The Palace Pt 01

This is a bit of a departure for me. It's unlike my previous stories. I put it in the Science Fiction and Fantasy section because it is set in a place and time of my creation. I hope that it will appeal to you.

*****

Zamarka, in the 44th Year of the Reign of the Emperor Zoer

Minika woke me earlier than usual. She knelt by my bed, wearing the blue and white robe I had bought her. It was her favourite - and mine.

- "Your father is coughing again." she told me.

- "So early? Is there blood?"

- "A little." she admitted. "But he is sleeping now. I gave him the last of the medication."

- "Then I will have to get more." I said, swinging out of bed. Minika helped me dress. She insisted that I eat breakfast before leaving. I kissed her on the cheek, and set out.

All the familiar sounds and smells of the carpet makers' district assaulted my senses. Fortunately, the tallow merchants were three streets over, and usually downwind.

I exchanged greetings with friends and acquaintances, and made my way towards the center of the city. In no time at all, I realized that my errand would be neither swift nor easy.

General Pitarryat's troops were entering the capital, fresh from their victorious campaign against the Anysi nomads. The main streets were jammed with camels, laden with supplies and booty. The animals were surly, for they could smell the water of the fountains, but only a few beasts could be watered at a time.

One ill-mannered camel bared his yellow teeth, and bellowed at me. I side-stepped nimbly, in case the brute was tempted to snap at me. Unfortunately, that put me directly into the path of another of his brethren, who sneezed, spraying me with a viscous glob of camel saliva-snot.

I wiped it off as best I could, and took to the side streets. My progress there was little better. There were horse archers and lancers. Then there were Roxoni auxiliaries, with their braided beards, and bracelets woven from the hair of their vanquished foes. I even saw some of the Household cavalry, with their enormous, half-armoured horses.

Every street, it seemed, was jammed with the General's troops, jabbering in four or five languages, already planning to spend their share of the loot in the capital's wine shops and brothels. Fortunately, these establishments were far from our humble home, so we would be in no danger if some of the troopers got out of hand.

I took to the alleys, which were crowded with other civilians, come to gawk at the soldiers, or trying to go about their business, as I was. It took me over an hour to reach the street of the apothecaries - normally only a twenty minute walk.

And there were more soldiers. These, however, were instantly recognizable as Palace guardsmen. They wore green robes, and ornate helms. They also had semi-precious stones on the crossguards of their tulwars.

There were a dozen of them, and they eyed me suspiciously as I approached. They were escorting a person of some importance, evidently, for there was an expensive palanquin waiting just outside the shop of Sumad, the very apothecary I had come to see.

I kept my distance, and found a shady spot to wait, from whence I could observe the scene, without appearing to do so. I had no desire to alarm these guards - or even to attract their attention.

The palanquin was made of expensive wood, brightly painted. Its screens were exquisitely well-made, as they would allow a passenger to see out, and to receive fresh air, while still sheltering them from prying eyes. A pair of burly slaves knelt at either end of the palanquin. They were no longer breathing heavily, and did not appear to be sweating excessively - this told me that they had arrived some time ago.

This impression was confirmed by the demeanor of the Palace guardsmen. They were past the first stage of alertness, beginning to become bored with their post. Only one man, a dark-haired fellow, with a neatly-trimmed beard and aquiline nose, took any interest in me at all. He scrutinized me twice, but apparently came to the conclusion that I posed no threat.

Sumad's door opened, and his exalted customer came out. The guardsmen instantly sprang to attention. It was a Lady - no doubt. She wore voluminous robes, covering her from throat to foot. A silk head-scarf and a web of gold bangles and jewelry hid her head. Only her eyes could be seen.

And in that moment my life changed forever, though I did not know it at the time.

For I saw her eyes, and - more important - she saw me.

Her eyes were surprisingly large, even at this distance, and heavily made up. That was all I saw. For her part ... I could only guess why she stopped, suddenly, and looked at me.

What caught her interest? I was just twenty-one years old, and moderately tall. But I was not particularly handsome, or striking in any way. My clothing was modest, at best. My fingers were stained with ink, which gave away my vocation as a student, a clerk, or a tutor. I was all three of those.

She spoke to the nearest guard. He nodded, and came around the palanquin, as another guard helped her to climb in.

- "You!" he called, pointing at me. I simply inclined my head as he approached. Free men in Zamarka do not bow or kneel to common soldiers, even if they are Palace guardsmen.

- "At your service." I said, politely.

- "And I at yours." he replied, completing the traditional greeting. But the look on his face made it clear that he meant it only as the merest formality. He guided me over to the side of the palanquin.

The screen opened, and I saw her eyes again. At close range, the effect was striking. They were large, and of a lustrous brown colour. Her upper and lower eyelashes were traced with copious amounts of kohl, and her eyelids were painted with some copper-coloured tint.

There are those who will tell you that they can read the nature of a person's soul through the gateway of their eyes. I am not one of those. But I had always been somewhat adept at guessing a person's character based on their face. My first impression was that this woman was highly intelligent, and wilful to an inordinate degree. She was plainly accustomed to getting her way.

- "What is your name?" she whispered.

- "Carrach." I answered. "Carrach al-Batir."

- "Where do you live, Carrach al-Batir?"

- "Wool street. At the Semmyet fountain." I answered.

- "You heard that, Sartag?" she whispered. This was directed at the guardsman with the aquiline nose.

- "I did, Lady." he replied.

She took one last look at me, and closed the screen. Sartag gave me a curt nod. The slaves picked up the palanquin, and their procession moved off.

I will admit that I stood there for a moment, somewhat adrift. I had no idea what had just happened. Finally, I gave my head a shake, and entered Sumad's shop.

He was neither the best apothecary in Zamarka, nor the most famous. But he was an old friend of my father, and I trusted him. Sumad had known me since I was a little boy.

I was surprised to see that he was more than a little flustered. He was also sweating profusely.

- "Carrach!" he said - much too loudly. "Ah! Good - good to see you!"

- "And you, Master Sumad. Are you well?" I asked.

- "Yes, yes. Ah - listen, Carrach ..." He drew me close. "This last customer -"

- "The Lady from the Palace?"

He frowned. "Exactly. Ah - Carrach - could you - would it be possible for you ... not to speak of this to your father? Or, ah - to anyone, for that matter?"

- "You are asking that I not speak of your previous customer." I said. "Then I shall not."

Sumad sighed, and relaxed. As I said, he had known me since I was a boy, and knew very well that I would keep my word. He asked then what I needed, and when I told him, went to prepare my father's medicine.

But Sumad was still very nervous, obviously shaken by whatever had transpired with the Lady from the Palace. I knew this because Sumad forgot to offer me coffee. He had a servant girl who usually made it for him, but he had evidently sent her away, so that she would not see or hear the Lady of the palanquin.

He also did something unusual when he handed me the vial of medicine. I held out the three coins to pay him, but Sumad closed my fingers over the money.

- "No charge, Carrach." he said. "Let us say, simply, that in exchange, you will not speak of this morning - to anyone."

I had already agreed. Saying so a second time did not make it any truer. But that was what Sumad wanted, or needed, so I repeated myself.

- "I will not speak of it. To anyone." I promised.

It took me

two

hours to get home.

******

Two Years Earlier

My father believed that when the Gods give with one hand, they often take with the other.

Thus, when the Great Fever swept through the capital, and our entire family was afflicted, my father rallied and survived, while both of his wives (including my mother) perished. Likewise, all three of his sons were spared, but his only daughter, the apple of his eye, perished. Three of our slaves also died.

My father was Batir, a shrewd and prosperous merchant who traded mostly in almonds and pistachios. His eldest son, my half-brother Nandal, was called into the army. The second, my half-brother Tabar, prepared to follow his sire into the family business. But my father thought that I showed promise in another direction, and paid for a succession of tutors, so that I gained a solid grounding in mathematics and astronomy, poetry and philosophy.

Nandal was killed in battle on the frontier, a scant month before our great victory over the Kilchiks. Such was the scope of our triumph, however, that the capital was inundated by a flood of cheap slaves. My father purchased three of them: a mature woman, by the name of Roush, to clean for him and warm his bed, and two more, one for each of his sons.

In his wisdom, my father allowed us to choose for ourselves.

Tabar chose Shurkka, a saucy little minx with pert breasts and swaying hips. There was no question why he wanted her. But Father was intrigued by my choice.

I selected Minika because of her face. In the years ahead I would come to know it well. On that day I did not see the scar near her left ear, where an overseer's whip had marked her. I did notice the puncture wound just above the corner of her mouth, on the upper right side, where her first owner had pierced her face in order to ring her - a practice so barbarous that he should have been arrested and flogged for it.

But I did see Minika's broken nose, and her scrawny body, which told me that she had suffered. And yet the expression on her face won my heart.

Father saw her physique, and the evidence of her mistreatment, too. But he questioned my instincts. "Generosity is a noble virtue." he said. "But you cannot save every slave in captivity. She will have to work, and serve you, and know who is the master. Will you be able to teach her that? Or will you feel sorry for her?"

- "Look at her, Father. She does not feel sorry for herself. Look at her eyes. She is intelligent - I am sure of it. But even more important: she is kind. It shows in her face."

Father put his arm around my shoulder. "It may be that you are right."

We paid for all three, and brought them home. Tabar took Shurkka to his bed that very night, and every night thereafter. In time, she became spoiled, and wilful. But that was none of my affair.

Father declared his intention to retire from trade, and gave his business to Tabar, along with the bulk of his capital and property. But I could not complain, for he gave me a small house on Wool Street, closer to the Scholars' District, where I could pursue my studies, and find work for myself. He also provided me with a generous sum of money to spend as I wished.

I did purchase a few books, but saved the bulk of it, lest I should need it someday.

Minika kept my house clean. She washed, and cooked, and tended to all of my needs. And she was all that I hoped for: intelligent, kind, and a good companion. I waited three months before sleeping with her.

Within the year, Tabar drove my father's business into the ground. He kept his bad investments secret, and hid his losses by taking out loans, which he could not repay. He then borrowed even more unwisely, to cover his first debts. Ashamed of his abject failures, Tabar took his own life.

My father's house was sold to cover his son's debts, along with all of his moveable property, including Roush and Shurkka. My poor father was left with nothing but the clothes he stood in, and his reputation. His health began to fail.

Friends came to his aid, with gifts of clothes and money, but Father was too proud to accept. At my invitation, he moved into my little house, where Minika and I could look after him.

- "I am indebted to you, Carrach." he said. "The last of my sons, and the only one wise enough to live within his means. I have been a fool."

- "Nonsense, Father. You had the foresight to make me a gift of this house, and to provide me with money. I could not have come to your assistance, were it not for your own wisdom."

He was easy to live with, except for his illness. He joined us at our evening meals, sharing tales of his business ventures in the past, and the history of Zamarka before my time. Father made no demands of Minika, and treated her with great respect.

- "You were right, that day." he said to me.

- "That day?"

- "When I purchased poor Roush, and your brother chose that little strumpet. I should have seen it as a sign of his poor judgment. But you chose wisely: you told me that Minika was kind, and you were right." My father shook his head. "I have many regrets. But the Gods have truly blessed me in my son."

We discussed books, and he met many of my friends, fellow students and tutors. He was unfailingly polite to them, and joined in our discussions of poetry and philosophy. For their part, my friends were surprised to discover that the old merchant was an intelligent man.

But Father's medicine was expensive, and there was no alternative for it. I gave up my studies, and concentrated on tutoring the sons of other merchants. Most needed to learn only basic arithmetic, and perhaps a smattering of poetry. These young men wanted only to please their fathers, or to enrich themselves. It was dull work. No one should have to teach those who do not wish to learn.

If my days were mostly dreary, the evenings were mostly pleasant. When his health permitted, my father was good company. And Minika was never too tired for lovemaking. She was indispensable to me, and I showed her my appreciation in every way that I could.

That was how things stood, on that day that I met the Lady in the palanquin.

*****

It was perhaps a month after the palanquin incident. Father was feeling better. We had eaten well, and Minika was cleaning up after dinner.

- "I have done you a disservice." said my father, out of the blue.

I knew where this would lead. We had had this conversation before. He would argue that he was a financial burden, and that I was not free to pursue my studies. "You are no burden, Father." I said. "It is a pleasure to have you with us."

- "You might be married, by now, if it were not for me." he said.

- "I am too young to think of marriage." I replied.

He snorted. "And too poor, now, with an old man to support."

- "Father - I would have nothing, were it not for your generosity, and your foresight. What I have is yours in the first place. And we have plenty to live on."

- "But not enough for a wife."

- "I have no need of a wife, for now. Minika takes good care of me." At that point, I heard footsteps outside the house. A moment later, there was a loud knock on the door, repeated three more times.

When I opened it, I found myself face to face with the Palace guardsman I had seen outside Sumad's shop.

- "At your service, Captain Sartag." I said, remembering his name.

- "And I at yours." he replied, quickly. "May I come in?"

It would have been rude - and pointless - to refuse. I stepped back, and he came forward, closing the door behind him. I introduced him to my father.

- "At your service, Sir." said Sartag.

- "Yours and your family's." said my father. "What brings you here this evening, Captain?"

- "I am no Captain." he said, in a manner that made it plain enough that he believed he

should

be. "But I come on Imperial business. Your son is summoned to the Palace."

- "The Palace? Whatever for?" Father looked to me, but I was equally surprised.

- "I am not at liberty to reveal the reason." continued Sartag. "But you must wear this." He produced a hooded cloak. Then he addressed my father. "I must also ask, Sir, that you not speak of this to anyone."

- "When will he return?"

- "I cannot say." answered Sartag. "I am only a messenger."

Father and I exchanged a look. 'I do not like this', he seemed to be saying. I could only shrug. What else was I to do? I embraced him, and kissed Minika on the cheek, and then followed the guardsman.

Sartag was not alone. Outside, there were two other soldiers, a palanquin, and four slaves. Sartag bustled me into the conveyance, and we were off.

It was an unusual way to travel, and not at all comfortable for one accustomed to having his feet underneath him. The slaves moved at a surprising pace, which did nothing to make the journey more pleasant. I could not see very well through the screens, either.

All I could note, as we entered the Palace grounds through the Water Gate, was the number of soldiers posted everywhere. They were not all Palace guardsmen.

We traveled for another five minutes or more, until the slaves came to a halt. Sartag opened the screen.

- "Hood on. Head down." he ordered.

- "Why are there so many soldiers?" I asked, keeping my voice down.

- "No talking!" he hissed at me. But as I emerged from the palanquin, he whispered "The Emperor is ill."

He led me up a flight of stairs. I had never been inside the Palace before. I was, of course, intensely curious. But Sartag hurried me along, and it is impossible to see very much while wearing a hood, with your head down.

What I did see were the incredible patterns painted on the smooth stone floors. They did not seem to be worn by the passage of many feet, so they were obviously covered by some sort of wax, or lacquer. But they were not sticky at all, and the colors were vividly bright.

We rounded a corner, then up another flight of steps. The floor here was of wood, but painted bright blue. It occurred to me that it would be much easier to navigate such a large Palace if the floors were colored differently in the various wings.

We came to a door guarded by two soldiers in green robes. I did not raise my head. We were expected, it seemed. Sartag ushered me inside a room. Only when the door was closed did he speak.

- "You may remove the cloak and hood. Stay here - and touch nothing." That said, he left me alone.

There was nothing to do except to examine the room. The carpets on the floor were worth more than my house. There were thick mats, for sitting on, I supposed, because this did not look like a room for sleeping. I noticed a small, low table with writing implements - surely the Palace had legions of clerks, and did not need to import one more.

The room also contained a number of chests, ranged along the walls. They were the work of a single master, similar in style and materials, but each one featured minor individual differences. The walls were most impressive. Two were covered by paintings. One showed a procession of dignitaries on foot, wearing rich robes, jewelled turbans, and such. This painting cleverly flowed onto the next wall, which depicted a durbar, a ceremonial gathering of some sort. I did not understand its full significance, but I could admire the artist's talent.