by Glen Cook
“Will you?”
“I don’t know. Right now I’ll call off my own war, then get Carza where I can talk to him. If anybody knows the way in there, he does.”
“The carpenter refused to come,” Meryel said.
“So I suspected. Probably doesn’t much matter now.”
Yoseh settled into the bed of the wagon, glad to be out of the rain. He huddled up, pondered the incomprehensible ways of the mighty. The others piled inside. Somebody growled at the driver. The driver growled back, unimpressed. The wagon lurched forward.
One of Fa’tad’s cronies asked, “Think he’ll try to screw us?” “It’s the Qushmarrahan way. On the other hand, I made him a tempting offer. An inspired improvisation, if I say so myself.” Al-Akla chuckled. “Driver! Turn left and stop. Nogah, Medjhah, Juba, I have a job for you.”
17
Aaron slipped into the main shed at the shipyard. Those who could were there, working out of the rain. The rest had been sent home. He found Billygoat caulking a small boat. There was always work for a caulker.
Billygoat gave him a strange look. “You coming in?”
“No. I just wanted to talk. You heard?”
“Yes. It’s around. How are you doing? How’s your family handling it?”
“I’m all right now. They’re taking it about like you’d expect. But we aren’t without hope. The Herodians know who did it. Can we talk?”
“Sure.” Billygoat wiped his hands on his clothing. He was not fastidious. “But this isn’t the place. Unless you don’t care who listens.”
The others had slowed work and were watching. Cullo and another Herodian were drifting their way. Aaron wondered if this made any sense, after all. “Part I don’t want anybody to hear.”
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“You’ll get soaked.” He was already.
Billygoat shrugged. “As long as it isn’t pouring. I find rain relaxing.” The old man shoved his tools toward his helper. “Clean them up.”
Neither foreman stopped Billygoat. None of the workmen spoke to Aaron, though some eyed him with pity.
“You have friends in high places,” Billygoat said after they stepped into the damp. “Never saw anybody excused from work by order of the military governor.”
“Really?”
“Messenger was waiting when we came in. Had a letter saying you was to be let off as long as you needed, without prejudice, the way they say. Signed by Bruda and Cado, according to Cullo. He was impressed.”
“Trying to back me into a corner, I guess.”
They went in beneath the scaffolding on the lee side of the ship they were building. Not much moisture reached them. Billygoat sat on one timber balk, leaned against another. “Talk to me.”
Aaron told his story. Billygoat did not interrupt. When Aaron finished, he said, “It’s a grim tale. If it’s advice you’re after, all I can say is, you got to do whatever you got to do to help your boy.”
“I understand that. That’s no problem. But all those people are pushing me into the middle of their plots and politics. I don’t give a damn about any of that. I just want my son back. But whatever I do, somebody will claim I betrayed him. They could take it out on my family. How can I get out from under that?”
Billygoat picked up some sodden wood chips, pitched them at an invisible target. “I don’t know, Aaron. I wish I did. I wish I could give you some magic formula. But all I can say is I’m sorry. You got yourself in the classic trap that gets the little guy. Not yout fault, but there you are. When the big guys go to butting heads they always figure if you aren’t with them you got to be against them. There’s anything practical I can do, I’ll help.”
“I don’t want to get you into it.”
Billygoat did not argue.
“There is one thing. Wouldn’t put you at any risk.” The real reason he had come.
“What’s that?” Billygoat kept throwing chips.
“Sort of an extra hammer.”
“Well?”
“You hear something’s happened to me or my family, ask around for somebody who was at the Seven Towers, in Four. Like Big Turi. Tell them I said it was Naszif that opened the door. They’ll know what that means. Would you do that?”
“Sure, Aaron.”
“Thanks. I’d better get back, see if there’s any news.”
Sullo and Cado watched while Annalaya tried reaching through the corpse of Ishabal bel-Shaduk in an effort to summon his spirit. The governors had set animosity aside for the moment, in the face of a greater threat.
The woman backed away from the cadaver. Cado thought she looked troubled. She shrugged, defeated. “Too late.”
Sullo took her into his arms, patted her back. “You did the best you could.”
Cado concealed amazement. What was this? She did not appear pleased. “I so wanted to please you, my lord.”
Cado thought her tone lacked sincerity. Who was using whom? Cado asked, “What’s our approach now?” Calling up the child-taker’s ghost had been a long shot but he had hoped.
The witch disengaged herself from Sullo. “We will have to find the way by trial and error. As Ala-eh-din Beyh must have.” And there was more hidden in her voice when she mentioned that name.
Mystery on mystery. “There’s a way? Is Fa’tad on to something?” That would not do. Let Fa’tad plunder the citadel and the Dartars would melt away faster than summer snow.
“The entrance appears to be a pattern gate,” the witch said. She had an odd accent, maybe atop a mild speech impediment. “It appears to be a complicated construct. Possibly a double pattern. Probably with inbuilt traps. The first steps seem too obvious for a sorcerer of Nakar’s attainment.” Again an oddity of voice, a chilliness, at mention of the name.
“A trap?” Cado had only the vaguest notion what she meant. He was of the old school: no commerce with sorcery.
“There are certain to be several, some obvious, some subtle, all deadly. That is the nature of a pattern. You create a pattern gate to keep people out.”
“Be careful, then. Colonel Bruda will give you whatever support you need.”
Sullo donned a smirk. “My people can handle this.”
“Perhaps.” Cado left them, perplexed by the woman, thinking Sullo needed watching. If-when!-they penetrated the citadel the man would go for the treasure like a shark to blood.
The big man brought a child into the cage. The other children whispered excitedly. There was something special about this one... He had been brought back once before. Apparently those who went out did not come back at all.
Arif lifted his gaze.
“Zouki!” He jumped up, then got scared all over again. The big man gave him such a funny look. Almost like he hated him... The big man backed outside and locked the cage but stayed outside staring. He was scary.
Arif edged toward Zouki. “Zouki?”
The other boy just sat there. There was something creepy about him. Something scary. Arif wanted to move away, to hide. “Zouki?”
Zouki looked up. There was no recognition in his eyes. For a moment. Then something stirred. He seemed suddenly old and dangerous and much more scary. Arif backed away, frightened.
“What did you do to him?” Arif shouted. “You’re a bad man.” He kept backing away, crying, terrified.
Thunder crashed outside the citadel. The rain fell harder.
Azel watched the soldiers from his eyrie. They had the place surrounded, the Postern of Fate covered. There would be no getting out. If the kid they needed wasn’t the one he’d brought in, the siege would turn ugly. There weren’t many stores laid in. Of course, if they busted in, things would get even uglier.
He should have done something about Sullo’s witch. She was the only tool they had. But he’d had no time, even had the notion occurred while it was practical.
When she woke, the Witch would see why he’d nagged her. This was what he’d wanted to prevent.
Torgo showed up for a little more seducing. �
�What are you doing?”
“Watching the show and wondering if I’m too old to learn to fly. How’s she doing?”
The eunuch looked worried. “Not good. She extended herself way too much.”
Azel spat out the window. That figured. She’d keep right on being more trouble than help. ust like a woman. “She better wake up before they figure out how to get in here.”
Aaron had not yet gotten the door closed when Naszif demanded, “Where the hell have you been?” Like he was some child who had wandered without permission.
“I arranged for someone to tell Big Turi who opened that postern if anything happens to me or mine.” He felt soaked to the bone. He started shedding wet clothing.
Naszif glared, angry, none too afraid, maybe with a touch of hatred.
“There’s nothing else to say,” Aaron said. “Did you see General Cado?”
“Him and the ugly woman both. Things are moving.” Implied, the suggestion that Aaron stick a little closer, in case.
He hung his clothes up, dressed dry, settled down with cheese, bread, and water. He did not offer to share. After a while, he asked, “What’s next?”
“Bel-Sidek wants General Cado to come to him if they’re going to meet. If that’s what bel-Sidek decides to do he’ll send a guide here. I’ll take him to the General. So we just sit.”
Sit around and wait for something to happen. As they had done at the Seven Towers.
He wished he had brought his family home. He was feeling as alone as he had in those bad old days. How soon could he get away from here? How soon would they be able to come back?
He thought about Arif up there in the citadel, so young, so much more alone than he, so surely terrified by the collapse of his safe little world. “Naszif?”
“Yeah?”
“Suppose we let everything else go and just worry about getting the boys back?”
Naszif grunted. He wanted to nap. Nothing to do but sit there and think.
The rain was steady now, though not yet heavy. The clouds seemed to be stirring over the citadel. Yoseh paid no attention. He was soaked to the marrow, miserable, and only marginally grateful that it was no colder. The breeze was steady and merciless. And Medjhah had been right about snatching sleep while the chance was there-damn him!
Yoseh was on the street supposedly pretending to doze while he watched the animals and kept an eye on Tamisa’s place. But he was only supposed to pretend. His eyes kept crossing and his vision kept blurring. And Faruk, like he was psychic, kept coming out to plant a boot in his bottom whenever he started to nod.
There was not that much to see. A few people came and went at Tamisa’s but Fa’tad did not seem interested.
This life in the city of gold was just one breathless adventure after another.
Bel-Sidek was thoroughly irritated by the time Carza deigned to make his appearance. He was tired and the weather had awakened a pernicious ache in his leg. Neither improved his temper. More, several of his men from the waterfront, though told their help was essential, had begged off reporting because they did not want to miss work. That was not something to put a captain into a positive, optimistic frame of mind. What was he running here, some kind of social club?
He had moved across the street and up the hill a few doors from the place where Fa’tad had found him. He had gotten men in to replace Meryel’s workers but not enough to put out watchers adequate to his needs. He worried. He was surviving by the grace of Aram here..
Those of his own who had shown were his best, men who had stood with him at Dak-es-Souetta, willing to storm the gates of Hell if he gave the order. The five hardest were with him when Carza showed.
“I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you too much,” bel-Sidek said, not bothering to smother his anger.
“You have. You know damned well you have. Are you having trouble making up your mind? Or did you just chicken out on bringing down the storm?”
“Sit down.” Bel-Sidek nodded to two of his men. They sat Carza down. “No. I didn’t chicken out. I found another way.”
“Get your hands off...”
“Be quiet, Carza. I’ll tell you when to speak. Here it is. I know what the old man planned. And Cado knows. And so does al-Akla. They aren’t happy. Luckily they’re preoccupied with the citadel. It’s surrounded by Herodian troops. There’ll be no communication with the Witch. Additionally, I, personally, am categorically, adamantly, inalterably opposed to resurrecting Nakar.”
“You’re going to chuck the movement because you don’t like the way he worked?”
“I didn’t say that. I also suggested you keep quiet. I said I’d found another way. It has more to recommend it, in my estimation.”
“I’m listening.”
“Being intentionally abrasive won’t help.”
Carza made a sour face but kept his mouth shut.
“Al-Akla has offered to abandon the Herodian standard. He’s offered to leave Qushmarrah and return to his mountains. He suggested he might be persuaded to help clear the city of Herodians. I think it can be arranged so Dartars do most of the clearing.”
Carza got more sour by the second.
“To facilitate that sequence the Living need only deliver on a promise made al-Akla by Cado, six years ago, which he did not fulfill.”
“I’ll bite. What’s the payoff?”
“The contents of the citadel.”
Carza looked at him like he was the crazy one.
“Which would constitute no loss whatever because we’ve never had control of whatever’s in there.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little.”
“How are you going to get him in so he can steal our city’s treasures?”
Bel-Sidek smiled a smile in which all the pain in his leg smoldered. “That’s why you’re here, old comrade.”
Carza pretended he did not understand.
“I served the General a long time, Carza. I knew him better than his wife did. But there were things he hid from me, just as there were things he concealed from her, because he valued our good opinion. For all his foibles and crotchets I loved him, though it’s obvious that at the end he’d become crazier than a troop of drunken rock apes. I don’t think you can convince me he wasn’t the sort who would ensure that his knowledge survived him.”
“Crazy? Why crazy?”
“What sane man would voluntarily resurrect Nakar the Abomination?”
“More than you suspect, evidently. Though that wasn’t the meat of the old man’s plan. What do you want from me?”
Bel-Sidek paced, giving Carza time to reflect. Then, “I want the key to the citadel. I want it badly.” “And I can’t give it to you. I don’t know what it is.” Bel-Sidek stepped to the door. “Sheed.” The man came in. “Go to the Minisia. Find Homena bel-Barca. Tell him Carza will be tied up for a while. He’s to act as khadifa till Carza comes back.”
Homena bel-Barca was an old friend. Despite being Carza’s second his ties were with the moderates. “You can’t do this, bel-Sidek.”
“I’m doing it. You rejected my authority by refusing my request.”
“You push me, you’d better kill me.”
“I don’t want it that way, Carza. You’re valuable to the movement. But if you insist.”
Carza gave him a searching look, suspecting he might be serious.
He was, at the moment.
Meryel was right. He had to take charge. He had to show that he was in charge.
“Tell me what I need to know, Carza.”
General Cado was extremely uncomfortable clad Qushmarra-han and bundled against the rain. No one gave him a second glance but he could not shake a feeling that they all knew what he was and were snickering to themselves. All part of the Herodian curse. Everywhere but in the home provinces Herodi-ans were out of place, stubby little bald men.
He’d never articulated the curse concept to anyone.
Hell. They were by damn in charge, short or not. They were mas
ters by right of conquest.
He glanced at the guide Colonel bel-Sidek had sent, sniffing for the taint of treachery. This was the biggest risk he had taken since he had accepted battle at Dak-es-Souetta, counting on unproven Dartars to give him the day. For all he had known, Fa’tad’s offer had been just a ploy.
He could tell nothing. His companion was as bundled up as he, hunched over as he marched into the slanting rain. Just a brother in misery.
It was not weather to inspire flights of fancy leading to sudden treachery. It was weather for plodding straight ahead, for muddling through. The afternoon was leaden grey, depressing. The citadel, as they skirted it, was a lump of wet dark stone, filled with menace, an awakening viper coiled beneath twisting clouds.
Cado was concerned about his fleet. If the weather was no worse at sea, wonderful. The breeze would push the ships across the Gulf of Tuhn at six to eight knots. They should reach the far shore sometime tomorrow. The troops should be ashore and astride the coast road, behind the Turok raiders, before nightfall.
He hoped for a great and bloody success, the impact of which would strike Turoks and Dartars, the peoples of the coastal provinces and his detractors in the mother city. A few thousand Turoks taken unaware would make a potent statement.
From the acropolis they descended into the narrow streets of the Hahr. He wondered how much longer, how much more runaround to confuse him about where he was...
He caught a flash of motion from the corner of his eye. His companion grunted and pitched forward. Something hit him in the back of the head and on the shoulders. Darkness descended.
He awakened with his hands and feet bound and his head tied into a sack. He was in a wagon. And he was frightened-more for his troops than for himself. He had sent both generals into the field.
Bruda was good at what he did. But could he cope with a Sullo? Could he manage if things started falling apart?
It looked like Colonel bel-Sidek had decided it was time the Living moved.
He wondered if anyone would bother ransoming him. Taliga might not want to bother. His sister would profit if her husband fell to an enemy blade.