The Tower of Bashan

by Joshua P. Simon

  She set her goblet down lightly and folded her hands on the green-marble dining table she shared with her brother and the house leaders. The cool stone against her bare skin helped calm her growing frustration. Mira had keenly listened to the entire conversation through a façade of indifference.

  The house leaders noticed the change in her attitude, several stirring in their seats as they cast uncomfortable glances her way. Her brother, Prince Minander, noticed their behavior as well, but refused to acknowledge it. His only response was a furrowed brow beneath a blindingly white turban.

  She suppressed a smile.

  Mira leaned back in her chair, picked up her goblet, and once more began playing with its contents. She knew that the more powerful leaders of Bashan’s houses would be no more fooled by her behavior than they were before. However, the younger leaders noticeably relaxed.

  The dinner ended late. Drinks continued in the palace’s upper hall. Mira mingled just enough to get a feel of the room and make sure a new issue wasn’t broached. She only added her opinion to conversations when directly asked. Otherwise, she played the part of the supportive sister, a princess best seen and not heard according to her brother.

  Outside, she wore a smile so wide she thought her thin cheeks might crack. Inside, her stomach rolled with a nauseating sense of annoyance.

  She stood at the white marble railing of the balcony just off the library, eying the full moon hovering over the city. Heavy, flat footsteps sounded behind her. She knew the cadence well enough not to turn.

  It’s like he feels that by pounding the stone beneath him, it might make him larger.

  “My prince.”

  Minander came up beside her. He leaned on the railing, looking down rather than out as she had. “Don’t ‘my prince’ me. I’m not blind. I saw what you did.”

  “I did just as you asked, little brother.” She saw him wince at her informality. “I kept my mouth shut. I spoke only when spoken to just as you said a good princess should behave.”

  He sneered. “Yes, but you said more than enough with each twist of your mouth, roll of your eyes, sigh, and clearing of your throat.”

  “I’m sorry. I must be coming down with something.”

  “Maybe we should call the royal physician. We wouldn’t want you to catch something serious. I’m not sure what I would do without someone looking over my shoulder and questioning every decision.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but I don’t think a physician will be necessary. My symptoms only seem to arise when people ignore solid advice and choose to make reckless decisions instead. So long as you heed my warnings, I should remain in perfect health.”

  He seethed. “I wish you would have died instead of father.”

  The comment hurt, but she would not show it. To do so would invite more hateful remarks. “Me too, for he would still be ruling Bashan. Regardless, do you think he would have been any easier on you for your choices? He would not have bitten his tongue at dinner when you insulted Brahma by placing Gulzar at your right hand. Instead, he would have called you a child in front of everyone and had you beg for Brahma’s forgiveness.”

  “Father would have understood my reasoning. Brahma is an old man that doesn’t have long to live. Gulzar is young and gains more power each day. He has resources that Brahma lacks.”

  “What resources?”

  Minander smiled, but said nothing.

  “Have your secrets then, but you’re wrong about Brahma. He controls the majority of the spice trade in all the city-states of Kindi, let alone Bashan. Old or not, he’s too stubborn to die. Even if he does, he has four sons who would do anything to carry on the wishes of their father. Offend Brahma and you run the risk of upsetting them.”

  “Who cares about spices?”

  “You should! They are our chief export. Gulzar deals mostly in silks.”

  Minander smiled wider.

  Foolish brother. I know you’re up to something. I may have promised to keep my mouth shut at dinner, but I’ll not let your behavior slide without looking into it.

  “I think you’re letting yourself be lulled in by Gulzar’s empty words,” she continued. “Just because he whispers in your ear does not mean you have to listen. Father never would have elevated him so quickly at his table just as he wouldn’t have placed any weight on the foreign whores Gulzar gifts you.”

  Minander’s smile vanished. A scowl took its place. “Father was no priest after Mother died.”

  “No. But Father would have bedded the whores and kicked them out of the palace at dawn with a gold coin for their trouble. He would not have given them anything of value or allowed them to linger in the palace. You let them forget their place.”

  “Leave Riya out of this.”

  “Too late.” She cleared her throat, pausing for effect. “I caught her stealing Mother’s diamond pendant. I’m sure you recall it. Father gave it to her on their wedding day. The one she never took off and hoped you might one day give to your wife. Apparently Riya thought herself ready for the role.”

  “What are you talking about? The room where it’s kept is heavily guarded.”

  “During interrogation, she admitted to sleeping with two of the guards in order to gain access to the room. However, the third remained faithful to his wife. It was he who reported Riya’s theft. The two guards have been questioned, punished, and relieved of their duties. You can question them if you don’t believe me. Riya is still in the dungeons if you want another night with her before she’s whipped for her crimes and cast out of the city. I’m assuming you approve of my judgment considering her insult.”

  His face twisted in anger. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Despite your assumptions, I don’t hate you, Minander. I never have.”

  “You want to rule Bashan, but can’t because of me.”

  “No. I just don’t want you to lead Bashan down a path Father would not approve.”

  Their father, Pandhuka, sent Minander abroad as a boy to study with famous leaders around Untan in the hopes that he would be wiser, well-cultured, and well-prepared after he came of age. Her brother had returned well-traveled, but somehow missed the part about gaining culture and wisdom.

  He would have done better to remain under your eye, Father. You sold yourself short.

  Minander snorted. “Forget about Father. I rule Bashan and your influence dwindles each day. What will you do when it is gone?”

  Her eyes narrowed. She said nothing.

  Forced to rule after her father’s death with her brother abroad and still under age, Mira made her share of early mistakes. However, she quickly grew into the role, developing and building upon the work her father began. In a perfect world, her accomplishments would make her worthy to continue as ruler. However, Bashan’s laws were as clear as they were ancient and outdated. A sister could not rule over a brother, even a younger brother, once the brother reached the age of maturity.

  With the support of Bashan’s major houses, she had managed to create a transitional phase for handing over the throne due to her concern about Minander’s readiness. Her good intentions to ensure Bashan continued down their father’s path drove a rift between them. It widened each day. The little boy she had loved, looked after, and played with seemed like someone from another life.

  What I wouldn’t give to have that brother back again.

  He chuckled. “Speechless? I will savor this moment for a long time.”

  He walked back inside.

  Mira stared at her brother’s retreating back, his golden-hued sherwani cut in a way that gave even his narrow shoulders the appearance of strength.

  Clothes may make the man, but they do not make the ruler.

  She faced the city, her gaze slowly sweeping across each district before resting on the tower that oversaw it all in a way the six-story palace could never match. Regret tugged at her heart as she thought of what the tower had become.

  Turmoil in Kindi among the city-states had develop
ed again early in her reign. With threats of war always looming and Bashan’s coffers dwindling, she had to do something to keep the city financially stable. Her idea to open the area around the tower to the public and charge admission for tours of the entrance had been a difficult choice.

  The revenue that spilled into the city erased Bashan’s debt.

  Father still would have raged at what that led to.

  When Minander entered the transitional phase, he went behind her back and turned the tower into a spectacle, allowing vendors, merchants, and the dregs of the city access. Revenue increased three fold.

  But we are even less wealthy because he spends the extra money like a child buying candy. How much does it cost to entertain his so-called friends?

  The thought reminded her of letters she would need to write before bed. She needed to find out what Gulzar had his hand in that Minander found so appealing.

  She went back inside, thinking on her brother’s last comment. Minander did have the right of it. Her power and influence over the major houses had dwindled. They still showed her respect, but the few conversations she found herself pulled into had a different tone than they would have had a year ago.

  What will I do when I have no power left?

  Her mouth tasted of bile. She knew the answer.

  I’ll be matched and married off to suit my brother’s needs.

  She sighed and whispered a prayer, hoping the spirit of her father might hear it.

  She could use some of his sage advice.

  CHAPTER 5

  Rondel could only stay positive about his work for so long.

  Carrying a sack of smelly trash, picking up the leavings of other people’s meals, being looked down on as scum, and cleaning up after drunkards with bad aim in the privy had finally become too much for him to take. Twice his boss scolded him for snapping at tourists that gave him a cross look. Andrasta fared no better, cuffing a boy who thought to grab a handful of her womanhood.

  But the day is finally over. Perhaps tomorrow will be better.

  Guards hustled out the normal foot traffic that dirtied the blue marble spanning the area around the tower. All that remained were people like him cleaning and preparing the space for another busy day.

  Andrasta had barely spoken to him over the last few days, too angry with their lack of progress.

  She trusts me and I keep failing her. I’ve barely learned anything about the tower’s entrance. Perhaps it’s just better to finish the day and quit.

  He walked by a stand selling miniature versions of the tower carved from ivory. Rondel paused briefly to admire the detail. About the only thing worth purchasing around here. Too bad most people can’t afford to pay what the pieces are worth.

  He rounded a corner and froze at the recognition of familiar faces. Before him stood two large brothers from the nation of Kurk. Like others of their nationality, the two looked like descendants of giants, each standing over seven and a half feet tall. Black cloaks draped over wide shoulders. Pale skin and hard, jutting features gave them the appearance of conjured demons.

  They definitely fell off the same branch of the ugly tree. And it must have been a high one.

  Like many from Kurk, the brothers bore names that few could pronounce if written due to an absurd amount of apostrophes. He often referred to them as Dimwit and Nitwit. They worked the area around the tower doing similar work as he and Andrasta. Rondel noted that with their size they’d make excellent leg breakers or bodyguards for one of the various local crime organizations. Andrasta had joked that they had to know which part of the body was the leg first.

  He smiled, recalling the rare jest from his partner. The grin faded when he saw that Dimwit carried a busted lip and Nitwit a black eye. He opened his mouth to ask what had happened when Nitwit cut him off. He pulled aside a curtain that led to the back of a vendor’s stand. “Drop the sack and get inside.”

  “Yeah, then take off your pants and small clothes,” said Dimwit.

  Rondel shook his head, sure he must have heard incorrectly. “What?”

  Nitwit drew steel, a rusted long sword. “You heard us.”

  Rondel slowly lowered his sack, allowing his good hand to slide under his ragged robes. Fingers tickled the hilt of his short sword. “Look guys, wanting me to strip naked is a pretty big request. One I’m not keen on doing. So how about you tell me what this is about?”

  “You owe us,” said Dimwit

  “I owe you by getting naked?”

  Dimwit nodded as if the explanation was complete.

  “Can you elaborate on that?”

  “Elaborate?”

  “Give me more information.”

  “We wanted your sister. And she wanted us. She gave us looks.”

  Andrasta? “What sort of looks?”

  “Heavy breathing. Small eyes,” said Nitwit. “You know, what every woman looks like when she wants sex.”

  Unbelievable. These idiots tried to hit on Andrasta. Well, that explains the eye and the lip. “Take it from me, that’s not lust. That’s anger.”

  “Maybe, but we went to get sex.”

  “And that didn’t go well, I take it?” I’m actually surprised the two of you are alive.

  “She moves quick.”

  “Yeah, and she hits hard,” added Dimwit, rubbing his jaw.

  I can vouch for that.

  Rondel closed his hand around the hilt of his blade, but kept it hidden beneath his clothes. “I still don’t understand where I come into this.”

  “We still want sex,” said Nitwit. “She’s your sister. You’ll do instead.”

  Rondel’s eyes widened. I can’t believe I just heard that. “You do realize that I’m not a woman, right?”

  Nitwit shrugged. “We prefer women, but we take whatever.”

  “Besides, you are smaller like a woman,” said Dimwit. “Smaller than your sister anyway.”

  Rondel stood straighter, throwing aside his false persona while drawing his sword. “You’ll find me less forgiving than her.”

  Nitwit chuckled and stepped forward.

  Too angry at the situation, and too scared about where it could go, Rondel didn’t bother with dancing around. He darted inside, slicing the Kurk’s forearm. Dark blood ran across pale skin. Nitwit growled and raised his blade. He moved faster than expected. Rondel deflected the worst of the blow, but the impact sent a lancing pain up his arm and shoulder. He barely avoided the follow up strike, quickly countering with a stab at the Kurk’s face.

  Nitwit bellowed, dropping his weapon, hands going up to his right eye.

  Rondel moved in closer to finish the job, but Dimwit moved faster than expected and came to his brother’s aid. Huge bearlike arms pinned his own at his sides. He whipped his heels back toward Dimwit’s crotch and shins, but could not connect with either. The behemoth squeezed harder. Rondel began to yell, but a hand so large it nearly engulfed his face, clamped over his mouth. Rondel bit down and tasted blood, but the Kurk didn’t even flinch.

  Dimwit chided his brother. “Quit crying. Help me undress him. He squirms.”

  “He took my eye!” Nitwit removed his hands, exposing a bloody hole.

  Rondel would have found satisfaction in the damage, if not for his current situation. Gods, I avoided rape all those years on the road in pompous clothes. I never once suffered such a fate in prison. Now, when I’m more skilled to defend myself than ever, it’s going to happen at the mercy of men as large as bulls.

  A muffled whimper passed through his lips and into the Kurk’s palm as he tried to shout Andrasta’s name to no avail. His heart raced. Sweat dripped down his spine.

  “You have another eye.”

  “It hurts. I should go first.”

  “Why? You let him stick you. I should go first. I didn’t let him stick me. I’m smart. I grabbed him when he was distracted.”

  “But I distracted him!”

  The two brothers continued to argue. Dimwit’s grip grew tighter over Rondel’s face as the in
tensity of the dispute increased. He could not break free. His panic worsened as it became nearly impossible to breath with his mouth and nose covered.

  This is how I’m going to die? By accident while two brothers argue who’ll have their way with me first?

  Considering his other option, death suddenly didn’t seem so bad after all.

  Nitwit gestured wildly with his hands and then stopped midsentence. His chin dropped, eyes bulging. A half foot of steel protruded from the Kurk’s chest. It twisted and slid loose. Nitwit collapsed.

  The hand around Rondel’s mouth fell away as did the massive arms around his body. He struck the ground hard, gasping for air. Between the coughs, hacks, and hurried intakes of breath, Rondel managed to get his hands and knees under him. A loud thud landed beside him. Someone had relieved Dimwit of his head.

  Not like he was using it anyway.

  A strong hand reached under his arm and yanked him up. His knees wobbled, and he fell forward into Andrasta’s chest. She righted him, grasped his shoulders, and looked into his eyes. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t understand anything because his heart thumped so loudly in his ears.

  “It sounds like you’re talking underwater,” he managed to mumble.

  “I said we need to get out of here. Someone just alerted the guards. We don’t want to get caught.”

  They’ll never believe that a simpleton killed two Kurks. Our cover is blown.

  She thrust his sword back in his hand and took off, gesturing for Rondel to follow. Somehow his limbs found life and he chased after his partner.

  * * *

  Lela walked the streets of Bashan without any real purpose other than to not be at her tiny apartment with Kunal. She never called the place home. Her home resided over Kunal’s old tailor shop where she once had her own room and a real bed. It was a place where the two had shared meals, played games, and even sang songs. Uncle would always insist on singing the woman’s lead on Flowers Fair, and his high falsesetto never failed to send her into a fit of giggles, especially the way he fluttered his eyelashes when doing so.

  Our neighbors weren’t quite so fond of his voice though. With a grin she recalled the old woman in the next building over who would complain of dying cats.