Broken Devices

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The largest avenue of the city ran directly through the center of the government district. To their right were the scroll-roofed temples and the temple schools occupying several blocks of buildings. Some fronted on the avenue, and some on the harbor side to their right, facing a long, green park looking out over the harbor itself.

Najud glimpsed the busy civilian traffic enjoying the pavilions and pleasure grounds, but it seemed to him that the open space was also well-sited as a parade ground for military or guard units. When’s the last time that happened?

The civic buildings were grouped to the left, serious and chaste, in contrast to the exuberance of the temples with their scrolled corners. This was the first time Najud had ever had occasion to enter one of these buildings. The city-folk he’d met steered clear of them as much as possible—nothing good ever came of going through those doors, they said. The most official notice he’d ever attracted before had come from introducing himself to the Zannib ambassador once, out of respect.

The headquarters of Imperial Security was not on the avenue itself, but around the first corner and halfway down the side street, on the east side. He squared his shoulders and followed Zep Pangwit up the slightly too high steps to the overlarge doors that dwarfed all who entered. “Say as little as possible, nal-jarghal,” he said, giving Munraz a firm look.

Penrys cast a worried glance at him and then wiped all expression off of her face and composed herself.

Najud translated the signs carved high above the entrance—Vigilance on behalf of the Emperor is Peace for the Nation—and grimaced. They were about to be tossed into the cesspool of Kigali politics with neither alliances nor knowledge to protect themselves. He fingered the lud he’d slipped into his pocket and touched the official documents that sent for him at his breast, and hoped for the best.

Once inside, he tried not to stare at the imposing two-story high atrium. Fully three-quarters of the open space was behind walls with barred windows, and when he looked more closely, the arrow slits in the upper walls were obvious. Access to the interior was well-guarded by half-armored men in dark brown, and the handful of people huddled on the benches in the section nearest the door, awaiting their turn, seemed appropriately cowed.

Zep Pangwit strode impatiently to a barred window near the interior entrance and spoke with whomever was there, out of Najud’s sight. Behind him, Najud heard the steady footsteps of Penrys and Munraz keeping pace with him and he led them, without looking back, to a place just behind their guide. The guards, a few paces away, did their best to ignore the presence of foreigners.

When Zep Pangwit turned around, he nodded in brief approval to find his charges there, suitably respectful. “We’re expected. A runner’s been sent to let them know we’re coming.”

He clutched two pieces of papyrus in his hand. One of these he presented to the first of the guards. “Entry for these foreigners. You may check for weapons and report, but do not remove them.”

That raised both the guard’s eyebrows and Najud’s, and the two of them eyed each other. Najud’s mouth quirked and he bowed. He displayed his visible belt-knife, lifted a sleeve to show another strapped to his left forearm, and then slowly reached through his right breeches pocket to the knife strapped against his leg. He replaced all of these blades under the guard’s impassive gaze, and then waved his hand negligently at his turban and pulled out a small pointed nail, implying there were perhaps other objects there.

The guard looked at the note again, and its signature chop. “Leave him his weapons? You’re sure?”

Zep Pangwit nodded. “By order of the notju.”

Najud stepped aside to watch how his companions fared. Penrys smiled at the guard and presented her small belt-knife, and then stood back and drew the blade under the back of her bodice with a flourish and offered it hilt-first to the guard’s view. Finally she lifted her left trouser leg to display the small knife strapped to her calf. “That’s it,” she told the guard.

Munraz was nervous, but he managed a bow. His only weaponry was the belt-knife and a small hand-axe, plain and in sight. When the guard c****d an eyebrow at the young man’s turban, Munraz just shook his head.

“They’re in your charge, binochi, but I’ll provide an escort for these armed foreigners,” the guard informed Zep Pangwit, and he passed them through the entrance with a burly and well-armed guard in their wake.

Zep Pangwit led them through the building as if he’d spent years there. For all Penrys knew, perhaps he had. Internal guard posts blocked off some portions from casual access, but Zep avoided those areas and took them confidently to the third floor. The travelers followed silently behind, and the footsteps of their escort in the rear resonated off the stone hallways.

There was little Penrys could see behind closed doors, and when she casually glanced at the minds behind them, all she could detect was the usual miscellaneous mix of humans, all of whom were native Kigali yat speakers. Beyond them were the thousands of minds of the city, in all directions except the harbor—it was as good as a compass for helping her keep track of where she was.

As they approached the northwest corner of the building, Zep stopped at a checkpoint. He showed his credentials one more time to the three men posted there, and scraped off his escort who turned on his heel to return to the ground floor as they passed through.

Another short corridor, and Zep knocked twice, then twice again on the closed door at the end of it. It was opened from within and swung back to allow entry.

Penrys squared her shoulders and followed Najud in, keeping an eye on Munraz to make sure of his readiness.

It was a large room, with the first external windows she’d seen since entering the building. Several people stood in clumps, and Penrys was distracted from her survey of the space when she recognized one group of bearded men as Ellech, and gray-haired Vylkar among them—her patron, the man who’d found her when she appeared, naked and empty of memory, on a snowy hillside in Asuthgrata.

Despite her anxiety about the summons, she could feel the broad smile on her face as he looked up at the opening of the door and spotted her. He broke off his conversation and walked over to her. “I got your letter from Neshilik and it caused quite a stir.”

More quietly, he added, “And relieved my fear after you vanished so mysteriously that night.” He put his hands on her shoulder and shook her, lightly. “Have I taught you nothing about the right way to conduct experiments?”

“Sorry about that, bilappa, but it worked out for the best.” She turned to the impatient man beside her who was running a measuring eye over the older man. “This is my husband, Najud, of the Zamjilah clan. Najud, this is Vylkar—you’ve heard me speak of him.”

Najud nodded, and Vylkar smiled in satisfaction. “I thought it might end that way, from some of the things you wrote. At least you’re both wizards.”

A general silence fell upon the room, and Tun Jeju strolled up with Zep Pangwit who’d gone to report while Penrys was occupied. The notju’s thin, intelligent face put her on her guard.

Najud bowed in Kigali fashion with Penrys, and Munraz managed a clumsy imitation. “We’re here, notju-chi, as you requested,” Najud said. “The soonest we could come.”

“With additions, I see,” Tun Jeju replied, glancing at Munraz and raising an eyebrow.

“This is Munraz, our nal-jarghal,” Najud said. “Our apprentice. We couldn’t leave him behind.”

“Aren’t you young to be taking an apprentice, as I understand the Zannib customs?”

“Yes, but that’s a long story, notju-chi.”

“And we will hear it in its proper place.” Tun Jeju clapped his hands twice to draw the attention of all the people in the room.

“Our last participants have arrived. Some of you have traveled from long distances at the emperor’s request and have had to wait weeks impatiently while everyone else completed their journeys. I want to thank you all, on the emperor’s behalf, for coming to help address a crisis that affects not only Kigali, but several other nations as well.”

He gestured to a group of small tables clustered in the center of the room, surrounded by comfortable chairs. “Please, be seated. My colleagues of Imperial Security have information to share with you.”

The handful of men and women in dark brown robes moved immediately to their seats and Penrys could finally focus on some of the more exotic attendees who’d been blocked from her view.

There were no other Zannib there, but the party of three of the tall Ellech of which Vylkar was a member was matched by three of the short, dark Ndanum in their long, diagonally draped robes—an older woman and what seemed to be two attendants, a young woman and a middle-aged man. There were also two Rasesni, both unknown to Penrys. Munraz looked ill at ease among all the older foreigners, but Najud resolutely seated him at their table, to his left, with Penrys to his right.

Tun Jeju remained standing while servants circulated to provide water, wine, or bunnas, as requested. Once the servants had left and the door was closed, he began to speak.

“The Kigaliwen, as you know, are not a nation of wizards. Most of us would say that lupjuwen do not exist, and certainly no Kigalino could be one. All of you here who are foreigners must have been amused at our beliefs. The wizards of sarq-Zannib and Ellech are well known, and the mages of Rasesni. And who has not heard of the witches of Ndant?” He nodded to the Ndane woman as he spoke.

“While waiting for our last participants to arrive, I have shared with each of you the news of the recent events in Neshilik, where these two,” he waved at Najud and Penrys, “with the help of some of our Rasesni neighbors, stopped an attack by a rogue wizard who had carved his way through Rasesni and entered Kigali.”

Penrys appreciated the subtle sarcasm she heard in his voice as he referred to the Rasesni as “neighbors” when they were in the midst of an invasion at time. He’d been there—he knew what he was talking about.

“I understand that a similar wizard was recently encountered in western sarq-Zannib, though I don’t yet know the details.”

He turned his eyes to Najud and Penrys, but it was Munraz who stiffened under his gaze, and that clearly puzzled him. “I look forward to hearing the whole story. I was convinced by what I saw in Neshilik, and there have been changes in how Imperial Security handles this new information.”

Penrys blinked. Just how high up is he in this organization? The title notju, Intelligence Master, doesn’t really convey any sense of rank.

“We haven’t yet taken any steps with the ordinary untrained wizards we now believe live among us, as they do with all our neighbor nations. We plan to do so, but we have a more urgent concern. The wizards with chains.”

All eyes turned to Penrys’s exposed throat with the gold-brassy metallic chain that circled it closely. She felt her furry ears move back along her scalp, hidden by her hair, and her skin prickled. The Ndane woman gave her a cold stare.

Tun Jeju cleared his throat. “You know what we Kigaliwen are—we are organized.”

This drew a few chuckles which eased the tension.

“We sent out a call to our neighbors asking for reports of people bearing chains like hers.” He nodded at Penrys. “We also asked about people who had gone missing and had never been found—I’ll explain that soon. And, of course, we searched our own nation the same way.”

“Most of you here conveyed reports from your countries. And also—which we didn’t expect—some of you provided evidence.”

That brought Penrys upright in her seat, all concern about her uniqueness in this group put aside. They found more? Alive or not?

She glanced at Vylkar, and he nodded. He found others?

“The purpose of the next few weeks is to discover everything we can about these chained wizards, to evaluate the threat, and to determine what can and should be done about it. In all of our nations.”

Penrys swallowed. And here am I, in the center of a trap if they don’t decide the right way.

Munraz had no difficulty following the Kigali yat in the city, much less in this smaller space where he could follow one conversation at a time. Penrys had been right—it got easier with practice once you’d figured out how to tap it at all. He was more worried about the writing—there weren’t any useful documents to use. Maybe his jarghal would come up with some, once they settled somewhere.

He’d had a few days to get used to the exotic appearance of the Kigaliwen in Tengwa Tep and the smaller villages they’d passed through after they crossed the border. He thought he’d started to see local differences in the city folk—short, broad-faced people and thin, elegant ones, for starters. I bet they’re from different parts of Kigali, originally.

There were more Kigaliwen behind this Tun Jeju, quiet and attentive, like people who wanted to see but not be seen, and he remembered just where he was, in the building that housed Imperial Security.

It made him want to wrap armor around himself, somehow.

When he glanced around the tables, he wondered if there were others who felt the same way. The dark Ndant leader looked like not much would intimidate her, small though she was, but her young female attendant didn’t seem very happy to be there.

The two Rasesni seemed pleased with their company and stared curiously at everyone. The Ellech reminded him a little bit of Penrys with their “I’m just watching, it’s not my business” air of amused detachment. Penrys would typically dive in later after that initial hesitation—he wondered if these were the same. He’d heard of Vylkar, the man who’d found her when she’d appeared as a chained wizard.

No one had found the qahulajti he’d killed, and that was probably why she went wrong. Under the table, his right hand clenched and he forced it open again.

Why had his two masters been summoned, and he with them like a spare pack of grain?

“She’s one of us, I tell you.”

The groom who’d ducked out of the stable and slipped away from the compound kept his voice low despite his insistence. “She didn’t cover the chain at all—left it on display as if she were proud of it.”

His fingers crept to the the high neck of his tunic, a style which had been revived in the last couple of years in the working-class neighborhoods, not least because of the influx of new migrants to the city who adopted it. The collar hid many things, in particular the chain that marked the young man as someone of interest to Imperial Security, anywhere in Kigali.

Rin Tsugo listened to the report of his agent in an alley around the corner from the compound’s entrance and considered what it might mean. When Jing Tajip had alerted him by mind-speech, it had pulled him away from his work in Chankau Tep, the industrial district—he’d wanted to see Jing Tajip in person and evaluate the truth of the matter.

“A brown-robe runner brought her in?” he asked. He wanted to get closer to Jing Tajip to keep the conversation quieter, but the chains around their necks prevented them from getting within arm’s reach without pain.

“With a Zannib husband and some younger Zannib man, and those pack-strings they use for their migrations. Eighteen horses!”

“But she’s not a Zannib?” Rin Tsugo wanted to be sure.

“No, wo-chi. Reminds me of Dar Datsu. Straight brown hair, round eyes, not very tall.”

Rin Tsugo winced at the reminder of the latest member of his band, his gewengep, to have been captured by the City Guard. “And the runner took her to Imperial Security?”

Jing Tajip looked around nervously at the very mention of the name. “That’s what they were talking about when they left. I think they came because they were sent for.”

He looked uneasily at Rin Tsugo. “I couldn’t just follow them—I’d have been noticed.”

Rin Tsugo waved the concern away and thought. The woman hadn’t been arrested, at least not yet—she’d gone willingly, with some of her family. What was that about? Was she working for them? Why would the Zannib bring her?

There were people in their gewengep who looked like the Zannib, though everything else about them was Kigali. They weren’t real Zannib. More than half of the brotherhood had the features of other nations, but otherwise they were all the same—chained, out of place, shorn of memories more than three years old, and on the run from Imperial Security. Only the ones that looked like Kigaliwen could venture out for paid work—all the rest earned their keep behind the walls of the battered compound they’d taken for their own in Chankau Tep. Unless Rin Tsugo sent them out for special tasks under the cover of night.

New members had been arriving weekly from upriver, ever since the decrees that began six months ago, making the villagers and farmers suspicious of the rootless laborers in their midst, especially the ones that looked like foreign crossbreeds. As long as no village talked about it to another, they’d paid little attention to the oddness of the one person without family who kept himself in the background and took jobs of low status to earn a living.

But once a decree came down from Imperial Security, looking for news of missing people or strangers with neck chains, all hands had turned against them. Many were killed, and their bodies presented to the yankat, the headman of the village, to satisfy the Imperial Security request. The rest had slipped away, blurring the attention of the villagers if they could. Rin Tsugo didn’t know how many had made it to Yenit Ping, drawn by obscure news of refuge here, and how many were simply lost, but they were still arriving, some on foot, and some by river, down the Junkawa.

And the gewengep was responsible for all its members, and he was elected to lead it.

Rin Tsugo looked piercingly at the younger Jing Tajip. “You didn’t try to bespeak her?”

“Merciful heavens, no! She was clearly a foreigner, in her Zannib robes. She might have exposed me on the spot.”

“I want to see what’s in her packs.”

Jing Tajip backed away. “Can’t be done. They’re under the bond, and sealed.”

“Not even at night?”

“They’re guarded, and no groom has any excuse to look in on them. The guards wouldn’t let me past, and I’d certainly lose my position.”

“I won’t ask you to do it now,” Rin Tsugo said, “but the time may come when the brotherhood requires it.” He held Jing Tajip’s eyes until the young man nodded reluctantly.

“Good. Meanwhile, I’ll put a watch around the Imperial Security building. She’ll have to come out sometime, and then we’ll follow her.”

“What about Dar Datsu?” Jing Tajip asked.

“We don’t know if he’s in their hands or if the City Guard still has him. We’ll keep an eye out for him, too.” But we’re not likely to see him alive again, and Jing Tajip should know that by now.