“Sidana.” Who else? “So at least we know this is how Nergal and his demons got here. Still doesn’t tell us why, though. Or where they are now.”
I gazed at the wall of scratches. This was the work of an obsessive. Nergal couldn’t get the thought of Gilgamesh lying out of his mind, and it was driving him insane.
Belet got to her feet and snapped a few photos with her phone. “I’ll speak to Mother. She’ll—”
“Now what do we have here?”
Uh-oh.
The three dockworkers we’d seen earlier now stood in the doorway.
“Maybe one of us should have kept an eye out,” I said.
“Thanks for stating the blatantly obvious, Sik,” replied Belet.
“Let’s just remember it for next time.” I put up my hands and said to the men, “This isn’t what it looks like.”
Dockworker One, a big guy with tattoos from his wrist all the way up to his neck, shook his head. “You’re trespassing. And in here, of all places. You kids nowadays have no respect.”
His companion, with a boulder-like chin thick with black stubble, cracked his knuckles. “You need to be taught a lesson.”
Okay, this was escalating way too quickly. “We’re not stealing anything. We just wanted to take a look. Maybe help find out what happened. Who was behind it.”
The third guy scratched his cheek and gave us a smile made of a row of black teeth, the top middle pair missing. “And what business would that be of yours?”
Tatt Man blocked our way out. Somewhere he’d found a length of chunky chain, each iron link the size of a brick. “What should we do with ’em?”
Stubble Chin drew a hammer from his tool belt. Belet clenched her fists.
I had one chance before this all got totally out of control. “Listen, now, I know this might sound strange, but that girl there”—I pointed at Belet—“is really good at ballet.”
Black Teeth scowled. “Funny guy.”
“See, Belet? He thinks I’m amusing.” I turned back to Black Teeth and pointed as he screwed up his face. “There’s something under your eye.”
“It’s nothing.” He rubbed the bag under his left eye, and it squirmed.
“Seriously, it looks infected.”
He rubbed harder, and something squeezed out of his tear duct.
An ugly bluebottle crept along his cheek before buzzing off.
“Now, that’s not good,” I said.
These were no ordinary dockworkers. I wondered, fleetingly, if demons had their own union.
Belet jumped to the same conclusion. “Nergal did this to you, didn’t he?”
Now, up close, I saw they weren’t demons, but seriously infected humans. Egg-size boils covered their faces, thick green veins pushed hard against sickly yellow skin, and a decaying stench emanated from them, almost as bad as the one from that night I’d met Sidana and Idiptu. Tatt Man’s grotesquely bulbous knuckles cracked noisily as he made his fists.
“Why?” I asked. “Why did you let him turn you into monsters?”
Tatt Man passed his hand over his deformed face. “This? This is nothing. You just wait and see what he’s got in store for the city.”
“Kill them.” Black Teeth grinned as he pulled out a knife, taking us from not good to far worse. Another fly emerged from the gap in his teeth and took off. More spilled out of his eyes, ears, and mouth, and the container echoed with their evil, unnaturally loud buzzing.
Far worse was now officially super bad.
“What was it you were saying about weapons, Sik?” Belet asked with forced nonchalance. “Remind me.”
Any one of the guys was equal to our combined body weight, and there came a point when it didn’t matter how hard you hit, some things were just too big to be taken out with a spinning hook kick.
But no one had told that to Belet. She was all the weapon we needed.
She skipped sideways as Black Teeth slashed downward. She bobbed below the next chop and sprang straight up, her boot catching him in the throat. He croaked and stumbled back. Belet didn’t pause but, grabbing his ears, pulled his head down into her knee, delivering a thunderous crack!
Ouch.
As Black Teeth sank to the floor, Tatt Man swung his chain at her unprotected back.
“Belet!” I jumped forward. I couldn’t stop myself. Not to fight—I didn’t know how—but to put myself between the oncoming chain and Belet’s unprotected back, even if it meant—
—getting smashed across my arm and ribs, and being hurled across the container into the wall, hard. My lungs felt as if they were on fire, and breathing suddenly became impossible.
Belet shot me a worried glance, then twisted around and rammed her fist repeatedly into Tatt Man’s kidneys. Three times in a second. The fourth took him off his feet.
Stubble Chin roared as he charged, his eyes blazing with berserk fury. But he ran past Belet and raised his hammer over me. I crossed my arms over my head, as if that would do any good. I could see his whitened knuckles around the handle and the thick veins standing out in his forearms, but I couldn’t do anything to stop him.
Belet leaped off the flattened body of Black Teeth. I thought she would spring out a kick, but instead she wrapped her leg around Stubble Chin’s throat, catching it in the crook of her knee. The entire momentum of her body went into a sharp twist, literally forcing Stubble Chin into trying a backflip. Except he didn’t land on his feet. He landed on his head with a heavy thud. So much for Stubble Chin.
I sat slumped against the wall, panting. How could I hurt this much and still be conscious?
Belet rushed over to me and snapped her fingers in my face. “Sik? Say something.”
“Stop doing that. It’s irritating.”
My arm was all pins and needles, but I could move my fingers. I carefully unwrapped the chain, then winced as I saw the damage underneath. “It can’t be that…Oh.” I almost threw up. Splotchy purple bruises ringed my upper arms.
I sucked in a single deep breath, my lungs pushing painfully against the vise trapping my chest. Gritting my teeth, I forced in more air and something inside me relaxed. At last. My heart raced, but the ache in my lungs lifted. I wiped my mouth. There was a slight red smear of blood on my hand, but when I spat, it came out clear. Belet helped me up, and after a moment of wobbling, I stood up straight. The dizziness began to recede.
Belet’s face was pale. “I thought you were dead.”
“It looks worse than it is. Honestly.” I thought I was dying, too, and yet there I stood, battered and bruised but more or less fully functioning. I gently moved my swollen arms. The nerves sent pure fire through me, but it swiftly receded to a dull, constant ache. I wiggled my fingers. “You were great, by the way. Those ballet lessons have really paid off.”
Belet laughed. Honestly laughed. I must have been staring at her in shock, because she quickly pulled herself back under control. But I think there was still a tiny smirk on her lips when she said, “And you’re tougher than you look.”
GOLDEN SUNLIGHT STREAMED DOWN THROUGH the skylight into the armory. It shone upon the rows of armored suits, the edges of the swords and axes, and on spear tips and a thousand other pointy objects designed to spoil your day permanently.
“It’s seven in the morning. I should be in bed, recuperating.” I held up my lilac-tinged arm. “Look, bruises. And I think I have a cough.” I coughed twice. “Hear that?”
“What I hear is whining, and you seem perfectly fine,” said Belet, expressing zero sympathy. “All things considered.”
Yeah, all things considered I should have ended up in the hospital after the previous night. I still felt as if I’d been stuffed in a dryer and spun around at a thousand rpm, but as Belet said, I seemed fine. Nothing broken, cracked, or split in two. Ishtar had given me a very cursory once-over when we’d gotten back and declared me fit and well, all the while telling us about the nightclubs she and Daoud had visited. Apparently, he’d made quite an impact, and the city was all abuzz
about this “dashing Arabian prince.” Annie Leibovitz was going to do new headshots for his portfolio.
Which reminded me…
“How come Daoud gets to sleep in? He wasn’t beaten up by a trio of god-cursed dockworkers last night.”
“Mother says he needs his beauty sleep,” Belet answered, and to give her credit, she didn’t sound entirely happy with her mother’s strategy in finding Nergal.
“And I don’t?”
“No amount of sleep is going to help you, Sik.”
“Gee, thanks, pal.” And here I thought we’d bonded during the fight for our lives.
Belet picked up a battle-ax while our audience, the cats, found suitable spots to watch the action. Sargon settled himself on top of a Napoleonic cannon. “What I mean is, Mother thinks more people will probably try to kill you.”
“Is that what you think?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Cool, then why don’t I go back to—”
“No, you don’t understand.” Belet plucked a hair and drew it over the blade’s edge, slicing it neatly in two. “I think people will definitely try to kill you.”
Great. Really, really great.
She swung the ax with worrying enthusiasm. “Do you have any martial arts training?”
“I’ve watched Kung Fu Panda like a hundred times. Does that count?”
She sighed as she put the battle-ax back, then flipped out a pair of nunchaku. “Come on. You must have a poster of Bruce Lee on your bedroom wall.”
“Kenneth Lee. He’s a celebrity chef.”
“Any weapons training? At all?” She sounded both desperate and bemused, as if she couldn’t understand why all parents didn’t raise their kids to be ninjas.
“I’m pretty good with a wok.”
“Okaaay. This may require a new strategy.” Belet marched over to the sword stand. The sword stand. “Kasusu?”
Light rippled along the blade, refracting into a rainbow. Kasusu was sharp enough to cut light.
Belet picked it up gently, as she might if it were a sleeping baby. Or a cobra.
The sword hummed. “You want me to make him a warrior? Forget it. Never going to happen.”
Belet shrugged. “Just try. He might surprise you. What’s a good spot for you?”
“Over there. The column in the middle.”
Belet swung Kasusu. She put hardly any effort into it, just a twist of the hips and a flick of the shoulders, but the steel screamed against stone as it cut halfway through the solid marble column. She left it there, the hilt sticking out.
Belet came over to me. “Don’t let that lump of rusty metal bully you, okay?”
“Okaaay.”
“I’m off to get a few pieces of equipment. I won’t be long.” Then she turned back to the sword. “Don’t kill him, or Mother’ll throw you in a lake like last time.”
“I wouldn’t waste my edge,” said Kasusu.
She left and I reached for the sword. “Let’s get this—”
“Do not touch.”
“But Belet said you were going to teach me to fight.”
The sword made a surly hum. “Why waste both our times? You haven’t got it in you to be a hero. Believe me, I’ve taught the best. The very best.”
“Yeah, I know about King Arthur and Alexander. Now how about we—”
“Beowulf. Tokugawa Ieyasu. The Rani of Jhansi. Heroes, every one of them. World changers. But even counting them, there was only one true legend: Gilgamesh.”
“He was Mo’s fave, too.”
“Mo?”
“My brother,” I said. “You can forget Superman—Gilgamesh was the boss. Mo worshipped him. Made us all go to the Metropolitan when they had the big exhibit. So, you were his sword?”
“At the beginning.” The sword sighed. “Then he gained Abubu, the Sky Cutter. A weapon so devastating it could literally slice the heavens.”
Mo’s passion for the world’s first hero had rubbed off on me a little. Okay, a lot. We didn’t have much in common, but we had Gilgamesh. How many pictures had we drawn of him? Thousands for sure—enough to cover the deli walls ten times over. Big black beard, huge muscles, and armed with a gigantic ax, fighting hordes of monsters or legions of demons.
Gilgamesh lied.
Nergal was obsessed with that idea. Lied about what? Who better to ask than Kasusu?
“So, you were with Gilgamesh for a while? On his adventures? I read all the stories, so I know about how he defeated demons, slew the Bull of Heaven, and searched for immortality. Did all that really happen?”
The sword scoffed. “Those stories don’t tell the half of it. The scribes wrote them down centuries afterward. They didn’t know the truth.”
“Are you saying his exploits were exaggerated?” Maybe he’d lied about his successes.…
“The opposite. The storytellers watered them down. Gilgamesh’s life was too extraordinary to be believed, so they made his accomplishments more…modest. More relatable. As if anyone could relate to a man like Gilgamesh. He was one of a kind, an original.”
“So there’s nothing Gilgamesh failed at and pretended to have done?”
The sword made a screech, like the sound of a bow being drawn shakily over the strings of a violin. “Listen, Private Clown. Gilgamesh succeeded at everything. Every demon he fought, he vanquished. Every princess he set out to rescue, he got. Every kingdom he battled, he conquered. We’re talking old-old-school heroism, where a good day was one when you came home soaked in the blood of your enemies. None of this caring-and-sharing garbage or rescuing-cats-out-of-trees nonsense. There’s no—”
“Okay, okay, I get it.”
“Well, maybe there was one thing…” Kasusu said in a quiet voice.
“Yes?” I prompted.
“He didn’t save Enkidu,” said the sword. “He was like a brother to Gilgamesh, more than a brother, and the king was devastated when he died. I think it broke him, truth be told. Gilgamesh became so terrified of death he even went on some foolish quest to become immortal, and that didn’t work out, either. Then there was”—the sword’s voice dropped to a whisper—“Ishtar.”
“Yeah,” I said. “She still hasn’t gotten over that bull thing.”
“There was more to it,” the sword dished. “He rejected her.”
“What?!” I said. Reject the goddess of love? “How could anyone turn down Ishtar?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re a bit older, perhaps. For now, we’ve got some work to do.”
I glanced to the door. “Belet will be back soon, and so far you’ve only given me gossip.”
The sword paused. “Belet. She’s got the potential to be one of the greats. Unlike you.”
“Come on, give me a try. Belet said—”
“Fine, since you insist. I like to start with a song. Raises the spirits. You know, the Spartans sang when they went off to battle. Finest choir you could hope for. Now, listen, the lyrics are easy.”
“Be my guest.”
The sword cleared its…throat? Then it sang:
“My mother thinks I’m very brave,
But now I’m lying in my grave.
You can imagine my surprise,
When I caught an arrow between my eyes.
But I’m not down—”
I interrupted. “Do you have anything less…depressing?”
“I’ve got a song that was popular among the militia during the reign of Henry VIII.”
“The one with all the wives?” I glanced at the blade. “Does it involve beheading?”
“You’ve heard it? Now, there’s more to chopping someone’s head off than giving them a healthy whack. A real master aims for the gap between the second and third cervical vertebrae. That’s the sweet spot.”
“Thanks for the advice. Also, I feel a bit sick.” I slumped down onto the cold marble. “You’re right. I’d be useless in a battle.”
“No, I wouldn’t say that.”
“Really?” My hopes rose. Even learning a few
simple moves would help, if I practiced enough? Repetition teaches the donkey, as the old Iraqi saying goes.
“Every army needs cannon fodder,” said Kasusu cheerily. “Fine. Let’s just get on with it. See that tabby over there?”
I did. The cat glanced at me with his mismatched green and white eyes. “You mean Sargon?”
“Grab that ax. I want you to fight him.”
“I’m not going to hurt a cat!”
Kasusu hummed. “I’m sure you won’t, but I want you to try.”
Sargon rolled onto his back, wanting me to stroke his tummy. “I’m not using an ax.”
“Whatever,” replied the sword. “It’s your funeral.”
Sargon purred as I came closer, and he wriggled in anticipation of a sweet belly-rub.
“Nice kitty.” I took another step, acting as casual as I could. “Pretty kitty.”
Aw, he was swishing his tail.
I reached down. “You want a cuddle? Come on—”
Sargon flipped onto his feet and roared.
The cabinets shook, and a suit of armor collapsed as the cat launched himself at me. He slammed all four feet into my face, claws tearing my cheeks. I fell over, and the cat leaped free.
Have you ever heard a sword laugh? It sounded like metal edges being scraped together, worse than fingernails on a blackboard.
I jumped back up, and the tabby prowled around me. “Wait a minute. He looks bigger.”
“Lesson one in combat: Things are never as they seem,” replied Kasusu. “So, do you want to go get the ax now?”
“La, shukran. I do not need an ax.” I crouched, ready to duck, dodge, dive, weave, whatever was necessary to take this cat down. “Come here, you mangy fleabag.”
He sprang.
Not like a small house cat, but like the kind of cat you’d find prowling the Serengeti. The beast slammed into my chest like a truck, sending me tumbling again. How could he have hit so hard? I tried to get up, but his claws ripped my forearm, and a swipe of his paw almost knocked out my molars. I threw my arms across my face as his teeth sank into my shoulder.
“The ax, Private!” yelled Kasusu.
“Get off me!” I yelled. I grabbed the tabby by the scruff of the neck and tried to push him off, with less than no success. How could he be so heavy?
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