Crescent Inquisition

by Fuad Baloch

  “Prince Hatan, Sahib Lud Ghiani, viziers,” said Inquisitor Fan after a moment had passed. “We must not lose sight of the real battle lines here. The real consequences of a hasty decision. We lose fourteen magi, we stand to lose the whole of Istan. Something I’m sure the sultan is well aware of.”

  “Well,” replied the finance vizier firmly, “that’s all well and good, but you help my point about well-meaning reforms being long due for the Kalb Inquisition.”

  Inquisitor Casan stood, his body shaking. “How dare you—” Inquisitor Fan grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him down.

  “Maybe,” said the prince, his voice low, authoritative, “the inquisitor can tell us a bit about the magi, help the viziers see the world through his eyes. There are three types of magi, right? What do they do?”

  Inquisitor Fan bowed his head. “Aye. The Zyadi, the Jaman, and the Ajeeb.”

  Palvar leaned back. The names sounded vaguely familiar but he knew nothing more than that.

  “My prince,” said the vizier. “With all respect, I do not see how—”

  “Let him speak,” cut in Lud Ghiani. “Let us hear of the terrors these monsters can unleash if they were let loose.”

  Inquisitor Fan drew in a long breath. “The Zyadi can call upon an element they’re connected to, draining its inner energy for their purposes.” He paused. “The Jaman leech energy over time, and unleash it in large bursts. And the Ajeeb…” He turned to glare at the elderly vizier. “Inquisitor Khatani, do you wish to tell the honorable vizier what they do?”

  “Not unless he likes his sleep,” she replied curtly.

  Palvar licked his lips, his thoughts cut adrift once again. What would it be like to be a magus, able to wield power over natural elements, shape the world around him? If he had those powers, what couldn’t he do with them? He slapped his thigh, disgusted at how tempting the idea had been.

  “Regardless,” the vizier declared, “once we’re through this grim time, I suggest that the Kalb Inquisition be—”

  “You’re not listening, old man!” thundered Inquisitor Fan.

  “Open your ears!” shouted Inquisitor Casan.

  The vizier, his jaw hanging loose, glanced at the two most powerful sons of the realm. They whispered to each other. The young vizier beside Palvar stood up so fast his chair fell back. He snarled, thrusting his finger at the inquisitors. And then, just like that, vitriolic arguments broke out all around the table, honored viziers of the sultan’s court facing off against enraged inquisitors in their fearsome gray turbans.

  Palvar shook his head, not sure if the sight was more amusing than shocking. Was he at the public baths of Nikhtun, witnessing old men argue, or in the company of Istan’s most illustrious sons and daughters? He was drained, though. As much as he would have liked to stand up, argue for both sides, let the verbal jousting boil away the fog in his mind, his thoughts continued to drift.

  Even he could tell Istan was changing. The old, ancient ways of conduct were being remade. He recalled the plaza and the protests there. The commoners had called for public executions of all magi. Some were arguing for the role of inquisitors to be severely curtailed, a stance surprisingly in sync with the viziers’ demands.

  Palvar arched an eyebrow. This was wrong, so very wrong. This was Istan. No one ever protested here. The sultan decreed from the Peacock Throne and that was that. The sultan was far too kind, Palvar decided, to have allowed the masses to get used to the idea of wagging their tongues. That had to change. If those tongues weren’t restrained, who knew what mobs they would birth.

  His thoughts drifted back to Inquisitor Fan.

  Who wanted the magi freed? And why?

  Palvar hadn't met many magi. Roshan, Inquisitor Casan’s magus, was the only one, in fact. The magus had misguided him the last time they had met, for reasons that had never been explained. But Palvar had been forced to drop the matter. After all, who challenged a magus, even when he was chained? Then again, the world back then was different to today’s.

  “Argh!” Palvar grunted. Maybe he had an opportunity to visit the magus again, see if he might have any insights to offer.

  His fingers interlaced, Palvar caught movement in the periphery of his vision. The guards were stepping aside. Someone, a shapely woman dressed in a tight black peshwaz and a veil covering her face, stepped under an arch.

  She dropped her veil, her face turned towards him, a finger rising and beckoning him to her.

  Palvar blinked. “Kunita?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kunita braced herself as Palvar bounded over. Behind him, viziers and inquisitors stood arguing with each other. At the far end of the table, Prince Hatan and Lud Ghiani spoke animatedly.

  “Blood and onions, what are you doing here?” Palvar demanded. She smiled as he placed a gentle hand on her arm and steered them towards a marbled alcove away from prying ears. “When did we last meet? Not since the Grand Celebration, right? By Rabb, you look just the same!”

  Kunita smiled, deciding in the moment not to tell him she’d seen him at the party earlier. “Truth be told, I was surprised to hear you’d been invited here.”

  He shrugged. “I must be more important than I thought myself to be.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  Palvar opened his jaw, then his eyes narrowed. “Hold on, you came here looking for me?”

  Kunita considered him for a breath. He was smarter than she had thought, and as he stared at her, his bushy brows furrowing, she knew it wouldn’t do to be dishonest. “You ask a lot of questions, man from Nikhtun.”

  Palvar offered a pursed smile. “Not that I am not flattered, but why were you looking for me?”

  From the corner of her eye, Kunita saw a group of city guards march into the massive hall. Captain Tamat led them, his armor polished to perfection under the flickering torchlights. She’d seen him before, of course. The man was certain to make commander of the city guard before long. Prince Hatan waved at him and the captain marched over.

  “I’m still waiting,” said Palvar.

  Kunita exhaled. “You know you never thanked me the last time I helped you at the Grand Celebration?”

  “You helped me?”

  She nodded. “I could have shouted and drawn attention when I caught you setting fire to the curtains in the anteroom.”

  Palvar bared his teeth. “Maybe it was because your heart knew I was working according to a plan and decided to trust me.”

  “Did you have a plan?”

  Palvar laughed easily, the unexpected sound calming her frayed nerves. “By the gods, I didn’t. But it all worked out well in the end.” He smiled. “Besides, I got to meet someone as pretty as yourself.”

  Despite the heat rushing into her cheeks, she rolled her eyes. Palvar’s face fell.

  “I…” Palvar shook his head, leaning against the pillar. The joviality had vanished from the tall man, leaving him looking drained. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  She watched Palvar as behind him, a thin, old vizier stood atop his chair and thrusting his finger at the inquisitors began yelling. Palvar wasn’t handsome in the conventional way, not the way she liked her men. He was too tall, far too easily inclined to grinning, and his preference for tight robes under the awful ship-like hat made him stick out like a camel in a sea of similarly decked out goats. But there was little denying that while he stood in front of her, she could think of little else but him.

  Palvar was waiting. No man liked waiting, or so they all said, until they came to know of the pleasures that awaited those with patience.

  “No offense,” he said, raising both hands. “But if I’m wondering what a woman of the harem is doing here”—he pointed with his chin at Captain Tamat watching them from a distance—“then others will be too.”

  “I’m no harem girl!” she replied hotly.

  “I meant no—”

  Kunita waved her hand, cutting him off. “I… I teach girls in the ways of Istan, advising them on how to
behave in the upper echelons of society. A job us Qaqalani women have had for generations. We learn how to use bait in our fishing villages, and then we teach our arts to the girls of Algaria.”

  “Ah,” he said, then he grinned. “I’m sure your hard work is reflected well in your students. Now that I think about it, it’s truly god’s work you do! Oh, the joy you bring to us all and—” She narrowed her eyes and his grin faltered.

  “Maybe I did make a mistake,” she said, offering him a shake of the head. She turned around. “I must be on my way. You’re right. This is no place for a woman like me.”

  He grabbed her by the wrist. She tried yanking it free but his grip didn’t loosen. “I’m too tired to argue. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

  She stopped resisting, feeling a tremor creep into her fingers. Why had she really come here? There was no fame or money for her. In fact, any time she wasted here was time she could have been spending on training her unruly girls. Whatever happened to the realm, there were men far better placed than her to keeping it safe. She would find no benefactors, not when everyone’s attention was diverted elsewhere.

  “The world has gone dark, if I’m being honest,” she heard Palvar say, his tone wistful, full of longing. “Nothing feels right. But the very sight of someone like you in this room full of shitting preeners sets aflutter the strings of my soul. They soar. They sing.”

  “Stop!” She pulled free and turned around to face him. “Don’t forget I’ve heard all the sweetest words in the world already and teach girls on how to ignore them.”

  He smiled, but she could tell it was a strained one. Palvar Turka was a man bursting with life, something she’d noticed the first time she’d seen him, but right now he seemed nothing but a tired, exhausted man in need of a bed. She looked past him. The gray-turbaned inquisitors had gathered in a semi-circle, two of them standing in the center: one with a large bulbous nose, and an old cranky woman. She felt a shiver come on. The Kalb Inquisition was one of the oldest institutions in the sultanate, one that had existed forever, but one that remained invisible to most subjects of the realm. She’d caught two of her girls whispering how it was the inquisitors who were behind the kidnappings—blasphemous talks she had put an end to straight away, of course.

  “I saw the box when it arrived at the diwan-e-khas,” she heard herself say.

  Palvar clicked his tongue. “Ah.”

  “I…” She shook her head, trying to banish the sight of the severed head staring at her. “I knew Marjit.” She rubbed her hands. “Not that it matters. I saw the box and something about it… it felt… familiar. There was the stink of the sewers, of course, but something else too, something… wrong about it.”

  “Hmm.” Palvar crossed his arms across his chest, his profile lit by the nearest torch. “And you came here to tell me what that was?”

  “I have been trying to remember all this while but I just can’t.” She barked a short, scornful laugh. “Not that it matters. No would listen to a nobody from the backwaters of Qaqalan.”

  “I’m here.” Palvar offered an elaborate bow. “And I would listen to you.”

  Despite the constriction in her chest, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She reached over and slapped him playfully on the chest. He grinned, just as she had expected.

  “Just don’t leave straight away,” he said. “Or rumors will say I’ve lost my touch with pretty women.”

  “It appears Nikhtuni train their boys well with words,” she said, offering him a tight-lipped smile.

  He bowed again. “Among other talents, aye, but none other is as important as this.”

  “You know what they’re saying about the inquisitors on the street?” she asked, forcing the conversation back on important matters.

  “What?”

  She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “That… that they might have finally had enough of being under the sultan’s thumb and that this is their rebellion.”

  Palvar grunted and she feared she’d gone too far. He exhaled noisily. “I guess I can see some reason for it. Why would anyone else want the magi as ransom? Not unless they wanted to destroy this great nation.”

  For a few breaths, both of them stood quietly under the arch, their gazes taking in the scene ahead of them. Lud Ghiani was talking with a group of viziers as Prince Hatan stared out of a large window opened to the night. Again, Kunita felt her heart stir, recalling the box. At least she wasn’t lying about her unease with it. Too bad she hadn’t learned anything more when Jaled had allowed her to take a closer look.

  Palvar cleared his throat. “If I find any truth to these rumors, I’ll let you know.”

  “No,” she replied, holding up a hand as he began to turn. “I… I need to work with you.”

  “Work with me?”

  “Don’t underestimate me,” she said, throwing all pretense to the side. “A woman’s intuition would go a long way here.”

  He watched her, a thin smile plastered on his lips. “Ah, I’m but a simple man, daughter of Qaqalani fishermen, easily baited like you mentioned, and—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes growing wide.

  “What?”

  He blinked. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “Setting fire to more curtains?”

  Palvar whistled softly. “A bait…” He shook his head. “Why didn’t I think of it before?” Nodding her a farewell, he turned and began walking towards the inquisitors and viziers.

  Kunita stood for half a beat, then ran to join him.

  “I need to call in a favor,” he said. “It won’t be pretty. You should leave.”

  She smiled, feeling his excitement bubble over to her. “Oh, on the contrary, someone needs to keep a close eye over you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wrapping the shawl tight around her peshwaz—for this was no time to rely on her womanly bounties—Kunita remained a step behind Palvar as he led them towards the semi-circle of inquisitors. His chest was puffed up, the grin on his face wide, as he sauntered determinedly.

  Two inquisitors looked up as they joined them.

  Palvar offered an elaborate bow. “Nothing gives the heart more comfort than knowing men and women as competent as yourselves are at hand.” Kunita dipped her head as well, her heart racing.

  The old woman scoffed. “Is that right, courtier from Nikhtun?” The bulbous-nosed inquisitor beside her sneered.

  “Indeed, Inquisitors Khatani and Fan,” said Palvar. “Nothing but the simple truth, naked as a sand dune bathed by moonlight.”

  From the corner of her eye, Kunita sensed movement. She turned her head and felt her breath catch. Accompanied by Captain Tamat, Prince Hatan and Lud Ghiani were walking over to them. Seeing what she had, the inquisitors around them dipped their heads as well. All of them except for Palvar.

  “Indeed, the entire world knows,” Palvar was saying, completely oblivious to the approaching dignitaries, “that there never was a more truthful people than ours from the west.”

  She leaned forward and pinched him on the arm. He grunted, would have said something unchivalrous when he realized the prince was almost upon them.

  “Courtier Turka,” boomed Prince Hatan, pointing at Captain Tamat. “The captain says you’ve most unusual ways about you.”

  “I—” began Palvar.

  “Where do you think our efforts are lacking?” the prince asked, standing beside Palvar. Both were tall men, large and dynamic like forces of nature. Together, they reminded Kunita of the twin mountain peaks keeping watch over the village she had been brought up in.

  Palvar swallowed, glancing over at her for a second. “Well, I have been giving it some thought, my prince. Maybe if we were to—”

  “He knows nothing, my prince,” cut in Inquisitor Fan. “He was fortuitous at the Grand Celebration. Nothing more than that. Won’t you agree, Captain Tamat?”

  All eyes turned to the captain who seemed to melt under the pressure. “As the inquisitor said, sahibs and sahibas.”

&nb
sp; “Come on, Captain,” Palvar protested. “You know the truth.”

  Lud Ghiani leaned in, his eyes taking in Kunita for the briefest of moments before settling on Palvar. “I’ve been hearing a lot about Nikhtun these past few months. The ameer is having trouble offering his tributes to the Peacock Throne, isn’t he?”

  “We’ve had a few harsh summers of late, my sahib,” said Palvar.

  “What a shame,” said Prince Hatan, straightening his plain turban. “These are difficult times for all of us, it seems.”

  Kunita shuffled uncomfortably, sensing a trap. This was a test, one laid out by the prince to see whose problems Palvar prioritized, the sultan’s or his ameer’s. Thankfully, Inquisitor Khatani cut in at that point.

  “Night gives way to the day,” she said, waving her hand about, her chin raised defiantly. “Live as long as I do, and you’ll see it all the time too.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Palvar. “We’ve a similar saying in Nikhtun. Behind the heavy clouds, the harsh sun burns. Under the rocky ground, gentle waters run.”

  “Wise words, courtier,” said Inquisitor Fan. “Now if there’s nothing else, we must speak with the prince.”

  “I’d like to have a quick word with Inquisitor Casan if that’s alright,” said Palvar, pointing with his chin at the wild-eyed man beside Inquisitor Fan.

  “What for?” asked Inquisitor Fan.

  “I… I was hoping he’d indulge me in carrying out a little experiment.”

  “An experiment?” demanded Inquisitor Casan, leaning forward, blinking at Palvar. “Surely, you jest. What time is it for senseless things like that?”

  Palvar stared at the inquisitor and Kunita felt her heart thudding painfully against her ribs. She didn’t know Palvar well enough, but she could tell when a man decided to take a reckless risk. “I believe you’ll want to work with me, Inquisitor. For old time’s sake.”

  Inquisitor Casan’s face grew dark. “Y-you…” He shook with rage. “Did you hear him, Fan?”