by K A Doore
The marks she’d drawn wouldn’t hold against close scrutiny, but she didn’t plan on letting anyone get that close. She wasn’t about to have herself branded for real, contract or not, and there were a dozen other ways someone could see through her disguise before it came to that. The success of her plan lay in a quick entry and exit, the exact opposite of every other time she’d infiltrated a mark’s home. There were so many things that could go wrong that if she stopped to think about them, she’d back out. So she kept moving.
Now she just needed a slave’s clothing, and she needed it before anyone noticed she didn’t belong here. She passed towering palms and thick bushes, vibrant flowers and twisting vines. Even though it was midafternoon, a steady breeze and the cool breath of flora made the heat bearable, almost pleasant.
Thana had circled the gardens this morning before heading out for her supplies. A group of slaves had already been on the grounds, picking fruit and tending to the plants. A master watched over them, but his reign was lax. Clearly, slaves didn’t try to run here. Their distinctive branding made it difficult for any slave to hide in this city.
Low voices accompanied rustling ahead. Thana bent over a bush to hide her face just as two slaves appeared with baskets on their arms. Their voices dropped to whispers when they noticed her, but they didn’t alert the master or leave. Good. Thana watched them out of the corner of her eye as they pulled scrawny tufts of green and tossed these into their baskets, already half-full with more of the same. Thana copied their movements, pretending that her basket was just around the bush, out of sight. Then she circled away from them.
Two was too risky. She needed one alone.
Thana found her prey lost in her own world and drifting further away from the others with each step. She was a head taller than Thana and but still had to stretch up on her toes to pick bright yellow fruit. She didn’t turn when Thana approached but continued humming a cheerful tune. Slipping the garrote around her neck felt like cheating, but Thana didn’t have time for guilt.
A few moments later the unconscious slave, wearing Thana’s wrap, was safely tucked between two large bushes. Thana walked with a basket loosely hanging from her fingers and a hum in her throat, a shimmery gold wrap around her waist and wide silver bangles on each wrist. A long necklace dripping with gold and turquoise came to rest between her breasts. It felt strange to wear this much jewelry. If this was what her slaves had, then what did the Empress herself wear?
Traversing the gardens was almost too easy. Thana paused and busied herself with whatever plant was nearest every time another slave passed. She spotted the slave master only once, but he didn’t even glance her way. He was too busy watching the clouds whisping by and scratching his thigh with a long leather whip.
The palace sulked at the center of the gardens, an immense golden building topped by an impressive dome. Gems and polished stones spilled across its surface like stars. Turquoise and broad stretches of pale glass dominated the sides, but there were also sapphires, moonstones, and emeralds, all of them circling each other in glittering whorls.
Gold-covered pillars stood out front, inscribed with images dense and prolific and bleeding colorful paint. The whole of it hurt Thana’s eyes. She passed broad, shallow pools that had been coated with gold and shone as painful as the sun. She passed carefully sculpted trees and towering cages full of vibrant, flitting and screaming birds. She passed more birds stalking the gardens uncaged, their long tails dragging uselessly across the grass, their puffed chests turquoise blue.
Despite the many temptations, Thana took care not to stare. Between the riot of color and the overwhelming displays of wealth was an unobtrusive, dark wooden door. A slave had just stepped out from that door and now closed it behind him. His gaze briefly met hers, then Thana was brushing past him and opening the door and stepping inside before he could try to stop her or say anything.
Just like that, she was in the palace.
She paused long enough for her eyes to adjust to the sudden gloom, then traded the green things in her basket for a handful of towels from the nearby shelf and continued down a narrow corridor. Her heart hammered and her nerves were on fire as she waited for someone to catch her out, to stop her, to challenge her. She was distinctly aware of each and every sound, every cough, every footstep, every brush of cloth from a passing slave, of the glass charms around her waist, the metal blades against her thighs, and the garrote’s wooden handles tap-tapping her hip.
But she made it a step, and then another, and then another, without challenge. Torches lit the way, but blue light also drifted languorously from above, through squares high in the ceiling. The stone under her bare feet was cool, worn smooth by the passing of many others over many years. The walls were plain but for the occasional symbol that marked another hallway or door.
She pressed on, past washing and sleeping rooms, rooms where slaves pounded grain into flour, and rooms where slaves worked at towering looms, their shuttles clack-clacking in a familiar rhythm. Still, no one tried to stop her, or even talk to her. No one even looked at her twice. She was little more than a wild jaani, drifting unseen through the palace.
Eventually, the corridor spat her out into a courtyard. Now other people, some clearly important with their rich cloth and glittering gold, others more ambiguously dressed, joined the slaves. Their movements were at first chaotic, but Thana soon determined an order. While some drifted aimlessly, most moved toward the northern end of the courtyard and through a towering, ornate doorway. She’d bet her garrote that the Empress was somewhere on the other side.
But she wasn’t here to find the Empress. Directly across from her was another entrance, less grandiose but equally impressive. Above the doorway arched paintings of people holding writing instruments and scrolls, some sitting at desks while others stood before long shelves. Altogether, the paintings gave her a pretty good idea of what was through that archway.
Despite her father’s efforts, Thana had little but disdain for libraries. Nothing important and pertinent to life was ever found in one, just dusty scrolls about such-and-such drum chief and so-and-so’s dispute. Thana had never found any information she could use in an old scroll. Everything she’d learned was either from her mother or through personal experience. Information needed to be able to change to fit its time and circumstances, something a scroll could never do. Libraries were unwieldy and static things, prone to hoarding only the stale ideas of the wealthy and stupid.
In essence, the perfect place for someone like Heru.
“Slave.”
Thana twisted toward the voice. It belonged to an older man in flashy jewelry and a fine white skirt. Her heart sped back up; she’d been standing and staring for too long, she’d made a scene, it was obvious she didn’t belong, he was going to order her to the other side of the palace, he was going to call the guards, he—
Thana swallowed and shut down her racing thoughts. She was fine. She belonged here. This was all perfectly normal. She lifted her gaze to his face, but didn’t make eye contact.
“Senousert requested an assistant for the afternoon.” The man looked her up and down, kohl making his already long eyebrows look like wings. “You look like you’d do for whatever the head librarian has in mind.” He made a shooing motion toward the library. “Go.”
Still processing the man’s words, Thana headed for the library. The head librarian. Of all people—Thana brushed a hand across her hidden glass charms, muttering a silent prayer. Finally, a little luck.
The library was just as dark and stuffy as she’d expected. Ghadid had a handful of smaller libraries, most of which were hidden away in the private homes of wealthy merchants and drum chiefs. Her own father kept histories and records in their home, but that was different. She knew some of what to expect—the muffled silence, the musty air, the stench of old skins, the rasp of dry paper—but was unprepared for the sheer volume of it all.
The ceiling soared away and above. Cases stuffed with scrolls stretched in ever
y direction. She stopped for a whole heartbeat just to take it in. Her chest tightened. Amastan should have been here. He’d helped her father with his histories and appreciated knowledge for knowledge’s sake, no matter how old or outdated it was. In another life, Amastan would have worked here.
Thana scanned the shelves for any indication of where she should go. The floor rose up by a step a dozen shelves back, and again a dozen more. She headed for that step, passing solemn-faced people sitting on stools or the floor. Amusement and curiosity flickered freely across their faces as she passed, as open to the world as the scrolls they were reading. If she stayed in Na Tay Khet much longer, she might get used to seeing so many men uncovered. But for now, she had to fight the urge to avert her eyes.
Raised voices came from her right. No one had claimed her yet, so she turned to investigate. Tables were scattered liberally between the rows, most either completely empty or with a single individual perched at one end, a scroll or two at their elbow. One table, though, was overflowing with scrolls. On one side was a messy pile of half-open scrolls. On the other, a waiting tower of scrolls still tightly bound with string. Between sat a man in a white skirt, leaning back as he tilted an unrolled scroll toward the light.
The glass charms thrummed and warmed a warning Thana didn’t need. She’d already recognized Heru, even with his back to her. Opposite him sat a woman, her elbows on the table and her forehead cupped in one palm as she pored over a scroll. Mo had found a red cloth to tie the braids back out of her face, a single splash of vibrance in an otherwise dull place. The sight of the healer, safe and whole and sane, made Thana’s breath catch in her throat, then release with a silent, relieved laugh. Mo was alive. Mo was fine.
The tension that had tightened Thana’s body from brow to toes for the past twenty-some hours finally released. She’d infiltrated the palace and found her mark, all in less than a day. She wasn’t sure if even the Serpent of Ghadid could have done this. Now it was only a matter of waiting for an opportunity—or creating one herself.
Her gaze lingered on Mo a moment longer, taking in her furrowed brows, her smooth, water-drunk skin, the rise and fall of her chest, and her crisp, clean blue wrap, still worn high across her shoulders and throat. At least she’d been taken care of. Then her gaze snapped to the back of Heru’s head and anger welled like blood in a fresh wound. How dare he—
“There you are.”
A hand touched Thana’s shoulder. Her own hand rose to slap it away, but she remembered herself in time and let her hand drop. The man was as old as dust itself and bent with time, his hair a half-forgotten wisp atop his head and his skin, almost as dark as hers, dotted with spots. Yet his eyes were still bright. He focused on her with an intensity that threatened to discover all of her secrets. Thana met that gaze with no small amount of effort.
“Are you all they could find for me? A slave?” said the man. This must be Senousert, Thana realized. “I asked for a competent and trained servant. I know they all assume I’m just a walking corpse, but you’d think they’d at least have some respect for her Imperial Highness’s foremost madman.” Senousert made a dry spitting noise.
Thana glanced at Heru to see if he’d overheard, but the mark was too engrossed in his research. Senousert followed her gaze and rolled his eyes upward as if appealing to the ceiling—or G-d.
“Oh, he won’t hear me,” said Senousert. “And even if he did, he wouldn’t know an insult if it bit him between the nostrils. That man is as dense as spring mud. I simply don’t understand how her Imperial Highness puts up with him. Clearly she possesses a great deal more patience than us lowly beings.”
Senousert dropped his hands and some of the indignant spark went out of him. “But what am I going on about? There’s so much to do and this pompous man is taking up all my time. I need you to clean up the stacks—you do know how to follow the basic organizing standards and read, don’t you?”
Thana could read, but she didn’t know the second thing about library organization. Her father had never bothered. She nodded anyway.
“Good. Go see Aohti over in the third tier. She’ll get you caught up.”
“Hey—librarian!”
Senousert pivoted, his hands clasped in front of him and his expression instantly subservient. “Yes, my master?”
As Heru barked out his request, Thana headed deeper into the library before he could notice her. She knew where both Mo and Heru were now, and they wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. Hopefully whatever Senousert wanted her to do would let her keep an eye on them both. From the look of that stack of scrolls, she had some time to figure out phase two of her plan.
Unfortunately, her mark had picked the worst possible place to be killed. It was a little too quiet, a little too public, with no opportunity for distractions or chaos. Plus, Mo was at his side. Many of Thana’s usual methods wouldn’t work here.
Normally she’d pick poison, but although she had her darts, Heru had the box that contained her poison. She still had her knives and garrote, but those were for a quieter, more intimate scenario. At least she’d made it into the palace. It couldn’t hurt to wait and watch for a better opportunity.
Heru had to sleep sometime. She’d just make sure he didn’t wake up.
17
By the time the sun had set and slaves walked the aisles with glass lamps swinging from their arms, Thana was drowsy with boredom from stacking and sorting scrolls. Aohti had proven to be a tiresome young woman with an unfortunate attention to details—like where Thana was and what she was doing at all times. She’d only been able to sneak away once to check on Heru.
Thankfully, the mark didn’t appear to be going anywhere. If anything, his stack of unread scrolls had only grown taller.
Thana was placing scrolls on a nearby shelf when a slave approached Heru with a wax-sealed letter. Heru took the letter and tossed it aside, unopened. Mo reached across, plucked it off the table, and popped the wax seal with her nail. She read the letter, her lips moving silently, and then she shoved the paper at Heru.
“It’s from the Empress.”
Heru looked up from his scribbling long enough to scan the letter. “We’re not done here yet.”
Mo frowned. “This is the second letter she’s sent us. Shouldn’t we respond?”
Thana reached for the top of the shelf just behind them, her fingers brushing and brushing again across the top stack of scrolls. She prayed for Aohti to stay away a little longer. She needed to hear this.
A second slave arrived a few minutes later, bearing another letter. Thana peered around the side of the shelf. This time Mo took the square of vellum from the slave and slapped it open on the wooden table. She traced the words with one finger. Then she stood.
“She knows you very well, your Empress,” said Mo. “We should go.”
Heru pulled the glass lamp closer and held the letter in its light. “I think she’s threatening me.”
“I’m fairly certain she is.”
“Doesn’t she understand the importance of the work I’m doing?” He cast the letter aside with no small amount of disdain. “We don’t have time for this.”
“I—but she’s the Empress.”
Thana pushed one of the scrolls out of reach. She let out a soft curse for anyone watching and grabbed a nearby stool. Standing on it, she could see over the top of the shelf.
“Fine.” Mo’s voice was tight with annoyance. Her fingers shook as she snatched and rolled up the scrolls she’d been reading. “I’ll go and report for you.”
“And have you misrepresent my research to the Empress? I think not.”
Heru gathered half a dozen scrolls and stood. He cast around and his gaze snagged on Thana’s over the top of the shelf before she could duck. He pointed a finger at her and suddenly she was back in Ghadid, standing in a dark room with an unconscious woman at her feet and a groggy Heru before her, the glass beads at her neck searing her skin.
But the charms at her waist remained the same tepid warmth the
y’d been since she’d entered the library.
“You,” said Heru. “Get down here and help us carry these scrolls.”
Thana obeyed, dropping out of sight before Heru could get a better look. Her heart raced from the moment of relived memory, the acrid terror of that night fresh on her tongue. She checked her skirt and ran a light hand across her shaved head, hoping that Mo wouldn’t recognize her. She didn’t worry that Heru would. Like with the Azal, he didn’t look twice at slaves, and she’d disappeared from his world the moment the guards dragged her out of sight.
She didn’t need to worry about Mo. The healer kept her gaze averted, her dark cheeks somehow even darker. It took a moment for Thana to realize that Mo was embarrassed by Thana’s nakedness. A smile tugged on the corners of Thana’s lips. While she’d been forced to accept Na Tay Khet’s strange fashion, Mo had been safely ensconced in the library, far from the markets and streets where such display was commonplace.
Heru began dumping scrolls into Thana’s basket. He loaded her down with more scrolls than could possibly be necessary, then added the scrolls of his own notes. By the time Heru strode from the library, Thana’s basket was precariously full and she carried even more scrolls tucked under her arms.
“Hey!”
Aohti bounded up to them, her youthful face full of self-conscious concern. She skidded to a stop in front of Heru and immediately wilted, losing half a head in height. She swallowed and forced her chin up.
“That’s my slave—and those’re the library’s scrolls—and you can’t just walk out of here with them—there are procedures—”
“I can do whatever I like with these scrolls and these slaves,” said Heru, voice tight with impatience. “Now, get out of my way. I have to attend to the Empress. Or did you forget that I’m her second advisory marabi? I could have you drafted as one of my assistants if you continue to impede me.”
“Aohti!”
Senousert shuffled toward them, the few remaining hairs on top of his head wild with the effort. “Let him go,” he said, out of breath. He stopped and put a hand on a nearby stack to steady himself. “Sametket-sai may of course do whatever he wishes while he’s our guest.”