The Terrorists of Irustan (35 page)

forty

*   *   *

It is not for us to judge, but the One.

—Fourteenth Homily,
The Book of the Second Prophet

H
uddled on
the floor of Jin-Li’s cart, the Port Force sweatshirt pulled over her head, Zahra prayed for the first time in years.
0 Maker. Don’t let them be caught. Take me, but don’t let them be caught. It’s my fault. Mine.

She heard Jin-Li’s brazen shout at the Pi Team pair. She heard the scrape of boots coming close, saw through closed eyelids how a light flickered over the interior of the cart.

“Medicine,” she heard Jin-Li say loudly in an exaggerated Earther accent. “Come on, kir, have a look. Ever seen medicator syrinxes, regen catalyst? How about opening the CA cabinet? Want to see what goes into your inhalation therapy?”

Deep voices answered Jin-Li, and the booted footsteps receded. Zahra’s lip curled. Pi Team couldn’t stop defeating itself this night. She could have laughed aloud, despite the raw ache of her abraded feet, despite her worry over Ishi, and Asa, and the girl Ritsa. And Jin-Li Chung.

Zahra had meant to demur, to stay behind when Ritsa spirited Asa away from the house. But she was so tired, and they were so insistent. She began to feel as if she had no mind of her own, no will. She couldn’t think of anything else to do.

Ritsa fussed over the inadequate sandals, but there was nothing to do about that, or about Pi Team. Pi Team searched the house twice over, their boots loud in the pantry, before going off to search at Laila’s and Camilla’s, Idora’s and Kalen’s.

Ritsa turned out to be a resourceful girl. She and Asa clung together in a painful embrace before she turned to Zahra and said, “My mother will be here tonight. I sent a message with the man who brings the fish—just a message to come and see me. She’ll get the guard away from the door, and we’ll run for it.”

“But how is that possible?” Zahra asked. “Pi Team—”

“They’re everywhere, Medicant,” Ritsa affirmed. “But no one knows about this double wall but me. And Asa, of course. The chief director shut himself up in his bedroom, and Ishi ate dinner with us in the kitchen—not that she ate much. Diya’s asleep. Everyone’s walking around like there’s been a death.” Zahra had bowed her head in utter misery. Nothing seemed to matter after that, not her tattered sandals, not their near-brush with capture in the street behind the house. Jin-Li had been magnificent, fast and strong and brave. None of it mattered.

Now Jin-Li was back in the cart. It shook as the little motor accelerated. “You can get up,” Jin-Li said calmly. “They were afraid to look in my CA cabinet. Or anything else.”

Zahra resumed the passenger seat. In the back, Eva and Ritsa and Asa slid out from beneath the quilted plastic. “Where are we?” Asa asked.

“I can drive a little farther, but we’re close to the square,” Jin-Li answered. “About half a kilometer.”

“Will they know it was you, Jin-Li?” Zahra asked.

Jin-Li grinned at her. “Doubt it.”

“Here, Kir Chung,” Asa said. “To the left.”

Jin-Li turned the wheel, and the cart jounced into a narrow, crooked street of three-story buildings very like the one where Zahra had taken Binya Maris. The night was far gone. Fingers of morning light scored the eastern sky, though the windows around them were dark. Delivery trucks rumbled in the distance.

“You can stop here,” Asa said.

There was no curb, and no space in the street to pull off. Jin-Li stopped the cart right where it was, beneath a ragged blue-striped awning, and turned off the motor. Asa and Ritsa and Eva climbed out. Zahra sat as if she would never move again.

“Please, Zahra,” Asa said, a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be light soon. We have to get inside.”

Zahra wanted to protest, to argue with him. She wanted to point out how useless it was, how dangerous for him, for Ritsa, for the others. But she was so tired, weary to her very soul. She couldn’t speak, and she couldn’t think. She looked at Jin-Li, her eyes pleading for help.

Jin-Li took her hand, and Zahra gripped it as if she were drowning and it was her only lifeline. “Go, Zahra,” Jin-Li said softly. “Let them hide you. There’s nothing more you can do.”

Zahra looked into Jin-Li’s eyes for a long moment. “You . . .’’she began. She had to stop and swallow past the sudden ache in her throat. “You were wonderful, Jin-Li. I wish I—”

“Zahra, I’m sorry, we must hurry,” Asa said again.

Jin-Li leaned forward and put a smooth brown cheek against Zahra’s. “Go, Zahra. Be safe.”

Hardly knowing how it happened, Zahra was out of the cart and following Ritsa and Eva and Asa down a narrow lane of broken pavement and loose stone. She had no chance to look back at Jin-Li. The lane was so dark she could see nothing. It was like walking through a nightmare, her feet blazing pain at every step, her eyes useless in the darkness. She had no idea how long they went on.

A door opened before them, a pale rectangle in the darkness. Moments later, it seemed, Zahra was lying on a hard bed, gentle hands sponging her feet free of dirt and blood. She tried to see who it was, but her eyes were blurry with fatigue and the room was dim. She gave it up after a time and submitted to the gentle ministration, feeling not so much childlike as very, very old. Helpless. Someone carefully dried her feet, removed her veil, then drew a thin, stiff blanket over her. She slept.

Zahra woke with afternoon light warm on her face. She sat up, startled to find herself in a strange place. The events of the night before were like those of a dream, the details clear but too bizarre to be real.

A look around the room in which she had slept erased any doubt about the reality of her situation. It appeared she was on an upper floor of a run-down building. Meager blankets and worn pillows were stacked on the floor, and some tired-looking clothes hung on hooks behind the door. Someone had tried to make the place homelike with a pitcher of water and two glasses on a whitewood table with crooked legs. A small, round mirror hung near the bed. The floor was wood, with a worn bit of rug.

Zahra got up and went to the door. Cautiously, she put her head out to look down the dingy corridor for signs of a bathroom. At the opening of the door a grinning ragamuffin of undetermined gender ran to greet her.“Kira!” it cried. “Everyone’s waiting for you to wake up!”

Zahra looked down at the child. Its trousers and loose shirt implied that it was a boy, but it was too young for her to be certain. She had no idea where her cap and veil had gone, and supposed it didn’t matter now. Was this child safe with her in the house? She must leave, must get away as soon as possible, before all these people were punished for their kindness to her.

“Bathroom?” she inquired faintly of the child.

It pointed down the hall, still grinning with delight. “I’ll go tell Mumma! Wait for me!” and dashed off in the other direction to the head of a dark staircase.

Zahra found the bathroom and used it. She washed her face and hands, and tried to comb her hair with her fingers. Her dress was filthy, and her bare feet were tender. She stared at the lines around her eyes and her mouth, the blue patches beneath her lower eyes. How old are you? she asked the image in the mirror. Forty-three? You look sixty!

When she limped from the bathroom, she found Eva and Ritsa waiting for her. They took her arms, one on each side, offering soothing and welcoming words. Slowly, aware of her painful steps, they led her down two flights of stairs to the ground floor. Again, she submitted, thinking wryly that she had turned into a dependent old woman in the space of one night.

They took her to a long room that obviously doubled as both kitchen and dayroom. At one end an ancient stove and sink were littered with pots and dishes, and down the center of the room an assortment of chairs were arranged around a scarred table. A number of very young children scampered about, and three women, veils hanging free, alternately snapped at them and chatted with each other, sipping coffee.

Near the stove sat Asa, his cane leaning against his thigh. He got to his feet with an effort.

“Zahra,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I am,” she said.

“Mind the splinters, Medicant,” Eva said. She led the barefoot Zahra around the offending spot on the floor.

Zahra reached the chair nearest Asa and sat down. She looked at Asa’s tired face, and then at the women and children. “This isn’t a good idea,” she said. “These people are in jeopardy, harboring me. And you, too, perhaps.”

“But no one’s looking!” Ritsa said joyfully. “Not one Pi Team man has come to the Medah, or to any of our houses! The children have been up and down the street, and they’d know.”

Zahra leaned on the worn table and rubbed her forehead, trying to think why that didn’t sound like good news. There was something wrong with it, something to be alarmed about, but she couldn’t think what it was. When Eva put a cup of coffee before her, she drank it quickly, hoping to clear her mind.

The other women had fallen silent, watching Zahra’s slow entrance. Now one of them leaned forward. “I want to tell you, Medicant IbSada . . .”

Zahra forced herself to focus on the strange woman’s face. “Do I know you?” she blurted.

The woman colored, and Zahra wished she had softened her tone. “No, but I know who you are,” the woman said.

“Yes, of course,” Zahra said. “It was a bad night, and I feel . . .” She could think of no word for how she felt.

“It’s all right,” the woman said with a grin. “Most of my nights are bad ones! I can guess how you feel.”

Zahra only nodded.

“I just wanted to tell you that your teacher—Nura Issim—saved my mother’s life. We were so grateful. We mourned her.”

Zahra looked into the woman’s eyes, saw the suffering there, the residue of years spent living on the margins of society. She looked around at the others, unveiled women, all of them. Prostitutes. Mothers, sisters, daughters, without rights, without futures. For persisting in treating such women, Nura had been sent to the cells, betrayed by her own husband. Twenty-five years ago, that had been. How little Irustan had changed since!

Zahra said, “Thank you.” She turned to Asa. “Asa, there’s a reason Pi Team isn’t searching for us. It worries me. Someone needs to go into the square, find out.”

“I’ll go!” Ritsa said quickly. “I’m still veiled, I can say I’m on an errand for the IbSadas.”

“You’re not going without an escort,” her mother said.

“I’ll take Asa,” she said.

“No,” Eva said flatly. “It’s not safe for him, or for you either. If the medicant insists, I’ll go.” She looked across the table at Zahra. “Although I’d rather just wait and see.”

Zahra looked around at all of them, at their children dashing around the room. Missing Ishi, worrying about her, was an ache in her soul, a wound that could not heal. She sighed, her mind clouding again, receding into a fog that was both frustrating and comforting. “I don’t know, I just don’t know. But there’s something wrong with this.”

Eva patted her arm. “We’re used to these things, Medicant,” she said, as if she were talking about nothing more serious than a household problem. “Just let us worry about it. You eat, and sleep again. You’ll feel more like yourself tomorrow.”

Zahra wanted to protest, to take some sort of action. Nothing came to mind. She didn’t feel hungry, but she was very sleepy. Again, she submitted, and did as Eva and Ritsa and Asa wanted her to. She ate what they put before her. The children stared at her curiously until one of the women scolded them. Before long she went upstairs again. She fell into a hard, dreamless sleep, and didn’t wake until the next day.

forty-one

*   *   *

Without punishment there is no justice. The Maker requires that a man be responsible for all those of his household, to correct their faults and guide their actions. He is accountable for their sins.

—Twenty-first Homily,
The Book of the Second Prophet

I
shi rose
the day after Zahra’s disappearance, showered and dressed, and went to the breakfast table. Only the insistence of her youthful body had brought her any sleep at all, and she couldn’t imagine that she would be able to eat, but she was determined to keep up appearances. She would greet Qadir, go through the motions of the morning meal, open the clinic. She had already decided Marcus could act as her escort. Diya, as far as she knew, was still in his bed. Qadir had not left his bedroom either, not since the evening before. It was up to her, Ishi, to try to keep the household together. And being busy might keep her from being afraid.

Qadir was not in the dayroom. Cook brought Ishi’s breakfast, and Lili’s. Lili took her usual seat, but Ishi ignored her. Ishi forced a few morsels of food past her lips, then rose to go to the clinic. Lili rose, too.

“No,” Ishi said sharply, her voice sounding years older to her own ears.

Lili looked at her with faded eyes, and Ishi saw that she too was afraid. Well and good, Ishi thought. “I meant it, Lili,” she said. “You will never work in my clinic again.”

Lili clasped her hands before her and thrust out her chin. “It’s not your clinic,” she quavered.

“Until Zahra returns, it’s mine,” Ishi responded. She turned and walked briskly toward the kitchen. Lili trotted after. Ishi didn’t look back, but walked faster.

In the kitchen, the household staff was seated at the table, their headsbent close, talking in low voices. At Ishi’s entrance, they fell instantly silent. Cook jumped to her feet, as did Marcus. The two maids stared, openmouthed. The newest maid, Ritsa, wasn’t there.

“Ishi? What is it?” Cook asked.

Ishi said, “I’ll need Marcus in the clinic.”

“I don’t know anything about the clinic,” Marcus faltered.

Ishi said, “That’s all right, Marcus, you don’t have to do anything. Just be there. As escort.”

Cook said, “Go, Marcus. Ishi needs you.”

Ishi turned to lead the way, Marcus following with hesitant steps. Lili took a step, too, and Ishi whirled to face her, stamping one foot. “No, Lili!” Lili gasped, and began to weep. Ishi was unmoved. “Cook, Lili will stay here with you. Put her to work if you like, but she’s not to come to the clinic, not for any reason!”

Ishi almost ran to the clinic. She would have liked to cry, too. Weep, and wail, and beg for news of Zahra. But what good would it do? If Pi Team couldn’t find her, if Qadir couldn’t find her, then Zahra wouldn’t be found until she wanted to be.

Ishi opened the clinic and readied it, just as she and Zahra always did. Marcus stood uneasily in the dispensary, waiting. No one came. Word of Pi Team’s search had spread in the way such news travels, from housemaid to delivery man to vendor to cook. No one wanted to be anywhere near the IbSada clinic. There was nothing for Ishi to do. She sat at Zahra’s desk, trying to study, staring at the reader without comprehending anything.

Midway through the morning Cook appeared, running through the inner door, down the hall to the office. She was shaking and breathless. “It’s Diya!” she gasped. “He’s awfully sick!”

Ishi got to her feet very slowly. She knew what was wrong with Diya. She knew what she now faced would be hideous.

She yearned to run to her bedroom and hide like a child. But she was a medicant now, or almost one, anyway. If it was to be her own clinic, she mustn’t shy away from whatever came her way. She took a deep breath and spoke firmly. “I need towels and cloths, and a disposal bag, Cook. Let me get some gloves and a mask. I’ll meet you at Diya’s door.”

*   *   *

It was even worse than Ishi had imagined. It was a day of ghastly deterioration for Diya, and horrible messes for Ishi to clean, from the floor, from Diya’s bed, from Diya himself. Diya was dying, and he knew it. He whimpered and pled for help as his body broke down, but Ishi had no idea what to do for him. She thought about having him carried to the medicator, if she could persuade anyone to help her, but she doubted it would do much good. Instead, she ran to the CA cabinet and found an injectable sedative, trying at least to calm him. It didn’t help very much, but it appeared to do no harm. He babbled and cried and prayed till she thought she would scream. By midafternoon, he could no longer speak, and that was almost worse.

Throughout the long day she worked alone in the darkened, fouled room. She opened the window wide, for the air, but she had to leave the curtains drawn lest anyone on the outside be offended. Cook came hourly to ask if she needed anything, but otherwise the house was still. Qadir, Ishi supposed, was in his bedroom, but she heard nothing from him.

Late in the evening, Diya stopped moving at all. His thick-lipped face seemed to shrink, the skin sallow and flat on the bones. Before midnight he took one rattling breath. Ishi watched, waiting for the next one. It never came. It was over.

Ishi pulled off the gloves and put them, and all the towels and cloths she had used, in a bag for the wave box. She covered Diya with a clean blanket and left him lying on his bed. She scrubbed herself thoroughly and emerged, red-eyed and shaky, from the awful atmosphere of the room, to find Qadir waiting for her.

His eyes were haggard, the skin around them purple with sleeplessness. He asked hoarsely, “Is it over?”

“Yes,” Ishi said. “He’s dead.”

“The prion disease?”

“Yes.”

“There can’t be any—any doubt about that?”

Ishi took a step closer, to put her hand on Qadir’s arm, but he stepped back instinctively, fearful of her touch. She stopped. “I’ve scrubbed, Qadir, it’s all right. But I’ll go to my room and take a shower now. No, there can’t be any doubt.”

Qadir’s legs shook, almost buckled. Ishi leaped forward to support him, and he didn’t resist. “O Maker,” he rasped. “Then it’s true. Zahra did it, and I’m going to the cells.”

Ishi was so shocked she almost fell herself. “Qadir—what do you mean? Why would they send you to the cells?”

His weight on her shoulder was almost more than she could support. They staggered, and she tried to guide him to his room. She had not eaten all day, and she supposed he had not, either. He laughed weakly, bitterly.

“Zahra is my charge, my responsibility. Samir Hilel has made the accusation, and Lili too, and the Port Force people. She’s . . .” The laugh became a giggle, high-pitched, almost hysterical. “She’s killed people! Men! Prophet, it can’t be true, but it is! My Zahra, my beautiful, intelligent Zahra, why would she do it? Why, Ishi?” And Qadir burst into tears, great sobs that ripped from his throat, torn from him against his will.

Ishi gritted her teeth and urged him to his room, through the door, onto his bed. She pulled a blanket over him, as she had done with Diya, but she stayed near Qadir, kneeling beside his bed, waiting for his control to return.

When he was calm again, she asked him, “You didn’t mean it, did you, Qadir? They won’t hold you responsible. ...”

He said in a voice still ragged, “I am responsible, my Ishi. Zahra is in my charge. And I’m the chief director of Irustan! For me, more than any man of Irustan, the laws must be obeyed. My example is the one all Irustani must follow.” He sat up. “I apologize for my behavior. This is a terrible shock.”

She got slowly to her feet. “No need for that, Qadir. I know you love Zahra. As I do.”

He stood up, too, on weak and trembling legs. His voice steadied. “I do love her. I still do. But I failed her. She’s brilliant, strong, fiercely protective. I failed her.”

Ishi looked into Qadir’s face and shook her head. “It wasn’t you who failed her, Qadir,” she said. “It wasn’t you. It was Irustan.”