The Tower of Bashan (6 page)

It’s even more magnificent than I imagined. And it mocks me. Every day it mocks me. After all this time I’m finally here, and yet the jewel seems more difficult to reach than ever. Beauty or not I’d just as soon tear it down stone by stone to reach the jewel.

“Will you stop staring,” hissed Rondel.

Andrasta blinked at her partner. Rondel had cobbled together a mismatch of attire, part local, part foreign in order to make it seem as though the two had been in the region for a greater length of time. The clothes were old, and white stained pale yellow from sweat and grime. He stood hunched, using a walking cane crafted from a discarded piece of wood salvaged near an old furniture shop. The yellowish brown color had appealed to him, saying it went well with his outfit.

Andrasta had joked that he just wanted something to wave around.

“Am I not supposed to stare at things?” she asked, referencing the persona she was told to adopt.

“It’s one thing to stare off with a blank look, or that of a child seeing something spectacular for the first time. That’s the type of look you’re supposed to have. Examining something with keen interest and introspection, which is what you
were
doing, is a different story. Your character should never be introspective.”

“Why do I have to play the idiot?” she grumbled.

“Because in situations like the one we’re in now, it’s best if your true personality has little opportunity to shine. We’re not trying to kill anyone just yet. Now hush. Anyone watching might notice you’ve just said more words to me now than you have in the last week.”

She bit her lip—one, in an effort to get into character, and two, to prevent herself from saying what was really on her mind. Rondel grabbed her hand and walked a step ahead, leading her like a child.

As they neared the entrance to the first floor of the tower where they would receive the day’s assignments, Rondel yanked her arm down and whispered. “Quit looking so intimidating. Roll your shoulders forward. And smile. You’re supposed to have the mind of an adolescent.”

“I need something to smile about. I can’t just put on a fake smile like you. It doesn’t come easily,” she hissed back, frustrated by their whole charade.

Two weeks of this.

“If you can’t smile, then drool. I’ve watched you sleep enough to know that comes easily.”

Andrasta squeezed Rondel’s hand until he yelped. He gave her a dirty look which she returned with a grin.

Now I have something to smile about.

* * *

Rondel picked up the bones of a small, half-eaten carp. It was the third dried skeleton in the last hour. Scraps of wood, soiled clothing, and rotten vegetables weighed down the sack he dragged.

Garbage collector was far from the top of his most humbling experiences, but that didn’t mean he liked what he was doing.

A means to an end, Rondel. Just like practicing that stupid flute.

Rondel never cared for the flute, but according to his research, the particular instrument they stole from Erba was key to getting through at least one of the tower’s dangerous obstacles. Though he had worked out the basics of the flute over the last few weeks, the lack of fingertips on his left hand hampered his ability to consistently close several of the instrument’s air holes. Part of his practice consisted of him searching for a solution to that problem.

A means to an end.

He repeated the mantra to himself almost as often as he said it aloud to Andrasta. His partner berated him daily for being no closer to obtaining the jewel than when they entered the city. She had never shown tremendous patience before, but of late her anxiety had risen to levels that bordered on obsession.

What do you expect? This has always meant so much to her. And I promised I’d help her get it.

A young couple walked toward Rondel while sharing a thin paper bowl of
gulab jumun
. The small dough balls were fried, dipped in syrup, flavored with green cardamom. Rondel tried to ignore the sweet smell, smiling at the couple as they passed. Neither acknowledged him at first. Then the man wadded the empty container and tossed it purposefully in his direction, smacking Rondel square in the chest. The man smirked.

Rondel’s hand slid to the short sword hidden under his clothes. He caught himself and scratched his side instead. After a deep breath, he picked up the trash and tossed it in his sack.

A means to an end.

Rondel hefted his sack off the ground.

The lone solution he had for avoiding the notice of patrolling guards while trying to study the lower level of the tower was to find work nearby.

And the only work available was the work few wanted.
He sighed, frustrated at the difficulty in pulling shifts inside the tower’s entrance where the tours were held.

“Rickar!” a voice shouted.

Rondel recognized the baritone of his boss before his mind registered the false name he had chosen. Andrasta had thought the fake names were unnecessary until news of their recent adventures in Erba and Iget followed them east.

He cast aside somber memories brought on by their Erban adventures and bowed in the direction of the thin man storming toward him. “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

“You need to go talk to your sister,” the man said through gritted teeth, arms folded over his chest.

“Half-sister,” he corrected.

“Whatever. You look and act nothing alike. Your accent is even different than hers. I don’t know what your relationship with her is, but it’s obvious you two are not related.”

“Not true. The difference in our accents has to do with her state of mind. Even in our native tongue, she doesn’t speak clearly. And as for our differences in appearance, well, we just carry more attributes from the blood we
don’t
share.”

“You’re old enough to be her father.”

Rondel shrugged. “Our father never let age slow him down.”

The man frowned, obviously not believing a single word.

I don’t need him to believe everything, just enough not to bother pursuing the truth.

“Regardless,” the man continued. “She’s refusing to clean the privies again.”

Rondel didn’t bother hiding his frustration. “My apologies. I’ll take care of it.”

“Things had better change. I hired you because I felt sorry for the both of you. If you can’t handle the work, I’ll find someone else.”

Yes, I’m sure you hired us out of pity. It had nothing to do with the fact you don’t have to pay us the minimum wage due a citizen because we’re foreigners.

Rondel bowed lower. “Again, my apologies. I’ll see the privies are cleaned right away.”

Rondel found Andrasta near the entrance to wide, wooden stairs that led up to what amounted to the first public privy he had ever seen or heard of. In order to keep people and their coin in the tower area longer, someone created closed-in structures two stories off the ground. Inside the structures sat rows of privies, sectioned off for men and women. Chutes carried the waste under ground and into the city’s sewers. Rondel thought the entire thing genius, especially since the designer of the structure had enough foresight to build it high off the ground so odors would take to the wind rather than linger around the food sold below.

Andrasta scowled at his approach.

“Why do you keep doing this?” he asked.

“A good question. I am a warrior, trained by the greatest master in the world. And you were considered one of the greatest minstrels in all of Untan.”

Rondel cleared his throat. “
The
greatest.”

“Whatever. We’ve seen and done more in the last year than most people could even dream of. Yet, we’re picking up trash and cleaning up after people who’ve had too much spicy food to eat and can’t properly aim. I have a better question. Why do
we
keep doing this?”

“We’ve been over it.”

“Remind me again.”

“As I told you, my notes can get us inside the tower, but not without first spending time studying the entrance. And that’s hard to do with all the guards out and about. We need to study the glyphs more so when we do decide to break in we can hopefully just walk right up and open the doors. The last thing we want to do is get arrested before we make it inside.”

“And how is all this studying going again?”

Not as well as I would like
. “Slower than I had hoped.”

“Slower than you promised. A few days. A week at worst is what you told me before.”

“That’s before we even got to Bashan. I told you none of this stuff was here before. I thought we’d be able to sneak past the guards at the wall several nights in a row and take our time studying the place. I didn’t think we’d have hordes of people up our backs night and day.”

“How long did you spend studying the markings yesterday?”

“Not long because—”

“And this morning?”

Rondel signed. “A few minutes before our sections were handed out.”

“At the rate we’re going, it will take another year just to get what we need. I can’t have that.” She spat at a passerby who quickly shuffled away. “This is a waste of time.”

“Really?” He shifted his tone. “Then please tell me a better way to accomplish what we need to do. Oh, that’s right, you don’t have a better way. You just complain and get angry. So, until you come up with something else, don’t screw up our cover.”

She scowled, scar puckering. “Fine.”

He sighed and gestured to the stairs that led to the privy, voice softening. “C’mon. I’ll help. Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

Despite the steaming lamb and rice Andrasta carried, the smell of the privies would not leave her nose. Walking down the old, dusty hallway of their bug infested inn, even the odor of rodent feces, mildew, and vomit could not stamp out the foul stench of her earlier work.

“Of all the jobs for Rondel to pick as a cover,” she muttered.

She climbed the stairs to their small apartment in the Low District three at a time, eager to eat after another long day. She hoped a full stomach might change her sour disposition.

The sound of a flute tickled her ears as she reached the second floor.

Good. He’s practicing again.

She reached the end of the hallway and opened the door. The music stopped. Rondel sat with his back against the wall nearest the window. Sheets of parchment and paper lay strewn out on the floor before him. His cheeks seemed to redden as he quickly set the instrument down, tightening his damaged hand into a fist.

“Why’d you stop?” she asked, while closing the door.

“I was done for now,” he answered quickly.

She noticed the lie, but decided not to push. She had before and knew his confidence suffered because of his injured hand and an apparent hatred of the flute altogether.

She sat down on the floor beside him and handed him his food.

“You’re getting better,” she said as they began to eat the spicy food. Unlike Rondel’s, her comment was not a lie. It amazed her how quickly he had improved over the last few weeks especially. She offered the compliment in hopes of making up for her attitude at the tower.

He snorted. “Better, but not good enough.” He paused. “Don’t worry, I’ll be ready when the time calls for it. I promise.”

I hope so
, she thought, choosing not to voice her concerns. Her frustration at his failure for getting them inside the tower grew each day. However, the last thing she wanted at the moment was to add to his anxiety.

They ate in relative silence for several minutes, both going about the task with a workmanlike quality.

Andrasta shifted on the hard, grime-coated floor, eyes moving about their small, one-room residence while trying to get comfortable. “Why can’t we get a nicer place again? We’ve got more than enough money from our previous jobs?”

“Wouldn’t fit our characters at the tower. As it is, most people picking up trash don’t even have a place to stay. They live on the streets. We have to keep up appearances in the off chance someone follows us after work one day. If you want a nicer place to lay your head, then think of a cover that fits us staying in that sort of place.”

A skittering beetle trailed a path through the dirt on the floor. She stamped it out with her boot. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Though she had been more than angry with Rondel for his lack of progress, she could see him putting in the effort. However, the events from Erba still obviously hung over him. It had been her hope that the distraction of the tower would ease some of his pain. So far, her hope had not flourished.

The weight of Erba is making it more difficult for him to concentrate on the task at hand.

She knew she was being selfish by nagging Rondel and pushing him to come up with a plan faster, but she couldn’t stop. Her need to get the jewel and return to Juntark bored down on her.