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croaked, "I'm in bed."
Azel stepped into the bedroom. The old man looked terrible. He set the lamp
down. "You were waiting? You were that confident I would get your message
right away?"
"No. I sleep a lot but I'm a very light sleeper. You woke me when you opened
the door."
Azel felt he had not made enough noise to disturb a mouse. "I'll have to
lighten my step."
"I have very good ears. Was that you with the boy in the alley today?"
"It was. It was a close thing."
"The Dartars were so interested Fa'tad himself came out to poke around."
Azel was astonished. "Really?"
"Yes. You be careful. That man has a nose better than my ears. Lay off for a
while. You don't have to round up the whole population overnight."
"Tell it to the Witch. I tried. She's got a thirty-brat backlog and it takes
three days to make sure each one isn't the one she's looking for. But she
won't slow down. She's gotten obsessed with the idea that she's got to get all
the kids rounded up before any of them kick off. Like she's sure that if even
one of them croaks that'll be the one she wants and she'll have to do the
whole damned thing over again."
"Behind another five- or six-year wait. I can understand her anxiety. I share
it. I won't live that long and I'd like to see results before I go. But not
negative results, which is what we'll get if Cado or Fa'tad catches on.
Fa'tad's behavior today indicates that caution is necessary. Would it do any
good if I were to admonish her myself?"
"No. Her deal with us is a marriage of convenience. She's only interested in
getting what she wants."
"Any suggestions?"
Azel answered with an uncharacteristic shrug. "I walked out. For the time
being. That'll slow her down."
"But she has other help."
"Yeah. Two other guys."
"Are they any good? Who are they?"
"They're good. Not as good as me, but good. One is named Sadat Agmed. He's in
it for the money. The other is Ishabal bel-Shaduk."
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"Comes of religious stock, no doubt."
"Very. He's the fanatic."
"The other sounds Dartar."
"His father was. He hates them."
"Could you persuade them to lay off for a while, too?"
"I doubt it. I'm not supposed to know who they are."
"I'll think about the problem. Anything else? Anything from Cado's direction?"
"He's expecting a new civil governor any day now."
The General smiled. A rare event. "That would be what? The eighth since the
conquest?"
"Ninth. They just send people they'd rather not have around but don't dare
kill in Herod."
"And the Living take the blame."
"Or harvest the credit. Was there some reason you sent for me?"
"The problem in the Hahr has become critical. As I feared. Quick action now
appears to be the only long-term solution."
"Ah?"
"This is a difficult thing."
"Is it? How soon do you need it?"
"Sunset tomorrow at the latest. But the sooner the better."
"That's tight."
"It will become difficult after that time. I thought you were going to scout
the terrain should action become necessary."
"I did."
"Can you manage?"
"If I must."
"You must. Will you need help?"
"No."
"Let me know when it's done."
"Right." Azel walked away from the old man. He tapped the lamp wick down and
put it back where he had found it. Then he went out into the fog. He did a
careful circuit to make sure no watcher had taken station while he was inside.
He believed in being careful.
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Bel-Sidek stood staring out at the fog that covered most of Qushmarrah. He
could not see much. On a night with a moon, that fog would have stretched like
a sprawl of silvery carpet from which parts of buildings grew. To his right,
on a slightly higher elevation, the blot of the citadel of Nakar the
Abomination masked the stars. Funny. Six years and still a black odor leaked
out of the place.
The Witch and her crew were still in there, still holding out, untouchable
behind the barrier only Ala-eh-din Beyh had been able to penetrate. How the
hell did they survive in there?
One popular theory held that they hadn't. It contended that the Witch and all
of Nakar's people had killed themselves after their master's fall.
Bel-Sidek did not believe that, though he had no evidence to the contrary.
From behind him Meryel asked, "Is it the old man?"
Without turning, he replied, "How did you know?"
"You only brood when you're troubled by someone you love. I think you've made
your peace with yourself about your son and your wife."
Bel-Sidek's son, Hastra, was another of those who had not come home from
Dak-es-Souetta. As Meryel's husband had not. Hastra, his only child, the star
of his heart. For years he had brooded the what-ifs. What if there had been no
Dartar treachery at Dak-es-Souetta? Win or lose, would the poisonous hatred
still blacken his blood? Was he, like so many men he knew, hanging
everything on the horns of the Dartar demon, so to evade taking any
responsibility that was his own? He'd never worked that out, only come to
realize that the brooding was as pathetic and pointless as the howling of a
dog over the still form of a fallen master.
The wife was another story. The wife had nothing to do with win or lose or
Dartar treachery. The woman, whose very name he strove to drive from his mind,
had deserted him almost before his wounds had healed. With the connivance and
blessing of her family. Almost unheard-of in Qushmarrah, a dowry abandoned.
But they'd had an eye for the main chance. And who wanted a cripple in the
family? Political or physical?
"There's you," bel-Sidek said.
"I never give you cause to brood."
True. Quite true.
The wife had run to one of the new breed of Qushmarrahans, that the Herodians
were making over in their own image. The man had adopted all the approved
dress and manners and had taken the conquering god for his own. And he had
prospered, collaborating with the army of occupation. And then he had died of
an inability to breathe, for which bel-Sidek had had no responsibility at all.
He suspected the General had given the order. He had not asked, and never
would.
"Is it something you want to talk about?"
"I don't think so." Out there, beneath that fog, men were moving. Some were
villains and some were soldiers of the Living. There would be bodies in the
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morning. And who would know which had been slain by whom? The General,
perhaps.
Let Fa'tad play his transparent games and take away the day. The night
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