by K A Doore
Thana checked her rings and counted her knives. When the rain picked up in one last, petulant burst, she detached from the wall and slipped across the alley as little more than a shadow. Eken was expected to survive the night. A wife was keeping guard outside his room. But no one should be inside, no one by his side. At least, not while the healer was resting.
The rainfall masked the squeak of metal as Thana used her knife to unscrew the bolts of the window hinge. She caught the glass before it could fall and shatter, then climbed over the sill and into the room and its stifling darkness. She pulled the freed window back into place after her to keep the wind out.
She paused and took in the room, her sight already adjusted to the gloom. Damp footprints glistened behind her as she approached the long, low bed. The dry air would take care of those, storm or not. A man stirred in the bed, lips moving soundlessly, but his eyes didn’t open.
Thana’s fingers found and twisted the cap on one of her rings. She stopped next to the man’s head, comparing the face before her with the one she’d seen tagel-less at the party only a few hours before. It was the mark, all right. Drum Chief Eken.
She leaned over the mark and watched his nostrils flare and flutter, his lips part. Holding her own breath, she tilted her hand over those lips until white powder spilled and coated them. The mark grunted. Licked his lips. Resettled.
When the mark started to choke, Thana picked up the pillow beside his head and laid it across his face. At this, the mark started, hands reaching at and pushing away the pillow. Thana leaned in, imagining herself as unmovable as metal. She closed her eyes, feeling instead of seeing the mark’s progression from waking to confusion, followed by awareness and struggling. Thana fought back, willing the poison to work quickly. Although she was fast, she wasn’t strong like Amastan, and the mark could easily overpower her if given a chance.
For a heartbeat, she knew he would. The mark had hold of the pillow’s edges and was gasping for breath as he pushed her back and away. Thana gritted her teeth and shoved back with all her strength, but she wouldn’t last much longer. The mark thrashed, feet kicking air, body twisting away from her.
Thunder crashed, long and low and distant. Lightning illuminated the room, outlining the mark’s weathered and scarred hands as they clawed at the pillow obstructing his mouth and nose, the assassin’s pylon-straight back and tense shoulders, her mouth set in a thin, firm line.
The light was gone just as suddenly, and with it went the mark’s strength. He weakened by degrees as the poison worked, numbing his muscles, breaking his will, and slowing his heart beat by beat … by beat. He stopped resisting all at once, arms falling heavy back to the bed. But Thana didn’t relax, not until the breath she’d been holding burned like acid in her chest. Only then did she let go of the air in her lungs and the pillow in her hands. She stepped back, wary and weary and ready to be done. She freed a knife and waited.
But she didn’t need the knife. The pillow slipped to the side bit by bit, then all at once, revealing parted lips and open, sightless eyes. Thana shivered despite the room’s warmth. Three contracts, and she’d never gotten used to that sight. She hoped she never did.
Thana touched the charms at her neck as she muttered a prayer for the drum chief’s jaani. She returned to the window, settling its glass back in place. But while there was still a small gap, she threw a pebble at the water cup near the bed. It teetered and fell and shattered. Someone gasped in the hallway. In another moment, they’d enter, see the mark dead, and send for a healer. But they’d also send for a marabi to quiet his jaani. No one, not even Eken, deserved to have their jaani go wild.
Thana vanished into the lingering storm before anyone opened the door.
2
Thunk.
A knife protruded from the leather target, several inches from its center. Thana examined the girl at the opposite end of the room. Illi already had another knife in hand, but she waited to throw it as Thana approached. Thana moved Illi’s fingers along the knife’s hilt, then nudged the girl’s rear foot over by an inch. She stepped back, gave Illi another once over, then nodded.
“Again.”
Illi threw the knife, her motions as quick and smooth as a whip. Thunk. This time, the knife quivered at the target’s center.
Thana fought back a smile. “Not bad for a first lesson.”
Illi puffed her cheeks. “When am I ever going to need to throw a knife? It’s wasteful.”
Thana’s mood curdled. “Do you ask Tamella when you’ll need to fight hand-to-hand? Or sprint for several platforms?”
Illi looked away, braids obscuring her sour expression. “But those skills are practical.” She crossed the room and yanked her knives from the target.
“No,” said Thana. “They’re not. If you ever have to sprint for a contract, then you’ve already failed, and the watchmen will find you anyway. Tamella isn’t teaching you how to run or fight, she’s teaching you endurance and confidence. Same here. You’ll probably never have to throw a knife as part of a contract, just as you’ll never have to punch a mark, but the other skills you’re learning—precision, controlled breathing, form—will help you. Now, try again.”
“Besides,” said a voice from the doorway. “You never know when a contract might specify the mark die by a thrown knife. You should be prepared for any eventuality.”
Illi spun, the dagger at her hip already in hand. But Thana took her time. She recognized that voice, jarring as it was to hear it at home. Even more jarring was the sight of the man in her bedroom doorway. He wore a crisp green tagel up to the bridge of his nose. Around his eyes, his skin was as brown as warm tea, wrinkles etched deep by sun and age. His wrap was tight around a wiry torso and rough, callused hands were folded atop an amber-tipped cane.
“Kaseem.” Thana tried to hide the tremble in her fist as she placed it over her heart and bowed her head. “How may I be of service, sa?”
Kaseem lifted his cane and gestured at Illi. “I don’t wish to impose upon you and your pupil, ma. Please, finish your lesson.”
“We’re done for the day,” said Thana quickly. At least this time, Illi knew better than to contradict her. “What brought you all the way here, sa?”
Thana held her breath, mouth dry. It was an idiotic question. There was only one reason Kaseem would cross the city to show up at her door.
“Your recent work was impressive,” said Kaseem, rolling the amber beneath his palm. “The qualities you demonstrated are exactly what another client is looking for.”
Illi let out a tiny sound, halfway between a gasp and a squeak. Thana shot her a warning glance, but the younger girl had already smoothed her features into a blank mask, her fingers laced together before her, the dagger back in its sheath. Despite being almost ten years Thana’s junior, Illi was far enough along in her training to grasp what Kaseem meant. After all, if she kept training and passed her test, she too might be approached by Kaseem one day.
One day. Thana resisted the urge to bounce. She’d dreamed of this day her entire life. Not every cousin made it through training and even fewer were ever approached by Kaseem himself for a contract. This was it. Maybe, finally, her mother could be proud of her.
“Illi,” said Thana, “that’s enough for today. I’ll let Tamella know how you did.”
Illi started to protest, but then her gaze caught Kaseem’s and she pressed her lips tight instead. Illi flicked one of her long braids over her shoulder, pressed her fist to her chest, and went to the window. If she stayed, the girl would have a full lesson in how a contract was presented and negotiated, but the details of the contract were privy only to those bound by it. Thana wasn’t about to take an untested cousin on as her partner for her first contract.
When Illi had disappeared over the windowsill, Thana gestured to Kaseem and led him down the stairs to the living area. The ground floor was deserted. Her mother was on a rooftop somewhere training the other young cousins, and her father had wormed his way into a drum chie
f’s private library where he now spent most of his days. His own collection filled half the room, shelves of densely packed scrolls that contained too many details about things that had happened in Ghadid. Amastan was in love with all that history, but Thana couldn’t be bothered. Now was more interesting—and relevant—than then.
Kaseem took his time on the steps. He wasn’t especially old, but he was as frail as a grandfather. Not for the first time, Thana wondered how old he really was. He claimed he’d shattered his thigh in a fight once and now relied on a cane to get around. But he leaned too readily on it, turning his weakness into a display—like a feint. If he’d been part of their family, he would’ve made a great cousin.
When Kaseem was on level ground, Thana went to the hearth and swung the waiting kettle over the fire. Only once the water had boiled, the tea steeped and been poured, and the two were seated across from each other did Thana dare speak.
“The mark’s funeral isn’t until tomorrow, sa.”
“I know.” Kaseem ladled a third spoonful of sugar into his tea. “The execution of that contract was impressive.”
Thana snorted. “We nearly botched it. Should’ve known the mark’d have a problem with date pits, of all things.”
“Yes. You almost did. That was foolish of you not to inquire into any potential cross reactions. But the key here is that you didn’t ‘botch’ it. The mark is dead and his household doesn’t suspect murder. At least, not any more than usual.”
Every death was suspect in Ghadid, where healers could cure you of almost any ailment if you could afford the water—and drum chiefs could always afford the water. The family was responsible for relatively few of those deaths—or had been. Entire years used to pass between contracts, but they were still working through the glut after a twelve-year ban. Long-suffered injustices had to be righted, and it wasn’t as if the marab or the Circle was going to do anything about them.
Thana tasted her tea and wrinkled her nose; she’d let it oversteep. She sipped it anyway, using the bitterness to center herself as she waited for Kaseem to get to the real reason he’d come.
“Your quick thinking and success despite the kind of failure that would’ve rattled any of your other cousins was notable.” Kaseem placed a glass bottle in the middle of the table. “Which is why I’d welcome your expertise on a new contract.”
Thana stared at the bottle, pulse thudding in her ears. This was it. She’d been expecting this, wanting this. She’d worked three contracts with Amastan already, passed the test five years ago, and trained her entire life—longer than most of her cousins by a decade. Amastan had received his first contract barely a year after earning his tagel. But then, that was Amastan, the only cousin who’d ever tried to fight Tamella. He was … unique.
But she was the Serpent of Ghadid’s only daughter. She needed to be more than unique, she had to be exceptional. Thana straightened. Whatever contract Kaseem had brought her, she’d prove her worth by completing it.
She examined the bottle. Its throat was sealed with wax, but the glass itself was clear. The bottle was filled with baats, the metal coins glittering in the hearth’s firelight. Even without counting, Thana knew there were more than she’d ever seen in her life. It was easily a merchant’s fortune or a drum chief’s allowance. A year’s worth of water, at least.
On top of the baats was a folded note. The contract. She’d have to break the seal to read it. Her hands stayed in her lap.
Kaseem was watching her closely. “Go on, take it.”
Thana met Kaseem’s gaze and tried to read those eyes. “What are the obligations?”
The edges of Kaseem’s eyes crinkled with a smile. “The removal of a mark. This time, however, the client prefers that the cause of death is quite obvious. The word they used was ‘messy,’ but you may use your discretion. You’ll be paid the second half upon confirmation of the mark’s death. You may share this contract with another. You have as long as you need to complete the contract, but once you read the details, you may want to act quickly. Of course, I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job.”
“And if I fail?” The question was a formality; Thana knew the answer. Failure meant the end of her career, maybe her life.
“The usual. Return the baats you were paid upfront, plus a fine. Judgment by the drum chiefs, if you’re caught.” Kaseem paused, took a sip of tea. “But this client has one additional stipulation: if you don’t complete the contract, your body will be forfeit.”
Thana frowned. What could the client possibly want with her body? If she survived, perhaps they meant to own her as a slave. If she died, though, her body would be worthless. Unless all they wanted was to ensure her jaani was not quieted. She grimaced. That would be a step further than mere humiliation; that would be blasphemy.
Did her potential employer mean to intimidate her with that obligation? If so, then it was insulting. Thana was a cousin, a professional. If she took the contract, she’d complete it. Threats were immaterial.
“Who’s the mark?”
“Do you accept the contract?”
Thana eyed the bottle. Of course she would, but she still had to ask one last question. For it to be a legitimate contract, the mark’s guilt must be beyond the law. “What’s their crime?”
Kaseem’s eyes all but disappeared in a wide smile. He let out a low rumble of a laugh, at complete odds to his thin, bony frame.
“It would be simpler if you asked what crime they haven’t committed. Your potential mark is guilty of the most egregious acts against both their fellow man and G-d. The world will be a much safer place without him.”
Him. Thana drew the bottle close, marveling at its weight. She was struck again by the gratuitous amount of baats inside.
“The note includes your exact instructions.” Kaseem spoke quickly, belying his own eagerness. “But I can tell you this much: a foreign friend visits our city and your employer would like to see that he’s given a proper welcome.”
“A merchant?” guessed Thana, appreciating the musical clink of metal on metal as she turned the bottle. She set it down and pried off the wax seal with a knife.
“An ambassador, of sorts. From the Empress herself.”
Thana froze, the bottle half turned and the paper still caught inside. The ridiculous number of baats made sickening sense. This contract was going to be Political, with a capital p. A drum chief was one thing—Ghadid prided itself on dealing with its own problems. But the Empress?
The Mehewret Empire claimed Ghadid, although the city had never acknowledged foreign rule. There had been no war, no surrender, no fanfare. Over a century ago, the Emperor had simply redrawn his maps and declared that Ghadid and the other cities on the edge of the Wastes were now on this side of the Empire’s border. At the time, no one had bothered to correct him. Ghadid had its own problems, including a seven-year drought and a spike in banditry. A messenger had arrived to announce the change. He’d been ignored.
Years passed and the declaration was forgotten. Then the Empress came to power. It wasn’t enough that the map of her Empire included Ghadid. No—she wanted tribute. She wanted control.
The first tax collectors the Empress sent never returned to Na Tay Khet. Soldiers accompanied the second group and camped below Ghadid, among its pylons, as the drum chiefs deliberated what to do. The decision had nearly torn Ghadid apart, but in the end they sent the soldiers away. That time, the army had come unprepared for a siege against the City in the Sky. Perched above the ever-shifting sands upon metal pylons that burrowed deep into the earth, Ghadid was unconquerable.
But the third—
Thana remembered them. The Empress had sent a smaller force, one that arrived with a caravan and rode the carriages up into the city, hidden in plain sight among the other foreigners. Thana had been too young to understand what was happening, but she remembered the proclamations that had appeared overnight, pasted on buildings and bridges. She could still feel the jostle of bodies as her family joined the ot
hers in the long, twisting lines for the census. She could still hear the cold, quiet anger in her mother’s voice and the intermittent bursts of outrage in the streets.
Thana would never understand how those collectors returned to their Empress alive. Many in Ghadid regretted the act of clemency. The Empress’s proclamations had rolled in a few years after that: long, curling lengths of vellum read by tarted-up citizens of the Empire, their skin pale as milky tea and their clothing little more than a skirt around the waist, their faces and chests indecently bare. The proclamations were frivolous, but their intent was plain: the Empress owned Ghadid.
The family’s business had picked up. A few years back, the Empress had retaliated by sending a small army. But Ghadid had drawn up its carriages and gleefully rained down rocks and burning pitch and broken glass until the soldiers gave up and left. Another group had tried the infiltration trick, but it didn’t work a second time. Their bodies were never found.
And now the Empress had sent an ambassador, with a list of crimes to his name that impressed even Kaseem. What was she planning?
Thana slid the note out and opened it, smoothing it against the table with her palm. She read. Instead of bringing clarity, though, her confusion and concern only deepened.
The mark had arrived a week ago with the most recent Azal caravan. The note described him as average height, pale featured, and having a predilection for wearing white. A cold realization filled Thana: the foreigner at the party. Was this contract related to Eken’s? Then she read the last line:
Heru Sametket is the second advisory marabi to the Empress.
“He’s a marabi?” Thana stared at Kaseem. “You want me to kill a marabi?”
“The Empress’s marab are no holy men,” said Kaseem. “They don’t bother themselves with funerals or quieting jaan like ours do. They are a different breed altogether, preferring their studies over action. There is very little of G-d about them.”
