The Windup Girl

Narong's cold voice crackles on the line. "It's not your place to question."

His tone brings her up short. "Did Akkarat do it?" she whispers fearfully. "Was he the one responsible? Pracha says that Akkarat was involved somehow. Did he do it?"

Another pause. Is it a thoughtful one? She can't tell. Finally Narong says, "No. I swear this. We are not the ones responsible."

"So you guess it must be Pracha then?" She shuffles through the licenses and permits on her desk. "I'm telling you he is not the one! I have all the windup's records here. Pracha himself wanted me to investigate. To find every trace of her. I have her arrival papers with the Mishimoto people. I have disposal papers. I have visas. Everything."

"Who signed the disposal papers?"

She fights her frustration. "I can't read the signature. I need more time to cross-reference who was on duty around that time."

"And by the time you do, they will inevitably be dead."

"Then why did Pracha set me to the task of finding this information? It doesn't make sense! I talked to the officers who took the bribes at that bar. They were nothing but silly boys, making a little extra money."

"He's clever then. He's covered his tracks."

"Why do you hate Pracha so much?"

"Why do you love him? Did he not order your village razed?"

"Not from malice."

"No? Did he not sell the fish farming permits to another village the next season? Sell them and line his pockets with the profits?"

She falls silent. Narong moderates his tone. "I'm sorry, Kanya. There's nothing we can do. We are certain of his crime. We have authorization from the palace to resolve this."

"With riots?" She shoves the whisper sheets off her desk. "With a burning of the city? Please. I can stop this. It's not necessary. I can find the proof that we need. I can prove that the windup is not Pracha's. I can prove it."

"You're too close to this. Your loyalties are divided."

"I'm loyal to our Queen. Just give me a chance to stop this madness."

Another pause. "I can give you three hours. If you have nothing by sunset, I can do nothing more."

"But you'll wait until then?"

She can almost hear the smile on the other end of the line. "I will." And then the line is closed. And she is alone in her office.

Jaidee settles himself on her desk. "I'm curious. How will you prove Pracha's innocence? It's obvious that he's the one who placed her."

"Why can't you leave me alone?" Kanya asks.

Jaidee smiles. "Because it's sanuk. Very fun to watch you flail around and try to run for two masters." He pauses, studying her. "Why do you care what happens to General Pracha? He's not your real patron."

Kanya looks at him with hatred. She waves at the whisper sheets strewn about her office. "It's just like it was five years ago."

"With Pracha and Prime Minister Surawong. With the December 12 gatherings." Jaidee studies the whisper sheets. "Akkarat moving against us, this time, though. So it's not entirely the same."

Outside the window of her office, a megodont bellows. Jaidee smiles. "You hear that? We're arming. There's no way you can keep these two old bulls from clashing. I don't know why you would even try. Pracha and Akkarat have been bellowing and snorting at each other for years. It's time we had a good fight."

"This isn't muay thai, Jaidee."

"No. You're right about that." For a moment his smile turns sad.

Kanya stares at the whisper sheets, the collected paperwork on the windup's import. The windup is missing. But still, it came from the Japanese. Kanya studies the notes: she was brought across on a dirigible flight from Japan. An executive assistant-

"And a killer," Jaidee interjects.

"Shut up. I'm thinking."

A Japanese windup. An abandoned bit of the island nation. Kanya stands abruptly, grabs her spring gun and shoves it into her holster as she gathers papers.

"Where are you going?" Jaidee asks.

She favors him with a thin smile. "If I told you, that would take away the sanuk."

Jaidee's phii grins. "Now you're getting into the spirit of things."

36

The crowd around Emiko grows. People jostle her. There's nowhere to run. She's in the open, waiting to be discovered.

Her first urge is to slash her way free, to fight for survival, even though there is no hope of escaping the crowd before she overheats. I will not die like an animal. I will fight them. They will bleed.

She forces down that increasing panic. Tries to think. More people squeeze around her, trying to get close to the posted sheet. She is trapped among them, but no one has noticed her yet. As long as she doesn't move…

The press of the crowd is almost an advantage. She can barely shake, let alone display the stutter-stop motions that would betray her.

Slowly. Carefully.