“This is from the commander,” Perit said, speaking without his Kartagenan accent. He handed him a brand new Silent belt.
“Thanks,” said Ahiram, grateful for the gift. “But how—”
“You didn’t think the commander would let you go without any support, now did you? I know you’re looking for your family. Be very careful. Tawr is dangerous, more than you think.”
“Are you a Silent?” Ahiram asked, dubious.
Perit shook his head. “I help here and there,” he replied.
Ahiram slowly nodded. Sheheluth then entered the kitchen, stared at him, and looked away. Why is she ignoring me? She went to a cupboard, grabbed a stack of plates, and left the kitchen.
“Who’s that girl?” he asked, pretending not to know her.
Perit shrugged his shoulders. “A slave, I suppose. Be on your guard. We won’t talk much but I’ll keep helping you as much as I can.”
Afterwards, Ahiram went up to his assigned room.
I’m certain Perit and Sheheluth know each other, but what’s their relationship with the commander? Are they friends or foes? Who do they work for? More secrets, deeper mystery, wider web, he thought as he lay in his bed.
Ahiram joined the league of stevedores and found a good temporary occupation in the loading and unloading of cargo. The discipline that Tawr had imposed on the league suited him. The wake-up call was at five every day. They would come down, have a hearty breakfast, and head toward the piers where ships that had docked the previous evening awaited them. The men were divided into groups of ten, and each group was assigned to a ship, where they would either load or unload. Ahiram appreciated the fact that most of the work occurred in silence except for a few grunts to signal the presence of an obstacle or to warn of a heavy load. On rare occasions, the workers had to suffer the presence of a merchant who wanted to supervise the unloading of a specific item. At other times, they were forced to interrupt their unloading because the ship captain had not paid his dues to the port officer. Overall, the work was pleasant and it afforded Ahiram the base of operations he needed to find out if, as Bahiya had relayed to him through Hiyam before he left Tanniin, the Black Robes might know where Hoda was.
On his days off, Ahiram would patrol the area and search for clues, listen to conversations, and engage people in the market place. He would sit in taverns and listen to the stories of old-timers. He even ventured back to Baher-Ghafé and inspected the remains carefully. For more than two months, he listened to anyone who was willing to share a thought with him on the Black Robes, but beyond the stated fact that the Black Robes had come and destroyed Baher-Ghafé, he learned very little. When he inquired about the Black Robes’ motivation, he received evasive answers or vague allusions to the Black Robes’ thirst for blood. The more he asked, the less convinced he was that the Black Robes were actually involved in the destruction of his village. If the Black Robes were so blood thirsty, why destroy Baher-Ghafé alone? Why had they not come down from their mountain ranges on other unsuspecting villages, like Layla-Kiyyeh or Yareit, that fell outside of Baal’s direct administrative control and were easier targets? Why attack a coastal village in a heavily patrolled strip of land? Why risk rousing the High Rider guard, 11,520 men strong, stationed at Baalbek? The more Ahiram thought about it, the less the Black Robe story made sense. If that’s the case, then most likely the Black Robes are innocent of this crime. I’m beginning to think that they’re the ones protecting Hoda. But where do I find them? I need to reach them, but how?
Spring came and went without an answer and the summer’s heat blanketed the coast. On a few occasions, he felt as if he was being observed and even saw a young woman walking toward him only to reverse course when a High Rider patrol crossed the street. By the time the soldiers were gone, the young woman had vanished.
The high season of shipping goods in and out of Byblos was ending. The naval traffic kept them busy three days a week only, which afforded Ahiram greater free time. Many workers would soon leave to Baalbek for the harvest that would last until fall. Others would join a caravan on its way to some faraway land. Ahiram grew more restless by the day. Even the exercises he did after dawn on the rooftop of the inn no longer helped him relax. From time to time, he would see Sheheluth walking slowly in the inner garden of the inn. She would look up and simply ignore him. Perit told him that she was a slave-girl at the inn, and that she had been kidnapped from her tribe beyond the Land of the Marada. The inn belonged to Tawr’s in-laws, and they seemed to treat her well since no one ever abused her, at least not in Ahiram’s presence. Apparently, Tawr, who had lost his own daughters, had taken her under his protection, which left her free to move around the inn without ever being disturbed by anyone. What game are you playing Sheheluth? Why are you ignoring me?
“The Silent’s strength is in knowing what can be changed and changing it,” Ahiram reminded himself, “what cannot be changed and enduring it, and having the wisdom to distinguish between the two. Book of Siril, chapter 3, verse 12.”
Hondbrand’s intervention had gotten him a job with the league and given him the cover he needed. He had to admit the cook was a trained operative who knew what he was doing. The cook had even found a way to provide the Silent with a comfortable and quiet room with easy access to the rooftop of the inn, which was one of the tallest structures in the neighborhood. There, on this providential platform, unhindered by preying eyes, he exercised on the slabs of stone that muffled his footsteps.
The Festival of Light was now less than three weeks away and so was his birthday. I’ll be nineteen soon, he thought as he wandered into the dining room. Sheheluth was setting the tables. He drew closer, wanting to speak to her, but she ran out of the dining room.
“What do you want with the cook’s slave?” one of Hondbrand’s assistants asked. “Is she to your liking?”
Ahiram ignored the question and strolled into the kitchen in search of the young woman. He saw her washing dishes and was about to confront her and chide her for her irrational behavior when Hondbrand hollered from the inner court of the inn. Reluctantly, Ahiram stepped out of the kitchen and saw the cook sitting with two assistants around a pile of dead chicken. He handed Ahiram one.
“Pluck da coocoo,” he said, pointing at the chicken. “Don’t ya stare like da saw a ghost or someding. Sit down and pluck da coocoo. You’ll have roasted coocoo tomorrow for dinner.”
Ahiram sat next to the cook, and his hands repeated old familiar gestures he had learned in the kitchen of Tanniin. The four men worked silently until all the chickens were plucked.
“Take da coocoos,” Hondbrand told his assistants, “and clean dhem up, then brine dhem with salt and vinegar and a bit of cumin and …”
“We know how to prepare chicken.” grumbled one of the aids.
“And don’t forget da cumin,” Hondbrand shouted as the two men labored to pull the cart that carried the poultry. “Cumin is da secret of roasted chicken,” he yelled at the top of his lungs, and just as the two men disappeared inside the kitchen, he turned to face Ahiram, his nose a mere inch away from the Silent’s. “Don’t bother her,” he hissed. “We’re both working with the commander,” he added. “You’re being watched. If you speak to her you’ll put us in grave danger.”
Ahiram’s confusion deepened. “The commander sent her and you here?” he asked. “Why? What for?”
“I’ve learned yesterday that the Black Robes have just set up a temporary camp in Kesrwan, the mountain range east of Byblos. Go there, and you’ll find your sister. Hey,” he shouted as he jumped to his feet and stomped off to the kitchen. “I told ya, add da cumin to the brine.”
Ahiram sat dumbfounded, gazing at the pile of feathers that exemplified the web of confusion he felt he had fallen into: the more he dug the more ethereal the problem became. What’s this all about?
That night, he sat on the ledge of the rooftop after a particularly strenuous training session and reflected on the cook’s words. Unwittingly, he had begun cl
assifying the people he met into three groups: those who were against him, like the Temple of Baal, the Tajéruun, Ibromaliöm, and the Sowasian assassins; those who were his friends, whom he could trust, such as the Silent corps, Commander Tanios, Master Habael, and Hoda; and now, he was beginning to take notice of a third group, people who were neither for nor against him and who acted according to their own purpose; Hondbrand, Sheheluth, Ebaan, Kwadil, and maybe others like Orwutt and Zurwott. That third party seemed almost as well organized as the first party. Ahiram sighed and closed his eyes. I simply don’t know enough, and I’m not sufficiently organized to wrest control from them. I must and grow stronger until I’m able to win this battle. I can’t do this alone, so, I’ll have to cooperate with some of them.
He yawned and gazed at the silent port when suddenly he caught sight of a light inside the ruins of the temple to the unknown god. Ahiram stood up to get a better look. The inn was a short distance northeast of the temple. The light was weak but clearly visible from where he was. Who’s inside those ruins at such an hour? wondered the Silent. Abruptly, the light disappeared. He went down the stairs and started toward the exit when the outline of Tawr’s massive body blocked the passage.
“Where are you going?” asked the bald man in a low, menacing voice.
“To get a cup of water. I am thirsty.”
“That’s not the way to the kitchen.”
“I wanted to get water from the jugs kept in the barn. The water is cooler there at this time of the evening.”
“You don’t find the water in the kitchen cool enough?” asked Tawr, almost jeering at him. “Go to the kitchen and then to your room.”
His words brooked no argument. Ahiram turned around and complied. Next time, he thought, I better find a way to come down from the roof without using the stairs. Although he was curious about the light in the temple, he did not want to create an incident with Tawr.
Deep inside the remains of the temple to the unknown god, an ancient door pivoted silently, and four cloaked figures filed quietly inside a large room where a lone lantern cast a bright light on a strange candelabrum set on a stone table.
“In matters of politics, a ruler should be continuously on the lookout for a hungry soul determined to reach its end and powered by an iron will. If he ignores such a one, he will in time become a mighty force that topples the imprudent ruler like the unassuming cloud that grows into a storm and topples haughty and powerful trees.”
–Diplomatic Notes of Uziguzi, First Adviser to Her Majesty, Aylul Meir Pen, Empress of the Empyreans.
The following morning, Ahiram’s team was assigned to a ship that must have docked late the previous afternoon, because Ahiram did not recall seeing it when he left the port. The day went by as usual. They finished unloading the goods and were about to leave when a man called to them from the ship.
Speaking with a foreign accent, he called out, “Porters, I need porters immediately. Porters, Porters!
Ahiram and Shamal, another worker, were closest. They turned around and climbed back on board.
“Yes, sir,” Shamal said. “How can we help you?”
“Follow me,” the man replied, ostensibly a foreigner. By the golden silk trousers, the cream cotton sweater and the flowing, light coat, Ahiram surmised the stranger to be Bar-Tanickian or possibly from Oronoque. He looks familiar, thought Ahiram. I’m certain I’ve seen him before, but where? The Royal Court of Tanniin, perhaps?
They entered a large cabin, where an older man welcomed them with effusive affability. He was dressed in similar attire but wore a large red turban carrying a diamond-shaped emerald pinned over his forehead. He pointed at a large pine crate that stood in a corner. “We need help to unload it,” he said in a soft and melodious voice. The plain box stood nine feet long and five deep and required at least four men to move it.
“Well, sir,” Shamal said, scratching his balding head as he did before every unloading, “this is a big crate. We’ll go get some help.”
“This … crate,” the turbaned man continued, “is, how shall I say, deceiving? Yes, that’s the word. I would appreciate it if you would try to lift it together. This would be very helpful for our purpose, and we are generous.” He pointed toward his purse.
Shamal looked at Ahiram as though asking, What do you think?
Ahiram shrugged his shoulders. What do we have to lose?
His companion dropped the cordage he was carrying and was about to fasten the box when the older man stopped him.
“Would you mind trying to carry it without ropes?”
Shamal looked at him in disbelief. Had the older man told him to jump overboard with the crate tied to his neck, he would not have been more surprised. “But sir, this is a crate. We can’t lift it without the ropes.”
“Please try,” the old man insisted, pointing once more to his purse.
Shamal looked at Ahiram, and without any further ado, they positioned themselves on each side of the large box and grabbed it, holding as best as they could to its smooth sides. They held their breath and with one movement tried to lift the box. They grunted and groaned, but as expected, the box did not budge.
“Like I said,” Shamal said patiently, “we can’t move it alone.”
The old man handed Shamal seven silver ferrovians, which was more than a day’s wage. “Thank you for trying,” he said, “that will be all.”
Shamal gazed at the coins in the palm of his hand and scratched his head. “Are you sure? I mean, I didn’t do much to—”
“You have done more than enough. Thank you for your assistance.”
Shamal bowed and walked out. Ahiram was about to follow him when the turbaned man stopped him.
“Please wait. Could you try to lift the crate by yourself?”
Ahiram smiled. “If Shamal and I couldn’t lift it together, how do you expect me to lift it by myself?”
“I don’t,” replied the old man seriously, “but I wish for you to try. Regardless of the result, I will reward you as I rewarded your friend.”
Ahiram shrugged his shoulders, grabbed the edge of the crate and heaved, applying all of his force. The crate nearly flew out of his hands and would have crashed into the ceiling had he not gripped it at the last moment. Surprised and afraid, he set it back down and stepped back.
“Very good. That will be all. Thank you very much.”
Ahiram bowed and left the room. What does this mean? What’s all that about? What’s in the crate? More questions, when I need more answers. He joined Shamal, who was waiting for him.
“What did they want with you?”
“They asked me to lift it by myself.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Did you lift it?”
Ahiram scoffed. “Are you crazy?”
Shamal scratched his head. “So what was that about?”
Ahiram shrugged his shoulders. “You want my opinion? Half of the old man’s mind is in the vanishing.”
“Don’t say that word,” Shamal exclaimed. He grabbed a blue bead he wore around his neck. He kissed it three times and touched his forehead and chin with it before stowing it away under his shirt. “It brings bad luck and the evil eye.”
“Whatever,” Ahiram said, “but that’s what I think and that’s that.”
As they climbed the stairs leading to the plaza, they saw Tawr standing at the top of the staircase. They hurried over to meet him.
“Where were you?”
Shamal related to their boss the strange encounter, the matter concerning the crate, and the silver ferrovians. Tawr asked to see the coins. He examined them carefully then gave them back to the young workers. He looked away for a while as though lost in thought, then told them to go back to the inn.
The following morning, Ahiram was jolted out of bed by an image that flashed in his mind: a man demanding to purchase his medallion while he was selling shark meat with his sister in Byblos. That’s the younger man on the boat! I knew I saw him somewhere, b
ut couldn’t remember where. The accent, the clothing, the mannerism matched. So did the elongated face, the crooked nose, and the pair of black eyes burning with an all-consuming fire. I’ve never forgotten him, thought the Silent. He offered me ten gold diegans for my medallion. Ahiram ran back to the pier, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious man and his precious cargo, but the ship had already left. Ahiram now understood these two men had been searching for him using that special crate. He did not think that the crate would be so light when he tried to lift it, so he chose to play along. They were looking for me, and now they found me.
Disappointed, he rejoined his team. When he did not find Shamal, he inquired about him, only to be told by his team-leader that Tawr had sent Shamal as a guide for an Ophirian princess who wanted to see the famed ruins of Fikirpep by the Sea of Meïr. Ahiram knew who that princess was. She had landed in Byblos a few weeks back with a long retinue of young men and women, supposedly perfecting their education by visiting different kingdoms and learning from these kingdoms’ past mistakes. Mostly, they’re perfecting their taste of ale, thought Ahiram, who could still hear their loud voices and drunken singing late into the night.
That thought distracted him from Shamal’s sudden departure. After sunset, he went up to the rooftop and waited for the city to quiet down. He exercised as usual, then sat down to inspect the thin ropes he had recently weaved. They were thin and lightweight, woven according to the secret ways of his village and made from the same material as the fishing nets that had made Baher-Ghafé famous across Finikia. These ropes were used in conjunction with a pair of special clamps designed by dwarfs for the Silent Corps. The port of Byblos was quiet now. Ahiram went toward the northern side of the building and attached one of his twines to a metallic post that extended forward over the wall. It was used to lift heavy furniture in and out of the inn. He threw the rope down and using his handles, slid down quickly and silently the height of the building. Having reached the ground, he crossed the street and aimed for the famous air-heated walkways of Byblos. By circulating warm air throughout underground tunnels, the city offered visitors a pleasant stay during winter. That was in itself a major touristic attraction and contributed greatly to the prosperity of the port. He pushed one of the slabs that opened into the underground tunnel and jumped in.
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 35