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Harb almost smiled. Did the man think he had been given
djinni gold that would melt by morning? He wished that were
so.
 Enjoy your stay, said the broken-tooth guard, as he
slithered back to his post.
You are going to get us killed. He did not reveal his
annoyance as he signed. They set out from the gate, going
north along the main street, dark as spilled Shapan wine. Z'ev
glanced at him, staring down his hawkish nose, but Harb was
not feigning subservience. Though you are no longer a valued
heir, my compulsion to protect you remains. But you will
make my task impossible if you do not listen to me.
The stone buildings all looked the same; Harb could not
tell one from the other, and already he felt slightly closed in.
Many of them were more than one story, dwarfing the street.
This is not natural. Harb paused on a street corner, letting
Z'ev catch up.
 Your compulsion... The other man's brow knit, and Harb
realized he had not known.
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He sighed. I am bound to look after you, sayyid.
Z'ev regarded Harb with young eyes in an old face. Can I
free you?
His entire body shuddered at the thought. It was horrible
to contemplate, being free to sate his urges in blood. Any
blood, all blood, anything that could run or struggle or fight.
He felt his heart thud in anticipation; it was all he could do
not to salivate.
I beg you not to try.
The older man considered for a moment, seeming to
realize what Harb thought. He must be remembering the
mare. And he only said,  I will try to listen to your advice. Let
us find somewhere to stay, old friend. Thanks to my pride, we
have only two kels with which to work a miracle.
And when Harb heard the word friend again so
unexpectedly, he knew it would require no compulsion for him
to willingly follow this man into fire.
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RETRIBUTION'S SEED
Since Abrim's exile, the House of the Lemon Blossoms had
stood empty, gathering dust. The abode was more horizontal
than its neighbors, a place of open galleries and a terraced
garden where a lemon tree grew beside a small pond. It was
a graceful thing with a trunk that seemed too slender to
support the upraised weight of limbs, bedizened with glossy
green leaves. A boy played beneath it, a thin child with a foxy
face and nervous eyes. Abrim sighed as he strode along the
stone steps when Isa saw his father coming, he flinched,
dropping his marbles with a dull thud. He had the luxurious
lashes of a girl and eyes liquid with fear like a startled gazelle.
 You have done no wrong, Abrim said with what he felt
was admirable patience.  I have only come to visit you before
I go out for the evening. What have you learned today?
In truth, Abrim despaired of the boy; his wits and health
both seemed sorely lacking. Isa could not speak without
stammering, and he preferred rolling marbles for hours to any
substantive amusement Abrim offered. The child's response
to his tutor was about as indifferent though Isa was six, he
still could not read or write.
Isa stared up at Abrim with timorous eyes.  F-four a-a-and
thr-three m-make s-seven, he managed.
 How clever. The child flinched as if he expected his
father to strike him, but Abrim had given up on beatings, as
they yielded no improvement.  Stay with Yolanthe and do not
venture out of the garden. Do you understand me?
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 Y-yes, sayyid.
Abrim stalked back into the house. He did not bother
seeing his concubine, as she knew very well that he would
flay her alive if she allowed harm to befall his heir. He had not
built his empire with blood and bone only to see it totter in
Isa's hands. If fate was kind, he would get a son from
Yolanthe, a strong boy who could see the beauty of what his
father had built, capable of acting with shrewdness and
cruelty when necessary. Because Abrim did not intend that
his line should remain merchants. One day, he was sure
House Abrim would number among the great houses.
He had made his fortune in silks and spices and less
reputable herbs outlawed in Inay. They had discovered that
too much marja whether chewed, smoked, or eaten
interfered with coordination, leaving many workers unable to
provide for their families. Unlike the temporary lapse caused
by pak, the damage was permanent. One could always tell
who had abused it by their lurching gait and flailing arms.
But Inayans still came to him for the bitter leaf, as it
produced a wild euphoria that quickly became addictive.
Abrim was foremost a businessman, and he saw no reason to
let the interdiction on marja interfere with its profitable trade.
Somehow, Nadiv had discovered the secret endeavor and had
confiscated his property, all but the House of the Lemon
Blossoms, which Abrim had wisely put in his brother's name.
He had not mentioned as much to his brother.
Fate had delivered the power to return to Inay after long
exile, and now that he was firmly in Nadiv's favor once more,
he would lay the plans for the fall of House Fouad. The old
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sha'al-izzat probably did not even remember stealing ten
years work from Abrim, ten years of careful planning gone in
the wave of a palsied hand. No, he doubted Nadiv
remembered, but he did. And Abrim never forgave a wrong.
He called for his bearers and stepped into the ornate
sedan, but he did not pull the curtain. The merchant wanted
his enemies to see not only that he had returned to Inay but
also that he was a valued member of Nadiv's council. It would
be interesting to see who scurried for cover and who called
upon him tomorrow.
 Adviser Abrim, he said aloud, as the bearers passed
women in black chadors and workers in dun tunics.
A beggar spat at them, and Abrim would have liked to cut
out his tongue, but he did not want to be late for his first
council meeting. They passed along the Path of Hope, the
trees withered with the chill of Behrid. The inner city was
beautiful. Nadiv, or perhaps Japhet, was meticulous,
employing a squadron to keep the street neatly swept.
Beyond the second gate and to the east, the crumbling clay
hovels were a vile warren that the guards did not patrol. Even
without the maze, Feroz was a cesspool in comparison, but he
had made a second fortune there, dealing in deeds darker
than the sale of marja.
The palace.  Set me down here, he instructed, and he
stepped onto the gleaming stones of the imperial walkway.
His bearers nodded, and Abrim did not think again of them
as he strode past the mutes who had apparently been advised
not to interfere with him. The fire-haired maiden awaited him
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just inside the main foyer, and he managed not to gaze
around with acquisitive interest.
 I will show you to the council chamber, she said, hardly
breaking stride.
Abrim fell in behind her, studying her leather-clad back.
She must be someone's favorite if she was permitted to range
freely through the palace garbed in a way that better befitted
a guard. He felt the heat of interest kindling, but he doused it.
Lust had no place in his dealings here. Besides, she spoke like
a savage; doubtless he would have difficulty distinguishing [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]