In the Palace of the Khans (28 page)

“You see this? With you own eyes?” he said, looking directly at Nigel for the first time.

“Yes, sir,” said Nigel. “I was up in the gallery …”

No way could he keep the death of the President boring. He didn't try. Mr Baladzhin listened intently.

“Who did shot him?” he said suddenly. “You seeing who did shot him?”

“No, sir. Everyone was cheering the Khanazhana coming down the stairs. I think the shots came from somewhere up in the gallery on my right. It might have been one of the guards. They weren't the President's usual lot.”

“Dirzh,” said Mr Baladzhin, spitting the word out. “And the chievetans—what?”

“I didn't see then, sir. We were too busy running away and hiding. But later on we saw soldiers taking some of the chieftains away along with some other important people.”

“Chievetans—how many?”

“Oh, six? Seven, maybe.”

“Seven. Seven Varaki chievetans go to this tribute. The Dirzh keep them for balukiri.”

“Hostages?”

“Hozhtadzhes. So. Where they taking them?”

“Another room in the palace, I think. That's all I saw, sir. The soldiers were hunting for the Khanazhana. We were hiding until we could get out.”

Mr Baladzhin stared furiously at him for several seconds.

“Dirzh!” he spat again, and turned to the man on his other side. Mizhael was now talking to the man on his right, so Nigel relaxed and settled down to eat what Mizhael had chosen for him. Taeela had asked him to think. Fat chance anyone would listen to him, but it was something to do.

She was who and what she was, so you could rule out the sensible ambassador-type answers, peace deals with the murderers, power-sharing arrangements and so on. You could rule out the crazy ones too, Dirzh against Dirzh, cities reduced to smoking rubble, farms deserted, tens of thousands half-starving in refugee camps.

Anyway, none of that was what she'd asked him. Fohdrahko had given her a map of the passages. She'd kept the vital keys. So how could she use them? It was a day-dream only, a shoot-'em-up video game without the kit.

No, not a day-dream. A darm-dream. He felt he could remember every instant of their escape from the palace, every step through the passages, every rung of the shafts, every breath he had drawn, every beat of his heart …

The trance was broken by Mizhael's voice.

“I guess you like Dirzhani food then. Want any more?”

Nigel stared at his empty plate, vaguely aware of the series of tastes that had been in his mouth.

“Uh … Oh, yes. I like it a lot. No, thanks. I'm fine.”

“Sorry to desert you. You seemed to be managing OK with Uncle Zhiordzhio. Maybe I should've sat between you, but he'd've just talked across me. Tricky old boy. He thought he was all lined up to be chieftain, but the tribal seniors didn't like the way he took it for granted and chose Dad instead. I reckon he's trying to get us into a fight with the Dirzh, and if it works out—which it won't—he'll take the credit and if it doesn't he'll say it was all Dad's fault and it's time he took over. Tell him anything useful?”

“I don't think so. He was mainly interested in the hostages. The other Varaki chieftains.”

“Yeah. It's getting to look like that. We haven't heard from them as far as I know. Those stupid bastards. They're playing into Uncle Zhiordzhio's hands. If they wanted to stir the Varaki up they couldn't have done better.

“Trouble is, Nick, Dad listens to Uncle Zhiordzhio. Tell you the truth, Dad's a bit of guvla. ‘Cushion' in English, but in Dirzhani it's used for the kind of guy who's easy to persuade. Carries the impression of the last arse that sat on him, right? If we're going to do anything to stop Uncle Zhiordzhio we're going to have to come up a better suggestion damn soon. You said the Khanazhana had a plan.”

“Well. Sort of. I haven't told you how we got out of the palace. It's full of secret passages. There was this old guy who looked after Taeela …”

Mizhael listened intently, nibbling at the knuckle of his thumb, while Nigel told him, low-voiced, what had happened from the moment the shot was fired to their crossing the river. He didn't smile or look away. When a servant came up and offered them more food he waved him away.

Nigel finished and waited while Mizhael studied his nibbled thumb.

“You've seen this map?” he said at last.

“Only the outside. It looked really old but it should be pretty accurate. Fohdrahko wouldn't have given it to Taeela if he thought it wasn't any use.”

“The guys who were after you got into part of the system. They may have explored it all by now.”

“I don't know. It isn't easy. There's a lot of booby traps. The eunuchs didn't like outsiders using the passages.”

Mizhael's expression changed completely. He glanced sideways at Nigel like a teasing child and grinned.

“Lily-Jo tell you why I make her come here when she'd much rather we stayed in Singapore?” he said. “I run a little company there, developing computer games. Some guy comes up with an idea for a game but he doesn't know where to go with it, so he brings it to us and we work it up till we can try it on one of the big players. Right? Takes a lot of expensive kit to do it properly and you'll be lucky if you get a bite one time in twenty, so it can be a while before you see a return on your money, if you ever do. Dad's putting up the cash to get us started and keep us going till then, but part of the deal is I spend half the year here. I could leave Lily-Jo in Singapore, but she won't have it and nor will I. You a games freak?”

“Only chess.”

“I'm impressed. Pity you didn't get on with Uncle Zhiordzhio. Challenged for the national championship once. He'd have given you a game. I guess you don't dream about playing chess for real, though. That's what games freaks do, most of us. If you'd come to me with what you've told me as an idea for a game I'd've turned you down. Way too old hat. But to play it for real …

“Let's go back a bit. Before we can use the passages we've got to get there. Forty armed men, say. We could sneak them into the city, one or two at a time, but not if they're carrying guns. There'll be searches on all the gates. And we'd still have to get them into the palace. You've thought of that?”

“Do you know about the fishing boats? They go out in the evening when the fish are rising and come back and unload them at the fish quay. Just the other side of the Iskan bridge from the palace. It must've been about ten-something when we got there, and they hadn't come back yet. Some of the boats belong to one of Janey's neighbours. I thought if you paid him enough he could pick you up somewhere on the lake …”

“Uh huh. I'll look into it. Anything else?”

“Rahdan used to be in the palace guard. He'll know stuff about how they do things. I thought—we'd have to ask him about this—I thought …”

“Hold it. Dad's going to make a speech. I'll just …”

And he was gone, picking his way rapidly round behind the diners and reaching his father when he was already on his feet, waiting for the chatter and bustle to die down. He turned to listen to Mizhael, frowned, shrugged, turned back to the room and started to speak while Mizhael came quietly back.

“Didn't want him saying anything about you,” he whispered. “He's totally wound up. He's got something up his sleeve.”

Even not understanding a word of Dirzhani Nigel could tell it was true. It looked like everyone else in the room could too. They listened in expectant silence, apart from occasional murmurs of agreement, and an angry rumble at the name of Adzhar Taerzha. On Nigel's left Zhiordzhio Baladzhin was nodding vigorously. Chief Baladzhin worked up to a climax, turned to his left and flung out an arm like a TV host welcoming a star guest. A door beneath the gallery opened, and Taeela came in, unveiled, but wearing deep mourning, black from head to toe, with almost no make-up. She was followed by what had to be Janey, unrecognisable in a black dahl with the purple shoulder sash of a khan's attendant.

After the first hush of astonishment the clapping broke out. The attendants joined in. Chief Baladzhin bustled to meet Taeela. The applause only died away as he led her round the room, introducing her to everybody there, followed by Janey a pace or two behind her. She touched hands with them all, said a few words now and then and passed on, just like you see the British royal family doing when they're launching a submarine or something.

Mizhael and Nigel rose together as she reached them, almost last in the room. She touched hands with Mizhael, but said nothing for several seconds, simply looking at him. Nigel could see her face but not his. What were they thinking, these two people who were booked to marry each other and didn't want to? She spoke briefly, smiled at his answer and moved on to Nigel.

Regally she eyed him up and down.

“Wow! You look really, really hot in that gear, Mr Riddle,” she said softly.

“Better not tell Janey you think so.”

Her lips twitched and straightened, and she moved on to Mr Baladzhin. He'd been fidgeting with excitement ever since she'd come in, and now he couldn't wait for her to speak. A flood of words burst out of him, a public speech, meant to be heard by everyone there. Taeela nodded gravely, and flicked a glance at Nigel. He answered with what he hoped was a warning look.

She listened a little longer to the tirade, then tried to stop it by holding up her hand. He paid no attention. She turned to Chief Baladzhin for help, her face tragic, on the verge of tears. Chief Baladzhin said something. Mr Baladzhin ignored him. Chief Baladzhin took Taeela's arm and started to lead her away. Mr Baladzhin tried to follow, still ranting. Mizhael lunged across and grabbed his wrist. Mr Baladzhin tried to shake him off. An attendant joined in, and together they forced Mr Baladzhin back onto his seat. He sat there muttering while Taeela and Chief Baladzhin finished their circuit.

“That's lost him a few friends with luck,” Mizhael whispered as he returned, panting slightly, to his place.

Their tour done, Taeela and Chief Baladzhin held a brief discussion. He stood aside; she turned to face the room and waited for silence, then spoke a few sentences in a clear, sad voice. The clapping that broke out as she left was quieter, respectful of her sorrow, but continued for some time after she'd gone.

CHAPTER 17

“Hearts and minds!” said Mizhael. “Apart from Uncle Zhiordzhio, of course. Probably just as well. I'd rather have him as an enemy than a friend. Only what's she going to be like when she's twenty?”

They were sitting in Mizhael and Lily-Jo's living-room waiting for Taeela, Nigel now very conscious of the long day it had been and how late it was. The darm had left his bloodstream and his body yearned for his bed.

He was back in his own clothes. Mizhael was wearing dark green slacks and a top half a bit like a Hawaiian shirt, only clearly Dirzhani. Lily-Jo had got Doglu up to say hello to his father and was putting him back to bed.

“She wasn't faking it,” said Nigel. “Her dad was the only person who mattered to her in the whole world, him and Fohdrahko, and they're both dead. She covers up what she's feeling, mostly. She just let them see it.”

“I guess you're right. Lot more impressive that way. Hope she can lay on a repeat performance when the rest of the chieftains show up tomorrow. Going to be touch and go. We're a patriarchal bunch up here for a start, and the notion that a twelve-year-old girl might have any more to say for herself than a pet dog is pretty foreign to us. Top of that a couple of them are cronies of Uncle Zhiordzhio's, and they'll all have it in for one lot of Dirzh or the other …”

He broke off at the click of the key in the outer door and reached the inner door in time to let Taeela and Janey in. Lily-Jo arrived a moment later, cradling the sleeping Doglu. She'd changed into a soft golden housecoat, and looked, Nigel thought, terrific. Mizhael's wife, with his son in her arms.

Among other things that meant she couldn't shake Taeela's hand when Mizhael introduced them, but she acknowledged her presence with the smallest possible bow. For several seconds they stood looking at each other in silence.

“I grieve for your loss,” said Lily-Jo. “You may come in to our home, but I cannot for myself give you a welcome. My husband's father plans for you to marry my husband.”

“Nobody chooses who I will marry,” said Taeela, equally stiffly.

“That's all right then,” said Mizhael, totally ignoring the chill in the air. “Hell, I'm happily married already. Why change?”

For once Taeela was taken aback. She turned and stared at him and broke into laughter, her old self for the moment. Mizhael joined in with the Baladzhin guffaw. Lily-Jo relaxed more slowly but had managed a smile by the time they stopped laughing.

“Then of course you're welcome,” she said. “Why don't you sit down? I'll just put Doglu to bed.”

They sat. Nigel broke the silence she left behind her.

“Hi, Taeela. How are you doing? I'm dead. You've got to be too.”

“I'm tired. I try not to be dead. Your arm is better?”

“They've got a knowing woman here. Alinu. She's really amazing. But look, Mike's got to talk to you before these chieftains get here tomorrow. He's OK. He's dead set against fighting. But he says you're going to have a job persuading the chieftains. Mr Baladzhin—Zhiordzhio, the guy who started yelling at you—he'll try and stir things up. A couple of them are mates of his.”

She nodded and turned to Mizhael.

“Your father? What does he think?”

“That's part of the problem. Trouble is he's a guvla, know what I mean? And of course, he's not diradzh—that's senior chief, Nick. Paramount, I suppose. Urvdahn Idzhak's diradzh, and the bastards have got him in Dara Dahn. My ma can usually make Dad see sense, but she won't be there tomorrow, and Dad'll likely have committed himself before she can get at him. If that happens, she'll have to get him to play for time. You've met her?”