“You spoke to Master Rashaken about this?”
“No,” the old man said with a tired sigh and a squinty look over the rim of his crooked glasses. “I spoke to his valet. Servants are cheaper than masters, and far more reliable in their information.”
Shifrah glanced at Zahra. “You’re spying on the Sons of Osiris?”
“I have a city to maintain.” She shrugged. “Do you want the rest of the information or not?”
“Tell me.”
The gentleman said, “After six months, discrete inquiries were made by the Temple into the whereabouts of Master Omar. A man in Carthage reported that the master had indeed passed through that city on his way west, but no one had seen him since. We had no agent in Marrakesh at that time, so we have no way of knowing whether the master traveled that far, or farther still. He may have sailed to the New World, for all we know.”
Shifrah frowned. “He was looking for a large deposit of aetherium? Could he have been looking for the Espani skyfire stone that fell into the Strait two years ago?”
The man shrugged. “Possibly. We have no way of knowing.”
“Oh, Aker,” Zahra sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
Again, Shifrah noted the strange tone in the woman’s voice. She’s too calm. There isn’t even a hint of anger in her. “Then I guess we’ll be on our way. A pleasure doing business with you, Zahra. Perhaps later we’ll talk about a more formal arrangement for my work in the future.”
“Mm.” Zahra waved her away. “Later then.”
Shifrah let go of Aker’s arm and stepped toward the door. She said in Mazigh, “Come on Kenan, we’re done here.”
“Fine.” Kenan still had Aker and he pushed the wobbly Aegyptian back toward the door.
“No, he stays,” Zahra said in Eranian. She pointed at the floor to indicate that the man in question was staying right there.
“He’s wanted for murder in Tingis,” Kenan replied in Mazigh. And then more slowly he said, “Murder. Tingis. Marrakesh. So that’s where he’s going. With me.”
Shifrah translated for Zahra, who waved two fingers over her shoulder and the armed men in the corners stepped smartly out into the room.
“Kenan!” Shifrah kept her eye on the nearest guard. “Aker stays here.”
“I told you I was taking him,” the detective said.
Shifrah frowned at the two men drawing their pistols. She knew the dining room behind her was full of armed thugs from half the Empire, and any number of them would be eager to help Zahra in a fight if it might improve their business relationships. “Last chance, Kenan. Be smart. Walk away.”
Kenan drew his revolver as quick as a snake and placed the muzzle against the back of Aker’s head. “He stands trial for murder, or I kill him right now.”
Zahra raised her two fingers again and her guards stopped advancing. “Young man, I don’t know what rock Shifrah found you under, but this is Aegyptus, not Marrakesh. And this,” she pointed to Aker, “belongs to me.”
Shifrah translated for Kenan, who answered by thumbing the gun’s hammer back with a sharp click. “Let us walk out of here or you’ll be wearing your boy’s brains for a necklace.”
Shifrah rolled her eye. “Kenan, how did you think this was going to end? You knew we were bringing him in to turn him over to Zahra.”
“Yes. I did that for you. And now that you have what you want, I’m going to get what I want. I’m going to drag his ass back to Tingis and clear my name.” Kenan yanked back on Aker’s collar to get him moving toward the door.
As the gun knocked against the back of Aker’s skull, Shifrah saw a sudden change in the man’s face. His eyes brightened, his mouth rippled into a snarl, and his right hand began drifting across his waist toward the sword on his belt.
This is about to go sideways. Damn you, Kenan.
Shifrah grabbed a stiletto from her inner jacket and let the slender blade fly. It struck the barrel of Kenan’s revolver and the gun fired, the bullet flying wide of everyone. In that moment, both guards drew their own guns and Aker jerked down and away from Kenan as he drew his seireiken. The unnatural orange light of the blade set the air pulsating with heat, and for a moment every eye in the room was fixed on that blazing steel.
Shifrah threw herself back into the door, slamming it open and stumbling back into the short hall that connected to the dining room. Through that narrow passage she saw the guards firing their guns. She saw Kenan firing back. And then the door bounced off the wall and closed halfway, blocking her view of the room beyond.
Through the sound of the gunshots and the shouting and the shattering glass and the scraping steel, Shifrah dashed back through the dining room with both hands ready to hurl another stiletto at the first person to block her way. But no one gave her more than an amused smirk and she ran out into the street.
Thank God for that. I only have three knives left.
She turned left and jogged out into the late day foot traffic in the middle of the street, slumping her shoulders and walking just a bit off tempo to disappear into the press of tired bodies. At the next intersection, she was about to straighten up and change direction when a hand closed on her arm. She looked up into Kenan’s grim face.
“I didn’t appreciate that,” he said. His black leather jacket was studded with tiny granules of broken glass and there was a bright streak of dirt up the left leg of his blue plants.
He escaped out the window? Not bad. Maybe the old Kenan is still alive in there somewhere.
She yanked her arm free. “I told you to give him up.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do now? I can’t go home without Aker, and I just pissed off your lady friend who seems to be in bed with half the scum in this city.”
Shifrah shrugged. “That’s your problem. But as long as you’re looking for something to do, you can come with me. I might even pay you.”
“I’m not a hired gun.”
“You’ll be a starving gun unless you change your tune soon.”
He pursed his lips. Then he started walking. “Where are we going?”
“To talk to an old friend of Omar’s.”
Chapter 17. Taziri
She hadn’t meant to doze off, but with nothing to do and the oppressive heat of the cabin beating down on her in heavy, suffocating waves, she had closed her eyes and just nodded off into oblivion shortly after a snack of dried meat, seeds, nuts, and other stale rations from her pack. The second little canteen was empty. Only two bottles left now.
Taziri woke slowly, her mind crawling up through layers of faceless, formless dreams until she could open her eyes and stare blearily at the cabin ceiling. The heat had faded a little but she was still covered in sweat and breathing heavily.
Voices.
She sat up and pulled on her shirt over her hot, sticky skin. As she fastened the buttons, she moved to the window to peek out. There was a man’s head just outside the window.
Shit!
She reached for her gun but her hand only grasped at empty air beside her leg. For a moment she panicked that someone had taken her revolver, until she remembered taking off the holster so she could sit more comfortably. She snatched the gun from the holster slung over the back of her pilot’s seat and peeked out the window again. The man had shifted to one side and another head was just outside now, a small head farther down. A girl’s scarved head.
Hasina! Oh no, no, no.
The girl knocked feebly on the hatch and said something in Eranian. Her words meant nothing but Taziri could hear the terrified and miserable warbles in the girl’s voice. She’d been crying. Taziri looked frantically around the cabin yet again for some tool or answer or idea but there was only an old tarp and a few empty seats to look at.
So she took a long, deep breath, and she opened the hatch. She quickly leaned out just enough to level her gun at the man’s head. He jerked back half a step, a flicker of fear in his eyes as he focused on the weapon. But then he looked up at her and let loose a stern torrent of Eranian at her.