by Kit Downes
“What was that?” said Etan, who was becoming very interested in the story.
“Magic,” said the Leader. “Battlefield spell-casting and sorcerous weaponry. The Azamedians responded in kind, of course, and the later wars grew even more deadly – and bizarre – as magicians clashed alongside soldiers. Spells were used as often as cannons, demons and monsters were wielded alongside swords and spears. But it didn’t help and for years, they were locked in a stalemate.
“But in the final year of the wars, the Jaktivarians had an idea. The war had begun because of magic carpets. Azamed was using theirs to trade with the other kingdoms for vital supplies and for moving their troops around. If they could only destroy Azamed’s carpets faster than they could weave replacements, they could still win the war.”
“What did they do?” said Etan.
“The last king of Jaktivar set his magicians to work creating the ultimate, undefeatable, anti-flying carpet weapon. He wanted something that could tear Azamed’s carpet fleet to pieces in mid-air. The magicians worked tirelessly for months, trying every possible idea they could conceive, and finally, they succeeded.
“The problem was that the weapon worked too well. The first time they tried it out on some captured Azamedian carpets, it got out of their control and escaped the testing ground into Jaktivar itself. Once it was on the loose in the city, the magicians realized that they hadn’t enchanted it to tell the difference between Azamedian carpets and Jaktivarian ones. The weapon did exactly what it was meant to do and destroyed every single magic carpet it could find. The legends say there were not two pieces of thread left woven together in Jaktivar by the end of that terrible day.”
“Holy Vulture!” said Etan.
“I know. Magnificent, isn’t it?” said the Leader. “Most of the city was wrecked; partly by the weapon itself and partly by the magician’s desperate attempts to stop it. In the end, it took the King of Jaktivar, all of his magicians and all of the royal guard to recapture the weapon. They all died doing it.
“Meanwhile, the Azamedians had learned of Jaktivar’s plans through their spies in the city. They dispatched the largest force they could muster to Jaktivar, with orders to stop the new weapon at any cost. But they needn’t have bothered. They arrived to find the last king of Jaktivar dead and the city in ruins. The Azamedians – soft-hearted fools that they are – were so horrified by the destruction that they laid down their weapons and rescued the survivors. Most of these Jaktivarians eventually settled in Azamed, adding their carpet-weaving knowledge to Azamed’s. The weapon – the perfect anti-flying carpet weapon – was never seen or heard of again.”
The Leader hit the chisel hard. With a loud crack, the blade broke through the stone seal and slipped several inches into the box.
“Until now,” said the Leader.
“Holy Vulture!” said Etan.
“Keep it still,” said the Leader.
Etan put both his hands on the edge of the box and held it down on the stone. The Leader laid down the hammer and chisel and picked up a crowbar. Fitting it into the gap, he leaned down hard on it. The lid was fitted tight. The Leader grunted and strained and sweat beaded on his forehead behind his mask. Stone squeaked as the lid moved, painfully slowly, and then leapt out of the box with a loud crack.
“AAAAHH!”
The Leader had been pressing so hard on the chisel that he fell over as the lid gave way, knocking Etan down with him. A cloud of dark dust burst out of the box as the airtight seal was broken. The lid landed on Etan’s chest. As he lifted it off, his fingers touched grooves carved into the underside. He turned it over.
“Uh… Sir?”
“Wha… What?” the Leader coughed.
Etan held the lid out so the Leader could see it. The underside was covered with writing scratched into the stone. Unlike the neat inscription on the lid, the symbols here were scrawled with energy and fury. They were written in all directions, straight, diagonal and horizontal, criss-crossing over one another. But as he stared at it, Etan realized that all the lines, even the ones written backwards and upside down, contained the same set of symbols in the same order.
“Is it the same thing written over and over again?” he said.
“It is,” said the Leader, taking the lid from him and turning it around. He frowned as he deciphered the ancient High Jaktivarian by memory from the notes he had stolen from Qwinton’s study before they left Azamed.
“What does it say?” said Etan.
“Release me,” said the Leader.
They looked at each other. Then they stood up. Slowly, they both peered into the box.
Etan blinked. The Leader beamed behind his mask.
“At last!” he breathed. “It’s perfect!”
“That’s it?” said Etan. “That?”
“Yes, it is,” said the Leader. “That is our revenge on Azamed.”
Stones clattered down the slope from the tunnel behind them. The Leader and Etan looked around as Hara and Mira slipped like panthers back into the cave.
“Oh, good. About time,” said the Leader. “Did you get it?”
“There were more guards than we expected, sir, but we did,” said Hara. She opened her haversack and drew out an old green glass bottle.
“Excellent!” said the Leader, taking it from her.
The bottle was large and rather crudely made. Tiny air bubbles were trapped inside the dark green glass. It might have once held wine, but now it was old and scratched and sand-scarred, as if it had been buried in the desert for years. The outside of it was so damaged that it was impossible to see what was inside.
“Splendid!” said the Leader. “It’s also perfect!”
“Why couldn’t we just have hired Miss Stormstrong to steal it, sir?” said Etan.
“Because this part of the plan was too important to entrust to anyone else,” said the Leader. “This is our revenge.”
“But I thought the box was, sir?”
“No, the box is our revenge on Azamed,” said the Leader. “This is our revenge on Zal Thesa and Zara Aura.”
By now, it was evening and the sky over Shirazar was a dark shade of purple. Everything was closed apart from the restaurants, and the gardens grew quiet as the butterflies turned in for the night. The moon was rising and the stars were coming out as the Thesas and the Auras hurried through the empty streets with Rip leading the way.
“Are you sure we’ve got everything?” said Zara. “What about the tassel brush?”
“Yes, for the five-hundredth time! I double checked,” said Zal. He was carrying the emergency carpet-cleaning supplies in a large box. “What about the balm? Is that OK?”
“I think so. I’ve never made any before,” said Zara. “Alchemy is not one of my best subjects.”
She held up the extra-large glass jar she was carrying. It was filled to the tightly-screwed-on lid with the misty pale blue potion, glowing softly with magic. Before he had gone home to tell his father what was going on, Miles had helped them collect the water from the stream in the museum gardens. When they got back to the hotel, Zal and Rip had paced up and down the length of the suite while Zara had locked herself in her bedroom and worked for the rest of the afternoon. They had heard the whisper of magic being cast, a lot of mumbling, a lot of cursing and several strange smells before she had emerged. Following Professor Maltho’s instructions, she had mixed all five ingredients together, infused them with magic and produced the single large jar full of what she hoped was Rivertree balm. All they needed now was a proper magic carpet repair frame to try it out.
“Try to relax a little, Zara,” said Augur. “I’m sure it will work. You’ve both worked miracles with carpets before. You can do it again.”
“Quite right,” said Arna, who was carrying his favourite crossbow and was peering into every corner, every doorway, every side street and every shadow they passed. “It’s the Shadows I’m worried about. If they’re here, they’re bound to be plotting something vile. Sabotaging the Champ
ions’ Race is just the sort of diabolical scheme they’d try.”
Zal and Zara both nodded. After Qwinton had done the translation, Captain Curta had thanked them for their help, but told them to leave the investigation – and the hunt for the missing box – to him, and then sent them on their way.
“There’s no one better than you two when it comes to magic or carpets,” said Augur. “If you can’t make it work, no one can.”
“Just don’t sell any of the spares until after we’ve tried it,” said Zal. “If it doesn’t work, we need to pick the best one so we can at least ask to race on it instead.”
Rip barked and jumped up and down as they arrived in front of a large shop with wide front windows. Inside, dozens of Azamedian carpets glowed in the lamplight. The sign above the door read DENJAR’S CARPET EMPORIUM – LARGEST IN SHIRAZAR. Pinned to the door was a smaller notice that read: CLOSED THIS EVENING FOR SPECIAL RESTOCKING! THE CARPETS EVERYONE’S TALKING ABOUT – AVAILABLE HERE SOON!
“I think he’s expecting us,” said Augur.
“Drat! We should have come here last so he’d get desperate and pay more,” said Arna. He knocked twice on the door.
“Coming! Coming!” came a voice from inside. The door was opened by a tall and very fat man, in a green robe and blue turban, with a long moustache that drooped down to his waist.
“At last!” he cried. “Augur! Arna! Welcome back, my friends!”
“Denjar! Splendid to see you!” said Arna, shaking his hand. “How’s our best Shirazan customer?”
“Wonderful, thank you, and getting better by the minute now you’re here,” said Denjar. “Hello, Zal. Hello, Rip. And this must be Zara.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr Denjar,” said Zara.
“The pleasure’s all mine. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard Zal whining about you,” said Denjar. “Now, I imagine you’ve brought something for me?”
“We have indeed,” said Arna. He placed his hand on the block of carpets as Augur steered it forward. “Say hello to the perfect flying carpet!”
“Splendid!” said Denjar. “I’ve been dreaming about this moment. Bring them in.”
Inside, the shop was bright and warm. Hundreds of magic carpets were rolled up and stacked in special shelves. Others were spread out on large display tables or hung from the walls. They were in combinations of all seven colours of magic, but never more than six colours in any one. Signs on the shelves divided the carpets up by weaver, and in front of the Thesa shelf, an empty table was set out with a sign next to it that read: NEW IN! RAINBOW CARPETS! RIDE THE CARPET THAT WON THE GREAT RACE OF AZAMED!
“I take it you’ll want several,” said Augur.
“Several? Of course not!” said Denjar. “I want all of them. Once it was announced that Zal and Zara were Azamed’s Champions this year, every carpet flyer in the city guessed you’d be bringing some to sell. I’m up to my neck in pre-orders already. How many did you bring?” he said, as Zal and Zara set the Rainbow Carpet down on the floor. “Oh, is that another one?”
“It was,” said Zara, as she and Zal unrolled it.
“BY THE STORK’S FEET!” Denjar staggered backwards, going white with the horror of a true connoisseur of flying carpets. The ends of his moustache dropped even further. “What happened?”
“Twelve octopuses,” said Zal. “And the Crystal Flowers of Kandara. It’s a long story.”
“Gentle River Robin! It must be!” said Denjar. “What a disaster!”
“But we think we can clean it,” said Zara, holding up the jar of Rivertree balm. “Could we possibly use your carpet repair frame? We don’t want to risk doing it on the hotel floor.”
“Please do!” said Denjar, waving them towards the small workshop in the far corner of the showroom. “Good grief, how terrible! Yes, of course. Anything I can do to help.”
“Thank you,” said Zara, as Zal carried the carpet to the workshop. As well as selling carpets, Denjar also repaired them for his customers and he had all the tools and equipment needed. Zara set the jar down on a workbench with their box of cleaning supplies while Zal carefully hung the Rainbow Carpet from the frame.
“Use whatever you need,” said Denjar. “Now then, Augur. Forty-seven rainbow carpets and the one they’re sitting on. How much do you want for all of them?”
“It’s very generous of you to let us set the price, Denjar, but we were planning to show them to a few of our other Shirazan customers as well,” said Augur. “We are all good friends after all.”
“Yes, but we’re also all businessmen,” said Denjar. “Fifteen thousand gold pieces for the lot.”
“Twenty,” said Augur and Arna together.
Zal hung the carpet carefully from the repair frame and smoothed it out. He turned around to watch as Zara unscrewed the lid of the jar, being careful not to spill any. She chose a paintbrush from Denjar’s tool rack and dipped it in. The balm was thick and smooth like honey.
“We should try it on the tassels first,” said Zara. “In case the Professor was right.”
“OK,” said Zal, looking at the grey and black mess of the carpet’s surface. His heart was pounding. This could save them, or it could leave them where they had started, and with less time to go before the race. Rip whimpered and Zal picked him up so he could see.
“Three hundred gold pieces each,” said Denjar.
“We’re selling them for twice that in Azamed,” said Augur.
“Very well. Six hundred.”
“No.”
Gingerly, biting her lower lip, Zara lowered the paintbrush towards the carpet.
“Oh, by the way, Zara,” said Arna, reaching into his pocket. “This came earlier for you.”
Zara moved the brush away, gritting her teeth, before it dripped on the carpet.
“It did?” she said.
“Yes, a long-distance, high-speed homing pigeon came before you got back,” said Arna, pulling out a note. “Sorry, I forgot all about it. It’s from Qwinton.”
“Qwinton?” said Zal.
“Yes. He says he made a mistake in the translation,” said Arna, peering at the note. “It wasn’t ‘Night Demon’ but ‘Knife Demon’ whatever that means. He says sorry for the mistake and please bring him some Frostbite Yeti Yogurt—”
THUNK!
They all jumped at the sound of wood cracking, split by something stronger than an axe.
“What in the name of…!” Denjar spun around and froze, staring at the shop’s door.
A large black dagger had been driven through the solid wooden door, above the top hinge. The blade was wide, heavy and black as obsidian. Its tip was forked into two points like a snake’s tongue.
“Hello?” said Denjar. “We’re closed.”
The dagger blade moved. It shifted up and down and the hole it had made widened. Then it started moving back and forth, sawing through the wood with ease. Sawdust flew as the dagger cut down as far as the bottom hinge, then turned sideways, sawing across the bottom of the door and then up the other side. Zal watched with astonishment. No one was strong enough to do that.
“What in name of the Stork?” said Augur.
“The Shadows!” said Arna, grabbing his crossbow.
The dagger blade made its final cut across the top of the door, then slid back out of sight. There was a second’s pause, then something hit the door with a hard bang. The rough-edged rectangle of the middle of the door flew into the room as the dagger spun in behind it.
“HOLY STORK!” Augur, Arna and Denjar jumped out of its way.
Zal’s mouth dropped open. No one – no one – could have thrown the dagger hard enough to do that. He stared through the giant hole in what was left of the door, half expecting to see a Quakajakian gorilla outside.
There was nothing. The darkened street was empty. Out of the corner of his eye, Zal suddenly noticed the dagger was still in the air.
Behind its forked blade, the dagger had a snake-shaped hilt, a short oval handle and a heavy round pomme
l. The handle had no finger grooves and it was not even wrapped in wire to make it easier to grip. The whole dagger was made from one piece of blackened steel. It was hovering two metres above the floor in the middle of the room. Zal watched as it turned slowly around, as if it was taking in the view.
“Knife Demon,” said Zara.
The dagger moved. It flew down to the nearest table, curving smoothly through the air, and used its forked tip to cut straight through the beautiful green, pink and orange three-shader that was on display there.
“NO!” shouted Denjar, the ends of his moustache standing bolt upright.
The dagger cut the carpet cleanly in half across the middle, then flew in a tight circle and slashed each piece in half from end to end.
“BY THE STORK!” yelled Arna.
“GOOD GRIEF!” shouted Augur.
“MY MERCHANDISE!” screamed Denjar, as the dagger flew straight to the next table and sliced through three elegant purple single-shaders and then cut through six others on the next table. It rose into the air again and turned its points towards the shelves.
“NO! STOP, YOU FIENDISH THING!”
The dagger flew into the shelves and began carving its way through the rolled carpets. Denjar dived across the room and grabbed a broom. He raced over to the shelves and beat at the dagger with the broom handle. The dagger dodged out of the way and flew in a sharp spiral, cutting the broom handle into four pieces and slicing off Denjar’s moustache, leaving him frozen with shock.
Zal leapt over the nearest table and charged forwards, drawing his sword. That was why the handle was not grooved! The dagger was not meant to be held, it was meant to fly! He skidded in front of Denjar and swung his sword. The metal rang and sparks flew as his blade crashed into the dagger, flipping it sideways in the air. Zal pressed forwards, hacking and slashing at it, and though the dagger tried to move out of the way, Zal kept knocking it backwards, away from the shelves and the carpets. The dagger knew how to cut up carpets, but it did not know how to sword fight, especially not against a student of Mistress Shen. Zal beat the dagger sideways, knocked its points down towards the floor and lunged forward, putting all his strength into the blade for the winning stroke, aiming behind the handle for where … the hand holding the dagger would be.
