The Impossible Contract

by K A Doore

  Then the men got up.

  Heru let out a strangled, wet curse. One of the men was between Thana and the door. She skidded to a stop, just shy of running into him. Amastan slipped her grasp and attacked the man with his dagger. Thana shook her garrote free and stepped behind the man while Amastan had him distracted, waiting for her opportunity. Amastan scored hits on the man’s arms, shoulders, cheeks.

  The man’s counterattacks were awkward and slow and he didn’t bother blocking Amastan’s blows. When Amastan came in for a jab to the temple, instead of blocking or moving out of the way, the man stepped close and struck her cousin hard across the jaw. Amastan’s head snapped back and he stumbled, eyes crossing.

  That shouldn’t have happened, couldn’t have happened. Before Thana could process it, the man had wrapped his fingers around Amastan’s throat. He yanked her cousin into the air, feet kicking. Thana didn’t hesitate—she jumped onto the man’s back, wound the garrote around his neck, leaned back, and pulled.

  “That’s not going to work.”

  One of the men crumpled to the ground, revealing Heru. Within moments, the man started gathering himself up again. Heru looked from the man to his fingers, streaked red with blood. Then he pressed the sheets against the seeping wound in his chest and backhanded another of his attackers.

  But two more men converged on the mark, ignoring his attacks as if they were nothing. Hands outstretched, they grabbed at Heru. Although he ducked out of their grasp, they seized his makeshift wrap. It came half off and Thana returned her attention to the man she clung to.

  Heru, unfortunately, proved correct. The man ignored her even as she twisted the garrote so tight that the wire cut into his neck, releasing thick, oozing blood. He lifted Amastan higher, then tossed her cousin across the room as effortlessly as one might a sack of grain. Amastan hit the edge of the dresser with a sickening crack.

  “No!”

  Thana twisted the garrote’s wooden dowels. The wire disappeared into the man’s flesh, sliding through his skin like cheese. Although the sight turned Thana’s stomach and sent a fresh pulse of blood down his neck, the man still didn’t fall. He gurgled and spat blood, then slammed his back—and Thana—into the wall.

  Thana dropped, leaving her garrote behind, still stuck in the man’s neck. Her breath was gone and her chest throbbed with pain from the impact, but she glanced across the room to Amastan. All she could make out was his crumpled form on the floor, dangerously still. Then the man before her shifted his stance, and the light from the hallway caught and glinted off milky, staring eyes.

  No wonder a wire through the neck hadn’t stopped him; he was already dead.

  Shards and dust and shattered glass. But Thana didn’t have time to panic. The man lurched forward. Thana scrambled back. She tried not to think about Amastan, his crumpled body like a discarded doll’s in the corner. She couldn’t do anything for him until she brought this man down. At least she didn’t have to worry about accidentally killing anymore.

  But before Thana could attack, the woman barreled into the dead man and tossed him aside. She hurtled through the open door, Heru following at a halfhearted jog. He’d managed to hold on to the blood-stained bedsheet around his waist but wore nothing else save for a leather bag thrown over one shoulder. He’d removed the knife from his chest, the fool. Fresh blood pulsed from the wound, smearing his front.

  Heru paused in the doorway, lips thinned in concentration. Then his gaze met Thana’s and the concentration tightened into a smirk. He shook his head, then winced, his free hand grabbing at his chest. He stepped into the hallway and slammed the door shut. A key turned with a loud click in the lock.

  Thana lunged for the door, but it was too late. Even if she’d had her picks, she didn’t have time to open the door. She let loose a string of curses as she turned and surveyed the room. Five dead men were between her and the window, their attention fixed on her even as they staggered upright. Amastan lay in the corner, unmoving but—probably—still alive. Her garrote was stuck in the neck of one man, but she had a dagger at her hip, several smaller blades at hand, the rings on her fingers, and the throwing knives in the middle of the floor. All of her calm had evaporated, replaced by a buzzing, vindictive energy. By G-d, she was going to live and so was Amastan.

  She feinted to the left and tumbled to the right. The men ignored her feint and lurched toward her. One grabbed her arm, another her shoulder, their grip viselike. Thana kept moving, dragging them with her for a half dozen steps before her strength failed.

  Pain seared in her right arm. One of the men bent over her, his teeth against her flesh. In her flesh. The shards-cursed son of a mule had bit her! The anger that flashed through Thana gave her enough strength to yank her arm away. Her blood was reassuringly bright and red, in stark contrast to the dank stuff still oozing from the one man’s neck. She drew back her uninjured arm and punched him. Even though her rings opened trailing red gashes in his cheek, he was unfazed.

  She freed her dagger and drove its blade through his eye and into his brain. His fingers spasmed and his grip weakened. She tried to shake him off, but another man still held her shoulder. Thana twisted and stumbled and fell, bringing the man with her, his face within inches of hers, breath foul and burnt, eyes empty. Thana tried to shove him away, but his fingers dug into her shoulders, fingernails cutting skin, digging into muscle—

  A blade burst through the man’s neck, its tip stopping a hairsbreadth from Thana’s nose before twisting and receding. He emitted a wet, guttural moan and blood trickled from the gaping wound to spatter across Thana’s face. Then somebody was dragging him back and off her. Not far, but just enough for her to slide away.

  She yanked her dagger from the other man’s eye, his body twitching but not yet dead—well, no more dead—and accepted Amastan’s proffered hand. His grip was weak, but he helped her up, then braced himself against her as he dragged in shallow breaths. Two more men lunged for them, but Thana resisted the urge to attack in turn. She was never going to win this fight. Already the man with a dusting knife in his skull was getting to his hands and knees.

  Instead, she pulled Amastan toward the window. She should’ve been in agony from the wounds in her shoulders and arm, but sheer nerves kept her going. If Amastan could move even though he’d been unconscious moments ago, then she sure as the sun could.

  She pulled herself onto the window ledge, then turned to help Amastan. He ignored her hand and scrambled up on his own. It took two attempts. His left arm wasn’t working like it should, and he avoided placing any weight on the left foot. Even in the darkness, Thana saw the bruises spreading across his neck and the pain that flashed in his eyes with each ragged breath. Hopefully those ribs were only bruised, not broken. Didn’t matter. He’d live. He had to.

  Thana glanced at the ground so far below and swallowed the panic that filled her throat. She yanked the rope from her belt and gave one end to Amastan. He didn’t hesitate or object. He looped it twice around his waist, then tied a knot and nodded. Thana looped the other end around her own waist, then gathered the rope and braced herself against the window. She nodded to Amastan.

  He stepped backward off and over the ledge. Thana was ready for the jolt, but she wasn’t ready for the hand that grabbed her leg. She started, slid forward, but didn’t give. Ignoring the fingers digging into her calf, she played out the rope, hand over hand, as Amastan rappelled safely to the ground. As soon as the rope went slack, she let go and turned and slashed at the fingers holding her. Her dagger took three before she could slip free.

  Then she was sliding over the window ledge, toes scrabbling blindly for holds. She found them, and then she was climbing back down. Her arm and shoulders screamed with pain every time they took her weight. Her own blood trickled down her chest, almost as distracting. It was all she could do not to fall, let alone keep going.

  And then she couldn’t hold on anymore. Her fingers slipped. She knew the fall was coming before it happened, so as her stomac
h dropped, she pushed away from the wall and hoped she’d climbed far enough.

  The ground rushed up to greet her, only a half story away but still far enough to daze and jolt. Her bones were still singing from the impact as she straightened out of the crouch she’d landed in. A hand touched her shoulder and Thana staggered, her dagger cutting the air as she turned but it was only Amastan. He was gray as stone and equally bloodless and pointing.

  The ringing in her ears faded as Thana looked. White blurred the end of the alley. Thana blinked her eyes clear. The mark. He blocked their way, one bloody fist raised in their direction, malevolence smeared across his eyes. Something whispered through the air like a blown kiss. Her fifth and final glass bead pinged with heat before shattering.

  He snarled and tightened his fist, spattering fresh blood onto the stones. Thana didn’t think; she moved her body between the marabi and Amastan. Pain stabbed in her chest and—

  A grunt echoed through the alley. The pain loosened as Heru looked up. One of the men had climbed onto the window ledge. He stared down at them with those awful milky eyes. Then he stepped forward. And out onto nothing.

  The man landed with a fleshy, sickening thud, but within a heartbeat was already clambering to his feet. Heru stepped back, his bleeding fist shaking at the man instead of her. Thana seized the opportunity and Amastan’s hand and ran.

  They’d reached the other end of the alley when the second man fell from the window with a fleshy plop. Thana didn’t bother glancing back. She prayed the dead men would finish their job.

  Thana slowed once they’d put a bridge and a platform between them and the inn. Only then did she finally stop and breathe and examine their situation. There were dead men loose in Ghadid, unkillable and unstoppable. But that wasn’t her problem. No, her problem was that she hadn’t killed the mark. Her problem was that the marabi now knew of them and their intent. She and Amastan were going to have hell to pay if she didn’t fix that, and soon.

  Bur first—

  Amastan had collapsed to his hands and knees and was shaking so hard Thana thought she heard teeth rattling. Shock. Thana checked him over for wounds, careful and quick. Both his ankle and elbow were twisted unnaturally, and when her fingers brushed across the former, Amastan jerked back. Broken. But more concerning were his wet, rasping gasps. Nothing she could handle on her own. He needed a healer and now.

  Fear filled her chest, tight as a cable, but she pushed it down as she pushed her shoulder under Amastan’s good arm, leveraged him upright, and began their slow, agonizing retreat.

  6

  “Dogs.”

  The healer deadpanned the single word, her disbelief almost palpable. She stood behind Thana and out of sight as she washed out the wounds the dead man had dug into her shoulders.

  “Yes, ma.”

  Thana was too tired to give a better excuse. She shrugged instead. A mistake. Pain spiked down her back and she sucked in a sharp breath. She glared at the bowl of water glowing faintly blue on the table in front of her, focusing on that instead of the pain. The healer tutted under her breath, finished bandaging Thana’s shoulder, then moved in front to start on her arm.

  “Next time, ma, maybe you should bring the dogs a treat.”

  Thana snorted. Then she said, “Did you see anyone else last night? I’m looking for a friend. He’d’ve had chest wounds, but nothing major.”

  A full eight hours had passed since their ill-fated assassination attempt. Thana had ended up half carrying Amastan to the nearest healer, but she’d cleaned the blood off herself and waited until dawn to seek care for her own injuries. Her wounds weren’t dire and it was better to avoid undue attention.

  Amastan would be okay. Thana had been right about his broken bones, but she’d missed his crushed windpipe. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed given enough time—and water. The healers didn’t charge for their basic services, but those who could afford to pay for the water were strongly encouraged to, and to pay beyond that if they were able. Thana had asked for more than a little life saving and it’d been expensive. But with the baats Kaseem had already given her, she could pay. Baats she’d owe if they didn’t complete this contract.

  They would complete this contract.

  The healer raised one eyebrow at Thana’s description of the mark, but her face remained impassive. “Chest wounds? Was he attacked by dogs, too?”

  “They were pretty mean dogs, ma.”

  “I’ll remember to keep my distance.” The healer fished out a needle from a pocket and began sewing up the rougher portions of Thana’s arm. “Unfortunately, your dogs had dirty mouths and dull teeth. I want you back here in a few days so we can repack the wounds and make sure they’re not festering. The worst is yet to come, I fear. As for your question”—the healer tugged at the thread and tied a knot—“I haven’t seen anyone like your friend. But Mo was here all night—you should ask her.”

  “Thanks, ma.”

  Thana gritted her teeth as the healer finished wrapping her arm. Both wounds throbbed, the kind of persistent pain you couldn’t fully ignore. Thana preferred the kind of pain that came on bright and took your breath away but faded quickly. Throbbing pain was a distraction. But both were better than none at all. She could be dead. She’d come very close to it.

  The water in the bowl was gone when the healer slumped forward. She slid a hand across her sweat-slicked forehead as she checked her work. Then she wiped her hands off on a towel.

  “Get plenty of rest and drink this twice a day, ma. Come back if you develop a fever. Otherwise, I’ll see you in three days.” The healer pushed an herb-stuffed pouch into Thana’s hand, then motioned toward the curtain on the other side of the room. “Mo is through there. And ma—stay away from dogs.”

  Thana smiled and placed a baat next to the empty water bowl. She had enough baats from the contract to heal her wounds completely, but that would’ve been conspicuous, not to mention immoral. If they had unlimited water, the healers could cure almost anything. But Ghadid struggled to conserve enough just for daily needs. So the healers used the minimum amount of water necessary to stabilize their patients and allow the body to heal itself.

  The curtain led to a second room. Another healer tended to a child with a scraped knee. Her back was to Thana, but she was smaller and younger than the first—this must be Mo. Her braids were shorter and only a third of them had salas, the fabric healers received for every life they saved. Each grateful person gave what they could, so among the finer, colorful cottons and silks were dull strings and threads. Mo’s salas consisted almost entirely of the latter, the thin lines of dull color braided into her black hair.

  The curtain rustled as it fell back into place, but Mo didn’t turn. The boy locked gazes with Thana, his stare bold and daring, trying—and failing—to hide his fear. Mo finished cleaning the blood off and applied a bandage. She gave the boy his instructions and shooed him away before finally turning and standing and acknowledging Thana’s presence.

  “What?”

  Thana forgot what she’d been about to say as heat rose unbidden in her cheeks. Mo was almost an entire head shorter, but she stared up at Thana with bright eyes and a straight back. Her wrap was loose, obscuring her figure, but her skin was smooth and dark as midnight, her face heart shaped, her chin small but pointed, her lips wide and full. She was beautiful.

  You always had a problem with pretty faces, chided Amastan’s voice.

  Thana pulled herself together. “The other healer said you might be able to help me, ma.” Her words tumbled out too quick. “I’m looking for a friend—did you treat a man with a punctured lung last night?”

  Mo pursed her lips. “A friend, huh? And what were you two doing that your friend sustained a lung wound?”

  “It was dogs, ma.”

  “I don’t take that kind of nonsense from children, so what makes you think I’d take it from you?”

  Thana stepped back as if she’d been slapped. “I—uh—”

  “You people.
” Mo’s words were sharp and clipped. “You think you can get away with anything and we’ll fix you up. I don’t get it—it’s your body. Don’t you want to take care of it? And the waste—while you’re out having fun with your friends and puncturing lungs and breaking legs, there’re people dying of thirst right outside our doors. Those baats could’ve given them water to live instead of healing your sorry hide what shouldn’t’ve needed healing in the first place. Maybe if you pulled your dust-stuffed heads out of the sand for once, you’d learn some responsibility and empathy. The sands don’t just cover you.”

  Thana bristled, any infatuation gone like smoke before a storm. “Look, I was just asking a question—”

  “‘Just’ a question,” interrupted Mo. “Just a little tumble from a roof. Just a knife fight with your girl’s lover, just a run across the sands on a dare. Oh don’t mind me while I just go waste a few skins of water for fun.”

  “I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t’ve been playing with dogs!”

  Thana answered Mo’s furious glare with her own. She didn’t have time to get into a shouting match with a rigid-as-iron healer. Her cousin had almost died, a dangerous man was loose in their city, dead men were walking, and this woman was treating her like a street kid. “Look—ma. I just want to know if my friend’s all right. Did you see him or not?”

  Mo held her glare for another moment, then sniffed, satisfied with her small victory. “The foreign marabi in the white wrap? I treated him myself. He left a few hours ago.” She eyed Thana. “He didn’t ask about friends.”

  “He wouldn’t,” muttered Thana. “Did he have anyone else with him? A woman?”

  “No. He was alone.” Mo narrowed her eyes. “But I can tell you which direction he took when he left.”

  Thana didn’t rise to the bait. Sands take it, the mark was still alive. She shouldn’t have hoped, but—

  The bell over the entrance jangled with a new arrival. The healer called from the other room.