But never Samaritan. Not ever.
Shifrah wondered if anyone else had ever left the city of Nablus at the foot of Mount Gerizim as she had. They’d all been dumbfounded at her leaving, all so certain that she would soon return. They’d been so certain of so many things.
She paused to sniff the air. Something sweet and fragile wafted by, the scent of hay tinged with the edge of burnt paper. She smiled.
Oh Aker, could it really be this easy?
Shifrah followed the smell across the street to an open door and then inside into the shadows of a small room lit only by the sunlight falling through the doorway and the tiny yellow glowing eyes of the incense. The light wavered on the faces of the water pipes, distorted and discolored as it glanced off to illuminate the walls. A thin gray haze filled the upper half of the room and Shifrah ducked low as she stepped inside and let her eyes adjust to the darkness.
The bodies came into focus slowly. Men and women lay on the floor, slouching against the walls, reclining on pillows, and even sitting bolt upright on decaying couches covered in moth-eaten blankets and torn shirts and colorless rags.
No Aker here.
She turned and pushed past Kenan back into the street, now moving twice as fast as before in search of that scent again.
Where are you? Where are you hiding?
An hour later she stood triumphant in the center of yet another darkened den. The smells were more muddied here, no doubt due to more exotic leaves and herbs in the pipes. She didn’t recognize them, but she recognized the grinning lips and glassy eyes, and she recognized the man in the corner.
“Aker.”
He stared blankly at her. “Zahra?”
She smiled down at him. “Soon enough.”
Kenan was more than willing to pull the Aegyptian out of the corner and propel him out the door into the blinding glare of the afternoon sun. The Mazigh detective seemed to take a particular delight in contorting Aker’s arms behind his back to keep him yelping and gasping and babbling to be let go. Shifrah eyed the short sword on the Aegyptian’s hip, but she did not touch it.
She guided the two men across the city, staying on the busiest streets and in the center of those streets, and many of the passersby who saw them coming made way for them and then kept their eyes elsewhere.
“They look scared,” Kenan said.
“Who?” she asked.
“Everyone. Look around. It’s like we have the plague.”
“We do. A green plague, and its name is Osiris.”
She plunged on through the crowds, her hands never far from her blades, but they reached The Cat’s Eye without incident. Shifrah counted five men of various unfriendly bearings loitering outside the restaurant, some pretending to be looking elsewhere and others not bothering to pretend. But they didn’t raise a hand to stop the prisoner from being escorted inside.
The stern-faced waitress led them straight back through the crowded dining room to the private office where Shifrah found Zahra holding council just as she had that morning. The Aegyptian woman’s face brightened at the sight of the man in green. Shifrah noted the look in her eyes.
I expected her to be angrier, or at least cruelly pleased. Not…delighted.
They held Aker upright in front of the long table so everyone could see the man clearly enough. Shifrah said, “Well, here he is, as promised.”
“Where was he?” Zahra asked in Eranian.
Shifrah switched languages to match. “In a dark, smoky corner.”
Zahra stood and circled the table to stand face to face with Aker. “You caused quite a stir this morning, Aker. You upset my clients and partners. You broke one of my nice chairs. And then you had the gall to run away like a little child. Why?”
Aker blinked and exhaled slowly. He tried to straighten up a bit, to pull free of his captors, but Shifrah held him quite still. He cleared his throat, “Well, after the last time, I wasn’t sure how forgiving you were going to be.”
She smiled.
I don’t like that smile. Shifrah said, “You don’t need me here for this. I just want my information and I’ll be on my way.”
Zahra kept her eyes on Aker as she spoke to the Samaritan. “I knew you’d find him quickly. He’s often spoken of your time together. I knew you understood him better than my men would. It was very kind of you to offer to help.”
“Oh? I don’t really think either one of us deals in kindness.” Shifrah tried to catch Kenan’s attention with her eye, but he was too busy glaring at the guards in the corners. “So if you could just tell me what I want to know, I’ll be on my way.”
With a long sigh, Zahra finally looked at the taller woman. “Omar? You know, you haven’t been gone very long. It hasn’t left my people much time to look into the matter.”
“Do you have anything?” Shifrah frowned.
I’ll take anything at this point, as long as I don’t have to come back here again. And why is she still looking at him like that?
“Scraps of rumor, nothing more.” Zahra waved over her shoulder and the older gentleman with the ink-stained fingers blinked to life and cleared his throat. “Ahem. Eight years and three months ago, Omar Bakhoum was here, in this very office, setting up The Cat’s Eye.”
Zahra sighed. “But he called it The Wandering Eye. Go on.”
The gentleman lifted a small scrap of paper. “Shortly thereafter, Master Omar left Alexandria on a west-bound train after informing Master Rashaken that he was going to investigate a theory.”
“What theory?” Shifrah asked.
“He believed he had found the largest undiscovered deposit of sun-steel in the world,” the man said. “Master Rashaken did not seem to think much of this. He said that Master Omar was likely to fail, and to return empty-handed by the end of the year.”
“You spoke to Master Rashaken about this?”
“No,” the old man said with a tired sigh and a squinty look over the rim of his crooked glasses. “I spoke to his valet. Servants are cheaper than masters, and far more reliable in their information.”
Shifrah glanced at Zahra. “You’re spying on the Sons of Osiris?”
“I have a city to maintain.” She shrugged. “Do you want the rest of the information or not?”
“Tell me.”
The gentleman said, “After six months, discrete inquiries were made by the Temple into the whereabouts of Master Omar. A man in Carthage reported that the master had indeed passed through that city on his way west, but no one had seen him since. We had no agent in Marrakesh at that time, so we have no way of knowing whether the master traveled that far, or farther still. He may have sailed to the New World, for all we know.”
Shifrah frowned. “He was looking for a large deposit of aetherium? Could he have been looking for the Espani skyfire stone that fell into the Strait two years ago?”
The man shrugged. “Possibly. We have no way of knowing.”
“Oh, Aker,” Zahra sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
Again, Shifrah noted the strange tone in the woman’s voice. She’s too calm. There isn’t even a hint of anger in her. “Then I guess we’ll be on our way. A pleasure doing business with you, Zahra. Perhaps later we’ll talk about a more formal arrangement for my work in the future.”
“Mm.” Zahra waved her away. “Later then.”
Shifrah let go of Aker’s arm and stepped toward the door. She said in Mazigh, “Come on Kenan, we’re done here.”
“Fine.” Kenan still had Aker and he pushed the wobbly Aegyptian back toward the door.
“No, he stays,” Zahra said in Eranian. She pointed at the floor to indicate that the man in question was staying right there.
“He’s wanted for murder in Tingis,” Kenan replied in Mazigh. And then more slowly he said, “Murder. Tingis. Marrakesh. So that’s where he’s going. With me.”
Shifrah translated for Zahra, who waved two fingers over her shoulder and the armed men in the corners stepped smartly out into the room.
“Kenan!” Shifrah kept her eye on the nearest guard. “Aker stays here.”
“I told you I was taking him,” the detective said.
Shifrah frowned at the two men drawing their pistols. She knew the dining room behind her was full of armed thugs from half the Empire, and any number of them would be eager to help Zahra in a fight if it might improve their business relationships. “Last chance, Kenan. Be smart. Walk away.”
Kenan drew his revolver as quick as a snake and placed the muzzle against the back of Aker’s head. “He stands trial for murder, or I kill him right now.”
Zahra raised her two fingers again and her guards stopped advancing. “Young man, I don’t know what rock Shifrah found you under, but this is Aegyptus, not Marrakesh. And this,” she pointed to Aker, “belongs to me.”
Shifrah translated for Kenan, who answered by thumbing the gun’s hammer back with a sharp click. “Let us walk out of here or you’ll be wearing your boy’s brains for a necklace.”
Shifrah rolled her eye. “Kenan, how did you think this was going to end? You knew we were bringing him in to turn him over to Zahra.”
“Yes. I did that for you. And now that you have what you want, I’m going to get what I want. I’m going to drag his ass back to Tingis and clear my name.” Kenan yanked back on Aker’s collar to get him moving toward the door.
As the gun knocked against the back of Aker’s skull, Shifrah saw a sudden change in the man’s face. His eyes brightened, his mouth rippled into a snarl, and his right hand began drifting across his waist toward the sword on his belt.
This is about to go sideways. Damn you, Kenan.
Shifrah grabbed a stiletto from her inner jacket and let the slender blade fly. It struck the barrel of Kenan’s revolver and the gun fired, the bullet flying wide of everyone. In that moment, both guards drew their own guns and Aker jerked down and away from Kenan as he drew his seireiken. The unnatural orange light of the blade set the air pulsating with heat, and for a moment every eye in the room was fixed on that blazing steel.
Shifrah threw herself back into the door, slamming it open and stumbling back into the short hall that connected to the dining room. Through that narrow passage she saw the guards firing their guns. She saw Kenan firing back. And then the door bounced off the wall and closed halfway, blocking her view of the room beyond.
Through the sound of the gunshots and the shouting and the shattering glass and the scraping steel, Shifrah dashed back through the dining room with both hands ready to hurl another stiletto at the first person to block her way. But no one gave her more than an amused smirk and she ran out into the street.
Thank God for that. I only have three knives left.
She turned left and jogged out into the late day foot traffic in the middle of the street, slumping her shoulders and walking just a bit off tempo to disappear into the press of tired bodies. At the next intersection, she was about to straighten up and change direction when a hand closed on her arm. She looked up into Kenan’s grim face.
“I didn’t appreciate that,” he said. His black leather jacket was studded with tiny granules of broken glass and there was a bright streak of dirt up the left leg of his blue plants.
He escaped out the window? Not bad. Maybe the old Kenan is still alive in there somewhere.
She yanked her arm free. “I told you to give him up.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do now? I can’t go home without Aker, and I just pissed off your lady friend who seems to be in bed with half the scum in this city.”
Shifrah shrugged. “That’s your problem. But as long as you’re looking for something to do, you can come with me. I might even pay you.”
“I’m not a hired gun.”
“You’ll be a starving gun unless you change your tune soon.”
He pursed his lips. Then he started walking. “Where are we going?”
“To talk to an old friend of Omar’s.”
Chapter 17
Taziri 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.”
Aetherium (Omnibus Edition) Page 85
