The City of Pillars (4 page)

“Maybe. But no one in Zafar will want to touch the flute after what happened in the museum.”

“So the capital?”

Rondel shook his head. “News will travel fast to Thaj. I doubt they’ll find a buyer anywhere in Erba.”

“Then where would they go.”

“I don’t know. I think they’re going to have to sit on it for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because anyone associated with the flute will likely get charged for murder just to pacify the locals. They figured we already had a seller lined up because they don’t know what we wanted the flute for. Therefore, they’ll go to Nuray or Qadir like you said, hoping to dump it quickly. They’ll get the cold shoulder. They’ll try the smaller players next before realizing that they’re in just as bad a spot as we are. Since their territory’s contained within Zafar, they won’t have a clue where to go outside of Erba to sell the flute. They’ll go to ground while figuring out how to get rid of it.”

“Think they would just throw it away?”

Rondel stood and stretched, wincing as a hand went to his back. “Not unless it was a last resort. Getting rid of the flute without a payday would be like admitting failure. I can’t see them doing that.”

“So I guess we might have a little time.”

Voices echoed from below, jarring them both from their conversation.

“You were supposed to warn me when morning came,” Rondel snapped.

Andrasta leaned over the side of a small balcony where she caught glimpses of the levels below with windows. Tiny shafts of light sped across the space. She cursed herself for having been distracted by her anger. It wasn’t like her to make such a mistake.

She cursed again when several guards from the watch appeared on the ground floor. An older man Andrasta assumed worked at the library led them toward the staircase.

“Is there somewhere to hide?” she asked, spinning away from the balcony.

Rondel busily stacked his notes. “No. We need to leave.”

“I’ll get a bag for the papers.”

“No time. If we have to run, I don’t want us losing all the work I’ve put in. We’ll put them back under the bookcase and get them later.”

“Is there a back way out?”

“Two floors down there’s a window that overlooks a small garden. I think we can get out from there.”

Andrasta returned to the balcony and peered down. “Hurry.”

Rondel fumbled the kick guard to the bookcase. He hustled past Andrasta a second later. “Let’s go.”

Rondel led since Andrasta knew little about the interior of the library. She found out quickly why he didn’t take point often. Usually, he would be careful to step where Andrasta stepped as she had a sense for knowing the places that would cause the least amount of noise.

The floor creaked loudly as he took the stairs.

“I heard something,” said a voice below.

“Upstairs!” said another.

Rondel exited the staircase two floors down and sprinted toward a distant wall. Andrasta followed. Rounding several bookshelves, a box-like window draped by a thick red piece of cloth appeared.

The pool in the garden. Of course!

An arrow thudded into a bookcase just ahead.

“They’re shooting at us!” Rondel acted as if he couldn’t believe they had the audacity to do so.

“Don’t slow down. Jump!” she yelled, pushing him forward with her hand.

“Are you crazy?”

Another arrow thudded. Then another. “Do it!”

Rondel increased his pace, screaming hysterically like a man on fire. Andrasta slowed a step to better time her jump.

He leaped through the window, taking the curtain with him. Rondel’s scream turned into that of a raspy, frightened child once he hit the morning air.

Andrasta dove out behind him, taking an arrow in the shoulder as she cleared the ledge. She grunted but had time for nothing more as tree tops rose to meet her.

* * *

Rondel clipped the fronds of two date palms on his way down to a small pool of water. The fronds slowed his decent, but not nearly enough nor in the way he would have preferred.

All air blasted from his lungs when his body struck the pond’s surface. Foul tasting liquid rushed into his mouth as he sank in the surprisingly cool water.

Frantically, he untangled himself from the red curtain. His feet touched bottom as the cloth came free, and he pushed off hard. Weighed down with weapons and light armor, he clawed upward, arms flailing and lungs burning.

Ready to give in, his head finally emerged. He coughed, sputtered, and gasped while trying to keep his lips above the surface. The air smelled like algae.

He began to sink again.

A hand grabbed his arm. “You’re panicking. Calm down, and breathe.”

Andrasta helped him to the pool’s edge.

“How did you know the water was deep enough for us to jump?” he asked climbing out, realizing he had jumped out of a three story window with only a vague idea of what lay beneath. His original intention had been to climb down the side of the library through the window, not leap from it.

“I didn’t. But it was our best option.”

“I’m glad I didn’t know that then.” He paused. “Your shoulder.”

Guards shouted from the library window. Footsteps pounded nearby. Andrasta broke off the arrow shaft. “No time now. C’mon.”

She took off and Rondel followed.

They got out of the gardens, crossed a narrow street, and ducked into one of the many intersecting alleys shrouded in shadow. People were just waking up, opening their homes to let in fresh air while cooking the morning’s meal. Most stopped to stare as he and Andrasta ran past.

More stares will come as the sun continues to rise.

“This isn’t going to work,” said Rondel. “The guards will be able to pick up our trail from the people watching us.”

“I know. We need to get some dry clothes, especially boots. A disguise would also be nice.” Andrasta changed directions, leading them several blocks south into one of the lowlier parts of Zafar.

“Don’t you think the watch will come this way first?”

“Probably. But there are more foreigners in this part of Zafar which will make it easier to blend in.” Her eyes shifted. She pointed. “There.”

Three men with wide smiles stepped out of a whore house on shaky legs. They wore yellow, sweat-stained trousers, cheap looking chain mail, and wide-brimmed helmets that resembled a pointed bowl.

Mercenaries from Malam.
Not the best of disguises, but it will do until we can find something better.

He and Andrasta charged.

Minutes later they left the three men unconscious beneath a heap of trash while moving through the city in dry clothes.

And we didn’t even have to kill anyone.

CHAPTER 3

Three days.

Three long and tiring days Rondel and Andrasta had ducked the city watch. They slept in shifts, usually an hour at a time, huddled up in seldom-used alleys, many times laying in old urine and trash as those places were the safest to rest.

Rondel yawned.
I’d sleep in worse if it meant getting a full night of rest.

Twice, someone tried to mug them. Twice, the muggers wished they hadn’t.

Rondel didn’t care so much about the muggers. They dared not stay too long in one spot because it seemed more guards joined the hunt every day.

Once, the guards nearly had them when Rondel was busy removing the broken arrow shaft from Andrasta’s shoulder and cleaning the wound. But they recovered quickly and managed to escape after killing three guards and wounding two more. Adding bodies to the number they were already blamed for won them no friends. People throughout the city spat out the names Rondel and Andrasta as if they were the worst filth imaginable.

And then there’re the missing children.

Stories of children being snatched away in the night had begun weeks ago. Rumors of small, chewed bones being discovered throughout Zafar followed. Something had even cracked them for marrow. Rondel never bothered learning the truth behind those tales. He hadn’t the time. However, living on the streets had suddenly made the stories seem more important. Though he was no child, the last thing he wanted was to wake up with something gnawing on his leg.

Rondel found himself agreeing more and more with Andrasta’s desire to kill Kamal and Wabu.

Just give me one minute. Well, give me five.

His stomach growled. They hadn’t eaten in at least a day and then most of what they had filled their stomachs with they probably shouldn’t have.

Likely to die of disease before the guards find us.

They were on their way to the market, hoping to steal something to quiet their empty bellies.

“I’m sick of this,” Rondel muttered as he walked behind Andrasta, hunched and using a makeshift cane.

“What?” Andrasta limped just ahead of him, trying to appear drunk, occasionally scraping a nearby wall.

“All this running. And smelling like the inside of a camel’s rear. Next time we have to steal clothes, let’s make sure the people aren’t dead yet.”

“The rot is why most people are avoiding us. Now, keep it down. I’ll go out first. Count to ten before following. We’ll meet later at the other side of the market.”

Rondel leaned against the wall at the alley’s mouth while Andrasta continued on. He rubbed the leg he pretended to favor.

He reached ten and eased himself into the open. The market bustled with activity—merchants hawking their ware, moneylenders haggling over interest rates, and prospective buyers arguing over the quality of goods.

In his past life as a minstrel, he would don the persona of the heroes he sang about, acting out the parts as much as he sang them. Because of this, it was relatively easy for him to slip into the beggar’s role he had cobbled together. He kept his head low, eyes on the ground, and his upper back hunched. With a shaky hand he moved his cane forward, sliding his feet slowly as if he lacked the strength to lift them.

He wore gloves on both hands, the fingertips of the left stuffed with cloth to conceal his injury.

Despite the stench permeating his clothes, the smells emanating from food stands overpowered the odor. He had to will himself not to run toward the grilling lamb and chicken spiced with black peppercorns, cloves, coriander, and cumin. He swallowed pooling saliva before it spilled from the corners of his mouth.

Though that might add to the character.

He passed barrels of dried rice, lentils, and fava beans as well as open boxes of cucumbers and eggplant. He gave the stone jars of olives, dates, figs, pomegranates, and the other selections barely more than a glance. He had been living off rotten vegetables, nuts, and the occasional piece of fruit for the last three days. His stomach screamed for meat.

A family was busily pre-cooking some lamb to sell for lunch at their stand.

He sidled over to the stand, doing his best to appear interested in his feet. A young boy worked the grill near him. The boy placed two fresh skewers of lamb on the hot metal. It sizzled and smoke rose upward. The boy left them to make more.

The meat would be rare for Rondel’s liking, but given his state, he’d eat it raw and bloody if necessary. He reached for one of the skewers. A hand latched onto his.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a man shouted.

Where did he come from? You let your hunger distract you.

He yanked Rondel’s other hand, pulling off the glove concealing his crippled hand. The man shouted in alarm and dropped the glove.

“Unclean!” the man shouted, pointing at Rondel’s missing finger tips.

Crap. He thinks I’m a leper.

Heads whipped in his direction. People backed away, worried they might catch his disease. Another voice shouted. “No. Look at his skin. It’s one of the foreigners. The one that broke into the museum.”

“Where’s the other? The big one.”

“There!”

The shouts kept coming, and Rondel knew any effort to maintain the disguise would be pointless. He stood straighter and spotted Andrasta searching for him. Their eyes met just as shouts of “Guards!” followed. He grabbed the skewer again and jammed the meat in his mouth, uncaring of the searing heat.

A few people tried to move in on them. They lost their nerve as Rondel drew steel and nicked one. Someone screamed in pain beyond Rondel’s line of sight. He figured Andrasta had been less gentle.

She gestured with her head. They ducked into separate alleys going in the same direction. At the first intersection, Andrasta stormed through a side corridor and joined him.

Guards appeared behind them.

“What happened?” she asked, handing him one of two sacks she carried.

Vegetables of some sort. Better than what I managed. Should have never gotten greedy.

“They saw my blasted hand,” he huffed with a curse.

* * *

Up and down Zafar they ran, crossing three districts and two levels of the multi-tiered city that ascended up the rocky mountainside. Andrasta checked the position of the sun through slits of sky separating orange-brick buildings.

Close to an hour.

She glanced back at Rondel huffing along beside her. Her partner kept a good pace, much better than what he would have a year ago. However, neither could run forever, especially with the lack of food and water over the last few days. She glanced up again as a head poked out from the roof of a building. It disappeared quickly. A shout sounded. Another head appeared and disappeared. Another shout rang out.

She swore. “They’ve gotten ahead of us.”

“What?”

“They’re on the roofs. Funneling us to where they want us to go.”

An arrow flitted down and skidded off the cobbles near her feet. Several more followed. She and Rondel zigzagged as best as they could in the narrow alley while leaping over trash and old crates.

“There aren’t any side streets for us to take,” said Rondel voicing what she already knew.

“We’ll have to make our own way out then.”

Andrasta sped faster while hugging the left side of the alley. She cut sharply to the right and leaped at a door. Leading with her boot, she struck near the handle. The frame cracked, but did not break. The jolt of the impact went up her leg, into her hip, throwing her backward.