The Poison Throne, page 36
Hoof thuds vibrated, Akiba crested a dune ahead and came sliding down on his horse in a curtain of sand. He reined in, slipped from the saddle and joined Qulan.
‘You were right, General, a day’s march will bring us under the walls.’
‘As evening falls?’
‘As evening falls.’
Qulan turned back to the column and held up his hand. They came to a halt. He spoke quietly: ‘Make camp.’ The command was passed along the line and they set to, without noise or fuss. However it looked, this was an army that was thoroughly committed from first to last. Qulan beckoned the sergeant who, as always, was within call.
‘No fires, Sergeant – if they’ve alert watchers on the walls they might notice the glow.’
‘As you say, General.’
‘And we meet in my tent at the twentieth hour. All section leaders to be present.’
Manel had been walking at the end of the column with Alkin. They had not talked much during the day, reserving their energy for the march, but as the sun began to slip over the edge of the world and they felt the cool air of evening, Alkin said: ‘After the battle, you left me and your father together?’
‘You know I did.’
‘And when you returned, something had changed. It’s not my business but if you wish to say anything . . .’
‘It had nothing to do with you or Father.’
‘I understand that. But something had happened.’
‘I killed a man who once said he loved me. I believed him. Then he watched while my brother died. He told me he loved me this time too, he said he was sorry and that he only wanted us to be together. I told him I didn’t believe him and then I let him drown. He begged me to help him and I stared into his blue eyes as he sank beneath the water. I used to dream of his eyes. I thought they were the kindest, most caring eyes I had ever seen. When we talked about poetry, there were tears in them. I was young and stupid.’
‘To be young and stupid, as you put it, Manel, is no shame. To be old and stupid, well, that’s a different matter. That’s why we learn things. What do you think your father would have done?’
The column had come to a halt and all around them tents and shelters were going up and provisions shared out. Men and women were stretching and relaxing after the day’s long march. Manel and Alkin made for the medical tent where Alkin’s assistants were already tending to sore feet, sprains and other minor ailments. Qulan had made it clear that he would not look with favour on anyone who injured him or herself through inattention. ‘If you’re not ready to fight, you’d better be dead – that’s the only excuse I’ll accept.’ And they loved him for it because they knew he’d hold himself, or his daughter, to it as much as anyone.
‘I don’t know, I’m not my father, Alkin. That’s something I’ve learned these last moons. I have to find my own path, for good or bad. Do you remember, in the desert when . . . well, that’s what you told me then.’
Alkin smiled. ‘You’re not your father but you are like him in many ways.’ She took Manel’s hand and held it in both of hers. ‘And I think that in time, you will achieve as much and more than him, Manel, daughter of Qulan. I have travelled far and seen many things; I know about people and their weaknesses and strengths, and I know when I see . . .’ Then she smiled again, dazzlingly, and for Manel it was as if the sun had suddenly returned to warm her through. ‘But I talk too much don’t I, and they are waiting for us, we have work to do – from a great destiny to bad feet and ingrowing toenails, so it goes in this world.’
The war council met in Qulan’s tent at the appointed time. The section leaders, Akiba, the sergeant, Manel and Alkin gathered on one side of the table, Qulan on the other. A map of the city lay between them.
‘Tumanbay is a closed city,’ Qulan began, ‘no one in or out, but we know that to be false. My daughter, some of you here and many of our fighters found their way out through various routes. Manel?’
‘There are smugglers’ routes, General. There are gates, passages, all monitored and controlled by criminal gangs; if they saw an army approaching, even a small one, if they thought there would be trouble . . . In other words, if their profits were likely to be cut or their safety threatened, they’d close the tunnels further in. The way would be blocked.’
‘How many could you take back in without raising suspicion?’
‘Three, maybe four.’
‘Sergeant, Akiba, I want you to accompany my daughter through the tunnels and into the city. When you get there . . . Alkin, if you’ll explain, please.’
Alkin leaned over the map. ‘I’ve been studying the plans of Tumanbay from the time of the Mad Sultan. If you look here, on the far side of the city between the two hills known locally as the Sultan’s Arse, beyond Meat Alley, I think they call it . . .’
‘They do,’ Manel said.
‘There’s a river, well, now it’s little more than a creek that tends to be choked with rubbish and offal but once it was a canal – and we know canals, don’t we?’ There was an appreciative laugh from her listeners. ‘It was used in the old days to bring in stone from the quarries of Maitan and it ran through the walls by the Old Canal Gate. Here. The gate is still there, I visited it when I was in the city. The gates themselves have been forgotten but, as far as I was able to see, they still function.’
‘And that,’ Qulan said, ‘is our way in.’
‘As far as you were able to see,’ Akiba said. ‘Not sure I like the sound of that. What if they are blocked?’
‘I looked closely when I was there, made drawings – the gates are solid but moveable, trust me.’
The sergeant muttered: ‘The last fellow who said that to me had just brought me a mug of wine and tried to cut my throat when I upturned it. They call it the Malabar Toast, on account of Malabaris being a load of treacherous bastards!’
‘On account,’ Qulan said, ‘of knowing that sergeants are a load of drunken bastards!’ They laughed and the atmosphere lightened. Qulan went on: ‘At dawn tomorrow you will enter through the smugglers’ tunnels, make your way to the gate, secure it, kill any guards, and as darkness falls, you will open it. Then send up smoke. We’ll see it clearly enough in the full moon. The two of you know the city – you should have no trouble avoiding the patrols.’
‘“All being well . . . should have no trouble” – I’m not sure I like the sound of that either, General.’
‘We are five hundred, Akiba. Each section has been tasked with a specific target: officials, ministries, barracks. They will concentrate on their assigned targets and ignore everything else. Resistance will come from the Black Guard but we have the advantage of surprise. We know the location of their barracks, we know where most of them will be: at the ceremony of Maya’s Ascension.’
‘The bitch will truly be there?’ The sergeant’s voice was almost awed. A thrill of excitement or fear went through the section leaders.
‘She will, I am assured of it, Sergeant.’
‘How do you know all this, General?’
‘Because I have an informer inside the walls. Manel, that will be your task. Find Gregor, tell him to set his plans in motion.’
‘And you trust him? If he betrays us, and he has done in the past, then we lose everything.’
‘Manel, the one who fears defeat has already lost. All great events hang by a hair. The art of leadership lies in taking advantage of everything that can give you the victory and neglecting nothing that can give you a chance of prevailing. Beyond that, there is one quality that is absolutely necessary for us to prevail.’ He paused, waited, his audience leaned forward in expectation. ‘Luck. Now let’s get to it.’
The following day the five hundred had halted out of sight of the city walls, in a long wadi where the tribespeople dug for and found a spring of water so all were refreshed. They ate a spare, cold breakfast – Qulan, ever practical, had passed word along that it was better to be wounded on an empty stomach.
The advance party gathered below the lip of the wadi. Manel said: ‘We should be able to get close to the tunnel entrance without being seen as long as we keep low.’ She didn’t add: as long as it hasn’t been discovered and shut down.
‘Very well,’ Akiba whispered. ‘Are we ready?’
There was the flash of white teeth as the sergeant smiled; in his hand he held the hilt of a wicked dagger, its oiled blade gleaming dully in the waning moons. He nodded. Akiba started forward, keeping low – no easy matter for a man of his size – Manel followed and the sergeant brought up the rear. This close to the city they could smell its many scents in the night air: oranges and dung, smoke and cooking spices, the ever-present stink of camel and a hundred other fugitive fragrances. Looking up, Manel could see the tops of the walls coming into sight over the wadi, touched with the morning sun. They looked horribly solid and forbidding. She prayed that the smugglers’ tunnel would still be there and squeezed the gold coins that would pay for their passage until her hand ached.
Akiba stopped, pulled his sword, tense, alert. They froze, even their breath held – a slim figure slipped over the desert side of the wadi and scuttled across to them.
‘Akiba, wait, I’m coming with you.’
Manel had not seen Heaven since their arrival at the swamps. Now she hardly recognised her with her hair cut short, wearing the clothes of a youth. It was Manel who answered first: ‘You can’t, it’s dangerous, we may not even make it through . . .’
‘I’ve found my husband and I’m not going to lose him again. Tell her, Akiba, tell her I’m coming and I’m going to find our child.’
Akiba said simply: ‘She’s coming.’ He moved on and Heaven followed.
‘Suit yourself, Heaven. Just keep your head down.’
Heaven grinned back at her. ‘It’s good to see you too, Manel, and to find you’re just as bossy as you used to be.’
Manel laughed. ‘So Akiba is the father, your king. He looks like a king.’
‘A king without a kingdom,’ the big man whispered.
‘Maybe you’ll end up Sultan of Tumanbay,’ the sergeant said.
Even Akiba chuckled at that. ‘It’s not for me.’
‘That’s what you say now,’ Manel said. ‘Over there, beneath the elephant tower . . . that’s where it is. The tunnel entrance.’
It looked empty and deserted.
But then it was supposed to. She crept forward, conscious of the others following her. She knew this had to work. Heavy chains and a massive iron lock held the ancient door closed. She knocked, tapping out the code the smugglers had used when she’d left. She prayed it hadn’t been changed. Nothing. She knocked again and waited. It’s too long, she thought, there’s nobody there. She tried once again, without any real hope this time, and the door and frame, lock and all, slid back into the darkness.
Eyes gleamed back at her.
‘Four travellers,’ she called out. ‘I have gold. To pay.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Friends of the Iblis. We came out with him.’
Heaven appeared beside her. ‘We need to get back in.’
‘All women?’ the voice demanded.
‘Our husbands are with us,’ Manel said.
‘Tell them to come forward.’
Heaven called and the sergeant and Akiba moved out of the shadows, the big man trying to look as small and unthreatening as possible. If the sucking of teeth from the darkness was any indication, he wasn’t successful. Manel decided to take a chance.
‘Commander Gregor put us in touch with the Iblis. The Iblis will vouch for us.’
‘The Iblis is hanging in Martyr’s Square, he’s not vouching for anyone. But if you know Gregor, then you’re a friend . . . of a sort.’
Manel wondered if her uncle was using the smugglers’ routes to get information out of the city and to Qulan. She had no doubt that he was her father’s spy and had no doubt, either, that he still couldn’t be trusted.
‘Well, most folk are trying to get out of the city but if you’re crazy enough to want to come in, that’s your funeral.’ The smuggler emerged from the darkness. He was robed and masked, unidentifiable.
‘And your profit.’ Manel thrust the fee at him. He took it, bit the coins, slipped them into a bag. ‘That’s the old fee, it’s gone up. Things are more difficult these days. The black robes are going crazy, like it’s the end of the world or something.’ He held up two fingers.
Manel gave him two more coins.
‘And the gatekeeper at the other end needs his cut too.’
The sound of a sword leaving the scabbard and the sergeant’s low growl: ‘How about this cut?’
‘My friend is a little impetuous. Eager to get home and enjoy the delights of marriage with his new bride,’ Akiba said.
Manel bristled but held her tongue. She handed over two more coins. The sword slid back into the scabbard and the smuggler grinned. ‘Just doing my job, trying to feed my family. Come through.’ As the sergeant passed, he laughed: ‘Lucky old bastard!’
The tunnel led them down. Their guide cautioned care as the floor was uneven – he carried a dark lantern which gave barely enough light to allow them to pick their way over the uneven stone but as they progressed, and they seemed to go on forever, the path became smoother, the air warmer, then hotter. They were passing through larger spaces, caverns some of them, where glittering nodes of rock or mineral painted the darkness with star-like clusters. There were noises, voices even – the sound of children laughing – and far away a roar as if a great fire were burning.
‘Where are we?’ Akiba asked.
‘In the city under the city. Gregor was here once, he told me,’ Manel said.
‘No talking,’ the smuggler snapped. ‘They allow us passage but we have to be respectful when we’re down here.’
On they went and on, until they could no longer tell if they were going forwards, back the way they had come or even around in circles. No one who did not have the knowledge or a detailed map would ever find their way down or out of this place; they would be lost forever.
At last the walls began to close in around them again; they found themselves in a passage which became a tunnel, their leg muscles began to protest as they climbed up and up, and finally, when a gleam of light began to paint a very faint wash of grey across their underworld, they reached the foot of some steps stretching away into the unknown distance.
The smuggler halted. ‘These steps will take you up and let you out into the sewers of the old Linen District. The culvert covers have all gone, iron for the bitch, so you can get out easily. After that, it’s up to you.’
‘I know it,’ Akiba said, ‘there’s a café there I used to use.’
‘Thank you, my friend. I will tell Gregor of your help,’ Manel said.
‘Just as long as you tell no one how you got through. Go now. It’ll be the early call to prayers soon. The streets should be empty.’ He slapped the sergeant on the back: ‘Take it easy grandpa!’ and barked a laugh and vanished like a djinn going back into a bottle. The sergeant called: ‘What about the gatekeeper’s cut?’
No answer came from the darkness behind them so they started to climb up towards the light.
69
Gregor
The early call to prayer was sounding out as Gregor entered the great doors of the Hafiz’s palace. The monk Bello closed them behind him.
‘All has been done as you commanded,’ he said. ‘The real monks are locked away in our deepest cellars, your rebels are awaiting you.’
‘And the Hafiz?’
‘Is preparing himself. Just enough arak, do you see, Commander, to keep the balance.’
‘As long as he keeps his balance, Bello, and does his job.’
‘Isn’t that all any of us can say: we did our jobs as well as we were able. I do hope no harm will come to the old man?’
‘You’ll be there, Bello, you can see to it.’
The little monk shrugged. ‘I am not really built for seeing to it. But I do care about him and, though you may find it surprising, Commander, so do many in this city. If there is to be a time after Maya, then you will need him.’
‘And need you too, Bello?’
‘We do our best, do we not, to survive. After all, in these times, that in itself is an accomplishment, though not without a cost. But I see I am annoying you. Please, you know your way, Effendi Gregor. Go and do what you have to do.’
He grabbed the front of the fat man’s robe and pulled him close. ‘What do you know?’
Eyes wide with fear, the little monk stuttered: ‘Nothing, I assure you, nothing at all.’
Gregor let him go. ‘Keep it that way and you both might survive.’
He hurried through the public rooms of the palace, all empty and in a state of disarray; Bello was obviously no housekeeper and presumably wanted to keep any outside influences away from the Hafiz. The monks from the temple would have been received in the robing room off the main temple; there they would have been offered water and the chance to rest before the ceremony, or that would have been their expectation. In fact, Abujaan and his rebels would have provided a different sort of welcome and, when Gregor entered the robing room, he found the conspirators already changed and ready. They stood silently around Khaled, who was wearing gloves and holding a bowl. Dorin was not present.
Khaled said: ‘Left hand only, first two fingers. And don’t let them touch your skin.’ When he saw Gregor, he added: ‘You’re late, Commander.’
Gregor managed to control his irritation with the boy. ‘Where’s Dorin?’
Abujaan said: ‘He sent word he’s delayed at the institute. He said he would join us at the ceremony. Do you have the itinerary, Gregor?’
‘Of course.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Listen all of you, these are the latest arrangements. The escort and carriage for the Hafiz are arriving at the seventh hour after noon. You monks will proceed behind the carriage, chanting. Sarah and Maya may or may not be part of the procession, that we don’t know as yet. It doesn’t matter. You will be met at the palace and will be escorted to the Temple Qubat at moonrise when the ceremony is to take place. I will be there – do not make any signs that you recognise me. There will be soldiers and black robes. I suspect that most of them will attend the ceremony. You will be placed in a crescent around the throne, at which point Maya will enter. She will sit or stand in front of the throne. At that moment you will be closer to her than anyone else present and that is your moment. Use it.’
