“What are you saying, Biswal?” asks Mulaghesh.
Biswal draws himself up to his full height. “I am saying that, in light of recent events, I am reinterpreting my orders,” he says. “I will defend the harbor. I will placate the tribes. And I will do this by pursuing those who dared attack us, and destroying them and anyone who might give them shelter.”
Mulaghesh stares at him. “You’re planning an invasion of the damned highlands?”
“I am saying that Fort Thinadeshi, along with the other installations of Voortyashtan, will be conducting a full-scale counteroffensive against these aggressors.”
“Will you just ignore the fact that a damned saint appeared in the city outside your gates, and killed what is likely dozens if not hundreds of people?” says Mulaghesh, furious.
“Oh, I’ve flagged the Ministry,” says Biswal. “I’ve notified them. They’ll send their agents here, I’ve no doubt, and I will let them deal with that. That is their jurisdiction, just as mine is to pursue the insurgents to my full satisfaction. We each have our purposes, don’t we, Turyin?”
He walks to the door and places his hand on the handle. Before he can open it, Mulaghesh says, “It’s the wrong move, Lalith. They know the terrain, and they’ve likely had time to prepare. The casualties you’ll suffer will be terrible.”
He looks over his shoulder at her, his eyes glittering with disdain. “You doubt the effectiveness of my soldiers?”
“What I doubt, General Biswal, is that this will have the same effect as the March,” she says. “Times have changed.”
He looks at her for a moment longer. Then he says, “You’re a coward, Turyin. You fled the military because you couldn’t live up to the trials of true leadership. Instead, our gutless prime minister has turned you into a craven spy. Perhaps you’ve forgotten after the Battle of Bulikov, but this”—he gestures to Nadar’s body—“is what real combat looks like. Or perhaps you were too busy being commended for bravery to visit the frontlines.”
“You sound,” she says acidly, “a little jealous, General Biswal.”
He stares at her coldly. “Do what you need to in the city, Turyin. But if I see you in my fortress again, I’ll have you locked up.” Then he walks out and slams the door, leaving Mulaghesh alone in the morgue.
***
Mulaghesh limps down the road to Voortyashtan. She borrowed a crutch from the medics at the fortress, but it’s not easy to operate a crutch one-handed, even with Signe’s prosthetic—especially when your good arm is covered in bruises. She badly, badly needs to see a medic, yet as she approaches the checkpoint she sees a familiar figure standing in the road, smoking and apparently waiting for her.
“Ah, General,” says Signe. “I was told you’d passed through here recently….I’ve something you need to see.”
“A bed?” says Mulaghesh miserably. “And opiates?”
“I’m afraid not,” says Signe. “Rather, it’s something you’ve seen a lot of recently—a security breach.”
Thirty minutes later Mulaghesh slows as they approach the statue yard. It looks much the same to her eye—same high walls, same giant door, same canvas roof—except for two key differences. One is that the door is open, just slightly, something Mulaghesh is sure the guards would never allow. The other is the dead body lying in the mud before the door.
“That’s the door guard, isn’t it?” says Mulaghesh.
“Yes,” says Signe. “Ericksson was his name. Shot through the neck with a bolt.”
“So while we were dealing with Saint Zhurgut, someone made a beeline for the statue yard, shot the guard, took his keys, and opened the door?”
“It would appear so. We’re being carefully watched, I think.” She looks up and around them. “But as most of Voortyashtan is uphill from here, it would only take a good vantage point and someone with a high-powered telescope to track us.”
Mulaghesh hobbles toward the door. “I assume nothing’s stolen? They’d have to use a truck to get any of those damn things out.”
“Not as far as we can tell. Nor have any changed in any way—no secret doors opened, no missing trinkets. Again, as far as we can tell.”
“So…someone knows about your stolen statues,” says Mulaghesh. “That’s plenty bad as it is. If Biswal gets a whisper of that, he’ll come down on you like a monsoon. He’s already on the warpath. He’s going toaaaargh!”
“I’m sorry, he’s going to what?”
She grips her side, almost bending double. “Ahh, damn. Starting to get the idea I broke a rib last night…”
“Oh. So I’m getting the idea that I shouldn’t have brought you here first before going to a medic.”
“For someone who’s so smart,” growls Mulaghesh, “you’re also pretty damned stupid sometimes.”
“Now, now. Why don’t I take you to see Rada? That’s where I sent my father; he was pretty banged up too. She’ll do a much better job of patching you up than our people will.”
Mulaghesh sighs. “That’s a long way up. But I do need to get the gang together. Someone needs to know what Biswal’s about to do.”
“I’ll have someone drive us.” She pauses, suddenly awkward. “I suppose I must say…Well.” She grimaces, as if trying to remember how to speak a phrase from another language. “The thing I wish to say is…thank you.”
Mulaghesh looks at her cockeyed. “Come again?”
“Thank you for stopping the bloodshed, for saving the harbor last night. For putting down Saint Zhurgut—which I still frankly can’t believe you did. I know I’ve not been easy. None of this has been easy. But—thank you. Now. Let’s get you to Rada.”
***
Rada Smolisk’s home no longer has the feel of a medical office as much as it does a field hospital. Civilian men, women, and children are packed in in front of her door, almost all of them wounded or tending to the wounded. When they climb out of the SDC auto Mulaghesh shakes her head. “I can’t get treated here. I won’t take up Rada’s time, not when these people so desperately need it.” Then she pauses, noticing the many medics in SDC uniforms wading among the civilians. “Wait. What are so many SDC medics doing here?”
“Following orders,” says Signe.
“Huh?”
“I consulted with the other SDC senior officers, and we decided to dispatch nearly all of our medical staff to Voortyashtan.”
“Don’t you have your own injured to look after?”
Signe gives her a grim look. “Do you believe that in hand-to-hand combat, Zhurgut left people merely injured?”
“Ah. Ugh.”
“Yes. We have all experienced tragedies in the past day.” Signe walks to Rada’s side door and knocks three times. “Best to focus on the tragedies one can still fix.”
The door opens, and the bruised, scowling face of Lem, Signe’s security chief, peeks out at them. Then he nods and holds the door open. Mulaghesh and Signe step inside to be greeted by the glassy, terrified stares of the numerous taxidermied animals arranged on Rada’s walls.