The Windup Girl (48 page)

And yet still she is unnerved, almost panicked by the sight of a near-god's mortality before her.
What have you done, General?
It is too horrifying to consider. The flood currents threaten to suck her under.

"Kanya?" Pracha waves her over. She searches her general's face for signs that he carries the guilt for this act, but Pracha seems only puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

"I—" she has words prepared. Excuses. But they fail her with the Crown Protector and his retinue strewn about the room. Pracha's eyes follow her gaze to the Protector's body. His voice softens. He touches her gently on the arm. "Come. This is too much." Guides her out.

"I—"

Pracha shakes his head. "You've heard already." He sighs. "By the end of the day, it will be all over the city."

Kanya finds her voice, spills her lie, pretending to the role that Narong has given her. "I didn't think it could be true."

"Worse than that." Pracha shakes his head grimly. "It was a windup that did it."

Kanya forces herself to show surprise. She glances back at the bloodshed. "A windup? Just one?" Her eyes trace along a peppering of spring blades embedded in the walls. She recognizes one of the other bodies as a Trade Ministry official, the son of a secondary patriarch. Another from a Chaozhou manufacturing clan, a man making his way in the business press. All of them faces from the whisper sheets. All of them great tigers. "It's awful."

"It doesn't seem possible, does it? Six bodyguards. Three men additionally. And only a single windup, if we believe the witnesses." Pracha shakes his head. "Even cibiscosis kills more cleanly."

His eminence the Somdet Chaopraya's neck has been ripped entirely away, breaking it, snapping and tearing so that though the spine seems attached still, it acts as a hinge rather than a support. "It looks like a demon tore him open."

"A wild animal, anyway. It's the sort of thing a military genehack would do. We've seen this sort of activity in the north, where the Vietnamese operate. They use Japanese windups as scouts and shock troops. We're lucky they don't have many." He looks seriously at Kanya. "It will go hard on us. Trade will say that we failed in this. That we allowed this animal into the country. They'll try to take advantage. Make a pretext out of it to seize more power." His expression turns bleak. "We have to find out why this windup was here. If Akkarat has set us up, has used the Protector as a pawn, to seize power."

"He would never—"

Pracha makes a face of dismissal. "Politics is ugly. Never doubt what small men will do for great power. We think Akkarat was here before. Some of the staff seem to recognize his image, seem to recall—" he shrugs. "But of course, everyone is afraid. No one wants to admit too much. But it looks as if Akkarat and some of his
farang
trader friends brought the Somdet Chaopraya to the
heechy-keechy.
"

Is he playing me? Does he know that I work for Akkarat?
Kanya stifles her fears.
If he knew, he would never have promoted me to Jaidee's position.

Jaidee whispers in her ear. "You never know. A snake in its nest is better than a snake slithering through the jungle. This way, he always knows exactly where you are."

"I need you to go to the records department," Pracha says. "We don't want information to conveniently disappear, you understand? Trade has its own agents amongst us. Pull everything you find and bring it to me. Find out how she lived here, and survived. As soon as word gets out, there will be a cover-up. Men will lie. Permit records will disappear. Someone was allowing the windup to exist against all our laws. The Ministry is vulnerable on this. Someone took the bribes. Someone allowed the windup to live here. I want to know who, and I want to know if they are on Akkarat's payroll."

"Why me?"

Pracha smiles sadly. "Jaidee is the only one I would trust more."

"He's setting you up," Jaidee comments. "If he wants to blame this on Trade, you're the perfect tool. The mole in the ministry."

There is no guile in Pracha's face, but he is a clever man.
How much does he know?

"Find the information for me," Pracha says. "Bring it to me. And speak to no one of this."

"I will do it," she says. Inside though, she wonders if the records even exist anymore. So many ways to profit. A cover-up would have already been effected. If it is truly a murder plot against the Protector, the payoffs would go to all levels. She shivers, wonders who would do such a thing. Political killings are one thing. To touch the palace in this way. . . Rage and frustration threaten to overwhelm her. She forces it down. "What do we know of the windup, so far?"

"She claimed to be a Japanese discard. The girls here say she has been in place for years."

Kanya makes a face of distaste. "It's difficult to believe that anyone would soil—," she breaks off, finding herself on the verge of scorning the Somdet Chaopraya. Sick feelings of confusion and sadness overwhelm her. She masks her discomfort by asking another question. "How did the Protector come to be here?"

"All we know is that he was accompanied by Akkarat's ilk."

"Will you question Akkarat?"

"If we could find him."

"He's missing?"

"You're surprised? Akkarat was always good at protecting himself. It's why he's managed to survive so many times." Pracha grimaces. "He might as well be a cheshire. Nothing ever touches him." Pracha looks at her seriously. "We must find who allowed this windup creature to live here so long. How it got into the city. How the assassination was arranged. We are blind in this, and when we are blind, we are vulnerable. This news will make everything unstable."

Kanya
wais
. "I will do everything I can." Even if Jaidee peers over her shoulder and laughs at her. "I may need more information than this. To track down those responsible."

"You have enough to start. Find where this windup came from. Who took the bribes. This is what I must know."

"And Akkarat and these
farang
who introduced the windup to the Protector?"

Pracha smiles slightly. "I will attend to it."

"But—"

"
Kanya
,
it is understandable that you wish to do more. We all care for the well-being of the palace and the Kingdom. But we must secure and protect the information we have about this windup creature."

Kanya controls her response. "Yes. Of course. I will locate the information on the bribes." She pauses delicately. "Will someone be required to demonstrate their regrets as well?"

Pracha makes a face. "A little harmless bribe income is one thing. It is not a rich year for the Ministry. But this?" He shakes his head.

"I remember when we were respected," Kanya murmurs.

Pracha glances at her. "Do you? I thought that had ended by the time you came to us." He sighs. "Don't worry. This will not be a cover-up. Atonements will be made. I will ensure it personally. Do not doubt my commitment to the Kingdom or Her Royal Majesty the Queen. The guilty will be punished."

Kanya studies the Protector's body and the dingy room where he met his end. A windup. A whore and a windup. She tries to contain her sickness at the thought. A windup. That someone would try to. . . she shakes his head. An ugly affair. A destabilizing move. And now some young men will have to pay for it. Whoever took the bribes in Ploenchit, perhaps others.

On the street, Kanya flags down a cycle rickshaw. From the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of palace Panthers, formed in ranks at the door. A crowd is gathering, watching with interest. In a few more hours rumors and news will be all over the city.

"The Environment Ministry, as quickly as you can."

She waves Akkarat's bribe money at the rickshaw man, encouraging greater effort, but even as she does, she wonders on whose behalf she waves it.

33

At noon, an army truck arrives. It's a huge thing, gouting exhaust, astonishingly loud, like something out of the old Expansion. She can hear it coming from a block away, but even with so much warning, she almost cries out when she sees the thing. So fast. So awfully loud. Once in Japan, Emiko saw a similar vehicle. Gendo-sama explained that it was powered by liquefied coal. Astonishingly dirty and terrible for carbon limits, but almost magically powerful. As if a dozen megodonts were chained within. Perfect for military applications, even if civilians could not justify either the power or the taxation.

Exhaust clouds swirl blue around it as it comes to a halt. A small fleet of kink-spring scooters sweep up behind, ridden by men wearing the black of the palace's Panthers and the green of the Army. Men begin to pour from the truck and charge for Anderson-sama's tower entrance.

Emiko crouches lower in her alley hiding place. At first she thought to flee, but before she had gone a block she realized there was no place left to run. Anderson-sama was her only raft left in the raging ocean.

And so she remains close by, watching the hive of ants that is Anderson-sama's tower. Trying to understand. She's still astounded that the people who came crashing through the door were not in fact white shirts. They should have been. In Kyoto, the police would have already hunted her down with sniffer dogs, and she would have already been compassionately put down. She has never heard of a New Person so completely failing to show obedience. Certainly not anything like her own ugly bloodletting and flight. She burns with shame and hatred at the same time. She cannot stay, and yet it is more than apparent that the
gaijin's
apartment, invaded though it is, is her last place of safety. The city around her is no friend.

More men pour from the military truck. Emiko slips deeper into the alley as they approach, expecting them to widen their search, preparing herself for a burst of heat and motion to escape. If she runs she can reach the
khlong
, and cool herself before fleeing again.

But they only post themselves along the major thoroughfares and do not seem to care to search for her.

Another flurry of motion. Panthers dragging out a pair of burlap-hooded men with pale hands.
Gaijin
for certain. One of them is Anderson-sama, she thinks. The clothes are his. They shove him forward, making him stumble. He slams into the back of the truck.

Cursing, two of the Panthers drag him aboard. They cuff him beside the other
gaijin
. More troops swarm inside, surrounding them.

A limousine sweeps up to the curb, purring with its own coal-diesel engine. It's strange and silent in comparison to the roar of the troop carrier, but the exhaust is the same. A rich man's vehicle. Almost unimaginable that someone could be so wealthy—

Emiko gasps. It's Trade Minister Akkarat, being hustled by bodyguards into the car. Onlookers pause and stare. Emiko gawks with them. Then the limousine is moving and the troop carrier as well, its massive engine roaring. The two vehicles tear down the street trailing clouds of smoke and disappear around the corner.

Silence rushes into the void, almost physical after the rumble of the truck engine. She hears people murmuring, "Political . . . Akkarat . . .
farang
? . . . General Pracha . . ."

But even with her excellent hearing, it makes no sense. She stares after the truck. With determination, she might follow. . . She gives up the idea. It is impossible. Wherever Anderson-sama has gone, she cannot involve herself. Whatever political problem he has become entangled in will end with the ugliness of all such conflicts.

Emiko wonders if she can simply slip back inside the apartment now that everyone is gone. Near the building's entrance, a pair of men have begun handing out fliers to everyone they can reach. Another pair coast past on a cargo bike, its bin stacked with more fliers. One man jumps down and sticks a flier to a lamp post before hopping back up on the slowly moving bike.

Emiko starts toward the bike to collect a flier herself, but a prickle of paranoia stops her. Instead, she lets them rattle past, then cautiously approaches the light pole to read what they have posted. She moves carefully, all her energy focused on making her movement appear natural, trying not to draw undue attention. She pushes gently into a gathering crowd, bumping against them, craning for a view over the sea of black hair and straining bodies.

An angry murmur rises. Someone sobs. A man turns away, his eyes wide with grief and terror. He shoves past her. Emiko slips forward into the gap. The murmur grows. Emiko eases closer, careful, careful, slow, slow. . . Her breath catches.

The Somdet Chaopraya. The Protector of Her Majesty the Queen. And words. . . she forces her brain to work, to translate from Thai to Japanese and as she does, she becomes aware of the people all around her, the people who press in on every side, all of them reading about a windup girl who walks amongst them, a windup who slaughters the Queen's own protector, an agent of the Environment Ministry, a creature of deadly power.

People jostle around her as they try to read, shoving closer, squeezing past, all of them thinking she is one of them. All of them allowing her to live only because they do not yet see.

34

"Will you sit down? Your pacing makes me nervous."

Hock Seng pauses in the perambulation of his hovel to glare at Laughing Chan. "I pay for
your
calories, not the other way around."

Laughing Chan shrugs and goes back to playing cards. They've all been huddled in the room for the last several days. Laughing Chan is a congenial companion along with Pak Eng and Peter Kuok. But even the most congenial company. . .

Hock Seng shakes his head. It doesn't matter. The storm is coming. Bloodshed and mayhem on the horizon. It's the same feeling he had before the Incident, before his sons were beheaded and his daughters raped senseless. And he sat in the middle of that brewing storm, willfully ignorant, telling anyone who would listen that the men in K.L. would never let what had happened down in Jakarta happen to the good Chinese here. After all, were they not loyal? Did they not contribute? Did he not have friends at every level of government who assured him that the Green Headbands were but a bit of political posturing?