SHORT STORIES

In Tatlankel once I lacked a partner for a game of kernels. This was of some disruption to me, as I considered the opposing team to be a rare combination of affluent, foolish and unlucky. Winning was a sure thing and even when split with another the purse could support me for some time. So it was that I participated only as a spectator and felt the chagrin of vicarious loss as others fell to the aforementioned ill-starred and inept (but well-financed) pair. At that time I faced a most dispiriting period of loneliness, one which troubled me greater than any such before. I have often lacked for close companions, perhaps owing to the unwelcoming face I present to the world. It was as my mother said: “Titi, you do not have the build nor the grace for dances, so you should develop all other charms in order to find a suitable match.” I did not heed her, however, and instead learned to wield weapons. Perhaps I thought to do my duty to the Suzerain, chosen of the gods, in that manner. Neither that august personage nor his young successor ever sought to make my acquaintance in return and thus I remained largely alone. My sole acquaintance of more than passing familiarity was Shile, known as the Busybody. He was of no assistance in the previous matter for he disdained games of chance. When sounded out on this he favored me with an apology as sincere as any would get from him. “I find no allure in the random. Were this a matter of skill or knowledge you’d find me your willing accomplice but I cannot abide matters being decided by the whim of the gods.” In this he meant no disrespect, I think. It is true Shile was not a religious person but he was speaking of things decided not by the action of mortals rather than rejecting the hand of the divine in the movement of the world. I recounted my “loss” in the game of kernels to him during a chance meeting and he obliged me with a sympathetic laugh though my misfortune surely meant little in his estimation. We were reposed by the edge of a chinampa raised from the lake on the outskirts of the city, a fine place to relax and converse without interruption. My feet were trailing in the water where I sat and Shile was more fully immersed, with only his arms resting on the reed-lined bank. As is the daily habit of his kind, he had changed his legs for a fish’s tail. “It so happens,” the muruch’s smile presaged my involvement in some enterprise of his, “I’ve a commission which could benefit from your abilities and understanding, rather than your luck.” My expertise remains mostly in swinging an axe, so it was no surprise Shile’s client was involved in military matters. When introduced later that day, however, I found they were known to me. Our appointed rendezvous was a beer hall in the Precinct of Two Paths frequented by river travelers. I admit to lacking close associations, so the most I might have expected in such a setting was to vaguely recognize a fellow gambler or drinker. Imagine my surprise at finding an acquaintance from years past. “Is it… it is! Titi? To find us both in the same place! We’ve come so far since the garrison.” I recognized him immediately: Taharka’s scales still possessed the same pretty green shade that saw him mocked without mercy when we were both recruits, and his build still lacked the brawn that would have dissuaded the abuse. His easygoing perseverance eventually saw him to better standing, while my disposition kept me observing from afar. “Do you not remember? Say something!” Even the most simple answer seemed well out of reach. “I thought you might know each other,” Shile interjected for me, “you both seemed of an age, and trained in the City of Beetles.” I could feel myself shrinking away from the conversation and was only too happy to withdraw. It might have been impossible to be more awkward than I was at that moment: tall, stammering and dressed plainly among colorful travelers from across the Suzerainty. “Titi has been my confidante on many matters requiring discretion,” continued the muruch, ever smooth, “and acquitted herself admirably each time. I have no doubt she will be of great aid in resolving your concerns.” Taharka’s concerns were, as it happened, monetary. Following our training he became a quartermaster, charged with equipping the Strong Arms to face the invaders in the south. He worked with three others of his station: Nuamac, Horemheb, and Akanthe, levying taxes and hale bodies, tallying captured materiel, and turning the previous into more soldiers to send to battle. The vagaries of procurement for the Strong Arms were such that the four developed many informal agreements amongst themselves to accomplish their work, and formed something of a clique. They could recognize each other’s missives by a certain sign, an arrangement of hieroglyphs showing a basket of arrows, one for each of them. While listening, I entertained the fantasy that the armor I’d worn and the weapons I’d carried had been sent by Taharka, perhaps indirectly saving my life. In reality we were supplied poorly and often went without sandals, bandages, or rations beyond what was foraged. It was only a fantasy and the twist of the tale to follow would highlight this. However, for that moment, the daydream brought me comfort. I believe I was briefly in command of myself enough to mumble something about it having indeed been a long time since Kheprikel. Taharka looked at me questioningly, for it was so late to have been a non sequitur. I subsided once more. Following the Treaty of Means and Endings, it developed that one of these close colleagues, Nuamac, had diverted looted riches worth hundreds of rods for his own gain. Demonstrating his guilt, he avoided punishment by fleeing into exile. Because the treasure was never recovered a cloud of suspicion hung over the other three and they were forced to resign in disgrace. In the years since the war they had individually found success, as is the way of those with such connections. Horemheb and Akanthe worked together and became comfortable from trade with the city of Amber, while Taharka himself enjoyed modest success assaying ore in the south. “So, two months ago, I received a letter from Akanthe which intimated I was entitled to a large bequest,” he finally arrived at the present day, “I traveled here to Tatlankel where she and Horemheb have taken residence at the old Strong Arms garrison.” “In truth, I expected no bequest. This was a term we used as quartermasters to describe certain windfalls.” Taharka had the grace to look embarrassed by this admission and I nodded to encourage him to continue. Shile merely watched with expectation. “When I arrived, I found the pair quite unsettled. They were restoring the old garrison building on the shore of the lake and quite busy at it. The training grounds were dug up and sections of the barracks had been demolished for refurbishing. It was a great deal of work but this was not the cause of their unease.” “They had received a letter themselves which contained only our old sign, that of the basket of arrows,” Tarharka’s perturbation at this was genuine, I felt. What he said next would bear this out. “Despite having invited me to the city they now seemed reluctant to confide in me.” My heart sank for him. It was obvious that some underhanded dealing was in the offing. Such seems an inevitability when unclaimed money comes between friends. “Did they suspect you in the commission of the mysterious letter?” Shile asked. “I feel that must be it,” the former quartermaster replied sadly, “I am not even certain Horemheb wanted Akanthe to relay this development to me. He was eager to return to their work on the garrison building, a pretext which entailed compelling me to depart.” Shile had that look about him which I believe others might mistake for intent to make trouble. To one more versed in the art of Shile interpretation it could be recognized properly, however. This was an outward sign of his agile mind finding pry-points in a tangled situation. “But now, you have been summoned once again and you feel it imprudent to attend without support.” To one as used to Shile’s leaps of logic as I, it was only natural for him to say such a thing, but Taharka was surprised. “Why, yes! Since arriving in the city, I heard stories of your ability to resolve disputes, particularly in the affair of the concubine’s spectacles, and so I sought you out. Fortuitously so: last night I received a hastily-jotted missive from Akanthe that she and Horemheb had made a grand discovery and that I should join them on the morrow.” I recalled the incident he mentioned: it had been handled with some discretion, but apparently now resided in the realm of rumor. “By all means, let us go and see.” Shile tightened his kilt for the walk to the lake’s shore. The garrison of the Strong Arms was an imposing edifice even in its neglect. The Nomarch of the City of Wisdom kept the warriors of the Suzerainty at arm’s length by offering land on the lake shore so as not to have them within the city itself. However, the majesty of the Dynast insists upon a great display, so the barracks were of dressed stone, tall, roofed in slate, and decorated all about by a veritable army of statues. Gods, warriors, dynasts of old, all were represented in the encircling host. Now they were the only proxies remaining for the Strong Arms in Tatlankel. “To have purchased this old place!” I was bemused. It was large, and undoubtedly expensive, but it was also run-down. The statues were weathered and damaged, one of a cowering hierodule near the front path missing its head. As Taharka described, the grounds were dug up and tidy piles of planking and stone for renovations were arranged near the barracks. “Your old colleagues were comfortable indeed,” Shile had a similar thought, but as always reached a bit further. “Or they expected to become more so very soon.” He paused by the damaged statue for a moment of inspection. Taharka’s calls of greeting to the barracks received no answer, so he assayed to knock upon the heavy door. Shile took this time to circle the grounds with measured paces, peering into the open pits and crawling on the rich earth, muddying his knees. The soil was excellent, and farms encircled the garrison on all sides. “We are barred,” Taharka admitted when Shile joined us at the door. It was locked, and there was no answer despite his loud calls and knocks. I observed that the lower windows were all set with iron bars and the upper were set outward to discourage scaling from below. It was, after all, a garrison. Shile looked concerned, and I intuited he suspected some ill had already befallen Horemheb and Akanthe. At the enticement of a few copper links, a beastkin from one of the nearby farms was dispatched to the city proper to fetch the Flower Guard. While we waited, the muruch confirmed by testing each entrance within reach that none had been forced. Taharka watched with open curiosity, and I remarked to him that this was Shile’s way. I had to repeat myself, however, for I must have spoken too quietly on the first attempt. The arrival of the Flower Guards coupled with Taharka’s testimony of worry for the inhabitants gave license to force a window. The brawniest of the responding guards assisted me in wrenching the rusting bars from the old stone of a window-frame, and we were in. It was revealed the front entrance was not only locked but hastily braced as well. A search of the barracks uncovered mostly empty dormitories. Evidence of Horemheb and Akanthe’s restoration efforts abounded, with floorboards pulled up, walls demolished and part of the cellar excavated. In an upstairs room, once an office, I think, the ceiling was torn down. A statue with an unrecognizably weathered face stood before the window, seeming to stare sadly at the mess. Tools and the debris of construction were scattered about. This was where the most recent work had been performed. “May I stand on your shoulders, Titi?” Shile asked me. I boosted him to examine the space between ceiling and roof and he clicked his tongue as if finding what he expected. The Ward Leader of the Flower Guard strode in to survey the room and planted his hands on his hips. “I’ve spoken to your Taharka downstairs!” he announced with rough humor. Taharka belonged to neither of us, but the meaning was taken. “To my eye, his friends tore this place up looking for some hidden riches and, having found it, absconded to divide it without him! Very unfortunate, but not a matter for the Flower Guard.” “I believe I can confirm your theory in part, Ward Leader Tlacelel.” Shile seemed to know him, having probably met every Flower Guard in the city during the course of his various interferences in their business. “There are drag marks in the dust above the ceiling, demonstrating the removal of a heavy chest or other container. See the ropes there? Fibers stuck in the rafter show a loop was thrown over it to lower something to the floor.” He pointed to discarded cord among the tools. “That’s it then!” Tlacelel laughed and puffed out his dark-scaled chest. The tall feathers on his armored cap wobbled. He was very proud that his guess was correct. “I’ll be taking my troop back to the city now if you please!” “Actually, if I might trouble you to search for one more thing,” Shile’s grin showed a sliver of saw-blade teeth compared to Tlacelel’s fangs. “I believe a crime was committed here but need some confirmation of my own. Could you have your fellows look to where the garrison grounds border the lakeside? Tell me if there is a statue there of a beastkin.” One was indeed located shortly thereafter, right at the shoreline. Meanwhile, I helped Shile climb to the rooftop where he conducted an investigation of his own, extracting a roofing tile and bringing it down. With these new discoveries, we all gathered once more in the upstairs room. “I’m afraid that Horemheb and Akanthe are dead,” announced the muruch with no preamble. Tlacelel gave a bark of disbelief and Taharka looked aghast. “Truly?” asked the former quartermaster. “Yes. We are unfortunately in the presence of the former right now.” Shile gestured to the statue. “Observe the obliterated detail of the face? This was accomplished not with time and neglect, but with a chisel. The rest of the statue is quite new-seeming, is it not?” The wicked tool lay right there on the floor surrounded by dust and chips of stone. Taharka looked with new eyes. “Neath keep me! It cannot…” But he did not believe his own protest. “And the statue of the headless woman by the gate,” continued Shile with sad implacability, “Akanthe. Also newer than the original statuary. The killer sought to hide the victims’ identity to confuse the crime committed here and prevent their restoration to flesh.” “The beastkin?” prompted Tlacelel. “An accomplice, but probably an unwitting one,” Shile explained, “I imagine he is dressed in courier’s garb?” The Ward Leader nodded, looking dyspeptic at Shile’s continued string of correct surmises. “If a search is conducted in the Precinct of Service, or perhaps the Precinct of Reeds, it will be found there is a boatman and his craft now missing.” “Something was found here, this is true.” Shile was well-warmed to his explanation now. “Horemheb and Akanthe sent for you, Taharka, to split their find with an old comrade who’d suffered disgrace along with them. But someone else arrived first. Akanthe was surprised at the gate and done away with. Horemheb attempted to barricade himself within, but also succumbed. Their find was lowered from the window and the perpetrator escaped with it via the lake, silencing the boatman along the way.” He plucked more fibers from the crevices of the window sill: the rope had been used there too. “But see here!” the Flower Guard shook his spear at the petrified Horemheb, “who is going about turning people to stone? No petty magewright or jungle witch has that power.” “That is the mystery, is it not? There were two villains. One wore boots, favors their right leg owing to chronic pain, and chews white lotus for the same. They waited below. The other…” He presented his slate from the roof. In the pitch newly-applied during the renovation, there was a bare footprint, showing bands of scales, but of an odd arrangement. “This is not the footprint of your people.” Indeed if one examined my foot, or Taharka’s or Tlacelel’s one would find a different pattern of scales on our soles. Tlacelel scoffed. “You cannot tell all this from whatever arts you practice.” “Before our friends from the Flower Guard were called and added their footsteps to the mix, I searched the grounds. There were four sets of imprints: two of sandals, one indistinct, and one of boots.” Shile was undeterred by Tlacelel’s doubt and indicated the statue of the unfortunate Horemheb. His stony feet wore graven sandals. Akanthe’s petrified remains had as well. “I could make nothing of the indistinct prints until discovering the one clearly pressed into the tar on this slate. The booted prints were always uneven, the left more deeply imprinted than the right. The right imprint’s sole was crisp and unworn compared to the left, so this limp is a persistent one. I found chewed lotus petals spat where the boot-wearer waited below the window.” Turning to Taharka, he addressed the former quartermaster. “Did Horemheb or Akanthe have such a habit?” My old acquaintance’s face was slack and his scales were the color of a wilted fern. I wished I could comfort him, but my arms were immobile as if also turned to stone. He shook his head, downcast. “But Nuamac might have?” Shile pressed him. Shock and suspicion dawned on Taharka’s face. “He was originally from the City of Wisdom.” Lotus plants grow in vast profusion and variety on Lake Wenarehk and their use, medicinal or otherwise, is common in Tatlankel. “The other letter! The sign of the basket and arrows!” “Did Nuamac have any skill in the magical arts?” “None,” answered Taharka, “perhaps, then, it was not…” Shile shook his head. “No, it means that Nuamac’s accomplice is the more dangerous of the pair. There is still some mystery here. If they were a potent spellcaster, there are other methods of committing this crime, and at greater range. Whatever power they possess, they inflicted it on poor Horemheb and Akanthe almost within arm’s reach, and neither stood a chance against their assailant. Akanthe’s statue was cowering, but it was because she suddenly realized her visitor was Nuamac, not you, Taharka. Horemheb was able to block the entrance and then retreat to the room with his treasure, but still stood no chance in close quarters when his doom entered via the window.” The muruch caught my eye and his expression was very serious. “We must be guarded in our pursuit and confrontation. I enjoy a puzzle, but this is a dangerous unknown.” “You will give chase?” Both Tlacelel and Taharka blurted a variation of this and I might have as well, had I not known Shile as I did. To my mind, Nuamac and his deadly accomplice could already be well down the Sethrum river if they’d struck during the night as it seemed. “Of course,” the muruch’s smile had returned, “we have good Taharka’s bequest to recover.” While I have not been one to deny Shile’s schemes, I felt uncommonly motivated when the goal was presented. “Nevermind that!” boomed the Ward Leader, catching the contagion of our resolve, “this Nuamac has affronted the Nomarch’s peace! He and his accomplice will face strangulation like the common criminals they are.” Shile enjoined the Flower Guard to make ready and have a swift boat available. He theorized that despite the apparent head start, the fugitive Nuamac would avoid travel during the day owing to the undoubtedly strange nature of his accomplice. The muruch and I departed back across the causeway into Tatlankel proper, where he had further investigation to conduct. A small purse of copper chains was liberally spread among the urchin rabble that frequented the byways of the Precinct of Trades and treated the entire city as their playroom. Shile made use of their services regularly, for he could not be everywhere at once himself. This irregular band was tasked with learning who was missing a boat and its owner, as well as to be on the lookout for a fellow with a limp and a mysterious accomplice. Before the day was out, the unfortunate courier had a name: Thisruss, the husband of a fishwife from the northern edge of the city, had not returned home after being hired to the shoreline. Her perturbation at his absence had been vocally public. From the description provided by the muruch’s juvenile informants, we were hunting an elemental-propelled vessel with red-stained hull and varnished teak gunwales. It was a fine craft, which made the murderous theft from a hard-working family even more cruel. Armed with this knowledge Shile advised the Flower Guard on their quarry and inveigled our presence in the pursuit. When twilight came Shile and I found the Flower Guard making ready their own commandeered boat. Of Amberite design, it had spindle-springs to turn two engines and could be counted on for great bursts of speed, if not endurance, before its winding ran down. While the final preparations were made, I had a moment to speak with Taharka, who would remain behind. “It truly is remarkable chance to meet you again,” my old comrade said. It was, but I was reduced to a gangly adolescent drilling under the merciless sun in Kheprikel at his words and could not reply. Thankfully he did not seem to notice. “You and Shile have done so much, and in the face of a danger I couldn’t have guessed,” Taharka continued, “we are no longer Strong Arms. The world is at peace, no one should have to fear a magical threat like this.” My experiences since the end of the war presented a rather different reality, but I would have done anything to protect that admittedly naive view. “Ai, Titi! We launch!” Shile, already embarked, called out. When I joined him, axe in hand, he gave me a knowing look to which I could only shake my head. It was Shile’s surmise that Nuamac would attempt to flee down the Sethrum rather than upriver despite his stolen boat’s capability. Another vessel crewed by the Flower Guard had been posted in that direction in the event he was wrong, but the muruch was certain enough to have placed himself on the downstream craft. While we waited in the descending evening among the scattered chinampas and weirs outside the city, a number of muruch gathered around our boat in the water, gossiping as to our business. It seemed Shile’s young auxiliaries were not so circumspect in their investigation during the day. These onlookers might be of his kind, but when they called to him he gave only casual answers, devoid of elaboration. It was not the first time it struck me that Shile kept a certain distance from other muruch, both the riverine and ocean-dwelling sort. A cry went up, first from one of the Flower Guard, who could see well in the dark, and it was soon echoed by all the onlookers. “The boat! The boat! Give chase! Look at it pick up speed! To the chase! Go!” Indeed, the spray behind the little red courier kicked high as the bound water elemental jetted it from a reed-obscured canal and into the open lake. Our boat’s pilot knocked the moderators free of the springs and we lurched after them. Racing wind buffeted us and tousled my short hair. The Flower Guard held onto their caps and headdresses lest they be carried away. The engine’s escapement rattled furiously as the boat’s screws ran all-out. Behind us the muruch gawkers cried out in excitement, leaping and swimming after. I could see two figures on the fleeing craft, one at the wheel, poncho whipping behind him, and another at the stern, a woman by her figure, with her head shrouded under a heavy wrap. She raised a self bow and loosed a shot at us, then another. One struck the little pilothouse of our boat and the other clattered on the deck, sending myself and the assembled Flower Guard ducking for cover. The fugitives had an early lead, but the dual engine of our borrowed craft could not be denied. It was soon apparent we would overhaul them before our springs wound down. The figure piloting the boat, surely Nuamac, braced the wheel and staggered to the side. He reached down, and began hurling things overboard. Gold and silver arced from his hands to glitter in the moonlight before splashing into the lake. I hammered the deck with the butt of my axe in dismay at the spite of it. Knowing the game was up, he was dumping his stolen hoard! Suddenly Shile was at my side. The brown scales in the pink skin of his face brushed my cheek as he spoke to make himself heard over the commotion of the chase. “Have a care,” he warned me, “Nuamac’s accomplice will reveal herself soon. I haven’t guessed the manner of her threat, but it will manifest when you are near.” I resolved myself to be the first to board, the better to confront whatever might come. Let the Flower Guard see to Nuamac. I tucked myself down behind the feathered shields of the Flower Guard for the woman continued to barrage arrows at us as we drew parallel. Closer and closer we came and in the dark I could clearly see the speckled pattern of her scales. Aside from the muffling cloth about her head and face, she was simply dressed: a narrow wrap around her chest and a laborer’s breachclout with patterned hem. She braced one bare foot on the teak rail of the courier boat as it bounced over the water. When we closed I pushed between two shields and leapt to the other vessel. The Flower Guard were still crouched to avoid arrows so I held my axe aloft and ready to strike. The woman threw aside her bow and tore away the cloth obscuring her face. I could see perfectly well but what I was seeing confused me in the tumult of action. Her hair was done in ropes, or so I thought, and splayed about her head as a mockery of the sun. Her tongue tasted night air between fangs bared in fury. Her eyes tried to catch mine, and they burned with such terrible threat that description fails me. I might have recoiled were I not already sailing bodily across the gap. As it was, the shock of her gaze spoiled my aim and I collided with her rather than dealing a blow with my weapon as I’d intended. We tumbled to the deck. Her hair struck at me as we wrestled, for it had the heads of snakes! Heedless of their stinging bites I planted a hand on her face and turned her awful eyes away from me, toward the planking. With my other hand right below the blade of my axe I chopped down on her neck with such force as to spray splinters from the impact against the wood beneath her. I was dimly aware of shouted orders and the jolt of the two craft meeting. More Flower Guard jumped into the boat and clubbed Nuamac into submission. My breath came in heavy gasps as I rose to my knees with my fingers still clutching the now-limp snakes which grew from the scalp of the woman’s severed head. Her eyes were rolled back and half-closed, and whatever power they held must have fled with her life. Pumping lifeblood slicked the deck. Our audience of muruch spectators soon arrived, cavorting around the tangled boats while the Flower Guard sorted themselves out. They cheered and yelled questions, eager to know how the chase had ended. Some dove to the lakebed, no doubt searching for the valuables which had been thrown from the boat during the pursuit. Nuamac was only dazed and soon returned to his senses, defiant. Under questioning by Shile and the commanding glares of the Flower Guard, he confessed to the crimes of murder, theft, concealment of the same, and fleeing the Nomarch’s justice. Beyond that, he spun an incredible tale of his travels past the northern horizon during his exile. It transpired the conspiracy had been wider, with Horemheb, Akanthe, and Nuamac all involved in the embezzlement, abetted unwittingly by Taharka’s competence at requisition of funding. But Nuamac betrayed the others and secreted the chest of pilfered loot above the garrison ceiling with the intent to return for it when he was able. I supposed that Akanthe’s later attempt to involve Taharka in dividing the stolen wealth was out of pity: he’d been disgraced with the rest while being the only blameless one. After Nuamac’s theft was discovered, he fled to the city of Topaz. This put him beyond the reach of the Suzerainty’s law but he had no friends there and no way to reclaim his ill-got gains. Fearing bounty hunters or the vengeance of his swindled colleagues, Nuamac signed on with an expedition departing from that city to beyond the northern horizon. In that benighted and mysterious land the expedition foundered. The explorers were winnowed by disease, by hardship and privation, and by terrible creatures undreamt-of in the known world. Nuamac was not unscathed: he received a crippling injury, leaving him with the limp that still troubled him. Soon only a small band remained and they were taken captive in a place he called the Land of Blindness. This region beyond the law of the gods was peopled with hunched, cowering creatures, hirsute and unscaled like beastkin or humans. They had no eyes, however, for they were ruled by a race of women with snakes in place of hair who could turn a mortal to stone with a glance. One by one, the expedition’s survivors succumbed to the dark attentions of these monstrous queens, until only Nuamac was left. Early on he had blindfolded himself and refused to be parted from that safeguard no matter the temptation. During the years of his imprisonment there, he befriended an outlaw of the ruling class, and together they escaped to flee south. Many were Nuamac’s other travails before he returned to civilization and they will now never be known. A few days after his apprehension and the death of his accomplice he faced the Nomarch’s justice alone, and was strangled with a cloth. What he did admit, however, was how upon his furtive return to the Suzerainty he found his old colleagues methodically searching the garrison for his treasure. Horemheb and Akanthe had deduced on their own that it rested somewhere within the walls of his old haunt and therefore he plotted to murder them with aid of the dire sculptor from beyond the northern horizon. The specifics were much as Shile described from implication and Nuamac was utterly without remorse. “I have suffered and seen more than any of you who judge me can fathom. I lived blind for years in terror that my eyes would betray me and I would become one more statue among the bleached millions in that blasted jungle. For all your efforts, no one will enjoy my treasure now, and good riddance to it!” Sadly, his final imprecation uttered in my presence was true. There were only a few scattered gold measures and other trinkets left rattling around in the bottom of the recovered chest. Shile presented these to Taharka, having acted as his agent in their seizure. After the agreed-upon fee was paid to the muruch, Taharka donated the rest to the House of Welcome so that the priests would work a ritual to return the courier Thisruss to flesh. Far from begrudging this generosity, I could only sigh in admiration at the gesture. Even as recruits in Kheprikel I had adored his kindness and good nature. Shile portioned out the usual allotment for my assistance in the southern coins he’d been paid. I was comforted with the knowledge, even if the intent was unspoken, that we would surely remain acquaintances and work together in the future. Taharka was left at loose ends. Long was the distance he traveled from the south for the promised bequest. Now he was without such, without the friends who summoned him here, and without the career he left behind. He looked forlorn, waving goodbye to Shile as the muruch departed with his usual jaunty step. We stood together after that leave-taking though neither of us truly possessed a reason to linger in that spot. “Do you play kernels?” I managed finally, after a number of false starts, “I have need of a partner, from time to time.” “I have not played before,” he answered, “but I would like that very much, Titi.”