Hoda wanted to nod, she wanted to share his relief, his sense of comfort, but she couldn’t. Who is this captain? She prodded her mind with urgency. I’ve seen him before, I’m certain of it, but where?
The soldier led them to the first gate, which was twenty feet thick. He went to a steel door and saluted two sentries, who nodded.
“The stairs are a bit narrow and slippery,” he said as he ushered them in, “so hold on to the rail as you climb. We’re going to the top of the staircase. You’ll be staying in the apartment adjacent to the captain’s.”
Unable to wait, Hoda asked the soldier the name of the captain.
“Arfaad,” the soldier replied evenly. “He is Captain Arfaad.”
Hoda blanched. She felt dizzy and struggled to keep her grip on the railing. Her heart was racing and she wanted to throw up. Arfaad was none other than the captain who had asked her father for her hand in marriage when they lived in Baher-Ghafé. He was also the captain who had led the High Riders in the destruction of her village. Arfaad had killed all the people she knew and loved.
“Magic inverts the order of reality. What is, vanishes, and what is not, looks real. Magic masks reality behind a veil of illusions to better protect, trap, defend, or kill. But in the end, each of these actions, very much like their natural counterparts, can and will have unintended consequences.”
–Teachings of Oreg, High Priest of Baal
“Impossible.” Amaréya protested, “How could you say that no one ever leaves this waiting room?”
After walking into the large hall, Corintus wasted no time and began to hunt for clues. He piled wicker chairs and stood on top of them. Like a street-orator, he started asking questions: Had anyone left the hall? Had they seen someone leave? The small crowd stared at him blankly.
Corintus persisted: “Have you seen or spoken with Cahloon? If you did, or if you remember someone else who did, please step forward now and speak up.”
“Waz the boint?” asked a big burly man afflicted with a chest cold. “Whuh should we sbeak to you?” he said, before a long series of hacks and coughs overtook him.
“Because if we know who’s managed to leave this hall—and how—then we may understand what motivates Cahloon. We need to figure out why some can leave, and others can’t. Look, we’re all stuck here together. There’s no sense in being suspicious. Either we stick together and find a way out, or we’re stuck here together for good.”
His short speech and his sense of purpose were well received by the expectant crowd.
There’s close to four thousand souls in here, he thought. Impressive.
A young woman stepped forward, determinedly climbed the makeshift platform, and stood next to him.
“I remember seeing a short emaciated man with a toothless woman,” she said. “I’m sure of it. They spoke with Cahloon and then left. They were the first ones.”
“Great,” Corintus replied. “How long ago?”
She shrugged her shoulders and twisted the edge of her knitted sweater with nervous hands. “I’m not sure. It’s hard to know how long ago when you don’t see the sun.”
“Why don’t you give us your best guess,” Corintus encouraged her with a beaming smile.
She blushed and chewed on her lower lip, then adjusted the colorful silk scarf she used as a head cover. “I’d say three weeks, maybe four.”
“Tara, enough,” an older woman ordered. “Get down. You might get us in trouble.”
“Tara,” Corintus continued, “did you see Cahloon, then?”
Tara nodded, “Just this once.”
“Tara, come down now!” the older woman commanded.
“I won’t,” the young woman retorted. “I’m done listening to you. If you weren’t so determined to poison Hamry, we wouldn’t be here.”
“Tara.” the older woman snapped, her eyes darting to her right and her left. “Shut up!”
“I’m done listening to you!” the young woman shouted. “Once we’re out, I don’t ever want to see you again, and I’ll be sure to let Hamry know what you wanted to do to him.”
“He killed my son!” the older woman yelled. “My son!”
“It was an accident,” Tara insisted. “An accident, Mother. I was there, I saw it. Mikal was always reckless, but you treated him like a god walking the earth. Hamry told him to stay away from the crumbling well, but would your pampered son listen to him? To anyone? To me? Oh no, he simply laughed and laughed and laughed. Well, I hope he is now laughing in hell for all that he put me through.” The young woman stood defiantly and eyed her mother with the ire of the gods. “I won’t ever listen to you, Mother. Not now. Not ever.”
Well, we’re off to a good start, Corintus thought.
“Excuse me,” interjected a short gentleman with an ivory monocle, “I don’t mean to start a desultory conversation to take us away from this public display of affection between mother and daughter, but this young woman’s insistence that my wife and I have left is rather troubling. As you can see, we are still here.”
Standing next to him was a petite madam with a sheepish smile. “Lotht’em teeth.” she said in a slow, scruffy voice. “All at onceth, shickneth, terrible, terrible shickneth.”
“We came here hoping that Cahloon could restore my wife’s teeth,” the man explained.
“Did you speak with Cahloon?” Corintus inquired.
The man shook his head. “Perhaps the young woman mistook our friend over here for Cahloon?” He pointed to a thin middle-aged woman who towered over everyone else. She had prominent cheeks in an ebony face where two intelligent eyes sparkled, and her smile revealed two rows of perfect white teeth.
“I am Adewlyne from Mani-Congo. I seek Cahloon to help me stop growing. I am still growing and …” She did not finish her sentence.
“Tara, did you think Adewlyne was Cahloon?” Corintus asked.
The young woman slowly nodded. “I did,” she said, surprised and disappointed. “I really believed they had left,” she added in a small voice. “I truly did.”
“I believe you,” Corintus replied as he invited her to step down. “Thank you, Tara, for getting this conversation started. All right. Has someone else seen Cahloon or anyone leave?”
Like witnesses before a judge, men and women came forward to assert they had seen someone leave only to see that same someone come forth and prove them wrong. Eventually, Corintus and everyone else in the room were forced to conclude that no one present had seen anyone else leave, and that, furthermore, no one had seen or spoken to Cahloon.
Corintus immediately switched tactics. “All right, listen up everyone: I want you to think hard about how long you’ve been here.”
Some of his listeners looked down, others looked up. Some scratched their heads, necks, or faces. Others tapped the ground nervously with one foot or twiddled their thumbs.
“That’s too vague, Avinilé,” Amaréya whispered. She had climbed so silently, he barely heard her move. “Ask them instead if they remember the last time they ate.” He looked at her quizzically. “Very few people can remember what they’ve done a few weeks ago, but almost everyone remembers when they last ate.”
Corintus pursed his lips and thought it over. “All right, I’ll ask.” He faced the crowd. “Everyone, let’s try an easier question: How long ago did you eat breakfast?”
The crowd wavered, unsure of what to do with the question. Heads turned from side to side, eyes sought out assurance from others, and murmurs rose in the room. “Don’t overthink it,” Corintus interrupted. “Those among you who ate four hours ago, raise your hand.” About half of those present raised their hands. “Good, now anyone who ate eight hours ago, raise your hand.”
No one did.
Corintus looked at Amaréya with a flustered look that meant, I don’t understand. Do you?
“Go on,” she prodded.
“Anyone who ate two hours ago …” The other half of the hall raised their hands. “Alright,” he continued. “Those of you who
ate inside Cahloon’s tent raise your hand.” No one did. “Those who’ve had their last meal outside the tent …” Everyone raised their hands. “So, everyone has had a meal in the last four hours outside Cahloon’s tent. Do you know the meaning of this?” They stood looking at him with troubled and surprised looks on their faces. “You don’t get it, do you? Either we’re all confused, or no one has been in this room longer than four hours.”
“Or both,” Amaréya added matter-of-factly.
“Or both,” Corintus repeated, chiding himself for not seeing that option. Tanios would have seen it, he thought. “Or both.”
“What do you propose?” the man with the monocle asked.
“When you walked inside the tent, did you see a porter?”
Confused the man looked at Corintus. “Porter?” the man repeated. “I saw no porter. There was a portly old man who told us Cahloon would receive us here.”
A knot formed in Corintus’ stomach. “Anyone else?” he shouted over the rising cacophony. “Has anyone seen the butler? One by one, please come up here and tell us who spoke to you when you arrived.”
“You figured it out?” Amaréya asked.
He nodded.
“And it’s not good,” she continued.
He shook his head and listened to the answers. Some were welcomed by a tall man with a fantastical hairdo, others were met by a studious, soft-spoken young man. As one account followed another, the receptionist at the entrance seemed to have morphed from one person to another: he was tall, very tall, extremely tall, gigantic. He was a dwarf, a short man, a man of average height. He became a thin man, an extra thin man. A man who was anemic, obese, fat, portly, heavy, light on his feet, nimble, distracted like a monkey, slow of hearing, hard of hearing, sharp, dim-witted, scary, friendly, powerful, overbearing, a weakling, syrupy, unbending, obsequious … There was no end to the variety of perceptions people had of that man. The only constant, and the only certainty everyone had, was that the mysterious figure was indeed a man.
Corintus did not need to check his waist to know that his Silent belt was gone, nor did he have any need to ask his wife to feel for her blades; he knew they were gone as well. He sighed and rubbed his eyes and allowed himself a silent chuckle.
“So? What happened?” Amaréya prodded.
He shook his head, looked at her, and smiled.
“Make way for Her Ladyship, Cahloon the Great, make way,” a familiar voice shouted from the back of the room. All eyes focused on a young woman dressed in a black velvet dress laced with silver ribbons. It was held at the waist by a wide gold belt clipped with a large green scarab. She wore red shimmering boots ringed at the ankle with brilliant large pearls. The cuffs of her gloves and the tall rigid collar were also decked with pearls. She wore a glossy white fascinator with a large bouquet of white roses laced with pearls, and as she walked, they shimmered and danced. All eyes were on her as she reached the spot where Corintus stood. She briskly fluttered a mother-of-pearl fan as she bowed her head with a glance and a slight smile.
“Do you see him?” Corintus asked his wife while pointing to the butler walking behind the woman.
Amaréya nodded. “The butler you mean? I do see him.”
“That’s no butler.”
“What do you mean?”
Corintus smiled. “There’s good news and bad news. The good first: this room is an illusion. The bad: we’ve been hypnotized. All of us.”
The woman looked behind her and checked that no one was standing there. Satisfied, she extended her arm straight up, and with a flick of her wrist snapped opened her fan. She fluttered the fan from side to side and kept her gaze locked on the people in the room.
“I am Cahloon the powerful,” she intoned. “And by my power, I command you to sleep!”
Several things happened at once. The crowd of four thousand suddenly vanished, leaving behind a small group of people in a deep sleep. Most chairs vanished. The carpet covering the floor faded away, revealing a black rocky surface with five concentric blue circles.
The butler’s image liquefied, and as it did, Amaréya and Corintus were seized with nausea.
“The hypnosis is lifting,” Corintus said. “Should dissipate quickly.”
A young man with curly blond hair and eyes bright as jade now stood where the butler had been standing a moment ago. A thin mustache and a trimmed goatee lent an air of maturity to the youthful, handsome face, which was tempered by a mischievous smile. He wore a beret, a white shirt under a sleeveless leather vest, and a pair of black tweed trousers.
“Lady Amaréya,” he said, bowing. “I am Slippery Slued, at your service. My deepest apologies for safekeeping your blades without your consent.” His slight smirk belied his regret. Amaréya jumped and gasped when her hands did not find her twin-blades. “Hey, Krom, bring the lady her blades.”
Amaréya’s eyes widened when she saw a shadow detach from the wall and walk toward her. The man was as lithe as a tiger and moved with an eerie fluidity that told her he was a master swordsman. The man’s black hair was tied back in a ponytail, and a thin mustache softened a face as hard as a tajèr’s lust for wealth. With an elegant bow, he flashed before her a package wrapped in a silver scarf and tied with an elaborate knot, which he undid quickly to reveal her double blades.
“I can attest to Your Highness, no one has laid hands on your blades. Stowing them away for a short while was a necessity that Slippery Slued will explain in short order.”
Amaréya gave a curt bow and took her blades with a deliberately slow gesture. He knows I am from Gordion. This may be a veiled threat. My blades were not defiled, so he does not wish to provoke me in a duel. If the reason fits the deed, no harm was done to the honor of the Empyrean nation. I shall adopt the stance of the Silent and wait and see.
Inwardly, Corintus breathed a sigh of relief. “Well done, Master Slued. Now, if you please, my belt.”
“Certainly, Lord Corintus. Here it is.”
Corintus waited for the mystery thief to drop the belt in his extended hand. He felt its weight and smiled. “I’m missing three explosive pellets,” he said as his smile broadened.
Slippery stiffened. “Lord Corintus, allow me to introduce my partners in crime. This is Krom the Hunter, the finest swordsman—outside the Empyrean realm,” he quickly added, “and the best hunter there ever was. And this,” he continued as he turned to the woman, “is Quiet Surata, the most astute thief I have had the honor to meet. Her sleight of hand is so subtle, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day I find myself standing next to you with my trousers tucked safely in her bag. Surata, please return those pellets to Lord Corintus.”
The young woman raised one eyebrow before dropping the pellets into the Silent’s hand. Corintus could not tell where the pellets had come from. They seemed to have materialized in her extended palm.
“I must say, Lord Corintus,” Slippery continued, “the Silent’s reputation is well-deserved. I did not expect you to pierce through my illusion so quickly.”
“Care to explain what is going on?”
“Ah yes, well, this is as good a place to talk as any. Master Kwadil bids me to tell you his caravan has been delayed. It will not reach Tirka on time. He has asked me to lead you and your companions to the frozen dunes where his caravan will be waiting for you.”
“Why should I trust you?”
Like a studious pupil about to recite a poem, Slippery Slued placed one hand behind his back and raised the other. “Because Ashod said that, under no circumstance, should you allow her to remove the Merilian. If you do, she will be found and killed.” His eyes went from Corintus to Amaréya, seeking confirmation. “Does this make sense to you?”
Corintus pretended to ignore the question. “Why did you attack us when we stepped into the tent?”
“Your presence complicated matters. See the young woman asleep over there, the so-called Tara and her pretending mother? They spoke with such sincerity and passion, did they not? Well, Tara, or whatever he
r name is, is an Adorant that has been trailing us. And the other one, the older woman, is known as Snake-Strangle, a first-rate assassin.”
“I never would have guessed,” Corintus said.
“Neither did most of her victims. She looks so … homey, so safe. Anyway, they were on our trail and we needed to shake them off before we could safely speak with you. What better place to do it than inside Cahloon’s tent? I managed to sneak in here shortly before they came looking for me. I did not dare attempt to hypnotize them alone because the Adorants are notoriously difficult to hypnotize. I should tell you the story of what happened when I first met these three pretty Adorants and …” Seeing the deadly glare in Quiet Surata’s eyes, Slippery Slued coughed to clear his throat before continuing. “Anyway, once they mingled with the crowd, it was much easier for me to do what I do best. I hypnotized these folks, then the two of you showed up, and I was forced to hypnotize you as well, or else my stratagem would not have worked.”
“Why not get them to sleep right away?” Amaréya asked.
“This is not a normal sleep. It’s mesmerizing, but it works only after being in a hypnotic state for at least several hours. When they wake up, they won’t remember ever meeting us. I must admit, hearing you gather the facts the way you did, I was getting nervous. If I had tried to put them to sleep earlier, it might have failed.”
“I see,” Amaréya replied. “Will you be disposing of them now?”
Slippery ran his finger across his throat. “You mean … oh no, that’s not Slippery Slued’s way. I am not in favor of terminal solutions. She may be an enemy today, but a customer tomorrow. Blood is not good for business,” he said, smiling.
“Well, we have a problem,” Corintus said. “My daughter’s only friend is vanishing. We’ve come here seeking a cure.”
Slippery Slued nodded in understanding. “Two dangerous problems back-to-back are like two crows side-by-side; they’re often a prelude for a murder.” He cocked his head and looked at the Adorant and the assassin. “Unless we get out of this hall quickly, they’ll wake-up and someone might end up dead.”
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 6