There was only one person he could think of who could help.
But once that approach was made, there'd be no turning back.
Safar rose before first light. He washed and dressed and made a quick trip to a nearby bakery and bought a sticky roll filled with plump currants. He rushed home, brewed a pot of strong tea and while he drank it he summoned Gundara.
The little Favorite popped out of a cloud of magical smoke, coughing and rubbing sleepy eyes.
"Don't tell me you get up early too! Gundara whined. The gods must hate me. Why else would they allow me to fall into the hands of such a cruel master?"
Instead of answering, Safar held up the sticky roll. The Favorite's eyes widened. Is that for me, O Wise and Kind Master?.
"None other, Safar said.
He extended the roll and the Favorite grabbed it from his hand and gobbled it up, moaning in pleasure and scattering crumbs and currants all over the floor.
When he was done he sucked each taloned finger clean, smacked his lips, then said, If you gave me another, I'd kill for you, Master. From his tone Safar knew it was no jest.
"You'd kill for a piece of pastry? Safar asked.
Gundara shrugged. Money is no good to me. Or jewels or treasures. I live in a stone turtle, remember? But a bit of something sweet… mmmm… Oh, yes, Master. Lead me to your victims this instant. I can help you conjure a decent poison guaranteed to reduce an entire city to a hamlet."
"I don't kill people, Safar said.
"More's the pity, Gundara answered. Killing's much easier than most tasks. He stretched his arms, yawning. If it isn't killing, Master, exactly what is it you want me to do?"
"Make yourself as small you can, Safar said, and hop up on my shoulder."
"How boring, Gundara complained, but he clicked his talons together and instantly shrunk to the size of a large flea. Safar had to look very hard to see him. Gundara called out, voice just as loud as when he was full size, You'll have to help me with the shoulder part, Master. It's too far to hop."
Safar held out his hand and the black dot that was Gundara ran up it, scrambling over the rough cloth of his sleeve until he reached his shoulder.
"I have some important business to conduct this morning, Safar said. I want you to keep a close watch for any danger or suspicious people."
"Do I get another roll when I'm done, Master? came Gundara's voice.
"If you do a good job, Safar promised.
"And one for Gundaree too? the Favorite pressed.
Safar sighed. Yes, he said. Gundaree can have one too."
"Make it with berries, next time, the little Favorite requested. Currants give me gas."
The city was stirring to life when Safar set out. Traffic was light but a few shops were opening and workmen were gathering in the front of others, munching olives and black bread while they waited for their employers arrival. Safar passed the wheelwrights shop, which always started early to repair wagons that'd broken down on the way to market. A hard-eyed man leaned against the wall near the entrance. He stared at Safar when he went by.
Safar bent his head closer to shoulder. Any trouble there? he asked.
"Just a cutpurse, the flea speck that was Gundara answered. Don't worry. You're too poor for his taste."
Safar went on, but kept his pace slow so his Favorite could sniff for spies. He was certain Kalasariz would order his informers to trail him. Although Safar was only a mountain lad, unwise in the ways of the city, he had much experience with nature to rely on. Animal or human, hunters always behaved the same way. Wolves on the stalk, for instance, might post a sentry near their intended victim. When the flock moved about the sentry would keep close watch on the sick sheep that had been chosen for dinner. As the flock moved from place to place the wolf would follow only so far, passing on his duties to another sentry so as not to arouse suspicion. And so on throughout the day until the intended victim fell behind the flock, or strayed too far from the rams. Then the sentry would howl the news and the pack would strike.
This is how Safar imagined Kalasariz informers would work. They'd post a spy on the street near his home, who would alert the others when he emerged. Then he'd be passed along from spy to spy until he returned home for the night.
As he neared the end of his street an old woman with rags for clothes and a torn horse blanket for a shawl rose up from beside her push cart. There were pigeons cooing in a wooden cage on one side push cart, hot meat pies steaming from a basket in the other.
"Fresh pigeon pies? she called out to Safar. Two coppers a pie, sir."
"No thank you, Granny, Safar said, moving by.
The old woman gripped his sleeve. That's my usual price, sir. Two coppers a pie. And fresh and hot they is, sir. Fresh killed this morning. But you're such a handsome lad, sir, if you don't mind me saying so. You make this poor granny's heart sing like she was a maid. For you sir, for bringing back my girlhood, I'll charge only a copper for two."
The spy saw Safar hesitate, then nod and hand over a copper in exchange for two pies which he tucked into his purse. He said thank you to the granny, polite as you please, and passed onturning the corner and heading down a broad street. The old woman waited until he'd disappeared from sight then quickly opened the door to the pigeon cage. She grabbed the only white bird, which was also much larger and fatter than the others. She petted it, whispered soothing words and threw it high into the air, moving with a surprising agility for someone who appeared so old and bent.
The pigeon flew up and upcircling the street as it oriented itself. Then it shot for the high tower that marked the entrance to the Central Market. The spy smiled, knowing what would happen next. The pigeon was trained to circle the tower three times. This would alert all the informers planted about the city that Safar was on the move. Then the pigeon would return to the pushcart for a nice treat and whispered praise that it was such a smart and pretty bird.
The old woman, who was the spy, was quite fond of the pigeon. She'd raised it from the egg and spoiled it more than any other bird she'd had. She watched proudly as her little darling flew toward the tower. Then she gasped as a deadly black figure winged its way over the rooftops and headed for the pigeon. The hawk hurled itself at her prize bird, talons stretching out. The pigeon sensed its peril and tried to dodge but the hawk was quicker and there was an explosion of blood and feathers. The hunter flew away, the remains of the pigeon clutched in its claws.
The spy groaned in dismay. She'd not only lost her favorite pet, but Safar as well. Quickly she grabbed a passing boy by the ear and gave him a coin to mind her cart, promising more if all was safe when she returned. Then she hurried off to warn her superiors that a hawk had spoiled their plans.
Two streets away Safar cut around a corner at top speed, then slowed to a fast walk. It was a tenement neighborhood with high, crooked buildings. There was no one about except housewives illegally emptying chamber pots into the street, instead of paying the slopwagon men to carry away the filth. Shutters would bang open, slop would stream into the street, then they'd bang shut before anyone in authority could see. And woe betide the passerby who didn't jump in the correct direction when he first heard the shutters open.
Safar slipped smoothly to the side as a murky stream poured down the heavens, avoiding getting even a spatter of filth on his robes. He whistled and the hawk darted down from a roof. It landed on his shoulder, beak and chest feathers clotted with blood. Safar made a face at the mess, then gestured and the hawk transformed into Gundara who became a flea spot on his shoulder.