His eyes burned, and he realized that they were beginning to tear up. What is wrong with me? I’m a breath away from crying like a woman!
Mistress Miri Almoussa of the Hundred Ears showed the secret, defenseless self that she only ever showed late at night to him. “I… I am sorry, Doullie. So often I have had such hard words for what you do. And yet I am here like all the rest, begging your help for my family.”
Miri’s kohl-lined eyes were furious and on the verge of tears. When the first few fell, Adoulla placed an arm around her broad shoulders and wiped them away. Being seen crying would hurt her reputation.
“How long have we known each other, woman? Thirty years, now? Don’t you worry about such things. My help is always yours. Why these tears, huh? Everything will be fine, God willing.”
She sniffed once again, wiped away another tear and set her jaw. “Fine? O Merciful God! My niece is dead! Everything will not be fine, Doullie. Everything is going down to the Lake of Flame and the Traitorous Angel. But you’re right… there’s no point in crying. Not where men can see, anyway.” With one last sniffle, she was all calmness again. “So. Have you any more clues as to who or what is behind her murder?”
Adoulla struggled to recall all that the mad creature Mouw Awa had revealed. “There was one thing more,” Adoulla said at last. “The monster I am hunting… it spoke of its master sitting on ‘the Cobra Throne.’ Have you ever heard of such a thing? Do you know where it might be?”
Miri bit her lip and looked troubled. “I have,” she said. She took a breath, then a sip of nectar, and went on. “It was years ago—after one of the Falcon Prince’s first raids. All of the city’s talk was on the gold and weapons he’d stolen from the old Khalif’s treasure house. But my sources told me that the Prince himself was most interested in a dusty old scroll he’d found.”
Adoulla was as impressed as always with the things Miri knew, and it must have shown on his face.
Miri shrugged “Of course I was interested. I am the font of all knowledge in this city. No one in Dhamsawaat would know anything if not for my spies. And books are like spies’ reports frozen in amber. If the Falcon Prince wanted to know something that bad, it must have been valuable, I figured. So I had one of my Ears within his organization act as eye and pen, copying as much as he could of the stolen scroll. Those were different days, of course. Pharaad Az Hammaz’s operation was not quite so airtight then. In any case, my spy had to use a very expensive scrivening-spell, but the scroll proved useless to me. It cost an obscene amount to copy it, but the jest was on me—all but the title of the thing was in a thrice-ciphered version of hidden script. The characters were there, but pricey, pricey magics which might not have even worked were required to break the cipher-spells. Wealthy as I am, I still didn’t have enough to waste on trying to translate it.”
Adoulla, growing impatient, spoke around a mouth of saltfish. “Forgive me, my sweet, but I asked you about—”
“ ‘The Cobra Throne.’ That was the title of the scroll. It was about ancient Kem. But as I say, not worth the price of translating. For all I knew it was about some old buried hoard of the Faroes somewhere, which may or may not have ever existed and may or may not have already been hit by graverobbers. And I’m not the sort to go funding a grave-digging. Then there was the possibility that the Falcon Prince had stolen it only because the original was valuable. I didn’t know, and it wasn’t worth wagering further funds to find out. God’s truth be told, I don’t think that the gold-grubbing Khalif had ever bothered to translate it, either. At least, my spies at the time had heard the Falcon Prince mock this fact.”
Adoulla snorted. “Aye, that sounds like the work of Khalifs—locking away knowledge and words without even reading them.”
“Why is this important, Doullie? What is going on?”
Adoulla ignored her questions. “Please, my sweet, tell me that you still have a copy of this scroll.”
Miri’s offended sniff cut through her worried expression.
“Have you ever known me to throw away something of potential value? Name of God, for thirty years I didn’t throw you away!” Weariness overtook her smoky eyes. “Be careful here, Doullie. If the Falcon Prince is involved in this… I know you admire him, but he’s a dangerous madman. And from what my Ears tell me, he is furious right now about the murder of a beggar family who was under his protection—mother, father, and daughter all found with their hearts carved out. Apparently the same fate struck a squad of his men as well.”
Adoulla had nearly forgotten Baheem’s giving him that last bit of interesting and troubling news. But he only half-analyzed it now as he was overcome with thankfulness. Whatever else was wrong in the world, God had seen fit to keep this woman in Adoulla’s life, worrying over him. This funny, strong, bedchamber-skilled woman who loved him. Manjackals and ghuls could not change that fact.
Still, this news increased Adoulla’s sense that Pharaad Az Hammaz might make a useful ally. “Can you put me in touch with him, Miri? It may help me put an end to these murders.”
She squinted in thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Perhaps… perhaps I could. But I’m sorry, Doullie, I won’t. That would require my making more contact with his people, and after he killed this last headsman… No, it’s just too dangerous. The man has lots of right-sounding ideas,” Miri continued, “and I must admit, he is remarkably handsome. I’d wager you didn’t know that I once saw those calves very close up. Did you know? Never you mind where or when.”
She was trying to make Adoulla jealous. To upset him. It was working. He felt—not in a pleasant way—that he was a boy of five and ten again.
“But despite these things,” she went on, “he is, beneath all his pretty words, talking about civil war. Wars are bad for business. And a war inside the gates of the city? Almighty God forbid it. Do you know what happens to whores in a war, Doullie? Of course you do. I’ve got arson and rape on the one hand and a clinking coin purse on the other, Doullie. For me and mine, it’s an easy choice. I’ve got a house full of innocent girls to protect here.”
Adoulla smiled despite his frustration. “Innocent? A funny word, all things considered.”
Miri did not smile back. “Yes, you damned-by-God oaf. Innocent. My new girl Khareese fled her father not three weeks ago. What does she know of war?”
Adoulla sighed. “Well, Pretty Eyes, I know well enough that you won’t be budged when you won’t be budged. But at least tell me what your Ears have heard of these murders.”
Miri shrugged. “Not much. The watchmen marked it up to street folk killing street folk. The family did their alms-seeking outside of Yehyeh’s teahouse, and they were found dead there, along with old Yehyeh himself. They—”
“What? Yehyeh? When did…? Who…?” Words failed him and his stomach sank as he watched Miri’s eyes widen.
She took his hands in hers. “Oh. Oh, Name of God, Doullie, I’m so sorry. I’d forgotten what friends the two of you were.”
Adoulla felt a sob begin to rise within him. He smothered it, and something within him went cold. “Yehyeh… Minstering Angels… Yehyeh.” He spoke absently. “Oh, Miri, don’t you see? Things can’t stay safe forever, no matter who rules. You with your Hundred Ears know that better than most.”
She sighed and nodded. “I know. But maybe they can be bearable for another few years. That’s all I dare ask of God.”
He ran his hand through his beard. “And then what, my sweet?”