Rebel Fires

by Tara Omar

  “Biy’Avinoam’s mercy, it was only a steak tartare!” shrieked Gill, jumping up. He had been sleeping on a towel under the plant and was now trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes. He glanced at Dominic. “Oh, hello. What are you doing at the Jungle?”

  “Are you okay?” asked Dominic.

  “Fine, fine,” sniffed Gill. “Between Hongi’s baking and Norbert’s protesting, there hasn’t been much sleep to be had, that’s all. And you?”

  “Yeah, I just needed to think…away from the Palace,” said Dominic.

  “Oh? About what?” asked Gill.

  “You know how you said I have to balance a hard hand with a soft heart? Well, it was very good advice—it’s been working wonderfully with the people—except the soft heart isn’t so soft with me.”

  “You mean Liza?”

  Dominic nodded. “I don’t understand it, Gill. Only a few months ago, I could get any number of girls I wanted, and now the only girl I have to impress seems completely unimpressionable. You would think it’d be easier now—I have more resources—but I just can’t seem to win with her.”

  “Well, Liza was trained to reject advances,” said Gill.

  “Yeah, but it seems it’s only my advances she’s rejecting,” grumbled Dominic.

  “What do you mean? Do you suspect she’s unfaithful?” asked Gill.

  “No, of course not. It’s just—”

  Gill’s head slumped forward as he nodded back to sleep. Dominic poked him and he jolted awake.

  “Sorry. Where were we?” asked Gill.

  “It’s fine. I’m probably just imagining it,” said Dominic. “Enjoy your nap.”

  Dominic motioned for an attendant to bring him a robe, which he threw over his sleeping friend like a blanket before heading to the locker room.

  It was nearly noon by the time Dominic made his way back to the Palace. Gabe was already waiting for him in the Palace study, ready to start another meeting.

  “Ah, Dominic, how is the day treating you?” asked Gabe. “Madame Soiree said you left early this morning.”

  “Yeah, I went to the Jungle. I needed to think,” said Dominic.

  “About Liza?” asked Gabe.

  Dominic nodded, glancing at his uncle’s portrait on the wall.

  “It doesn’t have to work, you know,” said Gabe.

  “What do you mean?” asked Dominic.

  “With all due respect, at times I feel Liza doesn’t wholly appreciate what you’ve done for her,” said Gabe. “She seems to act as if she’s the only one that can run the Temple and be your wife, when many others are more than capable, and would perhaps be more grateful for the opportunity—ones with cleaner records also.”

  “Are you saying I should find a new wife?”

  Gabe opened his mouth to answer, but a hurried knocking rapped across the study door. Madame Soiree fluttered inside.

  “My apologies, Your Majesty,” said Madame from the door, “but the matter that aggrieves me now is of the utmost urgency. It concern’s the Queen’s behaviour.”

  Dominic looked up. “Come in, Madame Soiree. What is the trouble?”

  “The Queen is insisting I arrange accommodation for a falcon on her balcony,” said Madame, distraught. “She claims she does not want it associating with, and I quote, ‘heathens.’”

  “What?” asked Dominic.

  “It appears the Queen had a scuffle with the jockeys at the racetrack and no longer wants to house her falcon there,” said Madame.

  “Liza’s not going back to Cliffside?” asked Gabe.

  “It appears not, Sir,” said Madame.

  “She’s not going back,” said Dominic, slapping the desk. “Son of an uncle’s ostrich…do you hear that Gabe? She’s not going back.”

  “I wonder what happened to cause the dissension,” said Gabe. Dominic beamed.

  “We’ll finish this later, Gabe. I have to go.”

  “But Your Majesty, the falcon?” asked Madame. Dominic called from the door.

  “Figure it out, Soiree. If Liza wants a whole flock of falcons on her balcony, she can have them.”

  Madame Soiree sighed as Dominic hurried through the hall toward the Temple. A servant entered the room.

  “Yes?” snapped Madame Soiree.

  “Aquamail from Ms Jakobson, Madame,” said the servant, “addressed to Mr Silbi.”

  Gabe took the letter and read it. Madame Soiree watched him closely.

  “Nothing to worry about, Madame,” said Gabe, quickly pocketing the letter. “It’s just a bit of business.” He smiled, but there was something behind his eyes that unsettled Madame. She pushed the thought from her mind and hurried from the study, already consumed with concerns of how to accommodate a falcon.

  C h a p t e r 3 2

  Yasmin walked among her frankincense trees, listening to the whispering wind as it playfully wound its way through a labyrinth of leaves. A bird rustled its wings from a tree at the edge of the grove, and all seemed at peace except for the tree directly in front of her, where the wind knocked awkwardly and a man breathed heavily, clutching a drawstring bag full of pearls in his hand. She smiled.

  “Are you ready for tomorrow?” asked Yasmin.

  “Not actually, no, but I guess it’s better to get on with it,” said David.

  “You have nothing to worry about. Sasha will take good care of you,” said Yasmin. “And with the pearls, I’m sure Jia Li will be very pleased. You’ll find what you’re looking for in no time.”

  “Yeah,” said David. “Pardon me.” He left Yasmin among the trees and headed toward the house. Sasha was standing inside near an open window. As David neared the door, he saw Sasha was not alone. He ducked into a bush near the entrance just a moment before a woman looked in his direction, his heart beating twice its usual pace. It was Petra Jakobson. He listened.

  “How dare you hide him from me! I know he’s here,” said Petra.

  “I swear to you, he’s not here,” said Sasha.

  “Lies! I’ve searched nearly the whole of Aeroth. Where else could he be?” snapped Petra. She was pacing across the floor, her arms folded across her chest as she stared in the direction of Yasmin’s ginger jar. Sasha frowned.

  “I understand you’re upset—”

  “Upset? Oh-ho, I’m more than upset,” scoffed Petra. “If I so much as find a thread of evidence you’re lying to me, you will curse the day you were born.”

  She watched his eyes as Sasha stared ahead, unmoving. Petra smiled and softened her tone.

  “He has it, you know,” said Petra, running her finger across his shoulder. “If you got it from him, it would give you a great advantage in the M-R-6. You might even win.”

  “That’s cheating,” said Sasha.

  “Oh, please. Everyone cheats in the M-R-6,” snapped Petra. “The only hope you have of winning is if you are also better prepared. You’d be safer also. Where’s the crime in that? Unless you want trees popping out of nowhere…”

  Sasha clenched his teeth.

  “Are you really sure the accident wasn’t a navigational error? That it’s not your fault he’s dead? Don’t make the same mistake again.”

  “Get out,” said Sasha.

  “Not until you tell me where he is,” said Petra.

  Sasha sighed and looked to the floor.

  “The casino,” said Sasha. “He’ll be at the casino tomorrow.”

  “For the…?”

  She paused.

  Sasha nodded. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

  Petra smiled. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

  David snuck out of the bush and staggered toward the door at the back of the house, heading for the bathroom. He grabbed the sink with his hands as he stared into the mirror.

  Sasha’s setting me up, he thought. I can’t believe it. H
e’s actually setting me up.

  A basket full of oils and herbal remedies stood next to the base of the sink. David knelt down and rummaged through the bottles, pulling out a small purple one of interest. He read.

  Cammy Mile’s Lavender Tonic: Each teaspoon ensures six hours of peaceful sleep.

  He pocketed the bottle and spun around, hearing footsteps behind him.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Sasha.

  “Yeah, it’s fine. Just nervous…for tomorrow,” said David.

  Sasha nodded. “Would you mind setting the table dinner? It’s coming out of the oven in about five minutes.”

  “Sure,” said David, knocking into the wall as he brushed past Sasha. “I’ll get the plates and the prune juice.”

  “Don’t break them,” said Sasha, shaking his head as he watched David stagger toward the kitchen.

  At precisely 9:01 a.m., a short woman with a face hardened into a permanent frown pushed through the windowless doors into the dimly-lit Tartufo Banco in the Octavite district. It was Jia Li, wearing a cloak with a hood over her head. The cloak hid a certain, remarkably-made bag under her arm, while a ring of silver mushrooms jingled in her other hand. A gaunt-looking man who looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks smiled at her from behind the customer service desk, his teeth a bit too white to be considered friendly. His name was Edmund.

  “No Hiram today, Madame?” asked Edmund. “All is well, I trust?”

  Jia Li, clearly not in the mood for conversation, held up the ring of mushrooms. He smiled again.

  “Of course, Madame, this way.”

  He led her down a shadowy passage past rows of doors and cadaverous-looking guard dogs, each one unmoving except for its eyes, which followed Jia Li as she walked. Strings of dust hung in webs across the light fixtures; they cast strange shadows on the walls like spiny fingers. As one of the wealthiest banks in Aeroth, a visitor would think Tartufo Banco should be able to hire a cleaning service, but to its patrons the cobwebs were reassuring. Nothing disturbed meant nothing was stolen.

  Edmund stopped in front of the door near the end of the row.

  “Room 606 as the aquamail requested. Madame’s safety deposit box is already waiting.”

  As Jia Li entered the wallpapered room, she found a wingback chair and a table with a log-shaped container on top. Next to the container was a silver platter filled with a selection of cold meats and cheeses, and a bottle of red wine, compliments of the bank.

  “I trust this meets with Madame’s approval?” asked Edmund.

  Jia Li nodded.

  “Excellent,” said Edmund. “If Madame requires anything, kindly ring the bell.”

  Jia Li bolted the door behind her and pushed the chair to the side, dropping the ring of mushrooms on the table. A guard dog shuffled outside the door, taking its position under the lock.

  She grabbed her hair near the hairline and pulled. The skin on her face wrinkled and fell away, revealing David underneath. He had entered the bank in disguise, dressed as Jia Li. David threw off the cloak and emptied the bag. Inside were several water bottles, an iron and a drawstring purse. He pulled a piece of paper from the purse and examined the log-shaped safety deposit box.

  “Okay, let’s see if we can open you up,” said David.

  The deposit box had lots of grooves on it like the bark of a tree. David unhooked the silver mushrooms from the ring and slid them through the grooves, following the pattern on the paper. When the last one was in place, David heard a click. The log withered away as though being eaten by the roots of the mushrooms. Inside he found another locked box, this one with thirteen small compartments on its lid. He placed a pearl inside each of the compartments.

  “Thirteen pearls for you, and one for me,” said David, pocketing the extra pearl. The box clicked open. Inside were two folded uniforms. David smiled.

  “Let’s get to work then.”

  He poured some water into the iron and pressed the wrinkles from his uniform. The iron puffed noisily as the steam sprayed through the iron. When it reached its hottest setting, David held it a few centimetres from the wall and pressed the steam button, sending puffs of hot mist down the seams of the wallpaper. David waited, watching as the wallpaper loosened from the wall. He gently peeled it back and applied more steam, alternating peeling and steaming until he had cleared nearly the entire wall to the bare brick. At the centre of the wall, David saw the outline of a door, patched over with plaster. He squirted water over his wrists and began chipping out the door with a knife spun from his wrists. When it was completely clear, David dropped the knife and pulled.

  The door didn’t budge.

  He ran the knife around the door again and pulled, but the door still didn’t move.

  Maybe I need to push? thought David.

  He threw himself against the door with all his might, but the door remained firmly in place. David dumped more water on his wrists and spun a web of ropes through the cracks around the door, and leaned backward, pulled the net of ropes with his bodyweight, but the door did not move.

  Great, now what?

  David thought of Sasha, who was still fast asleep with Yasmin, thanks to a large helping of Cammy Mile’s-spiked prune juice, unaware that the plan was proceeding without him. He felt a tiny surge of panic in his chest.

  Maybe I can’t do this alone…

  He thought of Petra and the conversation of the previous evening, and how easily Sasha had given him away. He frowned.

  Right. People can’t be trusted, and there’s no sense stressing about it now. I have a shield to steal…again.

  He eyed the bottle of wine and rang for service, hastily pasting the wallpaper back across the damaged wall.

  C h a p t e r 3 3

  Edmund hurried down the dusty halls of Tartufo Banco, an elite bank in the Octavite district of Aeroth. He had been summoned by Ms Jia Li in viewing room 606, where she was sitting with her safety deposit box. The guard dog outside the door glanced at him as he approached the door, unmoving. He knocked before entering.

  “Madame rang for assistance, I bel—?”

  Edmund paused. He looked around, but the room was empty. Something clicked behind him; Edmund knew it was the sound of the door bolting. He spun around, but stopped midway as a heavy bottle crashed into the back of his head. David, who had been hanging above the door by a filament attached to the ceiling, had bludgeoned him with the back of the iron. As Edmund slumped to the ground, David dropped from the ceiling and ran to his bag, pulling out a bottle of smelling salts, a loaded syringe and Imaan’s Niptik knitting needles. He talked to himself as he worked.

  “Step One: resuscitate,” said David. He knelt by Edmund and held the smelling salts under his nose. Edmund coughed and shook his head.

  “Step Two: check for concussions and outward signs of injury. Stabilise until further help can arrive.” David checked Edmund’s eyes and back of the head as he regained consciousness. Edmund opened his mouth to shout, but David found a vein and pressed the syringe into his arm. Edmund suddenly looked very sleepy and collapsed again. David pocketed the syringe.

  “Step Three: inject untraceable sedative to ensure a clean getaway.” David shook his head, thinking back to when he had watched Imaan do the same to the guards in the Suez. “I can’t believe I’m taking lessons from that murderer.” He turned on the knitting needles and scanned the unconscious Edmund, grabbing a broom and dust pan, which Sasha had packed in the bag.

  “Step Four: leave everything as it was found.”

  David fixed the rest of the wallpaper and dragged the real Edmund to the wingback chair, positioning him as one would a doll in a doll’s house. He stepped back and examined the work.

  “Step Five: create a mildly embarrassing element so as to ensure a lenient inspection.”

  David opened the wine bottle and with the flair of an artist, dotted Edmund’s
starched shirt with wine. Then he left Room 606 dressed as an exact lookalike to the sleeping banker, with Jia Li’s uniform hidden underneath. The guard dog at the door, however, could not be fooled. He opened his mouth to bark, but David tossed him some cold meat, which he had stashed in his pocket. The dog quieted and gobbled it up. David strolled toward the security gate at the end of the hall, with the dog following behind.

  “Shoo,” whispered David to the dog as he picked the lock with some filament, “you had your meat; now go.”

  The dog growled. David dug into his pocket and threw him another piece of cold meat. The dog quietly gobbled it up and followed David to the next locked gate.

  “If you’re going to eat like this, you really should run more, preferably in a direction away from me,” said David. The dog did not leave him, and the two continued together through various locked gates and down stairwells, with an offering of cold meat requested at each stop. They were descending toward Tartufo Banco’s dock in the Suez Underground, an extensive network of limestone tunnels that connected every major financial reserve in Aeroth.

  David felt a shiver run down his spine as he neared the dock. The air was cold and still like the inside of a morgue. Workers in grey uniforms unloaded chests of money from a snail-shaped boat floating in the canal; they all wore blank, dead expressions, like spectres in a graveyard. The dog nudged David’s leg.

  “Sorry boy, I have no more to give you,” whispered David, reaching into his empty pocket. The dog growled.

  “I’m not lying; you’ve eaten it all,” said David. He turned his pocket inside out so the dog could see, but the dog let out a loud, angry bark. Hearing the sound, the spectre-like workers left their posts and headed toward the dog.

  Meanwhile in Room 606, Edmund began to stir. He bolted upright and looked around, his eyes scanning the room like a hunting hawk. As Edmund stood up, he noticed the large, red wine stain on his shirt. Edmund gasped. He tried to rub it out with his fingers in panic, quickly hurrying into the hall. A worker in a grey uniform met him at the door.