by H. Duke
Her nostrils were assaulted by dozens of scents, cooking oil, manure, perfume oils, dirt, and body odor.
Dorian grabbed her hand. “Come on.” He led her through the stalls, and she gazed in wonder at all the things that were for sale. Finally, they reached a secluded corner of the market that was less crowded.
A vendor with a vat of frying oil gestured to them. The smell of cooking meat made her mouth water. Dorian raised his eyebrows at her, and she nodded.
“Two, please,” he said, and the man handed them two skewers of meat interspersed with onions.
The man looked at them expectantly. “Do you have money?” April asked.
“I don’t know,” Dorian said, reaching into his pockets. “Check your sash.”
She looked down to see a large pocket sewn into the folds of her clothes. She reached in and pulled out a coin made of bronze-colored metal. She handed it to the man.
She bit into the meat. It tasted different than anything she’d ever had. “What is this?” she asked.
“Looks like mutton. Goat.”
“Huh.”
“So what do you think?” Dorian said.
“I’ve never had mutton before. It’s not bad.”
“I mean about this.” He spread his hands wide, indicating the market around them. “With the gate, you have access to this place and so much more.”
“Oh,” she said. “I mean, it’s pretty cool. But what if I want to go somewhere else? What if I want to come to this city in the modern day? Or to some other city that hasn’t been written about?”
Dorian looked at her like she was crazy. “Many people would kill to be here. You’re worried about missing out on something else? You’re only looking at the risks, and not considering the gains.”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” she said, but before she could continue, he was speaking over her again.
“Fair? It’s an objective fact! Billions of people in your world, and you’re one of a miniscule group who will ever even know this place exists, let alone visit it!”
She dropped her half-eaten skewer to the ground. “Is that why you brought me here? To yell at me? I don’t need this.”
“Don’t be that way—”
But she was already walking into the crowd. She moved quickly back the way they came, intending to get back to the gate. She turned down one alley, then another, and another. Had they made this many turns on their way to the market?
It wasn’t until she emerged into a small square with a well at the center that she admitted to herself that she was lost. She walked to the well and sat on the stone edge. She needed to think. What he said was true. So many people in the world would never even knew something like the gate existed… what she needed to figure out was whether they were the lucky ones or not.
Protect this place, or give it to Thaddeus so he could destroy it?
A dark-skinned man walked out of doorway across the square. Unlike most of the people she’d seen, who wore plain, neutral clothing with little decoration, this man was clad in vibrant silks in a rainbow of color.
He looked up suddenly, as though sensing her gaze. His eyes narrowed. She looked away, embarrassed at being caught staring. When she looked back, he was still staring at her.
His gaze made her uncomfortable. She rose from the well. It was time to find Dorian and get out of here. She’d lost all inclination to explore the place further. She wanted to go home and curl up under the blankets of her own bed.
She looked around. Where had she come from? She was lost… again. Crap.
She hadn’t paid much attention to where she’d been running, all she’d wanted to do was get away from Dorian. She couldn’t see or hear the market anymore. She could follow the flow of traffic again… except that no one in this square seemed inclined to leave it.
She started to walk, looking at all the alleys that led away from this small square. They all looked dark, and much more foreboding than she remembered.
She didn’t dare to leave the square. She’d wait for Dorian find her. What was it they always said you should do when you got lost? Just stay put? She went back to the well. He’d find her. He’d have to. But what if he didn’t? What if he couldn’t find her? How would she get back?...
“What are you doing here?” A woman with gray hair peeking out from under her shawl approached, carrying a large clay pot against her stomach like a child. She looked angry. “This is not a spot for sitting,” she said, scowling.
“I—I’m sorry—”
“Who are you, anyway?” The woman said. “You don’t look familiar, and I don’t remember any of the neighbor boys getting married.” She leaned in. “You are married, right?”
April leaned too far backwards to get away from the woman and lost her balance. For a terrifying moment she thought she’d fall into the well. Then a strong hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back up.
Dorian, she thought, but when she looked at her rescuer she found the man in colorful silks instead.
The man turned his gaze on the old woman. “Why are you troubling this girl, Fatima? Do you have nothing better to do?”
Fatima looked suddenly nervous. “No, Sahib,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “She was blocking the well. I—”
“Then you ask her to move,” the man said, and for a second, April swore she saw his pupils erupt into tiny flames. Before she could get a better look, they’d returned to normal.
“She is a stranger, Sahib,” the woman protested.
“She is a guest to our neighborhood. Would you like the magician to know how you’ve treated her?”
“No, Sahib,” the woman said, bowing her head low. Her voice was alarmed. “I beg your forgiveness. I meant no disrespect.”
The man narrowed his eyes at her, then made a dismissive gesture with his hands. “Get your water, woman.” He turned away, ignoring Fatima’s mumbled thanks. Since he still held onto April’s wrist, she was forced to go with him.
“You didn’t have to be so mean to her,” April said.
He looked at her, annoyed. “Is that any way to speak to a man who has rescued you?” He shook his head. “I should expect nothing less from a foreign sorceress.”
“Sorceress?” she said turning her wrist so that she could pull it free through the weak point in his grip where his fingers met.
He looked down at his empty hand. “Neat trick. You are a sly one.”
She ignored him. “What do you mean, ‘sorceress’?”
He gestured to her. “Your glamour magic works on the common man, but I am no commoner and no man. I see through to what you are underneath. Tell me, what style of clothes are these?”
He could see through her disguise. Uh oh.
He saw her concern and laughed. “Do not worry, sorceress. I am also… shall we say, magically gifted.”
“So, what? You’re a sorcerer?”
His eyes flashed, and she knew she had said the wrong thing. “No, I am no lowly human sorcerer.” He spat. “I am born of fire itself. I am Djinn.” He spread his arms wide. The way he spoke made it sound like he was presenting some impressive creature, and while he was large and muscular, he wasn’t that large and muscular.
She couldn’t help but giggle. “You mean, like, a genie?”
He sighed. “Fine. I may not be that much to look at now, but that is because I’ve been trapped in this weak human body by that idiot magician.”
“Magician?” April said, her voice becoming concerned.
“Yes. The man sleeping inside.” He nodded over his shoulder at the door behind him. “I am commanded to stand guard until he wakes.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” April said, truly meaning it. But what could she do? “Do you know how I can get back to the marketplace?”
The genie closed his eyes and breathed in, and when he opened them his pupils were again tiny flames. “It is not the marketplace you seek, it is your friend—”
“He’s not my friend,” she sniffed.
“Whatev
er. He is no longer at the marketplace. I could tell you where he is, but you would get lost halfway there. I can sense it.”
She sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to wait,” she said.
“Yes,” the genie said, rubbing his beard with apparent regret. Then he raised his eyebrows as though an idea had just occurred to him. “Or… no. It wouldn’t work.”
Did he really think she was that easily manipulated? Or maybe he just thought she was stupid because he was just about the worst actor she’d ever seen. “What wouldn’t work?” she said, finally, when it was clear he was waiting for he to take the bait. And at least if she pretended to believe him she’d have the upper hand.
“You could get my ring back from the magician,” he said.
“Your ring?”
“For a sorceress, you know surprisingly little about magic,” the genie said. “Or maybe you are faking ignorance. Anyway, I’ll bite. Each Djinn is bound to an object. In my case, that object is a ring—a ring currently banded around the fat, greasy finger of that man in there.” He leaned in. “You get my ring back, and I’ll take you to your companion myself.”
“If it’s that easy, why don’t you get it back yourself?”
“My master is stupid, but not that stupid. His first command to me was that I can’t release myself or otherwise resist him. But if you get the ring, you can command that I am my own master.”
“How do you know I won’t keep the ring for myself, and you’ll just be enslaved to me instead of him?”
The genie shrugged. “Something tells me you’d be a preferable mistress to that useless bag of man-flesh—no offense. At the very least, it will be a change.”
She considered his proposal. What did she have to lose?
“In all fairness I must warn you that if you are caught, he can flay the skin from your body with only a few words.”
Well, there was that.
The genie smiled. “But a sorceress of your magnitude should be able to match him easily.”
“Right,” she said. “I guess I don’t have any choice, do I?”
He smiled. “When it seems like you don’t, that just means you’ve already made up your mind.” He pointed to the door. “He is sleeping. You should have no trouble.”
“Okay. Are you coming inside?”
He shook his head. “I am to remain outside unless summoned. Be sure to take the red ring.”
She nodded, then pushed open the door. It creaked. What did magician mean, anyway? Flayed alive, the genie had said. Maybe she should give up and go looking for Dorian…
“Do not dawdle—people will wonder what you’re up to,” the genie said. “I am sure Fatima has already informed the entire square that you are a prostitute.” He pushed her in and closed the door behind her.
The room was pitch black at first, but her eyes quickly adjusted. The room was lit by candles and clay lamps. The ceiling above was soot-blackened from the flames. The air smelled like layers of exotic spices and oil mixed with a floral scent.
Heavy breathing drew her attention to the middle of the room, which was covered in cushions and tasseled-pillows. A man lay in the center of the cushions on his back. His head was turned towards her, his eyes opened wide. She jumped under his unexpected gaze.
“I-I—” she started, trying to come up with some excuse but… the man wasn’t moving at all. His eyes didn’t even seem focused on her.
“Hello?” she said. No response. If it weren’t for his ragged intake of breath, she would have thought he’d died. She approached cautiously. On the other side of his body was a round copper tray with a thin bottle. The tray was covered in droplets of reddish-brown liquid. The sickly-sweet floral smell became unbearable as she approached. Opium.
“Sleeping, my butt,” she muttered, covering her nose with the neck of her shirt. The man was high as a kite.
Still, she was cautious as she kneeled next to him. Each of his fingers wore at least one ring, some had as many as three. Did each represent a genie? Should she take all of them?
She shook her head, remembering what Dorian had said yesterday about not interfering with the worlds any more than they had to. She didn’t want a repeat of the mob scene. Anyway, she knew nothing about genies. As soon as she set them free, they might start wreaking havoc on the town.
She pushed that thought out of her mind before she could talk herself out of freeing the genie standing outside. She didn’t have time for philosophical debates with herself.
She located the red ring—it was on his right index finger, two more on top of it. She’d have to pull those off, too. She lifted the hand gently, watching the magician for any signs of consciousness. He didn’t react at all, save for his heavy breathing shifting to heavy snoring.
“What is going on in there?” The genie hissed from the other side of the door. “Hurry up!”
“Shut up,” she said. “I’m going as fast as I can.”
The first ring came off easily, as it rested above the thick middle joint in the magician’s finger. She dropped it onto the cushion next to him. The next one she had to pull a little bit before it popped over the joint.
The magician groaned and turned. Shit. She held her breath until the motion ceased and he started snoring again.
Carefully, she pulled on the genie’s ring, but the magician’s finger must have swollen, because it refused to budge.
“Damn it,” she said, then spied the oily opium-substance on the tray. With a sudden burst of inspiration, she grabbed the bottle and dripped several drops of it onto the magician’s fingers. Her hands tingled and numbed where they came into contact with the oil.
When she tried to remove the ring again, it popped off with a slight sucking sound. She held the ring up, examining it—but then the magician’s hand wrapped around her wrist.
Terror rose in her chest as his eyes focused on her—somewhat blearily—but then he wrinkled his brow and turned his attention to the opium dripping from his hand.
His eyes widened, and then he inserted the fingers into his mouth. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell backwards with a sigh.
Realizing she was no longer in danger, April rose and moved to the door. Before she stepped outside, she noticed dark smudges around the door frame. It looked duller than the soot marks on the ceiling, and seemed to branch out in organic, spore-like tendrils. She leaned in to get a closer look.
Ink-rot. It was unmistakably the same substance she’d seen in the spine of the book back at the library. Without thinking, she reached out and touched the pad of her index finger to the rot. She thought it might feel slimy and damp. She was surprised when the rot fell away in a cloud of black powder as soon as her skin touched it. Curious. She would have to ask Dorian about it.
She pushed open the door, and the genie stared at her incredulously.
“What?” she said. She’d been so distracted by the discovery of the rot that she’d almost forgotten what she’d been doing.
“I thought you would put some sort of spell on him,” he said. “Not simply pull the ring from his fingers like a common thief! You are either very crazy, or very powerful to be so bold.” He looked impressed.
A familiar voice from the other side of the square drew their attention. Dorian! She turned to find him arguing with Fatima.
“Well, I guess I didn’t have to go in there and steal this at all,” she said.
The genie began to look alarmed. “I did not know your friend would appear so soon.” His eyes never left the ring.
Did he really think she was the type of person who would keep him as a slave? “Here,” she said, and held it out to him.
The genie did not take it. “You must command me to break my own bondage to the ring’s power,” he said. “Otherwise the magician will send a more powerful Djinn to reclaim it.”
“Okay.” She took a few moments to think of the right words. She was freeing this genie, and she felt like she should at least mark the occasion. She slid the ring on her finge
r. “Oh, powerful genie, I command you to no longer be bound to the owner of this ring, and instead be only a servant of yourself.” An idea came to her suddenly. “With the condition that you can’t use your powers to hurt another, unless it is to protect yourself or someone else. If you break this rule, you will again be bonded to the ring.”
The genie’s mouth fell open. “Really? You’re taking the fun out of everything!”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll just take back the command and give this ring back to that guy in there. He’s so high he probably won’t even realize it was ever gone.”
The genie held up his hands. “Wait, wait. Fine.” He extended his hand, and she pulled the ring from her finger and dropped it into his open palm.
Within seconds, the genie dissolved into a wave of smoke.
“How’s that for a thank-you,” she grumbled, and walked towards Dorian. Once he saw her, relief flooded his features.
He pushed Fatima aside and turned to her. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“Yeah, well. I’ve been here, freeing genies and stealing precious jewelry. If it’s okay with you, I just want to go home now.”
The look on his face was almost worth the last hour.
On their way back to the gate, she told Dorian about the ink rot she’d found. He looked alarmed.
“Where? What did you do?”
“I touched it, and it fell away,” she said. “Wait—it’s not poisonous to breath in, is it?”
“No,” Dorian said, looking relieved. “Nothing like that. What you saw was the rot in its very early stage. It’s spreading. Normally, Mae and I kept on top of it, but we got behind when she got sick. It doesn’t normally form so far from the gate.”
“And that’s how you get rid of it? By simply touching it?”
“That’s how you get rid of it,” Dorian said. “The Pagewalker is the only one with that power. It’s easiest when the rot is new, like what you encountered. The longer the rot has to spread, the more concentration and energy it will take for you to eradicate.”