Dark Empress Read online

  Almost half way across, she paused and dipped her feet in the open section of water channel to clean and cool them. Samir was close enough behind her she could hear him breathing tightly as he traversed the beam. There was no sound from further back than that. Biting her cheek once more, she risked turning her head to gauge her pursuit. Samir was perhaps twelve feet behind her. His short legs went against him in a straight run, but his cat-like grace and reflexes allowed him to pick up the pace in places like this.

  Of Ghassan there was no sign.

  Where had he gone? Surely he had not been so slow that they had lost him? She swallowed nervously. The alternative was unpleasant. Had he fallen at one of the jumps? If so, then dear Gods please let it be a good fall at one of the places where the carpets were close. There was no time to worry now; Samir was closing.

  Turning carefully, she set off once more, her cool feet refreshed. Her grip would have been lessened by the slippery wet were it not for the interminable dust that settled on every surface of M’Dahz and gave her good purchase on the wood. She concentrated hard. Staying ahead of Samir was important, but so was making it across safely.

  Finally, after what seemed like an age, she reached the hot white roof of Jamal’s grocery store and stretched gratefully for only a second before setting off at a run on the last leg of the route.

  Up over a low dividing wall, past another roof garden and a quick, though awkwardly-angled jump, across the alley of the coppersmiths. A quick ‘S’ shape between the locked stairway entrances of three buildings and then a sharp corner next to a long drop… curse Samir for his insane routes. One more flat roof brought the last jump, a wide but straight leap across the stairway of Sidi M’Dekh. She smiled. There was no way Samir could catch her now; she was home free. She began to laugh wildly as she rounded the last corner to see the pole with the red rag that marked the end of the race.

  And her face fell. Ghassan grinned back at her where he stood casually, holding the rag and leaning against the wall in the cool shade.

  How had he done that? She racked her brains to try and work out where he had gone. How had he taken a short cut? It was theoretically a cheat, but there could have been no quicker way to get back up to the roof if he had fallen than the route they had both taken.

  “How?” she demanded.

  Ghassan’s smile, all the more genuine for its rarity, held her for a moment as he bowed and proffered the red rag to her.

  “I would turn the world upside down to see your face from this angle, Asima.”

  She blinked for a moment and then smiled as Ghassan burst out laughing.

  “You should have seen your face when you turned the corner and found me!” he howled.

  She shook her head as Samir arrived and patted her on the back.

  “No, I don’t know how he does it either. It’s that brain of his.”

  The three children collapsed to the floor in the shade and scanned the rooftops at this, one of the highest places in M’Dahz. The Pelasian bell tower was just visible around the edge of the building, as were various turrets and high rooftops, but the main obstruction on the skyline here was the Palace Compound and it was the looming and intriguing walls of that forbidden complex that captured the gaze of the three runners.

  “One day.”

  Both Asima and Ghassan turned to look at their companion. Samir shrugged.

  “We’ve been almost everywhere there is to go above the town, but we’ve never set foot in the compound. Before the summer’s out, I want to walk on the governor’s roof.”

  Asima and Ghassan nodded sagely, each privately considering the almost negligible chances of that ever happening. But there was something in Samir’s eye that afternoon in the high places of M’Dahz; something that made Asima certain that nothing in the world of human endeavour was beyond Samir’s reach if he put his mind to it.

  Nothing.

  In which changes occur

  A year had passed. The rooftop chases had tailed off in the late wintertime, though not due to the conditions. After all, in M’Dahz the deepest winter was almost indistinguishable from high summer to all but the natives. No, somehow the thrill had gone without them ever having set foot on the governor’s roof as Samir had vowed. Oh, they still ran occasionally; perhaps once a month now, and it was always Samir who set the routes these days, but when the joy of the rooftops had palled a little, the three had sought out new thrills. Games had come and gone as the seasons turned, and had culminated in this, their latest test of nerves.

  The port district of M’Dahz was a maze of warehouses, offices, palisaded yards, harbours, dry docks, houses and taverns. Every open space seemed to be filled with people, busily striding around with papers, boxes and sacks. Local merchants on business errands, factors visiting ship captains, dockers loading and unloading vessels and filling and emptying warehouses. And, of course, there were the fascinating visitors. Few of the foreigners that landed at the port made it into the depths of the city, staying close to their ships and cargoes and to the drinking pits that entertained them.

  Among the busy and narrow thoroughfares, where ropes coiled around bollards and crates lay in abandoned unruly piles, Asima, Samir and Ghassan picked their way carefully, repeatedly ducking back and dodging the unheeding feet of sailors and slaves. The boys, dressed in the clothing of peasants, would be entirely unnoticed in the streets under normal circumstances, but Asima wore a shabby cloak over her good cotton clothes and had removed her jewellery once again so as not to stand out.

  Ahead lay the warehouse complex of master Trevistus, owner of four merchant galleys, native of the Imperial capital and probably the richest man to currently walk the streets of M’Dahz. Asima swallowed nervously as the three of them ducked once more into the shadowy recesses of an unknown building out of the press of sweaty workers.

  “This may be stupid, Samir.”

  The lithe young man turned and grinned at her.

  “Your definition of stupid is a little looser than mine. Getting caught would be stupid.”

  Ghassan smiled enigmatically.

  “She might be right, brother… this is a powerful man. One slip and we could be watching our hands as they’re separated from our arms.”

  Samir shook his head.

  “Firstly, we’re too good to be caught. Secondly, no one can hold on to me for long; I’m part eel… you know that. Thirdly: we’re children. This man is a family man from the northern cities and they’re all soft and sentimental. A sob or two from Asima and he’ll send us on our way with a smile.”

  Ghassan looked distinctly unconvinced but shrugged and then nodded. Asima rolled her eyes and finally gave her consent.

  The three took a deep breath and slipped back into the busy street. A few more minutes and the high walls of Trevistus’ compound loomed. Samir had thoroughly checked out the location yesterday. Within the enclosure stood four structures, one at each corner, leaving an open space in the centre that cluttered and emptied with goods and equipment like the tide.

  Closest to the single wide and strong gate stood the two storey building with an external staircase that held the offices of the merchant, his factor, and the various clerks in his employ. On the other side of the gate stood the bunk house that catered for the crew of the merchant’s ships when in port, a building busy at all times barring mid evening when the men caroused in the local taverns. In the opposite corner stood the wealthy and elegant house of Trevistus himself, lived in for only a few weeks each year, and maintained the rest of the time by a permanent staff of servants and slaves. The final corner, the object of Samir’s main investigation, was dominated by an enormous warehouse.

  Ducking into a narrow side alley, the three crossed to the next street, from where the gateway of the compound was visible, guarded by mercenaries of foreign extraction; powerful and blond. Samir waved his companions back into the shadow of a porch projecting from the front of a smelly building called the Laughing Mermaid.

  “Any time now.”


  The others nodded and watched with growing nervousness and excitement in roughly equal quantities. Tense moments passed as workers and slaves traipsed past along the road, carrying goods or going about their various tasks, none interested enough to accord the three peasant children more than a passing glance.

  Somewhere a horn sounded, announcing the arrival of another vessel at this meeting place of worlds. Samir tapped his foot impatiently and looked up at the sky, trying to gauge the time by the angle of the sunlight hitting the building opposite.

  “We’re here on time. They must be late.”

  Ghassan, beginning to twitch slightly, pursed his lips and frowned.

  “I cannot help but wonder how you came across detailed transport schedules for foreign merchants.”

  Asima shrugged.

  “Be sure there’s some clerk somewhere wondering where his important papers are, Ghassan.” She turned and smiled knowingly at the smaller brother. “You are a menace, Samir. And possibly a genius.”

  Samir grinned and put a finger to his lips, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb. In the street, four wagons, loaded to a point where the wood groaned uncomfortably, trundled past with interminable slowness, each drawn by an ox with a stoically resigned expression.

  “Remember. Quiet until we’re left alone. Take only one thing and nothing that will be missed. This is a game; a test… not a theft.”

  Ghassan nodded and pointed.

  “The third wagon. No guards; just a driver.”

  Samir smiled and stepped backwards into the street, hidden from view of the general populace by the wagon itself. Gripping the side boards, he hauled himself with ease from the murk of the road and tipped over the edge into the mass of grain sacks. Ghassan shared a look for a fleeting moment with Asima.

  “He’s going to get us all killed one day”, she said with mock seriousness.

  Ghassan glanced past her at the cart and, quick as a flash and with no warning, tipped his head forward and kissed her; a brief peck in the manner of a nervous child, and then he was past her, hauling himself up into the cart.

  Asima stood in the shadow for a moment, her eyes wide as she reached up in surprise and touched her lips. The world slowed as her mind reeled.

  “Sssss!”

  Snapping her head round in the mist of confusion, Asima saw the brothers peeking over the side of the wagon and beckoning as the vehicle had almost rolled on past the tavern. Shaking her head to clear it, she ducked out of the shadows and leapt onto the side of the cart. A hand appeared to help haul her up. She gazed upward into Ghassan’s eyes and, taking a deep breath, clasped her hand in his. Suddenly, Samir was there also, helping haul her in among the sacks of grain, just as the cart passed from the building’s shadow and into the clear view of the public once more.

  Asima lay in the sacks, mulling over what had just happened. Above her, apparently unaware of what this meant, both boys peered between the boards to see ahead. Asima touched her lips again. She found herself smiling without the intention of doing so. Somehow, she had been waiting for a year for this to happen and yet had been completely unaware of her yearning until it had occurred. She looked up at Ghassan, unkempt and powerful, his noble brow and serious face intent on the task ahead.

  And then Samir turned and unleashed a smile upon her and her surety exploded in splinters and vanished. She frowned as the boy turned back to his contemplation of the compound that rolled toward them with its looming danger. Shaking her head, she gritted her teeth. No time for this now, she chided herself, and clambered across the sacks to a position beside the boys.

  The front cart was being led inside, while a clerk went through some papers with the driver of the second vehicle. At a gesture from Samir, the three children nestled down among the comfortable bags, covering themselves as best they could.

  Minutes passed as they lay there, staring up into the endless blue while the noises of the port went on around them. And slowly, finally, the cart trundled forward. The three held their breath as the clerk approached, stopping only a few feet from them as he checked the manifest and clearances with the teamster. Such a short time passed and yet to the three of them it seemed an age of man had gone by.

  Finally an agreement was made and the cart trundled slowly into the compound. As Samir had explained, drawing on information from his unknown source, the four carts would be drawn into the central space, not far from the warehouse, where there was sufficient space for unloading with the minimal distance to the place of storage. The teamsters, their job done for now, were given a chitty and escorted from the compound where they would visit the nearest tavern while they waited for their carts to be emptied.

  With a quick glance, Samir checked the compound over the top board. Someone, presumably an overseer, had gathered the workmen near the lead cart and was speaking to them in quiet tones. The teamsters were departing while the labourers’ instructions were given, and the half-dozen guards at the gate, bored beyond tears, watched the few women pass by in the street outside with half-interest at best.

  With a grin, Samir beckoned to the others and clambered over the side of the cart, dropping lightly to the ground and running toward the warehouse, its great wide open doors welcoming him. Ghassan and Asima followed suit, their hearts racing as they slipped from the cart, across the open space unobserved, and into the shadow of the warehouse.

  The three ducked around the inside of the doorway and stood with their back to the wooden walls, drawing a deep and relieved breath as they scanned the interior.

  “What now?” Ghassan whispered. “They’ll be here in minutes to unload.”

  Samir shook his head. ”We have at least ten minutes. They unload the carts onto small trailers and then wheel them in here. It’s a complex business, but we’ve plenty of time to find something and slip out. Besides,” he added with a smile, “it looks like they’ve got some sort of trouble. That man outside is keeping the workers busy.”

  “You’ve still not explained how we leave here” Ghassan sighed.

  Samir grinned and pointed to the ladders that reached into the darkened upper corners of the warehouse, where they hooked onto the walkways.

  “From the top level, we can slip onto the roof. From there we’re the right height to cross the outer wall and drop into the alley.”

  “That’s a long drop.”

  Samir winked.

  “Not where I put the crates ready to drop onto, it isn’t.”

  Asima smiled. Samir always claimed to be the quick one, while Ghassan had the family’s brains. To her acute eye, however, it was clear that the brothers shared every talent in equal amounts. For all their differences, they were every bit the match for one another.

  Samir wandered along the wall among the crates, peering into occasional ones while trying to decide what trophy was most fitting with which to make off. With a shrug, Ghassan followed suit while Asima remained standing by the doors. There was more to think about today than mere trophies. With a sigh she picked up a small amphora of olive oil. That would do.

  Her heart skipped a beat as a man strode into the warehouse mere feet away from where she lurked. She had been so absorbed in their task she’d not heard him approach. Besides, there should be no one coming here yet. Silently, holding her breath, she dropped down behind the crates, cradling her amphora like a newborn. As she vanished from sight, she noted with relief that the boys had already disappeared behind obstructions. They must have sharper hearing than her.

  The man was tall; taller even that the nomads of the south, though he was clearly a man from across the sea to the north. Unusually large and imposing, he was dressed in dark leathers and a black shirt, with a finely-crafted chainmail shirt over the top. A curved sword hung at his belt, high and angled across him in the manner of a Pelasian. He had unremarkable brown hair, short and straight, and a neat beard covering a sun-tanned jaw. He walked as though he owned the world upon which he trod, though he was clearly no merchant.

 
With bated breath, she watched as a second man entered. This person was more than a head shorter and with blond hair, dressed in fine clothes and unarmed, gripped at his elbows by two unsavoury-looking men with Pelasian features and drawn blades. Asima bit her lip as the warehouse doors were closed ominously behind them by an unseen hand. The party of four men stopped in an open area of the warehouse and the rich man was dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

  “Trevistus,” the tall man said, shaking his head with mock sadness. “What am I to do with you?”

  The smaller man coughed and Asima was shocked to see blood trickle from his mouth, flowing through a gap afforded by two missing teeth.

  “I can pay you handsomely, Kaja” the man replied, his gapped teeth whistling unpleasantly. “There’s no need for this antagonism. I’m a man with connections.”

  The tall man… Kaja as he had been named, shook his head.

  “You used your connections to set a bounty on me; a large and very ostentatious bounty. Things like that can ruin a man’s day. You have piles of money, but then money doesn’t buy me peace of mind or heal my reputation, now does it, Trevistus?”

  The merchant, his panicked eyes darting back and forth, stammered. Asima shrank down, fearing that somehow the desperate man would see her through the crates.

  “But… wh… what can I do? I’ve sent a message cancelling the bounty. I am a man of means.”

  “You were a man of means, Trevistus.”

  The merchant’s eyes widened and he assumed the bravado of the cornered man.

  “You can’t do this, Kaja! I have friends on Isera; in the government itself. My factor lives in the palace. He knows Minister Sarios… even the Emperor!”