On a day when the fog lay thick over Haz Kazrak’s hills, Lubahva heard the news she’d been waiting for. She and her usual accompanists were playing at an afternoon reception where various townsmen were supposed to receive honours from the Great Khan himself. The townsmen assembled, the afternoon wore on, the musicians played every song they knew, twice, and the buffet dwindled to bits of tabouli and burnt scraps of lamb lying on wilted red lettuce leaves. The Great Khan never appeared. Finally an adviser rushed in to make apologies. The honourable townsmen surrounded him and demanded information about the usurper, as they tactfully labelled Jezro. Without a word needed all three musicians stopped playing to listen.
‘Very bad, very bad, that’s what it is,’ the adviser said. ‘Jezro’s army is marching south. It’s mostly a cavalry force, of course. The infantry’s holding loyal.’
‘For now,’ someone muttered.
The adviser paused to make a harrumphing noise, then went on. ‘I can’t tell you gentlemen anything more, I’m afraid. The Great Khan sends his apologies.’
The musicians gathered their instruments and rushed back to the musicians’ quarters, a long rambling bungalow behind the kitchen house. They put their instruments away, then went to the communal living room to talk. It was time, Lubahva decided, for her announcement.
‘This is awful,’ Marika, the flautist, said. ‘Civil war. Dear God, I never thought I’d see such a thing.’
‘Neither did I.’ Shakut, the drummer, nodded his agreement. ‘Lubahva, what do you think?’
‘I don’t know.’ She sat down hard in a wicker armchair. ‘I’m really frightened. It’s not just me at stake any more.’
‘Hah! I thought so,’ Marika said. ‘You’re pregnant, aren’t you?’
Lubahva nodded, feigning deep weariness.
‘Oh no!’ Shakut snapped. ‘You play the best oud we’ve ever had.’
‘Thank you, but it’s not going to matter, is it, when Aiwaz finds out?’
‘That’s my point.’ Shakut sighed with a shake of his head. ‘Damn it, can’t you just get rid of it somehow?’
‘It’s too late,’ Lubahva said. ‘I must be five months along.’
They both groaned and looked heavenward as if to blame God for their loss.
‘I’m going to go straight to Aiwaz now,’ Lubahva said. ‘I want to get it over with.’
She found the light-skinned eunuch in his little apartment, part of a much nicer building farther from the smoke and smell of the kitchen house. He was lounging on a green divan and eating pickled seabuh from a leaf-lined basket. When she blurted out her news, he nearly choked. He coughed into one of his expensive yellow handkerchiefs, spat horribly, and finally dropped the whole mess into a wastebasket.
‘Why now?’ he wailed. ‘We’re supposed to give that concert for his majesty’s third wife – or wait, I tell a lie. It’s going to be cancelled. You can count on that.’
‘Why?’ Lubahva arranged her face into wide-eyed innocence.
‘Haven’t you heard the news? Jezro Khan’s army is only two hundred miles away.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, everyone says so.’ Aiwaz stood up, wagging a finger in her face. ‘Oh God, Bavva, you picked an absolutely miserable time to get pregnant.’
‘I didn’t pick the time at all, or I wouldn’t have.’
‘Well, true enough.’ He licked a fragment of pickled seabuh off his slender fingers. ‘Who’s the father?’
‘I have no idea.’ She held her hands palm upward and shrugged. ‘Could be one of at least three.’
‘Stupid stupid little girl! By rights you should be beaten with a good thick stick!’
‘Just try.’
‘I said by rights.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘By wrongs, I suggest you get yourself out of the palace as soon as you can, by night preferably, so I can pretend you sneaked off without telling me. Do you have somewhere to go?’
‘Yes, a friend’s offered to take me in and help me place the baby when it’s born.’
‘Oh good, then you can come back when you’ve gotten rid of the little nuisance. I’ll pretend the usual pretence – you’re ill and need a complete rest.’
‘Thank you, darling. I knew I could count on you.’
Aiwaz smiled and blew her a kiss.
Lubahva returned to her bedroom in the musicians’ quarters and began to pack. Her various performance costumes she would leave behind, but she did have clothing of her own, and of course, jewellery. She lit two oil lamps and sat down to sew the jewellery inside the clothes. Most of it had come from Idres, as did the baby, despite the lie she’d told to Aiwaz. Once she’d met Idres, she’d lost all interest in other men. She wondered if he’d care one way or another about the child or about her, but she wondered even more if he were alive.
Lubahva found out in a way she never could have imagined. She had just finished packing her things into two cloth satchels when Shakut came to the door of her room.
‘There’s a fellow here to see you,’ he announced. ‘A Captain Rashad of the Wazrakej Fifth Mounted.’
One of the Chosen, the officer who had heard too much from that wretched little Hazro – doubtless he’d been watching them all ever since. The room seemed to turn sharply and blur. Too late, Lubahva thought. I should have left long ago.
‘Are you all right?’ Shakut said.
‘No. Tell him –’
But Rashad was standing right behind him, she realized, a tall man, burly in his red and grey uniform, with dark narrow eyes and a thin, grim mouth. He laid a hand on Shakut’s shoulder and moved him firmly to one side.
‘Good,’ Rashad said to Lubahva. ‘I see you’re packed and ready to go. I’ll carry those bags for you.’
Shakut suddenly smiled. She could guess that he’d drawn the obvious if wrong conclusion that here stood the father of her child. Lubahva hesitated, but she knew that she could never outrun Rashad. Better to go to her death in the prison of the Chosen with some dignity.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll just put on my veils.’
Rashad allowed her to say farewell to everyone in the bungalow, treated her with the utmost politeness, in fact, doubtless to avoid giving away his identity as a member of the Chosen. As they walked outside, she had the brief thought of screaming out the truth, then decided that it would only earn her an extra measure of pain. He shepherded her through the elaborate gardens, past the maze-like paths and the obsidian fountains, along the narrow walk picked out with star moss, and, finally, out of the palace gates. She glanced back for one last look at the gardens. How long, she wondered, would it be before they burned as the palace fell?
When they reached the street, she looked up and saw the Spider gleaming silver above her. Most likely she was seeing it for the last time. Father, she thought, Mama! You’ll both be avenged. It doesn’t matter now what they do to me. It’s all in motion, and they can’t stop it.
‘We need to hurry,’ Rashad said.
‘Where are we going?’ she said.
‘To Nehzaym’s.’
For a moment Lubahva nearly broke and wept. They had discovered her friend, as well, and she too would be arrested and dragged off to prison. Rashad walked close behind her, ready, she was sure, to drop the satchels and race after her should she try to run. Down the long hill they went, past the guarded houses of the rich, down into the narrow, smelly streets of the poor. At a dark turn of the street, Rashad took a few quick steps to walk beside her.
‘I served with Idres Warkannan out on the border,’ he said. ‘And with Jezro Khan, too. You and the widow Nehzaym need to get out of the city right at dawn. Understand? Be at the gates when they open.’
‘Oh God.’ She did weep, a brief scatter that she managed to suppress. ‘Yes, I understand.’
‘That child you’re carrying. It’s his, correct?’
‘Idres is the father, yes. But how did you know? I only told my friends today.’
‘We know most things we need to.’ Rashad
’s voice went flat. ‘Not all, obviously, but most. Now, you and the widow had nothing to do with Warkannan’s treachery, but my officers are thinking of having you both questioned all the same. I don’t see any need for that. Torturing you would mean nothing but a bad moment for Idres when he found out. I don’t take my frustrations out on women. I don’t intend to let the Chosen dishonour themselves for the sake of petty revenge, either.’
The tears came again, and she snuffled them back.
‘By all accounts we’ve had, he’s alive and well. He’s the khan’s second-in-command.’ All at once Rashad laughed, a dark mutter under his breath. ‘And on his way here, come to think of it. Whether he and Jezro reach the city’s up to God, I suppose.’
Lubahva found that she couldn’t speak. Side by side they walked through the dark streets and out onto the plaza by the harbour. When she glanced out to sea she could see the warning lights, as red as blood, glistening on the calm water inside the breakwater.
‘Will you go north?’ she said. ‘To join them, I mean?’
‘No.’ Rashad’s voice sounded perfectly calm. ‘I’ll stay here. Either we’ll win, or I’ll die with the Great Khan when the end comes.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s nothing I can explain. Don’t ask me again.’
‘All right. I’ll make you a promise. If the child’s a boy, I’ll name him Rashad.’
‘Thank you.’ For a moment his voice wavered. ‘Tell Idres why, will you?’
‘Of course.’ If Idres even cares, she thought. If he even remembers who I am.
At the entrance of Nehzaym’s street Rashad handed her the satchels, turned, and walked off without another word. Lubahva watched him till he disappeared among the narrow streets, then hurried on to Nehzaym’s, where the gatekeeper ran out to meet her.
Nehzaym had not yet gone to bed. She was sitting on a heap of cushions in her tiled reception room and reading, a pot of freshbrewed tea beside her on a little brass table. At the sight of Lubahva, she tossed the book down.
‘What –’ Nehzaym began.
‘The army’s on its way,’ Lubahva interrupted her. ‘And the Chosen know who we are. By the mercy of God, one of them knew Idres in the old days, and he warned me and brought me here. We have to be ready to leave when the city gates open.’
Nehzaym stared open-mouthed for a long minute. Finally she swallowed heavily and stood up. ‘I’ve gotten myself a set of veils, and I bought a pony with a pack saddle. When we reach the gates, we’re just a pair of poor women, peddling the produce we raise on our little farm. Practise remembering that.’
At dawn they left the city through the south gates and started their long, slow walk to Indan’s villa. That first night they slept by the side of the road, but on the second night clouds rolled in and threatened a storm. They found refuge in a shabby inn, packed with terrified refugees. Everyone knew that Jezro Khan was heading south with an army that grew larger by the hour, while Gemet’s army shrank at the same rate. In the common room they found a rickety bench in a corner by the smoky fire. The innkeep brought over a shabby bronze screen, dented and corroded, and placed it between them and the men out among the tables.
‘Two women alone like you,’ the innkeep said, ‘you shouldn’t be on the roads. When the army gets here –’
‘What choice do we have, my poor daughter and me?’ Nehzaym said. ‘I’m a widow, and she’s with child, and for all we know, her man is dead too.’
‘Is he in Gemet’s army?’
‘No, in Jezro Khan’s.’
‘Then maybe he’ll live through the war. Inshallah.’
‘Oh yes. Inshallah.’
Lubahva felt her eyes fill with tears. She raised a hand under the enveloping veil and wiped them away – this was no time to give in to weak thoughts. Whether Idres lived or died, whether he ever cared to see her again or not, she was determined to get their child to safety.
And in the end, it was the pregnancy that saved her and Nehzaym. In the atmosphere of chaos and fear from the gathering war, the rough-looking men in the inn might have seen two women alone as prey, but a veiled, modest woman carrying a soldier’s child, and her widowed mother – they were followers of the Three Prophets, and they said not one word to either woman. Even so, Lubahva and Nehzaym slept out in the stables with their pony rather than risk the inn. In the morning, when they joined a sprawling crowd of city people fleeing south, they found other women with children and joined them. In this safety of numbers they travelled on.
At noon they stopped at a public caravanserai. The women shared what food they had and drew water from the public well to drink. They were just leaving when more refugees gathered around for water. With them came the news that Gemet was refusing to leave the barricaded city.
‘His soldiers have turned citizens into slaves,’ a young man said. ‘They’re building a stone wall around the city, and they’re rounding up every man they see for the work gangs.’
‘May God send an earthquake to knock it down,’ Nehzaym muttered.
‘Better yet, may He grant that the Great Khan gets here soon,’ an old man said. ‘That’s who Jezro is, the Great Khan, and he’d be better than an earthquake. Why should we weep one tear for Gemet and his taxes and his spies?’
‘That’s true,’ the young man said. ‘The coward! He won’t even lead his troops himself. He’s just sitting in his palace like a turd in a chamber pot.’
Towards sunset Lubahva and Nehzaym said farewell to the other refugee women. They left the main road and headed down the narrow lane that would eventually bring them to Indan’s. Overhead the clouds grew dark, and a drizzle soaked their veils. Rather than risk another inn, they spent a terrified night hiding in a clump of spear trees. Dawn brought them another ten miles to walk in the chill. At noon they at last reached Indan’s villa and found new walls, solid things of plaster and stone. The gates were barred – understandable, given the terrified crowds spreading along all the roadways. Still, Lubahva broke down and wept, leaning against the gates as she sobbed from sheer exhaustion. As the sheltered daughter of a councillor first and then as a palace girl, she’d never walked so far in her entire life.
‘There must be a way to get a message in,’ Nehzaym said. ‘He won’t turn us away once he knows we’re here.’
To one side of the heavy oak planks hung a chain. When Nehzaym grabbed it and pulled, Lubahva heard a bell respond. Over and over Nehzaym rang, then began calling out as well, screaming curses and prayers until at last a little window in the gate slid open to reveal a dark and suspicious face.
‘Go away,’ the servant said. ‘We have no room. Go away.’
‘You have plenty of room, Dullah,’ Nehzaym said. ‘It’s Mistress Nehzaym, the councillor’s friend from the city. If you don’t let us in your master will beat you raw.’
The window slid shut. In a few minutes it slid open again, and Councillor Indan himself peered out.
‘It is you!’ he said. ‘Open the gate, Dullah! But just a little bit, just enough to let the women and their pony inside.’
Lubahva picked herself up and managed to stop weeping. They hurried through the gate into a garden, where green grass stretched up a slope to the white villa itself, its windows glowing with lamplight. Muttering apologies, the servant took the lead rope of the pony. Indan put his arm around Nehzaym’s shoulders and helped her walk up the long gravelled path.
‘My dear old friend,’ he said to Nehzaym, ‘please forgive me. I’m just so afraid that Gemet’s men will come for me. The Chosen! They must know we all had a hand in bringing Jezro Khan home.’
‘We know they do.’ Nehzaym sounded exhausted. ‘I’ve got news.’
‘Well, we can hold them off for a while. I’ve made preparations. We’ve plenty of food, armed guards, and look!’ Indan pointed to the tops of the new walls around his villa.
In the sunset they gleamed with big shards of embedded glass, glowing blood-red. Lubahva began to hope that they might indeed have reached
safety, at least for a time.
‘After all,’ Indan went on. ‘The Chosen no doubt have plenty to keep them busy. And when Jezro takes power, he’ll root them out.’
‘Inshallah,’ Lubahva said.
‘Well, yes.’ Indan glanced back. ‘Lubahva! I didn’t recognize – forgive me! You’re with child! The father, is it Warkannan?’
‘Yes. I don’t suppose you have any news of him.’
‘None. There’s nothing we can do but pray and wait.’
The wait proved a long one. At first the only news came through the little window in the gates, some of it reliable, some of it sheer fiction, with no way to know which was which. Some ten days later, however, an old friend of the councillor’s took refuge with them. Hakeem Mushin brought news they could trust.
‘Gemet finally marched out to lead his troops,’ Mushin said. ‘It must have helped their morale, because the desertions have slacked off. Much of the infantry’s held loyal to him, but most of the cavalry is Jezro’s. There was quite a battle in the north on the Merrok Road. In the end, Jezro won, and he’s marching south again, but his army paid a heavy price, or so the rumours say. It may just be wishful thinking on Gemet’s part. No one truly knows. Messengers come and go, or at least, they did up to the time I left, but we only hear what the palace wants us to hear. Gemet left the city garrisoned, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Indan said. ‘The city can’t still be barricaded. After all, you got out.’
‘Oh yes. Once he marched out with most of his men, the common people took over the gates and opened them.’
‘Ah. Then if Jezro does reach Haz Kazrak –’
‘He’ll probably find them barricaded again,’ Mushin interrupted. ‘Gemet will be running back to it ahead of him.’
‘True, true. Our poor city!’
‘Everyone who possibly can has left town. I tell you, that last ride through the streets was really rather horrible. It was so quiet, so empty. Some people are left, of course, those loyal to the old khan and those who don’t have anywhere to go, but still.’ He shook his head in a gesture more like a shudder.
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