by Fuad Baloch
“There’s no certainty that’s what he meant.”
“Is it a risk we dare overlook?” asked Palvar.
“Blood and onions,” cursed the captain, glaring at the inquisitor. “If you share the same fears, Inquisitor, we need to alert everyone. This is—”
“No!” snarled the inquisitor, his back still turned to them. “No one else is to know. Neither the Grand Vizier nor the Head of Kalb will tolerate mere speculation to mar this grand moment.”
“That leaves us two days to capture the killer,” said Palvar.
“Aye,” grumbled the inquisitor.
“Or else…”
The inquisitor didn’t reply.
“Son of a bat!” muttered Palvar.
Inquisitor Fan turned his head around. His face had a deathly pallor to it now. “Captain Habbra, you are to work with this man. Find the whoresons behind this murder and put all speculations to rest.”
“The City Guard follows its own procedures, Sahib Inquisitor,” said Captain Habbra. “It most definitely has no time to take in amateur thrill seekers!”
“You have two days,” repeated the inquisitor as if he hadn't heard the captain.
“Not good,” muttered Palvar. “Two days before the… whoever it is that we are to believe has nothing to do with magic, makes their play. What are they planning?”
“Find them,” said the inquisitor, walking away now. “Or you lot will have much to answer.”
“I… I have a condition,” called out Palvar.
The inquisitor stopped. “What?”
Palvar forced a smile. “I don’t think you’re going to like it much.”
3
Sand
2 days before the Grand Celebration
* * *
Flies buzzed about.
Annoyed, Captain Jeet Habbra shook his head. Cursed was the moment he’d been assigned this murder case. Instead of being with his family to enjoy the Grand Celebration, here he was, at this dump of a place, joined by a know-it-all inquisitor of the Kalb, and a spoiled courtier with delusions of grandeur.
“I really should be pursuing other leads,” he protested.
Inquisitor Fan stuttered to a stop. The setting sun cast one side of his face in relief, the massive eyes glinting dangerously. Before he could say anything, though, Palvar Turka chuckled, scratching his bulbous nose. “Do you have other leads to follow, Captain?”
Captain Habbra felt his face redden. “Even in a city as peaceful as Algaria, disputes happen, and people get killed. There might very well be another explanation behind the priest’s death.”
“Like what?” challenged Palvar.
“Captain,” interjected Inquisitor Fan, “if you have a faster way to get us to the killer in less than two days, without setting off needless panic in the city, then I’m most keen to hear of it, too.”
Captain Habbra licked his lips, drawing himself up to his full height. The afternoon air stank of refuse, the shabby dwellings around them completely wrong to host an inquisitor, a captain of the City Guard, and a royal courtier. Yet, despite his reservations, even he could feel the oppressive pressure of time ticking away. The courtier was making wild connections—just because the dead man had written out three didn’t mean he’d referred to the Grand Celebration—but for the moment Captain Habbra found himself at a dead end. “Let’s have it your way then, Inquisitor.”
“My way,” corrected Palvar, his deep voice irking Captain Habbra. “One must not forget facts.”
“If you’re wrong,” warned Inquisitor Fan, “I’ll hold you personally responsible for time wasted on this needless diversion.”
A dark shadow crossed over the courtier’s pale, bearded face. Not something Captain Habbra minded seeing.
“You forced me here,” continued Inquisitor Fan, fixing the courtier with an icy glare. “Only ask what you must and nothing more. Remember, these are vile creatures. Like beasts of the forest, even if they appear docile on the surface, deep within they’re feral and wild.”
“Of course,” replied Palvar. He offered an elaborate bow, the ludicrous act accompanied by the bark of a mangy dog staring at them from a dozen paces away. Captain Habbra smiled. The damned fool from Nikhtun might have managed to convince the inquisitor into letting them pursue this dead end, but the sooner they get through with it, the sooner he could get back to his ways.
Two days, he thought, feeling unease grip him again. He was a simple man. Crimes had simple motives and left behind clues. But that was when they didn’t involve inquisitors and magical artifacts. What if the courtier was right? Nonsense, Captain Habbra decided. After this meeting, he was going to take charge of the investigation, even if it meant rebutting the powerful inquisitor of the Kalb.
Inquisitor Fan walked over to the door directly ahead, Palvar a step behind, his fingers clenched.
With some surprise, Captain Habbra realized his fingers were clenched as well.
He had good reason.
Not every day did one get to interview the magi.
Palvar exhaled noisily as the inquisitor knocked again. He’d let his mouth run ahead of his mind, and if this didn't go well, he’d definitely have much to pay for. Inquisitor Fan didn't seem a man who’d make idle threats.
“Who’s there?” came an older man’s voice from beyond the door.
“Inquisitor Fan,” said the inquisitor. Palvar waited, but neither he nor the captain were introduced.
A bolt slid away. Then another. And another. Palvar glanced at Captain Habbra, who stood with a stoic expression on his face. If he felt any nervousness at what they were doing, he didn't let it show. Finally, the door creaked open.
Palvar blinked. The house within was dark, dust motes floating through a shaft of light behind the figure at the door. Palvar swallowed, transfixed by the sight of the man wearing a black turban.
A black turban. A magus in the flesh!
“Pray enter, Inquisitor,” said the magus, stepping aside.
Inquisitor Fan pressed the palms of his hands together. “Rabb, we enter the domain of a fellow inquisitor with his permission and your blessing.” Rubbing his hands over his face, he crossed the threshold. Palvar followed the inquisitor, keeping as much distance as he could from the magus. Captain Habbra lumbered in after them, muttering under his breath.
The inquisitor came to a stop in the large room to the left. A patchwork of ancient, threadbare carpets, their color long lost, covered the floor. Tapestries with cursive text hung on one wall. The sole window in the room had been shuttered tight but for a shaft of light finding a way through. Palvar eyed the divans and cushions set against the crumbling wall to the right, but the inquisitor seemed content at standing.
“Sahib Inquisitor,” wheezed the magus, shuffling over and standing between them and the door.
A shaft of worry lanced through Palvar. Magi had power of all manner of phenomenon; some could control water, others had mastery over the air or other base metals. What kind of a magus was this man? How quickly could he tear them all apart if he so wanted? You’re with the inquisitor! Palvar told himself. The thought didn't calm his nerves as much as he’d have liked.
Inquisitor Fan crossed his arms over his chest. “Roshan, we have no time to lose. Have you heard of any plans to attack priests?”
The magus coughed and took a half-step forward into the light. A terrible scar ran across the length of his right cheek, his eye a gaping, weeping wound on the ruined face. “Priests? What would the Rabb’s damned have to do with His chosen?”
“Answer the question, Roshan!” snapped Inquisitor Fan. “No one is blaming you here.”
The magus shrugged. If it was meant as a casual act of defiance, it did the trick, sending a cold shiver down Palvar’s spine. “We live to serve the will of our inquisitors, Sahib.”
Inquisitor Fan glared at the magus for a long breath. Then, he nodded. “Just as I thought. There is nothing to be gained here. Captain Habbra, we might as well let you take on from here
.”
“But—” sputtered Palvar as the inquisitor headed for the door. “We’ve only just started.”
The inquisitor, at the door now, turned his head. “What else is there to ask?”
Palvar drew in a long, shuddering breath. Inquisitor Fan’s only a man, Rabb damn you! Besides, they hadn’t come all this way only to be thwarted at the first opportunity. “Sahib Magus…” The magus fixed his one good eye on Palvar and words deserted him. Palvar forced his thoughts in order. “Have you heard of anything unusual recently?”
Captain Habbra turned around slowly even as the inquisitor stayed at the door.
Roshan, the man wearing the black turban, smiled, revealing his rotting yellow teeth. Palvar forced a grin of his own, hoping it masked his revulsion. “Well… there is a nasty rumor floating about. But what would you care for that?”
“Tell me,” said Palvar before the inquisitor could interrupt them.
“A magus… going rogue,” said Roshan, swaying on his feet. “But surely that’s not possible.”
“Going rogue?” repeated Palvar. “What does that mean?”
“A preposterous lie,” declared the inquisitor. “No magus can ever escape once bonded to an inquisitor.”
“Indeed,” the magus agreed.
Palvar blinked. The captain had taken out a parchment and was scribbling away. Something snagged at him. Colors. The gray turban of the inquisitor. The black of the magus. The red with which the priest had written his final words. Palvar inhaled. All temples held ink and parchment. Why hadn’t the priest used a parchment?
Palvar scratched his chin. “If it’s possible for a magus to go rogue, then that—”
“Stop right there,” cut in Inquisitor Fan. He turned around, his nostrils flaring. “Horses don’t fly. Magi don’t go rogue.”
“But—”
“I let you talk your way into meeting a magus. Not something I should have agreed to in the first instance. Regardless, as he says, he knows nothing. And he knows not to lie, for the punishment for that is most grievous.” Inquisitor Fan nodded. “I’m convinced the priest’s death is no extraordinary matter. Still, both of you are prohibited from discussing the specifics of the case.”
Palvar glared at the inquisitor. “What of the doom that’ll befall us in two days?”
“Your imagination has run wild.”
“But—”
“I’ve spoken.”
A thousand different retorts swirled in Palvar’s mind. But he knew he had to tread carefully here. “Of course, Inquisitor. By your leave, if I could ask just one more question.” He turned to face the magus before the inquisitor could stop him. “Roshan, would words written in blood hold any significance to your kind?”
The magus hissed. The inquisitor grew pale. The captain blinked.
“Blood?” whispered the magus. “How’s that possible? They were all killed.”
“Who?”
“Enough,” said Inquisitor Fan. “This has nothing to do with the murder investigation. I would not have you go digging about in business you’ve got nothing to do with.”
“We must—”
Inquisitor Fan snapped his fingers. “Roshan, shut the door behind us!” Then, he motioned at them to leave before him.
Captain Habbra was quiet as they waited outside for the inquisitor to join them. Two dirty boys watched them from behind an upturned cart, the mangy dog wagging its tail beside them.
“Owldung, all of it!” Palvar muttered. The captain raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
“Captain,” said the inquisitor when he’d joined them. “I shall go and present my findings to the Head of Kalb. Continue on with your investigation. Keep me apprised of how you go, but I’m convinced we’ve got nothing to worry about here.”
Palvar cleared his throat but already Inquisitor Fan was striding away, his robe trailing behind him.
“All this time wasted,” said Captain Habbra softly.
“Son of a bat,” muttered Palvar.
Even if the inquisitor didn't feel the threat anymore, Palvar’s gut disagreed. There was more he wasn’t seeing. Besides, could he really sit back and do nothing when there was a possibility he was right?
A terrible idea was taking shape in his mind. A dangerous one.
4
Night
2 nights before the Grand Celebration
* * *
Bohdan pursed his lips, the cool night breeze rustling his robes. “Master, we are so close. Surely we can’t let them risk our divine mission?”
Master Zalan, his face shrouded in darkness under his mask, didn't reply. Standing still beside the crumbling wall adjoining a grave, he looked at a part of the ancient graveyard. A long moment later, he raised a hand towards the third man in their midst. The magus. Bohdan clenched his fingers. How could Master include an abomination in their plans?
The magus, his back stooped with age, cleared his throat. “They shall never find us, Master.”
Bohdan gritted his teeth. “Rabb’s will demands utmost devotion, and I’ve waited so long for this moment. Master, give me leave and I shall deal with the meddling City Guard captain myself.”
The night was pleasant, the stars clear overhead. Just two more nights to see his hard work bear fruit. Our hard work, Bohdan reminded himself. Rabb didn't like boastful men.
“My child, you’ve done well,” said Master Zalan. His voice was still like dried leaves buried under sand, his words betraying no emotion. Stable. Calm. Authoritative. Not that different from how Bohdan imagined Rabb’s voice would sound like when his soul entered his company. “But I have to agree with the magus. You covered your tracks well at the temple. They will not find us.”
Bohdan dabbed at his bald pate. “My faith is weak, Master. I admit that. But an inquisitor is working with the City Guard now. They will find us.” He bit his fingernails, then pointed at the magus with his chin. “If the inquisitors get wind, even this abomination won’t be able to help us carry out Rabb’s will. We’ll never get another opportunity like this disgusted Grand Celebration again.”
Again, Master Zalan turned his head towards the magus, who shook his head.
“There is no scent for the inquisitor to follow,” said the magus.
Bohdan wanted to scream. “But—”
“There are others beside you who also serve Rabb, my child.” Master Zalan paused, his words heavy with meaning. “If they ever get too close, I’d know.”
Bohdan hung his head. “I remain your humble servant, Master.”
“Rabb shall reward you well for all you've done.”
Faces of the dead men, crying and begging for their lives with their flowing beards and large turbans, rose in Bohdan’s periphery. The dead custodians. Men of weak faith.
“A courtier from Nikhtun is working alongside the inquisitor and City Guard captain,” said the magus. Bohdan looked up, surprised by the magus’s knowledge. A part of him wished he knew who this magus really was. All he knew was his name, which he was certain wasn’t real. At least Master Zalan had decided to leave the stone with Bohdan instead of the abomination who couldn’t be trusted.
“The courtier’s a pompous idiot,” said Master Zalan. He raised his right hand, his way of indicating that the audience was at an end. Bohdan nodded, beginning to turn away. Master Zalan coughed and Bohdan looked up. “My child, Rabb rewards the patient. But he also smiles broadly on those who show initiative.”
Bohdan smiled. “Rabb’s will shall be done.”
5
Pride
1 day before the Grand Celebration
* * *
Palvar swayed on his feet, would have fallen had Captain Habbra not reached over to steady him.
“Having second thoughts?” the captain asked, eying their surroundings warily, the morning sun stretching their shadows behind them.
“Too late for that!” Palvar forced a chuckle. His vision clouded over once more and he chewed on his lower lip so hard he tasted blood.
Lately, these moments of confusion had gotten more frequent.
“I’ve received word from the captains investigating the deaths of the other two priests,” said Captain Habbra. He slapped his right cheek, drawing a surprised look from Palvar, then waved his hand in annoyance as flies continued to buzz about him. “The dead left nothing behind. No words or cryptic messages.”
“Bah! That means nothing. The killer must have been swift.”
The captain didn't respond. Instead, he looked over his shoulder, his jaw moving silently. Palvar understood his misgivings well enough. The captain had evidently not slept last night, working through all possible leads he had. Palvar hadn’t either, his mind working at a feverish pace as he’d finally sought out the captain to convince him of his plan.
“Let’s just get on with it,” said Palvar, then, steeling himself, started for the door they had crossed the day before.
“The inquisitor won’t be much pleased.”
“No,” agreed Palvar easily enough. “But if you’re still working with me, it means you share my fears of what’s coming tomorrow should we fail.”
From the corner of his eye, he spied the same two boys who had been watching them yesterday. He wondered if they knew the kind of creatures who lived on this street.
Palvar knocked, sweat breaking out on his forehead. What if he was wrong? What if the inquisitor was right, and he was getting his turban all twisted up for no good reason?
The door slid open, the suddenness drawing a startled gasp from Palvar. The magus peered at them, the end of his black turban draped over his shoulder. “You.”
Palvar swallowed the lump in his throat, aware of the captain looming behind him, yet unable to draw much strength from it. He put on his most winning smile “Ah, Sahib Magus, it appears there are more questions we’d like to ask you.”
