by Kat Ross
“An inn called the Four Dervishes.”
“I know it. I’ll meet you there tomorrow morning if I can. If not, I’ll send a message.”
Their step slowed as they reached the Ash Vareca. Katsu gave him one of those dazzling smiles.
“Clear skies and steady winds, captain,” he said with a small salute.
It was the ritual greeting and farewell between pilots at the Abicari.
Javid arched an eyebrow. “How did you know—”
“I listen,” Katsu laughed, tugging his ear. “You see? I am a quick study.”
He strolled away, loose and wolfish, drawing curious looks from the other pilots. Javid imagined Leila’s approving grin.
Have you kissed him yet?
He swore under his breath. Somehow he’d gotten the mooring line tangled around his foot.
Head down and eyes open, he reminded himself sternly. Katsu doesn’t need your troubles. If you’re a true friend, you’ll watch him sail away in a week. You’ll wave and you’ll smile. And if there are any scraps left when the lion and the hyena are done with you, well, you can stitch them together and go down to Susa.
He’d anticipated a tedious afternoon in the throne room watching the nobility try to curry favor with the new King with gifts and flattery. These audiences were a bore, enlivened only by the occasional assassination attempt. But when Javid arrived at the palace, he was told Shahak had holed up in his chambers and couldn’t be disturbed.
“Experiments,” whispered the chamberlain, who knew Javid well by this point and couldn’t resist gossiping. “He won’t open the door for anyone, not even his own steward. I don’t think he’s eaten in days.” He glanced around. “The guards hear strange noises inside. Like the growls of wild beasts.”
Javid arched an eyebrow. “Has the King of Kings requested any deliveries?”
“No.” The chamberlain wrung his hands. “We dare not knock. He flew into a terrible rage when the Hazara-patis tried to enter.”
If the Master of a Thousand, the powerful official who administered the entire palace staff, was being refused entry, Javid had no intention of trying it himself. The Holy Father only knew what Shahak was getting up to now.
“I shall return tomorrow,” he said. “Send a messenger if he calls for me in the meantime.”
The chamberlain bobbed his head and Javid walked away, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Perhaps this was the end. The King’s final self-destruction. Javid just hoped he was far from the Rock when it happened.
The next morning, he went to the Four Dervishes and found Katsu having breakfast in the common room. With the city withering under the Pythia’s trade embargo and now the disappearance of the Marakai, Bahruz was delighted to see them, though he pretended to be awash in orders from other clients. Javid haggled over the last sock, and despite Bahruz’s protestations that his family would starve, he thought the tailor was secretly pleased to have someone to argue with.
Over the following days, he became Katsu’s guide to Samarqand. They visited the public gardens and the royal zoo, and watched a game of chaugan, the players thundering across the field on horseback to chase a little wooden ball with long mallets. They wandered through the bazaar, admiring carpets and incense and perfumes of rosewater.
Each morning, Javid dutifully went to the palace. Shahak remained indisposed, although the chamberlain said he’d accepted a tray of food left outside his door. Izad Asabana had gone off to Susa, supposedly to negotiate a new contract with some minor noble but more likely to avoid the King, so Javid found he’d gotten his leave after all.
At the end of each day, he and Katsu would buy skewers of roasted meat from the colorful stalls at the edge of the Abicari and check on the progress of the new ship. Javid watched Katsu’s delight as it took shape. True to his word, Savah was pushing the carpenters at a relentless pace. The hull had already been completed and they were laying down the deck and fixtures. It had two snug berths with storage compartments and brass-trimmed portholes. At Katsu’s request, the seamstresses embroidered a silver oyster on the air sack—some obscure Stygian deity called Babana.
All progressed satisfactorily. But whenever Javid suggested they meet some of the other pilots for hire, Katsu found a way to put him off. He would change the subject or pretend to be tired and beg his leave. Javid knew what he was doing but found the Stygian slippery as an eel.
Indeed, beneath his easy manner lurked a shrewd and determined man. During their wanderings around the city, Katsu asked intelligent questions about which goods turned the highest profit and who could be trusted to honor a contract. Javid told him all he’d learned during his long years of service to the Guild, and also about Asabana and how he’d made his fortune.
The only thing he omitted was where the dust came from—and Katsu never asked. It wasn’t a matter of trust. Javid felt ashamed. He was, in simple terms, a grave robber. Yes, the Vatras had done terrible things. But some of those bones belonged to children. Javid himself only used spell dust now when he absolutely had to, and it made his skin crawl.
Still, he was happy to take Katsu for short trips in the Ash Vareca so he could learn the basics of piloting a wind ship. During one of these jaunts, Katsu told him the full story of what had happened in Tjanjin. Javid found it hard to believe the naïve girl he’d known as Ashraf had gotten embroiled in such a wild adventure. It seemed more like a story than anything real. The thought of the Vatras’ return troubled him, but he took comfort in the fact that it had transpired far away, on the other side of the White Sea. Nothing to do with him—as long as he didn’t run into any fire daēvas in the Kiln.
They were drifting southward over the hills between Samarqand and Susa when Katsu brought up the dungeons again.
“Do you remember promising me a ride in a wind ship?” he asked with a grin. “Bet you never expected me to collect.”
“That was right before I got hauled before the Pythia.” He glanced at Katsu. “We’re lucky bastards to have gotten out.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it. I’d still be there if not for you.”
Javid opened the valve beneath the air sack. The ship began to rise. “And I would likely be dead if you hadn’t taken the side of a stranger from Samarqand.”
Katsu gave him a sidelong glance. “My old master used to say a thousand years cannot repair a single moment’s loss of honor.”
“An admirable sentiment,” Javid replied seriously. “My master says, when in doubt, take the money.”
Katsu laughed. “You’re even more mercenary than I am.”
“I don’t think you’re mercenary at all.” Javid studied him. “Why did you really come here?”
“I was looking for you.”
“But why?”
Katsu considered for a moment. “True courage is rare. Nazafareen showed it when she walked up to that Marakai girl and talked her into releasing the wave. And you did in the dungeons.”
“Me?” Javid laughed. “Holy Father, all I did was get myself arrested.”
“You could have told your jailers you were born a woman. They might have mocked you, but they wouldn’t have put you in with rough men like Aknos. The Greeks are not barbarians. They have cells for women. You would have been safer.”
Javid gripped the rail. Wagons crawled along the road between Samarqand and Susa, tiny as ants.
“But that’s not who I am.”
“So you risked everything. It is a choice, one you make every day.” Katsu looked away. “I’ve drifted around for most of my life. My parents are dead. I have no brothers or sisters. If I’m careful, I have enough money to live comfortably. But I’m tired of solitude. I wish to take on a partner and you’re the most interesting person I’ve met in a long time.”
He ran a hand through his curly hair. Javid had a sudden urge to take his fingers and tenderly kiss the half-moon scars.
“I want to,” Javid said. “More than anything. But….”
“I know. You have four sisters s
till living at home?”
“Yes. Soon to be three, after Golpari gets married.”
Katsu held his gaze. “What if we could get your family to safety? Would they go?”
Javid had thought about this many times. “I’m not sure. But even if my parents agreed, where could we run to?”
“What about Susa?”
“It’s part of the King’s writ.”
“Yes, but surely they could hide there until the Marakai return. Then we could leave for Tjanjin. Chang’an is a beautiful city. I know the emperor personally. I can promise your family would be safe.”
For the first time, Javid felt a surge of hope.
“But what about the wind ship? It can’t cross the White Sea.”
“Perhaps not. But with Marakai help, who knows? We would be the first in Tjanjin to own a wind ship.” Katsu rubbed his hands together. “The nobility would pay a fortune for a ride in the clouds.”
Javid felt a lump in his throat. “You would do this for me?”
“I would not be standing here if not for you, Javid. Let us say we owe each other only friendship from now on. Agreed?”
“Agreed. But we must wait until after Golpari’s wedding.” He sighed. “There’s nothing I can do about my sisters who are already married with families of their own. We’d need a fleet of ten wind ships to carry them.”
“Would the King punish them in your stead?”
“I don’t think so. If they were male, yes. But women are treated like much children. They have fewer rights, but it would be dishonorable to hold them responsible for my actions. And Asabana…. Well, once I’m gone, he’ll have to face the King himself.”
They spent the rest of the trip planning their escape. The soldiers at the wall kept a close eye on travelers entering and leaving Samarqand, but windships were still permitted to fly directly out of the Abicari. And Javid knew plenty of seedy taverns down by the docks in Susa. His mother wouldn’t like it, but he felt sure they could disappear there for a week or two until the Marakai returned.
When the deep blue waves of the Austral Ocean came into view, he used a pinch of spell dust to change course and head north back to Samarqand. His heart was lighter than it had been in ages.
And so the days passed and Javid found himself in a state of severe infatuation. He laughed too loud and daydreamed at inappropriate times. Katsu treated him like a man, but there was an undercurrent in glances that lingered a fraction of a second too long. In the way the Stygian might sit so that his thigh brushed Javid’s and neither moved away. In the occasional awkward silences that descended.
But despite his famous courage, Javid found he was a shameless coward when it came to making the first move. And Katsu seemed to be waiting for a clear sign—perhaps for fear of causing offense.
In desperation, Javid finally sought Leila out and asked her advice. She told him sensibly that Katsu already knew his deepest secret. Javid was simply afraid of the unknown, so the best thing to do was to face it. Then she gave him a slender volume called a pillow book and told him to go peruse it in private. He’d glanced at the cover and replied that he couldn’t read Tjanjinese and Leila had laughed and said it was mostly pictures anyway.
When he opened it, his eyes popped and he’d shoved it hastily under his coat. Javid snuck the book into his room, poring over it in the wee hours while his sisters slept. It was fascinating and disturbing at the same time. He had a healthy imagination, but truly, he’d only scratched the surface.
Even if he was misreading Katsu completely, the information would prove useful someday. Javid didn’t plan to stay a virgin for the rest of his life. Of course, that might not be long if one of his patrons decided to snuff him out—all the more reason to leave as soon as possible.
He still hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk to his father. Javid knew his da wouldn’t be happy about it. Everything and everyone he knew was in Samarqand. His ma wouldn’t want to go, either. Her grandchildren were here. Her garden. Bibi would see it as an adventure and Mahmonir was too young to know better, but Farima might kick up a fuss. She was thirteen and he’d seen her eyeing one of the neighbor boys like a dealer appraising horseflesh. She probably had her wedding dress picked out already.
Javid rubbed his forehead. Asabana would be back from Susa any day now. His reprieve was almost over.
He threw the pillow book aside. Girlish laughter erupted in the hall, followed by an outraged yell from Farima.
Love stinks, he thought.
On the day of Golpari’s wedding, controlled chaos reigned at the house. His ma barked orders from the kitchen, where she’d been bunkered like a general on the eve of battle, while Golpari dressed with the help of her sisters. The wedding would be witnessed by an assembly called the Shahjan, and both the house and garden were bursting at the seams with friends, neighbors and relations dressed in their finest.
Javid had already greeted the pair of officiating magi and seated them on a couch in the front room. Katsu chatted with his father about the new wind ship. Javid’s da had been a rope maker at the Abicari before his hands grew too gnarled. He knew the fleet almost as well as Savah and clearly relished having company. Katsu listened attentively, soaking up each bit of unsolicited advice with good humor. Every few minutes, one of Javid’s sisters would creep down the stairs and peek at them with cow eyes, then run back up giggling.
“Javid!” his ma called from the kitchen.
Not Yasmin. He felt pleased, even though it sounded a trifle strange. Javid had a feeling his da had talked to her about it. Now his ma stood red-faced over a gigantic vat of lamb stew. Tantalizing smells drifted from the many pots bubbling on the fire.
“Have you seen Bibi?” his mother demanded. “The girl is supposed to be peeling carrots.” She gestured to a mound of vegetables on the counter.
“She’s not in Golpari’s room?” Javid asked.
His mother lifted an eyebrow. Bibi had made herself scarce all week, as if Golpari was contagious with some dread disease.
“Don’t worry, I know her hidey-holes,” Javid said.
He checked the dark recesses of the chicken coop and the highest branches of the walnut tree at the edge of the garden. He looked behind rain barrels and under furniture. Finally, he ran upstairs to ask if his sisters had seen her. They hadn’t.
He was heading back downstairs when he heard a furtive rustle from his room.
“Bibi?”
Javid opened the door. Bibi lay on his bed with the pillow book open on her knees and a faint tinge of pink in her round cheeks. A normal girl would have been mortified. But Bibi was not a normal girl.
“Have you done all those things?” she asked with a frown.
“Holy Father, no!” He grabbed the book and shoved it under his bed. “You must forget you ever saw any of that.”
Her brown eyes glinted. “You mean the part where—”
“All of it.” He crossed his arms and prayed she hadn’t gotten to page twenty-seven.
“What do I get for keeping my mouth shut?” Bibi eyed him with a ruthless expression that would have made Asabana proud. “I’m still waiting for that spell dust you promised.”
She squealed as he grabbed her arm. “You get to go downstairs and behave and not get a thrashing.”
Bibi laughed in his face.
“A thrashing, eh? By who?”
Javid hauled her back down to the kitchen, past the magi and Katsu and his da, and gave her a firm shove toward the carrots. He didn’t trust the look she shot over her shoulder, so he thought it prudent to lead Katsu outside before Bibi decided to disgrace them both.
“Where was your sister?” Katsu asked.
“Praying,” Javid said quickly. “She’s very religious.”
Katsu looked doubtful—he’d seen enough of Bibi at that disastrous dinner.
“You’re joking.”
“No, it’s true. She takes after my da’s sister over there,” Javid added, looking at a stout woman in a black headscarf. �
�Total fanatic. She’s got about a hundred figurines of the Prophet Zarathustra in her house. The eyes follow you everywhere.” He jerked his chin at the slight, bearded man next to her. “That’s Uncle Ervin. He’ll get very drunk later. He always does at these things.”
Javid pointed out the groom and his family, and the two branches of cousins who despised each other.
“They only cross paths at weddings and funerals,” he said, sipping a cup of wine as he watched for Bibi. “The feud goes so far back, no one even remembers how it started.”
“One of my masters used to say, Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves,” Katsu observed.
“Yeah, well, tell that to cousin Hafuz. He nurses a grudge like it’s his firstborn son.”
Golpari finally came out in a blue dress trimmed in lace. She blushed and smiled at the handsome young groom, Farhad, who laid a hand on his heart. Two chairs waited in the garden, with a curtain separating them that was held up by the official witnesses—Javid’s older sister Razma and one of the groom’s brothers. The magi emerged, the crowd hushed, and the betrothed sat down on either side of the curtain. Smudges of red paint marked their foreheads and garlands of flowers hung about their necks.
Javid leaned over and pointed to Farhad, who wore a loose, flowing garment.
“That’s called the Jama-pichori,” he whispered. “It’s always white. But the bride is free to wear color if she wishes to.”
The magi wound the pair in a bolt of cloth, creating a circle to symbolize unity. Lengthy prayers were intoned. The couple’s right hands were joined and bound seven times with another twist of cloth while the magi uttered the sacred Ahunwar formula. After yet more binding and more prayers, one of the magi burned frankincense in a brazier. The happy couple were each given some rice in their left hands—the right still being bound together—which they tossed at each other. Everybody clapped, and the celebration began.
Javid watched Katsu dance with Farima, spinning her around breathless and bright-eyed. Savah Sayuzhdri held Mahmonir on his broad shoulders. She patted his head as he bounced her up and down, while his da told some funny story that had Savah wheezing with laughter. On the other side of the garden, Bibi chased a fugitive chicken back into the coop. She seemed to sense his gaze for she turned and gave him a little smile over her shoulder. Not an evil smile—Javid knew that one well. No, this was friendly enough and meant she had no plan to embarrass him before their friends and neighbors—not today, at least. Javid held out a hand and she came running over, already a bit sticky-looking despite ma’s vigorous scrubbing that morning.
