"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 militsya. For his protection. No one in Besel 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 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?"

HE TOOK US BY THAT AWESOME SUCCESSION of breaching transport, worming through the two cities, leaving a tunnel of Breach in the shape of our journey. I wondered where he carried what weapon. The guard at the gate of Bol Ye'an recognised me and smiled a smile that quickly faltered. He had perhaps heard I had disappeared. of breaching transport, worming through the two cities, leaving a tunnel of Breach in the shape of our journey. I wondered where he carried what weapon. The guard at the gate of Bol Ye'an recognised me and smiled a smile that quickly faltered. He had perhaps heard I had disappeared.

"We're not approaching the academics, we're not questioning the students," Ashil said. "You understand we're here to investigate the background to and terms of your breach." I was police on my own crime.

"It would be easier if we could talk to Nancy."

"None of the academics, none of the students. Begin. You know who I am?" This to the guard.

We went to Buidze, who stood with his back to the wall of his office, stared at us, at Ashil in great and straightforward fear, at me in fear that was more bewildered: Can I speak of what we spoke of before? Can I speak of what we spoke of before? I saw him think, I saw him think, Who is he? Who is he? Ashil manoeuvred me with him to the back of the room, found a shaft of shadow. Ashil manoeuvred me with him to the back of the room, found a shaft of shadow.

"I haven't breached," Buidze kept whispering.

"Do you invite investigation?" Ashil said.

"Your job's to stop smuggling," I said. Buidze nodded. What was I? Neither he nor I knew. "How's that going?"

"Holy Light... Please. The only way any of these kids could do it would be to slip a memento straight in their pockets from the ground, so it never gets catalogued, and they can't because everyone's searched when they leave the site. No one could sell this stuff anyway. Like I said, the kids go for walks around the site, and they might be breaching when they stand still. What can you do? Can't prove it. Doesn't mean they're thieves."

"She told Yolanda you could be a thief without knowing it," I said to Ashil. "At the end. What have you lost?" I asked Buidze.

"Nothing!"

He took us to the artefact warehouse, stumbling eager to help us. On the way two students I somewhat recognised saw us, stopped still-something about Ashil's gait, that I was mimicking-backed away. There were the cabinets where the finds were, in which the latest dusted-off things born from the ground were stored. Lockers full of the impossible variety of Precursor Age debris, a miraculous and obstinately opaque rubble of bottles, orreries, axe heads, parchment sc.r.a.ps.

"Goes in, whoever's in charge that night makes sure everyone puts whatever's been found away, locks up, leaves the key. Doesn't get out the grounds without we search them. They don't even give us s.h.i.t about that; they know that's how it is."

I motioned Buidze to open the cabinet. I looked into the collection, each piece nestled in its little house, its segment of polystyrene, in the drawer. The topmost drawers had not yet been filled. Those below were full. Some of the fragile pieces were wrapped in lint-free cloth, swaddled from view. I opened the drawers one below the other, examining the ranked findings. Ashil came to stand beside me and looked down into the last as if it were a teacup, as if the artefacts were leaves with which one could divine.

"Who has the keys each night?" Ashil said.

"I, I, it depends." Buidze's fear of us was wearing, but I did not believe he would lie. "Whoever. It's not important. They all do it sometimes. Whoever's working late. There's a schedule, but they're always ignoring it..."

"After they've given the keys back to security, they leave?"

"Yeah."

"Straightaway?"

"Yeah. Usually. They might go to their office a bit, walk in the grounds, but they don't usually stick around."

"The grounds?"

"It's a park. It's ... nice." He shrugged helpless. "There's no way out, though; its alter a few metres in, they have to come back through here. They don't leave without being searched."

"When did Mahalia last lock up?"

"Loads of times. I don't know ..."

"Last time."

"... The night she disappeared," he said at last.

"Give me a list of who did it when."

"I can't! They keep one, but like I say half the time they just do each other favours ..."

I opened the lowest drawers. Between the tiny crude figures, the intricate Precursor lingams and ancient pipettes, there were deli-cats wrapped. I touched the shapes gently.

"Those are old," Buidze said, watching me. "They were dug up ages ago."

"I see," I said, reading the labels. They had been disinterred in the early days of the dig. I turned at the sound of Professor Nancy entering. She stopped hard, stared at Ashil, at me. She opened her mouth. She had lived in Ul Qoma many years, was trained to see its minutiae. She recognised what she saw. "Professor," I said. She nodded. She stared at Buidze and he at her. She nodded and backed out.

"When Mahalia was in charge of the keys, she went for walks after locking up, didn't she?" I said. Buidze shrugged, bewildered. "She offered to lock up when it wasn't her turn, too. More than once." All the small artefacts were in their cloth-lined beds. I did not rummage, but I felt around at the rear of the drawer without what I imagined was the preferred care.

He shifted, but Buidze would not challenge me. At the rear of the third shelf up, of things brought to light still more than a year ago, one of the cloth-wrapped items gave under my finger in a way that made me pause. "You have to wear gloves," Buidze said.

I unwrapped it and within was newspaper, and in the twist of paper was a piece of wood still flecked with paint and marked by where screws had held it. Not ancient nor carved: the offcut of a door, an absolute piece of nothing.

Buidze stared. I held it up. "What dynasty's this?" I said.

"Don't," said Ashil to me. He followed me out. Buidze came behind us.

"I'm Mahalia," I said. "I've just locked up. I've just volunteered to do it, though it's someone else's turn. Now a little walk."

I marched us out into the open air, past the carefully layered hole where students glanced at us in surprise, on into the wasteland, where there was that rubble of history, and beyond it out of the gate that would open to a university ID, that opened for us because of where and what we were, that we propped open, into the park. Not much of a park this close to the excavation, but scrub and a few trees crossed by paths. There were Ul Qomans visible, but none too close. There was no unbroken Ul Qoman s.p.a.ce between the dig and the bulk of the Ul Qoman park. Besel intruded.

We saw other figures at the edges of the clearing: Bes sitting on the rocks or by the crosshatched pond. The park was only slightly in Besel, a few metres at the edge of vegetation, a rill of crossover in paths and bushes, and a little stretch of totality cutting the two Ul Qoman sections off from each other. Maps made clear to walkers where they might go. It was here in the crosshatch that the students might stand, scandalously, touching distance from a foreign power, a p.o.r.nography of separation.

"Breach watches fringes like this," Ashil said to me. "There are cameras. We'd see anyone emerge into Besel who didn't come in by it."

Buidze was hanging back. Ashil spoke so he could not hear. Buidze was trying not to watch us. I paced.

"Orciny ..." I said. No way in or out of here in Ul Qoma but back through Bol Ye'an dig. "Dissensi? "Dissensi? Bulls.h.i.t. That's not how she delivered. This is what she was doing. Have you seen Bulls.h.i.t. That's not how she delivered. This is what she was doing. Have you seen The Great Escape?" The Great Escape?" I walked to the edge of the crosshatched zone, where Ul Qoma ended for metres. Of course I was in Breach now, could wander on into Besel if I wanted, but I stopped as if I were only in Ul Qoma. I walked to the edge of the s.p.a.ce it shared with Besel, where Besel became briefly total and separated it from the rest of Ul Qoma. I made sure Ashil was watching me. I mimed placing the piece of wood in my pocket, stuffing it in fact down past my belt, down the inside of my trousers. "Hole in her pockets." I walked to the edge of the crosshatched zone, where Ul Qoma ended for metres. Of course I was in Breach now, could wander on into Besel if I wanted, but I stopped as if I were only in Ul Qoma. I walked to the edge of the s.p.a.ce it shared with Besel, where Besel became briefly total and separated it from the rest of Ul Qoma. I made sure Ashil was watching me. I mimed placing the piece of wood in my pocket, stuffing it in fact down past my belt, down the inside of my trousers. "Hole in her pockets."

I walked a few steps in the crosshatch, dropping the thankfully unsplintering wood down my leg. I stood still when it hit the ground. I stood as if contemplating the skyline and moved my feet gently, letting it onto the earth, where I trod it in and scuffed plant muck and dirt onto it. When I walked away, without looking back, the wood was a nothing shape, invisible if you did not know it was there.

"When she goes, someone in Besel-or someone who looks like they are, so there's nothing for you to notice-comes by," I said. "Stands and looks at the sky. Kicks their heels. Kicks something up. Sits on a rock for a moment, touches the ground, puts something in their pocket.

"Mahalia wouldn't take the recent stuff because it was just put away, much too noticeable. But while she's locking up, because it only takes a second, she opens the old old drawers." drawers."

"What does she take?"

"Maybe it's random. Maybe she's following instructions. Bol Ye'an searches them every night, so why would they think anyone's stealing? She never had anything on her. It was sitting here in the crosshatch."

"Where someone came to take it. Through Besel."

I turned and looked slowly in all directions.

"Do you feel watched?" Ashil said.

"Do you?"

A very long quiet. "I don't know."

"Orciny." I turned again. "I'm tired of this." I stood. "Really." I turned. "This is wearing."

"What are you thinking?" Ashil said.

A noise of a dog in the woods made us look up. The dog was in Besel. I was ready to unhear, but of course I did not have to.

It was a lab, a friendly dark animal that sniffed out of the undergrowth and trotted to us. Ashil held out his hand for it. Its owner emerged, smiled, started, looked away in confusion and called his dog to heel. It went to him, looking back at us. He was trying to unsee, but the man could not forebear looking at us, wondering probably why we would risk playing with an animal in such an unstable urban location. When Ashil met his eye the man looked away. He must have been able to tell where and so what we were.

ACCORDING TO THE CATALOGUE the wood offcut was a replacement for a bra.s.s tube containing gears encrusted into position by centuries. Three other pieces were missing, from those early digs, all from within wrappings, all replaced by twists of paper, stones, the leg of a doll. They were supposed to be the remains of a preserved lobster's claw containing some proto-clockwork; an eroded mechanism like some tiny s.e.xtant; a hand ful of nails and screws. the wood offcut was a replacement for a bra.s.s tube containing gears encrusted into position by centuries. Three other pieces were missing, from those early digs, all from within wrappings, all replaced by twists of paper, stones, the leg of a doll. They were supposed to be the remains of a preserved lobster's claw containing some proto-clockwork; an eroded mechanism like some tiny s.e.xtant; a hand ful of nails and screws.

We searched the ground in that fringe zone. We found potholes, cold scuffs, and the near-wintry remains of flowers, but no shallow-buried priceless treasures of the Precursor Age. They had been picked up, long ago. No one could sell them.

"That makes it breach then," I said. "Wherever these Orciny-ites came from or went, they can't have picked the stuff up in Ul Qoma, so it was in Besel. Well, maybe to them they never left Orciny. But to most people they were put down in Ul Qoma and picked up in Besel, so it's breach."

ASHIL CALLED THROUGH TO SOMEONE on our way back, and when we arrived at the quarters Breach were bickering and voting in their fast loose way on issues alien to me. They entered the room in the middle of the strange debate, made cell phone calls, interrupted at speed. The atmosphere was fraught, in that distinct expressionless Breach way. on our way back, and when we arrived at the quarters Breach were bickering and voting in their fast loose way on issues alien to me. They entered the room in the middle of the strange debate, made cell phone calls, interrupted at speed. The atmosphere was fraught, in that distinct expressionless Breach way.

There were reports from the two cities, with muttered additions from those holding telephone receivers, delivering messages from other Breach. "Everyone on guard," Ashil kept saying. "This is starting."

They were afraid of head shots and breach mugging-murders. The number of small breaches was increasing. Breach were where they could be, but there were many they missed. Someone said graffiti were appearing on walls in Ul Qoma in styles that suggested Besel artists.

"It hasn't been this bad, since, well ..." Ashil said. He whispered explanations to me as the discussion continued. "That's Raina. She's unremitting on this." "Samun thinks even mentioning Orciny's to give ground." "Byon doesn't."

"We need to be ready," the speaker said. "We stumbled on something."

"She did, Mahalia. Not us," Ashil said.

"Alright, she did. Who knows when whatever's going to happen will? We're in the dark and we know war's come, but can't see where to aim."

"I can't deal with this," I said to Ashil quietly.

He escorted me back to the room. When I realised he was locking me in I shouted in remonstration. "You need to remember why you're here," he said through the door.

I sat on the bed and tried to read Mahalia's notes a new way. I did not try to follow the thread of a particular pen, the tenor of a particular period of her studies, to reconstruct a lineage of thought. Instead I read all the annotations on each page, years of opinions set together. I had been trying to be an archaeologist of her marginalia, separating the striae. Now I read each page out of time, no chronology, arguing with itself.

On the inside of the back cover among layers of irate theory I read in big letters written over earlier smaller ones BUT CF SHERMAN BUT CF SHERMAN. A line from that to an argument on the facing page: ROSEN'S COUNTER ROSEN'S COUNTER. These names were familiar from my earlier investigations. I turned a couple of pages backwards. In the same pen and late hurried hand I read, ab.u.t.ting an older claim: NO-ROSEN, VIJNIC NO-ROSEN, VIJNIC.

a.s.sertion overlaid with critique, more and more exclamationmarked clauses in the book. NO NO, a pointer connecting the word not to the original printed text but to an annotation, to her own older, enthusiastic annotations. An argument with herself. WHY A TEST? WHO? WHY A TEST? WHO?

"Hey," I shouted. I did not know where the camera was. "Hey, Ashil. Get Ashil." I did not stop making noise until he arrived. "I need to get online."

He took me to a computer room, to what looked like a 486 or something similarly antique, with an operating system I did not recognise, some jury-rigged imitation of Windows, but the processor and connection were very fast. We were two of several in the office. Ashil stood behind me as I typed. He watched my researches, as well, certainly, as ensuring I did not email anyone.

"Go wherever you need," Ashil told me, and he was right. Pay sites guarded by pa.s.sword protection needed only an empty return return to roll over. to roll over.

"What kind of connection is this?" I did not expect or get any answer. I searched Sherman, Rosen, Vijnic Sherman, Rosen, Vijnic. On the forums I had recently visited, the three writers were subjected to ferocious contumely. "Look."

I got the names of their key works, checked listings on Amazon for a quick-and-dirty appreciation of their theses. It took minutes. I sat back.

"Look. Look Look. Sherman, Rosen, Vijnic are all absolute hate figures on these fractured-city boards," I said. "Why? Because they wrote books claiming Bowden was full of s.h.i.t. That the whole argument's b.o.l.l.o.c.ks."

"So does he."

"That's not the point, Ashil. Look." Pages and pages in Between the City and the City Between the City and the City. I pointed to Mahalia's early remarks to herself, then her later ones. "The point is that she's she's citing them. At the end. Her last notes." Turning more pages, showing him. citing them. At the end. Her last notes." Turning more pages, showing him.

"She changed her mind," he said finally. We looked at each other a long time.

"All that stuff about parasites and being wrong and finding out she was a thief," I said. "G.o.d d.a.m.n. She wasn't killed because she was, some, one of the b.l.o.o.d.y elect few who knew the awesome secret that the third city existed. She wasn't killed because she realised Orciny was lying to her, was using her. That's not the lies she was talking about. Mahalia was killed because she stopped stopped believing in Orciny at all." believing in Orciny at all."

Chapter Twenty-Six.

THOUGH I BEGGED and grew angry, Ashil and his colleagues would not let me call Corwi or Dhatt. and grew angry, Ashil and his colleagues would not let me call Corwi or Dhatt.

"Why the h.e.l.l not?" I said. "They could do this. Alright then, do whatever the h.e.l.l it is you do, find out. Yorjavic's still our best connection, him or some of his partners. We know he's involved. Try to get the exact exact dates Mahalia locked up, and if possible we need to know where Yorjavic was every one of those evenings. We want to work out if he picked up. The dates Mahalia locked up, and if possible we need to know where Yorjavic was every one of those evenings. We want to work out if he picked up. The policzai policzai watch the TC; they might know. Maybe the leaders'll even tell, if they're that disgruntled. And check out where Syedr was too-someone with access to stuff from Copula Hall's involved." watch the TC; they might know. Maybe the leaders'll even tell, if they're that disgruntled. And check out where Syedr was too-someone with access to stuff from Copula Hall's involved."

"We're not going to be able to get every day Mahalia did the keys. You heard Buidze: half of them weren't planned."

"Let me call Corwi and Dhatt; they'd know how to sift them."