Nemesis

by Kat Ross

  “Let’s dance,” he said.

  Bibi grinned, showing off a newly lost tooth. The other dancers had formed a circle and they hurried to close the gap, stomping to the drums and snapping their fingers. Several times, as the lines swept forward and back, he passed Katsu, though they never quite ended up next to each other. Finally, Javid fell onto a bench in the shade, wiping sweat from his brow.

  He felt flushed and happy, but also wistful. This would be the last time he’d see most of them. Even cousin Hafuz, for all his grumbling, had made Javid his first pair of men’s boots, a gift for his fourteenth birthday. He’d worn them until they literally fell to pieces.

  “What’s troubling you, son?” his da asked.

  Javid looked up. “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

  His da gave him a shrewd look. “I know you. You’ve been walking around with a cloud over your head for weeks.”

  Javid nearly told him everything then, but he didn’t want to ruin the wedding. More importantly, Asabana still owed him a month’s pay. One he collected his money and added it to the stash of gold beneath his bed, they’d have enough to start fresh someplace far from Samarqand.

  “Can we talk later?” he asked.

  His da laid a shriveled hand on Javid’s shoulder. “Of course.”

  They ate and drank and danced late into the evening, and by the time he thought of speaking to his da, everyone had stumbled off to bed.

  Tomorrow, he thought, yawning into his blankets. I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.

  21

  A Gilded Cage

  Pounding.

  At first it was part of his dream, the heavy tread of a giant chasing him through a blasted landscape. But the sound grew louder, more insistent, and Javid’s eyes flew open. The low sun slanted through his window, pooling on the wood floor. Someone was at the front door.

  He hurried downstairs. His ma stood in the hall, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her hair unbound, so it must be early morning still. She looked frightened.

  “Who is it?” he mouthed.

  “A soldier,” she whispered. “Go hide. I’ll tell him you’re not home.”

  Javid shook his head, the last remnants of sleep fleeing. He slipped to the window and glanced through the crack in the shutters. A man in a red tunic with a roaring griffin on the breast had his fist raised to pound on the door again. He caught Javid’s eye and made an impatient gesture.

  “It’s okay, ma. Just a royal messenger. I know him. Go back to sleep.”

  She shot her son a skeptical look, but retreated up the stairs. Javid threw open the door.

  “You’re summoned to the Rock,” the messenger said. He had greying hair and a bluff, world-weary face.

  “Has something happened?”

  The man shrugged. “The King of Kings commands you to attend him without delay. It is not for us to ask why.”

  Javid dashed upstairs and changed into a high-collared blue coat and loose trousers. He grabbed the small box of emergency spell dust he kept hidden beneath his dirty laundry. When he came out, the messenger was waiting at the garden gate with his horse. Javid awkwardly clambered up—he’d ridden only a handful of times—and they galloped for the palace.

  The streets were still quiet, a few early risers staring in curiosity as they raced past. They reached the Rock of Ariamazes in short order and the messenger handed him off to the chamberlain, who said little beyond a formally polite greeting. Javid assumed Shahak had emerged from his rooms in dire need of fresh supplies. Asabana’s stores were running low, which meant he’d want Javid to make another run soon—to Pompeii.

  Holy Father save me, but I won’t go back to the Kiln, he thought as the chamberlain led him to the Inner Court. Not with Vatras in there. He imagined filling the sack with bone-dust and turning to see one standing behind him. Javid couldn’t suppress a shudder and the chamberlain gave him a strange look.

  As soon as Katsu’s ship is ready, we’ll make a run for it, even if I have to shove my ma into a sack with the chickens.

  They reached the King’s chambers. The pair of royal guards stepped aside, stone-faced and inscrutable, and threw open the double doors.

  Shahak sprawled in his ornately carved chair, eyes hooded. To his left stood Izad Asabana. Javid was glad to make the prostration because it gave him time to think. He snuck a quick glance at his employer. Asabana looked perfectly at ease. Perhaps they had already resolved things.

  “You may rise,” the King said. “Allow me to offer my congratulations on your sister’s wedding. Golpari, is it?”

  Javid masked his surprise. “Yes, Your Majesty, thank you.”

  So the King knew all about him. Of course he did.

  “I was just telling Lord Asabana how pleased I am with you. My father used to say loyal servants were as rare and precious as jewels.”

  Was that a jab at Asabana? The King hadn’t looked at him, but there seemed to be a drop of venom in his tone.

  “I am overcome with delight, Your Majesty.” Javid bowed his head.

  “These are troubled times,” Shahak went on. “The Pythia of Delphi has marched into the Umbra to prosecute some grievance against the Danai. Trade has halted to both the south and north. My tax collectors say the royal treasury is suffering as a result.” His gaze turned to Asabana. “It is imperative that we reclaim the drylands west of the river. It would be the greatest capital project Samarqand has seen since the Rock.” The vein at his temple throbbed. “I can accomplish this, but I will need a great deal of spell dust. Far more than the dribs and drabs you dole out.”

  For the first time, Javid heard open anger in his voice. Asabana looked untroubled.

  “Thank the Holy Father we have a strong leader,” he said cheerfully. “Your father was a great man, but I think the son will overshadow him.”

  “Do you?” Shahak asked, his voice deceptively mild.

  Javid knew the tone. It often preceded swift, brutal retribution. His gut tightened a notch.

  “Indeed.” Asabana waved an arm expansively. “There is nothing we cannot accomplish. I will provide all the dust you need.”

  “You fail to understand. I intend to exercise my royal prerogative to procure the dust myself from now on. There can be no delays.” He stared coldly at Asabana. “Where is the source?”

  Asabana didn’t hesitate, Javid had to give him that.

  “Of course, you have every right, Majesty. You are the King of Kings.” The old smuggler leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “There is a secret cave in the Kiln with magic crystals. It is guarded by a ferocious beast, but my alchemists know how to put the creature to sleep. It is terribly dangerous, Your Highness. Savage teeth and claws. I can lead you there if you wish, but perhaps it might be simpler to maintain our current arrangement.”

  Shahak studied him for a long moment, dark eyes glittering.

  “A secret cave.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. It lies deep in the Kiln.”

  Brittle silence descended. A flash of uncertainty crossed Asabana’s face. Shahak snuffled, raising a mottled scrap of red silk to his nose. When he lowered it, his mouth had curved into a tight, crooked smile, like a fishhook.

  “Before my father found you, you were a crow, were you not? One of those soot-stained unfortunates who pick through the slag heaps?”

  “I rose from humble beginnings,” Asabana replied, a bit stiffly.

  “Crow is an apt name. You squawk and squawk.”

  “Your Majesty—”

  Shahak’s smile faded. “I think you’ve mistaken me for a stupid child,” he said quietly.

  Asabana fell to his knees. He realized his mistake and thought he could still worm his way out of it. Javid almost pitied him.

  “A jest, Your Highness,” Asabana babbled. “It was in poor taste. A thousand apologies! Please, allow me to make amends. My servant Javid will escort you personally—”

  “Nungarra usemi salamu essuru.”

  Whi
ch, roughly translated, meant pompous fool turned into a black bird.

  Asabana’s eyes bulged as ebony feathers sprouted from his neck. Fingers curled into claws, sending a shower of rings to the floor. They bounced and rolled in all directions. Embroidered robes fell away as his body shrank and his nose sharpened to a hook. Black wings fluttered. Asabana emitted a harsh, surprised caw. Shahak laughed and clapped his hands.

  “My pet crow,” he said. “Oh, fetch him back, Javid, do not let him get away!”

  And so Javid had the lamentable task of catching his former employer and clutching him to his coat while the King bade the guards to fetch a cage. Asabana tried to peck his wrist, but Javid had experience wrangling chickens and held him firmly, wings pinioned to his sides. He could feel the bird’s heart thrumming in its breast.

  When Asabana was safely ensconced in his new home, hanging from a hook near the door, Shahak turned to Javid.

  “Let us speak frankly now. What is the source of the dust?”

  “It’s the bones of dead daēvas,” Javid blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “There’s a place called Pompeii. A half-built city. It was the capital of the Vatras. It lies on the other side of the Gale. The Vatras were burned in a great fire, but their bodies were preserved.” He swallowed. “The ash is spell dust.”

  Javid wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but the King merely frowned.

  “Dead daēvas, you say?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” He collapsed in a full prostration, nose pressed deep into the carpet. “I am a pitiful worm unworthy of life, but I throw myself on your mercy, Majesty. Do what you will with me, I only beg that you spare my family. They had nothing to do with any of it. Oh, Holy Father—”

  “Enough. I am not some heartless monster. I imagine Asabana coerced you.”

  Javid didn’t dare reply, or even look up, though he felt a spark of hope. He heard the lacquered box open and a short, sharp inhalation. It was only then he realized Shahak had not used a pinch of spell dust to transform Asabana. Apparently, he hadn’t needed to. The words alone sufficed.

  “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “It makes perfect sense. I have long been fascinated with the fire daēvas. Felt a certain…kinship.” He chuckled, then sneezed violently. From the corner of his eye, Javid saw crimson droplets spray across the carpet. Where the blood touched the weave, the fibers twitched, rearranging themselves from roses to lilies. The King didn’t appear to notice.

  “I forgive you this time, Javid. Asabana is to blame. He was a vile, greedy man. But do not lie to me again.”

  “I swear it, Majesty,” Javid lied, kissing the hem of his robes.

  “You will collect the spell dust directly for me now.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  “Can it be accomplished alone?”

  Javid shook his head. “Crossing the Gale is tricky, Your Majesty. I require the assistance of Lord Asabana’s alchemists.”

  Shahak regarded the crow hunched on its perch, eyes bright with malice.

  “Go then. Inform them that they belong to the King now. All of Asabana’s lands, titles and material property are forfeit to the crown. I will send soldiers to collect the wind ships and other necessary equipment.” He drew a deep, satisfied breath. “I look forward to speaking with other accomplished adepts. I hope they are not fools like their old master.”

  Javid thought of Leila. “They are not fools, Majesty.”

  “Good.” Shahak flicked a finger in dismissal. He’d gone pale and looked on the verge of a coughing fit.

  Javid made the prostration and left the palace with a blend of relief and terror. He knew he was next. It was only a matter of time. Perhaps he would end up as a yappy dog, earning pats on the head when he was good and kicks to the ribs when he displeased. Or a nightingale, so he might spend the rest of his days singing for Shahak from a gilded cage. Or a beetle, to be crushed beneath the King’s silk slipper. Truly, the possibilities were endless!

  He thought of Izad Asabana, once the most powerful noble in the entire Persian court, now hunched in a cage pecking at birdseed, and felt the last of his illusions pop like a soap bubble. All of Javid’s life, he’d wanted desperately to be rich. It seemed the answer to every problem. An impenetrable shield against the world.

  But in the end, Asabana’s gold had not saved him.

  When Javid emerged into the sunshine, he brusquely ordered the chamberlain to fetch him a horse. Then he rode for Asabana’s estate as fast as he could.

  Marzban Khorram-Din lay in a darkened room, blankets pulled up to his white beard. His skin looked thin as old parchment. Javid paused in the doorway. He hadn’t even realized the alchemist was ill, but he’d barely seen him in weeks. Leila always said he was busy in their workroom. Now Javid wondered if she’d been covering something more serious.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “May I come in?”

  Leila sat at her father’s bedside. She beckoned Javid forward.

  “How long has he been like this?” he whispered.

  “I’m not dead yet,” the alchemist croaked, his eyes flying open. “I can hear you.”

  Javid muttered hasty apologies.

  “A touch of consumption,” Leila said. “I will nurse him back to health.” She patted her father’s hand. “He’s stronger than he looks.”

  Marzban Khorram-Din grumbled something under his breath.

  “I can’t stay long,” Javid said, glancing at the door. “The King’s men are on the way.”

  He quickly related what happened to Asabana. Leila shook her head.

  “A reasonably clever six-year-old wouldn’t have fallen for that,” she said.

  “I know.” Javid paused. “I had no choice. I told Shahak everything. It didn’t put him off. The opposite—he said he felt a kinship with the Vatras.” He glanced at Marzban Khorram-Din, who had closed his eyes again. “I’m leaving. This very night, if possible. What will you do?”

  “Serve the King,” Leila said without hesitation. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but there are plenty of other pilots with your skill.”

  Javid frowned. “But—”

  “Shahak will tolerate the loss of you as long as he gets his dust. But if we’re all gone, he will hunt us to the ends of the earth.”

  Javid looked at Leila. Besides Katsu, she was his only true friend. “Then I will stay too. I cannot ask you—”

  “You aren’t asking.” She sighed. “I would stay regardless. My father is too ill to flee. And I can manage King Shahak.”

  “That’s exactly what Asabana said.”

  “Asabana got greedy. I’ll manage Shahak because I have no intention of lying to him.” A flicker of amusement crossed her face. “You probably think me mad, but I’ve been curious to meet him. We are both seekers of knowledge. I cannot approve of what he does, but it intrigues me.” She gave Javid a sharp look. “You’d better go now. Don’t tell me where. But give my regards to your Stygian.”

  Javid nodded and embraced her. She smelled of myrrh and rosemary and other more bitter things. Marzban Khorram-Din merely watched him with slitted eyes, enigmatic to the last.

  “Thank you, Leila,” he said, voice choked with emotion.

  She smiled. “Go be happy. We’ll see each other again someday.”

  Javid ran down the manor steps and called for Asabana’s groom. The boy helped Javid clamber onto his horse. Javid kicked his heels into the animal’s sides and galloped back to Samarqand.

  “I’m looking for the Stygian,” he breathlessly informed the innkeeper of the Four Dervishes, who had just pulled a tray of fragrant loaves from the oven.

  The man wiped his hands on a dishrag. “He’s not here.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  The innkeeper shrugged. “He comes and goes. I’m not his mother.”

  So Javid set out for the Abicari. He hurried into the hangar and felt weak with relief. Katsu stood there with Savah, admiring the new ship. It was one of the finest vesse
ls of its class Javid had ever seen. Clean, elegant lines and a jaunty prow that would make her swift as a falcon.

  “I’ve decided on a name,” Katsu said, as Javid approached. “The Shenfeng. It means Divine Wind. She will be the first Tjanjinese wind ship.” He grinned. “I was thinking, it’s possible we might be able to fly alongside a Marakai ship. We could tie down to the deck in a storm. If I could transport the Shenfeng to Tjanjin and present her to the emperor, he might grant me trade concessions. Perhaps even a piece of land on the twilight side of the island.”

  Javid’s smile felt three sizes too tight. “That’s a brilliant idea. May I speak with you for a moment?”

  Savah was paying them no attention, his eagle eye trained on the carpenters who swarmed over the ship putting on the finishing touches. Javid took Katsu’s arm and drew him out of earshot.

  “The King turned Asabana into a crow,” he said without preamble. “He knows everything. If we’re going to leave, we need to do it today.”

  Katsu’s brows creased in alarm. “Thank Babana he spared you.”

  “Yeah, well, I got lucky. He likes me. Problem is, I’m not even sure he’s human anymore.” Javid looked the ship over, bouncing on his toes. The rigging was in place and she looked ready to fly. “Where’s the air sack?”

  “They’re supposed to finish it today.”

  “Good.” He looked into Katsu’s grey eyes. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? The King will send men here looking for me. It won’t take long to learn I helped you commission a wind ship. You could lose everything. You could end up back in the dungeons—”