He didn’t look at her, but his lips twitched, amused. “You’ll find out soon.”
She bit her tongue. She hated being ignorant, but she’d learned by now that pushing the Jackal was a waste of time and effort. She needed to unlock the final piece of her proposal, the worm with which to bait her hook: She needed to know what the Jackal wanted from Richard.
“Is Richard going to bring the goods wherever we’re headed?” she pried, trying to keep her tone casual.
“Yes,” he said unhelpfully.
“What is it that he has, again? You said it wasn’t money. Is it weaponry? Guns?”
He snorted. “No.”
She’d have better luck conversing with a brick wall. “What is it, then?”
“None of your business, that’s what,” he retorted.
She turned to look out the window, her scowl reflected in the glass. The crush of brown-skinned people outside confirmed her suspicions that they were deep in the Virian quarter of the city. The car crawled at a snail’s pace, bumper to bumper with the one in front of it. Still, people ran between vehicles carelessly, crisscrossing their way through the road as though it were empty. Most of the buildings on this street were ramshackle shops, cubical, concrete structures with rusty corrugated roofs. Half of their wares were out on the street itself, mannequins and battered crates of coconuts sheltered under sagging canvas awnings faded by years in the sun. Groups of beggars sat in the shadows between buildings, their yellow eyes searching as others walked past as though they were invisible.
As the Jackal drove westward, conditions improved gradually, the buildings becoming more modern and clean, the roads becoming wider and emptier. They crossed Morning Bridge into the Welkish side, then turned toward the arts and entertainment district. Gradually, the buildings began to space themselves out. Instead of market stalls, lawns with lush topiaries lined the road. The smell of petrol and street food faded, replaced by the faint perfume of jasmine flowers from the nearby shrubs. Compared to the riot of potholes in the Virian quarter, the newly paved roads here were practically silent.
Though Richard had brought Poppy here a handful of times already, this was the first time she recognized it for what it was: wasteful. A sour taste coated her tongue. How much money had been spent on the upkeep of the Welkish neighborhoods while Virians begged for scraps? How many Virians had died of thirst while the Welks showered their shrubs with water? Her lips pressed into a grim line as she recalled what the reporter had said about Richard lobbying for police funding. If he became viceroy, the suffering would double.
Poppy had to become vicereine. She had to strike her deal with the Jackal now, bait or no bait.
“Jackal,” she began, “do you remember what I said to you, the day the pipe burst?”
“Was it before or after you broke my nose?” he asked. A ghost of a grin touched the corners of his mouth.
Her brows stitched together. “I apologized for that! Besides,youhitmewith a tray,” she sniffed.
His smile grew a little more solid. “So I did. We’ll call it even, then.”
The Jackal slowed the car. Poppy turned, distracted from the subject, craning her neck to see out of the windshield as he parked.
“The museum?” She stared at the grand white building, bewildered. “This is where you’re trading me?”
The Jackal checked his watch. “In approximately fifteen minutes, yes.”
Fifteen minutes?Her heart plummeted. When he opened his door and extended his hand to her, she stalled. “I said we could help each other. The day the pipe burst.”
He frowned. “Why are you talking about this now?”
“If there was a way to get what you wanted from Richard, without working with him, would you take it?”
He scoffed. “In a heartbeat. But there’s no alternative. Trust me. I’ve thought about it extensively.” He glanced at his watch a second time. “We can talk more once we’re inside,” he decided, shoving his hand at her again. “We’re late.”
Reluctantly, Poppy placed her hand in his outstretched one. The rough skin of his palms was warm, even through the gloves. This touch felt different from the way he’d handled her on previous occasions. Instead of the viselike grip he’d used on the day the pipe had burst, he held her hand gently, almost delicately. This time, it was her turn to clutch his hand firmly, determined not to release it until she got what she needed.
Chapter Eighteen
Set Up
Hasan put Poppy’s odd behavior out of his mind as they ascended the steps to the museum. His gang had only had twenty-four hours to plan this. His focus had to be entirely on the mission?—inarguably the most important mission he had ever carried out.
When they got to the ticket booth, he swallowed a sigh of relief. The first step in the plan had gone correctly: On the other side of the booth was Arvind, a vasudhakt member of his gang. Keeping his expression indifferent, he opened his wallet.
“How many crowns?” Hasan asked Arvind, keeping his voice low. This was the predetermined code forHow many of our men are inside?
“Thirty,” Arvind answered. “The price does not include roof access, sir.”Thirty daivyakt inside, plus Samina and her crew on the roof.
