“Baan!” the little ball of fiery delight burst through the doors of the stately residence. Skipping over the scrupulously tended garden, she threw herself at the Hunter the moment he had stepped out of the sedan.

Even as Ruban picked his ten-year-old cousin up into his arms, the passenger door clicked open to reveal Simani. She held herself a little stiffly and moved with a tad more caution than usual, but apart from that there was no indication of the injuries she had suffered only a few weeks ago. She smiled at the little girl in her partner’s arms and with a conspiratorial wink, whipped out a large pack of Dairy Milk chocolate from somewhere within the folds of her multi-layered tunic. The girl squealed, wriggling in Ruban’s arms to get within reach of the gigantic candy bar.

“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?”

Ruban sighed, looking up at his cousin with a lopsided smile. “Well, I don’t see why not,” he said, getting to his feet with a chuckle. “It’s been quite a day. It deserves to end with excess calories.”

“I’d say so,” Ashwin chimed in as they all filed out of the house, the procession led by Hiya.

***

Simani strolled lazily through the little yard surrounding the Quarters, a cigarette dangling loosely from her fingers. She was finally back at the office after a gap of over half a month, not that it was doing her much good. She was to be chained firmly to the desk for another couple of weeks at least; no field-work for her until the damned doctors gave her a clean chit of health. It was all profoundly frustrating.

As she turned a corner near the back of the building, a hand grabbed her and pulled her unceremoniously into an alcove between the red-brick walls.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the interest, Ashwin,” she said in a level voice to the dishevelled-looking boy who still held her loosely around her wrist, his eyes bright with what she thought might have been excitement. Her own hand had gone instinctively to the holster at her belt. “But you do realise I could have killed you if I’d had just a tad bit less self-control. Or if you hadn’t been just a tad bit too pretty to disfigure.”

Ashwin laughed, and the sound reminded her vaguely of the slow tinkling of temple bells during Friday prayers. “Sorry to startle you, Simani. But I really did need to speak with you. I need your help.”

“And help you would’ve had even if you’d waited another ten minutes for me to get back into the office.”

Ashwin shook his head emphatically. “No, no. This is…secret. We can’t let Ruban find out we’re doing this. That’s why I couldn’t talk to you inside,” he glanced furtively at the main entrance before shaking his head again, loose strands of hair flying everywhere.

Simani felt her skin prickle with something that wasn’t exactly suspicion, but was close enough. “What do you mean? Why can’t Ruban know about whatever this is?”

Ashwin made a face. “’Cause he would never allow it, is why. He’s no fun whatsoever.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m only trying to help. But he’ll be all up in my face threatening to drive that damned knife into my throat, I just know it. So, it’s got to be you. You’ve got to help me get the tapes.”

“Tapes? What tapes?”

“The SifCo tapes, of course,” Ashwin said matter-of-factly. Then, when Simani continued to stare at him uncomprehendingly, he elaborated with the longsuffering sigh of one surrounded by his intellectual inferiors. “The security tapes at SifCo. There must have been surveillance cameras in the building. Particularly in the room with the formula, the one which Tauheen attacked. I need the footage of the fight – you know, between Ruban and Tauheen.”

“What for?” asked Simani, frowning. “That’s evidence, Ashwin. Vital evidence in an ongoing investigation. You can’t just walk in and take those tapes.”

“Of course I can’t. That’s the whole point. That’s why I need you. We still have the case for another week, so you have all the access you need. You can get the tapes for me.”

“But what for? What will you do with them?”

“I’ll keep my promise,” he said, looking earnestly into her eyes. “I said I’ll do what I can to help Ruban keep the SifCo case. And I plan to keep my word.”

Simani took a drag of her cigarette, then threw it down, putting it out with the heel of her boot. In truth, she had no real reason to doubt Ashwin’s sincerity. He had been with them for almost two months and in all that time had shown no signs of wanting anything but to see the case through, as he had originally claimed during their first meeting at the IAW. Looking at him now, she couldn’t detect any signs of deception on his face. Still, Simani had never been a particularly trusting person to begin with, and four years at Bracken had beaten any remaining shreds of gullibility out of her system. “Fine, I can get you the tapes,” she said, looking at him through narrowed eyes, watching to see his reaction. “But first, you have to tell me what you plan to do with them.”

If Simani had expected to see hesitation in Ashwin’s eyes, she did not find it. Instead, they lit up with what she thought was amusement, and he just laughed some more. “Show the world what we already know, of course,” he said easily. “That there couldn’t be anyone better suited to handle this case than Ruban.”

Simani sighed. She had a feeling it was just as well that she didn’t know anything more about this hare-brained scheme than this. Plausible deniability certainly had its uses. “Alright, I’ll get you the tapes. I’ll need to get in touch with the IAW, though. That’s where all the evidence is stored. It might take a couple of days.”

Ashwin’s eyes widened. “IAW?” he said incredulously. “No, no, don’t do that. We go straight to SifCo. They’ll have a copy of the footage. And they’ll give it to you if you ask – just for a while, of course, so we can make a copy of our own. You’re a Hunter, and involved with this case. You can just tell them you need it for the investigation and they won’t suspect a thing.”

“But why?” asked Simani, baffled. “Why go through all that trouble when I can just get it from the IAW? As you said, I still have access in this case.”

“Because, Simani,” Ashwin began, the longsuffering tone back. “If you withdraw evidence from the IAW, there’ll be an official record of it. It would be far harder to explain away than a casual chat with some junior security staff at SifCo.”

Simani looked up at the sky – the day was remarkably clear for monsoon – and prayed to heaven for the patience to deal with the Zainian without putting a bullet through his head. “Alright Ashwin,” she said finally, leaning back against the wall to get a better look at his face. “We’ll go to SifCo tonight.”

***

Viman Rai sat in his office, glancing through the script for the day’s programme, sent over by the output desk for his perusal before it was finalised. Usually, he liked editing his scripts. People didn’t often realise how much of a role ‘voice’ played in a news broadcast. It wasn’t always just about the facts; it was almost never just about the facts. It was about who was giving you the facts, and how well they were giving it. You couldn’t sound sincere or honest if you were speaking in somebody else’s voice. Not even the most skilled writer could perfectly imitate another person’s tenor. All the best anchors that he had ever known had significant input in their own scripts. They made sure their ‘voice’ was in it.

Today, though, he felt a vague sense of restlessness that he couldn’t really put a finger on. He wanted to go for a walk, although he knew it was a ridiculous notion. They’d start filming in less than an hour; there was no time for dithering. He forced himself to concentrate on the script.

He looked up, surprised, when the door to his office banged open. Menaka, his rundown producer, burst in with what looked like a brown envelope clutched to her breast, her eyes wild. Viman sat up in his chair, mildly alarmed. Menaka was an excitable woman, but he had not seen her in quite such a state since the Parliament attack story broke last year. “What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible.

“I think you would want to see this,” she said, holding the envelope out to him, her eyes wide and anxious.

“What is it?” he asked, examining the package. He flipped the envelope over. It was unmarked save for a single name scribbled across the plain side – Brij. He frowned, looking up at Menaka. What about this package had put her in such a state? “Brij sent something? Something we need to include in today’s broadcast?”

Brij was one of his old sources, back from his reporting days, a young pickpocket he had befriended back when he had been covering crime for a local daily. It had been a long time since Viman had last been on the field, but Brij still sent him little titbits of information whenever he came across something interesting, though usually he just called or texted. In return, Viman took him out for dinner and drinks every couple of months. He couldn’t imagine what Brij might have sent that would warrant such a reaction from one of his producers, though.

Reaching into the envelope, his fingers found a small pen drive. Viman frowned; this was unusual. Taking the pen drive out of the package, he inserted it into the appropriate slot on his desktop. The folder opened to reveal a single file, a video of some kind. “What is this?”

“You need to see it for yourself.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to get any answers out of her. Viman sighed and quickly double-clicked the video icon.

***

Fifteen minutes later, Viman sat back, flabbergasted. “I don’t understand,” he said, his voice slightly unsteady. “How could…where on earth could Brij possibly have found this?”

“It’s obviously been edited,” Menaka was saying, seeming to have rediscovered some of her faculties now that she had shared her burden with her boss. “You can’t hear what the Aeriel is saying to the Zainian nobleman. Isn’t he the same one Casia Washi was parading around a couple of months ago? And a lot of the background details are blurred. But my God, this video! We could play this and nothing else for the entire hour today and we would be at the top of every ratings chart for the next week at least. When I first saw it, I would’ve sworn it was at least partly doctored. But IT says it’s a hundred percent authentic.”

“So the rumours are true then,” Viman said, ignoring Menaka’s chattering. “The Aeriel Queen has resurfaced. She was the one who attacked SifCo. It’s a surprise it ended as well as it did, really. If half of what they say about her is true, we could have been swimming in casualties after that attack.”

“What?”

“The Aeriel, the one that made it out. The one that was talking to the Zainian. Didn’t you see its wings? The three red marks. It was Tauheen, the last Aeriel Queen.”

Menaka gasped. “Oh-oh my God. I-I didn’t–”

Viman cut her off. “Go tell the output people we’re running this today itself. Rewrite the script; call SifCo and the IAW for comment. I need to make a call.”

***

Brij picked up on the second ring. “Hullo, Viman ji, what can I do for you sir?”

“I received the package you sent me,” began Viman carefully. “Where did you get it?”

“Ah, you got it? Good good. He told me it was something you’d like.”

“He who?”

“An old friend of mine, sir. From back home. He’s a waiter at a pub in Himli now, place called ‘Red Poppy’. You wouldn’t know him, I don’t think. Said an old patron of his sent it to him, sir, with money so as to pass it on to the capital. Said ‘twas very important news, he did. So I thought perhaps you’d like it.”

“What’s his name, this friend of yours?”

“Gabin sir, but he’s never been to the city, to my knowledge. You wouldn’t know him.”

“And this patron of his, you know who it was? Can you find out?” Viman asked, expectantly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this excited about a story.

“Can’t rightly say, sir. I don’t think Gab knows neither; the gentleman’s name, that is. He did say the package arrived from Zaini, though. With instructions to pass it on to the capital.”

“Zaini? That doesn’t make any sense. How could this video have gone to Zaini when nobody’s seen it in Ragah?”

“Can’t rightly say, sir,” Brij said. He sounded nervous now, frightened. “Is there omething’ wrong in it?”

Viman did his best to calm himself, make his voice as friendly and reassuring as he could. After all, Brij was a good source, as well as a good friend. It wouldn’t do to lose him. And he had no idea how much he had helped Viman by passing the drive on to him. It was luck beyond his wildest dreams, that the video should have come to Brij of all people. “Nothing wrong, Brij. You did a fantastic job, in fact. Do come by the office this weekend. This deserves a celebration,” he smiled into the phone, already clicking on the video icon on his desktop one more time.

“Yes, yes of course Viman ji. I’ll surely be there,” Brij responded eagerly, and Viman knew that the man was already planning the menu in his mind.

“See you later then,” he said distractedly, and disconnected the line as the video started playing once again.

***

Just as the Hunter, Ruban Kinoh, raised the sifblade to stab the fallen Tauheen in the chest, the door to Viman’s office slid open and Menaka walked in. He looked up at her, pausing the video. She looked more composed and self-possessed than she had when she left the office, though she was still clearly excited.

“We’ve made the changes to the script, sir. Everything is ready. We’re airing the video today itself, no delays. We’ll start filming in twenty minutes. I’ll send the make-up people around, shall I?”

Viman nodded, straightening, brushing imaginary lint off his suit-jacket. He could feel his blood thrumming in his veins. He liked his job, but it had been a while since he had felt so profoundly excited by it – it was intoxicating. Finally, he breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the moist monsoon air. It was showtime.

***

Casia Washi looked down at her buzzing cell phone and frowned. Lifting five fingers in an unspoken signal to her crew, she slid out of the studio and walked briskly towards the east balcony; it was usually deserted this time of day. She recognised the number immediately, of course. She was the one who had bought the Zainian that SIM card soon after they had first met; he didn’t seem to have had much of an idea about the rules of international telecommunication. She supposed life in one of the noble houses of Zaini wasn’t conducive to much by way of practical education. What she didn’t know, however, was why he was calling her now, over two months after they had last seen each other. She couldn’t deny her curiosity, though, and slipping into the empty balcony, she clicked on the receive button. “Hello?”

“Miss Casia!” Ashwin’s voice came through the line, exuberant, and she could almost imagine him standing right in front of her, dark eyes sparkling with zest over whatever new thing had caught his fancy. “You have to meet me.”

“I do?” Casia said archly. “And why would that be?”

“Because there was an attack on SifCo about a week ago, and we need to talk about it.”

Casia frowned. “What’s there to talk about? Everyone knows about the SifCo attack already. We’ve been doing segments on it for days. I’ve exhausted all my sources in the matter.”

“Yes yes,” Ashwin said impatiently. “But you haven’t done a segment on this. I was there, Miss Casia. I know exactly what happened. I could tell you all about it.”

“You were there during the attack?” Casia asked, surprised.

“Uh-huh. From start to finish. And there’s a video that’ll be aired tonight by Viman Rai over at CXN that’ll prove it too.”

“What? How do you know all this?”

“My superiors in Zaini told me that a surveillance video from SifCo was leaked to the media. Apparently somebody had hacked into their systems or something like that. I don’t know.” And Casia believed that he didn’t, in fact, know. He sounded so confused she almost took pity on him.

“Alright Ashwin, I believe you. But what exactly do you have to tell me about it?”

“I want people to know exactly what happened at SifCo. There’s a lot of misconceptions floating around. And like you said, Miss Casia, if there’s anybody that deserves to know about the threats facing this country, it is the people of this country. I just want to make sure that the people aren’t kept in the dark any longer,” he sounded so painfully sincere, Casia had the irrational urge to tell him that everything was going to be alright. She tamped down on it hard.

“You say all that now, but how do I know you won’t bail on me again like you did on Emancipation Day?” she asked instead.

“Oh come on, Miss Casia,” Ashwin began, and he sounded genuinely contrite, though still defensive. “The Senior Secretary of Defence ordered me to stop talking to the media. I am but a foreign emissary in this country, a rather insignificant one at that. What would you have had me do?”

Casia sighed. She knew this, of course, and she knew it was irrational to hold the Zainian responsible for what had happened. Still, it had stung at the time, and Casia had never had an easy time letting things go. Now wasn’t the time for indecision, though. Forcing herself to look at the situation objectively, she said: “What do you have to offer me, my lord, that we don’t already know about this incident?”

“Please don’t call me that,” Ashwin sounded plaintive. Casia sighed, waiting for him to continue. It was hard to hold a grudge against someone so willing to roll over. “And as for what you don’t already know, Miss Casia,” he said, some of the verve returning to his voice. “It wasn’t just any old Aeriel that attacked SifCo. It was Tauheen.”

Casia spluttered. “What? Th-that can’t be. Those are just rumours. Baseless rumours.”

“They are not. It’s been kept out of the media so as not to alarm the public. Though personally, I don’t think that’s a very good idea, to keep the people in the dark. As I said, it’s all there in the video. You’ll see it yourself tonight.”

“I won’t have to wait that long,” said Casia, steel in her voice. “I have friends at CXN, favours I can call in. I’ll know what’s on that video before it is aired. And Ashwin? Come over to the studio at around seven this evening. Viman’s show airs at eight. I’ll fit you in in the eight-thirty slot. People will have seen the video by then, so we can have an exclusive interview plus an in-depth analysis of the footage. It’ll be quite the competition!” She was talking more to herself than to Ashwin now, the plan unfolding like a fully laid out chessboard in her mind. She pulled herself back from her musings and tried to focus on the conversation at hand. “Don’t be late Ashwin, and you can say your piece to the nation.”

Disconnecting the call, she strode back towards the studio. She needed to have a word with Jiniya.

***

Ruban entered the flat, latching the door behind him with a sigh of relief. It had been a long day. It seemed as though Aeriel activity was escalating all across the country, not just in the capital. Today itself, they had received reports of two attacks in the suburbs and some minor incidents in the National Capital Region surrounding Ragah. He was exhausted and he could feel a headache approaching, though in a way he supposed he was also grateful for the distraction. Today was the last day of the week, the last day he officially retained the SifCo case. On Monday, he’d have to hand it over to a new team put together by the IAW brass.

The thought of it made his blood boil and he wanted to slam his fist into the wall, just to relieve the festering feeling of utter helplessness. Still, the fact remained that he was, in fact, helpless in this matter. He couldn’t even really blame Subhas. He knew the man was doing his best, and he understood – even if reluctantly – the compulsions of his uncle’s position.

None of that made this easier, though. Ruban was self-aware enough to recognise that his aversion to the situation was caused as much by his wounded pride as a genuine sense of professional investment in the case. But still, he itched to storm into the IAW headquarters and give those damned paper-pushers a piece of his mind. He would have liked to see which one of them fared better in the situation that Ruban had been in: faced – with no warning whatsoever – with the Aeriel Queen herself; nothing but a standard-issue sifblade on his person and two civilians in the room, one of them unconscious.

Speaking of civilians, Ruban spared a moment to be thankful that Ashwin wasn’t here now, having flittered off earlier in the evening to meet some ‘friends’ in the city. Ruban supposed he was going to the Zainian embassy, and let him go. If the young man had indeed had any malicious intent so far as the SifCo case was concerned, he had had ample opportunity to act on it by now. Besides, he thought bitterly, that case was no longer his responsibility, or his concern.

It was just as well. Ruban was in no mood for company and he didn’t fancy losing his cool in front of the Zainian. He walked over to the kitchenette to fix himself a cup of coffee. God knew he needed caffeine to keep himself from passing out tonight, and he needed to stay up to deal with the deluge of cases that had suddenly landed on their laps over the past week.

An insistent knock on the door, followed quickly by another, louder one, tore him away from his thoughts. Putting his cup down on the counter, Ruban walked over to the sitting room and pulled the door open. Vikram Vaz stood on the other side of the threshold, breathing quickly as if he had just run a long distance, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Turn on the TV,” Vikram said without preamble, pushing himself past Ruban and into the flat. He marched over to the outdated television set in the small living room and flicked on the main switch. “Where’s the remote?”

“Wh-what? Vik, what on earth are you doing here? And what’s with the TV? Have you lost it?” Ruban asked, flabbergasted.

Vikram laughed. “It’s not me, my friend. The world has lost it. Turn on the TV and you’ll see. You’re the hero of Ragah once again. Hell, the Parliament attack had nothing on this. I’d be surprised if you received any less than a million marriage proposals this time. They’ll be making movies about you after this.” With that, Vikram finally managed to locate the remote under one of the sofa cushions and pressed the power button. The television flared to life.

“What are you saying, man? Stop talking in riddles and tell me what’s going on,” Ruban said irritably, making a grab for the remote. The other man dodged him – with more agility than Ruban would have expected from the academic. Apparently having a Hunter for a wife had taught him a few tricks after all – and pointed the remote at the TV again, flicking through the channels until he found the one he wanted.

The words died on Ruban’s lips when his mind registered exactly what it was that he was seeing. The screen was split into two halves. On the left hand side was playing what looked like a pre-recorded video of poor quality, slightly hazy with bad lighting. On the right, Casia Washi was talking animatedly with Ashwin Kwan.

Looking closely, Ruban finally realised why the video seemed familiar. It was not that he had seen it ever before, it was that he was in it. Frame after frame of the fight at SifCo passed before his eyes: him killing the first Aeriel; Tauheen’s arrival, her crimson-tipped wings flaring as she blasted half the wall off; him overpowered and pinned down by the Aeriel Queen as Ashwin swung the table at her; then Ruban’s final attack upon the creature and Tauheen’s escape. The scenes were blurry and ill-defined – security camera feed, he realised dimly – but there was no mistaking what was going on. Ruban was fighting the Aeriel Queen, and losing by a hair’s breadth against impossible odds.

Eventually, the video concluded and the frame to the left disappeared, the panel on the right expanding to cover the entire screen. Through the ringing in his ears, Ruban caught snatches of the conversation between Washi and Ashwin:

“And you’re sure it was Tauheen?” Washi was asking, and even through the haze in his mind Ruban could hear the raw curiosity in her voice.

“Yup,” Ashwin said, his tone enthusiastic. “Even if it weren’t for the markings on her wings, didn’t you see the way she was moving? Not even Aeriels can move that fast; not normal ones anyway.”

“Still, Ruban Kinoh put up an admirable fight, considering the circumstances…”

“Quite so,” Ashwin nodded earnestly, looking at the camera with big, solemn eyes. “If it hadn’t been for him, Dr. Visht and I would most certainly be dead. That Aeriel was so…scary.” He shuddered visibly.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” Washi smiled encouragingly at her companion. “You aided Mr. Kinoh when he was overpowered by Tauheen. That was very brave of you.”

Ashwin dipped his head, a shy little smile on his lips. “I only did what I had to. Truth is, Mr. Kinoh was fighting impossible odds. We were wholly unprepared for the attack. No one has seen Tauheen in decades; nobody could have imagined she’d show up at SifCo of all places. All the help in the world wouldn’t have made any difference that day.” He shook his head from side to side, sighing resignedly.

“Do you not believe that this menace can be overcome, then?” Washi asked.

“Oh of course it can, but only with proper planning and preparation. Of course, Mr. Kinoh has already faced Tauheen once, and he almost got her then. I’m sure that given enough time to plan and prepare a strategy, with the necessary help from the government and the IAW, Mr. Kinoh will have no problems capturing the Aeriel Queen. There’s nobody else who actually knows what it is to fight Tauheen face to face, and I cannot imagine anyone better suited to the task of overcoming this new menace.” Ashwin’s voice was so guilelessly sincere, Ruban almost believed it himself.

“There are rumours about the video having been leaked from Zaini…” Washi let the unspoken question hang in the air. Even through the pounding pain that had now spread throughout his skull, Ruban could appreciate her skill as an interviewer. She had said nothing, yet had implied everything in that one simple sentence.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. Clearly, whoever leaked that video was acting against the law – probably another one of the Aeriels’ schemes to divide us in this time of crisis. The culprit must be brought to justice as soon as possible.”

With a flick of his finger, Vikram turned off the television. “This has been going on for a couple of hours now. CXN first aired the video – apparently they’d received it through some anonymous source, though God only knows what source that is – and every channel’s been playing it on a loop ever since. And then our boy Ashwin went on at Casia Washi’s show and he’s been gushing about your vaunted bravery for the past hour, live on national TV. I wouldn’t be surprised if teenage girls were forming online fan clubs in your name as we speak,” he chuckled.

Before Ruban could think of an appropriate response to that comment, his phone rang. Reaching almost blindly for the device, he pressed answer.

“Am I speaking to Mr. Ruban Kinoh, Chief Hunter, South Ragah Division?” the cool voice on the other end of the line asked. IAW, thought Ruban, his blood thrumming in his veins even as he answered in the affirmative. “The Director would like to speak with you, sir. Please wait while I put you through.”

Ruban’s breath caught in his throat. He had expected to be put through to his uncle. What on earth did the Director of the IAW want with him? Before he could think much more about it though, a hearty voice came through the line, drawing his attention to it.

“Ruban, my boy!” the Director said, his voice warm.

Ruban could count on one hand the number of times he had met the Director during his time as a Hunter, and the man had never struck him as being particularly congenial during those short encounters. “Sir?” he said, cautious.

“You have done a fantastic job, young man. Wonderful indeed! You’ve ensured the safety of this city and made the Hunter Corps proud to have you in its ranks. I had been meaning to tell you that in person this past week, but something always seemed to come up that needed my attention. You know how it is.”

“Uh,” said Ruban, not sure how he was expected to respond to that.

“Anyway,” continued the Director, brushing aside whatever opinions Ruban might have had about his schedule. “What I called to say is this. If you need any assistance with this case, anything at all, money, men or anything else, feel free to talk to me directly, alright? All the resources of the IAW and the Centre will be at your disposal for the duration of this case. The safety of this city, this nation is paramount, and we are all relying upon you to ensure that it remains intact. Do not hesitate to ask for whatever you need to capture Tauheen and bring her to justice. This is now our first priority. I have every faith in you, Ruban. I know you can do it, if anyone can.”

“Yes sir. Of course,” Ruban said slowly. He held the phone to his ear for a few more minutes as the Director continued to speak, his tone oddly intimate. Finally, the line went dead, and Ruban threw the phone onto the sofa, sitting heavily down beside it.

“I don’t understand,” he said at length, turning to Vikram after he had had a moment to digest it all. He still felt rather shaken. “There was a leak – a security breach at SifCo. Or at the IAW, for that matter. How does nobody seem to have noticed that?”

Vikram laughed. “Oh come on, Ruban. You know what this is as well as I do. The city’s being swept by a media storm, and you’re at the centre of it all. And for once, it seems to be going in our favour. Don’t look so glum. This is your own personal manna, the opportunity you’ve been waiting for all week. Nobody cares what really happened or how; what matters is what the public thinks happened. And at least for now, they seem to think you’re a grand fucking hero! Not even the Prime Minister himself could take the SifCo case away from you now.”

***