Page 81 of Vilest Things
Of course.
Yilas and Chami enter the mall quickly and pass the ghostly, empty stores. It is a matter of trial and error before they find themselves at the back of the cybercafe, and even then, Yilas isn’t sure if the place is actually open, given that they’ve wandered through what she thinks must be the back entryway into absolute pitch dark. Her footsteps echo. Chami’s grip on her hand tightens.
“The wait is about an hour, I’m afraid.”
Yilas and Chami shriek at the same time, whirling around. The voice came from behind the counter. Suddenly illuminated by a square of blue light, an old man stands with a bottle of soda in his hands, a straw waving out the top. Though he is well dressed, his jacket hangs off him bizarrely, the padded shoulders at odds with his thin frame.
“Sulian, they’re with me!”
That voice comes from behind the counter too, much lower to the floor. Yilas peers over and finds Bibi with her head sticking out of a square in the floor, waving happily. There’s a basement level beneath the cafe.
“Don’t I keep telling you to register your visitors’ names in advance?” Sulian asks.
“Sorry.” Bibi has already disappeared back down into the basement. “Please allow my visitors through. I’ll tip nicely. Thank you!”
The old man looks tired. He turns to Yilas and Chami, then silently gestures for them to proceed.
“After you,” Chami whispers.
“So I can get murdered first?” Yilas whispers back.
Still, she goes around the counter. Peers down the stairs into the blue basement, sniffing, before stepping onto the ladder carefully. It’s a very small space—no more than three computers in use—echoing with the clatter of rapid typing. Yilas holds out a hand to help Chami behind her. When Chami steps onto the last rung, she loses her footing a little, her elbow knocking into a divider before she regains her balance. Yilas hurries to hold the divider still, then blinks, squinting through the gaps of its foldable hinges. She was mistaken: this isn’t a small space at all; it’s only a small space reserved for the computers. Behind the divider, rows and rows of bookshelves expand onward and onward, taking up most of the basement.
“Over here.”
There are two teenagers present using the other computers, but they’ve got headsets glued to their ears. Yilas and Chami pick past them, shuffling tentatively to the computer that Bibi has occupied.
“We’re going to use a VoIP program,” Bibi says the moment they sit beside her, wasting no time for pleasantries. She clicks around on the screen, pulling open multiple windows.
“A voy-p?” Yilas tries to repeat.
“VoIP. Voice over Internet Protocol.” She looks over. Gets blank stares. “Okay. Sorry. I can run a program that dials out into the provinces. Just input the number. It won’t save it for me, if you’re worried about that.”
“Not like we would believe you, anyhow,” Yilas mutters, covering her hand to type when Bibi nudges the keyboard in front of her. She’s still not convinced that this isn’t a trap. Give it a minute or two, and there will probably be Crescent Society members running in from behind those bookshelves to kidnap her again and carve out her heart.
“I asked around the temple about you earlier,” Bibi says while Yilas finishes inputting the number. “They apologize about involving you with the experiments. Most of the members who were dabbling in that funny business are gone now. We’re not all the same… Well, I suppose we mostly want the same things, but we have different ethics in how we go about it.”
Yilas doesn’t even bother dignifying that with a response.
She’s more concerned with getting Calla’s number right, but the moment she clicks the greenCALLbutton, it displays a connectivity error. Bibi frowns at the screen.
“Weird,” she says. “Even if it’s not going to work, it should at least try calling first.”
“Is the number right?” Chami asks, leaning closer to put her chin on Yilas’s shoulder.
“It is,” Yilas says. “I don’t know why—” It occurs to her. “Hang on. I know.”
She pulls open a browser and navigates to one of San-Er’s online newspapers. On either side of her, Bibi and Chami silently watch as Yilas scrolls through the most recent articles and stops when she finds a write-up about the divine crown. She was reading this absently over lunch. The reporter has drawn a map for them, marked with arrows that indicate the royal delegation’s route into the borderlands.
Chami points forward, understanding why Yilas is checking the delegation route.
“Try Laho’s area code.”
Yilas adds a two-digit province code at the start of Calla’s traveling cellular number. Error.
“Lankil?” Chami suggests next, more uncertain. The delegation would be going too slowly if they’re still in Lankil.
Error.
