by Glen Cook
“Why bother, my lady?”
“Azel will come for him. I don’t want him or the Living to suspect what I’ve accomplished on my own. It’ll take Ishabal a while, anyway, so I won’t lose much time. And once we’re sure we have what we need, we won’t have any more use for Azel or the Living. Will we?”
She watched Torgo mull that over, begin to smile. “We won’t at all. Not at all.”
“So let’s get to work. Get your writing materials.”
Aaron left home groggy and distracted, unsure how he felt about Reyha’s visit and revelations. He was concerned for Reyha and Zouki, yet resented this ominous certainty that a vortex of events, to which he was indifferent, was sucking him in, making him a blind player in a deadly game where there was no chance he could win or even get out unscarred.
What was all that up around bel-Sidek’s place? Comings and goings like he’d never seen.
He turned uphill instead of heading for the harbor.
Bel-Sidek’s door stood open. He paused on the threshold, not quite sure what he was doing there or if his interest would be welcome.
Bel-Sidek saw him and limped to the doorway. “Yes, Aaron?”
“I saw all the people. I thought... Is it your father?”
“Yes. During the night.
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
“It isn’t like it was a surprise. Maybe it was a blessing. He had to live with a lot of pain.”
“Maybe. Is there anything I can do? Could Laella and her mother come up and help?”
“No. No, Aaron. We’ll manage. Thanks for offering.”
“I’m sorry,” Aaron said again. “Well, I guess I’d better get to work.”
“Yes. Thanks again. Oh. Aaron. Did Naszifs wife drop in on you last night?”
“No.” He answered immediately, surprising himself. He walked away before there were any more questions, wondering if he had been protecting Reyha or himself. Only when he was halfway down the hill did he realize that he should have stood his ground long enough to find out why bel-Sidek had asked.
General Cado dressed while Colonel Bruda reported his midnight visit from Vice-Colonel bar bel-Abek. “Did he seem rational? I wouldn’t want to waste him. Should we pull him out whether he wants it or not?”
“He was completely self-possessed. And quite determined. I don’t think he’s at risk as long as they think they control him. Leave him where he is. They might get overconfident and let him close to something they shouldn’t.”
Cado grunted. “Time to see Sullo off to his new country home. Let’s talk on the way. Did you look into the kidnapping?”
“I did. If it weren’t that it’s being used against our man, it would be just another of a rash of similar crimes.”
Cado descended a stair without speaking, headed toward his work office. “A rash? Of kidnappings?”
“More than thirty in the last six weeks.”
“The Living twisting arms?”
“I doubt it. Hardly any of the children belonged to families who mean anything. However, there’s a chance bel-Abek’s child was taken before the Living found him out.”
“Suggesting that the Living knew who took him? So they were able to recover him for their own purposes?”
“Yes.”
Cado completed his office business, started moving again. “I smell something dirty, Bruda. Look into it. We can’t allow a trade in stolen children. And I won’t tolerate human sacrifice.”
“I’ve started already, sir.”
“Good. Are the guards down front?”
“Yes sir. They’ll walk us over.”
“Good. So. What’s really bothering you this morning?”
“A messenger from Marcellino in Agadar. Just came in by boat. Says a force of Turok tribesmen, maybe two thousand strong, is pillaging east of Agadar, moving our way. They caught our troops in the open, by surprise, during an exercise, and slaughtered them. Marcellino barely has men enough left to guard Agadar’s walls.”
Cado stopped. “Turoks? Not Dartars or Dartars in disguise?”
“Turoks. Marcellino questioned a prisoner. They circled the Takes to the west, around Dartar territory. They think we’re too slow and too weak to stop them.”
Cado resumed walking. “Turoks, you say.”
“Yes.”
“I wonder. Did our comrade the Eagle have anything to do with them showing up?”
“I don’t follow you. Dartars hate Turoks. And vice versa.”
“Not always. Turoks sometimes visit Qushmarrah. They cross Dartar territory to do it, so there is some kind of understanding at some level. And they worked together in our grandfathers’ time, during the first war. Qushmarrah employed auxiliaries from both tribes against Lepido’s armies. Their fleet landed a mixed force in Tiguria that came within sight of Herod’s walls twice. Fa “tad’s father commanded that expedition.”
“You sure you aren’t seeing conspiracy where greed would explain things?”
“Probably. Still, the options the raiders leave us aren’t attractive.”
“So?”
“The obvious move is for us to loose our Dartars. But suppose they are working together? Fa’tad strips the country of livestock and valuables and retires to his mountains. We couldn’t do anything, because to field enough men we’d have to strip Qushmarrah of every Herodian soldier.
“If we send one of our own legions instead, Fa’tad is a match for us here. He can attack us with every expectation of initiating an uprising. He can then back off and let Qushmarrahans do his dying while he saves his people to plunder whatever is left.
“If we don’t do anything but wait for the Turoks to go home we get unrest everywhere this side of the sea because we haven’t kept our promise to protect the people. Over on the other side we’re in hot water because we haven’t protected their property.”
They were outside now, moving through the dawn-splashed acropolis. Ahead, a column of Dartars came out of the Hahr and crossed the heights to the Shu. Cado wondered what they were up to but did not ask. Bruda would tell him as soon as he found out.
Bruda said, “It all depends on what’s going on inside the head of the one crazy old man, doesn’t it?”
“We have to trust him. Whether he’s trustworthy or not. And hope he won’t change his colors again without at least as much provocation as he had last time.”
They approached the Residence, practically passing through the shadow of the citadel. Cado shuddered. The place still gave him the creeps.
Bruda said, “Fa’tad started his herd moving south yesterday.”
Cado watched Sullo’s army of servants load a train of carts and wagons. “It was time, wasn’t it?” A flashy donkey cart, carrying a large brown trunk, rolled up and worked its way into a gap in the line. The boy driving dismounted and walked up the line to talk to another driver.
“Yes,” Bruda admitted.
“Then we can’t account that an omen. Even if it is one.”
“Not really.”
“And here comes Sullo, timing his appearance perfectly.”
Sullo did appear at the top of the Residence steps just as Cado reached their base. The civil governor came down slowly, in all his portly glory, beaming at everyone as though bestowing the benediction of God. He greeted Cado effusively. Servants scurried, trying to impress with their diligence.
Sullo’s eye fell on the donkey cart. “What’s that?” he asked one of his companions.
The man shrugged.
“General Cado. I assume those pigeon tracks on the banner on that cart pass for writing here. What does it say?”
Cado shrugged. “Colonel Bruda?” Cado did not read Qush-marrahan.
Bruda squinted, translated slowly. “‘From the people of Qushmarrah, for the Governor Sullo, in appreciation, a gift.’”
Cado and Bruda frowned uncertainly. Sullo pranced over to the cart, shoved his bulk against its side, unlatched the trunk.
Colonel Bruda said, “Governor, you�
��d better let someone else...”
Too late. Sullo tossed the trunk lid back.
The fat man rose on his toes. He stiffened. A gargling, strangled sound ripped out of his throat. He turned, his face white with horror. He vomited, then ran for the Residency, pausing to vomit twice more before he disappeared.
Cado looked into the trunk. “The heads of the Moretians he sent to evict the old woman.”
“Welcome to Qushmarrah, indeed.”
Try to find the boy who delivered the cart.”
“Waste of time.”
“I know. Make a showing. I’ll go try to keep him from doing anything else stupid.”
But Sullo was not on Cado’s mind as he mounted the steps of the Residency. He thought he saw a way to ease the perils of responding to the Turok incursion.
Azel dozed in the shadows by the empty fireplace, not as unalert as he appeared. He cracked an eyelid when the limping man came in. The man talked to Muma instead of passing a message. Muma looked surprised. After an exchange the gimp nodded and hobbled outside.
Muma fished a son out of the kitchen, yakked at him, sent him out the back way. He poured himself a draft of hot tea, added a dollop of honey, came to join Azel.
“Another message?”
“A little off the usual.”
“I saw you jump. What is it?”
“The palm sparrow has flown.”
Azel sat up. “The old boy croaked?”
“That’s what it means. That one wants to talk to you as soon as he can.”
“I’d rather leave town. But I suppose I have to. He’s the one the old man picked to take over.”
“Maybe we all ought to leave town.”
“Just when it’s getting interesting?”
“Just when it’s getting deadly.”
Muma’s son came back. He nodded. All clear. Azel rose, stretched, went out the back way. He caught up with the limping man. As he passed, he said, “At the Parrot’s Beak,” and went ahead.
He picked himself a good perch and waited, flipping pebbles at the morning pigeons grazing on the leavings of evening picnickers. When the shadow fell upon him he suggested, “Pull up a seat, Khadifa.”
The cripple eased himself down.
“I’m Azel. I worked for the old man, special. I guess I work for you now. Them’s his orders, anyway. So he finally went and did it, huh?”
“He did it, Azel. But he had help.”
“What?” That caught him as much by surprise as had the pursuit of the Dartars in the labyrinth.
“We believe he was murdered. By witchcraft.” The gimp gave him details. “I want you to view the body. See if you concur. Then I want you to find the woman who did it.”
“A woman? You’re sure?”
“No. Of course not. But once you come see the body you’ll understand our presumption.”
Azel shifted uneasily. “It’s still in Char Street? I had word from the old man yesterday to stay out of Char Street. Dartars are up to something there, watching everybody like hawks, stirring things up. I been in and out too much lately, all the special jobs he wanted done. What you doing with the body? Moving it somewhere?”
“He had property in the country. His wife still lives out there. We’re taking him there later.”
“I know the place. I’ll show up somewhere along the way. You going out yourself? We got a lot to talk about and this ain’t the best place.”
“You’re right. It isn’t. Maybe out there, day after tomorrow. I can get away with breaking routine today because my father died and there are things you have to do on a day like that. Unfortunately, I’ll actually have to spend most of my time doing those things. Tomorrow I’ll have to get back to my normal routine or there’ll be questions.”
“You ought to find some way to stop working,” Azel said. “Ain’t no way being boss of the whole damned outfit ought to be a part-time job.”
“I have to eat.”
Azel snorted. The man was a damned fool, seduced by the imaginary value of appearances. Who the hell was watching him? Bet he wasn’t no hand-to-mouth day laborer before Dak-es-Souetta. “You going to make any big changes? Or just go ahead the same old way?”
“No changes. That I foresee. Maybe after I’m more familiar with everything the organization is doing. I wasn’t in on everything.”
Azel snorted again. The guy was right there. The old man had thought him way too soft to follow through on some of the hard things that had to be done. But the best successor, anyway, overall. Go figure that.
The man asked, “How did you come to meet the General?”
“In temple. Long time ago. Look, I got stuff to do. Anything you want I should do right away? Besides try to find who did the old man?”
“I’d like to find out what the Dartars are up to in the Shu.”
“You and half the world. I’ll look you up if Fa’tad comes around and confesses.” Azel rose, walked away before the new General could drag it out any more.
He seemed a little too passive to boss such a bloodthirsty outfit.
Azel strolled up toward the citadel, stroking the place with idle but thoughtful glances. A woman killer, eh? And who might talk herself into thinking she had a reason?
He was passing the Residence, where for some reason they had a guard laid on that looked like half a legion, when by chance he glanced back and in the distance saw someone who looked like the eunuch Torgo. By the time he got back there without attracting attention he was unable to pick the man up again.
Yoseh sighed when Nogah left the alley where he had spent the night. Word had swept the column already: it had been a bad night for those who had stayed in the city. As many as a dozen might have been killed. More had been injured.
It would get worse, Yoseh was sure. He wished he knew what Fa’tad was doing. Last night there had been talk about hidden caverns, fabulous treasures, even a secret tunnel leading into the citadel. Everybody knew about the wealth accumulated in the citadel. If he could lay hands on that, Fa’tad could kiss Qush-marrah good-bye.
“Are you all right?” Yoseh asked as he dismounted.
“Just tired,” Nogah said. “We were lucky here. It was quiet all night-except when the most beautiful woman in the world came past, on her way to visit your girlfriend’s house.”
“What?”
“No. She didn’t actually visit. That was weird. She just stood outside the door for a while.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. I’m in love. I’m not supposed to make sense.”
“You’re doing a great job.”
“There any special news?”
“No. Fa’tad started the herd south yesterday. He’s going all out against the maze today. That’s it.”
“You want to go in today?”
Yoseh glanced down the street. Right now that door was closed.
“Don’t want to miss a chance, eh? All right. I can understand that. I’m in love myself. Going to sit out here today looking for mine, too.”
“That’ll make Medjhah happy. He’s got one picked out, too.”
Nogah grunted, glanced around. “This crowd, we’ll need more than two men to mind the animals.” ‘
There was a crowd. Close to forty men today, to work this one access. And another dozen to go up and walk the rooftops in search of additional entrances to the maze. The street was pure chaos as Dartar numbers tried to move amidst normal morning traffic. The animals would create a choke point filling half the street. And it would get worse when the masons came later.
Dartars poured into the maze or clambered to the roofs. Nogah directed traffic. Medjhah planted himself in his usual spot and watched his brothers try to crowd the animals into a more compact arrangement. The camels were not inclined to cooperate. Qushmarrahans passing by cursed liberally but were careful to confine their invective to the hump-backed beasts.
“How are your scrapes and bruises?” Nogah asked.
“They ache. And I
’m stiff all over.”
“Good thing I didn’t send you in there, then. It might get nasty today.”
“I think Fa’tad is going to leave a whole gang in here tonight. Five hundred, maybe even a thousand.”
“He’s gone crazy. The ferrenghi will have convulsions.”
“Maybe that’s what he wants. If it’s all some kind of game with General Cado.”
Nogah grunted. Yoseh could see he did not, really, want to bother trying to figure it out.
Same with Medjhah. Hell. Medjhah did not care at all. He just lived from day to day and tried to enjoy what life handed him.
“Hell with these beasts. They won’t crowd up any more.” Nogah went and found himself a seat. After a while, he dozed.
Yoseh settled with the same intention, but remained too conscious of that door down the street. After a while, Medjhah began his singsing “Come closer.” Yoseh noticed that the tall woman was alone this time and much more bold with her taunting hips.
A while later still, he noticed men across the street, watching.
Ferrenghi spies? Probably. Cado’s men hanging around the edges to see what they could dig out of the shadows.
Then came the messengers, moving grimly down toward the harbor, and later all the captains heading uphill, faces blank, without a word to the men.
He heard it from the veydeen first. Overheard it as the news spread like flashfire. Turok raiders were pillaging the territories between Agadar and Qushmarrah. The Agadar garrison had been cut to pieces. The survivors were holed up in the city.
There were a few Dartar auxiliaries at Agadar. How had they fared?
The veydeen looked like they wanted to work themselves into a panic. Like they felt defenseless. He was willing to bet that they had not gotten this excited when they had heard that Herod’s armies were approaching.
Then he began to get a glimmer. They feared chaos. They feared Cado would march out and leave the city open to destructive insurrection. An uprising by the few would bring reprisals down upon the many, sure as sundown.
He looked down the street at that door. Still nothing. Were they all dead in there? He glanced skyward. A few tall clouds lumbered toward the gulf. Would it ever rain again?
Even here on the coast it did not rain as much as once it had. And Qushmarrah needed a good rain, to sluice out the accumulated filth and stench.
