Perhaps that was all politics. Perhaps that was all civilization.
Kimia did not want to think about this anymore.
She said: “Tell me somezhing stupid.”
Vehm considered what to say and then arrived at an answer.
“I once owed money to a man whose name I didn't know.”
Kimia looked at him.
“Zhat is not stupid enough.”
“I paid him.”
“How?”
“Borrowed from someone whose name I did know.”
“Vehm.”
“You asked.”
Kimia covered her face briefly.
He smiled.
Then the debt returned between them.
Not heavily.
Enough.
“If you want me to help,” Kimia said, “I mean it.”
“I know.”
“No games.”
“I know.”
“I don't care what it's for.”
“Zhat helps.”
“I may care a little.”
Vehm nodded.
“Also fair.”
“You give me names and amounts. We deal with it.”
He looked down at his water glass.
“Some of it is embarrassing.”
“I consumed whiteblood on a plastic sheet zhis afternoon.”
Vehm looked at her. Kimia looked back.
Silence.
Then: “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“You win.”
“I wasn't competing.”
“You always are.”
Kimia almost argued, but didn't.
Vehm rubbed his forehead.
“I’ll make a list.”
“Good.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
“Not tonight.”
“I don't want you doing arithmetic tonight.”
“Neither do I.”
That settled it.
For a while they simply sat.
The cold gradually became uncomfortable.
Kimia welcomed that too.
Physical discomfort occupied cleanly defined territory.
Cold meant cold.
A headache meant dehydration, alcohol, interrupted sleep, medication, too much whiteblood, or some miserable combination of all five.
These things had causes.
They were not cosmic. They did not require theology.
The indrel shifted.
Kimia heard fabric move.
Vehm looked over.
“Does it ever sleep?”
“I zhink.”
“Have you seen it?”
“No.”
“Zhen perhaps not.”
“It rested earlier.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Vehm considered the soldier.
“Standing?”
“Possibly.”
“Zhat would be useful.”
“For you?”
“Yes. Imagine drinking wizhout losing time to lying down.”
Kimia looked at him.
“Your imagination is diseased.”
“I know.”
The garden remained pale beneath the Veil.
Somewhere beyond the palace walls a bell marked four.
Four in the morning.
Kimia listened until the final note faded.
The Diet waited two days away.
Tilmuhl remained intact. Vehm's creditors remained unpaid. The philosopher remained on the shelf. Whiteblood and kilcane remained hidden in her chamber.
Nothing had resolved.
Yet nothing required resolution at four in the morning.
Kimia leaned back against the cold stone.
Vehm beside her.
The indrel beyond.
For once she did not check her pocket watch again.
“I’m going to try,” she repeated quietly.
Vehm heard.
This time he did not say good.
He only sat with her beneath the Heavenly Veil while the night slowly ran out.