“You’ve been a truly great help today, my friend, more than you can imagine,” D’Molay said, clasping Sergius on his shoulder. “I want you to take this.” He held out a small leather pouch of gold.
“I didn’t help you for money. I don’t want it. That’s not what this is about.” He pushed the bag back into D’Molay’s hand.
“I know. But I want you to have it. Buy a new table with it.” D’Molay looked at his old friend eye to eye, still feeling the kinship that went back to those wild adventures they had years ago.
Sergius took his friend’s hand and grasped it firmly. “All right then, but if you need anything else, you let me know, all right?”
“I promise. I’ll come back and let you know how it all went. And you better have a new table by then. Thanks, Sergius,” D’Molay gave his old friend a hug and a pat on the back, and turned to go.
“I’ll get one then, just so you’ll have to come back to see it. Good luck finding your Aavi. Bring her by, if you get the chance. She must be pretty amazing to get someone to pay all that for her. Be careful out there. Whoever paid that much gold for your friend, isn’t likely to let her go easily.”
As D’Molay headed to the Slavers’ Temple, he felt much like his old self. His burning fever had left him completely and seeing his old friend had reminded him of earlier days, when they would roam the wide streets of the City, enjoying the amazing temples and making new contacts as they carried out anonymous tasks for the gods. Everything seemed new and exciting then. The possibilities seemed endless, but time and experience had taught him the limits of what was possible for a man with no deity to support or protect him.
D’Molay remembered what he had told Aavi about his duties and what some of the gods were like. “Many gods are prideful and narcissistic. They don’t like to admit that they need help from other gods or worse, lesser beings,” he had told her. “Even gods sometimes suffer illnesses or addictions to mystical drugs.” At the time, Aavi hadn’t known what he was talking about. Images of her being tortured, abused, and far worse flashed through his mind. He had to find her.
He reached the walls of the slave market. It was easy to recognize this pit of Lamasthu, as the walls were of a dark green stone with Babylonian carvings. There were also pictographs of slaves being subjugated by their new masters. As he approached the entrance, D’Molay worried about getting in. He soon realized that although there were guards posted, they seemed more ceremonial than anything else. Deities, buyers and even slaves seemed to enter with little questioning. It soon became clear that the true duty of the guards was to check everyone who was leaving, making sure paperwork was presented to prove one had paid for a slave and to make sure the ones departing were not slaves trying to escape. D’Molay walked by them with no problem.
He arrived in a large courtyard paved in flat, grey square bricks. On his right there was a large, cavernous building that looked like a stable, but which he soon realized held slaves. On the other side of the courtyard was a much smaller building, which, as there were horses inside, must be the true stables. In the center was the main building where the buying and selling of slaves actually took place. It had a tall tower made of the same green stone as the outer wall. He supposed the deities that ran this den of inequity lived up there. As he looked at the tower, he saw something and his heart skipped a beat. A large, bat-like creature flew from one upper balcony to another.
“Mordecai?” D’Molay said in disbelief.
He rushed into the main building. As it was late in the day, the auction room was almost empty. There were still a few sellers and buyers of slaves in the large chamber making final deals and trades in flesh. D’Molay walked briskly, searching for stairs leading up the tower. Near a bar area, D’Molay saw a set of stairs through an archway in the back wall and headed for them. As he got to the arch, he could see there was a guard posted at the foot of the stairs. He hesitated for a moment and then came up with a plan. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out his Council emblem. For the most part, it held no real power or authority, but he hoped the guard wouldn’t know that.
The guard was a large, olive-skinned bare-chested man with dark shoulder length hair and a beard and mustache. All his hair, including his beard, was knotted together in small braids. His brown leather kilt was topped with a thick brown silver-studded belt and a strap that ran diagonally across his chest. He held a bronze spear and wore a stern expression. As D’Molay tried to walk past the man and go up the stairs, the spear suddenly appeared in front of his face. “No one is allowed upstairs.”
“Really? Well I’ve been sent here by the Council to investigate the sale of illegally obtained slaves. I have questions that need answers,” he said in an authoritative tone of voice, then flashed the Council emblem at the guard.
The guard was taken by surprise, but held his ground. “I have orders from the High Sulgi. No one goes up without permission.”
“Then get someone I can speak with down here,” D’Molay said aristocratically.
The guard looked around quickly to see if there was anyone to whom he could turn over this problem. He was in luck. Walking toward them down the hallway was one of the High Sulgi’s most trusted slaves. “Es-huh, over here. I have need of you.”
Es-huh came over to the guard. “Yes, what can this one do to help?”
“This man wants to go upstairs and ask questions.”
D’Molay again brandished the Council medallion. “I am D’Molay the Tracker. I have been sent here to inquire about a slave sold here who was called a Princess. She may have been taken and sold when she should not have been,” D’Molay said.
Es-huh’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “Princess? She is all right, yes?”
He noted the concern in the woman’s face which. “What do you know of her?”
She looked nervously at him, her large brown eyes a mix of worry and curiosity. “I - I do not know if it is my place to speak of such things.” An odd expression crossed Es-huh’s face as if she were trying to remember something that nibbled at the edge of her memory. Somehow this man’s name seemed vaguely familiar. “Princess was brought here by Mordecai, winged servant of Lamasthu. I know not how he found her. You would have to ask the High Sulgi.”
D’Molay wanted to get to the creature and not waste time, “I would rather ask Mordecai directly. I saw the creature up on the top balcony as I arrived. Take me there and I’ll get my answers from him. Only he truly knows how he found the girl.”
The guard and Es-huh exchanged glances and said something to each other in their own native tongue. Finally the guard stepped aside and withdrew his spear and looked off into the distance, ignoring both Es-huh and D’Molay.
“Please, you follow me,” Es-huh said as she beckoned to him up the stairs.
As they climbed the stairs, D’Molay attempted to get the woman to tell him more about Aavi. “So, how was Princess treated while here? Was she beaten often?”
“Beaten? Oh no... Princess was special to High Sulgi. He kept her safe, even away from other slaves,” Es-huh exclaimed defensively.
“I see. It sounds like you knew Princess well,” he queried as they started up the third floor staircase.
“I like her very much. She was most gentle. I trained her for auction and even dressed her.”
D’Molay smiled warmly and let a comment slip. “Yes, she doesn’t know much about putting on clothing.”
Es-huh’s eyes opened wide. “You do know Princess!”
He decided it was time to be frank. “I do. And it’s my fault she ended up a slave. That’s why I’m trying to find her. She was brought here wrongly by Mordecai. That’s why I must talk to him. I’m trying to make things right for her,” he said earnestly.
“Would she call you Friend?”
“Yes. Yes, she would. And I thought I was her only friend, until now.” He felt a lump in his throat as he spoke.
Es-huh looked into D’Molay’s eyes and saw that he cared for Princess a great deal indeed.
She wanted to help this man if she could, but she also had her obligations to the High Sulgi and Lamasthu.
“Es-huh, who bought Princess? I know she was sold here yesterday for a high amount, and I need to find who bought her.”
“It . . . it is not for me to know or tell of such things.” She averted her gaze to the floor, feeling guilty for several reasons all at once, for she was truly caught on the horns of a dilemma. Her life as a slave had taught her that she should never do anything that was against the wishes of her masters. Yet for the first time, she felt that some wrong had occurred that she could make right. Thoughts swirled around in her head as she softly voiced her inner conflict to D’Molay. “I know the High Sulgi would not want me to say anything, but I want to help Princess. She has been sold now, so she does not belong to Lamasthu. And if you had been at the auction, you would know who bought her, so it is not a secret. Still, I am not sure.”
“Es-huh, if you know, please help me find her. She’s an innocent. She doesn’t understand the things people might make her do.”
There was something in the desperate earnestness of his plea that pushed Es-huh to finally decide. “I was not there, but Oloth told me that Princess was sold to an Egyptian healer. I do not know his name, but he bid the most for her.”
After the long search D’Molay wondered if he had his answer. Could it have been Kafele? Did he find Aavi somehow and then buy her freedom?”
“Es-huh, thank you... I promise that I’ll find Princess and make sure she is safe.”
She gave him a strange awkward smile that revealed she was still uneasy about what she had told him, but Es-huh was glad to have helped. “What of Mordecai? Shall we go up the tower to look for him now?” She gestured upward.
Initially, D’Molay had wanted to get to Mordecai to choke answers out of him then throw the foul creature off the balcony. However, he now had the answers he needed. Es-huh had provided them. Would beating the creature help Aavi? On the contrary, it would cause problems if the guards caught him fighting one of Lamasthu’s slave scouts.
He shook his head ‘no’ and smiled at Es-huh. “Thanks to you, I have what I need now. There is nothing else Mordecai can tell me. Take me back downstairs and I’ll go to find Aavi.”
“Aavi? Yes, I remember she told me that was her name.” Es-huh turned back to the stairs and started down. D’Molay followed her to the main floor. A lightness danced in his heart that he hadn’t felt since the day he had carried Aavi through the streets of the City. He was closer to her than ever and he even dared hoped that she was even safe with a friend. “If you find Princess, tell her I think of her, yes?” Es-huh smiled shyly at him.
“I will. Thank you again, Es-huh. I’m forever in your debt.” D’Molay wanted to embrace her, but she put her hands out and stepped back.
“That would not be wise,” she said quietly as she nodded her head in the direction of the guard at the stairs. Realizing that being embraced by a stranger might imply Es-huh was selling her services or doing favors, D’Molay took on a more business-like attitude. “Thank you for the information. I will discuss it with the Council and let them decide. Good day, then.”
“I am glad to help. May Lamasthu send her blessings.” Then she bowed deeply and retreated down the hallway.
D’Molay highly doubted anything Lamasthu sent him could be mistaken for a blessing, considering his recent experience with one of her minions. But he kept his opinions to himself as he turned and walked back across the auction floor and out under the archway into the courtyard. Spotting a carriage, he decided to hire one to get across the City. Several were parked waiting and were mostly used to transport slave buyers back and forth from the embassies and inns to the auctions.
“Where to?” The coachman asked him as he got in.
“Take me to the Egyptian quarter as quickly as you can. I need to get to an apothecary at the bottom of the central steps.”
The horse moved forward and the carriage rolled to the entrance gate. The guard looked in at D’Molay, recognized him as having entered earlier, and waved the carriage to move out. As he settled into his seat, his mind started racing. If Kafele had Aavi, where were they and why hadn’t he been contacted? It must have been because they couldn’t find him. It wasn’t like he had been sitting at home the last few days. Still, he’d been back to his house and there was no sign of a message. An unpleasant thought crossed his mind. Was it possible that Kafele bought Aavi for his own purposes? He paid for her at the slave auction, and by the laws of the City, Aavi would be his property. But how was he able to pay so much for her? At first, D’Molay had thought Kafele must have been willing to pay anything to save Aavi from a life as a sex slave in some harem. But thirteen hundred gold was a great sum and it was doubtful Kafele would have that level of savings after the expenses of opening his own office. D’Molay supposed he must have borrowed the gold from a wealthy patient or a patron, but how did he expect to pay it back?
None of these questions had been resolved when the carriage let D’Molay out in front of Kafele’s healing office. It looked closed, but he tried the door anyway. It was locked and there was no sign indicating when Kafele was coming back. D’Molay stood there trying to remember any detail that might help him find the healer. Although he had known Kafele for years, their relationship was strictly business. They only met when D’Molay needed to buy medicines or have an injury patched up. They’d never shared a casual drink, much less a mission. Still, they had talked regularly over the last few years. D’Molay rattled the door again. As he stared at the handle, he remembered something that Kafele had said when he unlocking this very door. “Tricky Egyptian locks! Of course!” D’Molay said aloud. Kafele was bound to the Egyptian pantheon!
He decided he was going to find a way into Kafele’s office one way or another. Egyptian locks were too tricky to pick, so he stepped back for a better look at his other options. The heavy wooden door wasn’t going to be forced open, so he ruled that out right away. There were two smaller windows he could break and crawl through, but he couldn’t do that out here in the open without getting arrested by a City guardian. With Kafele’s office directly connected on both sides to two other buildings there was no way to get in from the right or left. That only left the back and the roof, so he walked around the end of the long block and down a narrow back alley that was used for deliveries and trash collection. The alley was dark and fortunately devoid of anyone besides himself. The back entrances were unmarked, but D’Molay knew that Kafele’s office was the fourth one from the end of the street.
There were no windows at the back, but there was another door. It was older than the front door, but also made from heavy wood. Its lock was the same as the one on the front and had obviously been recently replaced. Cursing Kafele’s stout security, he stepped back from the door to look up at the roof. He put his hands on his hips and judged the height. It looked to be about thirteen feet. There were several places on the back wall that would make suitable footholds, including a ledge over the door. He saw a wooden crate nearby and dragged it over to the door to serve as the first step on his ladder.
A minute later, he was up. The entire roof was at a slight angle that was higher at the front of the building and got lower towards the back by a couple of feet. The roof was covered with curved orange tiles that felt like they were made from dinner plates. A few of them cracked under D’Molay’s feet as he walked on them. Looking over the area, he saw one or two small pipes sticking out of the roof, but no skylights or other way in. The back entrance looked to be his only chance for entry. He quickly and quietly climbed back down.
D’Molay pulled his knife out of its leather holder and crouched down by the door. He inserted the sharp edge of the blade horizontally between the metal bolt and the door hinge and then wobbled the blade back and forth while pushing on it with his other hand. After a few more nudges, the bolt moved up a bit. “They always forget to replace the old hinges when they replace the locks,” he whispered to himself w
ith a grin. He soon had the lower hinge bolt out and, after repeating the process on the top two hinges, the door pried open. D’Molay slid inside.
He saw what had to be Kafele’s desk. The chair facing it was a padded version of the Egyptian styled seats that were in the waiting area at the front of his office. All of them were made of dark lacquered wood with gold and turquoise geometric designs painted at the seams and in the grooves. This one differed only in that it was padded with a deep red fabric.
The desk was the same style and color. D’Molay tried unsuccessfully, to open its three drawers. It was no surprise that they were locked. A healer’s office contained rare elixirs, personal information about patients, and addictive drugs that needed to be secured. D’Molay shifted his attention to the items left out in plain view.
At the far left corner of the desk was a small black stone figurine of the god Set. It stood on a green malachite pedestal holding a staff in one hand. In front of the figure were a few small glass bottles. Some of them appeared to contain ground powders or dried leaves. At the other corner was a neat stack of scrolls tied with a burgundy ribbon. D’Molay reached for them, but quickly noticed the hieroglyphics on the outside of the top scroll. There was no point looking at a language he could not read. He glanced again at the statue of Set. Set was no healing god, and seemed out of place here.
In the center area of the desk were several common items: an ink well, a metal ink quill, assorted clips and ribbon for tying scrolls, and a small, neat stack of thin parchment which Kafele no doubt used to write instructions to patients. As he leaned over the desk, the late afternoon sunlight gleamed across the parchment and something caught his eye. D’Molay picked up the top sheet and held it up to the light. Squinting, he could see impressions in the parchment left from quill pressure on the sheet that once lay atop it.
CITY OF THE GODS: FORGOTTEN Page 23
