“It’s my sword!” hollered Aker. “Put your guns down and give it to me!”
“Put your guns on the ground,” the soldiers hollered back.
“Lower your weapons!”
“Drop your guns!”
“Do it now!”
“Now!”
Shifrah didn’t see who fired the first shot.
Instantly the street transformed into a warzone of crackling gunfire, screaming civilians, moaning animals, twanging bullets, and running feet. In the surging mass of the terrified crowd, Shifrah felt a man elbow her aside, and she stepped on an arm, and a hand shoved her in the back.
She grabbed Kenan’s hand and ran.
Chapter 26
The cellar was pitch black except for a single blinding ray of sunlight spearing down through a crack in the door. Qhora knelt by the door, peering into the crack. The room beyond the cellar appeared to be the inside of a shop, an empty shop with boarded-up windows.
“Well?” Salvator straightened his jacket and shook his rapier in its scabbard.
“All clear. It’s an empty room. And then we can just step out onto the street.”
“Can you see anyone on the street?”
“A few people,” Qhora said.
And that’s what we were waiting for. Although I’d hoped for more people, enough to shield us and mask our escape from the Temple of Osiris, but I guess we’ll have to settle for what we have.
“We should go now.”
“I agree.” The Italian gestured to the door.
Qhora led the way up into the empty shop and then cautiously out into the bright city streets. There were more than a few people out already, and more joining the press every few minutes. The shuffle of feet and clatter of hooves rose steadily, as did the dust.
“So. How on earth did you manage to get into the Temple?” Salvator asked. “I had to kill quite a few guards to do so myself, and I seem to have made a few enemies in the process. At least I managed to wrangle a few answers from those older gentlemen.”
“I surrendered,” Qhora said. “I surrendered to them, and they took me inside.”
Salvator snorted. “Well, that is just typical. A man has to fight his way inside, but a lady gets an armed escort.”
“They threatened to kill me.”
“Ah, well, there was much more equality there, then.”
The two walked to the end of the side street and joined the main stream of traffic on the broad avenue. Men and women padded by bearing baskets and crates, and rolling barrels in front of them. There were mule-drawn carts and ox-drawn wagons, men riding camels and women riding zebras, and even the occasional ostrich with a few cloth bundles on its back.
“It reminds me of home. A little.” Qhora nodded at a passing sivathera strutting past with a curtained carriage behind it. The huge beast snorted and bowed its long spotted neck toward a nearby horse.
“How unfortunate.” Salvator sniffed and winced. “I assume you did not find the Aegyptian or his sword.”
“No.”
The Italian stopped to survey the street with a squint in his eyes. “Well, my dear, it may be time to reassess our goals. I’ve learned what I came here to learn, and now I wish only to leave with my head still in place. We haven’t seen or heard a trace of our prey since we left Carthage. He may not even be in the city. Or he may have come here only to continue on to somewhere else. The only thing I know for certain is that the longer we stay, the more likely it becomes that we won’t live long enough to leave.”
Qhora nodded. “I know. And you’re right. We should go back to the rail yard and wait for Mirari, and then go home. Maybe when I return to Madrid I can hire someone to return here and find the Aegyptian for me. I have his name. I know where he lives. I suppose that will have to be enough for now.”
“More than enough.” Salvator resumed walking. He glanced up to their left. “I think your little friend has found you.”
“Mirari?” Qhora looked up just in time to see a clutter of wings and feathers and talons collide with her side. The nearby pedestrians stumbled back to avoid the harpy eagle as it flapped and shrieked, trying to balanced on the woman’s arm. Qhora grunted at the sudden weight of him, but she lifted her arm and allowed him to settle with his long talons locked around her bare skin. “Turi, you worthless thing. I suppose you spent the night gorging on fat city rats, or did you carry off a whole sheep to eat on some rooftop?”
Turi squawked and snapped his beak and blinked his huge golden eyes.
Qhora sighed and pressed on through the crowd with the Italian just behind her. She was only half certain that she was heading back to the rail yard, but she planned to wait a few more minutes before asking Salvator for directions.
“Dona Qhora!”
She turned to see a familiar masked face bobbing through the crowd, and then the rest of the Espani woman emerged, shouldering others aside roughly as she moved in a straight line across the street. And as she reached them, another figure emerged from her shadow. “Hello again,” Tycho said. “We’ve spent all night looking for you.”
“You’re both all right?” Qhora wrapped her arms around Mirari and squeezed her tight. “Thank the gods. And your God. How did you find me?”
“The bird,” she said.
“Ah.” Qhora smiled and stroked Turi’s head. “Good boy. You’re not so worthless after all.”
Tycho shook his head. “You scared me half to death last night, surrendering to them like that! I thought you’d gone mad.”
“It was a risk I was willing to take. But that’s all in the past now. What happened to you two last night?”
Mirari told her that they had followed her to the temple, then returned to the rail yard, and then returned to the Temple to wait and watch. “But my lady, I have news. We spoke with Captain Ohana. She knows of a way to free a soul from a seireiken!”
Qhora felt her heart seize in her chest. “But I thought that was impossible.”
“Apparently it’s not impossible. Just very difficult,” Tycho said.
“The captain said she was going to build a tool that could release the souls from the seireiken while we came to get you. If we bring her the sword, she might be able to free Don Lorenzo’s soul and let him find peace.” Mirari glanced at Salvator. “Did you have any luck finding the sword last night?”
“No. None.” The Italian shrugged. “I did have two very interesting conversations in between some lengthy sprints, and I nearly stole a seireiken for myself, but as you can see we managed to escape with only our lives and no other souvenirs. But that’s all in the past now, as your lady says. Dona Qhora was just telling me that it’s time for us to all be heading home.”
“No.” Qhora shook her head. “No, I’ve changed my mind. We’ve come this far. We’ve seen the one-eyed woman and the detective here in the city. And now we’ve learned how to free Enzo. We’ll stay at least one more day to learn where the Aegyptian is or went. Maybe we can find the detective again. He seemed reasonable, or at least more reasonable than the others. He might be willing to help us for a price.” Qhora turned and started back down the road toward the Temple. “We can ask people in the street. A one-eyed woman and a Mazigh gunslinger should be at least a little memorable, right Salvator?”
The Italian sighed.
Qhora glanced back once just to be sure the tall fencer was actually following her, and she noticed young Tycho shuffling along at the back of the group and falling behind. She paused to wait for him to come alongside her. “I’m sorry. You must be tired. We can go a little slower.”
“What?” He looked up and his worried frown vanished into a look of mild surprise. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, my mind was somewhere else. I’m fine. Don’t slow down on my account.” He quickened his pace.
“Were you thinking about Philo?” Qhora asked. “I’m sorry. I know how you feel. I’ve barely given myself an hour to think about Enzo. I…I think I just can’t right now. Maybe when we’re home, when I have my baby in m
y arms again, then I can stop and breathe and mourn.”
The dwarf touched her hand. “It’s a terrible thing, what’s happened to you. No one should ever have to see that, or feel that. I’m sorry for you, and for your son. But don’t be sorry for me. Philo lived a noble life, far longer than most. And he died in good health, with his wits about him, in service to our Lady and our city. But I wasn’t thinking about him just now. I was thinking about breakfast.” He grinned sheepishly.
“But…it’s been only half a day since…” Qhora frowned.
Spiro shrugged. “Death is a part of life, and I’ve been preparing myself for Philo’s death for years. And besides, that was yesterday. Today is a new day. Philo would want me to be working, to complete our task and all the tasks that will follow. So I need to find a seireiken for the Vlachian prince. And I would be honored to help you save your husband’s soul.” He smiled and bowed his head.
“Thank you.” Qhora focused on the road ahead.
Is it really so easy for him? Or is his bravado just an act for my benefit? Or maybe for his own benefit?
Their group turned the corner and looked down the next avenue where the towering Temple of Osiris loomed above all other buildings. Qhora was about to ask Fabris what sort of person they should question on the street when Mirari grabbed her and the Italian and pulled them close to the wall. “My lady, there is a small group leaving the Temple now. Ten warriors and an older man. They are coming this way.”
Qhora peeked out and quickly pulled back. “That’s Khai. The old one. He’s an important man in the temple. He’s the one they took me to, the one who said he would kill me. His seireiken has claimed so many souls that it burns white hot.”
“Really?” Tycho and Salvator said in unison.
The Italian frowned down at the Hellan and said, “I interviewed this same gentleman shortly before my history lesson in the forge with a man called Rashaken. I had hoped to kill both of them, but fate intervened.”
“What about the name Aker El Deeb? Did either of them mention him?”
“No. Why? Who is this El Deeb?”
“The man who killed my Enzo!”
“Ah.” Salvator shrugged. “Had you shared that little gem with me, I might have asked, but now we’ll never know, will we? And didn’t you say you spoke to him as well? Did you think to ask him about your Aker El Deeb? No? Hm. Well, anyway, this Khai person called himself the First Knight of his order. That might make him somewhat important. And someone else called him Master Khai. So I imagine the name Aker El Deeb will mean something to him if we ask. Politely.” The Italian drummed his fingers on the golden hilt of his rapier.
“I agree,” Qhora said. “We’ll follow them. Perhaps an opportunity will present itself for another interview.”
After Khai and his green guards went by, Qhora and her three companions eased out into the flow of pedestrians and sauntered down the middle of the avenue in a loose knot, never too close or at the same pace. They spread out a bit, letting other travelers and animals and vehicles pass in between them.
Qhora watched the old man’s back, and the heads of the men following him.
There will be a moment. A turn. A hesitation. An interruption. They’ll stop, or be distracted, and I’ll run in among them, right through the middle of them and put my knife to Khai’s throat and grab his seireiken and make him tell me where I can find Aker El Deeb.
But the moment never came. No one approached the men in green, no one drove a wagon through their ranks, no mad horse kicked over a cart, and no group of heedless children ran laughing into their midst.
Instead, Khai led his men swiftly through the streets of Alexandria away from the markets and soon Qhora saw long slender gardens and fountains running down the center of the avenue. The architecture of the buildings on either side shifted dramatically from the ancient sun-bleached stone slabs to dark red bricks, white columns, and gray marble blocks swirling with green veins. There were steepled roofs, glazed windows, shaded porticos, and colorful pennants snapping in the breeze high over head.
Tycho came closer to her and muttered, “The Royal Quarter. Permanent and temporary homes for the countless princes, generals, ambassadors, and high priests of Eran. Once the lords of Aegyptus reigned from here, when this was a free nation. Be careful. There will more guards and soldiers here.”
Qhora nodded. She’d already noted the armed men flanking the doors and lining the walkways beyond the walls and iron gates around some of the larger estates.
At the next intersection, Khai led his men to the right through an open gate and up a wide stair into a large colonnaded building that reminded Qhora slightly of the cathedrals of Tartessos and Cordoba back home. She paused at the gate, but Tycho walked right past her and began grunting his way up the steps. He glanced back at her with a grin. “It’s safe. This is the library. Part of the museum. It’s a school, open to all. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
Together they mounted the steps, passing a steady stream of young boys in simple white smocks carrying books and scrolls. At the top of the stair they entered a large rotunda with a dozen smaller doors leading away in every direction. Diverse works of art from Hellas, Eran, Italia, Punt, Kanem, Songhai, and India adorned the walls or balanced on small plinths, and the interior of the dome overhead was a golden lattice of slender rods holding stained glass portraits of dignified old men in beards and scholarly hats.
“That way.” Tycho pointed left and they followed him left.
At the end of the corridor they emerged into a large room of row upon row of shelves of books, as well as tables around which sat countless more young men in white smocks reading, writing, and yawning.
“There.” Salvator pointed to the far end of the room where Khai and his guards stood with two middle-aged scholars in white.
Qhora led the way along the right-hand wall, moving quickly and quietly behind the walls of books and scrolls until they were close enough to hear the men talking. The conversation was in Eranian, but Tycho provided a running translation.
“…and the next time that I request a document, I expect it to be delivered to me within the hour,” Khai said. “I contribute far too much time and money to this institution to be treated as a common student.”
“Sir, the blueprints that you requested are stored in the Red Room, and by the order of your own Master Rashaken, no document in the Red Room is ever to be copied or taken from the library, by anyone, for any reason,” the librarian said calmly.
“Why the hell are they in the Red Room? The original architectural drawings of Constantia are no military secret or arcane scientific knowledge. They’re just drawings!” Khai hissed.
Tycho grabbed Qhora’s sleeve. “Constantia?” he whispered.
“Keep translating,” she whispered back.
“Sir, I have my orders,” the librarian said dully. “If it is in the Red Room, then it is not to be copied or removed, but you are welcome to review them here, as always.”
Khai sneered. “Rashaken is an old man. When he dies, who do you think will be giving the orders here?”
“Most likely you, sir,” the librarian replied. “And I trust you will appreciate how precisely this institution follows your orders then, as we follow Master Rashaken’s orders now. I doubt, sir, that you would want your orders countermanded by a subordinate, even a high-ranking subordinate, particularly a high-ranking subordinate who presumes to undermine your authority on the grounds that he will one day replace you.”
Khai’s sneer twisted into an unpleasant smile. “I suppose there is something to be said for your integrity, as blind and thoughtless as it may be. Take me to the Red Room and present the drawings of Constantia. And call a scribe. I need to dictate several letters while I review the drawings.”
“Yes, sir. What languages will you require of the scribes?”
Khai sighed. “Eranian, Hellan, Raskan, and Vlachian. And Rus, if anyone knows it.”
“Very good, sir.” The libraria
n led Khai and the others to the end of the reading room and they disappeared through a door stained dark red.
“What is he doing?” Tycho asked. He looked from Qhora to Salvator. “What is he going to do about Constantia? Who is he going to write to? He could be planning something, anything! An invasion. A pact with the Ruslanders, or with the Vlachian prince? If he makes an alliance with Vlachia before my lady, then Constantia will be surrounded by enemies!”
“Be quiet, little man.” The Italian exhaled slowly. “No one cares about your little city.”
“I care!” Tycho snapped.
“Shut up! Both of you!” Qhora held up her hand, but she wasn’t looking at either of them. She was looking across the room to the door through which they had entered a moment ago. A man in green hurried down the center aisle, spoke briefly with one of the librarians, and then dashed to the dark red door through which Khai had left. Qhora frowned. “That doesn’t look good.”
A shout echoed from the room beyond the red door.
“Doesn’t sound good, either,” Tycho said.
The red door swung open and Khai strode out, moving so quickly he was almost running. His green guards dashed out close on his heels, the other scholars and librarians scattered to avoid them as they crossed the room, and all the while Khai muttered to his men.
When they were gone, Qhora touched Tycho’s shoulder. “He said the name Aker. I heard him. Did you hear him? What was he saying?”
“I couldn’t hear much. Something about the Bantu and Songhai and trains.”
“Trains?” Salvator frowned. “What about trains?”
“I don’t know, but they’re going there now,” Tycho said. “To the trains.”
Qhora looked at Mirari. “Trains. You said you went back to the rail yard to see the captain. Is there some chance you were followed by these Bantu or Songhai?”
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