posture was tense, like a cat about to spring.
“I mean—right?” said Miljin again.
“Captain,” she said suddenly. “Please give me a moment with Din alone.”
Again, Miljin’s brows furrowed, and he glanced at me. But he nodded, stood, and left.
* * *
—
ANA WAITED UNTIL her door clicked shut.
“So.” She turned to me. “What’d you get?”
“S-sorry, ma’am?” I said, surprised.
“What did you get, Din?” she demanded. “I know you came away with something. I can hear it in your voice. So—what?”
I thought for a moment, took a breath, and said, “I, ah, found four messages sent to four different locations, and one received, ma’am.”
“And?”
“And…I struggled with the Sazi, as you suggested, ma’am.” I fought to keep my voice from shaking. “So rather than try to memorize the letters or say them aloud, I…I traced them with my finger, and tried to memorize the movements to hopefully re-create them here for you.”
There was a long, awkward silence. I waited. Any moment now, I knew, Ana would demand to know the reason for this bizarre choice; and then she’d come to know of my afflictions with text, learn of all the work I’d done to hide this secret, and have me discharged from the Iyalet and sent home without a talint in my pocket.
But instead, Ana cheerily said, “Oh! Well. That should do perfectly, yes?”
I blinked. “P-pardon, ma’am?”
“Memorizing the movements should do very well,” she said. She took off her blindfold and began puttering around the room, sifting through parchments. “We just need an ink vial and some papers. Should be simple.”
I felt myself blushing. “But…ma’am. I am unsure if I’ll be able to write what I trace—”
“Yes, but you’re not going to write it, boy. I mean, you didn’t write it back there, did you? We just need to duplicate your movements exactly. You traced them with your finger, and that is what we shall do again.”
She set a sheet of parchment on the table, then opened an inkpot and placed it before me. “Now. Just dip your finger in there, Din—just a bit—and sniff your vial, shut your eyes, and move your finger as you did back in the rookery. Let us see what your movements re-create.”
I stayed still, unable to quite comprehend what was going on. Did she really have no questions for me? Did she not find my inability suspicious?
Then she snapped, “Now, Din! Now! I’ve not got all night! Put your damned finger in the damned ink, child!”
Feeling both bewildered and ridiculous, I dipped my finger lightly in the inkpot, placed the nail to the parchment, shut my eyes, and smelled my vial of mint.