A Flight of Broken Wings, page 11
part #1 of The Aeriel Chronicles Series
“Where’s Uncle Subhas, Hiya?” Ruban asked, setting the girl down so that she could run to Simani to claim her prize. “Isn’t he home?”
Hiya shook her head, making a grab for the chocolate only for Simani to hold it up, just a little out of her reach. This prompted another squeal and a singularly impressive leap that brought the child level with Simani, if only momentarily. “He’s out!” she gasped at last with a satisfied smile, chocolate held firmly in her hands as she landed on the grass with a thump.
Bala, the housekeeper, came out of the house behind Hiya, wiping her hands on her stained apron. Her round, pockmarked face was slightly flushed. “Master Ruban, Miss Vaz,” she greeted, nodding at the familiar faces as she rushed over to the parked vehicle. Plucking the chocolate out of Hiya’s hands on the way over, with a bright ‘after dinner, darling’, she blithely ignored all of the girl’s vociferous protests thereafter. “Sir told me that you would be coming to the house today. He had to go out on an urgent errand just about an hour ago. He said he wouldn’t be gone for more than a couple of hours, though. You don’t mind waiting, do you? Please, do come in. I’ll make some tea.”
As she turned to walk back into the house, Ashwin emerged from the car, big eyes drinking in every tiny detail of his surroundings as he walked towards the small cluster standing near the garden. Ruban grinned. He could almost see the cogs turning in Hiya’s head as she turned to look curiously at this new arrival, her tantrum forgotten mid-wail. Brow furrowed and head cocked to one side, she observed solemnly as the Zainian came to stand beside the two Hunters, looking appreciatively up at the manor that stood beyond the garden.
Ruban had not been entirely certain whether or not to bring Ashwin along for this particular trip. However, even he could not deny the Zainian’s considerable role during the showdown at SifCo. And he supposed his input might prove helpful in the recovery of the formula. Unless he was terribly mistaken, Tauheen had seemed very interested in Ashwin’s presence at the facility, and Ruban would pay a good deal of money to know exactly what the Zainian had done to attract the attention of the Aeriel Queen. It was better than leaving Ashwin to his own devices, at any rate. The young man seemed to have a penchant for ending up at the weirdest places when left alone, even for the briefest period.
“Who’s this?” asked Hiya, thrusting a haughty chin at the newcomer, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Before Ruban could introduce him, Ashwin broke out into a grin. “Hello, I’m Ashwin,” he said, walking up to Hiya and holding out a hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Cautiously, with a quick glance at Ruban, Hiya extended her own hand, taking Ashwin’s for a perfunctory shake. Then, before she could pull away, her eyes widened, a delighted squeak escaping her lips. “It’s magic!” she declared, beaming up at the Zainian as she held up two small, bite-sized packs of Dairy Milk – the exact flavour that Simani had given her earlier – stuck neatly to her outstretched hand.
“Show me more!” Hiya demanded, jumping up and down on the balls of her feet as the three adults sipped Bala’s special ginger-tea from delicate china cups in the drawing room.
Putting his cup obligingly down on the coffee table, Ashwin held his hand out to the girl, his expression a study in solemnity. With equal gravity, Hiya unscrewed the top of her piggy bank and handed him a bronze two-dinka coin. This was followed by a slight nod which made Ruban think of a circus ringmaster signalling her lion to jump through the fiery hoop.
Right on cue, Ashwin’s fingers closed around the coin as he mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath. A second passed, then another. Just as Hiya’s expression began to shift from expectant to slightly sceptical, the Zainian twisted his wrist in a dramatic flourish and bringing his closed fist next to the girl’s ear, threw his fingers open. Not a coin but a beautiful, multi-hued peacock feather sprang upright from between his index and middle fingers.
Hiya squealed again, her eyes dancing with delight as she clapped excitedly. Despite himself, Ruban could feel his breath catch at the sight of the prismatic feather swaying gently in the light monsoon breeze.
Then the feather was gone, the coin resting innocently on the palm of Ashwin’s hand as he held it magnanimously out to his audience. Hiya plucked the coin out of the Zainian’s hand with a grin that threatened to split her face in two.
Bala reappeared at the doorway with a tray full of delicious-smelling biscuits and sweets to accompany her excellent tea. And everything else was forgotten for the next few minutes as everyone hunkered down to feast on the homemade delicacies with unanimous enthusiasm.
The four walls of the room were painted in four different – though equally vibrant – shades of yellow. The floor was littered with a wide variety of miscellaneous items: from crayons and colour-books to CDs, dolls in various stages of dismemberment and a boomerang-shaped object with multi-coloured buttons that Shwaan could only assume was some variation of the video-game console he had seen in Casia’s duplex during his brief stay with the reporter. He stepped gingerly over the severed torso of what appeared to have been a Barbie at some point and finally threw himself onto the large, ochre beanbag – big enough to sleep on – that occupied pride of place at the centre of the yellow wasteland that was Hiya’s bedroom. Walking around in this place was an open invitation to disaster.
“Not a big believer in organisation, are you?” Shwaan remarked, looking around the room at the cluttered shelves and half-open wardrobe overflowing with clothing in more shades of yellow. Apparently, successfully impressing Hiya with magic tricks he had picked up from one of his mortal nurses over six centuries ago had earned him the privilege of a grand tour of the young lady’s dominion.
Ruban had certainly wasted no time in shooing the two of them upstairs the moment the opportunity presented itself. It was just as well, he supposed. Enlightening as it often was, spending too much time in the Hunter’s company also carried with it the risk of discovery. Tauheen’s infernal garrulity at SifCo had already raised some suspicions in Ruban, he could tell. Best to let it cool at a distance before anybody put two and two together and blew his cover.
Hiya ignored him. What looked like a humongous plastic model of the rear half of an airplane balanced precariously on her outstretched hands, she tottered over to Ashwin before placing the monstrosity carefully at his feet. He looked down expectantly, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do with it. Well, at least this one wasn’t yellow.
“Help,” Hiya said, pointing at the semi-constructed aeroplane replica. It wasn’t a question, though. It was a statement.
As Hiya gleefully added the finishing touches to her newly-completed toy airplane, which had now assumed pride of place at the centre of her amber study table, Shwaan stood in front of a bookcase at the other end of the room, looking up at the framed photograph of a young woman in a white lab-coat smiling cheerfully at the camera.
The photo was old, from what Shwaan could tell, the quality of the picture less clear than what he had seen in modern photographs. Still, it looked to have been well cared for, the metal frame sparkling in the light of the bulb mounted on the opposite wall. A young man stood slightly to the left of the woman. He too was smiling broadly, though he was barely in the frame. Him, Shwaan recognised immediately as a younger version of the Senior Secretary of Defence. The broad shoulders and the proud jawline were still the same, though they seemed softer somehow. Shwaan thought absently that he had looked better with the stubble than he did now, without it.
“That’s Mommy,” Hiya informed him. Shwaan had not heard her come up behind him, but there she was with her arms crossed, looking seriously up at the picture Shwaan had been contemplating. “Baba says she was really pretty. I think he’s right,” she confided, nodding sagaciously.
Shwaan was not quite sure how to respond to that. He tried to think of anything he had heard about Subhas Kinoh’s wife during his time in Ragah, but drew a persistent blank. “Oh,” he said finally, looking down at his young companion. “What was her name?”
Hiya looked at him like he was an idiot. “Misri,” she said, as if it was the most obvious thing on earth. “And that’s Baba,” she added after a beat, as if to make sure he hadn’t foolishly missed that bit of information as well.
“Well, I think your Baba is right too,” Shwaan told her, and he wasn’t lying. The woman in the picture really was striking, her brown eyes sharp and lively and her smile infectious, even through the fading Polaroid. “Was your mother a doctor, Hiya?”
“Nuh-huh,” she shook her head, squinting dubiously at Shwaan as if worried about his lack of general knowledge. “She was a sci-en-tist.” Enunciating each syllable carefully, she looked mildly proud when she had accomplished the feat. “At SifCo. Baba says she was very smart, just like me.”
“At SifCo?” Shwaan repeated, looking up at the picture once again. “She worked at SifCo?”
Hiya nodded. “When she was alive, yes. Bala di says she died in a car crash on her way there, back when I was a baby,” she said matter-of-factly.
Shwaan supposed Hiya had never known her mother well enough to feel her loss, if it really had happened when she was still an infant. He looked up at the picture again. It was hard to believe those vivacious eyes belonged to someone long gone. Besides, how old was Hiya anyway? Something about that timeline didn’t sit well with him, but he couldn’t place his finger on it at the moment. With a mental shrug, he turned around. There would be time to look into it later.
“I think your Baba is back,” he informed her, tilting his head a little to hear the voices downstairs with more clarity; they sounded vaguely agitated to him. “Should we go down?”
Hiya nodded, then took his hand in a proprietary grip and marched out of the room, Shwaan trailing a little behind her.
As Subhas entered the drawing room less than an hour after their arrival, Ruban and Simani rose to greet him. Ruban couldn’t help noticing, however, that the man looked haggard, worn out – dark circles under his eyes and his usually clean-shaven face covered in greying stubble. Upon seeing the Hunters, Subhas offered them a small smile, nodding for them to resume their seats. Ruban thought it didn’t quite reach his eyes, though.
“You wanted to see us?” Simani said, once they had all sat down and another round of the refreshing ginger tea had been served by Bala. This was not the first time they had been summoned to Subhas’s home to discuss important or confidential business that the Senior Secretary did not feel comfortable talking about at the office. Between the three of them, there was no need to go through the usual round of inane pleasantries.
Subhas nodded slowly, as if his head weighed heavily on his shoulders. “The incident at SifCo,” he began, looking down at his hands which were folded rigidly on his lap. “As you must know, it hasn’t gone over well with the media. Or with many of my colleagues at the IAW, not to mention the Cabinet.”
Simani nodded. “What happened was…horrific. The last time something like this happened…was the Parliament attack.” She drew in a deep breath. “You couldn’t switch the TV on without seeing footage of the burning SifCo buildings for days after. And the Aeriel Queen. She hasn’t been seen in...well, decades I suppose. Why would she show up now, at SifCo of all places? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“At the time of the Parliament attack, we had two Aeriels dead and one in custody,” said Subhas. “Something to show for our troubles. Now, it’s been over a week, Simani, and we’ve made no headway on the case. Not to mention, the formula is gone. Stolen from right under the nose of the Hunter tasked with protecting it, the very best in the city.” He looked up briefly at Ruban, a flash of guilt in his eyes. He sighed. “I do not mean to blame you, my boy. You did your best, I know that. There was nothing more you could have done. You were unprepared; we’d had no warning that something like that was going to happen. But the fact remains that the media is questioning us. The cabinet is questioning us. They want results, and people are losing confidence that…the current team in charge of the investigation can deliver it.”
“What does that mean, then?” Ruban asked, his voice strained.
Subhas gave a small shrug, then looked away to stare unseeingly at the ticking grandfather clock on the opposite wall. Ruban’s father had owned one just like it, almost identical but for the hands, which had been gold instead of red. It had been gutted in the fire. Just like every other remnant of Ruban’s childhood, his old life.
“We must think of a reshuffle. Bring someone else, maybe another team into the investigation. You can still consult with them, of course. Help them with the case. But it doesn’t seem…viable for you to keep charge of the investigation anymore, after what happened. If I do not hand the case over to someone else, we risk losing funding for the investigation. Besides which, resolving the case would be infinitely harder without the backing of the IAW brass and the Cabinet.”
For a moment, Ruban just sat there, unable to move, much less speak. If asked, he would have said he felt humiliated, betrayed – though by whom, he did not know. And he did. But overpowering that emotion, overpowering everything else was the feeling of helpless, impotent fury at the thought of Tauheen – laughing with the disk in her hand, flying away into the distance as the world burned behind her – out of his reach forever, out of the reach of justice. Deep in his heart, he knew he could not allow that to happen, though how he would stop it he didn’t have the faintest idea.
Before Ruban could get his thoughts together, Simani was speaking: “But you can’t just take us off the case. You said it yourself, sir, we were unprepared for the attack. We had had no warning that anything like that was going to happen. You were the one who’d asked Ruban to visit SifCo that day to get a feel for the place before the investigation took off in earnest. If any of us had had the faintest inkling…” she trailed off, shaking her head as if to dislodge that line of thinking. There was no point in dwelling on the ‘what ifs’ of any situation, Ruban knew that better than most. “Ruban did everything he could, under the circumstances. There is nobody who could have done better in that situation, you know that.”
“I know that,” Subhas agreed, looking Simani in the eyes, his voice strained. “And you know that. But the media doesn’t. The public doesn’t. All they know is that a path-breaking formula worth millions was stolen from one of the most prestigious research facilities in the country, by Aeriels. Right under the nose of the Hunter tasked with protecting that same formula against a threat the press has been screaming about for months now. What do you think it looks like from the outside?
“We serve a democratic government, Simani. Nothing means anything once we have lost public confidence. And whether we like it or not, in this case we have.” He exhaled and seemed to sag slightly into the sofa, his energy drained. “We need resources for this investigation, my dear. Resources and money. Especially now with the involvement of Tauheen…who knows what could happen next? Even if I managed to keep the IAW on your side for some time longer, which in itself won’t be easy, we’ll lose all Central backing, both in terms of money and manpower. In a case like this, after an incident of this magnitude, do you really think we can afford that loss?”
“It won’t be necessary,” said an airy voice behind them as two pairs of footsteps echoed down the staircase. Ruban whipped around just in time to see Hiya gallop down the stairs behind the dining space, Ashwin in tow. The latter continued to speak as the duo finally reached the drawing room landing, breathing heavily, and Hiya threw herself rather unceremoniously onto her father’s lap. “Give us one week’s time,” Ashwin said, directing the full force of his earnest, wide-eyed gaze at Subhas. “If people still want Ruban off the case,” he shrugged. “I suppose then it would have to be done. But you never know what could happen in a week. You can hold them off for seven days, no? Give us a chance to fix this, if you would.”
Subhas stared at the young man standing before him, his expression perplexed. Ruban had a feeling he would have been angry, if he hadn’t been too busy being surprised. Ashwin gave no indication whatsoever that he thought his request to be an odd one. He might have been asking for extra biscuits, for all the innocent optimism in his eyes as he looked at the Senior Secretary expectantly.
“What could you possibly hope to accomplish in one week?” Subhas asked at length, seeming to notice the brown-haired bundle on his lap for the first time. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position so Hiya wouldn’t tumble off his legs accidentally. “What do you know about any of this anyway?”
At this, Hiya’s little brown head came up to stare intently into her father’s eyes. “He fixed my plane,” she said seriously, extending her vote of confidence to the Zainian before once again burying her nose into Subhas’s shirt.
Subhas let out a surprised huff of laughter, as if caught off guard by his own reaction. “Well,” he said, turning to give Ashwin one last, searching look. “I guess one cannot argue with that. Alright then, I suppose I can stall the change of guard for another week. I should warn you though, you are merely delaying the inevitable,” he looked apologetically at Ruban before turning his gaze back to Ashwin. “We’ll have to initiate the handover by next Monday at the latest. A case like this cannot be left hanging for long.”
Ashwin nodded. “Of course.”
“And now we’ll go for ice-cream!” Hiya announced, turning around to look imperiously at the rest of the party, seeming to sense that the ‘important adult talk’ was finally over. “Right Baan?”
