Kingdom of Ash and Soot

by C. S. Johnson

  I felt bad for staring, but there was something about him that demanded my full attention. Beneath his white turban, I saw his glossy black hair was combed back in the London fashion, and he had a trimmed mustache that would not have been out of place in a Spanish court. His skin was a deep tan with a bronze undertone, hinting at his Turkish blood and bringing out the darker chestnut of his irises. From his own stare, he seemed just as surprised to see me, although I had to wonder why. I was perfectly average in Prague.

  “Naděžda,” he whispered, and I had to wonder what language he was speaking.

  “Pardonez-moi,” I tried again, hoping the French would work. The Ottomans and the Turks had significant trade deals with France, and I could only hope he would know enough French to realize what I was saying.

  I was gratified when he replied, “Je vous pardonne, mademoiselle.”

  At that, I smiled, and then hurried forward to grab my fallen books. “Merde. They’re covered in dirt now. Wickward better still give me a good price on these, or I’m going to be upset.”

  I hurried to wipe the books off with my skirt, making a face when I could not get a scuffmark off The Prelude. I caught sight of the man’s Hessians as I stooped on the ground.

  Why is he just standing there? He was still staring at me with a shocked look on his face.

  Realizing I was staring at him again, he suddenly knelt down next to me. He produced a handkerchief, and when he held out his hand, I realized that he was offering to clean it. I handed him The Prelude, and he kindly wiped it off.

  Behind me, Tulia was throwing a fit, pointing at him and waving her arms.

  “Wait a moment, Tulia,” I said to her, glancing over my shoulder. I had to wonder if she was afraid of him, or if she suspected him to be dangerous because he was a Turk. “He’s almost done. He has the other book now.”

  As I turned around, there was suddenly a small, curved dagger in my face.

  “Merde,” I cursed again, this time much more loudly, as he lunged forward. I was terrified he was going to hit me, so I put my hands up. I felt something pound against my chest, and I ended up falling into Dox.

  I saw the Turk’s dagger slice through one of the reins. At the sudden movement, Dox reared, almost sending the carriage toppling over.

  “Tulia!” I called, but I watched as she leaped down and grabbed a hold of Dox’s bridle.

  I looked down to see The Prelude in my hands.

  The other book was gone.

  Meanwhile, the Turk headed down the streets. Anger suddenly boiled within me. “Stay here, Tulia!” See if you can fix the wagon. I’m going to get my father’s book back.”

  Before Tulia could signal to me not to go, I went.

  As I was chasing the Turk through the crowded city streets, I mentally cried out to Ben, hoping he had managed to find someone to fix my shoes for me. The ones that I had borrowed from Betsy seemed to pinch more with every step.

  “Come back!” I raked my mind for the German, French, English, and Czech words for “thief,” as I began to pant.

  I saw him round a corner ahead of me and instantly brightened.

  I’ve got you now. There’s a shortcut ahead.

  I ducked through a small alleyway, skirting around sludge, piles of trash, and fallen laundry from one of the upper floor apartments.

  When I came out on the other side, I pressed against the crowd.

  I had taken a risk, and I was rewarded.

  The Turk came barreling right into me. The second before he collided with me, I saw his eyes go wide.

  My own face might have betrayed my fear, because a moment later, I felt him latch onto me. Together, we whipped around, and a second later I saw we were back in the small alleyway, pressed between the buildings and in a fight.

  “Give me my book back,” I demanded, punching him hard. My left hand burrowed into his side, and he fell back against the wall.

  “I just want my book.” I stood over him, panting quietly. “I won’t report you if you just give it back.”

  The curved dagger glinted off the small light of the alleyway. I could not say if I stood my ground out of bravery or fear.

  “Non, mademoiselle,” the Turk replied, before he jumped up.

  He feinted, and I lashed out a quick kick. He managed to land a quick blow to my leg.

  “Whoa!” I lost my footing and stumbled, desperately trying to keep my balance.

  Just as I managed to steady myself, I felt the chill of his blade next to my throat. In the seconds I had been distracted, he wound his arm around me and held me at his mercy.

  “If you’re going to take the book from me and threaten my life over it, I should at least be told why you want it so badly, shouldn’t I?” I snapped, unable to stop myself from fighting even if I was only left with words.

  He sighed. “‘Anti la tafhamin.”

  I frowned, angry and flustered, frustrated and embarrassed. “That’s not telling me anything,” I said. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  Before he could respond, a new voice stepped into the conversation.

  “Ma aldhy yajri?”

  The Turk stilled behind me, shifting his focus from me to the young man who stood in front of us, blocking the entrance to the alleyway. I sighed. From his clothes, I could see this young man was clearly a street urchin, possibly homeless.

  I was wondering if he would try to rob me too when he gave the Turk a quick bow, pulling off his cap in a gesture of respect. “Ymknny musaeadatuk fi dhalik.”

  The Turk shook his head and said something else. The boy nodded and responded easily, and I grew more frustrated as their conversation continued.

  “I don’t understand either of you,” I said. “But I will scream until someone comes to help if you don’t let me go and if he doesn’t give me my book back.”

  The street urchin smiled at me, before giving me a quick wink. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he said. His voice was unusually calm and cheerful, despite the tense situation, and I was loathe to trust him.

  “What is he saying?”

  “It seems this gentleman believes that book to be his.”

  “It’s not,” I snapped. “It was my father’s. I want it back.”

  He nodded in understanding before he talked to the Turk some more, who shook his head. Their arguments grew more terse, before finally the Turk seemed to give in.

  The street urchin smiled as he turned to me again. “He will let you go. He wasn’t expecting you to give chase.”

  I wrinkled my nose, ready to respond with a tongue-lashing that would have replaced any public execution when the Turk pushed me away, hard. My pinching shoe caught on the cobblestones, and I fell forward.

  My scream was late, and because it was late, it was muffled. The other man jumped to my rescue, catching me close to his chest. I tasted the streets on his scarf as I gripped onto him. Behind us, the Turk disappeared.

  “Merde,” I shouted.

  *3*

  ◊

  I stood there, paralyzed with simultaneous shock and rage, as the young man tightened his grip on me. He seemed to be steadying himself as much as he was helping me.

  “Let me go!” I insisted, suddenly realizing he was keeping me from any chance of pursuit. “He took my book.”

  “I rather think you should be grateful you survived the encounter, even if you lost the book.”

  I thought of the book, of how my father must have cared for it, protecting it after he procured it. “You don’t understand.”

  “Why? It’s just a book. And from how you dropped it earlier, it was a dirty one at that. I doubt you would get much for it, especially if you were going to see Wickward. He would have been unwilling to buy it, and he would have lauded every defect as he looked it over.”

  It was too tempting to hate him for the blatant superiority in his words at that moment.

  “You wretch!” I finally came to my full senses and shoved myself out of his arms. “My father is dead. His books a
re among the last things I have of his.”

  I was a little infuriated to see the young man smile.

  “Your father would be happier, I think, that you are still alive. So it was good that I saved you.”

  “What was the point in saving my life if you just made it harder?” I glared at my so-called rescuer, and I only grew more upset as he began to laugh.

  “What’s so amusing?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “Your logic. A hard life is still better than death.”

  Cecilia briefly came to mind. I did not know whether or not to agree with him.

  He saw my hesitation, and I stopped to study him. Under his sloppy hat, he had darkish brown hair, with kind eyes the color of lightened shadows, a strange but lovely gray layered with sliver. I was still unsure whether or not he was going to rob me, too; I was glad I had given The Prelude to Tulia. As his hand reached out for mine, I eyed him suspiciously.

  “Well, if that is not enough to convince you that I have done you a service, perhaps I can make your life easier in another way.”

  When I did not allow him to take my hand, he gave me a deep bow instead, and I softened ever so slightly at his manners. A thief did not need to use manners.

  As far as I know, at least.

  “It only seems fair I help you once more, since I made your life harder, after all.”

  He did not push for me to accept his offer, but his politeness seemed to insist upon it.

  “You can call me Ferdy,” he added, as he straightened.

  “Ferdy?” I wrinkled my nose. “That’s a strange name.”

  Ferdy did not seem to take any offense. He laughed, before giving me a slightly crooked smile. It was, despite my attempts not to notice, quite charming. His whole face seemed to light up, and I was momentarily dazzled.

  I was suddenly aware that we were still very close, standing in the small alleyway.

  “You can blame both Bohemia and my family for that one, although ‘Ferdy’ seems more fitting for a poor man such as myself, rather than my proper name,” he said, ignoring my discomfort. “‘Ferdinand’ is a Bohemian favorite, thanks to the king, and in my family, we have the same two or three names that get used again and again, and each generation is expected to surpass the greatness of the previous one.”

  I looked down at his slovenly clothes again, reliving the smell of what I suspected was tobacco smoke on his scarf. “I wish you the best of luck in that regard, then.”

  “Well, I have proven my worth for today at least,” he said, looking back to the far end of the alleyway, where my assailant had slipped away. “After all, I got to save a damsel in distress.”

  I could not stop myself from scowling at him. I had been protecting myself for the last decade, only occasionally with Ben’s help, and I did not appreciate being reminded of my failure.

  But he was obviously poor, and he was right; he had stepped in to protect me. If I let myself, I could still feel the cool edge of the Turk’s curved blade held against my neck. Pushing that thought aside, I decided that Ferdy had earned some merit.

  “Well, then.” I gave him a grand curtsy, mimicking his own introduction. “You have my thanks. I’ll remember you in my prayers tonight. Surely the Lord himself will repay you for your trouble. Now, if you will pardon me, I must go.”

  “God might reward me later, but I’d prefer to collect now, if you please.”

  I knew it! I felt a rush of vindication. He was just after a reward.

  I steeled myself against him. “So you would have me reward you?”

  “Absolument.” The cheeky smile was back, and I was suddenly aware that he was flirting with me. I did not know whether to blush or scoff. While I was a servant in my home, I was still born a lady, and I knew better, even if he did not.

  “Well, unfortunately, Mr. Ferdy,” I said, emphasizing his name with all the power to dismiss him, “I do not have anything with which to pay you—”

  “Ferdy, please.”

  “—so you will have to leave it up to providence for your remittance. Good day.” I turned away from him and headed down the street. Already, I could see Tulia maneuvering Dox toward me. She waved eagerly, placing her hand on her heart and taking a deep breath.

  “I was not talking about money,” Ferdy said from behind me. “In return for my services, I request only to know your name, my lady.”

  Groaning silently, I turned to face him once more. “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “It hardly seems proper.” Tulia arrived behind me, and upon seeing Ferdy arguing with me, immediately leaned down to better hear our conversation.

  “I imagine it’s very improper in some circles to interrupt a thief about his business, too,” Ferdy pointed out. “But here we are.”

  I turned back to Tulia, frustrated and confused. I needed to get home soon or Cecilia would have me beaten again, although she would probably do that anyway.

  The thought disappeared as I realized Tulia was suddenly smiling sweetly at Ferdy. She nodded her head toward me in that manner of hers, compelling me to give in.

  No, I thought, recalling the kisses she had given earlier to the baker as payment for our bread. She cannot possibly be on his side in this matter.

  “Miss?”

  Glancing back, I eyed Ferdy suspiciously. He did not seem to be sorry in the least for making me uncomfortable. And while there was nothing inherently wrong with him, something did not seem right. I could not explain what it was. Behind me, I heard Tulia start to fuss.

  I resigned myself to my fate. I cannot believe I am doing this. My hands tightened around my skirt.

  But before I could properly introduce myself to Ferdy, he nodded to the book lying beside Tulia on the perch. “What book is that?” he asked. “It seems that you still have some left after all.”

  “That one? It’s a first edition of The Prelude, by Wordsworth.” I almost told him it was my one of my father’s favorite books, but I decided not to mention that. While Ferdy had saved me, there was no need to pretend we were close.

  “I can get you a good price on that, if you’re interested in selling it,” Ferdy said.

  His offer briefly distracted me from my suspicion. I arched my brow delicately. “Do you even know who Wordsworth was?”

  “I happen to know what ‘first edition’ means, if that is what you really want to know,” Ferdy replied. “And that if it’s a book, Clavan will probably like it.”

  “Who’s Clavan?”

  “A friend of mine. He collects rare books. Including first editions. I can assure you, he pays much better than Wickward, too. Wickward is as tight as a drum, but Clavan’s especially cheerful, especially if you get him full of liquor first.”

  “Does your friend perchance have a drinking problem?”

  “Why, yes he does,” Ferdy said, so guilelessly I almost laughed. He straightened his cap. “But he’s familiar enough with me that I think I can use that to your advantage.”

  I bit my lip. I needed a good price on the book, especially since the other one was gone. Cecilia would be upset if she thought I did a poor job selling our goods. “Where is his shop?” I asked. “Is it near?”

  “It’s further east of the bridge, down by the Vltava.”

  “In the Jewish Quarter?” I asked.

  For the first time, I caught him off guard. His eyebrows raised a little, but he nodded. “Yes, my lady. Clavan works out by the Josefskà, the Jewish Quarter.”

  “I see.” It was a little further than I would have liked to go; I had to get back to the manor soon.

  “Does this offend you?” Ferdy asked. His voice was careful and his tone was casual, but he was suddenly less at ease.

  “Oh, no, that’s not it,” I said, blushing. “I was just worried about the time. I have to return home soon.”

  “Well, let us not waste any more time on it,” Ferdy said, his quick smile returning. “I’ll take you there, and Clavan will buy your book, and then you can head back to your h
ome. Here, let me help you up.”

  He held out his hand to help me back up into the carriage.

  After all the trouble I had gone through, I was tired. Tulia was nodding at me, giving me her stern looks to tell me to accept. And I needed a good price on The Prelude.

  That is why I allowed Ferdy to take my hand—or so I told myself. But I laid it down gently in his, intending to suffer through it, his hand wrapped protectively around mine, and I found myself unable to resist twining my fingers into his.

  As I sat down on the carriage box, I looked down at him again, suddenly nervous. “My name is Eleanora.”

  Ferdy bowed properly once more. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Lady Eleanora.” He gave me a thoughtful look, before he frowned.

  “What is it?”

  “Your name is too long.”

  “Hey!” I objected. “It is not.”

  “You’re the one who said mine was strange. I can say yours is too long.”

  Beside me, I could tell Tulia was amused. She seemed even more amused when I scowled at him and he laughed.

  “I’ll call you Ella instead. It’s a lovely name for a lady—suitable for a princess, in fact. Now, give me the reins. I’ll lead the way to Clavan’s shop.”

  I decided not to bother to tell Ferdy that my family called me Nora as Tulia eagerly tossed him Dox’s hastily repaired bridle. He intrigued me, but that did not mean I had to give him any intimate details.

  “If you are too lazy to say my name properly,” I said, “it’s unlikely you’ll be able to accompany us to the Jewish Quarter. It is several blocks away.”

  “Maybe I am trying to conserve my energy so I can make the effort. Besides, it is only proper for a lady to be escorted. And you are very concerned with what is proper, aren’t you, Lady Ella?”

  Tulia nudged me with her arm. She wanted to hear the details of what happened, but I said nothing. Ferdy did not need to hear how angry and frightened I had been during the whole encounter with the Turk, and I did not want to admit I was still skeptical of Ferdy himself.