Halcyon (The Complete Trilogy)

by Joseph Robert Lewis

“Okay, then we’ll start looking there.”

  “But that’s an entire city district, dozens of blocks with hundreds of buildings. Where do we actually start?”

  Ghanima smiled. “The closest teahouse. They’ll have heard or seen something, I’m sure.”

  Taziri watched them jog away across the airfield and disappear around a distant corner onto some dawn-kissed side street. Alone, she sat and listened to the two men snore until her belly began to grumble and she gently woke the old doctor.

  He sat up and yawned. “Is it over?”

  “No. I was hoping you might get us breakfast.”

  “Oh.” He frowned and wiped at his eyes. “Fine.”

  Evander was gone almost an hour, long enough for Taziri to begin worrying what might have happened to him when the little figure in gray appeared at the airfield gates. She took a small paper bundle from the doctor as he stepped inside. “What did you find?”

  Evander sat down in his seat at the back of the cabin. “I don’t know. Some sort of tavern, I suppose. What do you call them?”

  “A café. There aren’t any taverns in Marrakesh.”

  “Whatever it was, it was a mile from here and my hip is aching. This was the only thing they had that I recognized. Leftovers from last night, they said.”

  Taziri opened the bulging flatbread and found cold yams, rice, and peas. “Thank you for this.” She eased back into her seat, closed her eyes, and began to eat.

  “So, do we feed him or is that against the rules?” The doctor pointed at the unconscious man on the floor as he began to shovel food into the gap in his beard.

  Dear God, please give me five minutes of silence. Just five. Taziri raised an eyebrow, shook her head slightly, and continued eating.

  “Did you hear me? I said—oh, sorry, I forgot you people don’t talk during meals.” Evander sniffed at his breakfast, and then resumed shoveling. “Well, I hope you don’t mind listening while you eat.”

  Taziri sighed and tried to focus on biting, chewing, and tasting. Each warm mouthful slipped down into her belly and quelled the angry demons that had been plaguing her since she first leapt up from the supper table the night before. She thought about each fiber and seed entering her body, all the simple mysteries of plants, water, earth, and sunlight flowing into her flesh, the divine energy sweeping through her blood. The infinite names and faces of God traveling from one form of life to another—

  “…don’t understand why these things keep happening to me. That’s the curse of being a doctor, you see, you’re too valuable to everyone. Everyone needs a doctor, sooner or later, and if you’re too good then everyone wants you personally, and you end up sailing or flying all over the world to do look at boils and infections and bloody, maggoty messes…”

  Taziri slowly swallowed what was in her mouth, turned a little farther away from Evander, and continued eating with her eyes closed.

  “…wasn’t so bad in those days, but after the wars with the Persians, well, you can imagine, my services were needed everywhere. They wanted me for everything, every little thing! Stabbings, burnings, limbs hacked off, some clean as a butcher’s stroke, some all torn up and ragged…”

  Taziri quickly finished her breakfast and wiped her hand on her pants. “That’s a wonderful story, doctor. I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job in Orossa.”

  “If we ever get there!” Evander wiped his sleeve through his beard, removing some but not all of the food from his face. “I was hoping to arrive by noon today. Clearly, that is not going to happen. Maybe I need to find a train or something.”

  “Maybe.” Taziri stood and stretched, and a shadow of movement outside caught her eye. Two men were approaching the airship from the field gates. “Doctor, stay there.” She picked up her long wrench, the one she had identified just a few hours earlier as her new favorite. The strangers were plainly dressed and clean shaven, and Taziri began to relax slightly. Then she saw long knives poking out of the men’s boots.

  Evander knelt on the bench and stared through the window. “Trouble?”

  “Well, they’re not the ground crew.” Taziri waited until the men were closer and then called out, “Can I help you gentlemen? I’m sorry, but we’re not taking on passengers here. You’ll need to speak to someone at the office over there to arrange tickets. I’m sure something will be available later in the week.” Then she thought of the Grebe and the Crake and realized there probably wouldn’t be another airship in Port Chellah for quite some time unless they came from the Southern Air Corps in Maroqez.

  “Medur!” The men paused in the grass to shout. “You in there?”

  Hamuy shuddered awake with a sharp grunt. “Eh?”

  “Medur! The old cow sent us. Medur!”

  Taziri glared down at the man and tried to force him to keep his teeth together with a silent prayer, but a sinking weight in her stomach told her that God wasn’t going to weld her prisoner’s mouth shut.

  “Eh?” Hamuy rolled onto his side, squinting and coughing. “Baako? Is that you, you ugly sack of crap?” He grinned at the floor. “I’m in here!”

  The men started forward again and Taziri grabbed the hatch and slammed it shut, spinning the lock until it clanged tight.

  “What are we going to do?” The doctor pushed away from the window and sat down on the opposite side of the cabin, his back shoved against the wall.

  “The only thing we can do.” Taziri fell into the pilot’s seat and started flipping switches. As the electric motors whirred to life, the two men pounded on the hatch, demanding to be let in.

  “But we’re tied down to those metal pins in the ground.” Evander pointed to the mooring lines outside. “We can’t possibly take off.”

  “Of course we can.” Taziri grabbed one of the heavy levers under her seat and yanked it up. With a sharp click, the mooring rings on the gondola snapped open and the ropes fell to the ground. In that instant, a brisk morning breeze caught the Halcyon, lifting it roughly from the earth and propelling it sideways across the field, away from the men, and straight toward a row of small storage buildings lining the airfield a hundred yards away.

  “Uhm…” The doctor began tapping on the window as he stared at the white-washed stone structures rushing toward them. “Up? Up. More up. Up now. Go up!”

  “I’m working on it!” Taziri opened the throttles and spun the propellers down. The ship bucked as the engines tried to hurl the cabin up against the huge gas envelope, and after a moment’s struggle against the forces of inertia, the craft began to rise.

  “More! Up more!” As though buoyed by the Hellan’s cries, the airship clawed upward foot by foot and suddenly the grass rushing by beneath them gave way to gravel and pavement. And then a rooftop.

  A demonic scream of metal scraping on stone filled the cabin as the Halcyon shuddered and rocked. The floor vibrated as the scream stretched out longer and louder. The ship twisted to starboard, shaking harder as the hull ground across the slate tiles and crashed into brick chimneys and copper stovepipes. Taziri clenched her jaw, gripping the throttles tighter and tighter, shoving them against the stops with all her strength. Her left arm shuddered and for a moment her left hand lost its grip, but she forced her fingers closed and held on. Halcyon shrieked louder.

  And then all was silence and stillness. They glided effortlessly over the rooftops, and gradually the dull drone of the propellers reasserted itself in Taziri’s ears. Behind them, the airfield had already been reduced to a small green patch amidst the gray roads and pale stone buildings.

  “We’re safe.” Taziri released her death grip on the controls and cradled her left hand in her lap. She massaged the feeling back into her palm, though her little finger remained numb and her ring finger was tingling slightly. “No one can touch us now.”

  “Lovely.” Evander slumped down on his seat. “Except we’re up here with this bastard and all your friends are down there somewhere.”

  Taziri sighed and nodded. “One disaster at a time, please.”
/>
  Hamuy snorted, then winced and shuddered, and lay back down flat on the floor.

  Chapter 10. Syfax

  The major crouched in a dark corner of the warehouse. Leaning against a wooden crate, he felt a splinter pricking him in the back. Around the corner some twenty yards away, Barika Chaou was speaking in a voice too low to hear. There were at least three other people in the building, two men and a woman. Chaou was doing most of the talking. Syfax crept forward and picked out a few words.

  Telegraph. Shifrah. Arafez.

  The ambassador’s stolen horse whickered softly from some unseen corner. Syfax wondered absently what would happen to his own horse, which he left tied in front of a dingy excuse for a café at the edge of the district. Chaou had proven remarkably capable in the saddle, leaving the marshal clattering noisily up and down the empty pre-dawn streets of Port Chellah all alone. A quiet hour’s search on foot had proven more productive.

  Syfax held his revolver lightly as he tried to gauge the nature of the conversation that he couldn’t hear. Short sentences with no real discussion, like a commander giving orders. Maybe they’ll break up in a few minutes and leave the ambassador alone. Vulnerable. We can always pick up the small fry later when I’m not outnumbered.

  The soft murmuring ended. Footsteps echoed faintly throughout the warehouse, though none approached the marshal’s hiding place. Syfax peeked out and saw no one. He stood cautiously, then crept forward down the narrow space between the stacks of crates and surveyed the area. Nothing. The horse whickered again and the major dashed toward the sound. He rounded a corner, stepping out into the street, and leveled his gun at the small woman about to mount the horse. “Ambassador. Long time no see.”

  The older woman froze, and then slowly turned around with hands raised. “Major Zidane.”

  “Sorry I’m late, had a little horse trouble on the way over. Why don’t you step back and lie down on the ground for me? Right over there, in that mud.”

  Chaou stepped back from the horse. “I really wish you weren’t quite so persistent. You might force me to do something unfortunate. I don’t like hurting people, but I am capable of it, as poor Captain Aknin learned a short while ago.”

  “Don’t forget the captain of the Crake. You put a bullet in her, too.”

  “I’m not forgetting.” Chaou shook her head sharply. “Just not counting. If it hadn’t been for that stupid girl trying to be a hero, no one would have been hurt and the Crake would still be in one piece. And I wouldn’t have had to spend half the night walking through the woods.”

  Syfax scowled. “Seriously? You’re blaming the pilot girl?”

  “Please, major. Let’s not get caught up in details. Besides, that’s all in the past now. And as long as you’re pointing a gun at me, I’d like to talk to you about the future. Your future and the future of Marrakesh.” The ambassador leaned back against a crate, but quickly pushed away from it with a frown. “Dirt everywhere, you know. Anyway, as I was saying, I’ve heard your name quite a few times while staying with Lady Damya in Tingis. Everyone seems very impressed with you. So many arrests. But an unusual number of kills. Frankly, the brass seem a little concerned about what would happen if they promote you, but even more concerned about what would happen if they leave you on the street. Does that sound right?”

  “It sounds like you really like to hear yourself talk, lady. Now turn around and put your hands at the small of your back, slowly.” He fished around in his pockets for a set of cuffs.

  “I’d rather not.” Chaou didn’t move. “Does it seem right to you that your career has stalled because you are, essentially, too good at your job?”

  “I don’t question my superiors. They do their job, I do mine. Quick question for you. Who or what is a shifrah? I couldn’t help overhearing you a minute ago.”

  Chaou shook her head. “I don’t recognize the word. You must have misheard.”

  “Sure I did. Turn around or I might shoot you. Accidentally, of course.” He thumbed the hammer back.

  The ambassador gazed steadily up at him. “There is a problem with this country. We have the most powerful machines in the world, nearly limitless natural resources, and the most talented work force in history, and yet we bow to Darius in Persia and curry the favor of the Songhai lords. We go to endless lengths to placate the Bafours, the Kanemi, the Kel Ahaggar, Rome, Carthage, and even the slobbering Silver Prince in España. We pay them, we feed them, and we even arm them. Why?”

  “I don’t follow international politics. I’m more of a boxing fan.” Syfax rested his finger gently on the trigger. Is she actually trying to talk her way out of this? Or is she just stalling, hoping one of her little friends comes back? “And right now, I’m more concerned with local affairs. Speaking of which, where is your gun?”

  “I gave it to one of my friends, someone who can make better use of it than I can. I’m not very comfortable with firearms.”

  “Heh. Me neither.” Syfax grinned as he roughly searched the ambassador’s pockets, her belt, her boots, even her hair. “So you really did handoff your gun? Well, I’ll just add weapons trafficking to the list of charges.” He holstered his gun, pulled a set of handcuffs free of his pocket, and closed one of the rings around the woman’s wrist.

  Chaou smiled thinly. “Regarding your career, major, I’ll come to the point. I’m prepared to offer you a colonel’s bars on that uniform of yours, a substantial increase in salary, and a position on the Marshal General’s personal staff.”

  Syfax grinned in spite of himself. “That is, without question, the single best bribe I have ever been offered. The last scumbag was only willing to spread her legs for me. But I don’t think an ambassador can give me a promotion.”

  “No, but the Marshal General can, and I can assure you that she’ll be prepared to deliver whatever I promise.” Chaou tilted her head to one side, bird-like. “Does the offer interest you?”

  “I’m still waiting to hear what all this generosity will cost me.” Syfax held the open cuff in his fist, wondering if it made more sense to cuff her hands together or to cuff her to himself.

  “Well, it involves you walking out of this place, alive and well, and leaving me and my associates to conduct our business in peace. And of course, I may expect some small favors from you, in your official capacity, from time to time. Naturally.”

  “Naturally.” Syfax listened for any sign of a returning associate. They seemed to be alone. “But you recently shot one of your buddies in the back of the head, so I’m not really enthusiastic about being your friend right now.” She’s really doing this. She’s really trying to recruit me. Idiot.

  “A fair criticism.” Chaou nodded slowly. “But in my defense, you scared me back at the tomb, and frankly I’m not one for unexpected situations. It’s against my nature. I prefer plans, and alternate plans, and backup plans, and contingency plans. Improvisation is not my strong suit. Successful negotiations with foreign governments are not about tact or grace, they are about planning. Anticipating. Preparing. Which is my way of saying that it is highly unlikely that I would ever shoot you in the back of the head. Although admittedly, not impossible.”

  “Well, that much I can believe.”

  “You see, major, I’m not in the business of making enemies. I much prefer making allies. We have enough enemies already.”

  “If you say so.” He was getting tired of standing around. Cuff her hands together. Definitely. If her friends do show up, I don’t need the dead weight on my arm. Syfax twisted the cuff around, trying to line it up with her free wrist but there was a kink in the little chain.

  “Major? Major Zidane!” The shout echoed from the far end of the warehouse.

  Syfax froze. Who the hell could that be?

  The ambassador raised an eyebrow. “It seems someone is looking for you.”

  “It does sound that way.” He flicked the open cuff back and forth in his free hand as he tried to identify the stranger. The yelling voice was closer now, louder and
clearer. It was a woman’s voice.

  “I can only hope my friends don’t come back to see who is yelling. It poses a dilemma for both of us. A bloody shoot-out would be in no one’s best interests. But if you agree to my terms, everyone walks away in one piece,” Chaou said. “But I’m worried that I can’t really trust you right now, major.”

  “Then we’ll just have to risk a little bloodbath.” Syfax dropped the open cuff and reached for his revolver.

  The ambassador snaked her hand away and the marshal felt a tiny stinging sensation in his fingertips. A blade? A razor between her fingers? Syfax glanced down but didn’t see any cuts or blood on his hand.

  Chaou smiled. “Something the matter, major?”

  Syfax shook his hand to throw off the strange tingling under his skin and then he reached for the ambassador again. The older woman smiled and held out her own hand as though to shake his. Frowning, Syfax closed his fingers tightly around Chaou’s outstretched hand.

  Pain blossomed through Syfax’s arm and shoulder and neck. Every nerve buzzed and burned and the major tasted copper and oil in his empty mouth. Tiny lights danced across his vision, orange and green and purple. He yanked his hand back and lashed out with his other fist to knock the ambassador’s arm away. Syfax succeeded in hitting the older woman’s forearm as he collapsed to his side, clutching his arm and grinding his teeth, trying to blink his eyes clear of the lights. He opened his mouth, working his jaw to pop his ears. Dimly, he saw and heard Chaou mount her horse and gallop away down the street.

  “Major!” Boots thumped and Kenan dashed into view. “Major!”

  The corporal dropped to one knee and helped Syfax sit up. The orange and green spots faded and the numb buzzing in his arm gave way to a more painful and distracting ache. Syfax blinked and groaned, and spat. The street spun drunkenly to the left. He swallowed hard and blinked hard, trying to force his body into working properly.

  “Major? Are you all right?”

  “Mmm.” He nodded. Better not to use words, not yet. He gestured upward and Kenan helped him to his feet. He blinked a few more times and let the world resolve back into the shadowy shapes of warehouses and streetlights and horse dung.