Crescent Inquisition

by Fuad Baloch

  Thoughts rushed through his mind. He’d made a mistake rushing into the sewers like he had. This time, though, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again, even if it meant going against his natural tendencies.

  “Halt!” shouted Kajan, raising his spear at the tall man in ragged clothing. “If you need food, there is a Husalmin temple not too far to the south.”

  “Now that you mention, I could do with some real food,” said the man in heavily accented Nirdu. He licked his lips, his eyes acquiring a faraway glint. “Chicken thighs roasted over charcoal, pickled vegetables to the side, freshly baked bread, a generous helping of spices and onions.”

  Kajan shook his spear, taking in the man’s soiled clothes and battered face. “You’re bloody!”

  “Aren't we all?”

  Kajan arched an eyebrow. The other guards stationed outside the city guard station looked just as surprised as he was. They’d been standing outside this minor northern station since the morning, aware of the city around them being torn apart as the search for the sultan’s family members intensified. They’d been left behind, relegated to an uneventful day, but this man offered an amusing enough distraction.

  Kajan was about to turn away from the bulky man—after all, unlike the other guards, he didn't get paid to engage in idle matters—when the man placed a heavy hand over his shoulder.

  “Get me your captain,” whispered the man, his voice cold, strained. “Make sure no one else knows about it.”

  “W-who are you?” Kajan heard himself ask. He wasn’t one to be easily cowed by others, but there was something fierce about the tall man’s demeanor that arrested one’s attention. A man from the rocky plateaus of the west.

  “One with not much time.” The northerner chuckled as if he’d said something amusing. Then, he started for the station building. “Don’t forget the chicken!”

  Palvar stretched his legs out onto the divan, drumming his fingers on the polished table. The plate of chicken and rice the guards had brought in lay empty to the side. “Can’t mess this up. Not now.”

  He looked outside the window. The sun was beginning to descend. Not long before the shadows stretched to a man’s height, signaling the final approach of the night.

  He didn't have much time, but what little he was left with had to count. His instinct, like always, was to go big. But even as every bone in his body screamed at him to announce his presence to the guards, demand to be taken to the headquarters of the city guard, get an audience with the Kalb inquisitors, he knew he had to be conservative. He’d make mistakes, let his plans slip. That meant he had to be watchful, keep himself and his plans hidden, even if that meant not letting Kunita know he’d made it alright.

  Not that she’d care either way what happened to him. He squirmed a little at the thought, not quite sure why he’d care for what she thought of him.

  With a creak, the door slid open and a middle-aged captain with a protruding belly entered. His eyes narrowed as he saw the mess Palvar had made on his table but was wise enough to ignore it for the moment.

  “You asked for me, sahib?”

  Palvar nodded, leaning forward. “After tonight, you’re going to be the hero of Istan.”

  The captain blinked. “What?”

  “Shut the door behind you.”

  Palvar interlaced his fingers as the captain shouted at the guards to bring them cups of ca’va. As he did, Palvar’s mind played the hours in captivity over and over, amplifying the humiliation and shame of it all. He—the so-called champion of Istan—had been caught like a squealing pig by a madman, then beaten up like a helpless boy by a bigger bully.

  Think of something else!

  What else was there to think about? He’d had plenty of time to think over the events that had landed him in prison. Three men had entered the sewers. Only one had been captured. Either the magus had slipped through the captors or he had been part of their plan all along. If Roshan was innocent, then that left Captain Tamat. The city guard captain who had pulled back, allowing them to be separated. And then the assault, which the captain should have led personally, had never materialized.

  Palvar was right in being cautious, even if that meant he was left working with second-rate guards.

  “I’m Captain Neron,” said the captain taking the chair beside Palvar. “Pray, continue.”

  “How many men do you have, Captain?”

  “Forty-two on duty right now,” replied Captain Neron, raising an eyebrow. “Another fifty if we count the nearest station as well.”

  “No,” said Palvar firmly. “We tell no one else.”

  “Why?”

  Palvar stood, aware that ca’va would have to wait. “Gather your men, Captain. It’s time to see it through.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “In there?” Captain Neron asked, his profile lit as the sun prepared to dip below the shopfronts.

  “In there,” confirmed Palvar. The very sight of the iron grating that led into the sewers set his heart fluttering. He swallowed the tendrils of fear swirling within him by puffing up his chest. Men of the west were no cowards. He was no coward. Besides, Roha was still in there, counting on him.

  “Sahib Palvar Turka, are we sure we should be going in there by ourselves?” said the guard Palvar had met outside the station. His hands were trembling. “We’re trained to apprehend robbers and minor criminals. What if we face something worse inside?”

  “You are going to face something far worse,” said Palvar. He squinted at the guard. “Kajan, isn’t it?” Palvar offered him a beatific smile. “A name that shall be sung for decades to come.”

  Grunting, Captain Neron scratched his belly, his eyes falling to their lengthening shadows. Palvar had a knack for reading a man’s emotions, and this one was considering Kajan’s objections. Not something Palvar could allow.

  “Come, we must not waste time,” said Palvar decisively, then tightening his grip on the curved sword he’d picked up from the station’s armory, led the way forward. “Kajan, keep to my right.”

  A dozen or so city guards—poor matches for monsters like Ignar and whoever he worked for—followed him. Muttering to himself, Captain Neron stepped in line as well.

  “The tunnels are unmapped,” said Kajan. “We’ll get lost within.”

  “I know where we need to go. It’s all in here,” replied Palvar, tapping at his head. “You need not worry.”

  “Know that if you’re tricking us,” said Kajan, “and think that by diverting us, you win opportunity for your gang to rob North Algaria, think twice. The city guard will never rest until its justice gets delivered.”

  “I’d much rather not receive bodies one part a time.”

  Kajan’s face grew dark. He shook his head, exchanging a nervous look with his captain. Palvar nodded appreciatively. It was doubtful that captain would have shared the details of their mission with him, but the guard had obviously caught on.

  “Sahib,” Kajan said, his voice firm, “if you think the Istani family members are being imprisoned somewhere in the sewers, you’re wrong. Captain Tamat led the search personally. My brother-in-law works with him, and assures me there was no sign of them.”

  Palvar stopped at the gate. “He led the search himself, you say?”

  “They found nothing.”

  “Interesting,” murmured Palvar.

  Then he took a long, deep breath of the afternoon air. Was he wrong in not going out and confronting Captain Tamat first? If Kajan had figured out what he was planning, then there was a chance a spy for the captain could have done the same, and alerted Ignar and his companions. Instead of the thousand men he could have been leading the charge with, he was going in with the wretched dozen Captain Neron could spare.

  “Do the opposite of what you normally would,” Palvar told himself solemnly. He raised his blood-crusted sleeve. “I’m going to avenge you, boy.”

  Kajan’s sword kept trembling as they waded deeper and deeper into the sewers. Palvar Turka—representative
of some ameer from the west—continued to mutter to himself, replying in short, curt responses whenever the captain asked him anything.

  “We’re no fighters,” Kajan whispered to Unan, his childhood friend who he had followed into this profession. He swore as they waded into putrid water. “I can’t even see where I’m going.” He sighed. “Gods, my boots are completely ruined.”

  “My wife would skin me,” said Unan wistfully. “She already thinks I’m having an affair.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Unan’s eyes bulged. “That’s not the point. I’m not even out with my mistress tonight.”

  “Quiet!” roared Palvar Turka. He stood at the end of the tunnel branching off into three directions, his face illuminated by a small torch a guard carried beside him. “I’ll not have you gossiping women spoil our chance at surprising them.”

  Kajan pursed his lips, then walked up to him, taking care to stay in the middle of the narrow crossway. “Enough is enough. Even if you’re right, none of us have ever bloodied our swords.” He turned towards Captain Neron, a most indecisive man in his experience. “I suggest we turn around, send word to the city guard headquarters. The knights of the Sultan’s Body as well. They are the ones who know how to fight. Not us!”

  “I can’t trust any of them,” said Palvar, his voice grave. “Not a single shitting one of them.”

  Captain Neron cleared his throat, shuffling his feet “Sahib, Kajan does have a—”

  “If you’d rather I be the only one receiving commendations from the sultan for saving his family, then turn around and leave,” Palvar barked. “But know this. If I die today due to you getting cold feet, the sultan will not hesitate in having you quartered and hung out to dry for the vultures.”

  Captain Neron huffed, his mustache quivering. Kajan glared at the captain, urging him to defy the taller man. The captain didn’t argue back, though, as Palvar took the tunnel to the left.

  Staying behind the wall, Palvar pointed ahead. “There! The bastards are just beyond the tunnel.”

  “Oh, Rabb,” whimpered Captain Neron, shaking his head.

  Palvar rolled his eyes, his heart thudding against his chest. He had successfully retraced his steps all the way back here. Not too long ago, he’d left this very tunnel playing dead, his head lolling forward, but now he had returned as the right hand of justice itself. This, finally, was his turn to exact recompense for all the—

  “Stop it!” he told himself firmly. “These thoughts of grandiosity got you into this mess in the first place.”

  The captain was still mumbling something, but Palvar didn't care one bit. He motioned at Kajan to join him, ignoring the queasiness building in his stomach at being this deep in the dark, wet underbelly of the city. “Tell your colleagues to keep their voices low as we cross the tunnel. We must catch them by surprise or there’s a risk they might harm the prisoners.”

  Kajan waved his hand. “We can still—”

  “We’re not going back,” said Palvar. “Understood?” He thumped the guard on the shoulder. “We win or we die.”

  The guard opened his jaw to argue, but then snapped it shut.

  Palvar went through the plan silently in his mind as Kajan slipped back. Not much to think there, really. Sneak up. Attack. Hope for the best.

  The little break cleared his mind, letting his focus fall back on the task at hand.

  Motioning with his hand for the others to follow him, hugging the wall to the right, Palvar turned into the tunnel. The guards followed him. They weren’t whispering anymore, but the sound of their boots wading through the slick floor made Palvar nervous, fearing discovery any moment. They’d had to use torches until the last tunnel to not fall into the streams of urine and shit lining the narrow pathways. If he was Ignar’s captain, he’d have men scouting these tunnels. But that led to a worrying thought. Had they already been spotted?

  Something was wrong, though.

  They had come within striking distance and yet Palvar had seen no evidence of lookouts. Nor had they been ambushed. Why was that? Palvar sucked at his teeth. Perhaps, the captors had fallen into a false sense of security. Or perhaps, the bastards had limited their presence to an extremely small area of the sewers to minimize chances of detection.

  Not that any of that mattered now. He wasn’t wrong. Either they succeeded here or the filth of Algaria would become their eternal resting place.

  The iron grating he’d been wheeled out of lay open, weak light filtering out of it. “This is it,” Palvar muttered.

  Taking a deep breath, he peeked inside. In the distance, he could see two torches flickering outside a shut door. His cell.

  “Come on,” he whispered, then entered the tunnel.

  His heart beating like a drum, Palvar crawled forward an inch a time, expecting shadows to jump at him.

  Nothing leapt at him.

  Palvar stopped outside his cell, then swearing, peeked into his cell through the bars.

  A body lay heaped over the refuse bucket, still dressed in Palvar’s robes. He smiled ruefully. So Ignar hadn't found out yet.

  “The other door,” he whispered to Kajan who had joined him. Together, they advanced to the next door carved of solid timber.

  Voices rose from beyond it. Someone was laughing. Another man spoke, the tone harsh, strict. The laugh turned to whining.

  “Blood and onions,” muttered Palvar, taking in a deep lungful of the foul sewer air, and tightening his grip on the sword. “Let’s do it!”

  He stepped back, then letting out a howl, kicked the door with his left boot.

  Wood splintered and the door smashed open. Someone squealed. Shouting, their voices turning the quiet tunnels into a cacophony of noise, the guards rushed in. Snarling, Palvar marched into the room after them.

  Beside the only torch in the small room stood Ignar, gaping at them. A shadow rushed toward a door to the right.

  “Stop him!” Palvar shouted, waving at the dashing figure, his eyes glued to Ignar. “We meet again, you son of a dried-up snake!”

  Ignar clapped, his face splitting in a wide grin. “Mother was right. Indeed, she was. The dead do rise from their graves. I must tell her!”

  “You stupid son of a bat,” Palvar hissed, sauntering up to him. Ignar flinched, reminding Palvar of a toddler expecting the smack. “Men of Nikhtun don’t die that easy.”

  Ignar mumbled something, but the words went unheard as the guards continued their awful shouting.

  “Shut up!” yelled Palvar, not taking his eyes off Ignar. “Each and every one of you.”

  They fell silent one by one. Then Kajan walked up to him, motioning at Ignar. “Two guards went after his partner, but I doubt they’ll find him in the dark.”

  “Salv is slippery, he sure is,” said Ignar, smiling broadly at them both. “You won’t find him.”

  “Shut your trap,” said Palvar. “I don’t care for him. Where are the prisoners?”

  “Prisoners?” asked Ignar innocently. “Ah, you mean our guests. Most esteemed guests, the master did say.”

  “There’s someone in there!” shouted one of the guards. Palvar raised his chin. The narrow room had four doors. One, they had burst through. Salv had fled through the other. That left two doors.

  “The prisoners?” Palvar asked.

  “Someone in a red hood,” replied the guard.

  “No…” whispered Ignar. “This can’t be.”

  Palvar blinked as he finally understood the reason for Ignar’s panic. “Is that the shadow you talked about? Your master? He’s in there?”

  Ignar shook his head, tears leaking from his eyes. “Mother wouldn’t be happy. I was so close. I did everything I was ordered and yet—”

  “Captain Neron, guard that door personally,” ordered Palvar. “I must check on the prisoners first.” He raised his index finger at Ignar who didn’t flinch. “Then, I shall deal with you.”

  Palvar marched over to the fourth door that still lay shut. It was if the guards all kne
w what lay on the other side and had decided to reserve the honor for him. He paused a foot away from the door, his insides clenching. What if he had been wrong again? What if there was nobody at the other side? What if he opened the door to find nothing more than Ignar’s soiled robes? Where would that leave him?

  Someone whimpered beyond the door. Then came a soft rebuke, as if shushing the first voice.

  Exhaling, Palvar opened the door, and stepped through.

  He gasped.

  A dozen men and two women lay chained on the floor. They shrank from his sight, scuttling back as if wretched rodents instead of proud children of Istan.

  “Let us be, you monster!” sobbed an old woman, pulling a younger woman into her bosom. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

  Palvar took a step forward, his eyes not straying from the rudimentary bandage wrapped around the younger girl’s right hand. “Roha?”

  Roha Postan lifted her chin. Her hair was matted and greasy, her eyes had lost their twinkle, her clothes were gray and tattered, but there was no denying her beauty despite all that.

  “Seven heavens!” said Palvar, stepping toward her. “Guards, cut them free!” He bent forward, forcing a smile to reassure the two women even as warm relief spread in his stomach. “You need not worry now. All’s well. It’s all over. You’re free.”

  “Free?” whispered Roha, blinking in surprise. She turned up to look at the older woman who continued to clutch her hand.

  “You’re tricking us,” the older woman said.

  “Extend your arms,” said Palvar.

  The older Istani woman did. Palvar raised his sword and bore down hard. Sparks flew, a jolt ran down Palvar’s arm, but the chain broke away with a clink.

  “Your turn now,” Palvar said, smiling gently at Roha. Once more, Palvar raised his arm, freeing Roha.

  “You… you saved us!” said Roha, her voice sounding faraway. Around them, the Istani men were crying, shouting as their chains got smashed. Some rose unsteadily, thanking their liberators. Two fell on their knees, offering gratitude to the divine mercy of Rabb.