The City & the City - China Mieville [113]
They locked me in overnight. I read Mahalia’s annotations. I could discern phases of annotation, though not in any pagewise chronology—all the notes were layered, a palimpsest of evolving interpretation. I did archaeology.
Early on, in the lowest layers of marks, her handwriting was more careful, the notes longer and neater, with more references to other writers and to her own essays. Her idiolect and unorthodox abbreviations made it hard to be sure. I started page on page trying to read, transcribe, those early thoughts. Mostly what I discerned was her anger.
I felt a something-stretched-out over the night streets. I wanted to talk to those I had known in Besźel or Ul Qoma, but I could only watch.
Whatever unseen bosses, if any, waited in the Breach’s bowels, it was Ashil who came for me again the next morning, found me going over and over those notes. He led me the length of a corridor to an office. I imagined running—no one seemed to be watching me. They would stop me, though. And if they did not, where would I go, hunted in-betweener refugee?
There were twelve or so Breach in the cramped room, sitting, standing, precarious on the edge of desks, low muttering in two or three languages. A discussion midway. Why was I shown this?
“… Gosharian says it hasn’t, he just called …”
“What about SusurStrász? Wasn’t there some talk …?”
“Yes, but everyone’s accounted for.”
This was a crisis meeting. Mutterings into phones, quick checks against lists. Ashil said to me, “Things are moving.” More people came and joined the talk.
“What now?” The question, spoken by a young woman wearing the headscarf of a married Besźel woman from a traditional family, was addressed to me, prisoner, condemned, consultant. I recognised her from the previous night. Silence went through the room, leaving itself behind, with all the people watching me. “Tell me again about when Mahalia was taken,” she said.
“Are you trying to close in on Orciny?” I said. I had nothing to suggest to her, though something felt close to my reach.
They continued their quick back-and-forth, using shorthands and slang I did not know, but I could tell they were debating each other, and I tried to understand over what—some strategy, some question of direction. Periodically everyone in the room murmured something final-sounding and paused, and raised or did not raise a hand, and glanced around to count how many did which.
“We have to understand what got us here,” Ashil said. “What would you do to find out what Mahalia knew?” His comrades were growing agitated, interrupting each other. I recalled Jaris and Yolanda talking about Mahalia’s anger at the end. I sat up hard.
“What is it?” Ashil said.
“We need to go to the dig.” I said. He regarded me.
“Ready with Tye,” Ashil said. “Coming with me.” Three-quarters of the room raised their hands briefly.
“Said my piece about him,” said the headscarfed woman, who did not raise hers.
“Heard,” Ashil said. “But.” He pointed her eyes around the room. She had lost a vote.
I left with Ashil. It was there on the streets, that something fraught.
“You feel this?” I said. He even nodded. “I need … can I call Dhatt?” I said.
“No. He’s still on leave. And if you see him …”
“Then?”
“You’re in Breach. Easier for him if you leave him alone. You’ll see people you know. Don’t put them in positions. They need to know where you are.”
“Bowden …”
“He’s under surveillance by militsya. For his protection. No one in Besźel or Ul Qoma can find any link between Yorjavic and him. Whoever tried to kill him—”
“Are we still saying it’s not Orciny? There’s no Orciny?”
“—might try again. The leaders of True Citizens are with the policzai. But if Yorj and any other of their members were some secret cell, they don’t seem to know. They’re angry about it. You saw the film.”
“Where are we? Which way is the dig?”