by Glen Cook
Putting it more politely than the governor, the interpreter asked what he wanted.
“I went to Government House but they told me General Cado was unavailable and Colonel Bruda didn’t have time for me and nobody else was authorized to deal with me, so I came here.”
“But what do you want?”
“I want to visit my family. I want to take them home.”
Governor Sullo was impatient with all that and barely pretended that he was not. “Yes. Yes. I understand. We’ll take care of it. You had something to tell us about Fa’tad.”
“Oh. Yes sir. I don’t know if it’s important or not...”
“Will you tell it?” Exasperated.
Good. “Yes sir. Sir, all afternoon and evening Fa’tad and his captains have been in the Shu, especially in my part of Char Street, dashing in and out of the maze.” It came easier than he had expected. He might get through it without freezing up. If the witch did not catch on. She had given him one odd glance but seemed preoccupied, uninterested. “They were excited. After a while I overheard enough to find out why. They found out how to get into the citadel from the maze. When I left to come here they were talking about how they were almost through and pretty soon it would be too late for anybody to keep them from grabbing the treasure. They were asking each other what they were going to do with their shares.”
Was he feeding it to the governor too fast? No. Not with the translation slowing it, keeping Sullo impatient to hear what came next.
“How long?” Sullo demanded, apparently conversant with the myth al-Akla had been spreading. “How long before they penetrate the citadel basements?”
Aaron tried to look bewildered by Sullo’s intensity. Never had a fish been so eager to take the hook. If only the witch didn’t come out of her reverie... “Just before I left, one of them was talking about five more hours.”
“Five hours,” Sullo muttered. “Before dawn. By damn! Carpenter, how long ago was that?”
“I don’t know.” Aaron scratched the back of his neck. “At least two hours. I guess. I went to Government House first. Then I came here. I don’t know how long I was out in the rain, trying to get somebody to talk to me.”
“Two hours? Damn! There might not be time. Thank him and get him out of here.”
As the translator tried to move him out Aaron protested, “What about my family?” He threatened to get stubborn.
Governor Sullo cursed, snatched pen and paper from his witch. She frowned at him momentarily, faded into her thoughts again. He scrawled something, sanded the message, thrust it at Aaron. “Go on! I’m busy.” He turned his back.
Aaron placed the note inside his clothing, safe from moisture, as he allowed himself to be steered toward an exit.
From the Residence he headed straight toward Government House. Along the way a voice from the darkness asked, “How did it go?”
“He swallowed the bait whole. He hardly asked any questions.”
“Excellent.” Footsteps hurried away.
Aaron kept walking toward Government House.
Sullo very nearly did a jig. “Fortune is grinning at me,” he said. “First Cado sends both generals out of the city, then he lets himself get grabbed by these pathetic Qushmarrahan rebels. There’s no one between me and complete control but that fool Bruda. And now this. The citadel on a platter. If I move fast enough to take it before the savages.”
Without looking up Annalaya cautioned, “Fortune wears many faces. Some are deceitful masks.”
“I need Bruda put out of my way.”
She looked up then, her ugly young face empty of expression.
“I know. I know. You don’t want to hurt anybody. So don’t hurt him. Do something that will make it look like he’s had a stroke. I’ll only need a day. That’s time enough to get hold of all the reins. After that if he wants to stay a colonel he’ll do what I tell him.”
Annalaya sighed, pushed back from the table, went to where she stored her tools.
Half an hour later she told Sullo, “It’s done.” The Governor was dressed for the weather, waiting. She went back to her table.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“No. I’ll continue my research. In case your miracle doesn’t work out.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything but what I said. You don’t need me over there. If I stay here working we won’t have lost any time if we do have to go in the front door, after all.”
Sullo was not satisfied with that answer but he did not have time to cajole or beat the truth out of her. He joined his surviving Moretians and launched himself into the rain.
They were pleased to see him at Government House, almost. It had been a day of disasters. With Bruda suffering a seizure the entire city, for the moment, rested on the shoulders of ensigns and appointive tribunes who still had all their hair. They did not want the liabilities and responsibilities of directing more-senior professionals elsewhere in the city.
Sullo became impassioned with a malicious glee. Welcomed as a savior! How much better could it get?
“Let me see where the troops are,” he said. “Tell me what they’re doing now.”
They showed him and told him.
Bruda’s priorities had been protection of Herodian life and property, then reinforcement of strongpoints. He had put the garrison on alert but had kept the mass of troops out of sight for fear of provoking something.
“Assemble runners,” Sullo ordered. When those had been gathered he sent them off with orders that would strip the barracks of men and arms and would send four thousand soldiers into the Shu. He wanted to overawe the Dartars there with everything he had.
The military staff were astounded and baffled. When they asked what he was doing he told them, “What brought me here was a report, from a reliable agent, that al-Akla is about to shift sides and rebel with the natives. At the moment he’s in the Shu maze, attempting to penetrate the citadel through secret passages. If he succeeds-and he expects to do so before dawn-the citadel is to become the headquarters for his Dartars and the native rebels. We weren’t supposed to discover his treachery till the Dartar standard appeared atop the citadel, which would be the signal for a general uprising.
“Thanks to my agent we have an opportunity to abort this treachery. And to claim a conqueror’s share of the citadel treasures.”
He could not tell if they believed him. He did not care. They went to work as though they believed.
An hour later he was out in the rain at the head of Char Street, telling an improved version of his story to field officers while soldiers cursed the weather and hurried to surround the Shu maze. This audience was more skeptical than that at Government House. But recent events made convincing evidence for Sullo’s contentions.
Sullo believed none of his story himself. He could not picture Qushmarrahans or Dartar savages as posing a serious threat.
Nogah came sliding out of the darkness to report, “The carpenter was right. Sullo swallowed the bait whole. He has messengers running everywhere, calling out the troops. Looks like he’s going to send every man he can scrape up.”
“Excellent.” Fa’tad called men out of the alley, sent messenger after messenger scurrying off. Yoseh paid no attention. Nobody but Fa’tad knew what Fa’tad was up to. Trying to figure it out just confused him. And everyone else, too. Even Nogah had stopped asking questions and just went ahead and did what he was told.
Anyway, he was distracted. Tamisa had come home a few minutes ago and he could not keep his mind off that place down the street. Foolish, he knew. But he felt crazy enough to just walk down there and knock and ask to see her, to find out how she was.
Men were slipping away, climbing quietly to the upper level above the alley or crossing Char Street to disappear into the nearest alleys over there. Fa’tad hurried up top to “check on masonry stores,” whatever that meant. When he renamed, he said, “Yoseh, come here a minute.”
Yoseh went, with a sinking feel
ing. Nogah and Medjhah closed in. They looked grim, what he could see of them. He did not think he was going to like this.
Fa’tad said, “The ferrenghi will be here soon. When they come those of us left here will scatter like we’ve been taken off guard. Yoseh, I have a role for you to play.”
Yoseh groaned. The soft sound vanished in the patter of falling rain and chuckle of water running in the street.
“When we scatter I want you to run around like a mouse in a panic. You’re young and you do a good job of looking confused. They shouldn’t be suspicious when they catch you.”
Nogah and Medjhah protested.
“Quiet.” Fa’tad told Yoseh the story he wanted related to the ferrenghi soldiers. “You stick to that, don’t resist, and pretend to be scared and you’ll be all right.”
Yoseh knew he would not have to pretend. He did not announce that, though.
Fa’tad said, “Just to make sure, and to give you a little added confidence... Come along.” He marched straight down to Tamisa’s door.
Yoseh followed, bent against the rain, suddenly conscious of the massive loom of his surroundings, warrens filled with terrified rabbits. How many thousands were in there, praying that no one out here remembered they existed?
The carpenter looked out his peephole. Al-Akla said, “Fa’tad.” He never called himself the Eagle. “A word, if you please.”
The veydeen opened the door and beckoned them inside.
Yoseh found Tamisa immediately. She was changing Stafa. Her sister was tending the old woman. He and the girl locked gazes. She lost track of what she was doing.
Fa’tad was saying something to the carpenter about leaving his door unlatched so Yoseh could use it as a bolt-hole if he got the chance, after the ferrenghi captured and questioned him.
Yoseh took a step forward. He kept looking at the girl but spoke to the older sister. “How is she doing?”
“She’s going to be all right.”
“That’s good.” After an uncomfortable pause, “We should have Arif out soon.”
The older sister glanced up. There was moisture in her eyes but her voice was cool and even. “Thank you.”
“Yoseh. Come along.”
He stepped into the rain hoping he had not lied.
“Did you hear what we said in there?”
“Yes sir.”
“Try to keep it in mind. The ferrenghi are coming.” Fa’tad faded into the darkness.
A clangor wakened Azel.
Soldiers! Masses of soldiery. There was no racket like that made by masses of armed men in a hurry.
He bounded to the window, his wounds sending bolts of pain through his flesh.
Rain and darkness. Not a lot to see but scores of lanterns, like swarming fireflies, moving into the Shu.
What now? There were thousands of men down there.
He made himself as comfortable as he could. This would be a long and troubled vigil.
Naszif returned to Government House after a prolonged and thankless round of inspections for Colonel Bruda. Government House was as still as a tomb.
Bruda should be pleased. The Gate of Autumn was untouchable. The soldiers there were ready for anything.
Control of that gate would be crucial, whatever happened.
He entered Government House enrapt in his own misery. He was in Herodian harness for the first time ever. And Herodian uniforms were not suited for the rain. Until he neared Bruda’s offices he did not realize that something was wrong.
The moment the silence struck home he grabbed an ensign and asked what had happened.
Worse than he could have imagined in a nightmare. Bruda laid low. Sullo in control. “The fool! The damned fool!” This was madness. “It’s a trap! It has to be a trap!” And it was too late to keep the trap from closing.
Nothing to do now but try to survive.
The sentries assigned to patrol the wall north of the Gate of Autumn were not. They huddled inside, out of the rain. Their officers were more guilty than they. Because the sentries were not in an area considered critical no one had informed them that there was high excitement in Qushmarrah tonight.
The wall did not remain naked. Nomads came and dropped rope ladders. Silent men came up from outside, moved into the city, steady as trails of ants.
Who would believe it? Dartars did not go toward possible battle without their mounts. Everyone knew that who knew nothing about life. and history in the Khadatqa Mountains.
No Herodian saw them but they were not overlooked by the eyes of the Living.
Governor Sullo moved down Char Street toward where Fa’tad al-Akla had had his command post. His Moretians formed a tight screen around him. A tribune by his side said, “The men are moving into the maze through all the entrances the Dartars left open.”
“What about the savages? Any resistance?”
“No. They’ve scattered like startled mice. We’ve only caught one so far. Just a kid. Didn’t know which way to run. Ended up plowing right into our men. They scared hell out of him. Had him talking in five minutes.”
“Good. I’ll have a few questions for him. Can we do something about these animals?” Char Street was filled with nervous horses and camels.
“They’ll wander away when they get hungry enough, sir.”
Sullo gave the tribune a sharp look. Another one of those, performing his duties with an absolute rectitude that masked a contempt for the civil authority.
They would by damned get that whipped out of them before he was finished with Qushmarrah.
Momentarily, he wondered what reliable hulls were available, in harbor. He would have a treasure fleet to form as soon as the weather cleared.
“This is where al-Akla was set up.” A file of soldiers with unhappy faces, carrying lanterns, moved into an alleyway steadily.
“They look like they know where they’re going.”
“The routes in are marked out with ropes and, I gather, the false branches have been blocked off. So it’s just a matter of following ropes to the area where the Dartars are mining.”
“Good of them to do the work for us.”
“Yes sir.”
“Is that the prisoner?” He indicated a Dartar standing against a wall, unguarded, apparently too scared to run.
“Yes sir.”
“Let’s look at him.”
The savage shrank away as Sullo approached. The tribune was right. He was just a kid. “You,” Sullo said. “You were with al-Akla?”
The boy looked at him blankly. Of course. He did not speak Herodian. Another of Cado’s failings. He should have made them learn.
“Can you talk to him?”
“Yes sir.”
“Ask him where al-Akla is.”
The tribune asked. The boy gulped, looked around for help that was not there, started chattering.
“He says al-Akla is in the labyrinth, directing the mining. Most of his captains are with him. Fa’tad expects trouble when he gets into the citadel. Big trouble, apparently.”
Sullo asked questions. The boy answered with apparent forthrightness, shaking. He did not know much that was useful except that Fa’tad was so sure he faced a fight he had taken a thousand men into the maze with him.
“The boy is a dolt. Al-Akla didn’t take a mob in there to storm the citadel, he took them to hold it after he gets inside.”
The last soldiers had disappeared into the alley. Sullo walked over and looked inside, the tribune and Moretians staying with him. He stared into the darkness. His feet felt cooler than they ought. A quarter-inch-deep flow of water came from the alley.
He glanced to one side... “What happened to the boy?”
The prisoner had vanished.
Sullo felt a sudden hollow develop in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong here...
But that could not be.
He recalled Annalaya’s cryptic remark about the faces of fortune.
The arrows began to fall with the rain, hissing like quarrelsome snakes. Mor
etians began to drop. Lanterns fell and broke. Tricklets of burning oil slithered across wet stone.
Sullo grabbed the only chance he had. He flung his fat bulk into the darkness before him.
When the door slammed shut Aaron bent, fed the wick of a candle to a coal in the hearth, coaxed a flame to life. He held the candle high.
The Dartar boy stood with his back against the door. His face cloth was gone. He looked terrible, as though he had just peered down the throat of Hell.
Aaron got up and went toward him.
“Don’t. Don’t look out there.”
“I was going to bar the door.” He took hold of the boy’s arm and urged him toward the hearth, sat him down.
Laella and Mish were wide awake, watching. Aaron nodded to Mish. “Make some tea.” He went back and barred the door.
Mish settled onto her knees before the hearth, fed in a few precious pieces of fuel. She did not look at the boy directly when she asked, “What’s wrong, Yoseh? Did they scare you that bad? Did they hurt you?”
“No. Yes. They scared me. But it’s not that. It’s what’s going to happen now. Fa’tad is going to kill them.”
Faintly, through the heavy door, Aaron heard cries.
From her position against the back wall Laella said, “Aaron, this wall is damp again. You’ve really got to do something.”
Each time there was a heavy rain the wall passed water. He thought it came down from a bad spot in the roof. But nothing he tried did any good. He took a look mainly to keep peace in the household.
This time there were beads of water on the bottom foot of the wall, forming and dribbling down like drops of sweat.
The ferrenghi witch glanced up when Fa’tad made his entrance. She did not seem surprised. “So. Fortune did wear a false mask.” Maybe nothing could surprise a sorceress.
“What?”
“I cautioned him that his luck might not be as good as it appeared.”
“He was a small man, fat with greed, easily led.”
“Yes. Was? You killed him?”
Fa’tad smiled, a little sadly, a little wearily. He was an old man and age had taken its toll of everything but will. “No. He’s underground but he isn’t yet dead.”
