by Kit Downes
“HOLY STORK!”
Zal and Zara went white and their expressions went from amazement to disbelief and then to fear.
“WRAAAAFF!” said Rip, looking much the same.
“Meow?” said Fluffy.
“It can’t be,” said Zara. “It can’t be. Not here!”
“What’s wrong?” said Miles. “It’s just a headscarf, isn’t it?”
He was right. It was a long, thin length of cloth, wide enough to be wrapped around the head for protection against the blowing desert sands. One of its edges was rough and moist, where it had been half chewed by the flowers. The other end was black and sooty and smelled of fireworks. But they could still see what colour it had been. It was the same shade of brown used by the Shadow Society.
“Really, Miss Aura! Do you realize how ridiculous this story is?” said Lord Dasat.
Lord Dasat was Azamed’s ambassador to Shirazar, a distant cousin of the Caliph. He was a tall, thin man with a hooked nose, a grey beard and an annoyed expression, which had been getting worse since he had arrived ten minutes ago.
“Sir, we’ve brought you the proof,” said Zara, laying the headscarf on the table.
“No, you have not!” said Lord Dasat. “You’ve brought me a piece of cloth that could have come from anywhere. It’s not even evidence. Let alone proof.”
“Calm down, Lord Ambassador,” said Captain Curta of the Royal Protectors. “True, it is only a piece of cloth, but it was found at the crime scene and I need to take it into account.”
They were standing in a tent on the museum lawn. Several folding tables and workbenches had been set up inside it and were now covered with carefully labelled pieces of firework-scorched evidence. A hastily drawn map of the crime scene hung from one wall. Captain Curta, a tall, sandy haired man with a moustache and the scars of several sword fights, was sitting at the head of the table. He had sent for the Ambassador as soon as Miles had introduced Zal and Zara and explained their theory.
“What is this Shadow Society anyway?” said Miles. “I understand it’s something bad, but I have no idea what it is.”
“Was,” said Lord Dasat, before anyone else could answer. “It no longer exists. The Shadow Society was a secretive brotherhood that was recently outlawed in Azamed for its criminal activities. But you don’t need to worry about them, Captain. We caught all of them.”
“How do you know?” said Zara. “No one ever knew how many there were.”
Before their downfall, the Shadow Society only appeared on the streets of Azamed clad in their identical and all-concealing brown uniforms. Zara had only ever learnt to recognize one of them – her nemesis Haragan – and that was only because she had stared into his eyes so often during magic contests.
“We know we have caught them all, Miss Aura, because their nefarious deeds have entirely ceased in Azamed,” said Lord Dasat. “The idea that some fugitives are somehow at large here in Shirazar is simply ludicrous.”
“You have to admit it’s the right colour,” said Zal, pushing the headscarf towards him.
“That proves nothing,” said Lord Dasat, pushing it back. “The Shadows were not the only people to ever use this shade of brown, Mr Thesa.”
“I have to agree with Lord Dasat,” said the Captain, picking up the headscarf himself. “It’s a strange coincidence finding it here, but that doesn’t make it evidence. It’s not enough for me to take to the Empress.”
“But, sir! My dog recognized their scent!” said Zal.
“I definitely can’t take him to the Empress. She’s allergic,” said Captain Curta. “I’m sorry, Mr Thesa, but there is simply no proof.”
“Quite right,” said Lord Dasat. “You two helped expose the Shadow Society for the vile wrongdoers they were and you should be very proud of that. But you’re letting your imaginations run away with you this time. You’re seeing shadows – of Shadows – when there are none.”
“Your theory about the crime wave, though, is a different matter,” said Captain Curta. “If you’re right, we’ve got a very serious problem.”
“I think we’re right, sir. It makes perfect sense,” said Miles. “We saw how well the Crystal Flowers worked on the Rainbow Carpet, and everything else that’s been stolen so far could also be used to take means of flight out of the air.”
“What was stolen from the museum this time?” said Zal. “Could that be used as well?”
“I wish I knew,” said Captain Curta. “Unfortunately, we have no idea what it is.”
“You don’t?” said Zara.
“Can’t you just count everything in the museum and see what’s missing?” said Zal.
“We know what’s missing, but we don’t know what it is,” said the Captain. He pulled a large, heavy scroll labelled “Museum Catalogue” across the table towards him and unrolled it to the middle section. A neatly drawn picture showed a stone box with grooves carved around its sides and writing engraved on its lid. Underneath a record of its measurements, the writing was neatly copied down. Zara frowned at the letters, which were strange, but somehow familiar.
“That’s what was stolen, but we have no clue what’s inside it,” said Captain Curta. “The museum director admitted to me this morning that they were in such a hurry to launch the new exhibition that they put it on display without checking.”
“What does it say?” said Zal, looking at the writing.
“I’m afraid we don’t know that either,” said Captain Curta. “It’s a language none of the museum’s so-called experts can translate. The box was dug out of the ruins of Jaktivar, but—”
“Jaktivar?” said Zara. “Holy Stork!”
“What’s wrong?” said Miles.
“That’s it!” said Zara, snapping her fingers. “That’s why I recognize the letters!”
“You do?” said Zal.
“You know something that the finest academic minds in Shirazar do not?” said Lord Dasat, raising his eyebrows.
“Fantastic!” said Miles. “What does it say?”
“I don’t know,” said Zara. “I said I recognized it, not that I can read it. But don’t worry, I know someone who can.”
Half an hour later, Zal and Zara were standing with Miles and Captain Curta back at Professor Maltho’s.
“It’s written in ancient High Jaktivarian,” said Zara, laying the museum catalogue on the table. “It’s a special language that was reserved only for the kings of Jaktivar and their closest advisors, priests and magicians. My teacher translated it for the first time in Azamed last year.”
“What a stroke of luck,” said Captain Curta. “I can hardly believe it.”
“And I can’t believe Qwinton’s cracked the riddle of ancient High Jaktivarian and then not bothered to tell anyone,” said Professor Maltho, pouring water into his speaking bowl. “He knows perfectly well I’ve been trying to translate it for fifteen years!”
“He probably forgot,” said Zal. “He might even have forgotten he translated it.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t think so,” said Zara. “His long-term memory is pretty good. It’s just his short-term memory that’s bad.”
“Let’s find out,” said Professor Maltho, as he poured a small pot of wind dust into a bowl, which was carved from black obsidian. He stirred it into the water with a wooden spoon and then added a lump of Azamedian volcanic rock, a fresh flower and several grapes collected from the trees at Azamed’s Guild of Magicians School. He dipped his hands into the water and closed his eyes. Blue magic glowed around his fingertips. The water in the bowl was reflecting the ceiling of the professor’s study. The water rippled as the glow spread and suddenly the reflection changed to a different ceiling in a different city and a different kingdom, hundreds of miles away across the Great Desert.
“Hello, Qwinton? Are you there?” said Professor Maltho.
“What…? AAAAAHHH!” came a voice from the other side. “A GHOST!”
“Stork save us,” said the Professor, rolling his eyes.
“
Master Qwinton! It’s us!” called Zara, leaning over the bowl. “It’s Zal and Zara!”
“Zara?”
Qwinton’s face appeared, peering down into the bowl. He was a middle-aged man, with wild, curly hair and a thick ruffly beard. As usual, his glasses were askew on his nose, mostly because he was wearing them upside down. Despite being slightly mad due to an accident with a spell years ago, Qwinton was Zara’s favourite teacher at the school and her mentor as a magician. She was well used to his absent-mindedness and bizarre trains of thought.
“Yes, Master Qwinton. It’s me,” said Zara.
“By the Stork’s stork! It’s you, Zara!” said Qwinton, smiling through the water. “How good to see you! And you look splendid! As if you’ve just ridden a camel home and eaten it whole. How are you? How’s Snowdrift?”
“We’re in Shirazar, Master Qwinton, not Frostbite,” said Zara. “But I’m very well, thank you. I need your help, though.”
“My help?” said Qwinton. “Well, you can forget it! How dare you make such an impudent request! Anyone would think you were one of my best students.”
“Oh, boy,” said Zal.
“Is this going to take a while?” said Miles.
“Probably.”
“I’m sorry, Master Qwinton, but this is important,” said Zara. “It’s something only you can do.”
“Important? And only I can do it? Oh, well, that changes everything!” said Qwinton. “What do you need? A recipe to make spiced camel steaks out of sand? A way to use parrot feathers to catch a monkey? The secret to finding a long-lost fragment of an ancient Rainbow Carpet? Those are all things only I can do.”
“What about translating ancient High Jaktivarian?” said Zal, looking over Zara’s shoulder.
“Zal, my boy? What on earth are you doing there?” said Qwinton. “Aren’t you meant to be in Shirazar? The Champions’ Race has practically started.”
“Oh, Holy Stork,” said Zal.
“Don’t worry, Master Qwinton. He’ll make it in time,” said Zara. She held the scroll over the bowl. “Can you read this for me?”
“That, my dear? Of course I can! Let’s see,” came Qwinton’s voice from underneath it. “Shirazar Museum Catalogue. Item number 45798. Small Skandian teapot. Colour blue. Decorated with—”
“No. Sorry, Master. Not the whole thing,” said Zara. She pointed to the copy of the inscription. “Just this bit.”
“What have we here? Ancient High Jaktivarian. What a coincidence!” said Qwinton. “Did you know those addle-brained fools at the Academy in Shirazar have been working on it for fifteen years and they still can’t figure it out?”
“I’ll give you addle-brained, you forgetful bungler!” said Professor Maltho, lunging for the bowl. “Let go of me, Captain!”
“Zara, did you hear something?”
“Never mind, Master. It’s not important,” said Zara. “What does it say?”
“Ah! Ancient High Jaktivarian. Such a beautiful and complex language. It can keep one awake at night even more than the most diabolical crossword puzzle. Did I ever tell you about—?”
“Master!” said Zara.
“Oh, sorry. What does it say?” said Qwinton. They heard the water gurgle as he adjusted his glasses. “Ah, yes. Very straightforward. It is two lines, Zara, and the first one reads the casket of the night demon.”
There was a long pause.
“What does the second one say?” said Zara.
“Do not open under ANY circumstances,” said Qwinton. “Hmm. Puzzling. I wonder what it means?”
“The Night Demon,” said Zal, slowly. “The Night Demon?”
“That doesn’t sound good,” said Miles, holding Fluffy close to him.
“Do not open under any circumstances,” does seem to suggest that,” said Professor Maltho.
“No, no! Under ANY circumstances,” said Qwinton. “ANY. The grammar’s very clear.”
“I don’t suppose you might have made a mistake in the translation, Sir Magician?” said Captain Curta.
“Certainly not, whoever you are!” said Qwinton. “I decoded this language from its first principles.”
“Oh, good,” said Captain Curta.
“What do we do now?” said Miles.
“I think that’s pretty obvious, Cadet,” said the Captain. “We need to find the thieves and the box. Ideally, before they open it.”
Six
Deep beneath Shirazar, water dripped from the roof of a dark stone cavern. Stalactites hung from the ceiling with bats roosting among them. A shallow stream flowed through the cavern, branching off to flow around the large dry island in the middle, and then joining together again as the water flowed out. Water dragons with scales that were pure white from never seeing the sun swam in the stream. They plopped under the water out of sight as voices echoed down the tunnel.
“By Salladan’s mask!” said the Leader, as he stalked into the cavern from a sloping side tunnel. “Curse that damned mercenary Sari Stormstrong! I can’t believe we actually had to pay her!”
“It was her tigers, sir,” said Etan, coming in behind him, carrying the box. “When you’re eyeball to eyeball with three of them, it’s hard to say no.”
“What have I told you about making excuses?” said the Leader. “This is a shameful day for us. Oh, well. We can settle things with her soon enough. The important thing is that we’ve got it.”
The Leader took the box from Etan and strode onto the island, oblivious as he splashed through the stream and stepped in a patch of bat droppings, where he placed the box down on a large, flat stone as big as a table. Around the stone, away from the water, lay the Shadows’ sleeping bags and packs of supplies. Etan lit the lanterns that were hanging from the stalactites while the Leader ran his hands over the box and the carved grooves of the inscription.
“At last!” he said.
“What is it, sir?” said Etan.
“The instrument of our revenge,” said the Leader. “We have passed the brink of disaster and fallen over the edge. This will enable us to climb back up. How much do you know about the Carpet Wars?”
“Not a lot, sir,” said Etan. “History wasn’t my best subject in Shadow School.”
“Really? What was?”
“Umm…”
“Never mind,” said the Leader. He picked up a strong stonemason’s chisel and a hammer, lined up the chisel against the crack of the box’s lid and started tapping gently.
“The Carpet Wars were fought between Azamed and Jaktivar ten thousand years ago,” said the Leader. “Not many people know this, but the craft of weaving flying carpets – not just rainbow carpets, mind you, any flying carpets – was not actually invented in Azamed.”
“It wasn’t?” said Etan.
“I just told you that,” said the Leader. “It was discovered thousands of years earlier, before the founding of Azamed, by the magicians of the Forgotten Empire. They were the creators of magic carpets and they used them to build an empire that sprawled over the entire continent. Before even the Great Desert existed, they ruled these lands with an iron fist. They were the continent’s earliest and mightiest civilization.”
“What was the Forgotten Empire, sir?” said Etan.
“How should I know? It’s why it’s called forgotten,” said the Leader. “From the tales told of their harsh tyranny and endless bloodletting, it was probably forgotten for a good reason. But they ruled most of the known world until the tribe of Asameed – assisted by our great founder, Salladan Shadow – led the other subjugated tribes in rebellion and succeeded in crushing it. Afterwards, they divided up the Empire’s lands and founded their own nations in its ashes. The Seventeen Kingdoms we know today are descended from the eighteen tribes that formed the revolt.”
“Eighteen?” said Etan. “But—”
“I’m coming to that,” said the Leader. He found the chisel wasn’t getting through the lid so he moved it to a different position and tried again. “There are Seventeen Kingdoms today becau
se, ten thousand years ago, one was utterly destroyed. That kingdom was Jaktivar, Azamed’s rival for control of flying carpets.
“Jaktivar had once been Azamed’s closest ally amongst the tribes. Their leaders had stood together like brothers and it was their armies working together that led the final assault on the Forgotten Empire’s capital. But that would all change dramatically.”
“What happened?” said Etan.
“After the victory, all the tribes returned to their ancestral lands and built their kingdoms. They also started discovering their means of flight. But Azamed and Jaktivar didn’t need to do this because they had captured the methods for weaving all types of flying carpets during the campaign. All except rainbow carpets.”
“They had rainbow carpets back then?” said Etan.
“Yes, the Forgotten Empire invented them, but the last emperor took the secret to his grave,” said the Leader. “But that didn’t matter to Azamed and Jaktivar because they were both growing fabulously wealthy by trading on magic carpets. None of the other kingdoms had enough of their own means of flight yet, so merchants from Azamed and Jaktivar made fortunes by flying goods between the other kingdoms. But, as time passed, the weeds of suspicion and rivalry began to grow between them.”
“Why?” said Etan.
“Because they were competing with each other in the magic carpet transport market,” said the Leader. “They both feared that the other would rediscover the secret to weaving rainbow carpets before they did and put them out of business. Because Azamed is apparently built slightly closer than Jaktivar to where the Forgotten Empire’s capital was, the kings of Jaktivar became paranoid that Azamed was going to find the secret first. Over the next two hundred years, the Jaktivarians made several serious attempts to conquer Azamed and capture their magic carpet knowledge.”
“So those were the Carpet Wars?” said Etan.
“No, they were the Table Wars. Of course they were the Carpet Wars!” said the Leader. “Ultimately, the Jaktivarians were doomed to fail. The other kingdoms sided with Azamed, and the caliphs had the Shadow Society on their side – even if the ungrateful wretches didn’t appreciate it. When the Jaktivarians realized that they couldn’t hope to win the war with their army alone, they tried a different course.”
