by Prue Batten
The boy turned. ‘Effendi?’
‘My clothes. The dirty ones… they had things…’
‘Oh yes, sir. I forgot. Here. Ibn took them from your pocket and gave them to me to place with your clean garments.’ He held out a small linen wrapped bundle.
Finnian took it, opening it with care, noticing the clean kerchief, cleaner than the one that had been his. The parchment lay inside and on top was a river stone, a piece of smooth white quartz with a hole worried through its middle. ‘This,’ he said to the boy, holding up the stone between his fingers, ‘is not mine.’
‘It is, sir. Ibn has a small collection of such stones. He gives them to people he has a feeling for. He says it is a talisman blessed by the river djinns. He has only ever given a tiny handful of such stones since I have worked with him. That is two years. You are fortunate. It is an honour.’
And Ibn thinks I am an honourable man? Then he is deluded, for I am not. ‘You must thank him for me.’
‘I shall, sir. But see there? That is Curiosa’s. And there is the coffeehouse. Shall you manage now?’
Finnian nodded and passed the boy some swiftly mesmered gelt, watching as the fellow hurried back in the direction of the hammam. He rubbed at the white stone. A talisman for the fey? How quaint. But then perhaps not. He realised it was a mark of friendship. In Ibn’s language a mark of faith perhaps. He raised his eyebrows and shoved the stone in his pocket and recalled whispered words – ‘Curios, curiosa, curiosity.’ The Moonlady began to appear so much more than a drug-crazed dream and he could scarce believe it as he gazed across to the entrance of the antiquarian’s premises.
Lalita and Finnian.
Chapter Thirteen
Lalita dreamed. She floated through gauze clouds in the midnight sky lulled like a baby, dipping and diving along the milky pathway of mist that was the Celestine Way. Thoughts of her brother and his child drifted through her mind. She recalled him in detail – tall, his smooth hair curling at his neck as he bent to check Mogu’s legs. In her habitually dour way, his camel showed her teeth but rubbed her head against him. He stood up laughing, his dark eyes glinting and Lalita knew Adelina would have found him more than attractive.
As she dreamed, she could see him holding the golden woman and reciting one of the many poems that had always taken his fancy, for he would learn them if he enjoyed them or he would write the verse himself. Oh yes, she would love him, of that there was no doubt.
And they had a child, Isabella – a beautiful babe the djinn had said, and she might grow up to look like her aunt. Curiosity burned inside Lalita – to find her niece, to find her brother’s lover and to see for herself. To see what it was that had led her brother on his fatal journey.
In her slumber, she flew along the celestial byways, past stars and galaxies, until she lay on a cloud beneath a pale silver moon. Kholi’s voice chanted softly as the child Lalita curled up in bed trying to sleep.
‘The Lady Moon came down one night,
She did, you shouldn’t doubt it,
A lovely lady dressed in blue,
I’ll tell you all about it.’
For Lalita, the Lady Moon had been a friend in the night, someone who looked over her and smiled at her as she looked up to the stars. As a child, she always imagined she was a kind spirit, the Lady Moon, and as she looked at her now in her peregrinations through the heavens, she fancied the woman held a cat draped over her arms. A cat with pale eyes and a tail that swung like a pendulum, marking time. A cat, how curious. A cat in the sky. Curiosity killed the cat, she heard the words as she began to move away from the moon, but satisfaction brought it back. Curious, curiosity…
Then she was winging away again, paperweights swirling around her like meteors. Millefiori glistened in some, like a thousand glass flowers. Coloured filligrana or zanfirico canes sparkled in others. A smaller paperweight fell into her lap and she held it in her fingers, looking into the glass-contained midnight sky, where lay two stars and an elegant quarter moon. She held tight as she whirled away, paperweight after paperweight filled with tissue thin strips of paper whizzing past and then she had to let the night time paperweight go because she needed both hands to try and catch those with the strips. She knew they meant the difference between life and death.
But then she began to fall…
‘Lalita, Desert Flower. Lady, wake, I have you.’ Rajeeb’s arms encircled her as her chest heaved.
‘I dreamed I was falling and I had lost everything. The paperweights, everything.’
‘A dream, Lalita, a dream.’
‘No, Rajeeb. It wasn’t a dream. I have to find the paperweights. I have to. If I don’t, then everything in Eirie will be gone. Isabella, everything. If Kholi is not alive to protect his child then I must try – I must do it for him. Is it morning?’ She struggled to stand, pulling the thin silk garment around her.
‘Yes. It is early morning.’
‘Then I must go. Time passes and I have no time. The cat said.’
‘The cat? Lalita, it was a dream. Sit for a moment.’
‘No. I mean yes it was a dream, but the curiosity cat marked the time with its tail and then as I left it behind, there were paperweights and I have to find them.’ She paused, realizing immediately just how disjointed she sounded. But in her mind things made sense and that was what mattered. ‘Rajeeb, don’t you see? The charms are deadly. You have said so. At any time they could be found and used and my one living family member, an innocent infant, could be killed.’ She grabbed Rajeeb’s arm. ‘I’ve lost all those I hold to my heart. Every single one. And even though I have never yet seen my niece, I owe her a life for my brother. He would do the same if it were my child he needed to protect. I must find the charms, find a means of destroying them. You say it is Fate that I have one in my possession already. Is it not Fate then, that I must seek the others? Please say you understand.’
Rajeeb looked down at her. ‘Well, yes Flower, I think I do. As I have already said, Fate has brought you to this point. But tell me, in this moment of strange illumination, do you also feel that you can forgive Isabella’s mother. That you must not blame her for your brother’s death?’
Lalita sat. She had barely thought of forgiveness or otherwise after this sudden awakening. ‘I don’t know. I suppose. You are right when you say Kholi would have acted without thought for himself, only for those dear to him.’
‘Liam of the Færan was a friend of his, Lalita.’
‘As you say. And being what my brother was, he would have stood up to the contessa to the death. For the sake of his friend.’ The rock hard lump was back again and a pain in her chest, a heart-pain, grief unabated. ‘Perhaps there is nothing to forgive Isabella’s mother for. But even so, I reserve my judgement until I meet her.’
‘Good. That is entirely fair and would have been a waste of emotions otherwise. But to return to the business at hand, Lalita… you must accomplish your quest to find the charms without myself or the afrit and for that, I worry.’
Lalita twisted her hair into a loose rope and flung it over her shoulder. ‘I am a naturally wary person, Rajeeb, with a degree of intelligence. Besides, Kholi taught me a little of self-defence in his time. If I have a dagger, I can fight back.’
‘You can fight against mortals, Lalita, but you could never fight Others. Unless…’ he tapped his finger against his chin and then continued. ‘And where is it that you would go? To the Fahsi souks? Lalita, be under no illusions, this is a dangerous mission you have set yourself. The charms reek of power of the worst kind and there will be others, mortal and eldritch, who crave them obsessively and if they have any inkling that you possess even just that one strip, your life is forfeit.’
‘I know, Rajeeb. But I was saved by the grace of Aine and your own good offices. I have a second chance and I must not waste it.’ I have family now. ‘On my brother’s life I must not waste it. Thus I go to Fahsi.’
‘What? You go where?’ The afrit bustled into the observatory.
> ‘She goes to Fahsi, afrit. To the souks. And if her dreams are to be read right, she goes to Curiosa, the antique dealer.’
Curiosa. Curiosity killed the cat.
‘She does? Why? On the vague assumption that if one paperweight held a charm and it came from Curiosa then another might be there? A thin argument surely.’
‘Perhaps. But there is more that is reasonable in the argument than not. In any case there is no other argument as to their whereabouts and this one must be taken seriously.’
The afrit’s tone darkened. ‘But this could be life threatening. Why would she?’
I am here in front of you. Don’t speak as if I am not. ‘It’s life threatening if I go or not, afrit, as long as I have this.’ She waved the paper strip in front of him. ‘And regardless, it is my new family that matters. I say again to you what I said to Rajeeb. I thought I had no family. Now I find I have a niece, my brother’s babe, and I owe this to my brother. He was much older than me, almost eighteen years, and he cared for me as if I were his own child as I grew. If I can repay that debt of family in my lifetime then I shall.’
‘Hmm,’ the afrit seemed unmoved. ‘You would threaten yourself over a child you’ve never met? A child who could be as obnoxious as…’
‘As yourself maybe, little afrit? And look how much I have grown to like you. Yes, I would do that. It’s called loyalty.’
The afrit seemed hellbent on the last word as Lalita knew he would be and she let him prattle on. ‘Loyalty is over-rated if one’s life is at risk in the process, Lalita. Especially for obnoxious mortal children. But I suppose I can see your rationale. One thing however,’ he reached for a pinch of the layers of Lalita’s silk clothing. ‘You go like this? In sheer silks and looking like a hourie?
‘No,’ Rajeeb said. ‘Not like that. Obviously not. She shall go like this.’ He magicked the silks away and when Lalita looked down, she wore a trader’s grey shalwar kameez, her hair plaited down her back. ‘And this,’ the djinn pointed to a little pendant on the table, ‘is for you to keep the washi strip safe. Open it and see.’
She flipped a tiny latch and the round case split into two.
‘It is a lover’s case,’ Rajeeb added, ‘ostensibly for hair but the washi strip will fit perfectly. I can’t touch the necklet, Lalita. Nor can the afrit. You know silver is an Other’s anathema. You shall have to put it on yourself.’
Lalita laid the folded paper inside and closed the case with a snap, reaching behind her neck to attach the clasp beneath the weight of her black plait. ‘Thank you, Rajeeb. And you, afrit. I owe you so much.’
Rajeeb shook his head. ‘Flower, I think it is actually us who will owe you in the end as the Cantrips threaten us all. But what shall you do when you find them? They are rumoured to be indestructible. May a thousand curses lie on the shade of the woman who found them.’
‘She deserved her death, Rajeeb, I can’t deny it.’ Lalita could barely think of her brother’s murderer and pressed on. ‘But you ask what I shall do with them if I find them?’ She clicked her tongue. ‘I’m not sure, I haven’t thought that far. Is there not an Other who might help me?’
‘There is Jasper of the Færan. He destroyed the soul-syphon,’ Rajeeb replied.
‘Could he destroy the rest of the charms?’
‘Who knows,’ the djinn shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. But you need to remember that he actually destroyed a solid object. Not the charm itself.’
The afrit pulled at Lalita’s arm. ‘Damsel, you watch your back. You have a little history of… ouch, what!’ He leaped back as Rajeeb swept a palm over his head.
‘Be quiet, afrit, enough! We’ve talked on the danger already and she is prescient. Lalita, this is what you asked for.’ He pointed to the table where an ivory-hafted lady’s dagger appeared. ‘It has a silver blade and may help against Others when a plain dagger would not. I can give no guarantees. Keep it where you can grab it swiftly. And use it. Even if it means you must kill, remember it is your life at stake.’
Lalita took the dagger, undeterred by the implications. She had been sold to a harem, her Aunt and Uncle murdered, her dog slaughtered. She tightened the waist string of her trousers after slipping the dagger through and knew there was no going back because innocence had died the day she was sold to the seraglio, maybe even before that. Maybe the day she had sensed Kholi’s death.
She knotted the trouser string once more for luck and looked at her two odd companions. ‘I’m ready.’ I think. I am frightened and unsure but as ready as I can ever be. She reached out a hand and pressed Rajeeb’s own, wishing to convey a message of gratitude. ‘Afrit?’ But as she bent to kiss the top of the little fellow’s head she fell into nothingness, the sensation as grim as when she leaped from the parapet. She swallowed a cry, her eyes shut tight, but a hand touched her arm.
‘Excuse me, Lady, can I help? Are you faint?’
The cobbles and walls of the street ceased swirling as she stared at the face of the man who spoke. She wanted to keep staring, to mark every plane, every angle, so striking was he; a patrician face not much older than her own and weathered by some deep circumstance. But she dragged her arm away, discomforted by the frisson surging to her armpit, as if she was in the presence of fey glamour. ‘No. I merely slipped as I came around the corner.’ She pushed past. ‘Excuse me, I am late for my business.’
She hurried across the street, winding in and out of the early morning crowd, her heart racketing. Who is he? She dared to look back. He stood a head taller than the Raji crowd and his sea-deep eyes caught hers but she ducked into a doorway as if to avoid a deadly arrow speeding her way.
The alcove into which she had turned was less like the usual souk cupboard filled to the brim with merchandise, much more like a cavernous shop. A solid door studded with iron was pushed back against the wall. The room was lit by a number of lanterns and a smoky fragrance drifted toward her from the back of the premises. The sound of voices followed on the smoke’s meandering tail and moving further she saw two men haggling – the one dressed in a green velvet smoking jacket shaking his head. The other in striped Raji robes, hands working frantically at turquoise worrybeads, offered figure after figure as the other man, surely the antiquarian, waved a cigar in the air.
Whilst they did their business, Lalita walked around the shop, trying to regain her composure, telling herself she could do this, she could find the paperweights. I am Lalita Khatoun. Arifa protect me, I am Lalita Khatoun. The little chant that had seen her through so much adversity tapped its rhythm through her mind.
I wish Rajeeb were here, even the afrit. What would they make of that stranger I confronted? A shifting, some sort of frisson that still fizzed in her arm, whispered that the man could be Other. Another one but so unlike the djinn and the afrit – everything about him spoke of foreboding.
She dragged her attention back to the contents within the Aladdin’s cave before her. The Fable of Aladdin. It had been in her copy of A Thousand and One Nights. She shook her head. A fable? She had just met an Other who had been imprisoned in a lamp – that was no fable. She glanced around the emporium, struck by its museum-like quality – a display of the elegance of Eirish life – from Veniche, from the secluded isles of Pymm, from the wooded vales of Trevallyn. Lalita pushed at the shadow of that enigmatic man in the street as she picked up striped, flowered and gilded plates, porcelain cups, fine Venichese glassware, even a tiny ship’s clock hanging suspended in its small brass and leather carrying case. The other customer brushed past as crisp bells sounded and she turned to see a casement clock striking the hour. Its face smiled at her, the Lady Moon slipping across the heavens as the hands of time tracked around the clock face. She could hardly ignore the coincidence – her dream of the Lady Moon and now the clock. Superstitions? But no, all her life her intuition had served her well. Except when Kurdeesh had traded her. How badly she had ignored her intuition in favour of the belief that the Grand Vizier merely required her expertise. Such arrogance, such mis
placed egoism.
But this time she had to believe she was right. This was no coincidence, this was the right shop, this was Curiosa’s.
***
Finnian watched her move away and dragged out the parchment. It was so like her, and his heart beat like a drum as he caught a last sight of her. He wanted to be near her again. To stare, to be within her space.
And yet she could barely stand next to him. So repulsive did she find his touch that she removed his hand from her arm as if it were tainted and hurried away. But the eyes when she turned back, that flicker of a glance…
He let her go, watching her as she went through the doorway opposite and returned to the coffeehouse to finish the bitter liquid in the tiny cup. Life had changed with a dramatic turn that left his pulse racing. As he sat sipping the coffee, the liquid settling in his belly, he felt himself wake up as if a cock crowed by his ear. After Ibn’s massage he had experienced a somnolence, partially the remains of the drugs, partially the soothing touch of the tellak’s hands and of his solicitous understanding. Now he hovered on an edge that opened his eyes wide. Wider than they had been in Veniche because there he had not really been sure of what he was doing apart from escaping. Now things had changed; now he was bent on achieving something he wanted. It was the difference between being pushed and doing the pushing.
Ever a sceptic, always a cynic, part of him preferred to believe the Moonlady was a drug- induced vision, even though doubt hovered at the edge of such a thought. But real or not, it served to drive him forward. And that young woman? Surely just a coincidental manifestation of his age-old dream – and that dream an illusion fostered by a poem read in a book as a child. Isn’t that what déjà vu is after all, the memory of a dream? He frowned. Or is it Fate? He tossed back the last of the coffee. Dream or not, Fate or otherwise, she fascinated him and stirred his blood and his spirits rose.
