Tycho strapped the gun to his leg and practiced drawing it. “Fifty, eh? And all I have to do is aim straight?”
“Do you have good eyes?”
He laughed. “Of course! How else do you think I can tell you people apart from down here?”
Taziri laughed with him. It made the ache in her chest all the worse because it did nothing to dissuade her from believing that she was sending this young man off to die.
“You’re sure you won’t be needing it?” he asked.
“No.” She patted her armored medical braced under her sleeve. “I have a spare.”
“All right then. Thank you very much. I’ll treasure it always. Until it blows my finger off.” He leapt out the hatch with a grin.
And Taziri couldn’t help but grin as she pulled the hatch shut. She leaned back into her pilot’s chair and sighed as she rubbed her hand through her hair, which was starting to feel a bit dry and stiff from spending all day in the oven of the Halcyon. She looked up at Bastet, who was picking at her lip. “Well, I guess we need to build a very hot tool, don’t we?”
“What’s it called?” the girl asked. “You said we need to make something hotter than steam to melt the steel. So what’s hotter than steam?”
“It’s called plasma,” Taziri said. “We’re going to build a plasma torch.”
Day Four
Chapter 22. Shifrah
They ran down the dark, narrow passage, their shoulders crashing into the rough stone walls and footsteps echoing over and over, chasing them along in the shadows. Shifrah kept one hand on Rashaken’s arm and the other stretched out in front of her to probe the darkness. Her hand struck smooth wood and she shoved through the door into a small room illuminated by the torchlight in the hall slipping under the other door on the far side. The room was empty except for the dim outlines of a bench, a chair, and a pile of kindling in the corner.
Shifrah dashed to the far door to look and listen, but there was no one on the other side. Behind her Kenan closed the door to the narrow passage and signed that it was all clear behind them as well.
Safe.
Heaving a long sigh, Shifrah slipped away her last stiletto into her ruined jacket and sat down on the wooden bench beside Rashaken. The old man sighed as well, and then began to chuckle. He said, “It’s been a very long time since I’ve moved so quickly. I almost felt young again.” He squeezed her knee. “But not that young. My poor back is aching, but I think yours is a bit worse for wear. Take off your shirt and let me see those wounds.”
Shifrah nodded and slipped off her jacket and shirt. The old man tutted and tsked and patted around in his robes. “This one on your back is not deep at all, but I imagine it stings quite a bit. A little bit of Espani whiskey will help clean it out.”
She winced as he poured the alcohol over the wound.
“And a bit of cloth to keep it clean for now.” He tore the sleeves from her shirt and deftly fashioned a bandage to tie around her back and across her chest. “But your arm, that one will need to be stitched.” He bound another cloth over the gash, knotting it so tightly that Shifrah felt her fingers go cold for a moment.
She slipped her jacket back on gingerly. “Thank you, Master Rashaken.”
Kenan paced from one door to the other, peering through the cracks and listening to the silence in the halls beyond.
“Sit down, young man,” Rashaken said. “We’re quite safe here. No one is allowed down here, and your Italian friend will not leave the forge alive, thanks to Master Jiro.”
Shifrah translated the master’s words and Kenan grudgingly holstered his gun and sat down by the outer door.
“So, Shifrah Dumah, Omar’s little girl is all grown up, I see.” Rashaken’s smile gleamed in the shadows. “I never thought to see you again. I thought perhaps Omar had whisked you away to the ends of the earth with him. Why have you come back?”
She released the last heavy exhalation from her duel with Salvator and felt the heat bleeding away from her arms and legs, leaving her with a sweaty chill. “It’s a long story. But all that matters now is that I’m looking for Omar. Zahra says he went west to Marrakesh eight years ago and never returned.”
The old man’s smile faded. “That is true. And if wandering Shifrah has not seen him, then I doubt anyone has or ever will.” He shrugged. “A great loss to us all. Omar was as wise in council as he was entertaining in the tavern. I miss him.”
“But you must know something more. He must have told you some detail about where he went or what happened to him. Omar took the train to Carthage and then went west to Marrakesh. But where was he going? Did he go alone? And why?”
Rashaken sighed. “I’m sorry, dear girl, but you remember how he was. He would run into the room with that gleam in his eye. Aha, he says, I’ve found more sun-steel! And away he would go, and a few weeks later he would come back with stories and souvenirs but no steel. This was just one more trip. Aha, he said to me, there is an island covered in ice where the greatest treasure of sun-steel in the world awaits us! And away he went. But this time he did not return.” The old man leaned on Shifrah. “I know it is hard for you. He raised you, yes? He was good to you. Taught you to fight, taught you to think. He taught so many over the years. But it seemed like the years never caught up to him. He was never too tired, but me, I am always too tired now. I sit with Jiro in the forge because the heat helps my back.” His smile gleamed in the dark again.
Shifrah looked down at her hands. One of her little fingers was twitching. She massaged it to stop it. “So that’s it then? Omar really is lost and gone?”
“I’m afraid so. Death catches up to us all, sooner or later. Even to Master Omar.”
A comfortable silence fell across the small room, a respectful quiet for the lost Omar Bakhoum. Until Kenan cleared his throat and said, “Does he know anything?”
“No,” Shifrah said in Mazigh. “Omar is gone.”
“Not about Omar. About Aker.” Kenan leaned forward, peering at the old man. “Where can we find Aker El Deeb?”
“Aker?” Rashaken straightened up with a scowl and looked at Shifrah. “What does he want with that stupid boy?”
“Aker murdered a man in Tingis,” Shifrah said. “And my friend and I are now accused of the crime. My friend here, Kenan, wants to take Aker back to Tingis to clear the record.”
“Ha!” Rashaken frowned. “Good. Take him. Good riddance to him. He’s a damned dog, like all of Khai’s little soldiers. Worshipping their swords. Bah! Swords? Of all the great things that might be done with sun-steel, why are they making swords? Because they lack faith. They lack inspiration. They lack imagination. All they can see in this wonderful gift is one more way to kill people and seize power they do not deserve.”
“Omar carried a seireiken,” Shifrah said.
“Yes, but Omar had a purpose. He killed with purpose. He only killed to better shape our city, to cut away the cancers that ate away at our people. It wasn’t for him. Never for him. Always for the cause. For the plan. For the future.” Rashaken nodded. “He learned that in the east. Did you know that? He studied the philosophy of the Buddha. Some think the Buddhists are all timid pacifists, but that is not true. They fight and they kill, but never in anger or hate, never for themselves. Always for the greater good. Always in the name of peace and life. It was easy to respect Omar. I didn’t always understand him, but I always respected him.”
Shifrah smiled sadly. It was getting harder to remember Omar’s face and voice. There were only a few snatches of memories that stood out clearly to her now, but they too were fading and she knew one day they would be lost along with the rest of him.
“So Aker has returned to our fair city, has he? Well, if he’s not with Zahra at that establishment of hers, then you can check the nearby dens, and if he’s not hiding in the smoke, then try the old arena in the Songhai Quarter,” Rashaken said. “Some of Khai’s young dogs like to fight there at night, gathering warrior souls into their damned swords. Aker would sometimes walk the halls here in the morning, bragging about his kills.”