Into This Wild Abyss, page 11
part #1 of Vermilion Archives Series
“We’re ever vigilant, Your Grace.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Muni said with a laugh. She got up and walked to the balcony rail. “You see —” She pointed across the valley, a ringed finger indicating a patch of wood. “What do you see?”
“Trees?”
“Not impressed, Captain. Use the same eyes you ogle the concubines with.”
“Flashing. It’s a signal.”
“And none of your men spotted it?”
“Could be one of our’s?”
“Well, go check. I shouldn’t be doing your job for you.”
Shortly, a portly signals officer stood on the balcony.
“Not one of our’s,” he said.
“What’s it saying?”
“Not our codes,” the officer said. “It appears to be a string of questions with long pauses. Someone is replying.”
“From inside the city?”
“It would appear that way.” Muni threw up her hands and turned her back on the two officers.
“And why is it left to me to figure this out?” she demanded, rounding on them again.
“That would be a question for the Ministry of Virt—” Muni cuffed the signalman. He shrunk back and covered his face.
“Captain,” she growled. “Take this man out into the valley. You’ll see where the signal is coming from inside the city. Don’t come back until you’ve sorted it.”
“Your Grace,” babbled the signal officer. “It’s very likely they’ll be finished...”
“Awww, do you want to pack a picnic? Bottle of wine? Captain Vatoni, take a pair of pliers. If he complains too much, cut out that tongue.”
Later that day Muni burst into a war cabinet meeting and dumped the contents of a bag onto the table. Ministers and generals alike recoiled in horror as severed heads rolled this way and that, and came to rest amidst their glasses of wine.
“What the flaming—” General Nulu began and cut himself off.
“Good grief, woman!” Minister Tuno spluttered into his handkerchief.
“Perhaps,” Tomi said coldly. “My wife can explain why she comes into a meeting — a meeting she isn’t invited to — and dumps these... these... abominations on the council table. Assuming you haven’t found my lovers, these must be somehow connected with the war.” Order somewhat restored, the attendees smiled at the humor. Captain Vatoni cleared away the heads and servants removed the wine cups.
“They were spies,” Muni said. “In the city.”
“And how did you get them?” Tuno demanded. Muni rolled her eyes at the old war minister.
“My Vermilion Guards collected them for me. Or would you prefer a more exotic story? More importantly, Minister Tuno, I would like to know why I had to get them. Where are your soldiers? How many men do you have in the valley? One hundred thousand? No one noticed the signals coming from the hills opposite?” Minister Tuno glowered.
“This is not your business,” he said. “This could have been a counter-intelligence operation...”
“Calm it,” Tomi said. “I think we can all congratulate Muni for her dedication. Now, darling, we have a meeting here. May we continue?”
“You haven’t told me what you’re going to do about it,” Muni said.
“Well it seems you’ve taken care of the problem,” Tomi said. “Or did you have something else in mind?”
“These were Vu’tai spies,” Muni said. “The traitor Jano knows we’re here and already prepares to march against us.”
“He’ll fail,” Tuno interrupted. “The Third Army will be here soon. With General Mamot’s men we’ll outnumber him two to one. This really isn’t a concern for you.”
“I don’t think Mamot’s coming,” General Nulu said. “He’s taking his time.”
“Has anyone had reports of his progress?” General Doju asked. “He could be months away.”
“I have,” Tomi said. “He’s being slow, but he’ll get here.”
“Chief Minister,” General Nulu said. “I don’t have your confidence. The Vu’tai reach is far.”
“Vu’tai?” Tonu scoffed. “General Mamot’s... nothing traditional about him.”
“Yes,” Nulu said. “A general who doesn’t fight, or heel when he’s called.”
“Enough!” Tomi yelled, hammering the table. “Point made. We’ll need two plans. One for when Mamot comes, and one for if he doesn’t. Now, darling, can we continue?”
“With pleasure,” Muni said. “Good evening, gentlemen.” She turned to the door and Captain Vatoni fell in behind her.
“You didn’t mention the traitor, Your Grace,” he whispered in the hall.
“I’m not certain which one it is yet,” she said.
CHAPTER 9
“And this is how you both feel?” Avi demanded. Dasha nodded. Natan did not move. “No. I forbid it.”
“You let Dan enlist,” Dasha said. Avi swept the papers off his desk.
“And have you heard from him since? Am I to lose all my sons?”
“You don’t care,” Natan snapped. “You...” Avi bounded towards him and drove him into the wall, Avi’s forearm against Natan’s throat.
“You ungrateful bastard. Everything I do is for this family. How dare you!”
Natan pushed back and Avi lost his footing. Natan’s clenched fist connected with Avi’s cheekbone. His father grunted and sat stunned on his desk; his tattooed fingers probed his cheek.
“You fucking punched me,” Avi said coldly. “You hit your father.” Natan watched his feet.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Dasha drew in his breath. Natan glimpsed his father’s eyes, twinkling again with fire. Well that was a mistake. Avi rushed at him and Natan hit the floor clutching his stomach. Natan struggled to get up, but Avi’s booted foot thumped into his rib cage.
“Stop!” Dasha cried. “Father, he made a mistake.”
“He’s a little shit,” Avi said. Natan protected his head. He hit the door frame.
“Hit him again and we’re both joining,” Dasha yelled. “Try us.” Avi rounded on his middle son and lifted a fist, but Dasha was ready with a paperweight. Avi dropped his hands and put the office desk between him and his sons.
“Out,” he said. “You have a day. Both of you. Go fucking join the army — you’ve made your feelings known. After everything I’ve done for you, you’ve clearly decided this is not your home. One day you will realize what a good father I have been. But don’t expect to come back here when you’re crippled and begging on the corner for two ku’net a day. You’ll be dead to me.”
Dasha took Natan’s arm.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ll get the papers ready.”
Natan followed his brother. Oni stood in the hall, her eyes red and puffy.
“You heard?” Natan asked. She nodded. The two sons hugged their mother and fetched the family papers.
They waited in a queue at the Eastbank barracks for the best part of an hour before approaching a desk.
“Endorsement letter?” asked a clerk. Dasha said it was and prompted Natan to hand over the papers. Natan laid the palm-sized book in front of the clerk.
“My brother, Natan Luka-Tudo, and myself, Dasha Luka-Tudo.”
“Very good,” the clerk said and flipped through the papers before going out the back to check the file system. He returned with a folder, thumbed through the pages, found the appropriate information and selected two forms from a pile on his desk. The forms would confirm Dasha and Natan’s identity and that they were of ‘reliable character’.
“Could you do a third one?” Natan asked, watching the clerk stamp the forms with a red seal. Dasha raised an eyebrow.
“Another endorsement letter?” asked the clerk. Dasha tugged on Natan’s sleeve as if asking for an explanation. Natan ignored him.
“I want to sort something out,” Natan said. “Just an introduction to the family.” The clerk absently scratched his brow.
“You’re after a Letter of Introduction,” he said. “Different form. Endorsement letters are free, but the introduction will be three jet.”
“Hold on,” Dasha said, pulling his brother aside. “What are you doing?”
“Trust me,” Natan said. “Mother’ll need the help.” He turned back to the clerk and put the required coins on the counter. The clerk put the money in the drawer and selected a larger piece of paper.
“Anything in particular you want noted?”
“Say my father is a member of the Merchant’s Guild, that we own the Luka-Tudo Trading House, he has three sons, no daughters and we’re all of reliable character.” The clerk checked the file to confirm these details.
“Anything else?”
“That is all,” Natan said.
“You’re mad,” Dasha said as the pair approached the red-brick edifice that dominated the corner of South Avenue and Imperial Way. “Father’s going to freak.”
“We’re dead to him, remember?”
“He’ll forget that,” Dasha said. “I’m half convinced I should wait outside.”
“If you want,” Natan said. “Here, give me the letter. I’ll go in alone.” Dasha fidgeted and looked up and down the street.
“Nah, I’ll come with you. Shit, they’d kill me if I let you go in there alone.”
“Fair enough,” Natan said and opened the door to the public entrance. The marble in the foyer squeaked under foot, and above the front desk a sign swung on a chain until the door closed. It read: Ministry for the Promotion of Virtue and Elimination of Vice.
“Good afternoon,” a woman said, standing up. “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to make a report,” Natan said, placing the Letter of Introduction on the counter. “My name is Natan Luka-Tudo. My family owns a trading house on the Blue River. I believe one of our employees is in your custody.” The woman looked over the letter in front of her.
“And what do you think you can add to the case?” she asked.
“The Luka-Tudo Trading House can vouch for her activities and whereabouts. You see, my brother and I are about to enlist in the army, and that will leave our parents alone to look after the house. I would go off to fight for the empire a lot easier if I knew that our employee was there to look after them.”
“I see,” the woman said, reading the letter a second time. “Who did you say your employee was?” Natan told her. “I see,” the woman said a second time. “I will go speak to someone.”
“No going back now,” Natan said as the woman ducked out the back, noticing his brother’s white fingers on the counter edge.
“You’ve got the balls of Kive,” Dasha said under his breath. “She’s taking a while.”
The woman came back with a man in black with a gold chain around his neck. An inquisitor, Natan realized, his own knuckles turning white.
“Come this way,” he said curtly. “We have a few questions.” Dasha motioned for Natan to lead the way. They followed the inquisitor down corridors and up stairs to an interview room.
“Take a seat,” the inquisitor said.
⁂
A rat scurried down the corridor and disappeared into a crack between the tiles. Ashara wondered why a creature would choose the bowels of the Ministry of Virtue for a home — even vermin should have more sense. They climbed a flight of steps and turned into a vaulted hall with diagrams of the human body splayed out like the flayed flesh of a defeated enemy. Ashara shuddered. She hoped she would never get used to it. At the end of the hall they came to two doors. The virtueman took out a brass ring with a half dozen keys. He picked one and unlocked the door on the right.
“Wait,” Ashara said. “Where are we going? That’s a different door.” The virtueman ignored her and pushed Ashara through into the checkered corridor beyond. They arrived at a green set of double doors and once again the virtueman selected a key. Harsh sunlight flooded the hall and fresh air brushed against Ashara’s skin. Ashara blinked and stumbled out onto the courtyard. For one brief moment she sensed freedom, then the putrefied stink of death leached into her nostrils, overpowering her hope and crushing her spirit.
Cadavers hung by their necks, gently swaying from the rows of gallows. Crows hopped across the stone slabs, fighting over strips of festering flesh. Ashara put a manacled hand to her nose.
“You’re going to kill me?” she asked. The virtueman locked the double green doors and turned to her.
“It’s what happens to traitors,” he said. “But not today.”
“Oh,” Ashara said. The virtueman led her along and coughed into his sleeve. A door at the other side of the yard opened and two more virtuemen entered. Behind them trudged Natan and Dasha. Ashara bit her thumb and forced herself to contain her excitement.
“You know those two?” her virtueman asked. She said she did. One virtueman opposite shrugged.
“Orders are orders,” he said. “Ashara Daladh’an, you’re to be bailed to the Luka-Tudo residence with temporary papers.” He held out a sealed document. “Do not come to our attention again.” Her virtueman unlocked her manacles, and the other turned to Natan. “And you have sworn under oath. You are now responsible for her conduct. Better take that seriously.” The third virtueman opened an exterior gate to an alleyway beyond. “Off you go then.”
At the house Oni threw open her arms and Ashara ran into her embrace, breathing in the familiar jasmine and rose fragrance of her mistress. Natan and Dasha raced to explain how they got her back. Avi was less emotional.
“You’re back,” he said. “Hope you didn’t drag this house into your drama.” Oni rolled her eyes.
The next day the two brothers waved goodbye at the gate and Ashara accompanied Oni inside. As she swept the hall, conversation drifted in through the open front door.
“A Ba’re monk,” Oni said, watching over Ashara’s shoulder. “At least he’s a customer.”
“Ba’re?” Ashara asked. Them, Ashara remembered. The kebilu had talked of the Ba’re. “He doesn’t look scary.”
“Scary,” Oni said with a laugh. “They’re about as boring as you get.”
Outside Avi was getting animated and the monk nodded along. Eventually they shook hands and Avi left with the letter of credit. The monk turned and for a brief moment they locked eyes. Ashara smiled. His face flushed red.
“Ashara!” Avi called. “Where is she? There you are. Here’s an order. Load the donkey. You’ll need to make a few trips to avoid the Worshipful Bastards.”
“The who?”
“The river workers,” Oni said. “Keep it to a bag and you can cross the bridge.”
“Absolute rort,” Avi fumed. “I’ll say it again: Break that monopoly on the river, and I’ll halve the cost of grain in the city.”
An hour later Ashara arrived at Jan Moga. Finding the gate open she guided the donkey into the colonnaded courtyard and tethered it to a railing.
“That was quick,” a monk said. Ashara recognized him as the monk from earlier. “Let me take that.”
“It's heavy,” Ashara warned. The monk ignored her and hefted the sack onto his shoulder. The muscles in his neck ran taught and his face reddened. “We can carry it together?” she suggested. “It’s why I brought the donkey.” The monk relented and they carried the millet through to the monastery storeroom. Done, the monk dusted off his hands.
“Thanks for the help,” he said. “When you bring the next one ask for me. I'm Po.”
“Ashara,” she said, offering her hand, but he held back.
“Sorry,” Po said. “It’s forbidden.”
“I didn’t know,” she said.
“You’re Kh’areen?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I want to show you something,” Po said and without further discussion breezed past her to the door. Ashara paused, finding the monk odd, then hastened after him.
“When Pao’an fell,” Po explained on the way. “We took in the wounded. It all became quite a mess. Most have gone home now, but others have needed more intensive treatment.” He opened a door and Ashara caught the acidic tang of sickness. “One of them’s an elderly Kh’areen man. We’ve had trouble understanding him.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Ashara asked.
“Flesh wound,” said Po. “It never healed, and while we’ve done what we can, he recently developed a fever.” They shuffled between the rows of patients and came to the back corner. Po drew back the curtains, revealing the eddying pools of dust. The patient gazed up at them, his face a waxy yellow and the skin hanging from the bone. The whites of his eyes, where not bloodshot, had turned a mustard color and beads of sweat collected on his brow. It was the sabka.
Ashara stared blankly into the twilight. Candles glowed from the Great Hall and the droning of monks echoed off the monastery walls. Sandals scuffed the tiles behind her.
“I brought you food,” Po said, joining her on the step. Ashara accepted the bowl and rested it in her lap, the heat radiating through her thighs.
“Thanks,” Ashara said. “He’s not going to make it you know.”
“I know,” Po said. “I’m sorry.”
“He was like family,” she said. “When I needed help, he was there. I don’t even know his real name. Do you think he’ll wake soon? I can’t be here too late...”
“The Brothers will do their rounds and they’ll wake him. When you talk with him, does he make sense? When you speak to him I mean. I saw you just sit there and both move your lips.”
“We’re reciting the Chobi Ghada,” Ashara said. “It is our holy text.”
“And it helps?”
“It is comforting. And it is said — I don’t know how to translate it? If the Chobi Ghada is on your tongue and you die, you will be with Tanri in the life beyond.”
“Tanri is your god?” Po asked. “You’ve mentioned him before.”
“The only god,” Ashara said. “Is it true the Ba’re are godless?” Po flinched back at the question, but he steadied himself and measured his words.
