Everyone apparently knew Kalgkur calmed her.
Perhaps Kalgkur knew.
Worse.
They left the council chamber. The portraits remained. The dead yinglet duke continued holding his saber. The explorer continued measuring a sea he would never finish crossing.
Kimia walked.
The palace corridors had become warmer in the afternoon. Sunlight struck the western windows and entered in rectangular slabs. Dust hung in it. Servants moved around the edges of the day carrying linens, correspondence, dishes, keys.
Nobody intercepted her, for once.
At the library doors Kimia felt something close to relief, then immediately distrusted it.
She went inside.
The library had changed inhabitants but not character.
A few more terminals were occupied. Someone stood before the card index pulling drawers in and out. A printer at the far end produced paper in slow mechanical increments. Lamps had been turned on between the shelves as daylight began losing strength.
Kalgkur was still there.
Of course he was.
The old baxxid had migrated to another table. His irrigation documents were gone.
In their place lay several large maps, bound collections of copied letters, a rolled nautical chart, and two books Kimia recognized as histories of maritime trade around Tilmuhl.
He was reading with the concentration of someone who had forgotten that hours were occurring.
Kimia started toward him, then stopped.
There had been something she meant to do.
What?
The thought remained nearby.
Computer.
Yes.
Something on the computer.
She changed direction.
Tarkhe noticed.
The indrel followed whichever version of Kimia presently possessed momentum.
Near the reference terminals stood a set of storage shelves containing removable magnetic cores in square protective cases. Each bore handwritten labels and House catalogue numbers.
Kimia scanned them.
She knew which one she wanted.
Probably.
Her hand selected a core.
Blue casing. A white label.
She read it, then walked to the terminal.
The chair creaked beneath her when she sat.
The screen was dark.
She flipped the power switch.
The terminal awakened. A soft electrical hum. Green text. Memory check. Storage. Network. House operating system.
Kimia waited.
She turned the magnetic core once in her hand.
There was a reason for this.
She knew there had been a reason.
The system completed startup.
Kimia inserted the core into the reader. A light came on. The machine recognized it.
EXTERNAL MAGNETIC DEVICE DETECTED
MOUNT?
Kimia stared at the screen.
She had no idea what she intended to do next.
Not how. Why.
The purpose had disappeared completely.
Kimia sat very still. The computer waited.
MOUNT?
She looked at the core reader, then the terminal, then her own hand resting beside the keyboard.
Nothing.
Perhaps she had intended to retrieve correspondence.
No.
A revenue file?
Already done.
Something for council?
Council had ended.
Peshtulan linguistics?
Why would that be on this core?
The thought did not return.
A little coldness entered her stomach.
Behind her Tarkhe was inspecting a bookshelf.
He had selected a book. He had not opened it.
Kimia could feel his attention without seeing his face.
Someone malicious was watching.
No.
Tarkhe was watching.
Those were not the same thing.
The computer continued blinking.
MOUNT?
Kimia pressed the eject button. The magnetic core disengaged with a small mechanical click.
She removed it. Stood. Returned to the shelf.
She located the empty space. Put the core back. Label outward. Exactly where it had been.
There.
Nothing happened. No one asked. No alarm.
No clerk approached to inquire why the Duchess of House Chityala had inserted a storage device into a computer and then immediately returned it.
The act had left no meaningful consequence.
This somehow made it worse.
Kimia smoothed the front of her kaftan.
Tarkhe removed the book from the shelf.
He opened it.
Pretending.
Kimia looked at him.
He looked at the page.
“Interesting?”
Tarkhe did not lift his eyes.
“Extremely.”
“What is it?”