by C. M. Hayden
The basilica was in ruins, and while some guards worked to put out the flames and treat the wounded, others were already moving to seal off the exits. One by one, each person was thoroughly searched before they were allowed to leave.
Taro was not anxious for them to discover the magistry devices he had on his person, not the least of which was his inscriber and a dowsing compass. Taro briefly searched for Vexis, but he realized that she wasn’t going to get him out of this. He removed his aurom and placed the chain around his neck with the Sun King’s seal facing outward. He straightened his back and marched to the guard commander.
“Excuse me,” Taro said.
The commander was in the midst of a conversation about quarantining the eastern wing when Taro interrupted him. He eyed Taro, and his gaze went from his eyes, to his aurom, and back up.
“I’m here to see the Shahl,” Taro continued. “I have a message from the Sun King of Endra.”
The commander cocked his eyebrow. “Do you now?” His face was noticeably blank. With one finger, he ushered two large men toward him and whispered something in one of their ears. They laughed as though they’d exchanged a joke, and Taro took a full step back. Maybe this wasn’t one of his better ideas.
The commander nudged in Taro’s direction. “Search him.”
Taro took another step backward and collided into the leather armor of another aculam guard. “Look here,” he said in his best ‘upset noble’s voice’, “I’m an emissary of the Sun King, and I won’t be treated like—”
One of the men shoved him hard in the gut, and he slumped forward in pain. The man sifted through every one of Taro’s pockets until he found Taro’s inscriber. He handed it to the commander while the others looked over the map and compass. One of them poked through the few coins he had left and grinned like a fox. The money was as good as gone.
Taro swiped at the inscriber, but the commander held it just out of his reach.
“What’s this?” the commander said, flipping it through his hands.
The guards held Taro by the tops of his arms, just below the shoulders.
“It’s a pen,” Taro said, glaring. “I’m a courier. I’m here with an important message for the Shahl.”
The commander hushed him. “The Sun King didn’t send you; that much I know.” He pulled the aurom off Taro’s neck and looked it over. “This is his seal though.”
“You’d be smart to let me go,” Taro said seriously.
“Oh?”
“I’m also a friend of the Shahl’s daughter, Vexis. You don’t want to know what she does to people who hurt her friends.”
The commander’s smile dissolved into a grimace, as if these words had awoken a bit of caution. He swallowed hard and whispered something to his lieutenant again. The guards pulled Taro along to a door and, moments later, Vexis appeared. She eyed Taro and looked to the commander.
“And who is this?” Vexis asked.
“My lady,” the commander said, standing at attention. “He says he knows you.”
Vexis cocked her head and smiled. She touched her finger to Taro’s chest and pulled his chin up in the same motion. “Never seen him before in my life,” she said glibly.
Taro felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “What?”
Vexis drew back her arm. “You’ve got enough to deal with without worrying about a cripple. My father will want an explanation for all of this.”
The commander showed Vexis the inscriber and aurom. “We found these on him.”
Vexis thumbed the aurom and pocketed both it and the inscriber. “Gold-plated,” she said. “Probably bought from a fripper.” She motioned the guards to let him go, and took Taro by the arm. “I’ll escort him out. You brutes are much too rough.”
Vexis walked with him casually through the burning rubble. “What are you doing?” Taro asked, seething with anger. “You said you’d help find Nima.”
Vexis laughed and brushed back her yellow hair. “Oh, Taro, that was when I needed you.” She flicked him against the forehead. “Stupid kid.”
Taro resisted the urge to strike the despicable girl. “What about your magistry cuffs?” he asked. “You need me.”
Vexis did a mocking courtesy. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered into his ear. “Between you and me, you should be happy I’m letting you go instead of turning you in to my father, or throwing you into a dungeon and letting you starve to death. You’re much too pretty for that, I think. But you really shouldn’t test me.”
They paused at the exit, and Vexis motioned for the guards to bother someone else.
“Only someone with a templar can remove those cuffs,” Taro whispered loudly. “You’re screwing yourself.”
Vexis rolled her eyes. She pulled him briefly away from the door and to a wall near a candelabra. The other side of the wall was visible, as it was little more than a cross hatch of wood. On the other side was a room filled with chattering courtiers.
“To the right of the fat man in red,” Vexis said, loosening her grip on Taro.
Taro’s eyes searched quickly over the room and found what he was meant to see. There, standing and talking with the Shahl’s nobles and courtesans, was Nima. She looked different in many ways, older, her hair was much longer, but it was most certainly her. What’s more, she didn’t seem to be in any sort of distress. She wasn’t panicked or imprisoned. She was there of her own free will.
Taro shouted to her, but amongst the crowd she didn’t seem to hear him. Vexis pulled him along despite his hollering.
“Please,” Taro pleaded, “I just need to talk to her. PLEASE!”
Vexis shoved him out the double doors. “You see, I helped you find your sister. And people say I’m not honest.” She turned to leave, and the guards cranked the doors shut as she spoke.
“I wouldn’t suggest staying in town too long, Taro dearest,” she said, as the doors inched closed. “It’s a dangerous city these days.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Penniless
TARO SAT ON THE stone steps of the Grand Aculam for two hours in the hot sun until a constable shooed him away. He wandered, distraught and penniless, through the dusty city streets trying to sort through his next actions. While these thoughts flooded his mind, his more immediate physical needs overwhelmed him: he was hungry. Not only hungry, he realized he hadn’t eaten all day. He rummaged through his pockets and found them to be as empty as he’d expected.
He circled the aculam twice, hoping for some way inside. He knew if he could just get to Nima, everything would be all right. But the city guards had already quarantined it off. Crowds gathered around, bustling with rumor and speculation about what had happened, but most everyone had seen (or heard) Arangathras fly off. The guards offered no explanation to the people, and simply told them to go about their day.
“All is as His Lordship wills it,” they said.
Taro realized he needed help, and he had only one person he could really turn to. If he could speak with Sikes, perhaps he’d be able to find a way to Nima. But the old woman at the bakery entrance, Margaret, was utterly unhelpful.
“It’s a shekel, kid. No exceptions,” the hag said, kneading her fingers into a loaf of dough.
“I just need to talk to Thaedos. I don’t want to bet on anything,” Taro pleaded.
“This ain’t a charity. Get to payin’, or get to steppin’.” The door chimed and a couple entered with their daughter. Margaret’s voice returned to its overly happy old woman tone and she greeted them warmly. “Oh, is that you, Tricia? You never visit ol’ grandma anymore.” She glanced at Taro and muttered under her breath. “Move it.”
Taro left. He tried to find a place to sit and rest, eventually settling for a spot on the road just outside a rather seedy brothel. It was hard to concentrate. Perhaps it was the hooting and hollering girls just up the stoop, perhaps it was the punch he’d taken to the gut, perhaps it was the five pounds of festering horseshit lying just a few feet away. Whatever it was, he couldn’t st
ay idle. He had to do something.
“Hey kid,” a voice called from the brothel stoop. It was a heavy, masculine voice that belonged to a fat, bearded man with a wolf-like look about him. “No begging here. You’re scaring off customers.”
Taro glanced around him. “Begging…” He murmured to himself and looked up. “Sorry, I’ll go.”
With the man’s words in mind, Taro found a busy corner and swallowed his pride. He held out his hand and begged the passersby for coins.
After an hour in the hot sun, he didn’t have so much as one red penny to show for it. There were other beggars of various ages, but none seemed to be doing particularly well either. Some had a few copper bits, but not much more than that.
It was another three hours before someone dropped a thin bit into his hand. Bits were small bronze ingots with holes in the middle. They were often strung up on a string that was worn as a necklace, or hooked onto a belt. Twenty of them made a Helian penny. Twenty pennies made a shekel. One bit was worth maybe a slice of stale bread, if he was lucky.
His stomache ached, and the hunger pangs clouded his mind. He needed money. He took a deep breath and prepared to do something that went against everything he believed in. Against everything that made him who he was.
By his nature, Taro wasn’t an especially proud person. That’s not to say he wasn’t proud of his accomplishments, scattered though they may have been; but he didn’t wear his pride like a badge of honor. Ultimately, staying alive was more important to him than what others thought of him. Still, the shame he felt as he rolled up his right pant leg to show off his missing leg was overwhelming.
With his disability in full view, he again held his hand out. This time, people were slightly more accommodating. In an hour’s time, he’d made four bits. He took no joy in that fact.
With the money, Taro bought a bag of dried fruit from a merchant cart. It was fairly small with bits of apples and roasted almonds. Taro picked at it sparingly. He wasn’t anxious to go back on the corner to beg; and the quicker he ran out of food, the sooner he’d have to.
More important was the matter of the full shekel it would take to get to Thaedos. He hoped that he’d see Thaedos or Sikes at some point come from the bakery entrance; but after many hours of waiting, that never happened. It was likely that Thaedos had an entrance of his own. By Taro’s count, it would take weeks to get the shekel.
On his way back to the corner, he passed through an alleyway. It was a welcome shortcut and kept him out of the hot sun. As he walked, he stared at the ground, deep in thought, and didn’t notice that he wasn’t alone in the alley.
There was a sound like a bar of metal striking stone, and when he looked up he saw a dirt-faced older boy, perhaps nineteen or so, clutching a lead pipe and tapping it against a brick. He looked like a street urchin; his clothes were ragged and torn, exposing his legs from ankle to calf. There were scars running up his neck that looked like failed attempts at tattoos; and he had a crooked, bruised nose as if he’d been in a fight recently. He smiled, showing off his yellow teeth, and tapped the brick again; then he held up the pipe like a cudgel. A quick glance around, and Taro saw four other boys of various ages surrounding him.
“What do we got ’ere, Gedry?” the youngest one said. He had spiky, greasy hair and held a shard of broken glass in his left hand, wrapped in a dirty rag. “He looks awful familiar, don’t he?”
Taro tried to speed along as fast as his wooden leg would take him, but it was no use. Two of the boys blocked his path and shoved him back.
Taro stumbled but kept his footing. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Trouble?” the one called Gedry said, tapping his pipe against the ground. “Who said anything about trouble?” There was a cool, calculating malice in his voice that Taro found altogether unsettling. Had this been any other city, Taro wouldn’t have been quite so worried. With his templary, he could take a few boys with bottleglass knives and pipes. Not to say there was no danger, as it only took one lucky hit to cause serious damage. In this case, however, any overt use of templary could lead to disaster. He certainly couldn’t kill them, and that meant they’d go to a constable straight away.
“I don’t have any money,” Taro said meekly.
“Oh,” Gedry said, shaking his head. “We were just getting acquainted all friendly-like, and you’re going to start off by lying to me?” The boy stood close to Taro and tapped his prosthetic with the lead pipe. It made a dull thud. “A little money-makin’ machine you got there. Maybe I should lob off the other, and you can make some real coin.”
Gedry shoved him hard against the chest, and Taro fell backward into the dust.
“What do you want from me?” Taro said, one hand on the ground.
Gedry knelt and leaned in close enough that Taro could smell his sewer-like breath. “That’s our corner. You want to collect there, you ask us first.” He pointed the pipe to himself, then to his companions. “Got it?”
“Got it. It won’t happen again,” Taro said diplomatically, though he had the overwhelming urge to cave the boy’s face in. Nevertheless, he kept his expression appropriately calm and fearful.
“Not enough,” Gedry said, tonguing the inside of his cheek. He spat and made a twitching motion with his hand. “Cough it up.”
Taro placed the few bits he had remaining into the boy’s hand.
“Food too,” Gedry said.
Taro’s stomach still ached with hunger, but he relinquished the tiny bag.
“I could use a new cloak, too,” one of the younger boys said.
“You heard him,” Gedry said to Taro.
Taro untied his tattered cloak and handed it over, hoping this would end the altercation. He thought he’d had nothing before, now he didn’t even have the cloak off his back. The boy fished through the fabric and pulled the two-way parchment from one of the pockets. Taro’s heart stopped for a moment. He’d thought it was in his trouser pocket; he hadn’t meant to hand it over.
Taro kept his voice level, but his heart was thumping hard. The parchment was his only tangible link to Nima, and he couldn’t part with it.
“Could…” his voice trembled breathlessly, “could I have that back, please?”
The boy flipped the paper in his hands. He eyed the words. “What’s it say?” He passed it to Gedry. “Can you read?”
Gedry stared at the paper with the intensity of an art critic inspecting a painting. Slowly, he mouthed out the sound an ‘H’ makes. “Ha…heh…help?”
“Help what?” a boy said, snatching the paper back.
“I’m gettin’ to it. Give me a second to think.” Gedry tried to pull it back, and the edges of the parchment began to tear.
“Be careful!” Taro shouted, staggering to his feet and lunging forward.
Gedry held the paper out of his reach. “I’m sorry, what was that?” He frowned hard and touched Taro’s chest with his forefinger. “You don’t give me orders, cripple.”
“Please,” Taro said, “it’s worth nothing to you.”
Gedry grinned his yellow-toothed grin and held the parchment in front of him. Slowly and deliberately, he tore the sheet in half, twice, and the pieces floated to the ground.
Taro’s anger swelled so quickly he couldn’t think. One moment he was watching the torn paper touch the ground, and the next he felt his fist striking Gedry square in the jaw. He had the wherewithal not to apply any templar into the punch; otherwise, it might’ve knocked the boy’s head clean off his body. Still, Taro was no slouch; and even without templary, Gedry not only fell back like a ragdoll but a single, decaying, bloody tooth hurled from his mouth.
While hitting Gedry was briefly satisfying, Taro knew he’d made a horrible mistake. The other boys were only briefly stunned by his actions, and they quickly rushed him while Gedry writhed in the dust.
One of them retrieved the lead pipe and struck Taro with it hard against the shoulder, the thigh, and the chest. Taro felt one of his ribs buckle and crack. He hollere
d and rolled to the side to dodge the next hit, but it didn’t come. Instead, the boys seized him by the arms and left leg and held him firm against the ground. Gedry stood, wiped the blood off his chin, and kicked Taro hard against the face.
The last thing Taro saw before his eyes went dark was Gedry standing over him with one foot on his prosthetic.
_____
Taro awoke hours later, and immediately knew something was terribly wrong. It wasn’t the pounding headache against his forehead, or the spikes of pain shooting through his arms and chest. It wasn’t even the bleeding gash on his arm that still contained bits of broken glass wedged into his flesh. No, it was the fact that his prosthetic leg was gone. In a panic, he knelt up through the haze of pain and searched the ally with his eyes.
It was dark, there were no moons out, and the only light came from the soft glow of stars overhead. The night was cold, and a chill wind swept across Taro’s bruised body. This wind had long since blown the pieces of the two-way parchment away and that, coupled with the loss of his cloak, money, and prosthetic, was too much for him to bear.
Everything inside of him poured out in that moment, and he began to sob in the darkness. His body trembled as the tears came, and everything suddenly seemed so pointless.
He thought of home, of his mother, his brothers. He thought of what his father would say if he could see him like this, broken, ragged, and starving. Unable to stand, he laid back and stared up at the sky through his tears. The ever-still stars burned, like twinkling diamonds against the endless black. They were soothing, somehow; and in that moment, the whole world drifted off into nothingness. There was no city. No desert. There was only him, the earth below, and the sky above. And…
“They don’t make them like they used to.” Aris’ voice was hard to misidentify. Taro turned his head and saw the magister sitting against a crumbling brick wall and staring up at the sky, too. “Artificers, that is. I mean look at you, blubbering like a little girl.”