“To talk to an old friend of Omar’s.”
Chapter 17. Taziri
She hadn’t meant to doze off, but with nothing to do and the oppressive heat of the cabin beating down on her in heavy, suffocating waves, she had closed her eyes and just nodded off into oblivion shortly after a snack of dried meat, seeds, nuts, and other stale rations from her pack. The second little canteen was empty. Only two bottles left now.
Taziri woke slowly, her mind crawling up through layers of faceless, formless dreams until she could open her eyes and stare blearily at the cabin ceiling. The heat had faded a little but she was still covered in sweat and breathing heavily.
Voices.
She sat up and pulled on her shirt over her hot, sticky skin. As she fastened the buttons, she moved to the window to peek out. There was a man’s head just outside the window.
Shit!
She reached for her gun but her hand only grasped at empty air beside her leg. For a moment she panicked that someone had taken her revolver, until she remembered taking off the holster so she could sit more comfortably. She snatched the gun from the holster slung over the back of her pilot’s seat and peeked out the window again. The man had shifted to one side and another head was just outside now, a small head farther down. A girl’s scarved head.
Hasina! Oh no, no, no.
The girl knocked feebly on the hatch and said something in Eranian. Her words meant nothing but Taziri could hear the terrified and miserable warbles in the girl’s voice. She’d been crying. Taziri looked frantically around the cabin yet again for some tool or answer or idea but there was only an old tarp and a few empty seats to look at.
So she took a long, deep breath, and she opened the hatch. She quickly leaned out just enough to level her gun at the man’s head. He jerked back half a step, a flicker of fear in his eyes as he focused on the weapon. But then he looked up at her and let loose a stern torrent of Eranian at her.
Taziri shook her head. “No good. I only speak Mazigh and Espani.”
“Mazigh?” The man frowned. “I speak Mazigh. You is Mazigh? You is not allowed. Your skin. Your train. To police!”
“No police.” Taziri put up her gun and held out her left hand in an open gesture. “No trouble. No fight. I’m waiting for someone. They come back and I go. Okay? No police.” She glanced down at Hasina and caught a glimpse of her own chest. She had only fastened two buttons of her shirt.
My skin. Oops.
The men held up the old compass that she had given to Hasina and he said, “Not allowed. Is very bad. Is danger. Is for police.”
“No, it’s not dangerous. It’s a compass. Com-pass? North, south? For directions. Like a map.” Taziri sighed at the man’s unbroken look of mild anger and confusion. “Fine, just give it back to me.” She held out her hand and the man gave her the compass. “Okay, now what about Hasina? Is she in trouble now? Did you hit her?”
The man glanced at the girl and looked back up at Taziri. “Hasina good girl. No police.”
What does he think the word police means?
Taziri nodded. “Fine. Good. Sorry about the trouble. No police. Just waiting for my passengers and then we’ll be on our way. No trouble. All right? Are we all right now?” She slipped away her gun.
The man didn’t look any happier. He looked at Hasina again and started talking in Eranian. In the middle of his lecture, the girl started talking over him in a sad and plaintive voice. Taziri couldn’t catch any familiar words, but the tone was making her uneasy.
And then a cat meowed.
Taziri looked down and saw a light brown cat sitting in the gravel beside the freight cars. And then a second one slipped out from under a car. And then a third jumped down from on top of the car. As the cats continued to wander into the rail yard, the man slowly became aware of his feline audience and his lecture trailed off into silence as he stared around himself.
His face pale and sweating, the man reached out for Hasina, who quickly took his hand and followed him away from the Halcyon. The man glanced up once at Taziri and said, “All is good. Very good. No police. Good bye.” And then they were gone.
For a moment Taziri stood in the open hatch and thought about going after them and making sure that the man hadn’t hit the girl, and that he wouldn’t, and that everything really would be as “good” as he said, but according to her own definition of the word.
If it was just me, then maybe. Maybe it would be worth the risk to hassle some random stranger into being a better father, or into changing his entire society. Maybe. But I have a family of my own I want to see again, and Qhora is counting on me to get her home to her little boy, too. Damn it.
She stepped back inside and sealed the hatch without giving the cats another thought, even though they now carpeted the rail yard so thoroughly that she could barely see the gravel through their fur. She eased back into her pilot’s seat and leaned into the padded leather, listening to it creak and squeak under her weight. She closed her eyes.
“Asr be kheyr,” said a female voice.
Taziri opened her eyes and saw a girl sitting in one of the passenger seats behind her. This girl was a little older than Hasina, closer to twelve, and dressed in a far more ornate dress with only the thinnest and lightest of golden scarves draped over her long black hair, and all pushed back to reveal her very pretty face. Her dress was mostly black, trimmed in red and white and gold thread embroidered in the shapes of tiny cats all sitting or running or sleeping or playing. Strapped over her shoulder she wore a curved bronze sword across her back with the handle raised behind her right shoulder. She also wore a simple black cord around her neck and on that cord hung a golden egg, a lumpy golden egg covered in intricate little lines. And in the girl’s hands was a wooden mask. As she turned the mask over in her hands, Taziri saw the front of it was sculpted to resemble a cat’s face.
She glanced once at the hatch.
Yep. I definitely closed and locked that. So, what the hell?
She said, “Hello.”
The girl gave her a quizzical look and held out her empty hand. Taziri took her hand, intending to shake it, but the girl held her hand still for a moment and then let go. She smiled. “Hello,” she said in Mazigh. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“You speak Mazigh?” Taziri asked. She has a Tingis accent.
“I do now.” She winked and waved the fingers of the hand she had just extended to Taziri. “My name is Bastet. What’s yours?”
“Taziri. Nice to meet you, Bastet.” She glanced at the door one more time. Still locked.
“Oh don’t worry, they won’t be back. And don’t worry about Hasina. Her father is a bit set in his ways, but he wouldn’t hurt her. And even if he wanted to, I wouldn’t let him,” Bastet said. “I keep an eye on all the young ones around here.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” Taziri said slowly. “I was actually wondering how exactly you came to be…in here.”
“I go where the aether goes,” the girl said. “And the aether goes everywhere, even if you can’t see it. You’re from Marrakesh, right? I’ve never been to Marrakesh. We used to travel more, my family and I, when I was younger. But my uncle is less interested in the world these days.”
Taziri started to speak but Bastet continued, “I like trains. I’ve seen lots of trains, but this one is different, isn’t it? Is it new?”
“Yes, it’s—”
“Where’s the engine? Usually the engine is right here.” She pointed to the floor in front of her. “But there’s nothing here.”
“The engine is very small.” Taziri thumbed over her shoulder at the nose of the Halcyon. “It’s up there in the front.”
“Is it fast?”
“Very fast.”
“How fast?”
Taziri smiled. “Fast enough to fly.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “This train can fly? Amazing.”
“Well, maybe just a little amazing.” Taziri leaned back. “What exactly did you mean about keepi
ng an eye on the young ones? Do you live around here?”
“Of course. We’ve always lived here. I like to play with the girls around here, and I make sure that the boys aren’t mean to them, and their parents are nice to them.”
That’s not much of an answer. Taziri said, “I see you like cats.”
“Not really. But they like me.”
“But your dress, and that mask.”
“Oh.” She pressed the mask to her face and it stuck there without any ribbons or ties. The detail of the mask was so fine, from the slitted nose to the triangular ears to the subtle openings for the eyes, that it almost appeared as though the features might come alive. Then she took the mask off and said, “It was a present from my aunt. We all have one.” And she sat the mask on top of her head like a cap.
“I know a woman who wears a mask,” Taziri said. “She looks a little strange and people used to hurt her, and it made her afraid all the time. But when she wears the mask, she’s like a whole other person.”
Bastet nodded. “Sounds like my whole family.”
Taziri couldn’t imagine an entire family of Miraris.
“What was it you gave to Hasina?” Bastet asked.
“A compass. Just an old compass.” Taziri held up the little device, its wobbling needle flecked with rust.
“May I?” Bastet took the compass and turned it over and round and over again in her hands. “We used to have these, but they were bigger. Can I keep this?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
Taziri pointed at the girl’s necklace. “That’s an unusual pendant. Is it an egg?”
She touched the golden shape. “It’s my heart. It was a present too. We all have one.”
Her heart? Taziri shrugged. “So what does your family do?”
“Not much. They used to do funerals mostly.” Bastet sighed. “I don’t suppose you’re going to make this engine fly any time soon, are you?”
“No, sorry, I have to wait for my passengers to come back. And even then, we don’t have enough fuel to fly away. We’ll be hitching a ride with a train to get back to Marrakesh.”
“Oh. Marrakesh!” The girl’s eyes brightened. “I almost forgot. I wanted to ask you about Marrakesh. Have you ever met a man named Thoth?”
Taziri shook her head. “No, I’ve never heard that name before. Who is he?”
“My grandfather. We haven’t heard from him in a while and I thought he might have gone to Marrakesh.” Bastet frowned. “But he usually uses different names in different places. He called himself Bashir for a while, but I don’t know what name he might be using now.”
“Sorry I couldn’t help. I hope you find him,” Taziri said.
“Thanks.” Bastet stood up. “Are you going to be all right in here?”
“As long as my food and water hold out, I should be fine for another day or two.”
The girl nodded. “I’ll bring you something later. Thanks for looking out for Hasina. And don’t worry. No one will come nosing around here again. Bye!” She slipped her mask down onto her face and for a moment it looked as though the wooden cat mouth curled up into a feline smile. Then Bastet stepped toward the closed hatch and simply vanished into it in a swirl of silvery white vapor.
Taziri chewed her lip and then exhaled slowly.
That was strange even by Espani standards.
Chapter 18. Qhora
When they returned to the little house where they had left Tycho and Philo, they found the two men sleeping in the shadows. But when they entered Qhora saw that Tycho was watching the door through slitted eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” he said.
“You were right,” Qhora said. “The streets are not safe for us. So here we are. Would you still be willing to help us? Can you take us to the restaurant you mentioned before?”
Tycho sat up and glanced at Philo. The older man snored. The dwarf glanced at the rectangle of light on the floor falling through the single window. “It’s nearly evening. I suppose now is a good time to go there.”
“Because it’s supper time?”
Tycho grinned. “It’s not that sort of restaurant. I think it will be emptying out about now so everyone can go find some food.” He leaned over and shook the old man’s shoulder. “Philo? Philo, it’s time to get up.”
The old Hellan groaned and sat up. He blinked. “Ah, young ladies. Hello again.”
Tycho rattled off a short speech in Hellan and Philo nodded, saying, “Yes, well, then we should be off to this restaurant of iniquity before it is too dark out for us to move about safely.”
The Hellans stood and re-arranged their rumpled clothing. Qhora spotted the small breast plates covering their hearts and the armored greaves under the cuffs of their trousers and the bracers under the cuffs of their sleeves. They both dress for war, but neither one is suited to it. She sighed.
After a moment they were all ready and Philo led them out into the street. Qhora followed close behind him and nearly bumped into him when the old man stopped short and said, “Oh dear.”
Around his side, Qhora sighted a knot of five or six men standing at the end of the lane. Two were staring directly at her. They caught the attention of their fellows and then all of them were staring at her. And then they started striding down the lane with their hands on their belts.
“Oh dear.” Philo turned toward her and the others. “We may wish to step back inside.” The four of them shuffled back into the house, but Tycho tripped over the threshold and there was a delay as Mirari and Qhora helped him to his feet, leaving Philo standing outside in the lane.
A gunshot cracked between the narrow walls.
Qhora turned to see the tall Hellan spin and fall. He seemed to fall slowly, his face tight and lined, lips parted slightly, eyes closing. And then he crashed to the ground.
“No!” Tycho screamed. “Philo!”
Qhora saw the young man’s face flush red, every vein in his neck straining against his flesh as his arms reached out toward his fallen master. He screamed with a dry, hoarse throat as Mirari dragged him bodily into the house and Qhora stepped inside after them and barred the door.
“No, no! We have to help him, we have to get him!” Tycho cried, his eyes the color of sun-bleached sand. He struggled against Mirari to reach the door, but the masked woman held him firm. Qhora slammed the shutter across the window and then dashed to the back of the house where there was another window, one completely boarded and sealed.
She crashed against the boards once, twice. They creaked but held.
A gunshot splintered the center of the door behind her, admitting a tiny shaft of pale evening light. Tycho cried out again, “Please let me go to him!”
Mirari lifted the young man and carried him closer to the window where Qhora was prying at the boards with her dirk. “My lady, if you please.” She put the sobbing Hellan youth into Qhora’s arms and then in an instant her hatchet was in her hand. Mirari attacked the boarded window with a series of lightning strokes and the wood shattered like glass and the soft red sunset light washed in on them.
Qhora held Tycho almost as easily as Mirari had, but the sounds of his gasping wails were unbearable.
“No! Help him! We have to help him! He’s dying out there! He’s alone! Please!”
More gunshots riddled the door behind them and heavy feet crashed on the portal. The wood groaned and began to crack and splinter inward.
“My lady!” Mirari leapt out the window as easily as a mountain ram climbing a cliff face, and once in the street held out her hands.
Qhora lifted and shoved the young man out into Mirari’s arms.
“No! You bitch! Let me help him! Let me go!”
Qhora scrambled out the window as the door burst from its hinges and she fell to the street as she heard a chorus of men barking orders in Eranian and another two gunshots ripped through the open window above the women’s heads.
“Run!” Mirari heaved poor Tycho over her shoulder, hiked her skirts up
to her knee, and ran. Qhora grasped a knife in each hand and ran after her. They ran from alley to street to square, bumping against the rough stone walls and colliding with both angry and surprised-looking pedestrians making their way home for the evening.
Again and again, Qhora looked back for a sign or sound of their pursuers but never once did she see or hear them. And after they had been running for a full quarter hour she called a halt and Mirari jogged to a stop in a quiet side street as the sky was fading to a dusky violet. She set down Tycho and the young Hellan stumbled away, weeping openly. After a moment he wheeled about and pointed at the masked woman, “Don’t you ever touch me again! Not ever! Don’t you dare pick me up like that! Do you hear me?” he hollered, straining what little voice he had left. And then he collapsed to the ground and covered his eyes with his hand, his shoulders shaking.
Qhora gave him a moment, during which she went back to watch the street around the corner to be certain they were not being followed. Finally she came back to the others and squatted by Tycho. “I’m very sorry about your friend, but there was nothing we could do for him. He was dead before he fell. I’m sure it was over in an instant. Painless.”
She knew nothing of the kind. She hadn’t seen where he had been shot, and for all she knew the old man was still alive at that very moment, bleeding out the last of his life’s blood and gasping out his last breath, all alone in a little lane in a strange city.
Maybe. But he probably died quickly all the same.
For the next few minutes, they all just sat in the shadows as the shadows grew darker. They caught their breath and composed themselves and checked the street several times for pursuers. Finally Mirari said, “My lady, we need to be moving on.”
“Yes. Tycho, can you still take us to the restaurant where the Osirians meet?”
The young man looked up at her, his face calm but discolored and lined with misery. “Why? Your husband is as dead as Philo. Finding the killer will change nothing. He’ll still be just as dead.”
Qhora almost lashed out at him, but the empty and haunted look in his eyes was too familiar to the face she had seen in the mirror last night and the night before. She knelt beside him and said, “You’re right. My Enzo is dead, and nothing can change that. His soul is trapped in a seireiken blade, and maybe nothing can change that either. But the souls of the dead do live on, in their own way. And Enzo’s soul belongs with me, not with some killer. And that killer should be brought to justice, not left free to kill again. Enzo dedicated his life to peace as well as justice. I have to do this for him.”
Halcyon (The Complete Trilogy) Page 79
