But the moment never came. No one approached the men in green, no one drove a wagon through their ranks, no mad horse kicked over a cart, and no group of heedless children ran laughing into their midst.
Instead, Khai led his men swiftly through the streets of Alexandria away from the markets and soon Qhora saw long slender gardens and fountains running down the center of the avenue. The architecture of the buildings on either side shifted dramatically from the ancient sun-bleached stone slabs to dark red bricks, white columns, and gray marble blocks swirling with green veins. There were steepled roofs, glazed windows, shaded porticos, and colorful pennants snapping in the breeze high over head.
Tycho came closer to her and muttered, “The Royal Quarter. Permanent and temporary homes for the countless princes, generals, ambassadors, and high priests of Eran. Once the lords of Aegyptus reigned from here, when this was a free nation. Be careful. There will more guards and soldiers here.”
Qhora nodded. She’d already noted the armed men flanking the doors and lining the walkways beyond the walls and iron gates around some of the larger estates.
At the next intersection, Khai led his men to the right through an open gate and up a wide stair into a large colonnaded building that reminded Qhora slightly of the cathedrals of Tartessos and Cordoba back home. She paused at the gate, but Tycho walked right past her and began grunting his way up the steps. He glanced back at her with a grin. “It’s safe. This is the library. Part of the museum. It’s a school, open to all. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
Together they mounted the steps, passing a steady stream of young boys in simple white smocks carrying books and scrolls. At the top of the stair they entered a large rotunda with a dozen smaller doors leading away in every direction. Diverse works of art from Hellas, Eran, Italia, Punt, Kanem, Songhai, and India adorned the walls or balanced on small plinths, and the interior of the dome overhead was a golden lattice of slender rods holding stained glass portraits of dignified old men in beards and scholarly hats.
“That way.” Tycho pointed left and they followed him left.
At the end of the corridor they emerged into a large room of row upon row of shelves of books, as well as tables around which sat countless more young men in white smocks reading, writing, and yawning.
“There.” Salvator pointed to the far end of the room where Khai and his guards stood with two middle-aged scholars in white.
Qhora led the way along the right-hand wall, moving quickly and quietly behind the walls of books and scrolls until they were close enough to hear the men talking. The conversation was in Eranian, but Tycho provided a running translation.
“…and the next time that I request a document, I expect it to be delivered to me within the hour,” Khai said. “I contribute far too much time and money to this institution to be treated as a common student.”
“Sir, the blueprints that you requested are stored in the Red Room, and by the order of your own Master Rashaken, no document in the Red Room is ever to be copied or taken from the library, by anyone, for any reason,” the librarian said calmly.
“Why the hell are they in the Red Room? The original architectural drawings of Constantia are no military secret or arcane scientific knowledge. They’re just drawings!” Khai hissed.
Tycho grabbed Qhora’s sleeve. “Constantia?” he whispered.
“Keep translating,” she whispered back.
“Sir, I have my orders,” the librarian said dully. “If it is in the Red Room, then it is not to be copied or removed, but you are welcome to review them here, as always.”
Khai sneered. “Rashaken is an old man. When he dies, who do you think will be giving the orders here?”
“Most likely you, sir,” the librarian replied. “And I trust you will appreciate how precisely this institution follows your orders then, as we follow Master Rashaken’s orders now. I doubt, sir, that you would want your orders countermanded by a subordinate, even a high-ranking subordinate, particularly a high-ranking subordinate who presumes to undermine your authority on the grounds that he will one day replace you.”
Khai’s sneer twisted into an unpleasant smile. “I suppose there is something to be said for your integrity, as blind and thoughtless as it may be. Take me to the Red Room and present the drawings of Constantia. And call a scribe. I need to dictate several letters while I review the drawings.”
“Yes, sir. What languages will you require of the scribes?”
Khai sighed. “Eranian, Hellan, Raskan, and Vlachian. And Rus, if anyone knows it.”
“Very good, sir.” The librarian led Khai and the others to the end of the reading room and they disappeared through a door stained dark red.
“What is he doing?” Tycho asked. He looked from Qhora to Salvator. “What is he going to do about Constantia? Who is he going to write to? He could be planning something, anything! An invasion. A pact with the Ruslanders, or with the Vlachian prince? If he makes an alliance with Vlachia before my lady, then Constantia will be surrounded by enemies!”
“Be quiet, little man.” The Italian exhaled slowly. “No one cares about your little city.”
“I care!” Tycho snapped.
“Shut up! Both of you!” Qhora held up her hand, but she wasn’t looking at either of them. She was looking across the room to the door through which they had entered a moment ago. A man in green hurried down the center aisle, spoke briefly with one of the librarians, and then dashed to the dark red door through which Khai had left. Qhora frowned. “That doesn’t look good.”
A shout echoed from the room beyond the red door.
“Doesn’t sound good, either,” Tycho said.
The red door swung open and Khai strode out, moving so quickly he was almost running. His green guards dashed out close on his heels, the other scholars and librarians scattered to avoid them as they crossed the room, and all the while Khai muttered to his men.
When they were gone, Qhora touched Tycho’s shoulder. “He said the name Aker. I heard him. Did you hear him? What was he saying?”
“I couldn’t hear much. Something about the Bantu and Songhai and trains.”
“Trains?” Salvator frowned. “What about trains?”
“I don’t know, but they’re going there now,” Tycho said. “To the trains.”
Qhora looked at Mirari. “Trains. You said you went back to the rail yard to see the captain. Is there some chance you were followed by these Bantu or Songhai?”
“I did not think so, but…” The masked woman hesitated. “It is possible.”
“Oh, no.” Qhora started for the door. “Come! Hurry!”
Chapter 27. Taziri
She stepped back from the strange addition to the front of the Halcyon and said, “Okay, I think we’re all set up here.”
Bastet smiled. “It looks like an elephant.”
Taziri frowned at the cowl covering the propeller and the long wet hose hanging off it. “Maybe a little.” She turned her attention back to the nozzle at the other end of the hose. She’d already sealed the nozzle onto the hose and clamped a heavy electrode on the side of the nozzle so that it poked out over the opening, and now she was pawing through a small box of screws so she could wire the electrode to the Halcyon’s battery.
“I hope the others come back soon,” Bastet said. “I really want to see your machine work.”
“So do I,” Taziri muttered as she attached the wire to the electrode. A second wire, screwed into the opposite side of the nozzle, hung down loose on the ground. She paused to study the rough assemblage of clamps, mismatched hardware, wicker basket, and equine intestinal tubing. “When I write this up for the journals, I’m going to lie about the hose. I’m sorry, I just have to.”
The young girl smiled. “Are you all done?”
“Yeah.”
“So how does it work?”
Taziri shrugged. “It’s pretty simple. We turn on the engine to spin the propeller, which blows air into the cowl, which funnels the air into th
e hose at high speed, and it comes out the nozzle here. That’s our fuel, compressed air. I touch this loose wire to the sword and then I throw this little switch,” she pointed to the little metal hook that had been the lid on a can of beans until recently, “and we get a little electrical spark across nozzle, right through the air stream to the sword, like a tiny bolt of lightning. If I did it right, then this spark with ignite the air stream and we will have ourselves a plasma torch.”
“How hot will it be?”
“I have absolutely no idea. Very hot, I’m guessing.” Taziri pulled out her heavy leather gloves and laid them on her knee. “So, you’re really four thousand years old?”
“Yep.”
“What was school like four thousand years ago?”
“I never went to school, but I did have a tutor for a few years. Grandfather arranged it. I learned to read and write, court etiquette, politics, poetry, history. The usual.”
“What about mathematics and science?”
Bastet shook her head. “I suppose I could, but I’m not really interested.”
Taziri frowned. “Are you sure? Because you seem pretty interested.”
The girl laughed. “No, Hasina seemed pretty interested. I’m more…amused. I like you. And I like to see new things. But I have no desire to dress like you and travel like you and scrounge for parts like you.”
Taziri nodded. “Fair enough. Do you still want to help test the plasma torch?”
“Oh yes!”
For the next few minutes, Bastet sat in the pilot’s seat while Taziri showed her how to start the Halcyon’s engine and throttle up the power to increase the speed of the propeller. “We’ll need it at full power to get full air compression,” Taziri said. “But we only have enough fuel to run the engine for a few minutes, so we’ll have to wait for Qhora to return before we can start it. There won’t be enough fuel for even a quick test. We’ll just have to fire it up and hope for the best.”
“What’s this one do?” Bastet reached down for the big lever to the left of her seat.
“Don’t touch that one!” Taziri pointed at the wing release lever. “That would be very bad. Whatever you do, don’t pull the big lever.”
“Okay.” The girl nodded seriously. “I won’t touch the big lever.”
For the next half hour, they sat together in the shade of the Halcyon telling stories about what it was like to grow up as a schoolgirl in Marrakesh or as a priestess in ancient Aegyptus, which was called Kemet before the Persians and the Hellans arrived. Their stories had little in common, and thus they kept entertained by interrupting each other with questions.
“You hear that?” Taziri looked up. She could see nothing but the wall of freight cars that hid the Halcyon from curious eyes, but which also hid the small train station and the street beyond from them. “Sounds like shouting. Sounds like a fight.”
Two gunshots rang out.
Bastet grinned. “You know, it just might be a fight. I’ll take a look.” She stood up and vanished in a soft swirling of aether.
Taziri set down her hose and nozzle and began rolling up her left sleeve to uncover her brace. The bright aluminum wrapping around her forearm gleamed in the morning sunlight. She released the top plate and the small revolver popped up with a soft hiss and the trigger mechanism swung around into her left palm so she could fire it one-handed. When she had first used the original tool tube as a makeshift flare cannon and shotgun, she’d told herself that she was just improvising. But only a few months later she had decided to build the custom revolver attachment for the brace. Not to be worn every day, of course, and never around the house. But on business trips or when working late nights because, well, even a city as civilized as Tingis had its dangers for a woman walking alone in the dark.
Bastet swung into view around the end of the last freight car. “You might want to come see this!”
Taziri jogged to the end of the line and looked out over the train platform and saw two figures running toward the end of the rail yard. The first was a hawk-faced woman in a white jacket with a patch over one eye and a sword in her arms.
Why does she look familiar?
The second runner was a young man with a stubbly scalp, a black leather jacket, and a matte black revolver in his hand.
Well, I know why he looks familiar.
Taziri stepped out from the freight cars and raised her empty hand. “Hello Kenan!”
Both of them slowed to a jog as they looked for the source of the cry, and then seeing the Mazigh woman, they jumped down off the platform and hurried across the gravel yard.
“Captain?” Kenan hustled forward, his face shining with sweat. “You? You’re the one who sent the guide?”
“Guide? What guide?” Taziri swung her gun-arm to the woman in white. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Shifrah,” he said. “You wouldn’t know her, she’s from the east.”
“Oh, I know her.” Taziri nodded.
I couldn’t forget that face. I guess she didn’t spend too much time in jail after all.
The one-eyed woman frowned, then glared. “You!”
“You’ve met?” Kenan asked.
“Your captain here tried to blow me up,” Shifrah said.
“Your girlfriend here tried to hijack the Halcyon. The first Halcyon,” Taziri said. “Back in Arafez during the riots.”
Kenan blinked. “Well, we can chat about that later. We have the sword used to kill Don Lorenzo, and the killer is chasing us with quite a few of his angry friends. Is this your locomotive? We need to go, right now. The guide said we could leave from here.”
“What guide?” Taziri said. Frowning, she lowered her gun, but kept an eye on the woman in white.
“The guide,” Kenan sputtered. “The big black guy with the magical disappearing act?”
“Anubis!” Bastet stepped out from behind the freight car. “Anubis came to you? He told you to come here?”
“Yes, right, Anubis. That’s him.” Kenan nodded.
“Idiot!” Bastet kicked a pile of gravel across the yard. The stones flew over the rail lines and crackled against the old train station like gunfire. “I sent him to help the others. Mirari and Tycho. Not you. That big idiot!”
“What?” Taziri’s gaze wandered up to the platform again. There was a dust cloud rising behind the little train station office, and a vague chorus of angry voices echoed across the streets. “Is Anubis the cousin you went to visit last night? What did you tell him to do?”
Bastet crossed her arms and pouted. “I told him there were two foreigners in the city and he had to help them get the seireiken with the Espani’s soul in it. I told him the name, Aker El Deeb. I even told him what they looked like. A short man with a gun and a tall woman with a knife wearing a mask.”
Taziri looked over at Kenan with his revolver, and at Shifrah with her eye patch and a lone stiletto in her belt. The captain started to laugh.
“I’m not that short,” Kenan muttered.
“Not as short as the man we’re talking about.” Taziri smiled. “But you’ve got the sword, and that’s what matters right now. I’ve got a little science experiment set up back here. We’re all ready to set Don Lorenzo’s soul free. Or as ready as we’re going to be under the circumstances.”
Kenan made a sour face. “You too? With the souls and the ghosts?”
“It’s all real, Kenan,” Taziri said. “Just accept it and move on.”
“Moving on is a good idea. Once we’re out of the city, you can do all the science experiments that you want.”
Taziri shook her head as she walked back toward the Halcyon. “We’re not going anywhere until Qhora and the others get back. And besides, this big bird is out of petrol. The only way out of here is by hitching a ride with another locomotive.”
Kenan glared at her. “I’m sensing a running theme with your career in transportation. Crash this, cripple that. Can’t you keep anything working?”
Taziri stopped and turned to face him, f
inding him a hair shorter than herself. She said quietly, “The Halcyon III works just fine, thanks. I had no idea we were going to fly as far as Alexandria, but we had to chase a certain murderer out of Carthage. Maybe if a certain detective had been more interested in catching killers than helping them escape, none of us would be here right now.”
Kenan looked away. “Yeah, well, we all have our problems.”
“Look alive, people, we have a visitor.” Shifrah pointed back at the platform.
Taziri turned and saw a young man trotting toward them. He wore green and he appeared to be unarmed, but the two taller gentlemen jogging behind him both had single-shot pistols and long knives in their hands. She leveled her revolver at them. “Is that who I think it is?”
“Aker El Deeb.” Kenan nodded. “Watch yourself. He has anger issues.”
“I want my sword!” the man in green yelled.
Shifrah held up the sheathed blade and called out, “This sword?”
“Careful,” Kenan muttered. “He’s got friends.”
“Only two,” Taziri said.
“No.” Kenan pointed at the station platform. “More than two.”
Taziri watched as a small battle of at least three dozen men raged into view and began creeping closer to the rail yard. The men were yelling and punching and wrestling and grappling. Fists were flying, knives flashed in the sun, and the occasional tooth or spatter of blood flew through the air. A frightened crowd of gawkers had formed a ring around the violence, all of them pressing back a good distance from the fray, all of them pale and wide-eyed, but none of them trying to flee.
“My sword! Now!” Aker pointed at Shifrah. Both of his Shona associates aimed and fired. One bullet twanged off a freight car by the woman’s head, but the other struck her square in the shoulder and she dropped the seireiken as she stumbled back into Kenan.
The detective caught her as she fell and quickly helped her back around the freight car and out of the line of fire. Taziri fired two shots back at the men, missing both by wide margins, and then she too dove out of sight behind the freight cars.
Halcyon (The Complete Trilogy) Page 88