The Tower of Bashan (5 page)

“I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

“Why? I don’t care what happens out here. I only care about the jewel inside.”

“Well, I think it’s disgraceful,” said Rondel. “The princess and the prince both should have learned how to revere such things from their father.”

Andrasta gestured to a vendor selling intricately carved canes in shape of the tower itself. “Maybe we should buy you one of those.”

“What? Why?”

“It will give you something to wave around as you rant and rave about the youth.”

“Oh, now come the jokes.”

“Why not? We’re finally here. I can feel the weight lifting off my chest.”

“Yes, but the end is the hardest part.”

“I never said it would be easy, but you have the notes and we have the coin to buy whatever else we think we’re lacking in order to get by the guardians. We just have to get inside.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“What do you mean?”

Rondel didn’t answer, pushing his way through the crowd, until they found a relatively secluded spot where they could take in the activity directly at the tower’s base.

“What do you see?” he asked.

“A big tower.”

“I’m serious.”

She folded her arms, and scanned the crowd. The glow in her eyes weakened. Her jaw clenched. The excitement of just being near the tower faded from her face.

“You see it now?”

“Where is the entrance?” she asked.

The entrance to the tower was the first thing Rondel had ever described to his partner. In fact, the diagram he drew from memory after escaping prison over a year ago had convinced Andrasta they should partner.

He pointed. “There. They built over it.” A monstrous structure more than two stories high with stairs, bars, platforms, rope, and so on, criss-crossed over itself. A swarm of children laughed and jumped inside and on top of the structure. “And look at those lines. See the man in front with the bright-yellow turban. He looks like some sort of tour guide.” The man led ten people behind the play area through a narrow entrance. “They’re doing tours.”

“Then we can still get inside.”

“No. Look there.” He gestured. Guards walked up and down the lines of people waiting for the next tour, yanking men and women aside as needed. “What do those people have in common?”

She responded through a tight jaw. “Foreigners.”

“Exactly. Apparently the prince has not totally sold out. He doesn’t want any foreigner to taint the inside of the tower. And with so many people in the vicinity, it’s going to be difficult to sneak inside at night to study the entrance and compare it to my notes.”

“Then what do we do?”

A man walked by carrying an old, dirty sack. He bent and picked up the pieces of a broken figurine, a hand-crafted replica of the tower constructed out of clay. He threw the pieces in his sack and moved on.

“I think I have an idea.”

* * *

Lela slowed half a block from Firdaus’s Pastries. With each step of her bare feet, she calmed her breathing and wiped sweat from her brow.

Though she was hours late to her meeting with Chand, she wanted to at least appear confident.

She stopped across the street, hoping the hookah bar behind her might drown out the scents of Firdaus’s hot desserts and imported coffees. However, even the strong tobacco smell could not overpower the waves of cardamom, ginger, saffron, and vanilla.

Chand sat in his normal spot at a table near the street. He stood out not only due to his size, but because of his dress. Most that frequented the establishment were of the upper class, yet Chand wore clothes more in line with a commoner, a white, collarless
kurta
and a tan
dhoti
instead of churidars.

A servant dropped off a plate of food while another poured coffee.

He may not dress the wealthiest, but he’s treated that way. They know who he is and more importantly who he works for.

Chand took a bite of
papdi
, a pastry of almonds and pistachios that flaked onto his plate. More than ever Lela was thankful for the smoked fish eaten earlier.

She breathed through her mouth, hoping the lack of smell might help get her mind off food. Someone opened the door to the hookah bar at the same moment. Smoke burned her lungs. Her eyes watered and she went into a coughing fit.

Chand looked in her direction, casually waving her over.

She crossed the street. Other patrons dining outside gave her strange looks as she approached. A woman waiting tables barred her path.

“She’s with me,” said Chand

The woman moved aside begrudgingly. The other diners found something more interesting to stare at.

Chand pushed a chair out. “You’re late. Very late.”

Lela sat. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Chand leaned back in his chair, licking at his forefinger and thumb. He picked up his coffee, a cup that would have taken Lela two hands to hold could barely be seen in his palms.

“You had an eventful day, from what I hear.”

Lela didn’t say anything. She had learned not to take initiative with any conversation Chand was part of.

He took a sip and continued. “A story of a little girl being chased by guards near the docks is starting to make its rounds. Tell me.”

Lela gave her version of the story, careful not to mention her use of Beladeva’s name to the fishermen or the aid of the foreigners.

Chand grunted. “And the guards? What happened to them?”

“Like I said, I never saw them again after I convinced the man on the boat to give me a ride to the other side of the docks.”

“So you know nothing about the two dozen people said to have attacked them in an alley when they had you cornered? Several died as a result of the confrontation.”

Two dozen?
She suppressed a laugh.
I guess they didn’t want to admit that only two foreigners defeated them.
“I know nothing about two dozen men.” She held his gaze, daring not to look away in case he might suspect her careful phrasing.

“The money?”

“With me.”

“Pass it under the table. Carefully and without drawing notice.”

Lela reached into her robes with one hand, pretending to scratch at her chest. She withdrew the tightly packed merchant’s pouch that also held the contents of the banker’s purse. She passed it to Chand.

He slipped it inside his clothes. “Heavy. A good haul.”

Lela beamed with pride.

“But not what I told you to do.”

She frowned.

“Your test was not about stealing money. It was about following directions and doing so unnoticed. You did neither and now people on the Gold Road will be looking for a young girl in dirty clothes that fits your description. You won’t be able to work the area for months without being noticed.”

“I can change my appearance.”

“You still aren’t listening, Little One. I thought you were ready to meet Beladeva and become part of our organization, but it appears you still have much to learn. Leave me to finish my coffee in peace.”

She stood slowly, trying to hide both her disappointment and anger. This was not how she thought the meeting would go. She paused.

Chand took another sip and held the cup near his mouth. “Why are you still here?”

“I . . . I was waiting for my portion.”

“You think you deserve to be paid for
not
doing the job you were tasked to do? His mouth thinned. “Go now, before my patience with you wanes.”

She had seen that look before and needed no other warning.

She left quickly.

* * *

Lela shuffled down the street, hunched over, looking hungry and pathetic. Any other behavior would have struck suspicion among the poor lining the road in the Low District. The act wasn’t too difficult considering she had only eaten once in the last day.

Part of the act included crossing her skinny arms over her stomach, pretending that if she pushed hard enough her hunger pains might lessen. In truth, her arms concealed a small piece of bread hidden under her tattered clothes. She bought the bread with a chip of copper stolen from the banker’s purse before her meeting with Chand. Under normal circumstances, she’d never consider gleaning money before giving it to her boss. However, she knew none would expect the banker to carry such a small denomination of currency. For a brief moment she had considered taken a larger denomination of money, but spending such coin would have drawn far too much attention to her.

And how would I explain that to Chand?

She cursed Chand silently.
The chip was supposed to be something extra, something I could have saved to get ahead, not the full amount of my take.

She ignored a curious stare from a grimy old man who sat beside the doorway to her building, mumbling to himself. He sat in a pool of urine and smelled like he had soiled himself recently. She stepped past him quickly.

Once inside, Lela darted up rickety steps. Even with her slight weight, the wood moaned, and popped. At the third floor, Lela left the stairs, and went down the hall to her door. A thin line of light shone between the frame and the door beside the handle.

Not even latched.
She set her jaw and pushed her way inside.

As expected, Kunal rested at the back wall of the single room, near the lone window. His chin sat on his chest, and his eyes danced in their sockets as he looked her way. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

She shook her head and closed the door, barricading it with a large rock she had rolled upstairs weeks ago in response to a murder across the hall. She doubted it would stop many intruders, but the gesture gave her greater peace of mind.

She turned and quickly took in the rest of the mostly empty space. A chamber pot spilled over in one corner and a few pieces of moldy cloth they slept on lay balled in another corner.

And we’re considered lucky because we’ve at least got a roof.

She padded over to Kunal, torn between rage and despair. “It had only been two days,” she whispered to him. “The worst of it was almost over.”

She knew from past withdrawals that the symptoms had been too much for him to bear.

How did you even pay for the drugs? We have no money and you don’t work.

As she neared, she realized Kunal did not wear his
dhoti.
He covered his lower body with one of the dirty sheets from the corner. Her hand went to her mouth. She was young, but not naïve. “Oh, Uncle,” she whispered.

Even inebriated, Kunal had the awareness to look away, cheeks flushed. Selling himself for money was a low he swore he would never sink to.

Something he once judged others for.

She knelt beside him. “Promise me you won’t do this again.” A small whine passed through his lips. “Promise me, Uncle. I’d rather pay for the vile drug myself than know you were doing this.”

Tears ran down his face. A wet sob passed through his lips. He nodded.

Lela fought back tears herself. She kissed his forehead and carefully laid him on his back, covering him more fully with the sheet. “Things will get better soon. I have a job now and it won’t be long before I’m making good money. Then we can move into a nicer home, and I can pay for a doctor to help you get cleaned up.”

He mumbled something indecipherable.

“Rest. I have some bread for you when you’re up to eating.”

Kunal closed his eyes. After a moment Lela crawled up beside him, placing her head on his chest and his arm around her shoulder for warmth.

As with most nights, sleep did not come easy.

CHAPTER 2

Every day, Andrasta paused in the same spot during their approach to the tower. Said to be millennia old, the stone on the tower’s face looked as new as if the carvings of the tens of thousands of animals, symbols, and long dead languages had been etched yesterday.

According to Rondel, sorcery protected it from both the elements and time.

Thalamanak, a great sorcerer,
the
great sorcerer, had erected the tower during the Sorcerer Wars as a way to flaunt his power. It was during an age when powerful figures created fabulous creatures to use as weapons against their enemies. Dragons, unicorns, gryphons, manticores, and many more died to the last in those battles, living on only in tales and carvings like those adorning the tower’s exterior.

Most tourists congregated around those images, forsaking the more common likenesses of elephants, pythons, and tigers. Admittedly, Andrasta had done the same on the first day when she could still study the pieces without drawing too much attention to herself. She had realized by the end of that first day that the true skill and beauty in the work resided in what could only be seen up close. Every inch of the stone bore some carving or design so that every symbol or glyph was a small part of a larger image.