The Windup Girl

48

“They’re leaving. It’s done.”

Anderson lets his head fall back on the pillow. “We’ve won then.”

Emiko doesn’t respond; she’s still looking out toward the distant parade grounds.

Morning light burns through the window. He is shivering. Freezing and grateful for the onslaught of sun. Sweat pours off of him. Emiko lays a hand on his forehead and he’s surprised to feel that it is cool.

He looks up at her through his haze of fever and sickness. “Is Hock Seng here yet?”

She shakes her head sadly. “Your people are not loyal.”

Anderson almost laughs at that. He pushes ineffectually at his blankets. Emiko helps him strip them away. “No. They’re not.” He turns his face to the sun again, soaking it up, allowing it to bathe him. “But I knew that.” He would laugh more, if he weren’t so tired. If his body didn’t feel as if it was breaking apart.

“Do you want more water?” she asks.

The thought doesn’t appeal. He’s not thirsty. Last night, he was thirsty. When the doctor came at Akkarat’s order he could have drunk the ocean, but now, he is not.

After examining him, the doctor went way, fear in his eyes, saying that he would send people. That the Environment Ministry would have to be notified. That white shirts would come to work some black containment magic upon him. All that time Emiko hid, and after the doctor went away, she waited with Anderson through the days and nights.

At least, he remembers her in fractured moments. He dreamed. Hallucinated. Yates sat with him for a time on his bed. Laughed at him. Pointed out the futility of his life. Peered into his eyes and asked him if he understood. And Anderson tried to answer but his throat was parched. No words could force their way out. And Yates laughed at that as well, and asked him what he thought of the newly arrived AgriGen Trade Representative coming to take his niche. If Anderson liked being replaced any better than he had. And then Emiko was there with a cool cloth and he was grateful, desperately grateful for any sort of attention, for her human connection… and he had laughed weakly at the irony.

Now he looks at Emiko through bleary vision and thinks about debts he owes, and wonders if he will live long enough to pay them.

“We’re going to get you out,” he whispers.

A new wave of shivering takes him. All through the night, he was hot, and now, abruptly he is cold, shaking with the freezing feel, as if he has returned to the Upper Midwest and freezes in those still cold winters, as if he looks out at snow. Now he is cold, and not thirsty at all, and even a windup girl’s fingers feel icy against his face.

He pushes weakly at her hand. “Is Hock Seng here yet?”

“You’re burning up.” Emiko’s face is full of concern.

“Has he come?” Anderson asks. It is intensely important that the man come. That Hock Seng be here, in the room with him. Though he can barely remember why. It is important.

“I think he will not come.” she says. “He has all the letters he needed from you. The introductions. He is already busy with your people. With the new representative. The Boudry woman.”

A cheshire appears on the balcony. It yowls low and slips inside. Emiko doesn’t seem to notice or care, but then, she and it are siblings. Sympathetic creatures, manufactured by the same flawed gods.

Anderson watches dully as the cat makes its way across his bedroom and molts through the door. If he weren’t so weak, he would throw something at it. He sighs. He’s past that, now. Too tired to complain about a cat. He lets his gaze roll up to the ceiling and the slow whirl of the crank fan.

He wants to still be angry. But even that has gone. At first, when he discovered that he was sick, when Hock Seng and the girl had pulled back, alarmed, he had thought they were crazy. That he hadn’t been exposed to any vectors, but then, looking at them, at their fear and certainty, he had understood.

“The factory?” he’d whispered, repeating the girl Mai’s words, and Hock Seng had nodded, keeping his hand over his face.

“The fining rooms, or the algae baths,” he murmured.

Anderson had wanted to be angry then, but the sickness was already sapping his strength. All he could summon was a dull rage that quickly burned away. “Has anyone survived?”

“One,” the girl had whispered.

And he had nodded, and they had slunk away. Hock Seng. Always with his secrets. Always with his angles and his planning. Always waiting…

“Is he coming?” He has a hard time forcing the words out.

“He will not come,” Emiko murmurs.

“You’re here.”

She shrugs. “I am New People. Your sicknesses do not frighten me. That one will not come. Not the Carlyle man either.”

“At least they’re leaving you alone. Kept their word, there.”

“Maybe,” she says, but she lacks conviction.

Anderson wonders if she’s right. Wonders if he is wrong about Hock Seng as he was wrong about so many things. Wonders if his every understanding of the place was wrong. He forces away the fear. “He’ll keep faith. He’s a businessman.”

Emiko doesn’t answer. The cheshire jumps onto the bed. She shoos it away, but it jumps up again, seemingly sensing the carrion opportunity he represents.

Anderson tries to raise a hand. “No,” he croaks. “Let it stay.”