Water Sleeps (10 page)

“So those Bhodi nuts found a good message. You think we could steal some of
their thunder?”

One-Eye chuckled evilly.

“What?” I demanded.

“Sometimes I amaze myself.”

Goblin, about to leave with Runmust and Kendo, observed, “You been amazed at
yourself for two hundred years. Mainly ’cause nobody else bothers to get
interested in insects.”

“You better not go to sleep any time soon, Frogface—”

“Gentlemen?” Sahra said. Gently. Yet she grabbed the attention of both wizards.

“Can we stick to business? I need some sleep.”

“Absolutely!” Goblin said. “Absolutely! If the old fart has an idea, let’s get
it out here before it dies of loneliness.”

“You may continue your assignment.”

Goblin stuck out his tongue but left.

“Amaze the rest of us, One-Eye,” I suggested. I did not want him dozing off
before he shared his wisdom.

“Next time one of those Bhodi loons lights himself up, we have the smoke and
flames carry our message. ‘Water Sleeps.’ And a new one I thunk up, ‘Nor Even
Death Destroy.’ You got to admit, that’s got a nice religious ring to it.”

“Indeed,” I agreed. “What the heck does it mean?”

“Little Girl, don’t you start in on me.”

The ghost of evils past whispered, “I found them.”

Murgen was back.

I did not ask who. “Where?”

“The Thieves’ Garden.”

“Chor Bagan? The Greys have it under siege.”

And they were still serious about getting the place cleaned out, Murgen said.

Sahra wakened me well before dawn, which is not my best time of day. When I
opted for a military career, we were besieged in my hometown. I just knew that
once we got out of there, we would sleep till noon, we would eat fresh food all
the time and there would be plenty of it and never, ever, would we have to go
out in the rain again. In the meantime, I took the best I could get, which was
the Black Company during the siege, with the water fifty feet deep. The only
thing resembling fresh food was the long pig Mogaba and his Nar friends were
enjoying. Unless you counted the occasional lame rat or slow-witted crow.

“What?” I grumbled. Personally, I am convinced that even the priests of
happy-go-lucky old Ghanghesha are not required to be pleasant before an hour
much closer to noon than this was.

“I have to go to the Palace. You have to appear at the library. If we want to
snatch Narayan and the girl right in front of the Greys, we need to start
planning right now.”

She was right. But that did not mean I had to accept it gracefully.

Every Company member inside Do Trang’s complex, and Banh himself, gathered over
a crude breakfast. Only Tobo and Mother Gota were absent. But they would have no
part in any of this. I thought.

Nobody from outside could be included now, because shadows were on the prowl.

“We got a plan all worked out,” One-Eye announced proudly.

“I’m sure it’s one stroke of genius after another,” I replied as I made a groggy
effort to collect a bowl of cold rice, a mango and a bowl of tea.

“First thing, Goblin goes up there in his dervish outfit. Then Tobo comes
strutting along . . . ”

“Good morning, Adoo,” I murmured distractedly as the gateman admitted me to the
library grounds. I was worried about leaving Goblin and One-Eye to operate on
their own. My mother instinct at work, they said, both showing nasty teeth as
they reminded me that every hen has to trust her chicks on their own sometime. A
point well made. Though few hens have to worry about their chicks getting drunk,

forgetting what they are doing and wandering off in search of adventure in a
city where there is not even one other skinny little black man or ugly little
white character.

Adoo nodded his greeting. He never had anything to say.

Inside the library I went to work immediately, though only a couple of copyists
had arrived before me. Sometimes Dorabee focused as intently as Sawa did. That
helped turn off the worries.

“Dorabee? Dorabee Dey Banerjae!”

I started awake, amazed that I had fallen asleep. I had squatted down on my
heels in a corner, in a fashion common amongst Gunni and Nyueng Bao but not
common among Vehdna, Shadar or many of the ethnic minorities. We Vehdna favor
sitting on the floor or on a cushion, cross-legged. Shadar like low chairs or
stools. Not owning at least a crude stool is the truest mark of poverty amongst
the Shadar.

I was in character even in my sleep.

“Master Santaraksita?”

“Are you ill?” He sounded concerned.

“Tired. I didn’t sleep well. The skildirsha were hunting last night.” I used the
Shadowlander name for the shadows. That did not trouble Santaraksita. It had
become part of the language under the Protectorate. “The screams kept waking me
up.”

“I understand. I did not enjoy a sound sleep myself, though not for that reason.

I was unaware of the horror till I saw its marks this morning.”

“The skildirsha show a proper respect for the priestly class, then.”

The faintest twitch of his lip told me he had not missed the joke. “I am
properly appalled, Dorabee. This is evil unlike any we have ever known. The
blind misfortune of flood or plague or disaster we must endure stoically. And
against the darkness even the gods themselves sometimes contend in vain. But to
send out a pack of these shadows to do murder randomly and often, and for no
reason even an insane man can comprehend, that is evil of the sort the
northerners used to preach.”

Dorabee managed a credible job of looking slack-jawed.

“I’m sorry. I’m exercised. You probably never saw any of the outsiders.” He
placed the same stress on “outsiders” that many Taglians used when they meant
the Black Company specifically.

“I did. I saw the Liberator himself once when I was little. And I saw the one
they called the Lieutenant after she came back from Dejagore. I was pretty far
away but I remember it because that was the same day she killed all the priests.

And the Protector. I saw her a couple of times.” I was making it up as I went
but that was the sort of thing most adult Taglians could claim. The Company had
been in and out of the city for years before the final campaign against
Longshadow and the fortress Overlook. I rose. “I’ll get back to work now.”

“You do your job well, Dorabee.”

“Thank you, Master Santaraksita. I try.”

“Indeed.” He seemed to be having trouble getting something out. “I have decided
that you will be allowed access to any books not in the restricted section.”

Restricted books were those not available in multiple copies. Only the most
favored scholars were allowed near those. So far, I had been able to determine
only a handful of the titles of the books so set aside. “When you have no other
obligations.” Part of my day, every day, I spent just waiting to be told about
something I needed to do.

“Thank you, Master Santaraksita!”

“I’ll expect you to be able to discuss them.”

“Yes, Master Santaraksita.”

“We have set our feet upon an unknown road, Dorabee. An exciting and frightening
journey lies ahead.” His prejudices were such that he actually meant what he
said. Me reading had twisted his universe all out of shape and now he was going
to conspire in this perverted vermiculation.

I took my broom in hand. Exciting and frightening things would be happening
elsewhere in my universe. And I hated every second that I was not there to
control them.

The little dervish in brown wool seemed completely lost inside himself. He was
busy talking to himself, paying no attention to the surrounding world. Most
likely he was quoting to himself from the sacred texts of the Vehdna, as
understood by his peculiar splinter sect. Though tired and irritable, the Greys
did not challenge him immediately. They had been taught to honor all holy men,

not just those already secure within the Shadar truths. Any devoted stalker
after wisdom would find his path leading him to enlightenment eventually.

Tolerance of such seekers was common to all Taglians. The welfare of the soul
and the spirit were of grave concern to most. The Gunni, indeed, considered the
seeking of enlightenment to be one of the four key stages of an ideally lived
life. Once a man successfully raised up and provided for his children, he should
put all things material, all ambition and pleasure, aside. He should go into a
forest to live as a hermit or become a mendicant seeker or in some other way
should live out his final years looking for the truth and purifying his soul.

Many of the greatest names in Taglian and southern history are those of kings
and rich men who chose just such a path.

But human nature being human nature . . .

The Greys did not, however, let the dervish follow his quest into Chor Bagan. A
sergeant intercepted him. His associates surrounded the holy man. The sergeant
said, “Father, you cannot go in that direction. This street has been closed to
traffic by order of Minister Swan.” Even dead, Swan had to take the blame for
Soulcatcher’s policies.

The dervish apparently failed to notice the Greys till he actually collided with
the sergeant. “Huh?”

The younger Greys laughed. Men enjoy seeing their prejudices confirmed. The
sergeant repeated his message. He added, “You must turn right or left. We’re
rooting out the evils infesting what lies straight ahead.” He possessed a touch
of wit.

The dervish looked first right, then left. He shivered, then announced, “All
evil is the result of metaphysical error,” in a raspy little voice and started
along the street to the right. It was a very strange street. It was almost empty
of humanity. In Taglios that was something seldom seen.

A moment later the Shadar sergeant squealed in surprise and pain. He began
slapping his side.

“What’s the matter?” another Grey asked.

“Something bit me . . . ” He squealed again, which indicated that he was in a
great deal of agony, for Shadar were proud of their ability to endure pain
without outcry or even flinching.

Two of the sergeant’s men tried to lift his shirt while a third clung to his arm
in an effort to keep him immobile. He shrieked again.

Smoke began to boil out of his side.

The Greys were so startled they backed away. The sergeant went down. He went
into convulsions. Smoke continued to boil up. It assumed a form none of the
Greys wanted to see.

“Niassi!”

The demon Niassi began to whisper secrets no Shadar wanted to hear.

Grinning to himself, Goblin slipped into Chor Bagan. He disappeared long before
anyone wondered if there might not be a connection between the sergeant’s
discomfort and the veyedeen dervish.

Greys arrived from all directions. Officers barked and cursed and drove them
back to their stations before the denizens of Chor Bagan seized the opportunity
to escape. Obviously this was a distraction meant to give their prey the chance
to run.

A crowd had begun to gather, too. Among them was a Nyueng Bao boy who picked his
moment, cut a purse and fled past the Greys, one of whom recalled him from the
evening when one of their own got stoned. Discipline began to collapse.

The Grey officers tried. And managed rather well, considering. Only a few people
escaped Chor Bagan. And a half-dozen slipped inside, among them a skinny little
old man in the all-enveloping yellow of a leper.

One-Eye was not pleased. He was sure strategy had had nothing to do with it
being him who had to assume the yellow. Goblin was up to something wicked.

The six raiders approached the target tenement from front and rear, in loose
teams of three. One-Eye was around front. People cleared off fast when they saw
the yellow. Lepers were held in absolute terror.

None of the men wanted to carry out a raid in broad daylight. It was not the
Company way. But darkness was denied us till Soulcatcher pulled her shadows back
off the streets. And the consensus of the Annalists and wizards was that it was
less likely that the Daughter of Night could summon Kina’s help during daylight.

Daytime also offered a better chance of taking her by surprise.

Each team paused to make sure every man still wore his yarn bracelet before they
stormed into the tenement. Each wizard set loose an array of previously prepared
low-grade confusion spells that buzzed through the ramshackle structure like a
swarm of drunken mosquitoes. The attackers passed inside, stepping over and
around frightened, shivering families who, till now, had considered themselves
wildly fortunate to have a roof over their heads, even if that meant renting
floor space in a hallway. Both teams posted a man who would make sure no one
went outside. Another two men met at the foot of the rickety stair. They would
prevent movement up or down. Goblin and One-Eye met at the cellar entrance and
shared a few complaints about being desperately undermanned, then a few
exaggerated courtesies as each offered the other the opportunity to go down into
the enemy’s den first.

Goblin finally accepted on the basis of superior youth, quickness and alleged
intelligence. He launched a couple of luminary floating stars into the pit,

where the darkness was blacker than Kina’s heart.

“Here!” Goblin said. “Ha! We’ve got—”

Something like a flaming tiger burst out of nowhere. It leaped at Goblin. A
shadow drifted in from the side. It flicked something long and thin that looped
around the little wizard’s neck.

One-Eye’s cane came down on Narayan’s wrist hard enough to crack bone. The
living saint of the Stranglers lost his rumel, which flew across the cellar.

One-Eye’s off hand tossed something over Goblin’s head, toward the source of the
tiger. A ghostly light floated up like a wisp of luminescent swamp gas. It moved
suddenly, enveloping a young woman. She began to slap at herself, trying to wipe
it off.

Goblin did something quick, while she was distracted. She collapsed. “Goddamn!

Goddamn! It worked. I’m a genius. Admit it. I’m a fucking genius.”

“Who’s a genius? Who came up with the plan?”

“Plan? What plan? Success is in the details, runt. Who came up with the details?

Any damned fool could’ve said let’s go catch them two.”

Both men tied limbs as they nattered.

One-Eye said, “Plan the details on this. We got to get out of here with these
people. Through all the Greys in the world.”

“Already covered. They’ve got so much trouble they won’t have time to worry
about any damned lepers.” He started trying to get a yellow outfit over the head
of the Daughter of Night. “Remind me to warn them back at the shop that this one
can put together an illusion or two.”

“I know that’s the way its supposed to go.” One-Eye began dragging Narayan Singh
into another yellow outfit. In a moment Goblin would trade his brown for yellow,

too. Upstairs, the four Company brothers, all of Shadar origin, were turning
themselves into Greys. “I’m saying it ain’t got a prayer of working.”

“That because I planned it?”

“Absolutely. You’re beginning to catch on. Welcome to reality.”

“It goes to shit in our hands, you can blame it on Sleepy, not me. It was her
idea.”

“We got to do something about that girl. She thinks too damned much. Will you
quit farting around? Them goddamn Greys out there are going to have time to go
home for lunch.”

“Don’t hit him so hard. You want him to walk out of here under his own power.”

“You talking to me? What the hell you doing with . . . get your hand out of
there, you old pervert.”

“I’m putting a control amulet over her heart, you dried-up old turd. So she
won’t embarrass us before we get her home.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure you are. But why don’t I look on the bright side? At least
you’re interested in girls again. She built as nice as her mother?”

“Better.”

“Watch your mouth. The place might be haunted. And I got a suspicion maybe some
of those ghosts can talk to each other, no matter what Murgen claims.” One-Eye
began to bully the groggy Narayan Singh up the steps.

“I do believe this is going to work,” One-Eye crowed. The combination of Greys
and lepers seemed the perfect device for exiting the Thieves’

Garden—particularly now that the real Greys were running around distracted.

“I don’t want to break your heart, old-timer,” Goblin said. “But I think we done
been fished.” He was looking over his shoulder.

One-Eye looked back. “Shit!”

A small flying carpet dropped toward them, accompanied by crows making no sounds
at all. Soulcatcher. And her very stance suggested mischievous glee.

She threw something.

“Spread out!” Goblin barked. “Don’t let those two get away.” He faced the
descending carpet, heart in this throat. If it came to a direct face-off, he was
going to get splattered like a stomped egg. He extended a gloved hand, caught
the falling black globule, whipped his arm in a circle and launched the missile
back into the sky.

Soulcatcher shrieked, outraged. The people of Taglios did not have that kind of
nerve. She drove the carpet to one side, avoiding the black globe. And well she
moved when she did.

Her luck had served her yet again. A screaming fireball ripped right through the
space she had vacated, the same kind of fireball that had eaten all those holes
in the Palace wall and had set the bodies of so many men burning like bad fat
candles. She continued to dive. Two more fireballs barely missed her. She put a
tenement between herself and the sharpshooters. She was extremely angry but did
not let rage cloud her thinking.

Above her, her crows began bursting like soundless fireworks. Blood, flesh and
feathers rained down.

In seconds she figured it out, conversing with herself in a committee of voices.

They had not been hiding inside Chor Bagan after all. She could not have caught
anyone trying to slip away like this if they had not come in to retrieve
something they did not want found. “They’re here in the city. But we haven’t
found them. We haven’t seen a trace or heard a rumor that they didn’t want to
reach our ears. Until now. That takes wizardry. That bold little one. That was
the toad man. Goblin. Though the Great General of the Armies Mogaba assures us
that he saw the body himself. Who else is alive? Could the Great General himself
be less trustworthy than he would like us to believe?”

That was not possible. Mogaba had no other friends. He was committed in
perpetuity.

Soulcatcher brought her carpet to earth, stepped off, folded its light bamboo
frame, rolled the carpet around that, surveyed the street. They had come down
this way. From up there. What could they have wanted desperately enough to have
exposed themselves so thoroughly? Anything they thought that important would be
something she was bound to find very interesting herself.

It took just one whispered word of power to illuminate the cellar. The squalor
was appalling. Soulcatcher turned slowly. A man and his daughter, apparently. An
old man and a young woman, anyway. One lamp. Discarded clothing. A few handfuls
of rice. Some fish meal. Why the writing instruments and ink? What was this? A
book. Somebody had just begun writing in it in an unfamiliar alphabet. She
caught a spot of black movement in the corner of her eye. She whirled,

crouching, fearing an attack by a rogue shadow. The skildirsha maintained an
especially potent hatred for those who dared command them.

A rat fled, dropping the object of its curiosity. Soulcatcher knelt, picked up a
long strip of black silk with an antique silver coin sewn into one corner. “Oh.

I see.” She began to laugh like a young girl catching on late to the meaning of
an off-color joke. She collected the book, surveyed the scene once more before
leaving. “Dedication sure doesn’t pay.”

Once in the street again, she reassembled her carpet, unconcerned about snipers.

Those people would be long gone and far away. They knew their business. But
crows should be tracking them.

She froze, staring upward but not really seeing the white crow on the peak of
the tenement roof. “How did they find out where those two were?”