Despite the sun having been down for hours, heat radiating upward from the stone pavement collected under Yukannak’s robe like the hot air in the airship that brought him to Imsurmik. As the official representative of the satrap, Yukannak affected the calm, aloof manner of a powerful man surveying his domain, untroubled by the heat, the smell, the insects, or the crowds. The reality was different.
Generations of carefully honed and selected genetics helped his body deal with the relentless heat, but even for a Kulsian, R’Bak was oppressively hot. Sweat poured off his body into the ring of cloth stitched atop his boots to absorb the liquid. Stalls set up along the wide, clean streets of the Inner City catered to those who wanted their ankle wraps changed out for fresh ones. Befitting his status, a servant boy carried extras, so he didn’t have to pay for having it done.
Zeesar approached from one side, matching his languid pace. As usual, the yuzbazzi was painted as if he was a common militiaman, and he carefully remained one step behind Yukannak on the right. However, nobody mistook him for anything other than what he was: the F’ahdn’s highest ranking enforcer and fixer of problems. Aside from the power of his village’s militia, Zeesar’s reputation was that of a man who bartered for information and knew secrets he shouldn’t. The powerful and elite of Imsurmik viewed him as disreputable and untrustworthy, both of which were true, but that made them fear him even more.
“Could my lord Yukannak spare this unworthy soul a moment of his time?” Zeesar asked with ritual formality.
“What words could one such as you have to interest me?” Yukannak replied in his haughtiest manner. He doubted it fooled anyone who might overhear, but some fictions had to be maintained.
“The silci is a mighty lord and my words are meant only for him. Perhaps if we could step into that alley, I could tell him something of interest. A moment only, lord, is all I ask of you. If we can step into privacy?”
Yukannak’s sigh was theatrically loud. He stopped, shook his head, and pointed to the alley in assent. He hoped that no one noticed his finger trembling at the excitement of whatever news Zeesar might have brought.
“Lead on, then.”
Barely wide enough to pass through in single file, the alley lay between two solid stone buildings. Yukannak’s guards automatically posted themselves at either end, while the servant boy stayed back with them.
“You have news of the archive?” Yukannak asked in a low voice, so as not to be heard over the street noise of clattering carts and the calls of vendors.
“I cannot speak with you long,” Zeesar said. “We are in danger, both of us. My inquiries were nearly made too late. I must leave the city before dawn, and you would be wise to do the same.”
Traps within traps, Yukannak thought. Vague and dire warnings were an old trick. Zeesar might be telling the truth, or it might be a test laid by the F’ahdn to discover an ulterior motive for the silci’s visit. It could also be the satrap testing his loyalty.
Feigning indifference, Yukannak waved Zeesar away. “The silci is no hetman of a squalid village. What threat could endanger the anointed envoy of my master?”
“Who are you trying to impress?” Zeesar asked. “If you’ll stop ignoring me and listen, you might understand the danger we face!”
“What do you have for me?” Yukannak said.
Zeesar motioned to lower his voice. “Keep your voice down. The stone echoes our words, and there are always those eavesdropping in Imsurmik.” Pointing upward with his right forefinger, he leaned forward and whispered in Yukannak’s ear. “Have a guard check the roofs.”
Quietly, Yukannak spoke to one of the guards, who disappeared. They stood in the shadows beyond the illuminated street for several minutes. Without warning, there was a scream over their heads. It ended abruptly, and a body rolled off a roof edge and slammed into the dusty alley. One of the guards grabbed a torch and revealed a man wearing simple robes and a face wrap, groaning as blood leaked from his head. Zeesar bent down and cut his throat in one swift motion before leading Yukannak away from the spreading pool of blood.
“We could have questioned him!”
“He would have lied.”
“How can you know that?”
“Outlanders,” he said, as if the word tasted bad. “Some aren’t content selling their harvest or gathering plants. They see Imsurmik as a city where everything has a price, with information being its most valuable product. This man was the type you will find around any leader—no doubt the satrap, too—willing to do anything for pay. His name was Larrihoi, and his death is not worth troubling over. Whatever words he spoke would have been laced with untruths so you could not know what to believe. ”
“Do you speak of him, or yourself?”
Zeesar ignored the barb. “This man no doubt worked for the F’ahdn.”
“Would the city’s master dare spy on me?”
“Of course he would. But gathering information is the easy part. Staying alive to sell it is what is hard, as Larrihoi just found out.”
“Tell me what is going on.”
The edge of Zeesar’s knife glimmered in the torchlight as blood dripped to the pavement. Yukannak noted how easily he handled the weapon, and how surely he’d slit the spying man’s throat. Whatever his outward veneer of custom and courtesy, Zeesar was still, and always would be, the hetman in a region where lives often ended in quick, violent deaths. But just as the Kulsians would pay heavily to know of Yukannak’s duplicity, the F’ahdn would no doubt value knowing that as one of his trusted aides, Zeesar was also selling information to the F’ahdn’s potential enemies. If that was truly what Zeesar was doing. In the dark world of trading secrets, the satrap’s mouthpiece didn’t doubt that Zeesar had plans in place to protect against such a double-cross.
Zeesar pursed his lips. “I have been a blind fool. Without my knowing it, the J’Stull commander, Subitorni, has acted against me to become the new yuzbazzi. A woman in the F’ahdn’s household, who has accepted my coins for many years, told me this story not an hour ago. He and the F’ahdn plan to defy the satrap and deal with the Harvesters directly. Bypassing the satrap will let them ingratiate themselves with the Kulsians. It seems the F’ahdn wants to become the new satrap. Subitorni would then become silci.”
“Continue.”
“Just after sunrise yesterday morning, men under the F’ahdn’s command returned to the city carrying a mysterious person wrapped in blankets. My friend the masker heard whispers of a healer taken from a local village to cure the F’ahdn’s Bleeding Black, and that it was an act carried out under the authority of the F’ahdn’s yuzbazzi.”
“But you did not order it?”
“No, I did not.”
“Why would they not simply move against you? Why go to all of this trouble?”
“He cannot move too fast without being discovered. I am convinced he means to defy the satrap, with the intent of replacing him. The Harvesters don’t care about anything except getting their plants, but even without Imsurmik, the satrap is powerful. The F’ahdn needs every man who can use a weapon to fight for him.”
“But why turn against you? Would you not support him against the satrap?”
Zeesar hesitated. “So that you will trust me, I will answer your question honestly and directly. The day may come when I need your friendship, and it may come soon. The F’ahdn discredits me because I meant to replace him as ruler of Imsurmik. I have the largest militia in the area, they are loyal to me, and they are well trained and organized.”
“And well led?”
Zeesar couldn’t hide a brief smile. “Of course. The F’ahdn considers the villages within this region under his personal dominion and would never risk angering one without strong provocation. He would have to ensure that such an act was justified before the people. Attacking the village and kidnapping their healer discredits me.”
Now it made sense to Yukannak; it had the ring of truth. He’d been caught in an ongoing power play that had nothing to do with him, exce
pt as the silci of the satrap. That was bad enough. It also meant he was in personal physical danger, and the guards blocking the alley might turn and cut him down at any moment. But, assuming they didn’t, it gave him a brief window to flee Imsurmik for…somewhere else.
“If I am threatened, as it appears that I am, then you have my support. Take me with you to your village. Let us leave now.”
“I cannot do that, Silci. Alone, I can slip away unseen, but with you I cannot. Instead, I suggest you find the archive and get word to your satrap. I don’t know what it contains, but for the F’ahdn to keep it so secret, the contents must be very valuable.
“Perhaps you may find a way to bargain,” Zeesar continued, “should that become necessary. Beware Subitorni, though. If I’m right, he is only waiting on the F’ahdn’s disease to consume him. He is a dangerous and ambitious man.”
“Without your help, I cannot hope to find the archive.”
“Do you know of the passage through the rock to the cache area?”
“Of course. That’s the main reason I am here, to oversee the collection for the Harvesters.”
“And the tunnels up to the plateau?”
“Yes.” Irritation crept into his tone, despite believing Zeesar was an ally.
“One of them leads west, to the entrance hidden by the trap door through which we entered the city. I believe the archive to be near there, probably down one of the branch tunnels. You might also take the main tunnel until it ends, and it will lead you to the entrance we used. But that way is always watched and guarded, and now I know why.”
Yukannak’s suspicions flared again. “I find it increasingly hard to believe that you were unaware such a place existed?”
“In the satrap’s palace, do you know where the servants keep their brooms? It is the same in this case: I knew that area was where they worked on vehicles, nothing more. I have had other priorities.”
“Perhaps you are not as clever as I first imagined. You were not aware of such a ramp being dug to the surface, and that could not have been a small project.”
“No, it could not, and you are correct; the morning you arrived was my first hint that something was wrong. It is not a thing that could be built quickly or be completed without my knowing, unless someone went to much trouble to keep me from finding out. That someone would be Subitorni. But although I am the yuzbazzi, I have spent very little time in the city during the past two years. I see now that was foolish, for there are now two secrets the F’ahdn kept from me, and maybe others, too. Yet if he kept them from me, what else might he be keeping secret from you?”
“The archive.”
“And perhaps other things as well. A ramp to the surface that leads nowhere, that is wide enough and high enough for powered vehicles to navigate the slope in either direction, is an impressive feat of building, but to what purpose?”
“You’ve made your point, Zeesar. It could be used to transport medicinals away from the place they are being gathered now.”
“And doing it in secret. It could also be used to transport an army. Think about it, Yukannak; the F’ahdn should be proud of such a building project, yet he said nothing to you. Why would the F’ahdn not reveal a secret entrance to you unless he planned to hide other things from you?”
“This woman you spoke of. She is reliable?”
“She is. In addition to her masking duties, she cleans the F’ahdn’s dirty robes and has done so for many years. If I didn’t believe her, I would not have brought this to your attention.”
“I may have met her. Nomi; is that her name?”
“It is, yes. The F’ahdn asked her to get something from a storage chamber. You’ve been farther down the main tunnel, where the intersecting tunnel turns east to the cache site?”
“Yes, yes. I already told you I have.”
“There are doors on both sides, beyond which are rooms for storing food, the supply of medicinals put aside for Imsurmik, emergency water barrels, and other vital supplies. I have seen these, too. As yuzbazzi, I controlled their gathering and dispersal, and I believed that I knew everything. But now I think there is much more that both Subitorni and the F’ahdn kept secret from me. Did you know there are escape tunnels cut deep underground? The fourth door in the long tunnel leads down to this escape route, as do others.”
“Get on with it, Zeesar. What does this have to do with the archive?”
“Patience, Yukannak, you must understand all to understand some.”
“You are the one who said you must hurry.”
“The woman saw five or six men enter the tunnel through a hidden door she had never seen before. They had someone wrapped in a blanket. Bare feet sticking out from the end appeared to be those of a woman, and she was kicking and fighting, so she still lived. They took their captive through the door to the escape tunnel, and that was the last Nomi saw of them.
“Knowing I would pay well for the knowledge of where the men had come from, she followed them through the tunnel and came at last to the road I mentioned earlier. Afraid she would be caught, she only stayed long enough to see some powered vehicles and smell the vapors indicating they’d recently been used. But as she turned to retrace her steps, she heard a strange word: archive. She didn’t know what it meant.”
“Archive? She is certain that was the word?” A second usage of it?
“I questioned her myself. I brought this to you before leaving Imsurmik because I gave you my word.”
“You brought me this because you need allies.”
Holding up a hand, Zeesar scratched his nose. “There is more. Beware of Waornaak. He is not trustworthy under ordinary circumstances, but lately he has been a friend of both camps, mine and Subitorni’s, not to mention the F’ahdn’s.”
“He is a crude brute,” Yukannak said.
“But cunning and dangerous, Silci; beware of him. You have many enemies here. Neither the satrap nor the Harvesters are overly loved by the common folk. Find the archive and perhaps it can help you, or wait for my return when I bring armed men to aid us against the F’ahdn. Stay alive if you can. Now, I must go.”
Abruptly, Zeesar turned and left the alley without another word. Yukannak let him; there was nothing more to say.
* * * * *
Chapter 8
Few outside noises penetrated the space under the plateau where Imsurmik’s wealthy citizens made their homes. So, when a heavy glass decanter, filled with the fermented drink popular among the locals, rattled on the nightstand beside Yukannak’s bed, it took him a few seconds to hear the dull explosions that had caused it to shake. Throwing off his light sleeping cover, he opened the door of his quarters and saw, across the corridor, early morning light flooding the empty platform where he’d spoken to Waornaak and Zeesar the day before. To his right, the hallway led to the main tunnel, and he called out for the guard stationed there. Nobody answered.
Now he heard gunshots—many of them close—among the explosions outside. It was the first time he’d been near combat, but he didn’t panic. On Kulsis, you couldn’t always know who wanted you dead, so direct attack was actually less unnerving.
He returned to his room, belted his pistol holster around his right thigh, and slipped on the least ornate robe he possessed and a pair of worn sandals. There was no time to bother with paint, which was a good thing; fewer people in Imsurmik would recognize him without it. And while Yukannak didn’t assume the attackers were hunting for him, he didn’t discount the possibility either. Could open warfare have broken out between Subitorni and the F’ahdn? Or maybe somebody had discovered his interest in the archive, or his crime, or maybe they only wanted him dead because of his relationship with the satrap. Anything was possible. And, if he needed something to bargain with—if his status as silci wasn’t good enough—he had nothing else. Drawing the pistol, he headed for the main tunnel; he had to find the archive before they did, whoever they were.
The dwellings of the F’ahdn and the wealthiest citizens of Imsurmik lay off a wi
de, central tunnel cut into the plateau. Other tunnels ran parallel to it like streets, with intersecting cross-tunnels. Being underground, such homes remained cooler than anywhere else, especially near the F’ahdn’s quarters. There, several vertical shafts had been cut through the rock, down to a spring far under the plateau. Its overflow ran out through the wall then down the slope to join the river. A heat exchange system, using the current to turn a large fan, drove the cool underground air up into the passages of the privileged.
Yukannak stumbled into the tunnel, expecting someone to shoot at or grab him, or to find guards defending it. He encountered none of that. Instead, to his left, where the tunnel mouth emptied into the Inner City, men, women, and children were running for shelter, all yelling or screaming, some carrying guns. One young mother was carrying a baby in one arm as she half-dragged a toddler with her other hand. Over a rooftop, streamers of smoke from an explosion on the wall drifted skyward. The scale of the attack heartened him. If his fellow Kulsians had come for him, they would have simply asked the F’ahdn, who would happily have handed him over.
Turning right, he passed militiamen running in both directions, most looking scared, none of them paying attention to him. He pushed through the crowds; he had no plan other than to take advantage of the chaos to find the archive, although he had no idea where it was and he knew it could prove a pointless search. Nor did he know what he’d do once he found it, except for a growing suspicion that his best chance of survival might involve defecting to the Offworlders. Or at least appearing to.
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