by The City
“What are you thinking, Tye?” There were sounds from one of the doors that jutted onto the roof. A slamming and it flew open, disgorging someone I vaguely recognised as Breach. She came towards us, speaking into her radio.
“How did they know where Yolanda would be?”
“Heard your plans,” he said. “Listening to your friend Corwi’s phone …” He offered the idea.
“Why did they shoot at Bowden?” I said. Ashil looked at me. “At Copula Hall. We thought it was Orciny, going for him, because he inadvertently knew the truth. But it wasn’t Orciny. It was …” I looked at dead Buric. “His orders. So why would he go for Bowden?”
Ashil nodded. He spoke slowly. “They thought Mahalia told Yolanda what she knew, but…”
“Ashil?” the approaching woman shouted, and Ashil nodded. He even stood, but sat down again, heavily.
“Ashil,” I said.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “I just…” He closed his eyes. The woman came faster. He opened them suddenly and looked at me. “Bowden told you all along Orciny wasn’t true.”
“He did.”
“Move,” the woman said. “I’ll get you out of here.”
“What are you going to do?” I said.
“Come on Ashil,” she said. “You’re weak …”
“Yes I am.” He interrupted her himself. “But…” He coughed. He stared at me and I at him.
“We have to get him out,” I said. “We have to get Breach to …” But they were still engaged in the end of that night, and there was no time to convince anyone.
“A second,” he said to the woman. He took his sigil out of his pocket and gave it to me, along with a ring of keys. “I authorize it,” he said. She raised an eyebrow but did not argue. “I think my gun went over there. The rest of Breach is still …”
“Give me your phone. What’s its number? Now go. Get him out of here. Ashil, I’ll do it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
THE BREACH WITH ASHIL did not ask me for help. She shooed me away.
I found his weapon. It was heavy, its silencer almost organic-looking, like something phlegmy coating the muzzle. I had to look for far too long before I could find the safety catch. I did not risk trying to release the clip to check it. I pocketed it and took the stairs.
As I descended I scrolled through the numbers in the phone’s contacts list: they were meaningless-seeming strings of letters. I hand-dialled the number I needed. On a hunch I did not prefix a country code, and I was right—the connection made. When I reached the foyer it was ringing. The security looked at me uncertainly, but I held out the Breach sigil and they backed away.
“What… who is this?”
“Dhatt, it’s me.”
“Holy Light, Borlú? What … where are you? Where’ve you been? What’s going on?”
“Dhatt, shut up and listen. I know it’s not morning yet, but I need you to wake up and I need you to help me. Listen.”
“Light, Borlú, you think I’m sleeping? We thought you were with Breach … Where are you? Do you know what’s going on?”
“I am with Breach. Listen. You’re not back at work, right?”
“Fuck no, I’m still fucked—”
“I need you to help me. Where’s Bowden? You lot took him in for questioning, right?”
“Bowden? Yeah, but we didn’t hold him. Why?”
“Where is he?”
“Holy Light, Borlú.” I could hear him sitting up, pulling himself together. “At his flat. Don’t panic; he’s watched.”
“Send them in. Hold him. Till I get there. Just do it, please. Send them now. Thanks. Call me when you have him.”
“Wait, wait. What number is this? It isn’t showing on my phone.”
I told him. In the square, I watched the lightening sky and the birds wheel over both cities. I walked back and forth, one of few but not the only person out at that hour. I watched the others who passed close, furtively. I watched them trying to retreat to their home city—Besźel, Ul Qoma, Besźel, whichever—out of the massive Breach that was at last ebbing around them.
“Borlú. He’s gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was a detail on his apartment, right? For protection, after he got shot? Well, when stuff started going mad tonight it was all hands to the pump and they got pulled off onto some other job. I don’t know the ins and outs—no one was there for a little while. I sent them back—things are calming down a bit, the militsya and your lot are trying to sort out boundaries again—but it’s still fucking lunacy on the streets. Anyway I sent them back and they’ve just tried his door. He’s not there.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Tyad, what the fuck is going on?”
“I’m getting there. Can you make a … I don’t know it in Illitan. Put out an APB on him.” I said it in English, copying the films.
“Yeah, we call it ‘send the halo.’ I’ll do it. But fuck, Tyad, you seen what chaos it is tonight. You think anyone’s going to see him?”
“We have to try. He’s trying to get out.”
“Well no problem, he’s fucked then, all the borders are closed, so wherever he turns up he’ll just get stopped. Even if he got through to Besźel earlier, your lot aren’t so incompetent they’re going to let people out.”
“Okay but still, put a halo on him?”
“Send, not put. Alright. We’re not going to find him, though.”
There were more rescue vehicles on the roads, in both cities, racing to the sites of continued crisis, here and there civilian vehicles, ostentatiously obeying their own city’s traffic laws, negotiating around each other with unusual legal care, like the few pedestrians. They must have good and defensible reasons to be out. The assiduousness of their unseeing and seeing was marked. The crosshatching is resilient.
It was predawn cold. With his skeleton key but without Ashil’s aplomb I was breaking into an Ul Qoman car when Dhatt called back. His voice was very different. He was—there was no other way to hear it—in some kind of awe.
“I was wrong. We’ve found him.”
“What? Where?”
“Copula Hall. The only militsya who weren’t sent onto the streets were the border guards. They recognised his photos. Been there for hours, they told me, must’ve headed there as soon as it all kicked off. He was inside the hall earlier, with everyone else who got trapped when it locked down. But listen.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Just waiting.”
“Have they got him?”
“Tyad, listen. They can’t. There’s a problem.”
“What’s going on?”
“They … They don’t think he’s in Ul Qoma.”
“He crossed? We need to talk to Besźel border patrol then—”
“No, listen. They can’t tell where he is.”
“… What? What? What the hell’s he doing?”
“He’s just… He’s been standing there, just outside the entrance, in full view, and then when he saw them moving towards him he started walking … but the way he’s moving … the clothes he’s wearing … they can’t tell whether he’s in Ul Qoma or Besźel.”
“Just check if he passed through before it closed.”
“Tyad, it’s fucking chaos here. No one’s been keeping track of the paperwork or the computer or whatever, so we don’t know if he did or not.”
“You have to get them to—”
“Tyad, listen to me. It was all I could do to get that out of them. They’re fucking terrified that even seeing him and saying that’s breach, and they’re not fucking wrong because you know what? It might be. Tonight of all nights. Breach are all over the place; there was just a fucking closure, Tyad. The last thing anyone’s going to do is risk breaching. That’s the last information you’re going to get unless Bowden moves so they can tell he’s definitely in Ul Qoma.”
“Where is he now?”
“How can I know? They won’t risk watching him. All they’d say wa
s that he started walking. Just walking, but so no one can tell where he is.”
“No one’s stopping him?”
“They don’t even know if they can see him. But he’s not breaching either. They just… can’t tell.” Pause. “Tyad?”
“Jesus Christ, of course. He’s been waiting for someone to notice him.”
I sped the car towards Copula Hall. It was several miles away. I swore.
“What? Tyad, what?”
“This is what he wants. You said it yourself, Dhatt; he’ll be turned back from the border by the guard of whichever city he’s in. Which is?”
There were seconds of silence. “Fuck me,” Dhatt said. In that uncertain state, no one would stop Bowden. No one could.
“Where are you? How close are you to Copula Hall?”
“I can be there in ten minutes, but—”
But he would not stop Bowden either. Agonised as Dhatt was, he would not risk Breach by seeing a man who might not be in his city. I wanted to tell him not to be concerned, I wanted to beg him, but could I tell him he was wrong? I did not know he would not be watched. Could I say he was safe?
“Would the militsya arrest him on your say-so if he was definitely in Ul Qoma?”
“Sure, but they won’t follow him if they can’t risk seeing him.”
“Then you go. Dhatt, please. Listen. Nothing’s stopping you just going for a walk, right? Just going out there to Copula Hall and going wherever you want, and if it happens that someone who happens to be always in your vicinity tips a hand and turns out to be in Ul Qoma, then you could arrest him, right?” No one had to admit a thing, even to themselves. So long as there was no interaction while Bowden was unclear, there would be plausible deniability. “Please, Dhatt.”
“Alright. But listen, if I’m going for a fucking walk and someone in my maybe-grosstopic proximity does not turn out for certain into Ul Qoma, then I can’t arrest him.”
“Hold on. You’re right.” I could not ask him to risk breaching. And Bowden might have crossed and be Besźel, in which case Dhatt was powerless. “Okay. Go for your walk. Let me know when you’re at Copula Hall. I have to make another call.”
I disconnected and dialled another number, also without an international code, though it was in another country. Despite the hour the phone was answered almost immediately, and the voice that answered was alert.
“Corwi,” I said.
“Boss? Jesus, boss, where are you? What’s happening? Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“Corwi. I’ll tell you everything, but right now I can’t; right now I need you to move, and move fast, and not ask any questions and to just do exactly as I say. I need you to go to Copula Hall.”
I CHECKED MY WATCH and glanced at the sky, which seemed resistant to morning. In their respective cities Dhatt and Corwi were on their way to the border. It was Dhatt who called me first.
“I’m here, Borlú.”
“Can you see him? Have you found him? Where is he?” Silence. “Alright, Dhatt, listen.” He would not see what he was not sure was in Ul Qoma, but he would not have called me had there been no point to the contact. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the corner of Illya and Suhash.”
“Jesus, I wish I knew how to do conference calls on this thing. I’ve got call waiting figured, so stay on the damn phone.” I connected to Corwi. “Corwi? Listen.” I had to pull up by the kerb and compare the map of Ul Qoma in the car’s glove compartment with my knowledge of Besźel. Most of the Old Towns were crosshatched. “Corwi, I need you to go to ByulaStrász and … and WarszaStrász. You’ve seen the photos of Bowden, right?”
“Yeah …”
“I know, I know.” I drove. “If you’re not sure he’s in Besźel you won’t touch him. Like I said, I’m just asking you to go walking so that if anyone were to turn out to be in Besźel, you could arrest him. And tell me where you are. Okay? Careful.”
“Of what, boss?”
It was a point. Bowden would not likely attack either Dhatt or Corwi: do so and he would declare himself a criminal, in Besźel or Ul Qoma. Attack both and he would be in Breach, which, unbelievably, he was not yet. He walked with equipoise, possibly in either city. Schrödinger’s pedestrian.
“Where are you, Dhatt?”
“Halfway up Teipei Street.” Teipei shared its space grosstopically with MirandiStrász in Besźel. I told Corwi where to go. “I won’t be long.” I was over the river now, and the number of vehicles on the street was increasing.
“Dhatt, where is he? Where are you, I mean?” He told me. Bowden had to stick to crosshatched streets. If he trod on a total area, he’d be committing to that city, and its police could take him. In the centres the most ancient streets were too narrow and twisted for the car to save me any time and I deserted it, running through the cobbles and overhanging eaves of Besźel Old Town by the intricate mosaics and vaults of Ul Qoma Old Town. “Move!” I shouted at the few people in my way. I held out the Breach sigil, the phone in my other hand.
“I’m at the end of MirandiStrász, boss.” Corwi’s voice had changed. She would not admit she could see Bowden—she did not, nor quite did she unsee him, she was between the two—but she was no longer simply following my directions. She was close to him. Perhaps he could see her.
One more time I examined Ashil’s gun, but it made little sense to me. I could not work it. I returned it to my pocket, went to where Corwi waited in Besźel, Dhatt in Ul Qoma, and to where Bowden walked no one was quite sure where.
I SAW DHATT FIRST. He was in his full uniform, his arm in a sling, his phone to his ear. I tapped him on the shoulder as I passed him. He started massively, saw it was me, and gasped. He closed his phone slowly and indicated a direction with his eyes, for the briefest moment. He stared at me with an expression I was not sure I recognised.
The glance was not necessary. Though a small number of people were braving the overlapping crosshatched street, Bowden was instantly visible. That gait. Strange, impossible. Not properly describ-able, but to anyone used to the physical vernaculars of Besźel and Ul Qoma, it was rootless and untethered, purposeful and without a country. I saw him from behind. He did not drift but strode with pathological neutrality away from the cities’ centres, ultimately to borders and the mountains and out to the rest of the continent.
In front of him a few curious locals were seeing him then with clear uncertainty half looking away, unsure where, in fact, to look. I pointed at them, each in turn, and made a go motion, and they went. Perhaps some watched from their windows, but that was deniable. I approached Bowden under the looming of Besźel and the intricate coiled gutters of Ul Qoma.
A few metres from him, Corwi watched me. She put her phone away and drew her weapon, but still would not look directly at Bowden, just in case he was not in Besźel. Perhaps we were watched by Breach, somewhere. Bowden had not yet transgressed for their attention: they could not touch him.
I held out my hand as I walked, and I did not slow down, but Corwi gripped it and we met each other’s gaze a moment. Looking back I saw her and Dhatt, metres apart in different cities, staring at me. It was really dawn at last.
“BOWDEN.”
He turned. His face was set. Tense. He held something the shape of which I could not make out.
“Inspector Borlú. Fancy meeting you … here?” He tried to grin but it did not go well.
“Where’s here?” I said. He shrugged. “It’s really impressive, what you’re doing,” I said. He shrugged again, with a mannerism neither Besź nor Ul Qoman. It would take him a day or more of walking, but Besźel and Ul Qoma are small countries. He could do it, walk out. How expert a citizen, how consummate an urban dweller and observer, to mediate those million unnoticed mannerisms that marked out civic specificity, to refuse either aggregate of behaviours. He aimed with whatever it was he held.
“If you shoot me Breach’ll be on you.”
“If they’re watching,” he said. “I think probably you’re the only one h
ere. There are centuries of borders to shore up, after tonight. And even if they are, it’s a moot question. What kind of crime would it be? Where are you?”
“You tried to cut her face off.” That ragged under-chin slit. “Did you … No, it was hers, it was her knife. You couldn’t though. So you slathered on her makeup instead.” He blinked, said nothing. “As if that would disguise her. What is that?” He showed the thing to me, a moment, before gripping and aiming it again. It was some verdigrised metal object, age-gnarled and ugly. It was clicking. It was patched with new metal bands.
“It broke. When I.” It did not sound as if he hesitated: his words simply stopped.
“… Jesus, that’s what you hit her with. When you realised she knew it was lies.” Grabbed and flailed, a moment’s rage. He could admit to anything now. So long as he remained in his superposition, whose law would take him? I saw that the thing’s handle, that he held, that pointed towards him, ended in an ugly sharp spike. “You grab it, smack her, she goes down.” I made stab motions. “Heat of the moment,” I said. “Right? Right?
“So did you not know how to fire it, then? Are they true, then?” I said. “All those ‘strange physics’ rumours? Is that one of the things Sear and Core were after? Sending one of their ranking visitors sightseeing, scuffing their heels in the park for? Just another tourist?”
“I wouldn’t call it a gun,” he said. “But… well, want to see what it can do?” He wagged it.
“Not tempted to sell it on yourself?” He looked offended. “How do you know what it does?”
“I’m an archaeologist and an historian,” he said. “And I’m incredibly good at it. And now I’m going.”
“Walking out of the city?” He inclined his head. “Which city?” He wagged his weapon no.
“I didn’t mean to, you know,” he said. “She was…” That time his words dried up. He swallowed.