“I’m not recruiting her. It’s one job.”
“If you like her, it’ll be more jobs.”
“We’ll see how she does on this one.”
“I just don’t –”
“Shifters get locked up, killed in Ras Tieg, right? She got out, with her family. Got out young, too, based on that accent. Not a fun border crossing. Not a thing people with weak stomachs generally do. Fox shifter, let me tell you... I’ve seen them go missing fast. Yet here she is, just telling me about it at the table with you like it’s no big deal. That says she likes you and trusts you, sure, maybe, but also that she doesn’t care too much who knows around here. She’s confident, maybe arrogant.”
“You have a crush on her?”
“Nah, too pretty for me. She’ll suit the job, is all. Let’s get this woman’s picture up so we know who we’re looking for and get everybody briefed. See if you can do a little research on her beforehand. Tell me where she works, if she has any history with the order keepers.”
“That’s three trips.”
“Best get going, then. Get Rhys to help if it’s too much.”
“It’s fine,” he said, and peeled away from her, off to the land of words and records and the peppery scent of archival roaches.
Nyx stopped by the boxing gym and put in some time with the rope and a bag, wiped herself down, and made her way back to the storefront. Taite and the others were back by then, so she rounded them up in the back room for a briefing.
“We still missing Khos?” she said, giving them all the once-over. Fucked up little team, they were, but they were hers.
“Says it’s a shifter thing,” Anneke, her sharpshooter, said. Short and wiry, she sat in one corner with her shotgun in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other. “But I think it’s one of those sex diseases. You know, syphilis or cock-cancer or something.”
“Thanks for that,” Nyx said.
“Was that necessary?” Rhys, her magician, said. He was about Nyx’s height and Chenjan, which made it tough for him to find another job, as few Nasheenians were happy to bring in somebody from the other side of the war, even pretty ones like him. He sat next to Taite on one of the cluttered work benches, sipping tea.
Taite brought up the image of their mark on the com. The bugs in the com hissed and chittered; the smell of lemon and sage filled the air. A green mist coughed out of the console and congealed into the face of a woman.
“There’s our target,” Nyx said. “We find and report. Got more details, Taite?”
“I stopped by the Cage, the public archives, talked to a few sources,” he said. “Her name is Fatimah so Buthayna. Story checks out from the brother. She was one of a brood of six. Three sisters and a brother dead at the front. She did two years at the front herself, served in intelligence.”
“Interrogations?” Nyx said.
“Didn’t say. It was tough to get even that much. That isn’t public record. Came from someone at the Cage.”
“Hope you didn’t pay for it.”
Taite rolled his eyes. “Anyway, came back, had her own kids. Kept the two girls. She got work in Mushtallah in government services, assistant to the war secretary. After Nasheen invaded Chatou, she was sent down to work as…” he peered at his notes. “…a Transitional Government Liaison. I looked that up, and it means she was supposed to help make Ras Tiegans feel better about, you know, being conquered.”
“I don’t need the commentary,” Nyx said. “But that sure as shit doesn’t sound like farming.”
“Anyway,” Taite said, “that’s all. No public recordings from her, no logged calls, nothing on record. She was in one of those government positions that the queen locks down pretty tight. Oh, and her kids… the daughters are Amina and Hajar, both seven years old. Go to a government school north of Chatou for diplomat and military kids.”
“Not exactly what I expected,” Nyx said.
“I don’t like it,” Rhys said, “she has ties to the government.”
“It’s a favor,” Nyx said. “And it’s not going deeper than seeing if she’s alive, reporting back to her brother. That’s it.”
“Maybe the government doesn’t want her status known,” Rhys said.
“Less commentary, shit,” Nyx said, “you men and your goddamn opinions. Whose name is on the sign out there?”
“Awww, boss, I don’t want to do some recon down south,” Anneke said. “The cut on this job is shit. What did you say, like a three-note split? I want to smash some shit up.”
“Your call,” Nyx said. “It’s an easy job. Rhys?”
“I’d rather not go to a war zone looking for a government agent,” Rhys said. “This is another of your terrible ideas.”
“The whole world is a fucking war zone,” Nyx said. “It’s less hot than here.”
“Literally and figuratively,” Rhys said.
“Nobody knows what that means,” Nyx said.
“I don’t want to drive,” Taite said.
Nyx snorted. “I’ll drive. Fine, you cheap shits, me and Taite will handle it. Rhys, you keep this place locked while I’m gone and get the bills paid.”
“With what?”
“There’s petty cash, shit. I just replaced it. Gear out that bakkie, Anneke. I want it stocked up for a goddamn war zone.”
“See, a war zone!” Rhys said.
“Shut it,” Nyx said. “I was a government agent too, once. We’ll be fine.”
#
Silvi showed up right after morning prayer, just as the big orange second sun overtook the pale blue one. Nyx opened the door and there Silvi stood in a pale white kaftan and knitted vest like it was the middle of winter, sporting open-toed black boots and a pack slung over one shoulder. She had pushed up her sleeves, and was pulling them down again as Nyx saw her. Before she covered her left wrist, Nyx saw a line of text tattooed there, something in Ras Tiegan. Her dark hair was piled atop her head, swept back from a face that, in profile, Nyx had to admit looked positively regal.
“I apologize for being tardy,” Silvi said. “I had to stop for prayer.”
“What, to your little Ras Tiegan idol?”
“Uh, no. I follow the Nasheenian faith.”
“No shit? Well, good way to blend in, I guess. Never took with me.”
From behind, Nyx heard Rhys say, “Before you go can you - who’s this?”
He stood, stunned, in the middle of the foyer, gaze locked on Silvi. Well, well, Nyx thought. Pretty wasn’t for Nyx, but it certainly was for him.
“This is Silvi,” Nyx said. “Silvi, Rhys. Rhys is working on the books. Silvi’s late… had to stop for prayer. Quote something at him from the Kitab and he may turn into a puddle right here.”
Rhys extended his hand. “I apologize. Nyx is impolite.”
“You’re Tirhani?” Silvi said, taking his wrist.
“Rhys is Chenjan,” Nyx said, but Silvi didn’t wince. Just kept eye contact with him. “But don’t bother with him, he’s staying here.”
Rhys released Silvi’s wrist. “Oh, it’s all right,” he said. “I can go. It’s not a long trip.”
“Why?” Nyx said. “We don’t need you. Me, Taite, and Silvi are plenty to cover it. Easy job. Quick recon.”
“You didn’t mention... I mean, well, what about the coms?”
“Taite can handle coms.”
“You should have a magician, just in case. You’re already short Anneke and Khos. And again – this is a government agent. These jobs never go the way you assume they will.”
“Silvi’s a shapeshifter.”
“I’m a fair shot,” he said, “...in an emergency. I won’t kill for you, but I can –”
“What, hit somebody in the knee? C’mon, Rhys, we’re grownups over here.”
“I’d... like to go with you.”
“Huh,” Nyx said. She regarded him a long moment. Him having a crush on Silvi amused her more than anything, she had to admit. She took
grim satisfaction in watching him justify all his reasons for not fucking. “Well, roll up your prayer mat and let’s go.”
The bakkie was plenty big enough for four, which Nyx found a nice change. Nyx kept the new girl in the front, and put Taite and Rhys in the back.
“The fuck is he doing here?” Taite said.
“Saucy language,” Nyx said.
“I’m tired,” Taite said. “Sorry.”
“Silvi,” Nyx said, putting the bakkie into gear, “you’re real quiet.”
“I prefer quiet,” she said.
“Taite, you get her the mark?”
“Easy description,” Taite said. “There won’t be that many women in their mid-twenties with two children in Chatou. Not Nasheenians, anyway.”
“I’m going to nap,” Silvi said.
“I don’t blame you,” Nyx said, and turned on the radio. It spit misty images, whorls and triangles that spun and twisted in time to the music; something from the interior, Mushtallah, some new group with a name Nyx couldn’t pronounce. She could barely keep up with the kids these days.
The drive took all day, and they blew into Chatou early that evening, after stopping so Rhys and Silvi could do evening prayer.
The job didn’t pay much, so Nyx got them all a room to share at the edge of the city. Rhys insisted that wasn’t all right, as she expected, and slept in the lobby with his burnous up and his feet on a cheap divan. Nyx brought him a roti from a street vendor and went up to see the others, carrying peri-peri rice and two coconut curries. The upside to being this close to the border was the food. On the downside, the only booze she could find was Ras Tiegan wine, which she hated.
Nyx passed the bottle to Silvi when she got back up, expecting Silvi to set it aside, but Silvi held the bottle reverently and whistled.
“You have good taste.”
“Chose you, didn’t I?” Nyx said.
“What exactly did you choose me for?” She popped the top. Offered the bottle to Taite.
“Nah,” he said.
“Even now?” she said.
Nyx said, “Even now what?”
Silvi took a swig from the bottle and tucked into her curry. “I’ve had people ask me to do weirder things than this,” she said. “I hope you’re legit.”
“It’s an easy job.”
“She keeps saying that,” Taite said.
“We have mutual friends,” Silvi said.
“I don’t have friends.”
“She doesn’t have friends,” Taite said, and giggled. He covered his mouth. “Oh, yeah, we’ve established that.”
“Dahab,” Silvi said. “A bel dame.”
Nyx choked on her peri-peri rice. She made a motion for the wine, and snatched it from Silvi’s hand. “What?”
“I know Dahab,” Silvi said. “I asked her about you.”
“I wasn’t enough?” Taite said.
“You’re fucking Dahab?” Nyx said.
Taite rounded on her. “That’s a big assumption.”
“Dahab doesn’t have friends. You were fucking Dahab, Silvi?”
“We only fucked once.”
“Are you kidding?” Nyx said. “Well, then. Fucking once is like not fucking at all.”
“Is that how you keep your count down?” Taite said.
“Go blow yourself.”
Silvi said, “You used to be a bel dame, one of those women who hunts down deserters. You got thrown out for doing black work. Sounded pretty exciting to me.”
“It’s not,” Nyx said.
“We’re mostly trying not to die,” Taite said.
Silvi shrugged. “I’m sad this will be a short job.”
“My current shapeshifter is a mess,” Nyx said. “Do well and maybe it won’t be.”
Silvi took another gulp of wine, grinned. “Let’s wrap it up quick then.”
#
In the morning, Nyx drove the four of them out to the street address that Dabir had given her. They pulled up outside a crumbling tenement building four stories in height. Bullet holes made inventive patterns across the exterior. Someone had painted the word, “Revolt!” in Nasheenian, and others had clearly come by later and affixed some colorful Ras Tiegan responses.
Nyx tapped at the call box outside, but it was broken. She tested the door to the building. It was open.
“Up we go,” she said. The day was getting warm, and the four stories up the steps winded Silvi and Taite. Taite had never been her go-to for much of anything physical. In Ras Tieg, they hadn’t even gotten their inoculations. It was a wonder any of them lived past puberty.
As they went up, they passed doors with shattered locks, hung open like great tired mouths to reveal their tumbled contents. Abandoned goods still lined the corridors; piles of discarded clothes, hair brushes, tattered books, ripped luggage, empty packets of corn chips, take-out containers already raided by roaches and other assorted bugs, and drab refuse; the detritus of those who fled conflict in a hurry.
“Doesn’t look promising,” Silvi said.
What was listed as Fatimah’s flat took up a corner at the eastern side of the building. The door appeared intact, but when Nyx pushed it, it creaked open.
“Let me secure it,” Nyx said to the others. “Then let’s see if we can find something that tells us where she is.”
Nyx pulled her pistol and went through the little flat methodically. There were only three rooms; a main living area where the hot plate and sink were for a kitchen setup, and two tiny bedrooms. Nyx had seen a shared lavatory at the end of the hall. Scavengers had clearly gotten here before her, though she found it interesting that they tossed this flat so thoroughly. The beds were overturned, the straw mattresses cut open. Two portraits of the Nasheenian Queen lay in a ruin on the floor, removed from their frames and the backs slashed open. Two rooms for a woman and her two kids seemed like an extravagance, but on the salary she was pulling working as a government liaison, maybe not. Childish drawings lined the walls in the kids’ room. They sure weren’t going to get their deposit back.
After verifying all the rooms were safe, Nyx waved the others in. “See if you can find something – receipts, notes, a diary, ticket stubs, any recordings, that could give us an idea where she went.”
Rhys hesitated in the doorway, surveying the damage.
“What?” Nyx said.
“This place was bugged out,” he said. He pointed to the ruptured light fixture at the center of the room. The bugs inside that powered the light were dead; they made a crispy puddle in one corner of the fixture. Several drifted to the floor while Nyx watched.
“Those were fumigated,” he said. “She fumigated in here. Or, someone did.”
“That’s a drastic step,” Nyx said. “Kill the bugs, kill the power, the heat.”
“She believed she was being bugged,” he said, and stepped further into the room.
“There are some papers over here,” Silvi said. She pulled out a garbage can from the space under the hot plate counter. Most garbage would have been eaten by composting bugs, but since she’d fumigated, all of her trash was still in the bin, and it stank.
Silvi fished out two slightly burned pages on green paper. “She must have burned them to try and be rid of them,” Silvi said, “since the bugs were dead.”
“Amazed it didn’t go up,” Nyx said
Taite leaned over the bin. “It got put out by the other garbage. It’s mostly food waste.”
“Looks like paper’s in Ras Tiegan,” Nyx said. “Taite?” She knew Silvi could read it as well as Taite, but also knew who she trusted more.
Taite laid the pages flat on the counter. “Huh,” he said.
“I need better than that.”
“Sure,” Taite said. “These are bills of sale. Weapons. Bursts, acid guns, scatterguns, organic armor.”
“Why is it printed?” Nyx said. “Why would you keep that in paper and not on a recording?”
“It likely
was in a beetle casing,” Rhys said, “But if she fumigated, she’d want to get it off the casing first, before she destroyed the beetle that powered it and erased everything.”
“Why burn it then?” Silvi said.
“She didn’t know what was on it,” Nyx said. “She printed it out to read it? There’s no com in here. She’d have to have it printed somewhere else. Probably not where she got it.”
“There are more ashes in the bottom of the bin,” Silvi said. “There was a lot more here.”
“Nearest place with a com?” Nyx said. “She wouldn’t have printed these out where she worked. Too dangerous.”
Taite said, “I can do recon. Rhys?”
“Sure,” Rhys said, and followed after him.
“I’ll take those,” Nyx said of the papers, and Silvi handed them over. Nyx folded them up and put them into the front of her dhoti.
“Do you think she went into hiding?” Silvi said. “Or was killed?”
“We find her and report. That’s it.”
“Oh. Is it always that way?”
“When that’s what I’m paid for, yeah.”
“Someone clearly ransacked these rooms. If –”
“If it was somebody professional, they would have found and taken the papers,” Nyx said. “This was a thorough job, but not government. Most likely soldiers from one side or the other, looking for food and valuables. Probably Nasheenian side. Couldn’t have read the papers anyway.”
Nyx poked around the rooms a little more, but didn’t come up with anything else. She was about to call Silvi out too when Silvi called her over to a window in the kids’ room.
“There’s a number written here,” Silvi said, pointing at a corner of the dusty window.
“Kids wrote lots of shit on the walls.”
“It’s in the corner, though, written in the dust. It might have been one of the children. It’s the number nineteen.”
“How does that help?”
“I don’t know. I just thought it was odd, written in the dust. They had plenty of ways to mark it on the walls with the rest.”
“File it away,” Nyx said, “let’s go downstairs. I need some goddamn air.”
Nyx leaned up against the side of the building and stuck a wad of sen between her teeth and her cheek, savoring the spicy bite of it and welcoming the subtle, numbing high. She offered some to Silvi, but the girl didn’t take it.
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