Crescent Inquisition

by Fuad Baloch

  “Keep going,” whispered Captain Tamat. “I’ll stay behind to cover the light.”

  “Sure.” Nodding, not wanting to admit the shiver of fear that stabbed him upon realizing he’d be walking out into the darkness by himself, Palvar advanced. The tunnel turned left, taking a long winding path. Another forty or so yards later, it ended abruptly, the walls giving way to a ledge that protruded a few feet into the air.

  Keeping low, Palvar crept up to the edge and looked around. He was in a vast flooded cavern, the waters underneath him still and unmoving in the dim sunlight filtering in from another tunnel up to the right. He peered about. “Blood and onions!” He was in a central station of sorts, with not two, but a good dozen tunnels branching off to only Rabb knew where. Worst of all, though, was the stench. He had taken his hand off his nose some time ago, allowing his senses to acclimate, but now in this cavern where piles of shit kept the urine at bay, the air felt viscous, a physical gag assaulting his very being.

  Palvar considered his options. There was no doubt that the magus and the two captors had taken the tunnel he was in, but where had they gone afterwards? Captain Tamat was still a while away judging by his faint torchlight. Palvar had the option of staying put, waiting for the captain to catch up. Or he could try and pick up the trail before he lost them for good.

  “Son of a shitting bat!” Grimacing, cursing, Palvar gently dipped one boot into the water underneath. His eyes squeezed shut, he allowed it to sink deeper. The despicable liquid lapped against his breeches, his skin tingling with revulsion, but then he hit solid ground. “At least I won’t drown here.” Gathering all his resolve, he brought his second foot down as well. “Now, where have you gone?” Tentatively, he took a step toward the nearest tunnel. Something soft and squishy moved underneath him, causing him to lose his balance. His hands went up instinctively and he began falling forward. By inches, he missed the nearest mound of shit, kicking out at the last instant to keep himself off. “Blasted shitting sons of whores!”

  Rage, sudden and fierce, coursed through him. Clenching his fingers, he punched the empty air around the pile of shit. “I’m going to find you even if it takes…” He trailed away, finally seeing how he could follow the two men he sought. The waters allowed no trail, but the mounds of shit did. Just like he had disturbed one, there was no plotting a way through to the other tunnels except by wading around and through the mounds.

  “There,” he whispered, finally seeing a zigzag pattern running to the tunnel to his left. “Got you!”

  No longer caring for the horrid water lapping against him and the stench boring a hole in his mind, he advanced towards the tunnel. A dozen steps from it, he reached into his robes and retrieved his Nikhtuni dagger. A well-crafted weapon that didn't deserve to be in this woeful place but one he was thankful to have.

  “I’m coming, Roha!”

  At the lip of the tunnel, Palvar paused. Should he wait for the captain to arrive? He turned about. As far as he could tell, the light from his tunnel hadn’t gotten any stronger. Was there another branching path that he had missed?

  Not that it mattered.

  His body tense, Palvar leaned in and peeked inside.

  An empty tunnel, its floor slick with wet.

  Keeping his dagger close to him, Palvar climbed up into the tunnel. He waited, breath coming in quick gasps. He heard nothing, saw nothing.

  Nodding to himself, he began shuffling forward, heading for the faint light up ahead.

  Someone snarled.

  Palvar wheeled around, terror enveloping him in a rush.

  A monstrous face lunged at him, the yellow teeth bared as he cackled.

  Palvar parried the first attack away. But as he spun around, he found himself looking into a solidly build man. Before Palvar could duck away, something smashed into his head from behind.

  Darkness rushed in.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kunita could take it no more.

  “Enough!” she shouted, her shrill voice cutting through the commotion. “We have to storm the sewers right now!”

  The viziers and inquisitors and the city guard captains and knights of the Sultan’s Body all fell silent. Even Lud Ghiani, who was representing Prince Hatan. As they turned to her, their faces grim under the flickering torchlights in the vast hall of the city guard headquarters, she straightened her back, meeting their gaze without flinching. She was a mere woman in a gathering of men that thought nothing of those like her, but she didn't care one bit.

  “My dear girl,” began Inquisitor Khatani, the only other female apart from her, exchanging a knowing look with Inquisitor Fan. “Don’t think I don’t understand your situation. You have feelings for that irritating westerner, don’t you?” She held up a hand to forestall Kunita. “Hush, child. What happened in the sewers is terrible, but we can’t let that detract us from going about it the proper way.”

  Kunita felt her cheeks burn. “I care for no man.” She waved a hand towards the city guard captains, her eyes settling on Captain Tamat, her voice coming out pleading. “You have to go back and keep searching. He’s still in there!”

  Cold, dispassionate looks appraised her. As Inquisitor Khatani continued to smirk, two viziers began muttering to each other. Another bent in and whispered something to Lud Ghiani, who shook his head sadly. Kunita clenched her fists. She was running out of time. Soon enough, she’d be told to leave this elevated group. They’d be polite, their words guised in honeyed sympathy, but the intent would be clear. She’d been allowed long enough on account of her supposed connection with Palvar Turka, but now the presence of one who worked with harem girls was no longer necessary. A part of her reminded her of her goal. She could use the sympathy to latch onto one of the viziers. Except her heart didn’t let her linger on that thought.

  Captain Tamat rubbed his hands. “We’ve had our men scour the tunnels. Except for the magus’s trail leading back up to the surface, there’s no trace of anyone.”

  The tall city guard captain standing beside Captain Tamat nodded. “It’s a labyrinth, the city sewers. There’s no telling now which path Sahib Turka might have taken to resurface. Not that it matters. We’ve got the magus safely back and we need all the men we can spare patrolling the streets.” He turned to face the viziers. “I suggest caution in case we’ve antagonized the captors.”

  “Antagonized the captors?” Kunita repeated, not believing what she was hearing.

  Captain Tamat turned stiffly toward the inquisitors. “I did warn from the beginning that this was a bad idea. Now we’ve got nothing to show for this experiment.”

  Inquisitor Casan, the man who the magus Roshan was bonded to, shook his head. “Don’t look at me as if I agreed to it,” he said pointedly, thrusting his chin at Inquisitor Fan, who gazed coolly out the windows looking out into the night.

  “This is a disaster growing worse each day,” declared Hajan Bismith, the vizier responsible for the highways connecting the vast sultanate. “If we were worried about the crowds of protesters baying for blood yesterday, they’re only going to be larger today.”

  “Indeed,” said Lud Ghiani, wiping his forehead with the back of his dark gloved hand. Unlike the others, he seemed to be coping the worst, his shoulders sagging, his gaunt cheeks hollow under the torches. Kunita felt a pang of sympathy for him for the enormous strain he must be under. His family’s reputation had been shattered for being unable to guard their own guests. Besides, he, along with Prince Hatan, had agreed to Palvar’s idea.

  Voices broke out, each person— except for the grand vizier’s son and herself—lamenting how they would have done a better job and what a great setback this had been for all of them. Kunita drew in a long breath. The grand vizier must have been terribly occupied to let these groups alone without supervising them himself. Yes, he had sent one of his sons in his stead, but second sons in Istan carried no weight.

  She’d been here hours already, her body gripped with fear at what had happened to Palvar even if no one
else seemed to care. She forced her breathing to slow down, willing her frayed nerves to relax. When she looked up, she found Inquisitor Khatani watching her. Kunita turned away, feeling her cheeks redden. Had she really started developing feelings for Palvar, as the inquisitor had alleged?

  Annoyance continued to rise within her and she ground her teeth. She had to get the attention of these men squabbling amongst themselves before she got turned out. But how? What would have Palvar done here? No doubt, something reckless and—

  Throwing caution to the wind, Kunita began cackling like one possessed by the djinn, her voice bouncing off the high ceiling, echoing over and over.

  One by one, faces turned to her again. No longer afraid of the effect her words would have, she jabbed her index finger in the air. “Makes one wonder why three went in and only two came out, doesn't it?” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s so special about Captain Tamat and Roshan, really? Is it perhaps because Courtier Palvar Turka was getting too close to the truth and someone decided to take him out?”

  Captain Tamat’s face grew red. The other city guard captains standing beside him glared at her, not even bothering to mask their hostility. For good reason. She had just accused one of their members for either being incompetent or, worse, an accomplice.

  Kunita had had enough, though. She was on borrowed time as it was, and only Rabb knew how Palvar was faring under his captors if he was even alive. One of the city guards advanced towards her, his arm outstretched, his set face leaving no doubt as to what he intended to do to her.

  Kunita was seething. The world expected to see someone who worked with girls in the harem to have a soft corner for handsome men, but didn't tolerate them to be seen or heard otherwise. She needed their attention, though, no matter what it took, even if it forced her to play the detested cards in life she had been dealt.

  “Oh Rabb!” Kunita cried out, smacking her chest with the back of her hand. Sobbing, she collapsed to the floor, stretching her arms out, making sure to point her quivering fingers at the viziers. She blinked hard, then looked up at the distinguished group of Algarians, tears streaking down her powdered cheeks. “I… I hate the very idea of saying out loud what everyone’s thinking. But how can we ignore the fact that out of the two men who went after the captors, just one came out, reporting he saw nothing, heard nothing?” She heaved a sigh, shuddering with effort. “Ah, woe is me, and upon the whole of Istan. Am I the only one who has gone blind here, trying to unsee what’s so plainly apparent? What would the grand vizier think of it all?” She paused for effect. “What would the sultan make of it?"

  She knew her words packed a punch, and they did deliver the desired effect. The guard froze in his tracks, waiting for further instructions from his commanders, who in turn refused to look at her. Lud Ghiani and the viziers appeared the most shaken; they had to, for it was they who’d have to report back to the grand vizier and the sultan. The truth was pretty simple: two men had gone down after the magus, one had been captured, the other had returned unharmed. Not something one could easily explain away.

  The inquisitors were muttering. Kunita took in another long, shuddering breath. Now that she had yanked the hidden elephant out into the limelight, it wouldn’t be long before the inquisitors would have to confront their own problem too. Roshan, the magus chosen as bait, had come out without incident too.

  “The girl does make a fair comment,” she heard Lud Ghiani say. She sobbed, wiping tears with the back of her hand, then dropped her chin. The cool marble floor was hard underneath her, but she didn’t complain. Not so long as she kept their attention focused where she needed it.

  “Captain Tamat, tell us again what you saw,” asked a firm, authoritative voice.

  “He’s already explained everything, Vizier,” replied a harsher voice—no doubt a fellow captain’s. “Besides, the girl is right. We cannot just ignore the fact that the captain wasn’t the only one who came out of the sewers without incident.”

  “You talk of the magus?” the vizier demanded.

  “The inquisitors are quite satisfied with his story,” replied Inquisitor Fan brusquely.

  Kunita raised her chin. The curtains swept to the side fluttered as a cool draft blew in. Lud Ghiani had walked over there, his dark silk robe almost indistinguishable from the night, even if the first golden rays had started coloring the distant horizon. Not long before the sun rose, heralding another day where the family members of the sultan remained prisoners. There’d be price to pay today for not meeting the ransom.

  “Why didn’t they take the magus, Inquisitor?” demanded the city guard captain. “They wanted magi. We sent one. Yet, he came out reporting he saw no one.”

  “Perhaps they mistook the courtier from Nikhtun as the magus?” suggested Lud Ghiani.

  “Doubtful,” replied Inquisitor Fan. “One can expect them to tell the real from the counterfeit. That’s why we decided to use a real magus and not just a mummer from the shows.”

  “You should have sent fourteen magi, then,” said the stern city guard captain. “That’s what they’d asked for.”

  “What’s done is done,” said Inquisitor Casan through pursed lips. “And before anyone dares suggest anything, know that the magi cannot lie to their inquisitors. Roshan is not a part of any conspiracy. If anyone continues to hold that, then they’re really insinuating I instructed my magus to imprison the courtier and escape before he could be caught.”

  Kunita watched the inquisitor. She’d had the chance to observe men in their most intimate and vulnerable moments. In the throes of passion, as their base animal instincts took over, allowing them to loosen up, they never lied. She’d taught her girls that those were the moments where one heard the unvarnished truth: state secrets, important trade deals being struck, assassination orders for political rivals. As she stared at Inquisitor Casan, her heart knew he wasn't lying. Although, as her gaze flittered to Inquisitor Fan watching the proceedings with a cool detachment, she found herself growing increasingly uncomfortable. Palvar was missing, and in Captain Tamat and Inquisitor Fan, he had two of his enemies tasked with finding him. That didn't feel right.

  “Distinguished sahibs of Istan,” said Lud Ghiani. “Let’s not point fingers at each other. Rabb as my witness, if there’s anyone to be blamed here, it’s indeed I for not having guarded the royal family properly at my house!”

  “No, sahib,” said a city guard captain, stepping forward. “It’s us who have failed you.”

  A knight of the Sultan’s Body thumped his chest, then dropped his head. “My parents be sacrificed, the shame is ours.”

  That went on for a while, a circle of miserable souls whining and shedding false tears.

  A painful silence fell. Then, finally, one of the minor viziers shook his head. “We’ve lost so much. The Reratish would never accept compromises now.”

  “Shut up already about your stupid trade deal!” chided an older, pompous vizier. “The ameers of the west will just have to live with the consequences of the botched talks.”

  An angry muttering broke out as the viziers began squabbling once more.

  Kunita lay on the floor, forgotten by everyone now. She was used to that, of course. Men loved to kiss their conquests head to toe, but promptly forgot their existence after they’d climaxed. She exhaled. She’d done her bit, though: forced them to investigate both the magus and the captain. The rest was now up to Palvar.

  She watched Captain Tamat and Inquisitor Fan. They were hiding something; that wasn't in doubt. But what?

  Again, in her mind, she saw the parcel arrive in the sultan’s court, draped in its ghastly silk finery. Why did that box continue to irk her so? Then, she saw the bloated head sitting within it.

  “Oh Rabb,” she prayed, looking out as the sun finally broke through, “don’t let that be Palvar’s fate!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pinpricks of light danced in the distance, their edges muddy and gray. Grimacing, Palvar tried reaching for them. A wave of pain crest
ed over and the pinpricks disappeared.

  “It hurts, it always does, doesn’t it?” said a high-pitched voice. “It’s meant to. The flesh hurts when the flesh hurts!”

  Palvar forced open his eyelids. A dark-skinned man sat on his haunches, rocking sideways, staring unblinking at him. The unkempt hairs of his beard were matted down in places, his cheeks nicked and bruised. As the man smiled through yellowed broken teeth, his eyes twinkling with infantile glee, Palvar felt a chill go down his spine.

  “Mementos…” he crooned, scooping up a torn piece of dark silk from the ground and sniffing it. “The master and I are me now.”

  Palvar shook his head, trying to get his bearings. He was in a small room, its walls moist under the lone torch flickering behind the man. Just beyond was a door with a small window of iron bars. Even as he blinked, he sniffed and gagged at the awful stench of the place.

  Palvar moved his hand up to clamp his nose but encountered resistance. He looked down and found his arms and legs bound. Struggling up to sit against the wall behind him, he swore, “Blood and onions!” Licking his parched lips, Palvar turned towards the man. “Who in the seven hells are you?”

  “Slave to the slave of the shadow that moves the shadow.” Still on his haunches, he pressed the palms of his hands together, crushing the piece of cloth in between, and let out a sob. “Mother wouldn’t be happy. No, she wouldn’t. She never was, was she?”

  Palvar’s first instinct was to scream. That seemed like a good idea, until the rational part of his mind got through that there was very little chance of him being heard. He bobbed his head, unable to quash the throbbing in his temples. “You were the one who hit me?”

  “The flesh hit the flesh.”

  Palvar gritted his teeth. “You didn't have to strike this hard!”

  “Ignar does what Ignar does.”

  “Ignar?” Palvar repeated the word as his captor sniffled. “It means fire, doesn’t it?”