Throne of the Crescent Moon

by Saladin Ahmed

  Partner. Again he turned the word over in his mind. Unworthy though he was to speak prayers to God, he prayed now that the Doctor was safe. There was no telling when that Mouw Awa creature would strike again.

  “Raseed?” Litaz’s voice intruded on his thoughts.

  “Yes, Auntie?” He scanned the thin crowd about them as he answered.

  “Zamia Banu Laith Badawi—she is interested in you. Do you see this? Do you understand how careful you must be with this?”

  He felt as if she had slapped him. Without meaning to, he stopped walking. He closed his hand around his swordhilt, said nothing, and started walking again.

  Litaz’s heart-shaped face split in a patronizing smile as she walked beside him. “And you have taken an interest in her, too. Anyone with eyes can see that plainly enough,” she said, sounding amused.

  He began to dispute the alkhemist’s words but found that he could not quite do so without speaking a falsehood, which was forbidden by the Traditions of the Order. He tried to find something to say. But all that he could come up with were questions. “With most humble apologies, Auntie, you should not say such things,” he said at last.

  “She’s a Badawi, Raseed. Even as she is fixed on revenge, she will be thinking about keeping her band from dying out.” Litaz’s smile deepened. It was the smile of one who knew more than Raseed did about certain matters, and he found that it upset him. He kept walking, keeping his gaze straight ahead, hoping to force an end to the conversation.

  But Litaz continued. “It’s all right, you know. What you feel when you look at her. You’ve been holding a sword so long that you’ve known little else. But there is nothing wrong with what you feel when you look at her.”

  The Soo people had a frankness in speaking of things inappropriate—it was not surprising that the Doctor was so comfortable among them. Raseed felt his face flush, and he bit off his words. “You speak of such things too openly!” he said. And surely none could blame him if he was more curt than one ought to be with an elder.

  But if annoyance was edging into his voice, it was annoyance with himself as much as anything. He wanted to be comforted, despicably weak as he was. He wanted to reach out to Litaz and talk to her about these things. But that was simply unacceptable. He fell silent.

  She smiled gently. “If you want to talk, young man, I swear before God that I’ll say not a word to anyone. Not even to Adoulla or my husband.”

  They moved on, turning off of Goldsmith’s Row to enter a neat but narrow cobblestone alleyway. Something in his soul clenched and then relaxed. He felt the words come without his bidding them.

  “I don’t have any secrets, Auntie. It is just that…she has been chosen by the Angels themselves! I wish that.…It…it is so…difficult sometimes. When I went to seek the crimson quicksilver I—”

  “You would do best to answer quickly, harlot, and truthfully!” The harsh voice came to Raseed’s ears at the same time that the speaker—a robed man with a whip—came into his field of vision. The man was lean and gray-haired, and two big men with short, thin clubs stood with him. These other two might have been twins—both young, huge, and hook-nosed. All three men were clean-shaven and wore plain turbans and heavy robes of brown sackcloth belted with coarse rope. They had a girl trapped in the alley.

  The Humble Students! Wandering mendicants that scoured wickedness from the streets and taverns of the Crescent Moon Kingdoms. Raseed felt even worse than he had a moment before. He glanced at Litaz. Her smile had twisted into a hard line; she looked more the old warrior than the kind grandmother now.

  The Humble Students were charged with chastising those who needed to be chastised, helping men and women to walk the path of God. But Raseed had learned that some Humble Students did this more out of greed or cruelty than righteousness. Praised in Rughal-ba, mocked in the Soo Republic, in Dhamsawaat the Students were few in number—tolerated by the Khalifs, disliked by the people.

  Unsurprisingly, Raseed’s mentor was among their despisers. “I don’t trust anyone who claims to serve God by beating up dancers and drunks,” the Doctor had growled once.

  The trio stood shoulder-to-shoulder twenty yards down the cobbled alley. They were facing in Raseed and Litaz’s direction. Their gazes, however, were set on a girl wearing a gauzy blouse and tight leggings with pale laces. Raseed picked up the cloying smell of cheap oil of violet from the slender girl, far away though she was. Trouble, the dervish knew. As he stood surveying the scene, Litaz shot forward. The Students and the girl all locked their eyes on her.

  “What is the matter here?” Litaz’s voice was bold, and it instantly agitated the Students.

  The gray-haired leader frowned. “The matter? An unclean girl is to be shown the way of God. Do you wish to watch and learn from her example, outlander? The Republic is a decadent place. The Soo more than most would benefit from our lessons.” There was no emotion but scorn in the man’s voice.

  Litaz flashed a caustic smile. “I’ve seen the Students’ lessons before, brother. I’m afraid I can’t say that I always approve of them.”

  The man arched an eyebrow. “Watch yourself, woman. We do not need the approval of outlanders. We found the tramp going about her foul business in plain view. The whorehouses of this city have been left to fester, and now their rotted fruit spills onto respectable streets. But if the watchmen will not do their duty, we will do it for them. Ten lashes is the punishment.” Leather creaked as the man flexed his whip.

  The girl jumped in, sensing her chance. “I…I wasn’t working on the street, Auntie, I swear it! I…I wouldn’t do that. I was just coming from…coming from a…from a friend’s house.” The girl lowered her eyes in shame. She can’t be more than four and ten, Raseed thought, disgusted. But he felt something shameful—painfully shameful—race through his body as he looked at her.

  “What is your name, girl?” Litaz asked.

  The girl looked at the alkhemist with hunted-gazelle eyes.

  “Suri.”

  A look of surprise crossed Litaz’s face. “Suri? Truly? That is one you don’t hear every day.”

  The girl made a noise in her throat and ducked her head.

  “Suri,” Litaz repeated. “A beautiful name. And a very, very old one.” She turned to the Students with a clearly forced smile. “Surely you brothers see the sign from Almighty God here? The Heavenly Chapters’ story of Suri says ‘O Headsman, drop your sword and serve His mercy! O Flogger, drop your whip and serve His mercy!’”

  The gray-haired Student spread a conciliatory hand, but he sneered as he did so. “The Chapters also say ‘And yea, proper punishment is the sweetest mercy,’ do they not? A new era is coming, outlander! An era when only those who walk the path prescribed will prosper.”

  The two big men were tensed for a fight. Raseed found that he was as well. He took a step toward Litaz.

  “The ‘path prescribed’? And the Students will be the ones to judge what that is?” The alkhemist’s eyes narrowed as she spoke. “Please, let the girl go. I ask you to indulge an old woman.” When this earned no response, Litaz’s pleading slid into threat. “Look, we’re not on the riverdocks, brothers. Do you think the respectable people of this neighborhood—who you know can’t stand your order anyway—do you think they will sit idly by while you beat a girl in their streets?”

  The eldest Student’s sneer deepened. He ran a hand over his smooth brown jaw. “Listen to me, woman. Leave now. Please. Do you see? I say please. Go back to one of your perverted outlander neighborhoods. I will not ask you again.” He turned his head toward Raseed. “And you, Master Dervish?” The man’s brittle-sounding voice made the title a mockery, but for the first time he looked unsure of himself. “Are you truly keeping company with this trash?” Raseed parted his lips, but no sound came out. Words flew into his head.

  I am here in company with her, but—

  Please forgive her, brother, she—

  I am afraid that I must—

  But none of them made it
through his suddenly dry and cracked throat. Raseed had faced and killed highwayman, Cyklop, and ghul, but he now found himself paralyzed and unable to speak.

  The gray-haired man’s uncertain expression evaporated, replaced by a cold scowl. “I take it by your silence that you are here with this mad old degenetress! Where is your virtue? Have you stopped serving God already, young man?” The two big hook-nosed men began to shift, clearly itching for a fight.

  There was the incongruous sound of laughter as two young couples entered the alley, took one look at the scene before them, and swiftly turned back.

  Litaz drew her dagger from the kidskin sheath at her waist. What is she doing? Long and broad-bladed, in her little hand it was a small sword. “Leave, Suri,” the alkhemist said with a deadly calm in her voice. When the girl didn’t move, Litaz shouted “Leave! Now!”

  The girl ran before the men could grab her. The two big Students started to follow, but their leader held up a hand and they froze. Suri flew from the alley without a word or a backward glance.

  “This old whore’s vice is greater than the other’s was,” the lead Student spoke to his men with an eerie calm. “She will take the girl’s punishment.” He focused his words on Litaz. “And who are you, whore-with-a-knife, to think you can interfere in God’s work with impunity?” The man seemed genuinely curious.

  Litaz gave no answer.

  The veins in the man’s neck bulged. “Whoever you are, you will find that you are sorely mistaken!” Raseed did not approve of the man’s tone—there was an unvirtuous anticipation there at the thought of proving Litaz mistaken in some brutal manner.

  Raseed’s hand went to the hilt of his sword before he thought about who his opponents were. The Order held ties with the Humble Students. These men might be unpleasant and overbearing, but they were Raseed’s allies as far as duty was concerned.

  But. Litaz Daughter-of-Likami was a true servant of God who had doubtless fought more real battles than all three of these men combined. And she was one of the Doctor’s dearest friends. Raseed’s mind raced, and his hand flexed on his pommel.

  Litaz broke the silent moment. “The Father of the Universe does not tell us to beat frightened girls, brother! Can your kind can find no other way in which to spread virtue?”

  One of the big men began to slap his club against his open palm. He moved two steps closer to Litaz. The men were nearly in swinging range now, and Raseed took two long strides closer. The gray-haired man shot Raseed a warning look then spoke more calmly to Litaz. “Such rude words. Come, woman. Old and withered or young and hale, all must live by His words. Come and be chastised. It will be quick and feather light for one so small as you, I swear in the name of God.”

  Litaz laughed a bitter little laugh. “Come try and chastise me, brother. You’ll end up lying in the street.”

  Everything happened at once.

  The two hook-nosed Students lurched at Litaz. They were not fighting men. That was clear enough to Raseed. No need for his sword. He blocked the assailant closest to Litaz and thrust a fist out.

  Raseed didn’t realize he’d decided his loyalties until the man was lying bloody-nosed and unconscious on the ground.

  For what seemed the thousandth time that week, Raseed’s stomach lurched with the wrongness of his actions, but he looked up, ready to do the same to the other two Students. Litaz stood between him and them. He froze as he saw the alkhemist was offering up the jeweled pommel of her dagger to the men. She’s surrendering her weapon?

  The leader hesitated, confusion and rage battling on his beardless face. “What—?” he said.

  The dagger’s pommel-stone hissed. A jet of bright green vapor shot forth, a small cloud of it seeming to wrap around each man’s head. Litaz spryly jumped back a few steps, dodging a few clumsy club swings. On the edges of the cloud, Raseed felt the vapors sting his eyes and nostrils.

  The Students reacted more dramatically. They slid coughing to the cobblestones, the bigger man’s wooden club clattering as he fell. A moment later, all three men fell still as corpses. They were breathing, though barely, Raseed’s keen senses told him.

  Litaz coughed a hacking cough a few times, and Raseed echoed it, wincing at the acrid green smoke that was already dissipating on the clear morning air. The alkhemist brushed some sort of residue from her dagger-hand onto the skirt of her dress. It left a little green-black stain. Litaz looked down at the unconscious Students with grim satisfaction, and there was no mistaking her pride in her handiwork. She carefully sheathed her dagger, looked at Raseed and shrugged her shoulders.

  “‘Lying in the street.’ I warned them, did I not?”

  “Auntie! How? What?”

  “A rare solution called the Breath of Dargon Loong.”

  “Like the monster from the stories?”

  Litaz shrugged again. “Yes. Though, to hear Adoulla tell it, the Dargon Loong is real enough, even if most think him a mere story.”

  Only then did Raseed notice the several onlookers who now darted away from the scene. Raseed began to warn Litaz of the danger she had gotten herself into but thought better of it. She has pulled you into it, too, his doubting voice told him. He looked down at the immobilized Students. I am on the right side of this, he told himself. I am!

  “Let us keep moving, Auntie,” was all he said.

  Her confident grin slipped, and for a moment she looked every bit an old woman. “Listen, Raseed. I am playing brave about this because I have just assaulted the Humble Students. This is going to bring trouble to my already troubled house.” A sadness entered her eyes. “O God, please let them be safe!” She clearly was not speaking of the Students. “Raseed, if that creature, that manjackal, strikes again…” She left the thought unfinished and gestured to Raseed that they should walk on.

  Eventually, Litaz brought them to a halt at the threshold of an elegant two-story inn of green glazed brick. Huge lattice screens hid the inn’s courtyard from the eyes of passersby. They stepped through a small open section of the screen into that courtyard, which was decorated with twin fountains of almost translucent marble. Two big, well-dressed men ushered them into the inn itself. Guards, Raseed guessed, though they acted more like hosts and wore no visible weapons. They respectfully took his sword from him, promising to return it upon his departure. He noted approvingly that they handled the weapon with a proper reverence.

  The greeting room of the inn was massive, almost as open and airy as the courtyard. A dozen parties sat at low tables of white wood worked with tortoise shell. Litaz smiled and waved to a fat man at a round table, hard against the far wall. The wall was dominated by a jade and emerald gemthread tapestry depicting a verdant grove of olive trees. The fat man, alone at the table, waved back, smiling cheerfully at Litaz as they approached. He looked as if he were an olive. The almost greenish sheen of his complexion matched the tapestry, and he was little, as short as Raseed, but egg-shaped and strangely sleek skinned despite being of an age with Litaz. To top off the effect, he wore rich, dark green silks.

  “Lady Litaz Daughter-of-Likami!” As they approached, the olive man leered at them, stood, and bowed, making fussy noises all the while. Raseed gave a slight but respectful nod. Litaz embraced the man warmly. “You’ve kept me waiting, wonderful one. But the Ministering Angels know any wait would be worth it.”

  Litaz’s smile was bright. Raseed found that he was not cunning enough to determine whether or not it was a false smile. “Beloved Yaseer,” she said, and grazed the man’s forearm with her small hand. “I am very sorry we are late, old friend. We ran into a little trouble on the way here.”

  Yaseer waved away an invisible trifle. “Not at all, my dear, not at all. I will refrain from asking you what sort of trouble. No doubt it’s best that I don’t know. No doubt.”

  Raseed did not like this too-smiling fool with his shifty movements and shifty words. But he kept silent, forcing his features to neutrality.

  Yaseer did not return the favor. The man’s smile dropped
as he looked Raseed over, and he frowned a puzzled frown. “Who have you brought with you, Lady? I’ve never known you to need a bodyguard, excepting that sour-faced husband of yours.” Yaseer stared rudely at Raseed but still spoke to Litaz. “Is he truly a holy man? You are a friend of the dervishes now? You who once told me they were the pompous peacocks of the—”

  “That is enough, Yaseer!” the alkhemist broke in. She flashed an apologetic glance at Raseed.

  The olive man spread his soft-looking hands, the picture of openness. “As you will, my dear, but you know I don’t discuss business with strangers. Especially not the clean-shaven sort that use forked swords ‘to cleave the right from the wrong in men.’ You will have to tell your virtuous bodyguard to leave.”

  Raseed took an angry half-step forward before he remembered himself. Somehow he kept his voice level. “I will not leave her alone if—” he began.

  Litaz put her blue-black hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Raseed, please.”

  There is too much at stake to be stiff-necked now. He bowed his head in acquiescence and found himself wishing for some reason that the Doctor were there right then. “I will wait by the door, Auntie,” Raseed said.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Raseed moved to the inn’s entrance. He grasped for a swordhilt that wasn’t there. Then he waited, his thoughts still racing, his soul still uneasy.

  Chapter 15

  LITAZ REMAINED STANDING and watched Raseed move to the corner of the inn’s greeting room. She was agitated. She could not stop thinking about the encounter with the Students and the trouble it might bring. She had not killed anyone today. She had not even really harmed anyone—the Breath of Dargon Loong was essentially harmless and only rendered its victims unconscious for a few hours at most. Still, she had made dangerous enemies. Given the chance, Litaz knew, the Students would be brutal in their retribution. The fact that it was only their pride that was wounded would not make them go lightly on her. But what had her options been, after all? To let the girl be whipped like an animal?