After more than an hour waiting – not at all tedious as I am fascinated by the inferni entering and leaving the city, many of them shackled slaves in the service of well-dressed owners – our guide arrives. Tall, portly, dressed in dark silks, he seems to look at us with the slight smile and unconcerned detachment of someone who has escorted dozens of outsiders into the city, not half of whom ever left it. His lacklustre manner is one of someone who does not intend to devote much attention to people who are only going to be dead soon enough. Strangely, I like him.
‘My name is Manuki Adad. And I bring you a choice. We Apili have allowed two realms to establish their embassys in our city: the Arkine Empire and Greyland. While present in Dūr-Abihâr, outsiders must reside in one of their hostels, either that administered by the patriarch of the Temple to Asa, or that administered by the high priest of the Church of Miya.’
‘Miya,’ says Lady Horsta right away.
‘Oh? You seem to be very certain about that.’
‘I cannot set foot in the temple of my sworn enemy, lest it be to bring wrath and destruction.’
‘Goodness,’ says Manuki Adad with a touch of admiration, ‘I’m tempted to bring you to the Temple of Asa just to see what that looks like. A fine, strong human female, full of fury. All that blood pounding through your body.’ He displays his fangs in what I interpret as a grin.
‘Greyland please,’ says Lisandra.
‘Oh, excuse me. I was getting carried away. This way.’
Under the dark arch we journey at last, into the city proper. Dūr-Abihâr is both familiar and uncanny. What the street urchin of Crumblin sees and recognises is the pattern of daily life: the stall holders with their foodstuffs, clothing, and everyday wares (I can see stalls for baskets, for tools, for ceramics). Less familiar is the way that most of the grey-stone buildings have a touch of translucence, as if they are stalagmites rising from the cave floor. And if that actually is the case, then a nimble rogue, nipping through tight alleys to escape a chasing foe might be unexpectedly confined, as though taking a wrong turn in a cave full of stalagmites and stalactites. They are small buildings too, nearly all just one storey, which means that a large ziggurat in the centre of the city is easily the most dominant building: and a good landmark to orient by.
In the Kingdom of Lost Souls the hard labour – especially on the fields – is performed by zombies, revered members of the community who have been given an afterlife to serve us again. Here, it is evidently performed by slaves and I am uneasy as a result of seeing so many despondent and pitifully emaciated inferni in chains. My sympathy for them is weakened by the fact that the brief looks I receive from the slaves who duck aside from our guide’s raised hand are always full of desire, for my blood presumably. I am, however, definitely distressed by the sight of other slaves who are not inferni, there are several humans here, a few dwarves too. And their expressions are pleading. At least until their overseers drag them away with whip lashes and blows.
Our group follows streets wide and narrow, busy and quiet, until we reach a circular, columned building that is well lit by baskets of glowing ferns.
‘The Church of Miya,’ announces our guide and steps up to the entrance, which has no door or gate. ‘Come along. You can tie your horse to that rail.’
Inside is a large hall with a tall, central sculpture of three women standing back-to-back facing outwards: a beautiful young woman with pale glowing vines across her; a middle-aged woman holding a baby; and an elderly woman holding a staff.
‘Hello? I realise you are unaccustomed to visitors but I must invoke our treaty and require you to take responsibility for the welfare of some new arrivals.’ Manuki Adad’s voice sounds loud here. Immediately, I hear footsteps in the distance and a woman in dark green robes soon arrives. With brown hair, vivid dark eyes and an attractive smile, the woman – a cleric of Miya’s – is very pleased to meet us and show us to a dormitory where visitors to Dūr-Abihâr can sleep in safety. Pleased, that is, until she learns that most of us are from Nekis.
‘Miya abhors the undead. You would be better off at the Arkine temple.’
‘Absolutely not,’ says Lady Horsta. ‘I am from Trolland and those backstabbing liars eliminated Daspartar from the world. I can’t tolerate them.’
The cleric looks unsure.
‘My dear High Priest. These people are not theologians.’ Our guide takes her hands. ‘They are not proselytising for Lord Scrithax. As per the terms of your presence in our city, these outsiders require the use of your hostel until,’ his voice lowers to a theatrical whisper, though it is still perfectly audible, ‘their deaths in the maze.’
‘I suppose so. But any hint of necromancy and their protection is forfeit.’
‘Agreed.’ Manuki Adad turns to us with a very serious expression. ‘Don’t fool around with the dead please. Not here, at least.’
Is he joking? Lisandra looks at me and raises her eyebrows. She must think so too.
Our quarters are simply mattresses on the floor of a wooden hall at the back of the church. An adjacent hall has an open fireplace as well as an oven and stores of food. Beyond the refectory are two small buildings set beside a channel of flowing water: a bathing room and the latrines. It is all very simple and might not be as comfortable as Lisandra would wish – I know she will dislike having to get up and down from her mattress – but it suits me perfectly well. They are stables too, for Pericles and the two other horses that are present.
‘I’ll leave now you have your place of residence. It was a pleasure to be your guide. I will meet you next when the horns blow twice,’ says Manuki Adad seemingly satisfied that we are safely housed.
‘Horns?’ asks Aarax and I’m curious too.
‘You’ll hear them sound from the top of the ziggurat. They are unmistakable in their noise, like the roaring of elephants. We start our day with one blast. After a quarter of the day, you will hear two – that’s our signal to meet again and I’ll take you to the maze – three blasts means three-quarters of the day is done and four blasts signal the time when all but troublemakers, thrill-seekers, thieves, corrupt priests, and assassins go to sleep.
‘Please do not go out after four blasts. And do not go anywhere without me. This is the most dangerous city in the twenty-five kingdoms. Even for an inferni. Even for the queen. There are factions within factions. Gang lords who rule districts. The Apili will do what we can to respect the law of the gods and get you safely to the maze. In the meantime, keep to the compound allowed to Greyland.’
‘Oh we will,’ says Gerard earnestly.
I, on the other hand, am trying to hide restrain myself from looking too eager to learn more. Gang lords? Factions within factions? Dūr-Abihâr sounds like home, only more interesting.
Soon after Manuki Adad leaves us, we are summoned to a meal, all seated on benches either side of a long table. Each place has a bowl, a plate, a fork and a beaker of water. Opposite the five of us are two dwarves and two humans, none of them carrying weapons or waring armour.
‘Even the worshippers of the undead lord are welcome to share from the bounty of Miya,’ says the high priest. ‘The cycle of life is everywhere and we thank Miya for her blessing.’
‘Thanks be to Miya,’ say the two humans.
A servant, or perhaps a young temple assistant like I am to Master Cathaldus, brings in a tray of fried meat, pale white where it has not been braised. Fish of some sort, I decide from the scent. After these have all been shared out, the servant goes away again and returns with a large pot of vegetable soup. And then, when I am feeling that I have eaten well already, I’m surprised that we have another dish, a pancake-type of dessert with a sweet, red sauce. I can’t help thinking of Mistress Withen and Master Cathaldus and how little they were subsiding on and how very much they would enjoy this meal.
Cheerful now, the formal atmosphere of the meal dissolves into a lively conversation in which I play no part, other than to nod or smile as appropriate. Even the high priest relaxes as he listens sympathetically to Lady Horsta explaining the betrayal of Trolland. Miya, like Daspartar, has paladins as her favoured class.
From the other side of the table I learn that the dwarves are merchants, here to arrange that rare gems mined by the inferni are exchanged for jewellery with magical properties, fashioned by Grimlar’s most skilful smiths. The humans are merchants too, from Greyland, where Miya’s followers need iron in return for supplies of grain. All the merchants agree, somewhat gloomily, that there is currently a danger of Queen Rasārte losing power to an alliance of the other two factions. And all their negotiations will have to start again with whoever came out on top.
This topic animates the high priest, ‘It’s so reckless of the inferni to constantly undermine each other. Zorland won’t hold out for long against the alliance and if they come for Greyland after that, we northeastern powers will need to unite.’
Before I can compose a question for Miya’s cleric, Lady Horsta asks what he means by the “alliance”. And I receive confirmation of what Bazule told me, that Ferrok, Kazatka and Peyan have conquered Tsichen and invaded Zorland. While everyone expresses concern about this development, I am not sure I share their anxiety. If Jomskar and Southway are forced to take troops and fleets away from their blockade of the Kingdom of Lost Souls, that will be a huge relief and give me months more to complete the epic quest.
While we are finishing our dessert (every plate will be empty soon, such is the enthusiasm around the table for the pancakes) I hear a pulse of high-pitched sound from some distance away. Then another. Then two more. The four blasts that our guide described as the signal for sleep. These metallic calls also act as a signal for the high priest to end the conversations.
We all help tidy up before retiring to the sleeping quarters. Our group are sharing the hall with the four merchants and while they do need seem at all threatening, as always we arrange watches so that there will be at least one of us awake throughout the night. I ask for the last watch.
With the others settled down and Belle keeping guard, I prepare a Disguise. The most difficult part of looking like an inferni is not the fangs but the red eyes. I will have to keep my eyes deep in the shadow of a large hood.
‘You are going out?’ whispers Belle.
‘Wherever I am told I must not go, then such a place is a lure to this crow. I want to learn and I want to roam, it is for adventures like this that I left my home.’
‘I wish I was coming with you,’ Belle pats my arm.
‘With my skills I can always flee, but could not do so if you were with me.’
‘I know. I know. I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you to be careful.’
‘By all means ask and I shall say, that with the greatest care I shall make my way.’
Walking with Stealth across to the door, I slide a metal bolt back quietly, aware of Bell just behind me. Then, after a final farewell, I step into a quiet street, the door closing and the bolt being pushed home behind me.
Here I am again, quickfinger rogue in a strange and dangerous city. And I could not be happier.