by Kirk Dougal
Saleene and Bree entered the room and noticed me. They caught the attention of one of the serving women and spoke with her for a few seconds before walking over and sitting down.
“Are we the first to make it down here?” Saleene asked. The serving girl appeared with a tray of food for them and more cups, pouring them each a cup before bowing and leaving. The action gave me time to notice that both Saleene and Bree had their hair tied back in silver braids that reflected the morning light shining in the window by the table.
“Yes,” I said. “No sign of the other two.”
“And god knows when DeBrest will make any appearance,” Card said as he approached the table. “I pounded on his door until the man in the next room walked out with a knife and never got a response from him.”
“He drank a lot of the arak,” I said. “For what we need to accomplish this morning, he can sleep it off if he needs to.”
“This is almost like being at home,” Saleene said, taking another sip of her drink. “There's a guy at the office who likes his coffee thick enough to stand a spoon in it.”
Bree coughed, sputtering out some of the brew. She wiped her chin off and looked away, her cheeks turning red. “Sorry, I must have had a little too much arak last night, as well.”
I cleared my throat, covering for her.
“I've been thinking about this as I watched the people walk through the streets this morning. Saleene, you and Card go and look over the Golden Tower and Oshun's tomb. Take all day if you need to feel comfortable with a plan on how to get her heart. I was going to take DeBrest with me, but since he's not here, Bree, you come with me and we will look for a Temple of the Huntress. My concern is that if we cannot find one of those, we may need to try a few questions in several spots so that we don't raise suspicion. As a last resort, we may try to find Grol near the warehouses and maybe he'll give us some answers.”
Saleene nodded in agreement, but Bree kept her attention focused outside the window. When I glanced at Card, however, I burst out laughing. He had made little sandwiches out of the yogurt and fruit with the pitas serving as bread. He also appeared to be wearing as much as he shoved in his mouth.
“What?” he said. “You know how much I loved jelly-filled donuts at the precinct.”
*****
Bree and I weaved our way through the busy streets. We had examined more than a dozen buildings that had yellow banners hanging from their walls but none of them had been from my order. At the last two, I tried to use my cover story, but as soon as I started asking questions, the acolytes grew silent, eventually asking me to leave. The last one also included the point of a knife.
One thing became quickly apparent as we continued our search for information: the heat of the day was not the time to be moving around Tsamib. The streets had been busy when we arrived the night before as the sun was setting and again this morning before the full heat of the day settled over the land. But as noon approached and the sun beat down from high overhead, our path down the streets became easier as the crowds thinned. I eventually pointed Bree toward a red banner, and we ducked inside the cool walls, hand-operated fans gently moving back and forth from the ceiling and creating a breeze. We found a table along one wall and settled in to eat and cool off.
“Did you notice how the streets thinned out when it got hot?” I asked. Bree had not spoken all morning unless I asked her a direct question.
“Yes.”
“I wonder if we can use that to our advantage.”
She tilted her head to the side. “I don't know. We need to meet Yemaya at noon out in the desert. We'll need to leave Tsamib really early on the fifth day to make sure we are in place. How does that help us?”
Her response made sense, and I had no answer to her question. We ate while I thought the situation over, but without knowing what Saleene and Card had discovered at the Golden Tower, I had no way of knowing what was going to be required to fulfill our quest. We noticed no one else in the eating room left after their food was taken away, all remaining to continue conversations and sip on the cold fruit juices brought to us in jars so we did the same. I was still thinking over the timing of our leaving when Bree spoke again.
“Why aren't they here?” she asked.
“Saleene and Card? I imagine they're still looking over the Golden Tower or went back to their rooms to relax out of this heat.”
“No, not them,” Bree said, shaking her head so the braid flipped up from behind each shoulder. “The terrorists. Zamani seems more like a country they would choose to use instead of Maegdon if they're really in Quest Call.”
“Maybe,” I said, frowning at the unsaid implication. “But that presupposes the terrorists are Middle Eastern. Sure, we've suffered through our share of those groups over the past few decades, but we've had others who were European or from South America. We've even had a handful from the U.S.”
“So what's the story behind this group?”
I shook my head. “I wish I knew. I know the FBI and the intelligence agencies are banging their heads against the wall trying to answer just that question. We've had attacks in the U.S., Europe, Asia, Japan—just about anywhere where there is a conflict over religion or power or self-rule. Why, just the money…”
Just that quickly, a puzzle piece that had been banging around my head since the moment I laid my eyes on the dragon at Dinas Farwolaeth fell into place.
“Oh my god! I'm such an idiot,” I said, banging the heels of my hands into my forehead. I finally stopped and glanced up at Bree, and she was staring back, her eyes opened wide.
“Do you know the two hardest parts for a big organization of terrorists today?” I continued. “Coordination and money. This entire time we've been searching for where the terrorists were meeting. How they were planning the attacks and moving information back and forth. We assumed they were meeting inside the games for that reason—coordination.”
I leaned forward and dropped my voice to a whisper. Bree leaned in on her elbows to listen. “But that's only half the reason. Money. They also need to transfer money and almost every government in the world has put in place rules and regulations, policing actions, anything they can to track and stop the flow of money. So how do the terrorists get around that? The last time I was outside, I heard two men talking about yooks. Do you know what those are?”
Bree nodded. “Yes, it's an electronic money system that was started in Japan last year. Yook is short for Yukichi Fukuzawa, the man on the ten thousand-yen note.” She blushed. “I've used the system, trading in some of the money I've plundered in Quest Call for dollars on the outside. I bought some flowers for Tra…Saleene but I didn't have the guts to sign the card.”
I nodded, but my thoughts had already shot passed any personal issues with Bree and Saleene.
“So who hoards money more than a dragon?” I asked. Bree stared at me, her face a blank sheet. I turned on my bench and raised my voice so the men at the next table could hear me. “Excuse me. My friend and I are travelers from far away and we are trying to learn about your beautiful country. But she is frightened by some of the animals we've seen. Do you have any dragons here?”
The men, bearded and covered with fine sand that their clothes could only have collected from working outside, stared at me before breaking into laughter. The closest stopped long enough to speak.
“Dragons? Those are just stories the nomads and grandmothers tell to keep their children out of trouble. You have lots of real animals that will kill you quicker than an old fireside tale.”
“So you've never seen one? They don't exist?” I pressed the conversation since I had his attention.
“No, I'd wager no one in Tsamib has ever seen one. All the old stories talk about them being way off in the desert where only the nomads live. And the gods know you can't trust anything they tell you.” This set off another round of laughter.
I chuckled along with the men. “I know what you mean. My grandmother used to tell me about dragons across the Windless
Sea that could fly and kept castles full of gold. She always said she'd feed me to them if I didn't listen.”
“Fly? No, dragons are more like giant worms with stubby little feet. In the stories, they are fast, though. And they don't care about gold. They care more about the weather and storms.”
I thanked the men and turned back to Bree.
“See, they needed the dragon. A European-style dragon. Not only one that could help defend their meeting place, but also one that would help steal and defend the gold.” The man standing alone on top of the Dinas Farwolaeth parapet popped into my thoughts, his hand raised with the light shining up on the circling dragon. “I'll bet they got a jump on the process by taking control of a dragon inside the game and stealing all of its treasures. That's the secret that's been missing. The terrorists might not only be meeting at Dinas Farwolaeth like the acolytes told us at the Temple of the Soaring Eagle, the dragon's Horde is also their bank. They pass out the gold which is turned in for yooks in the real world.”
I stood up so fast the bench toppled over behind me, the noise making some of the nearby people jump. I did not care.
“Come on, Bree,” I said, gesturing toward the door. “We need to go find Grol now and find out that information. We don't have any time to waste.”
Chapter 33
Bree almost had to trot to keep up with me as we moved through the quiet streets of Tsamib in the early afternoon heat. Within a block, sweat poured down my face and my undershirt stuck to my chest. My thoughts swirled around the implications of the connection between the terrorists and yooks. I had to get word to Tower as soon as I could, but I had no idea how I was going to accomplish it.
I glanced at Bree and stumbled, catching my feet before I took a nose dive into the dust collected on the sand-packed street. Although she needed to hop forward about every fourth step to keep up with me, she was not breathing hard and her face was still dry. In fact, the heat did not appear to be affecting her at all.
“These people have the right idea,” I said, wiping a hand over my face. “It's too damn hot to move around in the middle of the day. Why isn't the heat affecting you?”
“I feel it the same as you,” she said, a smile crossing her face. “But all it does is remind me of my home. Saleene and I are from Baqui, to the west of the Sand Sea, not far from the ports where Grol must be trading from. There the jungles are thick and full of bogs that wait to trap the unwary. Some days the humidity is so bad it feels like you are breathing through a wet cloth.” She looked at me. “But it is much drier here.”
“I might race DeBrest to the arak tonight.” I laughed, but it sounded more like a croak.
We moved along in silence for a few more streets before Bree spoke again.
“Thank you for not saying anything to Saleene this morning,” she said. “I'm the worker who likes his coffee so strong.” She shook her head and lowered her voice, more a mumble to herself. “I never knew she noticed.”
I opened my mouth, but then closed it again. For one thing, my throat was so dry I was not sure I could talk anymore. For another, I was in no place to give advice about relationships considering my divorce and abysmal record in the past with women. My thoughts drifted to memories of Evelyn before I forced them down, concentrating on finding the warehouse district and Grol.
In the end, it was blind luck that less us to him. The farther north in Tsamib we traveled, the wider the streets grew. The buildings also changed. Long structures, some nearly a block long with stucco-like walls and low roofs, lined the sides. They were inset with barred windows, open to the day although crude wooden shutters were attached that could be closed to the elements. Strange bleats and grunts came from some, holding animals I could only guess at, considering some of the creatures we had seen since arriving in Tsamib. Others were quiet, just black shapes moving in the shadows beyond the bars. Over the entire area, however, hung the stench of animals living in cages, unable to move into the fresh air no matter how hot and dry.
Our break came when I noticed a man walking out one of the buildings, striding toward us with his head hanging, a cowl pulled low over his face to protect it from the sun. He was only a few steps away when he heard our footsteps and glanced up, his hand dropping to a club hanging from his waist. I also noticed a short whip with multiple tails on the other side. But that was all I had time to notice before I was able to make out his features in the shadow of his hood.
“Stitch!” I said. “It's good to see you. We're hoping to find Grol and talk with him if he has time.”
Stitch glanced back over his shoulder at the building he had just left. That was when another oddity struck me about the warehouses. The cloth banners were also different. I did not see the solid reds, blues, greens and yellows of the main streets. Here, the banners were multi-colored and held symbols, appearing more like country flags in the real world. Because of the lack of a breeze, they all hung limp, however, and I could not make out any of the details.
“Master Grol is conducting business right now,” he said, turning back to face me. “But I know he'll want to talk with you.” He gestured behind us. “I will lead you to a place where you can drink and cool in the shade. He will not be long, I'm sure.”
We followed Stitch back past the first warehouses and turned onto a street that looked much more like I had come to expect in Tsamib, with a handful of green and purple banners and even a blue on the largest building. He gestured toward one with a smaller banner over the door that announced it as the Three Sisters.
“Please, go inside and relax while I let Master Grol know you are waiting.” He bobbed his head and left.
Bree and I made our way inside the tavern. The young boy who came to our table asked if we wanted arak, but we both opted for juice. It was too hot to start drinking alcohol this early in the day.
While we waited for Grol, I let my gaze travel over the rest of the crowd in the meeting room. A little more than half the tables were full. Most of the patrons were men, bearded and dirty with grime and sweat staining their clothes, most likely workers from the nearby storage structures. Women were mixed through them, the majority dressed the same as the men and just as filthy. However, I also notice a handful of women wearing their hair loose. Obviously, the owner of the Three Sisters did not have the same revulsion about serving prostitutes as the owner did at the Lonely Ibis. We drew a few stares when Bree and I entered, but we were left alone at our table, no one even bothering to greet us.
“He completely ignored me,” Bree said, breaking our silence.
I glanced around, searching the nearby tables. “What? Who ignored you?”
“Stitch,” she answered. “When he spoke, he only looked at you. The same thing the whole way here.” Bree rubbed her hands over her arms. “Something is wrong in this part of the city. I don't like it here.”
“Do you want to go back? I can wait for Grol.”
She stared at the other patrons for a few seconds. “No, I will stay with you, but only for a while. I don't want to be caught here after the sun sets.”
Luckily, we did not need to wait anywhere near that long. I had just poured my second glass of juice when Grol walked in with Stitch close on his heels.
“Ah, my friend,” he said. “I see you have come to visit me as I suggested. Perhaps we will do some business together?” Stitch stood behind him and smiled, spinning a piece of leather around his hand.
“I have some questions, if you have time,” I said.
Grol's smile faltered for a moment but then returned. “Of course, we shall talk first.” He grabbed a short bench from behind him and sat at the end of the table. Stitch, however, walked around until he sat on the far side of Bree, placing her between the two men. “So what should we talk about?” Grol asked. “Perhaps a trade?”
“Oshun,” I answered. “I want to know as much as possible about her and her family and I'm willing to pay for the information.” I placed three gold coins on the table.
“Gold for talking
,” Grol said, shaking his head. “These are strange days.” The serving boy arrived with a tray holding the traditional arak and water. Grol waited until his glass was full before he took a sip and leaned back.
“Oshun was once the youngest daughter of the King and Queen of Zamani. She was rumored to be one of the most beautiful women in all the land, perhaps second only to her sister, Yemaya. They were beloved by the people, often seen in public and bestowing kindness on those with great needs. True to the traditions of the royal family, the oldest daughter was raised to one day wed the son of a nearby country's ruler, cementing a friendship and lowering the chance of war. Oshun, as the younger sister, had a different fate in store. She was to serve in the Temple of the Blessed Virgin, the mother of Malakbel, the Sun God and the religion of the king and queen. It was their tradition that she remain pure for their god, so that she may learn the ways of his magic.” Grol paused to take another drink.
“But there was a dark secret brewing in the royal palace, a secret so black that a shadow soon fell over the land. You see, Oshun was being trained in the arts of the Virgin's magic and she shared the secrets with her sister. This was forbidden since she would never be allowed to enter the temple's service, living for decades as a Holy Mother in the prime of her youth until the Blessed Virgin took her life.”
“Wait,” I said. “So these Holy Mothers live forever?”
Grol shrugged. “Or at least long enough that it seemed to be forever for those of us who gray and die. But they never seem to age, appearing the same as the day they entered the temple service, fresh and young as an unplucked flower.” He smiled. “But the more Yemaya learned of the magic, the more she wanted to live forever herself, and the more she became jealous of Oshun.”
