Ghopal Singh’s report was not reassuring. “The graffiti is everywhere but we just can’t catch anybody doing it. It’s much worse than it was five years ago. Nowadays, with a lot of people on our side, you’d think we’d be able to come up with a clue. All we get is nonsense about ghosts and demons and things you can see only if you’re not looking for them.”
Mogaba steepled long fingers under his chin. “The thing is, Ghopal, I’ve seen both demons and ghosts with my own eyes. When I had just become part of the Black Company one of the Company wizards had a pet demon. It later turned out to be our enemy, but that doesn’t matter. It was a demon. And during the siege of Dejagore ghosts often came and went. We all saw them, though hardly anyone ever talked about them.
“Most people blamed Nyueng Bao conjurers.”
Aridatha Singh observed, “The reality of demons and ghosts doesn’t affect the situation. Whether spooks or clever agitators are writing these messages, the messages are there. And enough people can read that the whole population knows what’s being written.”
“What would you do about it?” Mogaba asked.
“Keep watching for vandals but ignore it otherwise. If the people believe we’re indifferent to the criticism they won’t take it seriously either.”
“A notion I hoped to put forward myself,” Ghopal said. “Because people in the street have no more idea than we do who’s putting that stuff up. Which makes them just as nervous as it makes us.”
Mogaba grimaced, “Approved, then. With this caveat. Some of those slogans don’t fit the traditional mold. ‘Thi Kim is coming.’ We still don’t know what that means.”
“The Walking Death is coming,” Ghopal said. “You have to think that means the Daughter of Night’s companion.”
“You think it’s Deceiver work, then?”
“That’s my guess.”
“But Thi Kim is Nyueng Bao. I’ve never heard of any Nyueng Bao Deceivers.”
Ghopal grunted. That had gotten past him.
Aridatha made a joke of it. “We’ll know him when he gets here. People will start dying.”
“Ha, and one more out of charity, ha,” Mogaba replied. “In the meantime, we need to make a decision about our guests. We’ll have a lot of trouble keeping them under control. Especially the wizard. Goblin. Who insists on being addressed as the Khadidas. He did help cow the mob when we had the girl pretend she was the Protector. But he has no interest in our cause. He’ll devour us the instant he stops seeing us as valuable to his cause. Which is bringing on the end of the world.”
Neither of the Singhs responded. Each understood that there was more to the Great General’s words than he was actually saying. That something particularly delicate would come up had been evident from the moment it had become clear that no one else would participate in the meeting.
“I’m thinking we should get rid of him. Right now. Before he gets too comfortable and sure of himself.”
“And the Daughter of Night?” Aridatha asked.
“She’s not much threat on her own.” Meaning the Daughter of Night could be spared. If that was what Aridatha wanted. “Though my guess is, she’s too set in her ways to be redeemed.”
Aridatha’s coloring was pale enough to betray his embarrassment. “That isn’t what I had in mind.”
Ghopal came to his rescue. Inadvertently, having failed to catch the unspoken. “How do we get close enough to do anything? She’ll make us love her so much we’ll want to chop off our own toes.”
“There must be ways around that.”
“I’d be happy to hear suggestions.”
“Well, it’s obvious she can’t do it all the time, whenever she wants, or Aridatha couldn’t have caught her.”
“Unless she wanted to be caught.”
Mogaba feared there might be something to that suggestion. “And that power doesn’t work on weapons. Or poisons.”
“Sorcery might be a possibility,” Ghopal suggested. “You think anyone knows either of their true names?”
Mogaba shook his head. “I don’t think even our enemies could do much there. The girl hasn’t had any name but the Daughter of Night. The Goblin thing is two creatures in one, with the Kina side ruling. The man who knew the Goblin side’s secrets is dead. So we can focus on treachery and poison right away.”
“I don’t want to harp,” Aridatha said, “but I do have to remind everybody that the girl’s parents aren’t that far away. And right now our prospects don’t look that great.”
Mogaba suspected that to be a subtle invitation to discuss his plans. He did not accept.
He did not accept because these days he no longer had any grand plan. He believed his days were numbered, as some of the graffiti insisted. “All their days are numbered.” But the things that made him Mogaba, positive and negative, compelled him to struggle on.