by Samit Basu
The palace guards joined the chase, in their Harpoon vroomsticks and Silverstreak carpets. Maya regained consciousness as Bali took off. She found herself flapping helplessly on Bali’s shoulder far, far above the street. The world below spun and whirled in a mad blur as Bali leapt from roof to roof. She saw furious faces under helmets, aimed crossbows unfired, and realized they couldn’t shoot the vanar without risking her life. She would have to do something herself. She saw Captain Rupaisa leading the chase on a carpet, her black hair streaming in the wind, her crossbow steady, preparing to take her shot, and knew that if Bali managed to escape the city with her, she was as good as dead.
Maya wrenched a hand free and grimaced as Bali’s claws dug deep into her side. She looked at his tail, bobbing and weaving behind him. She winced as Bali slammed into a huge dome, ran to the top and took off again, soaring into the sky. Then she pointed at his tail and thought about fire.
Bali’s tail burst into flames. Bali screamed in agony as he writhed in mid-air and dropped Maya. He somehow held on to the books as he crashed into a wall, and then on to a roof. Maya watched the street far below rushing towards her as she dropped like a stone. Then there was a soft noise and she fell into Rupaisa’s carpet, which dropped quite a distance, spiraled downwards crazily and then regained control.
‘Are you all right?’ shouted Rupaisa.
‘Yes! He’s stealing the Untranslatables! Get him!’
Bali rolled over and got up. An arrow appeared in front of his face; he snapped it in half. Resisting the urge to take his attackers on, to die gloriously far above these strange streets, he broke into a run as a hail of arrows shuddered into the roof near him. As his tail dragged behind him, he saw with astonishment that the roof had burst into flames. Then it hit him. Spellbinders! Spellbinder fire! It would burn almost anything! It could burn Kol…
He leapt on to another roof and it started burning too.
‘Put the fires out!’ screamed Rupaisa. Bali was moving fast again, a black blur in the glaring sunlight. Tower after tower crackled in flame. The guards checked their vroomsticks and zoomed off in search of water and firemen. A few raced after Bali, but he was accelerating, shrugging off the arrows. A few moments later he had reached the edge of the city, and they had to bring their vroomsticks to earth as the magic in the air grew weaker. It was pointless chasing Bali on foot. They shook their fists and rained arrows at him, but the chase was lost. Bali had won.
‘I’m all right, really,’ said Maya. ‘He’s got the Untranslatables. Is there any way you can catch him?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Rupaisa. ‘Did you see how blindingly fast he moves? He can practically fly. No, the Silver Phalanx will have to deal with this.’
Behind them, high amidst the towers of the city, firemen and guards were still pouring water on the smouldering fire. Spellbinder fire was very difficult to put out. Bali had burned a straight line to the edge of the city, and smoke was rising in a thick column, like an upside-down waterfall. Maya felt slightly guilty, but she’d had no choice. At least she was alive. She shuddered.
Rupaisa dropped Maya off at the University and flew back to the palace. Maya walked slowly back to her room, where Kirin was waiting. But she was dizzy, disoriented and bruised all over, her side was bleeding a little and she was in no mood to talk. She cast a few healing spells on herself, cut short his apologies and told him she needed rest and she would meet him at the Underbelly in the evening. He left quietly and she flopped down on her bed, trying to get the hideous image of the black, hairy, sweating, snarling, supernaturally strong vanar out of her mind. As she was about to doze off, there was a knock on the door.
She got up and opened it angrily. ‘Look, it’s all right, I can take care of myself! I don’t expect you to protect me!’ she half yelled. Then she saw there was no one in front of her. She looked down.
‘I saw what happened, and I’m sorry to disturb you when you clearly need rest, but the Chief Civilian has sent me on an errand that cannot wait,’ said Amloki the khudran.
Chapter Eighteen
Gaam Vatpo was a vaman. One of the few vamans above ground who were not engineers, moneylenders, architects or trade barons. That was not the only thing unusual about him. In fact, in vaman circles, Gaam was considered quite a freak. The reason was simple: Gaam shaved.
Of course, that didn’t help much because his beard grew back again every day, but he never stopped. It might have been a Hero School joke that you could tell the time by the length of Gaam’s beard. But it wasn’t, because they didn’t tell jokes in Hero School, at least not jokes that anyone outside Hero School could laugh at or understand.
Standing at his elegant desk in his clean, very modern lecture theatre, Gaam watched his students watch the firemen put out the last few fires. The other classrooms didn’t have windows; they’d been filled in ever since the students had said they wanted to remove all factors inimical to perfect concentration. But Gaam had refused to let the masons touch his precious window, and often even encouraged his students to look out and see the world. His students, who had no desire to see the world, thought he was insane.
Gaam was a Mentor at Kol’s Hero School. When the school had been established, everyone in the faculty had been a Mentor. Now he was the only one. He taught Traditional Heroism: battle strategy, chivalric history, myth and fable. It was an optional course. Students generally took it up so that they could catch up with their sleep or finish their graphs under the desks.
Gaam looked at his students, now engaged in a bitter debate over whether the fire-fighters should be financed by semi-autonomous quasi-public institutions or not. He’d given up trying to remember their names, and had stopped reproaching them when he caught them doing their Koli Entrepreneurship and Business Innovation essays in his class. They were just children, he thought, they didn’t deserve this. And they would never need to know about the heroes of the past. They would never need to shoot crossbows, look dragons in the eye or even ride horses. Look at them now, almost in tears over whether the vanars were an example of a Closed Economy without Government or not. They were the heroes of today. They would soon all be snapped up by governments all over the world, become leaders of trade guilds or advisers to kings. Some of them would be kings. But how could they have seen that magnificent vanar leaping over mighty domes and towers in the morning without being moved at all? Where were their hearts? Why was he teaching the taxmen of tomorrow?
Like so many other silly things, it had all started in Ventelot, when knights starting out on quests had begun taking squires who were trained accountants, because they’d found that a lot of dragon-gold disappeared mysteriously when they were returning home, in roadside inns and other places where bland-faced and mysteriously prosperous people lived. These squires were always paid more than the knights, because they ran twice the risk – not only were they running the risk of being killed by the dragon or other monster the knight had set out to kill, but they also faced the prospect of being run through with sharp lances by their own employers, who were generally irritable and high-strung men who did not enjoy people harping on about overhead costs when they were dreaming of quaffing and barmaids.
‘What do you think, sir?’ asked Pasty Face Four.
‘About what?’ asked Gaam. Once upon a time, he’d cared what Pasty Face Four’s name was.
‘Do you think the new Xi’en carpets Typhoon and Tsunami, with their many features and low cost of production, can pose a serious threat to the carpet-makers of Kol and Artaxerxia? Should Kol set up import barriers? It’s a fascinating case…’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Gaam wearily. ‘It’s very fascinating. In fact, why don’t you go to the Information Centre and do some research. Assume this class is over. Have a pleasant afternoon.’
With joyful faces, the students of Hero School practically ran to the library. Gaam trudged off to his room, feeling disgruntled, tired and very, very bored.
Gaam’s room was decorated in accordance with th
e Shanti-Joddhist Principles of Harmony. On entry, he was welcomed with great affection by his dog, Queeen, who had been called Queen before Gaam discovered numerology. Gaam and Queeen had met when Gaam had been exploring the far north a few years ago, before he joined Hero School as a teacher. She was an extremely beautiful wolfhound. Of course, no other vaman kept pets. Gaam sat on his unconventionally soft bed and heaved a deep sigh. He hummed a little tune tunelessly. Someone knocked on his door. Another prospective student wanting to know how to prepare for the entrance test, he thought wearily. Really this whole rigmarole of multiple-choice test, group discussion and interview to get the young idiots into the place was ridiculous. Far better to throw a sack of gold into a mud puddle and see who dived first.
Another knock. Reproaching himself for this unbecoming cynicism, Gaam opened the door.
He looked up – it had become a habit, looking up – and saw a girl. A tall, thin, good-looking girl, with short hair. Probably a spellbinder. Not a good dresser, though, ragged grey robes with miscellaneous stains were so last year. Gaam was quite interested in fashion, and was often seen not wearing any armour.
‘Mr. Gaam Vatpo, Mentor?’ asked the khudran beside her. Pleasant looking fellow, thought Gaam, noting enviously that the khudran was a little shorter than him.
‘My name is Amloki,’ continued Amloki, ‘and she is Maya the spellbinder, daughter of the famous Mantric. We have been sent by the Chief Civilian of Kol to invite you to join us for what may be the most important quest of all time.’
Quest! Gaam’s eyes lit up. Finally!
‘Do come in,’ he said.
Enki, Bearmonth 22nd, 8 p.m.
Number of vanars kidnapped by 1, Dragonjuices 0, Non-lethal drinks 0 (so far, but it’s not going to stay that way) Near death experiences many, Magic 6/10.
Memo: Change the Prince of Potolpur back before leaving
What a day. WHAT a day. Went to the library with Kirin, one of the Untranslatables was a ravian book! How on earth did it get into Imokoi! Then when we were taking the books out, we were attacked by a vanar. Still trying to get the smell out of my nose, and covered in bruises. He dragged me all over Kol before I set his tail on fire. He dropped me and Rupaisa saved my life. The vanar set lots of buildings on fire and escaped. With the Untranslatables. I didn’t know vanars could even read. The Red Phoenix guards were furious. They came by this afternoon and asked me many questions. I wouldn’t want to be in Lost Street right now.
Just finished packing. And why was I packing? Because things happened after that which were almost as strange as being carried around by the vanar. Amloki came to visit me. He told me that the Civilian expected me to go for a quest tomorrow! I was stunned. Apparently the Civilian has found this Avrantic prince who, she thinks, is the hero of Simoqin’s second prophecy. She’s made sure he meets all the requirements – Amloki was taken to Avranti by the Silver Dagger and his men and they brought this prince back to Kol. And the Civilian thinks there’s a distinct possibility of Danh-Gem actually returning, so she’s sending him to father to be trained. And they want me to go with him and help him in his quests. Well, they could have told me before.
I didn’t want to do it, initially. Because I want to go to Bolvudis – this quest, it’s not even a quest, it’s like training for quests – with Kirin and Spikes. But then I thought it could be really interesting. And any other spellbinder would die for a chance to learn the finer points of advanced magic from my father. Also, Amloki said there was money in it for me. So, the Civilian thinks the grandeur and nobility of the heroic quest are not enough! She knows me better than she should.
Amloki and I then had an argument over whether Kirin and Spikes could come with us or not. Not an argument, really, Amloki said he didn’t mind at all – he knows them, he buys a lot of the Stuff – but it depended on what Arjun (is the prince’s name Arjun?) said. I said I would take care of the prince.
I asked Amloki why what my father could teach the prince, a person with no magical abilities, and he said my father wasn’t going to teach him, Gaam the vaman Mentor at Hero School was. I asked him why my father was involved in the first place, and he said he couldn’t tell me. Apparently all this had been planned a long time ago. Then he asked me why I wanted Kirin and Spikes to come, and I said I wouldn’t tell him, which served him right.
Anyway, then we went and met Gaam, who was really nice, though he was looking at my clothes a little oddly. I realized there were a few holes in my robe, but why would that matter? I know most vamans are supposed to be a little leery, but Durgan women are safe, because vamans traditionally like fair skin. And Gaam was very funny and charming. I promise to be impeccable dressed from now on, especially since I am going to be hobnobbing with princes. I think he’s really bored teaching at Hero School – he’s completely wasted there, what a horrible place. Met a student on the way to
Gaam’s room, he asked me in a supercilious voice if I was from Enki. My fingers were itching to turn him into something but self-restraint won. Am proud of myself. Gaam was very enthusiastic about the whole thing, he didn’t need to be bribed at all. He was practically skipping when he ran off to resign.
So I told Amloki to send this prince Ashish, or whatever his name is, to the Underbelly tonight, and then we could all leave at dawn. Amloki looked shocked at first, and then very amused. I like Amloki. And all this is why I am all well-dressed now and off to Frags.
Yes, I almost forgot, I went and told Kirin all about it afterwards. He was very grouchy and said he didn’t want to go, or would go alone with Spikes. But I soon shut him up. He was still a little upset about the morning – poor thing, now that he’s a ravian and everything he thinks he should use his powers to protect me. He’ll come, and so will Spikes. I forgot to ask him whether he still has the book he was looking at. The ravian one.
What a day. Have I written about everything? Yes, that’s about it. Now I’m off to the Underbelly, where I have to use my feminine wiles (heh, heh) on Ashish or Arjun and make him agree to take Kirin and Spikes with us. The only problem is I don’t have any feminine wiles, but I do have a little plan…
Chapter Nineteen
He had been trained in a hidden monastery by the ninjas of Xi’en. He had studied yoga and meditation under an Avrantic guru. His strength, stamina and ability to withstand pain were legendary. He was as silent as a shadow of a black cat in the night, as deadly as a cobra’s fang. He moved like a panther, taut and sinuous. He could climb up rock-faces with his bare hands and stay underwater for hours without breathing. His skill and luck at love and cards was legendary, and he had almost beaten the Civilian at chess once.
He was wondering what to wear.
When in doubt, Black is the answer, the dance teacher in Ektara had said.
He dressed, swiftly. It had been a long time since he had worn the original costume. Black silk clothes, padded boots. The cloth around the face, with slits for his eyes. The fire-resistant Xi’en lava-worm black silk cape. Of course, disguises and camouflage were fun, and often necessary, but this was his favourite.
He strapped on his Necessity Belt. He had been all around the world and seen many beautiful things, but this was the finest example of vaman craftsmanship he had ever seen. He opened a trunk under his bed and started thinking about his assignment. His fingers, trained by years of practice, began sliding things into the right pockets on his belt.
Into the little sheaths went the darts, the crossbow bolts and the blackened throwing knives. With practiced ease his fingers found the little pouches, side by side, one after the other, for the wires, the brass knuckles, the vial of oil, the sachet of poisonous powder and the shuriken, the little blackened poisoned-tipped discs the ninjas used. On his back was the slim bag that contained a little black chalk, his stamp and his emergency scarab. If he was killed or captured, it would fly to the Civilian. The message inside said Killed or captured. Sorry.
He slung a pouch over his shoulder. It contained his bl
owpipes, ropes, strangling cords and cloth-covered grappling hooks. Over his other shoulder went the light and specially constructed crossbow. The flat bag filled with what he called his ‘special effects’ went on his back.
He felt a little naked.
He strapped on little black daggers in sheaths to his left arm and outer thighs. He tapped his left foot thrice on the floor and felt the blade slide to the front of the boot. He tapped again and it slid back to the heel. At this point, if he had seen a vaman, any vaman, he would have given him a large amount of money.
He slipped on his gloves. Finally, he picked up the sheath that contained his first love. It was the one love he’d always been faithful to, the long, curved, deadly and beautiful Artaxerxian dagger that glittered and shone even in the candlelight as he pulled it out and held it lovingly. It was the only weapon he had never blackened.
The Silver Dagger.
He attached it to the Necessity Belt.
Now he was dressed to kill.
He looked at the clock. Two minutes. Not bad.
He looked at the blackjack lying on the table. No, that would be overdoing it.
He was a little tired. Warm up, he thought, it’s going to be a long night.
He jumped on to the table, threw the blackjack up in the air, did a double somersault, caught it and landed softly on his feet. He bowed to his reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. ‘You show-off, you,’ he said.
He picked up his Nightshade vroomstick with special ink-spray and smoke-screen attachments. He got on it and shot off into the night.
The Underbelly was full, but not bulging yet. Asvin walked in, looked around and recognized her instantly. He walked up to her.
‘Hello, Maya? I’m Asvin, from Avranti.’