“It is an honor to meet you Lurshiga, my name is Sharur,” he said, “and I need a quiet place to stay.”
She nodded to him, and then looked at Inina. “Is everything all right, little sweet?”
“Yes, of course! Why? Ah, yes. He needs the room, not we.”
The most interestingly complex expressions crossed Lurshiga’s face, first relieved, then disappointed. “Well, if you want to visit him, spend the night, that would be all right, very much so. I’m not one to stand on tradition here, and it is so good to see you with… someone.”
Inina blushed more deeply. Arjun decided to try to come to her rescue.
“I thank you Lurshiga, and will accept your hospitality. Inina is simply helping me out as a friend. How much do you ask per night for a room to myself?”
“Why don’t the two of you come back with me?” and she led them through a curtained door to a small back room with a cooking hearth and shelves built into the walls piled with earthenware cups, bowls, and pots. She lowered her voice.
“Normally, six copper moons a night, but since Inina brought you, I’ll offer five,” she appraised him for a moment, “You are a very well spoken young man. I won’t have any… large scale trouble, will I?”
“No Lurshiga, I plan to lie low. In fact, would either of you have advice on how to disguise my appearance?”
Inina turned to him sharply, “I can put you in touch with a friend, but it won’t be cheap. What are you up to?”
Lurshiga looked a little worried. “On second thought, I’m going to suggest you take a special room I have at the end, one that happens to have a sturdy wooden door and a hidden exit of its own. And it will cost you more, a silver moon a night.”
“Done, and thank you,” he replied.
“Whatever trouble you’re in, don’t bring it here, and,” Lurshiga’s expression turned intense, “If you bring it to Inina, and she ends up hurt or dead, I’ll have your head in an urn. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” he said gravely.
He reached into the uncovered bag and pulled out three silver moons. As he did so, other coins clinked inside, including numerous gold suns. The eyes of the two women turned that way. Inina’s widened in some surprise, while Lurshiga’s hardened with suspicion.
Whatever her thoughts, all she said was, “All right Sharur, come with me. Inina?”
Inina smiled, “Sure, I’ve always been curious about that room anyway. You usually have it full.”
They went up both flights of stairs to the third floor, then to a room at the end of the hall with what was indeed a very sturdy reinforced door. On the other side, it had a stout wooden bar. It was small and plain, with a cot, a low stool, and a basin for water. It had a large window with very sturdy wooden shutters that could be secured with a bar from the inside. The window overlooked a narrow dark niche in the side of an alley.
“The key thing about this room, Sharur, is that it has multiple ways out from that window. If someone really needed to, they could climb down the niche to the alley, or up onto the roof using these uneven bricks here, or climb across the niche to the next building there, or if they were brave enough, jump across the alley to that other building.”
“Lastly,” she said, “the wall panel here in this corner comes loose, as do the bricks behind it, and inside is a well-hidden little place to store things that you might really need to keep hidden. See?”
“I will keep them all in mind, thank you Lurshiga,” he replied.
“All right, I’ll leave you kids to your… business,” Lurshiga said hopefully.
As she closed the door behind her, Arjun looked at Inina, and she at him. There was an awkward silence. Arjun realized that since coming of age, he’d never been in a room alone with an unescorted marriageable girl, other than servants.
“Ah, right. So… disguises…” she said.
~
Arjun walked along the dingy back street leading from the house of Ishim iru Nem. It was a hot afternoon. He was wearing a set of clothes in the concealing style of the nomads of the desert of Harayah, which formed the land border between Zakran and the empire of Sarsa. In a new plain bag, he carried the cheap clothes he’d bought in the morning. At the moment he needed to hide his appearance.
Inina had been yawning for some time, and admitted she’d been up all night. After introducing him to Ishim, she’d pleaded exhaustion and left for the room she rented somewhere nearby. Seeing his nervousness, she’d promised to visit the House of Red that night.
It was curious, thought Arjun, that he should feel so unsure in his own home city, and be so eager for the advice of a girl younger than himself. But then, though he’d lived in Zakran all his life, he’d never done so like this.
But that was not all. Her face, her voice, and the curve of her hips, kept recurring in his mind. He criticized himself for his weakness, and steeled his mind for the task ahead. He first had to walk by his father’s house, and see if he could tell anything of the state of affairs. He dared not try to visit inside, even in his disguise, for there was probably a hunt on for him, and no doubt it was being watched.
Then more, he had to be careful of his disguise. He might be dressed like a nomad, and though he’d seen them walk and noticed their manners, he had doubts as whether he could really move enough like one of them to convince someone who knew. And he hoped very much not to have to interact with an actual nomad.
His gear, including unhappily, his sword, amulet, and ring, were stored in the surprisingly large hidden alcove in his room. He dared not bring them. The sword was hard to conceal, and finding any of those objects on him would guarantee discovery of his identity.
Arjun made his way through the busy streets to his own neighborhood, and the Street of Flame. He thought uncomfortably that directly beneath his feet were the sewers, the blackness, and the ghouls. His heart chilled, but he warmed it again with anger towards the men who’d brought all this about. He thought of poor, quiet, loyal Naram-Enki dying in a pool of his own blood, and the smirk on Bal-Shim’s face.
He imagined wiping off that smirk, violently.
As he walked east along the Street of Flames, he could see his house ahead on the left. Something was very definitely wrong. There were unfamiliar men loitering around, while others hauled chests and furniture out to waiting wagons. Their kilts were filthy and they sweated in the afternoon sun. Several servants of his own household, wretched expressions on their faces, carried smaller items under the close watch of a pair of city guardsmen.
One of the serving girls, short sturdy little Maiat, placed an amphora into a wagon, then was stopped by one of the guards and by a tall fat, stringy-bearded man that Arjun recognized. He was one of Bal-Shim’s hired overseers.
“You there!” the man snarled, “run this to the House of Scribes and deliver it to the warden of the front door. He’ll know what to do with it from there. Don’t think about delaying or going anywhere else! Those are now official city documents and if they go missing, I’ll make sure you wish you were never born.”
The man handed her a small box of the kind used to store clay tablets. As soon as he’d done so, he opened another box at his side with fresh blank tablets, and set to work writing.
Maiat gulped, “Yes… sir.”
She set off at a trot.
Arjun knew there were only one or two practical ways she could get to the citadel from here, so he ducked down a side street and ran to head her off. Passersby watched the strange sight of a Harayah nomad with flowing clothes and covered face running down the street. He realized it was a bad idea to attract that much attention, and slowed down to a brisk walk. He hoped he’d gained enough time.
He reached the next main intersection, and to his relief, there was Maiat. She’d grown up in the household, and so far as he knew, he could trust her. If he was wrong, things were going to get difficult. Arjun moved to intercept her, and a look of fear crossed her round face.
Of course! How else might she react, seeing a no
mad with concealed face walking straight her way! He spoke to her in a hissing voice he hoped didn’t sound like his own to passersby.
“Maiat!”
She looked startled, and came to a complete stop, hesitating. He walked to her, and spoke in his own voice, but low and quiet.
“Maiat, it is me, Arjun. Please walk with me.”
She shook with fear, then mastered herself, and did so. Her eyes turned to him, and tears welled in them.
“Master Arjun! We thought you were captured, or dead!”
“I am as well as can be, for now. What of my father and the others?”
She hung her head.
“Some of the others woke up faster than I, and were there near the end. They said that when your father sent you away, he tried to talk to the guardsmen, but they would have none of it. Eb-Sim tried to block their way, and their captain walked up without a word and plunged his sword into Eb-Sim’s chest.”
Inside his concealing head cover, Arjun’s face was bleak.
Maiat continued, “Then your father and Madu fought them. They killed Madu, and gravely wounded your father. Someone knocked Keda over the head with a club and they dragged her and your father out into the street. I heard other guards ran up the stairs after you and ransacked the rooms up there.”
“That was about when I ran into the main area. They rounded the rest of us servants up and told us we were now serving Bal-Shim! As if we were slaves! Geb and Tishat refused, and they beat them with clubs, then dragged them out with your father and Keda! After that the rest of us didn’t have the courage to argue. I’m so sorry master Arjun!”
He felt misery wash over him, and then a fresh wave of anger. With effort, he mastered himself, and spoke again. “Maiat, what were they doing with all the household goods, and do you think these tablets are a manifest of what they’ve taken?”
“They are taking them to a warehouse belonging to Bal-Shim. I don’t know more, master. As for the tablets, I don’t know, but this is actually the second box, Dur-Sim carried the other earlier. That man of Bal-Shim’s has been writing things all day on them as your father’s possessions have been coming out.”
Arjun spoke through clenched teeth, “Then yes, likely a manifest for register with the city, so that it all stays… official.”
“Master Arjun, what should I do?”
“Do what they’ve told you, and forget you spoke with me. Any connection with me could put you in danger of what happened to Geb and Tishat, or worse.”
“Yes, master Arjun.”
“Go now.”
She cried, took his hand and kissed it, then darted off into the crowd.
Arjun ached in pity for her, sorrow for those murdered, and fear for his father, Keda, and the others. He hoped her gesture had not been noticed by anyone who would care, and ducked down a side street.
~
The late afternoon air was cooling. The spicy scent of cooking meals began to waft across the city. Arjun walked in his robes along streets near the great plaza. He turned over matters in his mind.
His father had been arrested, not killed, so whatever his supposed crimes, they either wanted him alive, or feared to execute so well-known a man without at least some pretense of following the law. Keda and the others had been beaten with clubs and hauled off. It was likely, highly likely, that if they survived, they would be sold as slaves for resisting city guardsmen.
Whatever was going on under the surface, it was for the benefit of Bal-Shim, but he himself must be the ally and tool of others more powerful. Why would they single out his father, his household, for destruction? Surely not just as a sop to the greed of their new friend!
If his father was imprisoned, he wouldn’t be kept with the ordinary prisoners in the cavernous caged rooms under the citadel. They’d have a close watch on him, and only someone very highly placed would have, or be able to obtain, any idea what had become of him. Of the two dozen members of the council, there were only two he was sufficiently familiar with to have any hope of an audience, and even that would be very dangerous. There was Enlil dra Dekkuru, father of his acquaintance Sinin. He could probably see him, but there was no reason to believe Enlil would take any sort of risk to help him.
Then there was Kartam dra Argesh. The old man was something of a legend. He’d come from a respected, but long-poor lineage of bowyers said to descend from Argesh the archer, an ancient hero of Zakran. In his youth he’d gone to the Empire of Sarsa, and from there to somewhere in the far east, beyond the Taranian Hills. He’d never revealed what happened there, but had returned fabulously rich. But more immediately important, his time in Sarsa, where the system of slavery was harsher than Zakran, had made him one of the few non-smiths to honor Zamisphar. Arjun’s father had been on very good terms with him.
Arjun saw clearly what he must do. He made his way toward Kartam’s house, on the high ground near the east wall, north of the citadel.
5. The Tale of Forging in Fire
The street to the house of Kartam dra Argesh wound past the homes of wealthy landowners, and was lined with palm trees. The place itself was palatial. It followed the general layout of wealthy homes in Zakran, a great house with a main entrance, backed by a courtyard surrounded by wings and outbuildings, but on a larger scale than any other in the city. It was plastered in brilliant patterns of orange, gold, and red.
Kartam was famous for his generosity, for the menagerie of animals he kept, and for his habit of sometimes combining the two by riding about the city on an elephant, tossing coins to beggars and children. Unusual for Zakran, though more common in Sarsa, he’d taken two wives and fathered a host of children, now middle-aged, who squabbled among themselves. None expected his vast fortune to survive intact once he passed on, but in the meantime, he continued investing and building it. Despite nearly fifty years of trying, none, even his own children, had managed to get him to share the story of how he’d come by it in the first place. He stayed clear of all factions on the council, but none of those factions dared bounce him off of it, for fear of the reaction of the people.
Kartam’s bronze-bound front doors loomed ahead, and Arjun, still in his desert garb, walked toward them. As he approached, the doors by some magic opened of their own accord, and beyond stood a doorman flanked by two armed guards. The former spoke.
“How may I assist you, o’ son of the desert? It is not often we see the folk of Harayah at the gates of dra Argesh.”
“I am no son of the desert,” replied Arjun, “but the son of Ashur dra Artashad, with whom your master is acquainted.”
A knowing look passed slowly across the doorman’s face. He nodded and spoke again.
“I think I understand. I will speak with my master. Wait here.”
And with that, the doorman ran off to doors at the far end of the cavernous, three-story great hall. Arjun waited. The guards in their bronze helms watched him impassively.
After a time, the doorman returned.
“My master will see you. Please follow me, and once you are inside, remove your head covering.”
Arjun did as asked, crossed the colorful tiles of the great hall, observing with amazement the treasures collected there on display, and passed through a pair of gold-inlayed doors to Kartam’s lavish office. It had been some months since Arjun had seen him, and he looked as stout and hale as ever. His immense gray beard was plaited with bands of gold, and he wore robes of many bright colors.
He spoke in his deep, rich voice. “Son of Ashur, you are safe while you are here, but I fear not so in many other places. Why have you come?”
Arjun bowed deeply.
“Lord Kartam, you know of what has befallen my father?”
“Yes, and with great sorrow.”
“Is it possible, lord Kartam, to discern what has become of him since his capture, and what his foes intend?”
“It is possible, and I have already done so, Arjun. He languishes now in the tower of guard near the west gate of the citadel. Magic wards him and bi
nds him. As to his foes, I have not been able to see within the deep waters of their plots, but I believe it is but the first blow of something much greater.”
Arjun bowed his head in misery, and then looked up at Kartam, who waited patiently.
“And have you heard any news of our servants that were taken?”
“None, but they are likely held under the citadel until they can be sold as slaves.”
“Lord Kartam, what counsel can you offer?”
“Watch, wait, and build your strength, young Arjun. This matter is beyond my power, and far beyond yours, as yet. With time perhaps you can change that. Things change in the city, Arjun, and for the worse. I am an old man and may not live to see the full measure of what house Zash-Ulshad and its friends are gathering for us, but you might, if you can avoid death. In the meantime, I can send you such news as I find.”
“Alas, I fear to reveal my location, lord Kartam.”
“I Kartam dra Argesh, swear before gods and men that I will not betray you, Arjun dra Artashad, and will never knowingly reveal your whereabouts. May this oath bind me in this life and the next.”
“However,” Kartam continued, “who knows what can be found through spies or magic? Therefore, as I discover word, I will write it with hidden magic on a stone, and deliver it by a trusted man to the stall of one Umrub the G’abudim in the great market. There you may visit this latter man at such times as you dare to retrieve the stones. Use the watchword ‘D’unur’ and he will thereby know you. He in turn will give you the word of unlocking.”
“Lord Kartam, do you trust this G’abudim?” asked Arjun.
“For many reasons, yes, not least of them being that he has sworn me an oath under the blood bonds of his people. The oaths of the G’abudim so sworn, if violated, will swiftly bring on the violator fates one cannot pleasantly contemplate.”
“I thank you Lord Kartam, and offer you such service in return as I can.”
“The only service I wish of you is to stay alive, son of Ashur. If I can retrieve your father from his unjust imprisonment, I will. If not, it will befall you to exact justice in your own way, someday.”
Blood on Bronze (Blood on Bronze Book 1) Page 4