The day was getting warm and people were still about, riding around in ragged rickshaws, sticking close to the sides of the buildings for cover. Dirty Ras Tiegan kids kicked old bakkie wheels and bullet casings around in the alleys. Ras Tiegans had kids the old fashioned way – generally one at a time. Nyx wasn’t used to seeing so many kids around, especially of different ages.
Taite and Rhys returned about an hour later. Silvi kept the silence all that time, which Nyx was grateful for. She needed some time in her own head.
“Com operator at local translation shop knew her,” Taite said. “Last saw her two weeks ago. Said she seemed nervous, had her kids with her.”
“What they do with kids here?” Nyx said. “I mean, when she works. They keep the kids at that school?”
“I could check the school,” Taite said.
“Should probably be me,” Nyx said. “It’s government. They won’t like Ras Tiegan-looking fuckers around. Rhys, come with me. Silvi, Taite, interview some of the folks around here. Seem to be mostly Ras Tiegan. They might talk to you. See if anybody knew where she went.”
“Sure thing,” Taite said. “Need the school address?”
“Nah,” she said, “I memorized it from the file.”
Nyx got into the bakkie and swung the door open for Rhys. With him settled in, she drove out to the government school just north of town.
The school was attached to a big mosque that had clearly once been a Ras Tiegan church. The minarets were new additions, shiny and capped in fresh tile. A large section of the entrance to the mosque had been mortared; a crew worked there, two Nasheenian women and some foreign laborers. The bakkies out front advertised some family construction crew all the way from Mushtallah.
Nyx announced herself to the secretary at the school entrance on the other side. A small, nervous man, mostly Ras Tiegan, his Nasheenian was poor.
“I will get you the head mistress,” he said, and scuttled away. Nyx noted that he was missing his left hand, and it hadn’t been replaced. A newer injury, or just one that he couldn’t afford to have fixed?
Rhys met her look as they waited. Nyx held up a hand. “Don’t,” she said. “It was your idea to come with us.”
“I said nothing.”
“Consider it said, then.”
The secretary came scurrying back ahead of a tall, plump Nasheenian woman with a tangle of white hair braided into an elaborate style Nyx saw mostly in the interior.
She offered a hand and a warm smile to Nyx, but Nyx noted the smile didn’t touch her eyes.
“It’s not often we receive bel dames here,” she said. “I’m Omara Ayaan.”
Nyx took her wrist. The woman’s grip was firm, her skin softer than Nyx expected from a woman at the border.
“I’m not a bel dame anymore,” Nyx said, “but you sure can spot them. You from Mushtallah?”
“A fine guess,” the woman said. “I grew up near there, in Amtullah. But I did teach in Mushtallah for some time. Come, I’ll offer you and your… friend, tea.”
“That’s fine,” Nyx said, because she was hungry, and when Ras Tiegans offered tea, it usually meant they would feed you something with it. Maybe being down here had given Omara some of their best habits.
Omara took them down a beautifully tiled hallway. Archways off the hall led to classrooms with colorful mosaic walls. Lines of the Kitab and elaborate geometric shapes were finely rendered in glass pieces. Nyx figured it had taken some group of poor saps months or even years to do all the work.
At the end of the hall, a set of double doors led to a bright, airy office. Most of the light came from skylights. The window behind the great plain of Omara’s desk looked out into a courtyard teeming with greenery.
“Doesn’t look much like the conflict reached here,” Nyx said.
“Both sides consider this a sanctuary,” Omara said. “It kept us protected from direct action. Of course, a stray burst or two… well, I’m sure you saw the damage outside. But I’m certain it wasn’t intentional. An intentional burst would have ruined us.”
Nyx had expected her to call some lackey to make the tea, but she went to a hot plate where there was already a tea pot in a puffy red tea cozy that looked like an engorged heart.
Omara gestured to a fine table made of real wood, which must have been ancient and criminally expensive. Nyx and Rhys sat opposite each other. Omara laid out the tea and poured them all a cup. No snacks, though. Nyx cursed her luck. Rhys daintily sipped his tea. Little fucker was born to this life.
“You’re here about some missing children, my secretary said.”
“Yeah,” Nyx said. “Their uncle, Dabir, hasn’t heard from their mother, Fatimah, in a long time. Hired me to see if she was all right. Amina and Hajar are her children. I take it they’re not still here?”
Omara folded her hands in her lap. “There are many women like you moving through this area,” she said, “seeking those who are dead, or lost… or those who choose to be lost. I’m uncertain that those who choose to be lost should be found.”
“So you’re saying Fatimah split on purpose? We figured that much. Listen, I’m not here to hurt anyone. I wasn’t paid enough for that. I’m just here to give an answer back to my client. Let him know if she’s alive or dead.”
“Well, you can tell him that when they left here, all three were alive.”
“And when was that?”
“They sheltered here during the worst of the shelling, and for some time after.”
“Why? Fatimah in trouble?”
Omara glanced away.
“All right,” Nyx said. “Listen. We know she was in some shit. Again, that doesn’t concern me. But knowing about it might give us an idea of where she’s gone.”
“It’s very strange that you work with a Chenjan,” Omara said.
Nyx snorted. “It’s very strange that you work in a Ras Tiegan church.”
“It serves dual purpose,” Omara said. “We are all People of the Book.”
“I can throw the Chenjan out if it suits you.”
Rhys gave her a look.
“No, no, it’s just curious.” Omara sipped her tea. “I have not seen a Chenjan in some years. I thought perhaps he was Tirhani when I first saw him, but Tirhanis always wear hats. Also, he has not yet spoken, which means he is unsure of his accent.”
“I’m right here,” Rhys said. “You can stop speaking about me in the third person.”
“You don’t find him a threat?” Omara said.
“Chenja fucked him enough that he came here,” Nyx said. “I figure we both hate Chenja. Probably all we have in common.”
“That’s patently untrue,” Rhys said. “I have my reasons, but it’s not hatred.”
“Sure,” Nyx said.
“Working along the southern border is difficult,” Omara said. “One day we are Ras Tiegan, the next, Nasheenian. It’s difficult to love or hate one or the other when both are in the wrong here. It’s always the people who suffer.”
“And Fatimah agreed with you on that?” Nyx said.
“Fatimah saw the hypocrisy. Surely you do, as well, working with a Chenjan? We murder abstract concepts and ideas. We think we are murdering governments and ideologies, but in the end, it’s ordinary people who pay the price.”
“She’s here, isn’t she?” Nyx said.
“Is it enough to tell you she’s alive?”
“No.”
“The children aren’t here.”
“I don’t care about the children. I’m not here to kill anyone. I see her, verify it’s her, I leave. That’s it.”
“They’ll send no more?”
“Not so far as I know. And it’s not a them. It’s her brother. That’s it. No government, nothing.”
“I have your word, as a bel dame?”
“A former bel dame. Yeah, you have my word.”
Omara gave a little nod. “Bel dames are bound in blood to their word.”
<
br /> Nyx didn’t correct her. It was true enough of many, but sure as shit not everyone.
“No weapons,” Omara said. “Please leave them here.”
“I used to be a government assassin,” Nyx said. “You think I couldn’t kill her with my bare hands if I wanted?”
“No weapons.”
“Come on, Nyx,” Rhys said.
“No deal,” Nyx said. “You trust my word, you trust my guns.”
Omara shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
Nyx drew her pistol. Omara started.
“I didn’t promise not to shoot you,” Nyx said.
“Nyx!” Rhys said. “She’s cooperating.”
“And I’m impatient and fucking hungry,” Nyx said.
“Let me get you something to eat, then,” Omara said. “We make terrible decisions on empty stomachs. Let me take you to the cafeteria. I will bring her to you.”
Nyx gritted her teeth.
“Nyx,” Rhys said, softly, gesturing for her to put away the gun.
“Fine,” Nyx said. She holstered it.
Omara led them to a cafeteria, another bright, sunny spot overlooking the massive courtyard. Some kids from the kitchen brought them curried rice and plantains and hot buni. Nyx spit out her sen and scarfed it all down. She was busy licking her plate with Omara appeared again, a lean woman behind her.
Nyx stood.
Omara made to stand in front of the woman, who must have been Fatimah, but Fatimah pushed her gently away.
“I know her,” Fatimah said. “Shaku spoke of her. She is good to her word.”
Fatimah came to the table and sat next to Nyx. She didn’t have the resemblance to Shaku that Dabir had had. Leaner, darker, her face was made sharper by hunger or disease. Maybe both.
“You were his favorite squad commander,” Fatimah said. “Nyxnissa so Dasheem. You’ve made quite a name for yourself. I’d heard about you even in Mushtallah. One of only two bel dames who left the order and didn’t die for it.”
“I can be charming when I need to be.”
Rhys snorted.
“We just needed to know you’re alive,” Nyx said. “Your brother was worried.”
“My brothers are dead, Nyxnissa.”
A cool chill crawled up Nyx’s spine. “Dabir is dead?”
“Yes, for a year,” she said. “You were misinformed. Have you updated anyone about what you’ve found here?”
“No.”
“Good.” Fatimah took a deep breath. “My children are safe. That was most important. I’m trying to leave next. Before they find me.”
“Who?”
“No doubt the same people who hired you. The same people who found someone to pretend to be my brother.”
“You’re a double agent, aren’t you?” Nyx said.
“I… have made some decisions that not everyone agrees with. I saw a wrong and I’m trying to make it right.”
“Not our call.”
“Isn’t it? I thought you of all people would understand that.”
“I just take jobs. Don’t worry about it. My loyalty is to Shaku, not imposters. I’m just fucking mad I didn’t ask for more money now.”
“You don’t even know what you are, do you?” Fatimah said.
“I’m just a Nasheenian,” Nyx said. “Like you.”
“No,” she said. “You’re a vital part of a monstrous system. A criminal bureaucracy that gets First Families and Tirhanis fat on the deaths of children. It wasn’t Ras Tiegans who overtook Chatou. That’s all a lie.”
“What, from who?”
Fatimah pulled a casing from her breast binding and slid it across the table. “I made one copy. It’s evidence that the queen bought Ras Tiegan arms to give to Nasheenians to stage an invasion of Chatou. She wanted to inspire another war.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Nyx said.
“Nyx,” Rhys said. “You always get us into these –“
“Wars help tyrants consolidate power,” Fatimah said. “I didn’t want to believe it either, but here it is.”
“So what?” Nyx said.
Fatimah started. “What do you mean?”
“You have a solution to that? Just give in, roll over, let the Chenjans invade us, take over, erase what we are? The queen’s got power, yeah. She abuses it, yeah. That’s not a surprise. I was an assassin for her. I get that.”
“So we should maintain this?” Fatimah said. “We should let her turn us into monstrous bloodletters?”
“Giving in and being overtaken by Chenja would be worse. I’m sure the queen had her reasons for staging this. She wants weapons or money or some shit. Unlikely another war. Maybe she wants concessions. But that’s how you maintain Nasheen.”
“For who?”
“For me, that’s sure as shit. For you, too. You want to spend your life without any choices, punching out babies every year? That’s no life.”
“But yours is? Murdering children every year?”
“Most aren’t kids.”
“Your entire life is about maintaining the status quo,” Fatimah said. “That’s all you do, all the bel dames do. You may not be a bel dame anymore but you serve the same purpose. Every mercenary profits from the system. It will never go over as long as people like you are still here.”
“I prefer what I know to what I don’t.”
“There is no utopia, I know. Not Chenja, not Nasheen, not even bloody Tirhan. But you could be a part of making it.”
“There’s no room for people like me in utopia.”
“You know that, then?” Fatimah huffed. “That’s something.”
“I’m good at a few things,” Nyx said. “Not schooling, not people, not books. I’m good at killing and drinking and fucking. And yeah, this Nasheen lets me be that.”
“This Nasheen made you into that. What would you have been, if you didn’t have to be… this?”
Nyx grimaced. “A failure,” she said. “That’s what you don’t get. What would you have done, somewhere else? You don’t fucking know. It’s a fucking exercise in catshit. I like what I am. Sorry if you don’t.”
“We can change everything. If people just knew –”
“Want to know what your little papers and recordings will change? Nothing. Not a shit thing. Everyone wants to say, oh, if everyone just knew about corruption, there would be some big revolt. But people don’t want to change. You keep them fed, keep them entertained, and they don’t give a shit how corrupt you are. I’ve seen my fair share of catshit papers like these, and you know what? They don’t make a difference. They get buried, or overtaken by some other scandal. There’s a reason Nasheen’s been around as long as it has.”
“You think change isn’t possible.”
“Course not. I’m just saying you put too much faith in facts and figures. Nobody gives a shit about that. They know Nasheen’s not perfect.”
Nyx stood.
Fatimah scrambled up. “Where are you going?”
“Job’s done,” Nyx said. She slid the casing back to Fatimah. “You keep that.”
“You aren’t going to tell –”
“My job’s done,” Nyx said. “Oath fulfilled, all that catshit. Good luck with whatever you’re doing. It’s not my thing.”
Nyx waved Rhys over, but he just gaped. She went to the door, past a stunned Omara, and back into the hallway. Rhys took longer to catch up. She yelled for him.
“I’m coming!” he said, and rounded into the hallway.
They walked in silence for some time. Then Rhys said, “You just trust anyone who comes into your place with a job for you? Are you mad?”
“Said he was related to someone I knew.”
“The question stands.”
“Bad job,” she said. “You win. You happy?”
“I’ve been happier.”
Nyx opened the door to the bakkie. She gave one last look at the crew from Mushtallah. They weren’t working anymore. Ny
x had been on the wrong side of the queen before. She wasn’t in the mood to do that today.
“What is it?” Rhys said, following her look.
“Long way to come, to rebuild a wall,” she said.
“Assassins?”
“Not our business,” Nyx said.
“Nyx, we –”
“You’re the better shot,” she said. “You going to kill them?”
He looked away.
“That’s what I thought. Get the fuck in.”
They drove back into town and picked up Taite and Silvi.
“So that’s it?” Taite said, when Rhys caught him up. “There are assassins and we’re doing nothing?”
“Not paid for it.”
“How do we go an entire job without you killing anyone?” Taite said. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” Nyx said. “Nobody cares about Chatou.”
“I do,” Taite said.
Silvi said, “This is a long way to come for this end.”
“You want to die?” Nyx said. “I’ll drop you at the mosque.”
They rode for some time in silence. Nyx stopped the bakkie at a cantina halfway home. While the others got up and stretched, she went to the call box and dialed in the pattern she had memorized.
“Military messaging service, your contact, please?” the voice on the other side said.
“Dabir al Buthayna,” Nyx said.
There was a long pause. A clicking on the other end.
“One moment.”
Nyx cursed her own stupidity. Here it was, right here. You didn’t transfer from the main service. Not unless it was going straight to intelligence. It had been awhile since she’d been played so well. She was getting soft and sentimental, coming up on thirty. Most bel dames were dead by thirty. Maybe she should be too. Soft fucker, fucking up like she had. Falling for some old catshit play.
A new voice came on the line. “Military messaging service, southern front. You have a message for Dabir al Buthayna?”
“Yeah,” Nyx said. “You know who this is. Don’t fucking play me like that again. Don’t fucking play me, or I’ll murder every fucking last one of you.” She hung up.
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