The Poison Throne, page 1
MW
For Isolde & Augustine
JSD
For my mother Josephine who took us on many adventures and my father Bill for his unconventional wisdom.
A Tumanbay Novel
Walker Dryden
Contents
Dedication
Title Page
Characters
Prologue
Part One
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
Part Two
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Part Three
27
28
29
30
31
32
Part Four
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
Part Five
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
Part Six
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
Acknowledgements
Credits
Extract
About the Author
Copyright
‘In the course of this audience the Sultan asked me this question: “Have you ever seen a stone that fell from the sky?” I replied: “I have never seen one, nor heard tell of one.” “Well,” he said, “a stone did fall from the sky outside this town of ours,” and then called some men and told them to bring in the stone. They brought in a great black stone, very hard and with a glitter in it – I reckoned its weight to amount to a hundredweight. The Sultan ordered the stone breakers to be summoned, and four of them came, and on his command to strike it they beat upon it as one man four times with iron hammers, but made no impression on it. I was astonished at this phenomenon, and he ordered it to be taken back to its place.’
Ibn Batuta, traveller, 1304–1369
‘The soul becomes dyed with the colour of its thoughts.’
Marcus Aurelius, Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher, 121–180
Characters
Maya, mysterious and elusive leader of a brutal regime that has conquered the empire.
Effendi Red, Regent of Tumanbay and Maya’s representative in the city.
Barakat, the Inquisitor, a priest appointed by Maya to root out heretics and unbelievers.
Madu, nominal Sultan of Tumanbay, nephew of the murdered Sultan al-Ghuri.
Dorin, a physician and director of the city’s ancient and revered Medical Institute.
Gregor, former spymaster and head of the disbanded Palace Guard.
Cadali, formerly Grand Vizier to the Sultan. Like Gregor, he has sworn allegiance to the new regime.
General Qulan, formerly Commander of Tumanbay’s armies, and adopted brother to Gregor.
Manel, Qulan’s teenage daughter.
Pushkami, mother to Manel, wife to Qulan.
Ibn Bai, slave trader and collector of ancient texts.
Heaven, daughter of Ibn Bai. Expecting a baby with:
Akiba, a prince from a conquered land and former slave.
Alkin, a scholar, physician and traveller.
The Hafiz, symbol of religious authority in Tumanbay.
Bello, a priest and the personal assistant to the Hafiz.
Sarah, a spy who arrived in Tumanbay as a slave and helped Maya conquer the city from within. Wife of Effendi Red.
Daniel, a General of Maya’s armies who first came to Tumanbay as a slave posing as Sarah’s brother.
Prologue
An ordinary man, perhaps a little less than average height, wearing an undistinguished brown robe, sandals that were anything but new, walking with a pronounced limp, a slight smile on his face as if he were recalling a pleasant memory. In his wake, soldiers, armoured and armed. For a moment it was hard to tell if they were escorting the small man or arresting him; only when he stopped for a moment at a crossroads, and the soldiers came to attention, did it become clear that he was in charge. He looked one way and then the other, pulled a sheet of vellum from his sleeve, consulted it and set off towards the affluent residences of the Bulpass Quarter. His escort followed. There were six of them but their presence hardly seemed necessary. As the small party progressed, the streets before them emptied of pedestrians, stall holders, of anyone at all, until the group had passed.
So intent were they upon their destination that they did not notice the figure following them, possibly a beggar or some shopkeeper condemned for selling short measure by Maya’s police. He took care to stay a street or so behind and to keep his face hidden in the shade of his hood.
In due course, the small man came to a halt before the door of a prosperous house and lifted the ornate knocker that proclaimed the owner to be a member of the guild of olive importers. The door opened, a servant peered out and the small man said pleasantly: ‘Peace be upon you.’
‘And upon you, effendi.’
‘I am sorry to disturb you so late in the afternoon. Is the master at home?’
‘He is resting. I can . . .’
The small man held his hand up: ‘Let him be. It is the child of the house I wish to speak to.’ The servant said nothing but her eyes widened.
‘Please, don’t be alarmed. It is a small matter.’ He stepped forward. Without thinking, the servant opened the door and he entered the house, followed by two of his escort. The others remained in the street.
The master of the house, far from resting, was standing behind the door where he had heard the conversation. ‘You wish to speak to my son? He is saying his prayers.’
The small man clasped his hands across his narrow chest. ‘Good. I’ll wait, if it’s convenient? Oh please, excuse my escort. I have walked from the palace and in these times . . . well, I’m afraid it is necessary.’ He smiled apologetically, then turned to a woman who entered the room, scolding her husband.
‘What are you thinking, making a holy man stand, not offering him refreshment?’ She knelt to touch the small man’s feet. ‘It is an honour to receive you, Holiness, into our home. Food, drink, you must be . . .’
‘We have need of nothing,’ he said, reaching down and touching her head. ‘Sister, please don’t . . . Ah!’ A smile appeared on his face as he spotted a boy peering around the edge of a door at the far end of the chamber. ‘This must be your son. Come, child, there is nothing to be frightened of.’
The boy slid round the door reluctantly. His father hurried over and took his shoulder and led him into the room. Now the small man sat down on a settle and patted the cushion beside him. ‘Come, sit with me here. We need to talk.’
‘Malik, sit with the holy father,’ the mother said. The boy looked at the soldiers standing against the wall of the room.
The small man added: ‘Oh, don’t mind them, Malik. They won’t let me leave the palace without them trailing behind. Can you imagine it, eh?’ He chuckled and a tiny smile appeared for a moment on the boy’s face.
‘Good, now how do you like school?’
‘It’s all right . . .’ the boy mumbled shyly.
‘Ah, you are one of the lucky ones. I didn’t have such a good education as you. Tell me about your teacher.’
A silence, in which the only sound was the ticking of a clock. Such novelties, imported from over the Middle Sea, were popular with the merchant class. The father was looking as if he wished he’d never seen the thing or could throw it out now.
‘What do you call him?’
‘Master Odot.’
‘Master Odot. Good, good . . . And Master Odot teaches you about the scriptures? Tells you how a young man should live his life according to God’s law?’
‘Yes.’
The small man’s head tilted, his eyes narrowing as he appraised the child. Eventually he said, ‘I have heard he tells other things too.’
The boy’s cheeks began to redden. He looked to his father who nodded encouragingly. ‘Tell the holy father everything, Malik,’ he said. ‘You have nothing to hide.’
His mother approached with a servant carrying a tray of refreshments. ‘Now, Holiness, please don’t insult us by declining our hospitality. It is hot and . . .’
‘No,’ the small man snapped.
‘But you must be . . .’
‘I said no!’
Without taking his eyes off the boy, he waved her away. ‘Stand beside your husband,’ he commanded. ‘Tell the servant to go.’
She gave her husband a concerned look and then nodded to the servant, who left the room.
‘You look worried, Malik,’ the small man said, warmth returning to his voice. ‘Don’t be. Do you know what makes us strong? When I say strong, I mean without fear of what might happen to us?’
The boy shook his head.
‘No? It is the truth that makes us strong. God’s gift to us. That is why I, Barakat, have a reputation for never uttering a lie. Never. That is my strength. That can be your strength too. Do you understand me?’
He paused, waiting for a response. Eventually the boy nodded.
‘We have brought our son up to always tell the truth, Holiness,’ the father said. ‘Haven’t we, Malik? Tell him . . . tell him.’
‘You see, it has come to my attention,’ Barakat continued, now addressing the parents, ‘that there is a heretic in your son’s school.’ He was almost apologetic.
‘I swear we know nothing of this,’ the mother burst out.
‘Of course, of course. How could you? You are not trained. You expect that when you send your children to school, their teachers will show them the true path. We are living in dangerous times. Not everyone is who they seem to be.’
‘Are you saying that our son’s teacher . . .?’
‘He has visited,’ Barakat said, nodding sadly.
‘What?’
‘This house.’
‘Malik was falling behind in his recitations. We paid for extra lessons . . .’
‘Of course, I understand.’ Barakat took the child’s hand in his. ‘If only all parents were so diligent, my work in Tumanbay would be unnecessary.’
‘If our child has done anything wrong,’ the mother cried, ‘tell us and we shall beat him . . .’
Barakat turned back to the boy, still holding his hand. ‘Soldiers came to your school today looking for your teacher. Where was he?’
The child now had his chin pressed against his chest and his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to shut out all around him.
‘Did someone tell him soldiers were coming?’ Gently, he squeezed the boy’s hand, not causing pain, rather reassuring him. ‘You can tell me, Malik. I know already. I know everything. I just need you to tell me so I know you are a good boy. You know where Master Odot went, don’t you?’
‘No, that’s not . . . How could he?’ his mother cried.
Barakat leaned close to the child and whispered: ‘You have a chance to save yourself, Malik. We know everything already.’
‘He’s just a child,’ his mother wept.
‘Every child, every teacher in every school, every soul is important to us, especially one so young as yours.’
Malik was sobbing now, sucking in heaving breaths, his shoulders convulsing.
‘You are feeling distressed. It is natural to feel distress. You are trying to hide from God but nobody can hide from God. I am His eyes. God sees all and all will answer to Him. You know how to save yourself. So I will ask again: where is the master?’
The boy seemed to calm. Without a word, he lifted his head, opened his eyes and looked into Barakat’s. Then he raised his arm and pointed at the door by which he had entered. Barakat nodded and the soldiers hurried through into the rooms beyond.
‘No,’ his mother said. ‘He’s confused. You are confusing him.’ She clasped her husband’s arm, as if she might collapse. Barakat let go of the boy’s hand and rose to his feet. From the adjacent room came the noise of searching, the crash of furniture overturned, cupboards ripped open . . . After a moment, the soldiers returned.
‘Nothing, Holiness.’
The parents breathed again. Barakat waved at the house door and one of his men opened it. Those he had left outside entered now with a figure in the robes of a teacher struggling in their grip. He was howling for mercy, an inarticulate wail of sheer terror.
‘Climbing out a back window, Holiness, as you said.’
The mother rushed to clasp her son. For a moment Barakat observed them with vague interest, as she hugged him and ran her hands through his hair. ‘Take the parents too,’ he said eventually. It took three soldiers to prise the mother’s grip from her child. The father stood stunned, looking at the clock, as if it alone was the author of all their misfortunes.
‘And the child?’ asked one of the soldiers.
‘Leave him, he has saved himself.’ He sat for a moment beside Malik, like a kindly uncle. ‘You see, God takes care, God takes care of all. The truth sets you free.’ He limped out, leading his men and their prisoners into the afternoon sun.
From his position across the street behind the gnarled trunk of an ancient fig tree, the shrouded figure of Gregor watched the sad procession. Maya had come to Tumanbay and Barakat the Inquisitor was her instrument; that slight figure in the dusty robe and the old sandals was the personification of her power and Gregor, for the first time since childhood, knew fear. ‘The truth will make you free,’ he muttered, ‘or Barakat’s truth will destroy me . . .’
Part One
There’s a city far away . . .
My parents often spoke of it as if it had always been there and always would be . . .
I had seen it in paintings, I had read of it in stories, the richest, most powerful place on earth – the centre of everything. It drew people from every corner of the Empire and beyond, hungry for wealth and power, or in some cases, more wealth and more power. They were dazzled by its brightness . . .
And then a shadow fell, a shadow called Maya, whose forces smashed the Empire from within. Those who followed her did so with a fanatical loyalty and imposed a harshness, a strictness, which crushed all opposition, all opinion, all joy and hope. Some said she was the widow of a minor provincial governor who had received a revelation; others swore she was the very hand and sword of the Teacher come to punish the sinful; yet others maintained that she was an illusion, or that her spirit occupied a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand.
But one thing was certain: Maya held the city in her grip and was, like a hunting spider, slowly and with utter certainty, sucking the life from Tumanbay . . .
1
The Bodies
Gabreel flicked the whip and cracked it between the ears of his ancient horse. The beast shook its head and otherwise ignored him as if it knew he’d never actually lay on with the lash, since it would certainly keel over and die and then where would he be? A courier without a horse to pull his cart – a bit of a joke, rather like the city of Tumanbay, he thought – but very quietly. Nowadays even what went on inside a man’s head could get him into trouble.
The horse farted thunderously. ‘Truly,’ Gabreel called to the gate guard, ‘this animal has the arse of the devil himself.’
The guard didn’t even crack a glimmer of a smile, he simply held out his hand and said: ‘Papers.’
Gabreel was in a quandary – should he slip the usual bribe between the travel pass and his permissions to trade or should he not? He didn’t know this guard, and the fellow obviously had no sense of humour as far as farting horses went, something that rarely failed to raise at least a smile in the old days, but these were the new, unsmiling days . . .
‘Here, Excellency,’ no harm in a bit of flattery, ‘I have a special consignment for the university.’
The guard took the papers and began to peer at them with the exaggerated care of a man who can barely read. There would be more rigorous inspections within the city now that each area had been sectioned off with checkpoints manned by Maya’s police.
‘The university?’ the guard said.
‘That’s correct, my friend. For a doctor there, an important man high in the confidence of the Inquisitor himself.’ Gabreel had no idea if this was true but it seemed likely. He decided to take a chance and went on: ‘I see you do important work here at the gate, Excellency. I wonder if I might show my appreciation with . . .’
