The Tower of Fear (19 page)

“And that’s true. And he won that fight, too. He killed them all. But he was injured so badly he could not participate in the battle at Dak-es-Souetta. He died of his wounds as we were taking possession of the city. Death was the only enemy ever to best him. Diehards hid the body and tried to convince the people that he was still alive, but they failed.”

“Is this fable supposed to impress or intimidate me?”

“It’s supposed to warm a sense of reasonable caution in that dried-up pea you use for a brain.”

Sullo smiled nastily. “The masks are off now, aren’t they?”

“They are.”

“There is a strong party back home which feels that you have been criminally slack in bringing these people to heel and converting them.”

“I suspected as much. Though I read my failing as not having stolen enough Qushmarrahan treasure to slake their greed.”

“They’ve sent me here to make up for your deficiencies.” Another nasty smile.

Cado smiled right back. “This little chat has been more useful than I suspected it would be. It’s shown me my course of action. Which is to take no action at all. All I need do is back away and give you your head.”

Sullo eyed him narrowly, distrusting the triumph.

“You’ll be dead before the week is out.”

“If you dare…”

“Not I, Governor. I won’t lift a finger. You. Committing suicide. Your loving subjects, who’re about as tamed and converted as they’re going to let themselves get, are going to cut your throat. I’ll wish you good day, sir. I’ll even wish you good luck. You may make these people appreciate me much more than they do.”

Sullo stalked out, not able to conceal his anger at being discounted.

General Cado relaxed, wondered how best to get convincing word to the Living that he and his had no part in Sullo’s schemes, that he and the army of occupation would remain neutral in any dispute.

*   *   *

Medjhah was right. The tall and haughty woman came back, taller and haughtier than ever, but cutting a course much closer to the alley mouth. Medjhah renewed his invitation. The ice woman responded with a sway of body that said hips were moving in cruel mockery beneath her clothing. Her satellites giggled behind their hands and one who could not have been more than a year older than Yoseh flashed him a clumsy wink that scrunched up one whole side of her face. He winked back just to keep the game alive. He whispered, “They, too, were children when the rivers ran with blood.”

Medjhah uncoiled. “I’m going to stretch my legs, kid.”

“Be careful.”

“Hey. What’s my middle name? I’m not going to get near her. Them. I’m just going to see where they live.” He drifted into traffic and disappeared. Yoseh sat and brooded on the meaning of life and death and decided he probably wouldn’t live long enough to figure it all out.

The glare off the harbor was intense. Yoseh closed his eyes. He may have dozed for a few minutes. When he opened his eyes again he found a veydeen child staring at him. The boy seemed familiar … He looked some like the girl down the street. Of course! He had seen the boy with the old woman.

Something scaly and cold uncoiled and stretched inside his stomach. “Hello. What’s your name?” He tried very hard to get his tongue around the odd shape of the Qushmarrahan dialect.

“Arif. What’s yours? Are you really a Dartar soldier?”

“Good morning, Arif. I am Yoseh, the son of Melchesheydek. Yes, I am a Dartar warrior, though I am very new at it.” Could the boy understand the difference between soldier and warrior? Probably not. Few adult veydeen could do that.”

“How come you always wrap your face up in those black cloths?”

Yoseh could not answer that one. It was something you began doing when you became an adult. It was something the lesser tribes of the veydeen and the ferrenghi did not do, so that they stood apart, branded, uncouth and lascivious. It was something he did not ponder. It was something that
was.

He countered with a question of his own. “What is your sister’s name?”

The boy looked baffled.

Yoseh repeated himself slowly, carefully, thinking he had botched the dialect.

The glow of illumination lighted the kid’s face. He said, “You must mean Mish. She’s not my sister. She’s my aunt. My mom’s sister. Her real name is Tamisa but everybody calls her Mish. She’s a real grouch.”

Well. So.

Yoseh fell into a long conversation with Arif. He did most of the talking, answering questions about his native mountains and deserts and those great salt flats called the Takes, and about Dartar skirmishes with the Turok savages who lived beyond the Takes. He got in a few questions of his own, mostly defining Arif’s family.

Another of those families decimated by the war. No close relatives left outside this house except some married aunts. The same sort of story you heard everywhere.

So where the hell did all the people come from? What had this crazy city been like before the fighting took so many? So crowded you couldn’t breathe?

Their talk must have gone on half an hour. Medjhah came back, winked, went and sat in the shade and appeared to doze.

The girl came boiling out of the door down the way, looked around frantically, the back of one hand to her mouth. She was in a panic. Terror filled her eyes. She spotted Yoseh and Arif. She looked like she went limp with relief.

Yoseh stood as she bustled toward them. He could not help staring. The scaly thing in his stomach thrashed. She did not look at him at all. Her cheeks were red.

“Arif! What are you doing out here? You know the rules! You’re going to get the spanking of your life when I tell your father what you did.”

“Aw, Mish, I was just talking to Yoseh.”

“He was perfectly safe here, Tamisa. When you tell his father will you mention that it took you a half hour to notice that Arif had left the house?”

Her color deepened. She faced him, mouth opening to snarl. But then her eyes met his. Nothing came out.

Down in Yoseh’s stomach Old Scaly went into his death throes. Or something.

Medjhah chuckled into the silence that hung between them.

Mouth dry, Yoseh said, “My name is Yoseh.”

Tamisa said, “My name is Tamisa.”

“You are very beautiful, Tamisa.”

The girl blushed.

Medjhah chuckled again.

Arif looked puzzled and displeased.

“Tamisa, don’t you have another kid to watch, too?” Yoseh had just glimpsed a sturdy little one headed their way like he owned Char Street.

“Oh, Aram! Stafa! Mother is right. I’m a hopeless, irresponsible half-wit.” She started to go. Too flustered to remember the older boy.

The younger one was there. The girl scooped him up as if that would save him from all the dangers he’d already evaded successfully.

Arif said, “Tell Mish about the time your father and Fa’tad ambushed the Turoks, Yoseh.”

“I don’t think girls are interested in those kinds of stories, Arif.”

Tamisa put the younger boy down in front of her and held on. “I don’t mind. At home all I hear is Mom grumbling about how her legs hurt.”

Medjhah chuckled a third time.

Yoseh did not know what to say now. It was all in his lap. He was painfully aware of the disapproval of the passing veydeen who saw one of their virgin daughters speaking to a Dartar.

He just started talking. After a while the girl started talking back to him. They sat down. The boys began playing among the animals. Yoseh thought the camels were unnaturally tolerant of their behavior. The little one, the fearless one, climbed all over them. He got bumped down once when he planted a foot too painfully, but otherwise did as he pleased.

Nogah came out of the alley with a coffle of five pasty-looking prisoners and turned them over to Medjhah. His expression was unreadable as he drank from a waterskin. But he said nothing. He returned to the alley with the waterskin slung over his shoulder.

Medjhah got a javelin and perched himself where he could keep an eye on the prisoners. There wasn’t a hint of laziness or sleepiness about him now.

Yoseh tried to keep talking to Tamisa, but the appearance of the prisoners had unsettled her. And the boys now clung close, frightened by the wild men out of the maze.

Medjhah whistled softly. “Hey, kid. Down the hill.”

The smaller boy took off. “Daddy! Dad’s home.”

Old Scaly had a few convulsions left.

*   *   *

Azel leaned into the room where the eunuch was eating a late supper. “Hey, Torgo. We got a problem. I need to see the woman.”

Torgo’s eyes went tight and narrow. “I thought you walked out on us.”

“Did I? I don’t remember that. I remember saying I wouldn’t commit suicide. Not the same thing.” He kept his tone neutral. “I got to see her. Got an emergency request from the General. It’s important.”

Torgo rose, went to a sideboard. He washed his hands in a gold laving bowl, rinsed them in lilac water. “You’re serious, eh? You would have stayed away otherwise. What is it?”

“I need to see her. She has to make the decisions on this.”

“She can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“Unfortunate, but true.” The eunuch smirked. “She examined one of the children last night. She won’t recover before tomorrow evening. At the earliest.”

Azel spat a curse.

“I hope it’s not a deadly emergency.” The eunuch’s smirk grew malicious.

“It could be. For all of us.”

Torgo was amused by his effort to be polite. Azel knew he would protract this, make it a bully’s game.

Azel gave details about the highly placed Herodian spy.

Torgo said, “I don’t see a problem for us in here.”

“The General wants to turn the spy around. He’s dead set on it. His best leverage is here. The last kid I brought in was the spy’s son.”

Torgo was genuinely surprised.

“The General has two requests. First, he wants the spy brought in and shown the kid. Second, he wants the kid to be examined next so the Living can take possession.”

Torgo nodded, grinned. “She won’t allow the first. And her schedule of examinations is set.”

Azel loosed his wickedest smile. “The old man anticipated that. I’d guess he figures this is a good time to define relationships more clearly.”

“Eh?” Torgo looked uncomfortable.

“He understands the Witch. He knew her before Dak-es-Souetta and Ala-eh-din Beyh. He feels her desperation will lead her to bow to his superior wisdom.”

“Or what?”

“Or he seals the Postern of Fate and pursues his war with Herod by other means.”

Torgo snapped, “You get of a whore!”

“Not my idea, friend. I argued against it. But he’s a stubborn old shit with nothing to lose and some right on his side. Her activities are a danger to the Living. There’s a rumor the Living are behind the child-stealing. There’ve been too many kidnappings. People are getting upset. He wants her to back off. He wants to decide when, where, and how the children are taken.”

“She won’t agree.”

“Her choice is agree or get no more children.”

Azel watched closely. Torgo was angry but, like Azel himself, was restraining both anger and personal animosity. The stakes went beyond personalities. Torgo paced. He fiddled with things, flicked away specks of dust, made minute position adjustments. “I’ll get hell for it but I’ll go out on a limb. You can see the boy. The rest will have to wait on her.”

“Thank you,” Azel figured that would rattle Torgo.

“Bring him in blindfolded. Don’t let him know where he’s at or what we’re doing.”

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about putting the kid somewhere where he can be seen without giving away where he’s being held. I’ll pay my respects to Nakar now. May he find Gorloch’s favor again.”

Torgo mumbled the formula sullenly. Azel grinned as he left. That ball-less wonder couldn’t root for that because it would mean losing out on his fantasies.

Right now Torgo was as close as he was going to get to the woman he loved.

9

Aaron broke stride when he saw Mish with the Dartar. He glanced at the pasty-faced prisoners, the man watching them. That man looked back blandly.

Arif and Stafa arrived, whooping. Aaron settled the smaller boy on his left hip, took Arif’s hand. He tried to keep his expression neutral as he looked at Mish and the younger Dartar. Arif babbled steadily as Aaron moved closer, telling him about the Dartar and his family.

As he came up, Mish said, “This is Yoseh, Aaron. He’s the one who got hurt trying to catch the man that took Zouki.”

The Dartar looked embarrassed. Mish looked frazzled.

“Why?” Aaron asked. He didn’t know what else to say.

“What?” The Dartar looked perplexed.

“Why try to rescue the child?”

The Dartar looked more perplexed.

The other came to his rescue. “A quaint perversion of us barbarians, Qushmarrahan. We care for children. Not something you would understand, perhaps.” He spoke carefully, making sure he did not lose his meaning by slipping into dialect. He underscored by staring at Arif and Stafa.

Aaron smiled. He looked at the younger Dartar. “Thank you. The boy was the son of a friend. I hope you weren’t too badly hurt.”

“Failure hurt more.”

Aaron did not know what else to say. He glanced around. There were eddies in the human river as people paused to watch what might be a confrontation. Uneasy, he looked at Mish, who was watching the Dartar boy in a kind of heated wonder. “How soon will your mother be home? Are you supposed to have something ready when they get here?”

“Oh! I forgot!” She ran for the door.

Arif said, “Yoseh, tell my dad about the time your father and Fa’tad…”

“He wouldn’t be interested, Arif.”

“My dad was a soldier. Weren’t you, Dad?”

“In those days everybody was a soldier, Arif. It isn’t anything to brag about.”

Stafa was playing peekaboo with the other Dartar, looking round front of Aaron, then behind, while the man pretended to hide behind his face cloth. Stafa giggled.

Aaron wondered if he was losing his grasp on reality. That man had five prisoners at his feet and a spear in his other hand and he would stick them without compunction if they moved, but he was playing peekaboo with Stafa.