The Tower of Fear

by Glen Cook

  He did not have to go rooting around the Astan to find out what he wanted to know.

  Here and there along Goat Creek, in the open spaces before the Old Wall, were grounds designated for dumping. A Herodian conceit. They bred flies and rats by the million. But so had the pre-conquest custom-still followed west of the acropolis-of dumping anything unwanted out the nearest window, in hopes the rains would wash it away.

  One of the bigger heaps served a grim purpose. It was there the corpses of criminals were thrown out for scavengers. It was next to the mound where unwanted babies were set out to die or be found by those who did want them. These days few were unwanted, few were exposed. Azel passed the place wondering if it might not have been better had he been exposed.

  The body was there on Skull Heap. The day was failing but there was light enough. He turned back the way he had come.

  Sadat Agmed, looking pretty harmless now.

  Mo’atabar came almost before Yoseh settled himself to his supper. “Fa’tad wants him as soon as he’s eaten,” he told Medjhah, who was in charge because Nogah had stayed in the city with Faruk and another, hidden inside the Shu maze. “You, too.”

  Medjhah grunted. So did Yoseh.

  Once Mo’atabar went, Medjhah said, “It didn’t rattle you tonight, little brother.”

  “I hurt too much to worry about Fa’tad.” He flinched, but not from the pain. They were questioning captives in the compound. Some needed convincing and were a little exuberant with their protests.

  Yoseh did feel less uncomfortable crossing the compound. He supposed you could get used to anything. Yahada showed them inside and pointed out places to sit. Fa’tad was receiving reports from his captains.

  He asked, “The man used the same powder we saw before?”

  A man Yoseh did not know replied, “Twice, apparently. Our people weren’t there to see it. He wasn’t reluctant to use a knife, either. He cut a dozen men trying to get away. A couple probably won’t live.”

  Fa’tad grunted.

  “He was Dartar, Fa’tad.”

  Fa’tad looked up, grunted again, sourly. Yoseh wondered if he was having trouble with his digestion.

  “One of the men recognized him. His name was Sadat Agmed. An outcast. From al-Hadid clan.”

  “I recall the man. A thief. And too quick with a blade. What did you find on the body?”

  “Nothing. Except gold. Three pounds on each ankle and more on each arm.”

  “Child-stealing must be lucrative. So. Now we’ve run into two of them, armed with minor sorcery. Are there more? Who’s buying the children they steal? What are they doing with them?”

  No one had an answer. No one had a suggestion about how to find out, short of catching one of the child-takers.

  “Tell me about the other one,” Fa’tad told Yoseh. So Yoseh related events of the afternoon. Medjhah gave al-Akla the perspective from camelback.

  “The important thing we learned,” Joab interjected, “is that we’re making no headway in the Shu. The man said he was an agent of the Living and the crowd turned on these boys.”

  Yoseh was surprised. He had not known that.

  The Living. We’re not fighting them right now, Joab. We’re trying to disarm them by example.”

  “Not fighting them? We’re trying to take away the night. Their time.”

  “True.”

  “And how long before Cado gets wind of the fact we’re leaving men in the city overnight?”

  “Not long. But if we take the night from the wicked and Herod orders us to give it back, who gains in the eyes of Qushmarrah?”

  “I still say you play the game too subtly,” Joab grumbled. “Find the captains of the Living and come to an accommodation.”

  “We play for higher stakes, old friend.” Al-Akla seemed to realize, suddenly, that he spoke before more than the inner circle. “Yoseh, Medjhah. You may go. Thank you. Your efforts will be remembered.”

  They rose. As he followed Medjhah out, Yoseh heard Joab say, “The one boy suggested we dress some men as veydeen.”

  “And how do we make their faces look veydeen?”

  As they crossed the compound Yoseh mused, “I never thought how our faces would give us away.” “Maybe wisdom does come with age.”

  The old man heard the street door close and steps approach. Not bel-Sidek’s familiar shuffle. He felt a moment of fright. Then he chuckled when Hadribel moved into the room.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Bel-Sidek was very concerned. He said...”

  “For all he’s the man I’ve chosen to replace me when the time comes, bel-Sidek is a damned old woman when he starts fussing over me. The gods have been merciful tonight.” He’d gotten worried about how he would get Naszif delivered to Azel.

  “I have work for you, Hadribel. Work that must be done immediately, that bel-Sidek would have ignored even had his lapse meant the death of the movement. First, take me to my writing table.”

  Hadribel hesitated only a moment.

  As he wrote his note to Azel, the General said, “I want you to go to Carza and tell him I have to see him immediately. If you both hurry he’ll be with me most of the time you’re running other errands. There’ll be no cause for a nagging conscience.”

  “Other errands, sir?”

  “After you’ve summoned Carza you must collect the traitor Naszif bar bel-Abek, blindfolded, and deliver him to an agent of the movement.” The old man gave detailed instructions on how and where, with a strong caution against making any effort to get close enough to get a good look at the agent. “He’s my most precious asset and I’ll have no one know who he is lest he be betrayed even inadvertently.

  “Once you’ve delivered the traitor you’ll take this message to the hostel called Muma’s Place.” Hadribel needed special directions. He did not know the place. “Deliver the message only to Muma himself. Then return here. Knock. If Carza hasn’t left he’ll answer and you’ll have to find some way to occupy yourself till he goes. If he doesn’t answer then you’re to come in and remain till bel-Sidek returns. Clear?” “Perfectly, General.”

  “Good. Then help me to my bed and be on your way.” The old man sank into bed and collapsed into a deep, exhausted sleep, interrupted only when Carza entered, to be introduced to the ultimate secret of the Living.

  Zouki came alert as sudden silence invaded the cage. It was a silence filled with terror. He looked around and saw the big man step through the cage doorway.

  The big man came straight toward him.

  His heart hammered. He wet himself. He whimpered. He wanted to get up and run but his body refused to obey.

  The big man scooped him up and carried him out of the cage, through that huge place, into a large room lighted only by two candles at the far end. The big man set him down between the candles. “You stay there, boy. You don’t move unless I tell you. Or you’ll be sorry.”

  Zouki was too terrified to do anything else.

  In the dusk a man leading an incongruously gaily decorated donkey cart came down the dusty country lane leading past the home of the widow of the Qushmarrahan hero, General Hanno bel-Karba. The man stopped before an old woman sitting by the roadside, weeping, watched over by several servants whose loyalty the Moretians had not been able to banish through threats or acts of terror. The man said, “Help her into the cart.”

  A servant, shaking, asked, “Who are you?”

  “An old friend of her husband. I’m here to take you to safety.”

  The man’s air of authority convinced the servants. They lifted the old woman into the cart, then followed the man when he turned and led his donkey back the way he had come.

  Two miles up the road he turned off into a wood not yet devoured by the Herodian beast. He took them to a camp in a glen in the heart of the wood where they were received with great honor and solicitude by a band of men strangely garbed in black camisards and pantaloons. The men were blackening one another’s fa
ces with charcoal.

  They made the refugees comfortable and fed them well while the cart man asked questions about the Moretians who had put them out of their home. He changed to the strange clothing himself and allowed his face to be blackened while he talked.

  The old woman never spoke, never took her gaze from the fire.

  The cart man asked, “Are we ready, Naik?”

  “Yah, Khadifa.”

  “Then let’s get to it.”

  Now the old woman looked up. “Are you the ones they call the Living?”

  The khadifa inclined his head slightly. He did not answer directly. He said, “You will be back in your own home before the sun rises, honored lady.”

  Azel was late to the rendezvous because Muma’s sons were so uncomfortable about the whole situation they had overscouted it. But his man was there, head tucked up in a cloth bag, and his escort was back where it was supposed to be. Good.

  The man in the blindfold jumped when Azel touched him. “Come,” he whispered. The man came, saying nothing, cooperating even though he could have no certain idea what was afoot. Azel kept an alert watch but saw nothing. No one moved in the acropolis at night. Not even the Herodian sentries who were supposed to be on duty. He led his charge in through the Postern of Fate.

  Torgo was waiting. He beckoned Azel to follow him. Azel frowned. The eunuch showed none of his habitual impatience.

  Torgo led him to a large room. The boy sat between two candles at the far end, looking miserable.

  Azel whispered, “I’m going to take off the hood and show you your kid. You don’t do nothing. You don’t say nothing. You don’t turn around. You got that?”

  The man nodded.

  Azel removed the sack.

  The man stiffened, took in a quick breath, restrained himself otherwise. Azel let him look as long as he wanted, till he nodded his head again to say he had seen enough. Then he replaced the sack, backed him out of the room.

  Torgo closed the door. He whispered, “I woke her up. She wants to see you. I’ll take care of him till you get back.” Even in a whisper there was a hint of gloating.

  “Good. I have a word for her, too. Where?”

  “The altar.”

  Amused, Azel left the traitor to Torgo and went to see the Witch.

  He found her standing by what remained of her husband. Her face glowed with a mad determination. It illuminated and made strange her beauty. But it did nothing to conceal the fatigue that weighted her down.

  “I’m here, lady.” No need to put her on the defensive. The news about Sadat Agmed was all the leverage he needed.

  She turned, not removing her hand from the cold flesh of her husband. “Torgo tells me your General has threatened me.”

  “Not my General, lady. I’m just a bridge between you and him.”

  “By what right does he...?”

  “By the right of good sense, first. Your haste has started to attract attention. And by the more primitive right of strength. We can’t operate out there without his blessing.”-~“We shall see about that. Are you with me, Azel? Or have you truly deserted me?”

  “I’m with you always, lady. Always. But I won’t screw everything up by getting in too big a hurry.”

  “Damn you! You’ll do what I tell you...”

  “Lady! Sadat Agmed was killed today.”

  She looked at him hard. The color faded from her face. “How do you know that name?”

  “I make it my business to know things. It’s how I stay alive.”

  She stared for a moment, becoming just a tired woman as she did. “Tell me about it.”

  “He tried to take a kid in the Astan. He blew it. A mob got after him. He couldn’t outrun them. They cornered him and beat him to death. Tomorrow the news will be all over Qushmarrah. It’ll be ten times as hard to grab a kid.”

  The Witch sighed.

  Time to drive it home. “I was in Char Street today, making arrangements about the traitor and trying to get the General to ease up on you. When I was leaving I was recognized by the Dartars I ran into the other day. I was luckier than Agmed, but a lot of people got a good look at me.”

  The Witch sighed again. “I guess you win, Azel. If the Fates will a thing, nothing we do will change it. Tell the General I’ll do his boy next. Pick him up tomorrow night.” She patted her dead husband the way a mother patted a colicky baby.

  Azel bowed. “Thank you, lady.” He backed out and returned to his charge, not convinced that he had been granted a triumph. “Come,” he said, and led the traitor away.

  He decided to take the man home through the maze. Less likely to be seen by anybody that mattered.

  He was ten steps in when he realized they were not alone in the darkness. His nose warned him, catching a hint of camel and horse. He stopped, turned his charge, whispered, “We just walked into an ambush. When I take the hood off, you run like hell. Straight home. I’ll hold them off.” He lifted the sack and gave the man a shove.

  The traitor ran.

  The Dartars began to move.

  Azel squeezed his eyes shut, placed a hand over them, faced away from the ambushers, threw a packet of flash.

  They screamed.

  He drew his knife and went after them.

  As he stalked the last of the three he heard shouts from others approaching. He finished it, got the hell out, and headed for Muma’s.

  If they got in his way one more time, some night when he wasn’t exhausted he was going to go in there and show them how to run the maze. They’d be picking up pieces of camel jockey for a week.

  ***

  The night was still and the fire was banked. The children were snoring and the women were sound asleep. But Aaron was not. Each time he started to slip off, something brought him back.

  He was conscious of the warmth of Laella beside him. That kept his filthy mind straying across to Mish... For a while he thought it was the ferocious guilt from thinking the unthinkable. That carried a speck of the blame, but only a speck. The main culprit was that business in the street, that reminder that the horror was out there still, waiting to pounce. He did not want to go to sleep because the nightmares were waiting on the other side.

  He did not at first recognize the sound for what it was, someone tapping at the door. Then, more puzzled than frightened, he went and peeked.

  “Reyha? What in the world?”

  “I have to talk to Laella. I don’t have anyone else.”

  “Come in.” Aaron opened up. let her slip inside. He peered into the foggy street. “Where’s Naszif?” He could not imagine a woman-especially timid Reyha-hazarding the Shu’s night streets alone.

  “Wake Laella. Please? I’ll tell it all at once.”

  “I’m awake,” Laella said, sitting up.

  Aaron saw the stir had wakened Raheb, too, though she was pretending otherwise. He said, “Sshh!” and followed Laella to the hearth. They settled there. Aaron began stirring and feeding the coals, building up a small fire for the comfort. Reyha seemed troubled.

  She said, “I don’t know how to say this. It’s so new to me. And so dangerous. But I have to talk to somebody. Promise me you won’t say anything to anybody, ever. Please? Laella? Aaron?”

  Laella nodded. “Of course.”

  Troubled, Aaron did not respond. He liked Reyha a good deal, but...

  “Aaron?”

  Laella gave him a look. “I’m sorry, Reyha. My mind wandered. Sure. Of course. But where’s Naszifr”

  “The kidnappers. They took him somewhere to show him they have Zouki. To make him do what they want.”

  “But...”

  “I have to get home before they bring Naszif back. So let me tell it first. All right?”

  “Of course we will,” Laella told her.

  “Sometimes I suspected but I never really believed it till he told me. Naszif is part of the Living. Very high up. They just promoted him to where he’s the third or fourth highest man in the Shu. But he’s in the Herodian army, too. They let h
im join right after the conquest. He’s a colonel and he’s been spying on the Living.”

  “He told you all this?” Aaron asked.

  “Keep your voice down,” Laella cautioned. “You’ll wake the children.”

  “Yes. He did. This morning. He broke oaths to do it. But he said he had to tell me because of Zouki. He said the Living found out he was a Herodian and they took Zouki so they could make him do what they want, which is lie to General Cado and spy on the Herodians.”

  Aaron thought she was awfully calm about the whole thing. But Reyha was a sort of passive person, accepting of things that were beyond her control. He grunted. Laella said, “Why are you taking a chance, telling us? Aaron and I have no reason to love the Herodians.”

  “I’m too confused about my feelings. I need somebody to help me think.”

  Nobody said anything. Aaron could feel Reyha’s pain. Nothing he could say would change that.

  She finally observed, “You don’t seem very surprised.”

  Laella rested her hand on Aaron’s. “We suspected for a long time. Naszif did strange things sometimes.”

  “Oh.”

  “What do you want, Reyha?” Laella asked.

  “I don’t know. Except I want my baby back. If we had Zouki, Naszif says the Herodians would send us somewhere where we’d be safe and he wouldn’t have to spy on people anymore.”

  Aaron wondered if they’d do that, really. Maybe. The tie that bound the Herodian empire together was its strange and bitter religion. If Naszif had adopted that, they might consider him one of their “confederates,” with a citizenship only slightly more restricted than that of native-born Herodians.

  He said, “I don’t know how we could help, Reyha. Anything we did would put us in the middle between the Herodians and the Living. I won’t speak for Laella, but I’d just as soon not have anything to do with any of them. I have my own family to worry about.”

  Laella said, “Aaron!”

  “I don’t know what you could do. I just wanted Laella to know because she always stays calm, no matter what, and I get rattlebrained, so maybe she could think of something when I couldn’t. I wouldn’t ever ask you to do something that would get you in trouble.”