The Windup Girl

  Hock Seng grimaces. The number four is everywhere in his mind these days. The Tiger of Bangkok only got four chances. How many has he himself used up? Hock Seng studies the docks and the clustered people, all unable to make their ships. With the sharpened senses of a refugee, he smells hazard in the wind, sharper than the sea air that sweeps across a clipper and presages typhoon.

  The Tiger is dead. Captain Jaidee's painted eyes stare out at Hock Seng, and Hock Seng has the sudden, horrified feeling that the Tiger is not dead. That in fact, he is hunting.

  Hock Seng shies away from the poster as if it is a blister-rusted durian. He knows in his bones, knows as surely as his clan is all dead and buried in Malaya, that it's time to run. Time to hide from tigers that hunt though the night. Time to plunge into leech-infested jungles and eat cockroaches and slither through the mud of the rainy season as it gushes in torrents. It doesn't matter where he goes. All that matters is that it's time to flee. Hock Seng stares out at the anchored clipper ship. Time to make hard decisions. Time, in truth, to give up on the SpringLife factory and its blueprints. Delays will only make it worse. Money must be spent. Survival secured.

  This raft is sinking.

  27

  Carlyle is already waiting anxiously in the rickshaw when Anderson comes out of his building. The man's eyes flick from right to left, cataloguing the darkness around him in a nervous rotation. The man has the trembling cautiousness of a rabbit.

  "You look jumpy," Anderson notes as he climbs in.

  Carlyle grimaces. "The white shirts just took the Victory. Confiscated everything."

  Anderson glances up at his own apartment, glad that poor old Yates chose to locate far from the rest of the farang. "You lose much?"

  "Cash in the safe. Some customer lists that I was keeping away from our offices." Carlyle calls forward to the rickshaw driver, giving directions in Thai. "You'd better have something to offer these people."

  "Akkarat knows what I'm offering."

  They begin rolling through the humid night. Cheshires scatter. Carlyle glances behind them, scanning for followers. "No one's officially going after farang, but you know we're next on the list. I'm not sure how much longer we'll be able to keep a toehold in the country."

  "Look on the bright side. If they go after farang, Akkarat won't be far behind."

  They spin across the darkened city. Ahead of them, a checkpoint materializes. Carlyle mops his forehead. He's sweating like a pig. The white shirts hail their rickshaw and they slow.

  Anderson feels a prickle of tension. "You're sure this will work?"

  Carlyle wipes his brow again. "We'll know soon enough." The rickshaw coasts to a stop and the white shirts surround them. Carlyle speaks rapidly. Hands across a piece of paper. The white shirts confer for a moment, and then they're giving obsequious wais and motioning the farang forward.

  "I'll be damned."

  Carlyle laughs, relief obvious in his voice. "The right stamps on a piece of paper do wonders."

  "I'm amazed that Akkarat still has any influence."

  Carlyle shakes his head. "Akkarat couldn't do this."

  The buildings turn to slums as they near the seawall. The rickshaw swerves around pieces of concrete that have fallen from the heights of an old Expansion hotel. Anderson supposes that it must have been lovely in the past. The terraced levels rise above them, silhouetted in moonlight. But now slum shacks lap all around it, and the last bits of its plate glass windows glimmer like teeth. The rickshaw slows to a halt at the foot of the seawall's embankment. Paired guardian naga flank the stairs to the top of the seawall. They watch as Carlyle pays the rickshaw man.

  "Come on." Carlyle leads Anderson up the steps, his hand trailing along the scales of the naga. From the top of the levee, they have a clear view of the city. The Grand Palace shines in the distance. High walls obscure the inner courts that house the Child Queen and her entourage, but its gold-spiked chedi rise above, gleaming softly in the moonlight. Carlyle tugs Anderson's sleeve. "Don't dawdle."

  Anderson hesitates, searching the darkness of the shoreline below. "Where are the white shirts? They should be all over this place."

  "Don't worry. They don't have authority here." He laughs at some secret joke and ducks under the saisin that strings along the levee's top. "Come on." He scrambles down the rubbled embankment, picking his way toward the lap of the waves. Anderson hesitates, still scanning the open area, then follows.

  As they reach the shoreline, a kink-spring skiff materializes out of the darkness, hurtling toward them. Anderson almost bolts, thinking it's a white shirt patrol, but Carlyle whispers, "It's ours." They wade out into the shallows and clamber aboard. The boat pivots sharply and they cut away from shore. Moonlight glints on the waves, a blanket of silver. The only sounds in the boat come from the slap of waves on the hull and the tick of kink-springs unwinding. Ahead of them, a barge looms, dark except for a few LED running lights.

  Their skiff bumps up against the side. A moment later, a rope ladder lofts over the side, and they clamber up into the darkness. Crewmen wai respectfully as they come aboard. Carlyle makes a motion for Anderson to keep quiet as they are led below decks. At the end of corridor, guards flank a door. They call through, announcing the arriving farang, and the door opens, revealing a group of men at a large dining table, all laughing and drinking.

  One of the men is Akkarat. Another Anderson recognizes as an admiral who harries the calorie ships going to Koh Angrit. Another he thinks is perhaps a southern general. In one corner, a sleek man wearing a black military uniform stands watching, eyes attentive. Another. . .

  Anderson sucks in his breath.

  Carlyle whispers, "Get down and show some respect." He's already falling to his knees and making a khrab. Anderson drops as quickly as he can.

  The Somdet Chaopraya watches expressionless as they pay obeisance.

  Akkarat laughs at their bowing and scraping. He comes around the table and brings them to their feet. "No need for so much formality here," he says, smiling. "Come. Join us. We're all friends here."

  "Indeed." The Somdet Chaopraya smiles and raises a glass. "Come and drink."

  Anderson wais again, as deeply as he is able. Hock Seng claims that the Somdet Chaopraya has killed more people than the Environment Ministry has slaughtered chickens. Before he was appointed protector of the Child Queen, he was a general, and his campaigns in the east are the brutal stuff of legend. If it weren't for the accident of his common birth line, it is speculated that he might even think to supplant royalty. Instead, he looms behind the throne, and all khrab before him.

  Anderson's heart is pounding. With the Somdet Chaopraya backing a change of government, anything is possible. After years of searching and the failure in Finland, a seedbank is close. And with it, the answer to nightshades and ngaw and a thousand other genetic puzzles. This hard-eyed man who toasts him with a smile that could be friendly or feral holds the keys to everything.

  A servant offers wine to Anderson and Carlyle. They join the assembled men at the table. "We were just talking about the coal war," Akkarat supplies. "The Vietnamese have given up on Phnom Penh for the moment."

  "Good news, then."

  The conversation continues, but Anderson only half listens. Instead, he furtively observes the Somdet Chaopraya. The last time he saw the man was outside the Environment Ministry's temple to Phra Seub, as they both gawked at the Japanese delegation's windup girl. In person, the man appears much older than in the pictures that adorn the city and depict him as a loyal defender of the Child Queen. His face is mottled with drink, and his eyes are sunken with the debauch he is rumored to like so well. Hock Seng claims that his brutal reputation on the battlefield is matched in his private life, and though the Thais may khrab before his image, he is not loved as the Child Queen is. And now, as the Somdet Chaopraya looks up and catches Anderson's gaze, Anderson thinks he sees why.

  He's met calorie executives like this. Men intoxicated on their power and influence, their a
bility to bring nations to heel with the threat of a SoyPRO embargo. A hard, brutal man. Anderson wonders if the Child Queen will actually reach the fullness of her power with this man standing so close. It seems unlikely.

  Conversation around the table continues to carefully avoid the reason for their midnight rendezvous. They speak of harvests in the north, and discuss the problem of the Mekong now that the Chinese have placed more dams at its source. They talk about new clipper ship designs that Mishimoto is preparing for production.

  "Forty knots with favorable winds!" Carlyle pounds the table gleefully. "A hydrofoil package and fifteen hundred tons of cargo. I'm going to buy a fleet of them!"

  Akkarat laughs. "I thought air freight was the future. Heavy-lift dirigibles."

  "With those clippers? I'm willing to hedge my bets. During the old Expansion there was a mix of transit options. Air and sea. I don't see why it won't be the same this time."

  "The new Expansion is on everyone's minds these days." Akkarat's smile fades. He glances at the Somdet Chaopraya, who gives a barely discernable nod. The Trade Minister goes on, speaking directly to Anderson. "Some elements in the Kingdom oppose this progress. Benighted elements, to be sure, but inconveniently tenacious as well."

  "If you're asking for assistance," Anderson says, "we remain happy to provide it."

  Another pause. Akkarat's eyes stray again to the Somdet Chaopraya. He clears his throat. "There are concerns, still, about the nature of your assistance. The history of your sort doesn't invite confidence."

  "A bit like climbing into bed with a nest of scorpions," the Somdet Chaopraya supplies.

  Anderson smiles slightly. "It seems you are already surrounded by a number of nests. With your permission, some of them could be removed. To mutual benefit."

  "The price you're asking is too high," Akkarat says.

  Anderson keeps his voice neutral. "We are asking for nothing other than access."

  "And this man, this Gibbons."

  "You know of him, then?" Anderson leans forward. "You know where he is?"

  The table falls silent. Akkarat glances again at the Somdet Chaopraya. The man shrugs, but it's enough of an answer for Anderson. Gibbons is here. Somewhere in the country. Probably in the city. No doubt designing a follow-up triumph to the ngaw.

  "We're not asking for the country," Anderson says. "The Thai Kingdom is nothing like Burma or India. It has its own history, one of independence. We respect that absolutely."

  The assembled men's faces turn stony.

  Anderson curses himself. Fool. You're speaking to their terrors. He changes tacks. "There are significant opportunities here. Cooperation benefits both parties. My people are prepared to offer significant assistance to the Kingdom if we can come to agreement. Help with your border disputes, calorie security that hasn't been enjoyed since the Expansion, all of this can be yours. This is an opportunity for all of us."

  Anderson trails off. The general is nodding. The admiral is frowning. Akkarat and the Somdet Chaopraya are blanks. He can't read them at all.

  "Please excuse us," Akkarat says.

  It is not a request. The guards indicate that Anderson and Carlyle should leave. A moment later they are out in the passageway with four guards surrounding them.

  Carlyle stares at the floor. "They don't seem convinced. Can you think of any reason why they wouldn't trust you?"

  "I've got weapons and the money for bribes ready to be landed. If they can open communication with Pracha's generals, I can buy and equip them. Where is the risk for them?" Anderson shakes his head, irritated. "They should be jumping at the opportunity. It's the most equitable deal we've ever offered."

  "It's not the offer. It's you. You, and AgriGen, and every bit of your damn history. If they trust you, it happens. If not. . ." Carlyle shrugs.

  The door opens and they're invited back in. Akkarat says, "Thank you so much for your time. I'm sure that we will take your offer under advisement."

  Carlyle slumps, deflated by the polite refusal. The Somdet Chaopraya smiles slightly as the news is delivered. Pleased, perhaps, to slap the farang down. More polite words are passed around the cabin, but Anderson hardly hears them. Rejection. He's so close he can almost taste the ngaw, and still they throw up barriers. There has to be a way to reopen discussion. He stares at the Somdet Chaopraya. He needs a lever. Something to break this impasse—

  Anderson almost laughs out loud. Pieces click into place. Carlyle is still mumbling disappointment, but Anderson just smiles and wais, hunting for a way in. A way to keep the conversation going a bit longer. "I completely understand your concerns. We have not earned sufficient trust. Perhaps we could discuss something different. A project of friendship, say. Something less high stakes."

  The admiral grimaces. "We want nothing from your hand."

  "Please, don't be hasty. We offer in good faith. And regarding that other project, if you change your mind about our assistance, whether it happens in a week, or a year, or ten years, you will always find us supportive."

  "A very fine speech." Akkarat says. He's smiling, even as he shoots the admiral a sharp look. "I'm sure there are no hard feelings, here. Please, at least have one last drink. We've troubled you to come so far, there's no reason we shouldn't part as friends."

  Still in the game then. Anderson feels a rush of relief. "Our sentiments exactly."

  Soon the drink is flowing, and Carlyle is promising that he would happily ship an order of saffron from India as soon as the current embargo is lifted, and Akkarat is telling a story about a white shirt trying to take three bribes from three different food stalls who keeps losing his count, and all the while, Anderson watches the Somdet Chaopraya, waiting for an opening.

  When the man goes to a window to look out at the water, Anderson moves to join him.

  "It's a pity that your proposal wasn't accepted," the man says.

  Anderson shrugs. "I'm happy to be walking out alive. A few years ago, I would have been trampled by megodonts for simply trying to meet with you."

  The Somdet Chaopraya laughs. "You're confident we'll let you walk out?"

  "Confident enough, anyway. It's not a bad gamble," Anderson says. "You and Akkarat are honorable, even if we don't agree on every particular. I don't consider it a particularly risky bet."

  "No? Half the people in this room suggested that feeding you to the river carp tonight was the wisest course." He pauses, hard sunken eyes staring at Anderson. "It was a very close thing."

  Anderson makes himself smile. "I gather you weren't in agreement with your admiral?"

  "Not tonight."

  Anderson wais. "Then I'm grateful."

  "Don't thank me yet. I may yet decide to have you killed. Your kind have a very poor reputation."

  "Would you at least give me a chance to bargain for my life?" Anderson asks wryly.

  The Somdet Chaopraya shrugs. "It wouldn't do you any good. Your life is the most interesting thing I could take."

  "Then I would have to offer something unique."

  The man's hollow eyes flick back to Anderson. "Impossible."

  "Not at all," Anderson says. "I can give you something you've never seen before. Could do it tonight even. Something exquisite. It's not for the squeamish, but it is astonishing and unique. Would that keep you from feeding to the river carp?"

  The Somdet Chaopraya gives him a look of annoyance. "There is nothing you can show me that I have not already seen."

  "Would you care to wager?"

  "Still gambling, farang?" The Somdet Chaopraya laughs. "Haven't you risked enough for one night?"

  "Not at all. I'm just trying to make sure my limbs stay attached. It hardly seems like a risk, given how much I might lose otherwise." He meets the Somdet Chaopraya's eye. "But I am willing to bet. Are you?"

  The Somdet Chaopraya gives him a hard look, calls to his men. "Our calorie man is a gambler! He says he can show me something I haven't seen before. What do you all think of that?"

  His men all laugh. "Th
e odds are very much against you," the Somdet Chaopraya observes.

  "Still, I think the bet is a good one. And I'm willing to place good money on it."

  "Money?" The Somdet Chaopraya makes a face. "I thought we were talking about your life."

  "What about the plans for my kink-spring factory, then?"

  "I could simply take that, if I wanted." The Somdet Chaopraya snaps his fingers, irritated. "Just like that, and they're mine."

  "All right." Anderson grimaces. All or nothing. "What if I offered you and your Kingdom my company's next iteration of U-Tex rice? Would that be a worthwhile bet? And not just the rice, but the grain before it is rendered sterile. Your people can plant it and replant it for as long as it's viable against blister rust. My life can't be worth more than that."

  The room falls quiet. The Somdet Chaopraya studies him. "And to balance that risk? What is it you want if you win?"

  "I want to go forward with the political project we discussed earlier. Under the same terms as we already proposed. Terms which we both know are entirely favorable to you and your Kingdom."

  The Somdet Chaopraya's eyes narrow. "You're a tenacious one, aren't you? And what's to keep you from simply withholding the U-Tex you're offering, if you lose?"

  Anderson smiles and waves a hand toward Carlyle. "I assume that you would have myself and Mr. Carlyle here torn apart by megodonts if we fail to make good. Would that be satisfactory?"

  Carlyle laughs, his voice tinged with hysteria. "What kind of bet is that?"

  Anderson doesn't take eyes away from the Somdet Chaopraya. "The only one that matters. I trust absolutely that his Excellency will be honest if I manage to surprise him. And we will place ourselves in his hands as a token of that trust. It's a perfectly reasonable bet. We're both honorable men."