A shout from the guards trailing Lela alerted the ones in front of her presence. They dropped the remains of their meal and moved toward her. She pivoted, calloused feet scuffing stone, and sprinted toward the docks.
She willed herself faster.
The crowd began to thicken. This might have been a better decision after all. In the market, people at least tried to move aside for chasing guards, and perhaps even assist them in hopes of winning a favor.
But not here.
Most of the people clogging the streets and sidewalks were foreigners, musky sailors from all over Untan. They cared little about political favors, and in many cases took satisfaction in watching guards chase a little girl. Laughs and shouted barbs drowned out the demands from the guards for her to stop. An “accidental” foot tripped one of the banker’s men, eliciting a round of applause.
“Hurry, Little One. They’re gaining on you,” teased a Gereese trader with his tattooed face and green-dyed mustache.
Little one. She hated it. I can’t get caught. I haven’t proven myself enough to know if Chand would free me. And then who would take care of Kunal?
She dashed down a steep granite staircase that descended into the lapping water of the Madacan Ocean. Four steps from the bottom, just before reaching the slippery algae, she veered sharply to the left, sprinting along a ledge no more than a foot wide, leaping over and around several women washing clothes at the water’s edge.
A loud splash sounded behind her. Angry flailing followed the splash. She grinned as she imagined the guardsmen dragging themselves out of the water.
Lela looked to the top of the stairs. Three other guardsmen kept pace with her, assuming she would have to come back up eventually.
If they only knew.
Up ahead, countless wooden piers extended out from the stone steps into the water with moored boats of all shapes and sizes. The farther someone traveled down the waterfront, the larger the ships grew. Lela had no interest in those massive creations. She’d never make it that far and people working the vessels would be less keen on helping her anyway.
She climbed onto the closest pier, pounding over the old planks. Several fishing boats were pushing off. She leaped out at the nearest one, landing with a soft thud on a pile of netting that smelled of yesterday’s catch.
The five men working the boat greeted her with angry glares. The face of the youngest softened as she struggled to untangle herself. “They jump into the boat for us today, uncle.”
An older man with a white beard and skin that spoke of a life in the sun gazed upon the shouting guards racing down the pier.
“I believe this is one we’ll need to throw back.”
“Wait,” Lela called as they started to turn the boat. She reached into the merchant’s pouch and produced a gold coin, minted with the long face of Bashan’s founder on one side, the city’s famous tower on the other. “For you, if you take me to the other side of the docks.”
“So. A thief? We don’t harbor criminals.”
She produced four more. “One a piece. Now do you harbor criminals?”
The uncle licked his lips. “What’s to stop us from taking all of your gold?”
Good point. She took a risk and spoke a single word. “Beladeva.”
A flash of fear shone on each of the men’s faces.
“What about him?”
“I work for him. Take all of this gold and you’ll be stealing from him. Beladeva does not forget.”
“No, he doesn’t.” He paused. “Best to be gracious then. One gold it is.”
She nodded, sure that if Beladeva was with her he would not want any gold given away. His name carried enough weight to ensure the fisherman wouldn’t assume a reward.
However, Lela figured that Chand did not expect money from the banker, only the merchant. If she lightened the take by a coin or two, no one would be the wiser and she could do a good thing for inconveniencing someone on her behalf.
The uncle shouted back to the guards some forty yards away, holding a hand to his ears. “What’s that? I can’t hear you. Oh yes, we will be safe. Thank you for your concern!” He bowed. “May Draraka bless you too!”
I don’t believe that was a blessing they gave us.
Lela beamed as she took a seat at the bow of the vessel. Her plan hadn’t gone exactly as hoped, but so far all was well. “Does anyone have anything to eat?”
* * *
Two hours later, the boat returned to the docks. Lela flipped the uncle his gold coin and another one besides. Not wanting to invoke Beladeva’s wrath, he tried to give the second one back. Lela continued her deception by saying that “her boss” would feel insulted if he did not accept the token of thanks.
The fisherman bowed, and tucked both coins away.
Leaving the docks and entering a narrow street, the lingering taste of smoked fish danced across Lela’s tongue. The food from the fishermen had done her a world of good. Besides calming an anxious stomach, it gave her much needed strength, something she would need in order to reach Chand for their meeting. Looking to save some time, she slipped into one side alley and then another, coming to a halt when a damp guardsmen materialized twenty feet in front of her. He smelled of sweat and the ocean, cutting through the stale, humid air of the enclosed space.
Was he the one that fell into the water? How did he find me?
He snarled as if reading her thoughts.
Two more guards stepped out of the shadows next to him. She wheeled to run, but the remaining five closed in from behind.
She thought about mentioning Beladeva again, but reconsidered.
It won’t work. They aren’t just fisherman. Best to play stupid.
“Please,” she begged, eyes darting back and forth to the closing groups.
“Take her,” said one of the guards.
Don’t fight. It’ll only be worse if you fight. She closed her eyes, dropped to her knees, and bowed in submission.
Hurried shuffles, grunts, quick clangs of steel, and the beginnings of curses sounded.
She opened her eyes. Two figures, dressed in foreign garb with both their heads and faces covered, fought three guardsmen. Five already lay on the foul alley floor. The movements of the bigger one were so quick that Lela could barely follow them.
The last three guardsmen fell dead.
A hushed muttering in a language she didn’t recognize came from the smaller figure.
The larger person said something in a low, but surprisingly feminine voice. A woman?
The man answered while quickly wrapping a cut on his forearm. They exchanged a few more words and turned to Lela. Realization struck her.
They saw the guards and know I have something of importance. They want the gold for themselves.
The man cleared his throat, and spoke in raspy, lightly accented, Kindi. “You best be on your way.”
They don’t want the money? “Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Others will be along soon.”
“No. Why did you help?”
“Call it an act of kindness. One thief to another. A bit of friendly advice though, you may want to get rid of that purse and carry your take in something else. Based on style, it’s from a banker, right?”
Lela nodded in surprise.
“That’s what I thought. If I remember correctly, most bankers in Bashan place tracking spells on their purses. It’s woven into the fabric. That’s probably how the guards found you. It always pays to do your research before planning a job.”
Lela glanced down, feeling foolish. She looked back up with mouth open, ready to say thank you, but the two figures were gone. She looked about. A flash of the clothes the man wore disappeared down a connecting alley.
A part of her wanted to chase after them. People in Bashan just didn’t do things out of the kindness of their heart. Especially not thieves. Of course, they were foreigners. Maybe the rest of the world isn’t as miserable of a place as it is here. She chuckled. Who ever heard of kind thieves?
She became more aware that eight defeated guards all lay at her feet.
I have to get out of here.
* * *
“All right, I think we’re in the clear,” said Rondel as he slowed to a casual walk while trying to blend into the throng of people walking about the noisy city. The tightly packed crowd of dock and warehouse workers smelled of sweat and a hard day’s labor.
Andrasta swore. “Not even in the city for a couple hours and you already have us at odds with the watch.”
Rondel veered left, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. A man bumped into his wrapped forearm, but he clamped down the grunt. “First off, that wasn’t the watch. Those were private guards. Big difference. Second, it was the right thing to do. The banks in Bashan lack a conscience. They hire out their guards from the less reputable guilds in the city. They likely would have killed the girl, or at least made it so she wished she was dead in order to send a message to other would-be thieves. Besides, it’s not like I had to talk you into helping. You noticed the guards cornering the girl to begin with.”
“Regardless, you didn’t have to talk to her. All that did was give her more information to identify us.”
“It’ll be fine. She was just a street rat doing what she could to survive. We gave her a good tale to tell her friends. Nothing more. We’ll never see her again.”
Andrasta sighed. “Let’s talk about the tower.”
Rondel smiled. “Why talk about something that can be seen?”
They took a sharp right down an intersecting side street. He pointed up at the massive red wonder looking down on the city as they paused on a street corner.
The Tower of Bashan rose like a stone geyser, widening slightly as it grew, fanning outward at the very top. It stood somewhere around five hundred feet tall. No other building in the city could boast a height even half its size. At a distance, it was most everything he remembered from his brief visit to the city twenty years before. The one thing he could not see yet was the detail of the stone itself, carvings of creatures and beasts both of legend and those still present today.
Andrasta stood beside him open-mouthed, speechless.
“Words just don’t do it justice,” he said.
Andrasta found her voice. “Finally.”
He touched her arm. “C’mon, I know a spot which should give us a better view of the area around it.”
Sometime later, they stood at the edge of a roof on a nearby apartment building. Five stories high, it gave them a clear view of the land around the tower. It was not what Rondel had expected.
Arriving three days early thanks to good weather, Rondel had entered Bashan full of hope. After the pain and loss suffered in Erba weeks ago, he reasoned that he and Andrasta were due for some good fortune.
But now the weather might be the only thing going our way.
I can’t believe they turned it into a blasted tourist attraction.
They stood in silence for some time, watching the activity below. Andrasta didn’t seem bothered by any of it, enthralled by the tower itself. Rondel however, had a sinking feeling he hoped was nothing more than indigestion.
They descended to the streets and heard the full story about the changes around the tower from a local vendor who sold treats made with evaporated milk and cane sugar.
During Rondel’s first visit, Pandhuka ruled Bashan and its adjoining lands. Just as his predecessors had for generations, Pandhuka treated the tower and surrounding area with respect, even fear. Walls protected the tower from the general population and guards stood vigilant at each of the four gates. Inside the walls, polished, blue marble surrounded the tower, making the structure seem like an island alone in a vast sea of stone.
When Pandhuka died years ago, his daughter took a different approach to their city’s landmark. She opened the gates and allowed merchants to set up shops inside the walls. Eventually when the prince began to take over for his sister due to local custom, some vendors built their stands so large that many lived inside the structures when business closed for the day. Guards still patrolled the area, but so did thousands of other citizens, each wanting to gaze upon one of the greatest wonders in all of Untan.
All for a fee.
“Talk about theft,” muttered Rondel as they left the guard post at the southern entrance. “Two silver just to enter?”
Andrasta shrugged. “The tower is famous. Why not charge people to see it?”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that.”
“Why? I don’t care what happens out here. I only care about the jewel inside.”
“Well, I think it’s disgraceful,” said Rondel. “The princess and the prince both should have learned how to revere such things from their father.”
Andrasta gestured to a vendor selling intricately carved canes in shape of the tower itself. “Maybe we should buy you one of those.”
“What? Why?”
“It will give you something to wave around as you rant and rave about the youth.”
“Oh, now come the jokes.”
“Why not? We’re finally here. I can feel the weight lifting off my chest.”
“Yes, but the end is the hardest part.”
“I never said it would be easy, but you have the notes and we have the coin to buy whatever else we think we’re lacking in order to get by the guardians. We just have to get inside.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“What do you mean?”
Rondel didn’t answer, pushing his way through the crowd, until they found a relatively secluded spot where they could take in the activity directly at the tower’s base.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“A big tower.”
“I’m serious.”
She folded her arms, and scanned the crowd. The glow in her eyes weakened. Her jaw clenched. The excitement of just being near the tower faded from her face.
“You see it now?”
“Where is the entrance?” she asked.
The entrance to the tower was the first thing Rondel had ever described to his partner. In fact, the diagram he drew from memory after escaping prison over a year ago had convinced Andrasta they should partner.
He pointed. “There. They built over it.” A monstrous structure more than two stories high with stairs, bars, platforms, rope, and so on, criss-crossed over itself. A swarm of children laughed and jumped inside and on top of the structure. “And look at those lines. See the man in front with the bright-yellow turban. He looks like some sort of tour guide.” The man led ten people behind the play area through a narrow entrance. “They’re doing tours.”
“Then we can still get inside.”
“No. Look there.” He gestured. Guards walked up and down the lines of people waiting for the next tour, yanking men and women aside as needed. “What do those people have in common?”
She responded through a tight jaw. “Foreigners.”
“Exactly. Apparently the prince has not totally sold out. He doesn’t want any foreigner to taint the inside of the tower. And with so many people in the vicinity, it’s going to be difficult to sneak inside at night to study the entrance and compare it to my notes.”
“Then what do we do?”
A man walked by carrying an old, dirty sack. He bent and picked up the pieces of a broken figurine, a hand-crafted replica of the tower constructed out of clay. He threw the pieces in his sack and moved on.
“I think I have an idea.”
* * *
Lela slowed half a block from Firdaus’s Pastries. With each step of her bare feet, she calmed her breathing and wiped sweat from her brow.
Though she was hours late to her meeting with Chand, she wanted to at least appear confident.
She stopped across the street, hoping the hookah bar behind her might drown out the scents of Firdaus’s hot desserts and imported coffees. However, even the strong tobacco smell could not overpower the waves of cardamom, ginger, saffron, and vanilla.
Chand sat in his normal spot at a table near the street. He stood out not only due to his size, but because of his dress. Most that frequented the establishment were of the upper class, yet Chand wore clothes more in line with a commoner, a white, collarless kurta and a tan dhoti instead of churidars.
A servant dropped off a plate of food while another poured coffee.
He may not dress the wealthiest, but he’s treated that way. They know who he is and more importantly who he works for.
Chand took a bite of papdi, a pastry of almonds and pistachios that flaked onto his plate. More than ever Lela was thankful for the smoked fish eaten earlier.
She breathed through her mouth, hoping the lack of smell might help get her mind off food. Someone opened the door to the hookah bar at the same moment. Smoke burned her lungs. Her eyes watered and she went into a coughing fit.
Chand looked in her direction, casually waving her over.
She crossed the street. Other patrons dining outside gave her strange looks as she approached. A woman waiting tables barred her path.
“She’s with me,” said Chand
The woman moved aside begrudgingly. The other diners found something more interesting to stare at.
Chand pushed a chair out. “You’re late. Very late.”
Lela sat. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Chand leaned back in his chair, licking at his forefinger and thumb. He picked up his coffee, a cup that would have taken Lela two hands to hold could barely be seen in his palms.
“You had an eventful day, from what I hear.”
Lela didn’t say anything. She had learned not to take initiative with any conversation Chand was part of.
He took a sip and continued. “A story of a little girl being chased by guards near the docks is starting to make its rounds. Tell me.”
Lela gave her version of the story, careful not to mention her use of Beladeva’s name to the fishermen or the aid of the foreigners.
Chand grunted. “And the guards? What happened to them?”
“Like I said, I never saw them again after I convinced the man on the boat to give me a ride to the other side of the docks.”
The Tower of Bashan Page 3
