Stabenow, Dana - Powers Of Detection (Editor)

by Powers Of Detection (Editor)(lit)

  -

  For the next few days I pursued my own inquiries. I hit a wall in every direction. I could find no record of the Fouads or anything to do with Ra Industries. Every way I turned, at the merest mention of those names, the shutters came crashing down. The dusty streets and alleyways of Cairo guard their secrets well, but Id never seen anything like this. Usually a few Egyptian pounds is enough to loosen lips. Not this time. I was left scratching my head, grinding my teeth with frustration, dreading the call from Madame Fouad, knowing I had nothing to give her.

  Two days later the call came. It wasnt Madame Fouad. It was Ismail.

  “Zhaik, said the breathy voice at the other end of the line. “You must come. I have something for you.

  “What is it, Ismail? There was something in his voiceno banter, all seriousness.

  “You must come, Zhaik. The line went dead.

  I jumped in a cab and headed for the Khan, not even bothering to haggle over the price. Ismail was waiting for me when I got there.

  “What have you got? He looked nervous, jittery. He shook his head, beckoning for me to follow him into the depths of the marketplace. He didnt even bother checking that someone would look after his store.

  Ismail lead the way, pushing past stallholders and browsers alike. I knew the section. One of my other contacts plied his trade from a small antiques store in the very area, but the store Ismail led me to was unfamiliar. Ismail ushered me inside a small shop, cluttered with statuary, tomb fragments, and papyri. He closed the door firmly behind us. A moment later, we were joined by a small, rotund sweaty man, with a full black beard and thick glasses.

  “This is Ali, said Ismail. “This is his shop.

  I nodded.

  “Come, come, said Ali.

  He led us into another back room. This one was far cleaner than Ismails. On a small table in the rooms center, sat a bundle, wrapped in newspaper and tied up with string. Ali reached across, retrieved a knife, and cut the string; then waved me toward the package. Looking from one to the other, I gingerly reached forward and started unfolding the newspaper. I swallowed and stepped back. What lay revealed was a foot. I reached forward and prodded it with the tip of one finger. It was a foot all right. I peered closer. Neatly manicured nails, slightly dark skin, and a clean cut at the ankle.

  “Where did you get this? I said.

  “A local fishermen. It comes from the river three days ago.

  Three days ago? It looked recently removed. Very recently removed.

  “Whats happened? Where has it been kept?

  “Ali has had it here. I hear about it. I talk to him. I call you, Zhaik. He has it here maybe two days, I think.

  But that was impossible. Sitting wrapped in newspaper for a couple of days in the Cairo heat, a severed foot wasnt going to look like that. I reached out and folded the newspaper back over, swallowing back my disbelief.

  “At least put the damn thing in a fridge, I said.

  There was nothing to indicate that this was who I was looking for, but somehow, deep inside, I knew it was. I turned away from the table, one hand massaging the back of my neck. One foot did not a body make. This was probably a matter for the Cairo police, but I didnt want to involve them yet. I turned back to Ismail.

  “Get him to keep it here. Ask around. See if anything else has shown up. Until then... I dont know.

  The next thing to turn up was a head. There was no doubt about who it belonged to. I couldnt deny the possibilities any longer.

  Right on cue, that evening, the call I was dreading came. I heard her voice on the end of the line, and my heart sank.

  “I have some bad news, I told her.

  “Yes, what is it? she said, her voice calm, her tone even.

  “We think weve found your husband.

  “We? What is this we, Jacques?

  I paused at that. “I use a couple of contacts, a couple of people who work for me, Madame Fouad. I can trust them.

  “All right. So tell me.

  “Well, we havent exactly found all of him.

  “I see. What have you found?

  “So far, only a foot and his head. Im sorry, Madame Fouad.

  Her next statement blindsided me completely. I expected tears. I expected wailing. “Ah, very good, Jacques, she said. “You have truly earned your fee.

  I held the phone away from my ear, staring at it in disbelief. Slowly, I brought it back to my ear.

  “Madame Fouad?

  “Did you hear me, Jacques?

  “No, Im sorry...

  “Make sure to keep the pieces you have safe. Continue searching. I have faith in you, Jacques. I will be in touch to arrange collection of what you have.

  The connection went dead, and I lowered the phone.

  -

  Over the next couple of weeks, the word went out, and one by one, pieces of the body turned up. A cowherd brought in one. A local farmer another. A tourist guide yet another. Every piece, wrapped in leaves, or newspapers, or blue plastic bags were all in the same perfect condition, as if theyd been severed mere minutes before. I didnt understand it. I didnt really want to. Ismail, his pockmarked superstitious face filled with knowing, seemed to accept it as if it was something that happened every day. Every couple of days, Madame Fouad called, monitoring the progress.

  Of course we paid. We paid in bits and pieces for the bits and pieces, and the word spread. By the end, we had fourteen individual parts. We had the whole Ossie Fouad in pieces, all except for one. And maybe he didnt need that piece anymore. After all, according to my research, he already had a son, a healthy young man called Horace, all set to take over the company when his own time came. I met him when he and his mother came to collect the pieces.

  A good-looking young man, with his fathers skin, he leaned in close to me as he bundled the neatly wrapped pieces of his fathers corpse into the back of a truck.

  “We cannot thank you enough, Mr. Jacques, he said. “But I would keep out of sight for a while. Your fee should look after you. After my fathers resurrection, my uncle will not be pleased. He doesnt take kindly to failure. I would give you this word of caution. My uncle Set does not forget and his reach is long. Watch for him in the darkness.

  Set? I had thought shed said Seth.

  I looked over at his mother, watching me with her dark, intelligent eyes, the barest smile upon her lips, and I felt a chill despite the evenings heat.

  I heard a few rumors later that the Fouads never did find that missing piece. I wonder from time to time how Ossie might feel about that. Ismail told me that she, Madame Fouad, had had a replacement fashioned from gold, right down the street from his little copper shop. Maybe that was true, maybe it wasnt, but I wasnt going to take the trouble to find out.

  All I knew was that somewhere inside Ra Industries, there was a man called Set Fouad, a man who didnt forget easily. I wasnt even sure if he was a man, but I knew I didnt want to meet him anytime soon. For now, I was keeping my head down. Maybe Id move. Maybe Alexandria. Maybe Athens. Somewhere like that. I needed to raise the cash first. If I never heard the name Ra Industries again, Id be happy.

  Do you know what a jackal sounds like in the fog of a Cairo dawn?

  Justice Is a Two-edged Sword

  DANA STABENOW

  It was the first day of the Tattoo Fair, and the town square was bustling with vendors and performers from the nine provinces of Mnemosynea. Pthalean playwrights were rehearsing songs and skits with Pthersikorean dancers. From a dais two feet square a Kalliopean poet was declaiming in iambic pentameter what appeared to be an epic concerning the life of Okeon, the god of the sea, who had five wives, seventeen children, and a great deal of domestic discord that played out, as one might expect, on the hapless humankind living onshore. Next to the dais the poets clerk was doing a brisk trade in autographed scrolls.

  A Palihymnean had a booth built of shelves of sheet music featuring every hymn written in praise of the gods from Atonis to Tseuz. Foreseers from Yranea set out star charts, s
ome rolled, some mounted on poster board, next to wicker baskets full of fortunes tied with red satin ribbons, and shuffled their prefiguration cards in preparation for their first customers, girls looking for true love, farmers looking for rain, merchants looking for a reading on the futures of surcoats (long or short?) and breastplates (functional or ornamental?). As her mount picked his way through the debris field of wagons, tent poles, heaps of canvas and crates of goods, Sharryn pointed out one Pthalean stand-up comedian rehearsing an act that had a troupe of tragic actors holding their sides. “We should get tickets to that performance. Anybody who can make a Mnelpomenean laugh has to be funny.

  Crowfoot grunted and nudged her destrier through the crowd.

  Sharryn looked at her with affectionate exasperation. “When last did you take the time to laugh that hard at something that silly?

  Crowfoots destrier whickered agreement, and the swordswoman cuffed her mane without force. “Less of that from you, Blanca.

  Blanca rolled an eye at Pedro, the sturdy brown pony bearing Sharryn, who tossed his head and snorted. “Even they agree with me, Sharryn said. A bit grimly, she added, “And after Epaphus we could both use a little amusement.

  Crowfoot, ignoring the reference to the events in the provincial capital the day before, scanned the marketplace over the heads of the jostling, energetic crowd. “Where is this inn you keep on about? The road has left me dry as a bone.

  Sharryn brightened. “Makarioss? She craned her neck. “There, the red brick building on the corner. She smacked her lips. “Wait till you taste Makarioss lager. It truly is the stuff of the gods.

  “Careful, one of them will hear you. Crow was only half-joking. She looked at Sharryn out of the corner of an eye. Her partners eager expression indicated that there was more of interest at the inn than mere beer.

  They urged their mounts alewards. Weary of the road and their last Assideres, they were both mildly annoyed to find their way blocked by a small knot of shouting, gesticulating townspeople. The knot grew into a group, then into a crowd, with no way out or around save to walk their horses right over the top of it. That of course would be unacceptable behavior for two of His Most Serene Majestys chosen, so they didnt, however greatly they were tempted.

  “A full tankard of cold, crisp lager, Sharryn said, staring sadly in the direction of the inn. “I can practically smell it from here.

  “Lead me to it, Crowfoot muttered. “Goodman, she said to one of the townsmen standing at the fringe of the crowd, and had to raise her voice and repeat herself to be heard over the uproar.

  He spared her an impatient glance, then looked again, his eye caught by the crest on the breast of her tunic and by the hilt of the sword protruding from the sheath strapped to her back. What he had been about to say changed to a deferential, “Swordswoman, accompanied by a bow of the head. He looked for and found Sharryn, almost hidden by the bulk of the destrier, took in the same crest on the same tunic and the staff in her hand, and said, bowing again, “Seer.

  “Goodman, Sharryn said pleasantly. “Whats all the fuss about?

  “Its nothing, Seer. A fight.

  Crow surveyed the growing crowd, exchanged a raised eyebrow with Sharryn, and said, “A fight with a large audience. Is this part of the festival? Does one buy a ticket?

  “Its nothing, he repeated, with an involuntary look over his shoulder. “A fight over a girl, merely.

  Crow stood in the stirrups and saw a tangled ball of two men crash into the side of a cart loaded with nuts. The cart went over, the nuts went everywhere, and the vendor burned his hands catching the brazier. The two men were forcibly separated by a couple of stern townsmen, and stood revealed to be a young, slight man with dark hair, dressed in the charred leather apron of the smith, and a much larger man of roughly the same age, towheaded, pale-skinned and lantern-jawed, wearing a fletchers gauntlet. One of the townsmen, fists on his hips, surveyed the two pugilists with palpable scorn, addressed them with what appeared to be a pithy homily, and set them to work to right the nut vendors cart and recompense him for his lost revenue. The crowd began to disperse, but Crow saw the looks exchanged by the two young men and thought that there would be more trouble before long.

  “Were you making for the inn? She looked down to see the eyes of the townsman fixed on her.

  “We were.

  “Allow me to lead you there. He accomplished this with no unnecessary pushing and shoving, Sharryn noted with approval, but a tap on the shoulder, a nod, and a smile; and then there was the massive shadow of Blanca looming behind him, before which people naturally fell back.

  They were dismounting in front of the inn when a big burly man burst out of the door, crying loudly in a strange tongue, and swept Sharryn up into a comprehensive embrace. It was returned with enthusiasm. Crow busied herself with an unnecessary adjustment to the left stirrup of her saddle. Blanca snorted. Pedro whinnied. The townsman looked a little startled.

  After a while Sharryn came up for air, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed. “This is Makarios, she said.

  “I should think so, Crow said.

  “Zeno! Makarios roared. He had a robust baritone that was easily heard over the noise of the crowd. A sharp-featured boy with untidy dark hair and a sly grin scrambled from beneath a forest of legs. “Master Makarios?

  “Take the pony and the destrier to the stables. Water them, feed them, groom them, clean their tack. He cocked an eye at Crow. “Anything else?

  She shook her head. The boy gave her a quick grin bracketed with mischievous dimples, but his hand on the halters was steady and sure, and Blanca and Pedro allowed themselves to be led away without complaint.

  “Makarios, Sharryn said, “this is Crowfoot, my Sword.

  “So I see. Well, well. He eyed the townsman. “How did you happen to fall in with such rabble, Cornelius?

  Cornelius grinned. “They needed an escort through the crowd. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

  Makarios remembered his duties as host. “You must be thirsty, come in, come in! Sofronia! Beer! He unceremoniously dislodged a dozing patron from a large table comfortably close to the fireplace and disappeared for a moment, to reappear again with a tray loaded with meat rolls, cheese, and fruit. Crows stomach chose that moment to growl, loudly, which made Makarios grin and shove the platter closer to her. Her mouth was full when Sofronia, a plump woman with red cheeks and thick gray hair in a plait hanging to her waist bustled out with four tankards in one hand and an enormous earthenware pitcher in the other, which, pour as they would, never seemed to empty. Makarios grinned at Crow when she noticed this. “Youre drinking on the kings coin, arent you? and she had to admit that they were. The lager was cold and crisp, tasting of sun on grain, and good, rich earth, and deep, clear water.

  Sharryn polished off the last crumble of cheese and sat back with a satisfied sigh. “That was worth the ride. She smiled at Makarios, who was looking at her with love in his eyes.

  Cornelius drained his tankard and went to refill it, but the pitcher was empty this time. “Sofronia! Makarios bellowed. “Knock the bung out of another keg!

  “You dont have to get me drunk, Sharryn told him.

  His smile could only be described as lecherous. “Yes, but its more fun when I do.

  Cornelius burped. “Excuse me, Sword.

  “The name is Crowfoot, Cornelius.

  She had unbuckled the sword. It rested against the arm of her chair. He eyed it. It was almost as tall as he was. “Do you mind if I ask how heavy it is?

  He was angling for an invitation to test the heft and balance of the weapon. She ignored the bait, more out of a care for his health than for any proprietary feel for the sword. “Heavy enough for justice, she said, and wished the truth sounded less sanctimonious.

  “Of course, of course, he said hastily. Cornelius was square-jawed and solid, with dark hair neatly combed over dark, steady eyes, jerkin and leggings made with quality but not luxury, knee boots well traveled but also well kept. He wore a guild ba
dge with a Catherine wheel embroidered on it. A trader, then.

  “You recognized us, Crow said.

  He nodded. “I was trading in the capital two years ago when the king announced the Treaty of the Nine, along with the Charter of Mnemosynea and the conditions thereof.

  “And what do you think of it?

  He gave her question serious consideration, ignoring for the moment the din rising in back of them as the common room filled with the evening crowd. “If it will bring peace to the Nine Provinces and safe roads to get my goods to market, Im for it.

  “And do you think it will?

  Their eyes met for a long moment. “I dont know.

  The corners of her mouth quirked. “I dont either, Cornelius.

  Night had fallen, and, at a look from Makarios, Sofronia lit the oil lamps hanging from brackets on the walls with a snap of fingers. Crow decided to stretch her legs in the direction of the stables, a glance enough to keep Cornelius in his seat. Sharryn made a face at her just before Makarios pulled Sharryn toward the stairs.

  Blanca and Pedro had been brushed to a dull gleam, their hooves looked as if they had been polished, and both had buckets of water and troughs of hay and grain in their stalls. In the third stall down, she found Zeno industriously polishing the metal bits of her tack. Made of the finest steel from the kings forges, they shone silver in the lamplight, Sofronias evening lighting task having apparently extended to the outbuildings. Crow wondered if that included the necessary. She hoped so; one of the less pleasant aspects of being continually on the road was trying to find an unfamiliar outhouse in the middle of the night.

  “There must be some magic in your polish, boy, she said. “That bridle hasnt looked that good since we left the capital.

  He gave a proud nod. “My Talent is for horses, and anything to do with them.

  “Youre young to know that. It happened, though, and often enough not to occasion more than idle comment.

  Everyone in the Nine Provinces was born with the gift of magic. What kind and how much was usually revealed to them at the onset of puberty, but sometimes it happened earlier. Crow herself had been thirteen when she felt herself drawn to a former soldier who had lost a leg in battle and stumped into her village on a wooden replacement, there to buy out the local stable and begin an ambitious breeding program. He had found her on the back of a fiery-tempered mare, sans bridle or saddle, and his first and last glimpse of her for the afternoon was her gripping the mares black mane as both of them went over the fence and disappeared into the forest at a gallop.