Dark Empress (48 page)

Swinging his legs up and around, Samir climbed wearily to his feet and walked across to the dangling man.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better, but I could be a hell of a lot worse.”

Samir laughed.

“I’m afraid I have to leave you now. I hope you manage to climb, but you’ll understand that I can’t afford to hang around.”

The guard looked up at him.

“Be assured that when I climb up, I’ll be after you again… but I think I may have twisted my leg in the fall, so I might be a little slower now.”

Samir grinned down at him.

“Get drunk tonight, officer. I think you deserve it.”

“Jûn”

“What?”

“That’s my name: Jûn.”

“I’ll remember that next time I get to the races” Samir laughed.

With a node, he turned and ran off across the rooftops toward the palace complex.

In which Asima seals a deal

Samir took another deep breath as he made the penultimate jump. Many times and many years ago, he’d sat on this slight incline and stared across the gap at the walled complex opposite. He’d always meant to walk those roofs but had never expected it to be under such circumstances.

From here the building that faced him was the residence of the local governor himself, or, at least, it had been when they were children. He had seen governor Talus standing at the ornate windows several times in the past. It was quite possible that the new governor had taken other quarters, but the chances were against it. These would be the best appointed of all the rooms in the complex.

So long ago he had spent time studying the complex and, while he’d never had the opportunity to put his observations to use, now would seem to be the time.

There was only one possible route to the roofs of the complex. It had made him too nervous as a child to even contemplate trying it, but he was a great deal faster and stronger these days. Of course, it was still life-threatening and a ridiculous proposition even for a grown man, but it was the only option if he wanted to get a step ahead once more.

He watched for several minutes. There were figures moving around in the room, but they staying deep in the room and never came close to the window. One was tall and well dressed and Samir was prepared to put money on that being the governor. There were two or three other shapes that he could make out, but they were too distant and shadowy to identify. He couldn’t even tell what gender they were.

Still, he had to try and that was the only window that seemed likely.

Gritting his teeth, he offered up a quick prayer to whichever of Ha’Rish’s faces was currently keeping an eye on him and crossed the roof to the small, low pile of rubble in the corner. It had been over twenty years. Of course, rope didn’t rot and iron didn’t rust in the M’Dahz climate, but it could easily have been found and moved.

Fumbling in the dusty rubble, he sighed with relief as his fingers closed on the curved iron. Moving a few of the heavier blocks aside, he extricated the grapple that he had ‘liberated’ from the docks more than two decades ago. Time had been kind to his little prize. The grapple, along with the thirty feet of thin cable coiled behind it, had lain in secret all these years, awaiting the day when Samir plucked up the courage to actually execute his plan.

He frowned at the rope. Long ago he’d selected this specific rope as being light enough when coiled to carry across the rooftops while long enough to cross the gap and strong enough to hold his weight. Now, as an adult with a slightly more discerning eye, he was beginning to doubt whether thirty feet would be quite enough and whether the thin rope would hold his adult weight.

Turning, he glanced over the low walled parapet. There was less than thirty feet between him and the building, but only just. Ah well…

Carefully scanning the outer wall of the palace, he took in every window within his target area. None were occupied that he could see, though people could easily be close by within the shadowed interiors. The governor, if that was who he was, was occupied with his activity in the room. Of equal importance to him, the street was empty below. There would never be a better time… there may, indeed, never be another opportunity at all.

Crouching, he located the heavy pitons that had been driven into the parapet long ago, onto which a huge cover could be hooked to provide shade on the flat roof, in the days when this building had been a more elegant residence. Nodding to himself, he tied the end of the rope to the piton, though not too tight.

Standing, he took a deep breath, made sure the coiled rope was untangled, took the iron grapple in hand, and let the grapple slide slowly from his grasp until he gripped the rope around four feet from the metal. Starting small and slow, he began to swing the grapple, slowly picking up pace as the heavy object whirred past him ponderously. Gradually, as the speed of the spinning item increased, he let the rope slip out, inch by inch. Years of boarding actions aboard the Empress had trained him well.

Finally, when he judged the swing was right, he clenched his teeth and let go, uttering a small prayer under his breath as he watched the grapple arc out over the gap. His heart skipped a beat as he watched it strike home against the wall opposite, close to the governor’s window, and then tumble toward the street. Grumbling, Samir hurriedly began to haul the rope back in.

After a nervous moment, he had the grapple once more and squinted across the street. No one had appeared at a window. Lucky. Coiling the rope once again, he prepared for a second attempt. At least his failure had ascertained that the rope was, indeed, long enough to reach.

Again, starting small, he began to swing, letting the speed build as he let the rope out slightly. Metal thrumming past his ear, he reached the optimal moment and released, watching with trepidation. The aim was true this time, though, and the grapple disappeared into the opening of the window to the left of the governor’s.

Tense, Samir ducked behind the low parapet and watched for almost a minute. There was no sign of activity and, slowly, he released the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Reaching down, he untied the end of the rope from the piton and began to pull slowly. The rope came in by almost three feet and then jammed tight. Just to be sure, he hauled on it a few times. It was solidly fastened and he nodded approvingly as he tied it once more, much tighter this time.

“Here goes” he said quietly to himself, as he made a last check of the façade opposite, the complex’s outer wall presenting an aperture-free surface for fifteen feet, with the palace windows above, surmounted by a gabled roof. In the old days it was that roof that had fascinated him. Not so, now.

Gripping the rope, he slowly lowered himself over the parapet, wincing. The rope held so far. Offering up his third prayer of the hour, an activity he had long foregone, he began carefully and smoothly to cross the gap, hand over hand along the thin rope, his lower lip between his teeth as he went.

There was an alarming moment almost half way across when the rope gave just a little; perhaps a foot. Possibly the grapple had attached itself to something badly-secured in the room. Samir shifted a little from his slow and careful technique, picking up speed to cross as fast as he could. The fall from here may not kill him but, if not, it would seriously injure him and almost certainly lead to a life of imprisonment or a death sentence.

The notion of swinging, bulge-eyed before the public at the port as a warning to would-be pirates spurred in him an extra turn of speed and he crossed the remaining length of rope at an almost dangerously unsafe speed.

Finally, blessedly, he reached the window and slowly pulled himself up to the lintel to look inside. The room was empty and, while reasonably decorative, devoid of furniture. Some kind of ante-chamber it seemed.

Glancing left, he smiled. The wall here was decorative and the rows of bonding-tile jutted slightly, making a handy ledge for both fingers and toes. Holding his breath, he shuffled along, edging ever closer to the window of the next room.

Over the general background noise of M’Dahz, he could hear voices in the next room. Concentrating as he shuffled slowly closer, he tried to block out the ambient sound and pay attention to the activity in the room. One of the voices was female and he would be willing to bet that it was Asima, particularly given the dark and unpleasant tone of the man’s voice. Asima seemed to have that effect on people these days.

Hurrying as much as he could, Samir closed on the window and finally, as he reached it, grasped the lintel with his fingers and drew himself close enough to peer over the edge.

There were four people in the room. The governor was clear, a tall man with a sour face, dressed in neat and expensive clothes. The other two men were clearly a senior officer in the town guard and some sort of advisor. The last, of course: Asima. He was momentarily disheartened to see that he was too late. The woman was leaving. As he watched, she nodded to the governor and, turning, walked from the room.

Samir wondered momentarily whether he should give this up now and move onto the next step, but shook his head slightly. This was important. He had to know what she’d done.

As the door closed with a click, the other two men approached the governor’s desk and he sat back heavily.

“What do you think, gentlemen?”

“She’s telling the truth as far as we can confirm. Ghassan is in custody and is being taken to the tower now, awaiting your decision. Samir is definitely somewhere in M’Dahz, but the men lost track of him on the rooftops. All the gates are being watched, as is the port. His ship’s been taken and is under guard and a part of his crew are being detained in the guard station at the docks. Whatever Samir plans, he can’t escape and we have his ship.”

The governor nodded and Samir mentally urged them on in the silence that followed. How far had she gone and what had they granted her?

“Do we stop her at the gate, or are you really intending to let her go, Excellency?”

The governor shrugged.

“She’s Pelasia’s problem now. Her information is well worth the fee she asked and the issue Prince Ashar will raise with me. The important thing now is to find captain Samir and drag out of him the location of this ‘compass’ thing. Then we can put an end to Lassos and the pirate threat. Ashar will forgive a great deal for that… the pirates prey on his ships too.”

Samir heaved a sigh of relief, grateful that he’d not overestimated her.

“Perhaps we could start hanging his men until he shows up?” the aide offered hopefully. He was greeted with a cold stare from the governor.

“Coro, we are civilised people. The crew will get a trial and, if they are to be hanged, it will be with the knowledge that it is for the good of the people, and not out of anger, revenge, or deceit. Samir cannot stay here forever. Sooner or later he will make a move and we will catch him. Likely it will involve his brother, his men or his ship, so have the guard pay a great deal of attention in the next few days. I want Samir.”

Nodding with satisfaction, Samir glanced around. This trip had served a second purpose that he’d also hoped for: he now knew what the governor looked like and what sort of man he was and he appeared to be a reasonable man, which would be very useful shortly, when the time came to take the next step.

Smiling, he noted that a couple of ladies were standing chatting thirty feet below him. He contemplated just dropping from here, but a broken leg would seriously ruin his plans. Instead, he lowered himself slowly and carefully down the wall below the window, using the small hand- and footholds he could find until he reached the bare surface of the defensive perimeter wall. With a smile, he let go and fell the last fifteen feet, landing lightly with bent knees.

The two women turned in surprise and stared at the strange visitor that had appeared from nowhere.

“Ladies” Samir addressed them, touching his forehead respectfully and with a smile, before turning and running off into the city.

In which castles crumble

The harbour’s military quartermaster glared at the guard as the first light of the sun crested the horizon and picked out the decoration on the tip of the building’s roof.

“How the hell do you misplace stock like that?”

The soldier winced. He’d been on guard all night, from sundown til sunrise. It had been excruciatingly dull and it was understood among the naval guards stationed in M’Dahz’s port that nothing ever really happened and it was almost expected of one to drop off to sleep for a while, so that you were fresh so to speak. It just had to be the unluckiest day of his life for him to doze off without locking the door to the ammunition store. And he could hardly own up to that last part, else he’d be swinging in the wind by the end of the day.

“I just can’t account for it, sir. When I did the pre-dawn check this morning there were three items missing. I can’t vouch for the evening check, coz it was before I came on duty so maybe the previous count was wrong?”

The officer narrowed his eyes.

“If I find out that you sold stock to supplement your dice habit, I will skin you and wear you like a cloak, do you understand?”

“Sir, I didn’t do nothing!”

“Then where the hell did three fire-pots half the size of a grown man…”

The quartermaster’s voice tailed off as the air thrummed to the sound of an explosion so powerful that the very wall vibrated where he leaned on it.