A Thousand Glass Flowers (The Chronicles of Eirie 3) (21 page)

‘Huh!’
Again the derision and then Finnian’s att
ention sharpened like a razor.
‘What do you mean –
my
kind?’

Ib
n tapped the side of his nose.
‘As I massaged, effendi, I opened up channels in your body t
o release the pent up tension.
Normally that is all that I do and I walk away observing nothing part
icularly out of the ordinary.
But with you I felt I had unleashed a tempest, so powerful was t
he energy whirling around you.
As I massaged, there was a
frisson
from my hand to my armpit that felt like a lightning bolt.’

‘And yet you were not frightened? You kept going?’

‘Effendi, you w
ere in trouble, you needed me.
And for me the compassion
is stronger than the concern.
The energy inside you, it was just a swirling angry mass, not functioning as it should.’

‘In Trevallyn, Ibn
,
’ Finnian handed his cup over to the stall-holder, shaking his head at the offer of another, ‘or in Pymm, you would be considered a wise man, a healer, or
if you were a woman, a carlin.
Tell me, what do you
think
I am?’

Ibn bent to Finn
ian’s ear, whispering, ‘Other.
Perhaps Færan?’

Finnian couldn’t help his eyes opening a little wider.

‘Hah.’
The tellak laughed but immediately
he adopted a more sober tone. ‘So.
As I said, I have seen strength and it is why you don’t need,’ he took Finnian’s hand and peeled it open, revealing the stark nakedness of the Black Madonna, ‘that.’

Chastened, Finnian looked deep into t
he honest eyes, seeing an image
of himself staring
back from the pupils.
He held the tablet out.
‘You are my conscience.
Once again I owe you.’

‘Ah, it is nothing.’
Ibn took the tablet and dropped it into the dregs of his drink where it began t
o dissolve into a black paste.
Tipping it upside down, he drained it onto the soil of the alle
y and ground his heel into it.
‘I hate to see people wi
th potential waste themselves.
Reme
mber the story of my brother? I would not want that for you. Tell me, you spoke of value.
Have you a s
ignificant other in your life?
Mother?’

‘Deceased.’

‘That is very sad.
Then father?’

‘Dead also.’

‘Siblings?’
Desperation tinged the tellak’s voice.

‘A twin.
Dead.’

‘Effendi!’
Ibn reached for Finni
an’s shoulder and squeezed it.
‘Then there must, for one su
ch as yourself, be a lady… ah yes, Ibn is relieved. I see it in your eyes.
She is beautiful?’

Lalita’s face filled Finnian’s mind and he nodded.

‘She loves you?’

Finnian threw back his hea
d and laughed, an empty sound. ‘Aine, no.
I think she believes I am detestable and feckless, certainly dangerous.’

‘Then effendi, if
you
value
her
, make her believe otherwise.
Your eyes, they are a window to your soul and I see in th
em that you crave her respect. No, don’t snort so, you do.
Or maybe it is that you don’t recognize it yourself.’

‘Oh my friend, I wish I knew.’
Finnian replied.  For once in his life he had a mentor, someone who understood
him.
The relief was immeasurable and he wished
he could divulge so much more.
But it was n
ot politic, he knew that much. Instead,
‘I’ve lost my direction, if I ever had any.’

‘Ibn has many such moments, and when that happens all I think of are the ones dearest to me a
nd what they would want of me.
What would this woman want you to do?’

‘Leave her well alone.
She fears me and repudiates me in equal proportions.’

‘Alright then,’ the tell
ak heaved an importunate sigh.
‘Let Ibn be your nearest and deares
t.
If you value his friendship then you will do what you must, for by accomplishing it you will earn
his
respect and admiration.’

Finnian looked at the wise face of this mortal who unaccountably would be his friend
.
If you truly knew what it is that I wo
uld do, would you respect me?
If I succeed in finding the charms, I have no doubt I will have your respect and your undying gratitude, for your sake and for the sake of your wife,
your children and your family.
But when I use them for my own ends, what w
ill you think then?
Ah Ibn, ho
w powerful is your mortal magic.
  Do y
ou push me to rethink my plan?
Maybe I must find the paperwe
ights for you and your family.
An
d for a cabin-boy and a scribe.
His mouth set in a line.

Maybe…

He climbed the stairway to the room at the Inn of the Two Doves and pushed the door open quietly, not wishing to disturb Lalita.

But the bed was empty, the room emptier still.

She was gone.

***

She had sat as still as a statue after he left, pieces of the tulip tile that had fallen off the wall littering the floor about her slipp
er-clad toes.
The titanic ferocity of his anger, the way it had blown up as quickly as a dust storm, blotting out reason and calm, had stunned her
.
One moment he had sat by her side, grateful for the story, the next the wind changed and she was faced wit
h a poltergeist.
He frightened her, he and this heady mix of emotions he carried – the melancholy that sat at his shoulder, the helpful solicitude as she hid from Curiosa, the anger – she
couldn’t reconcile any of it.
She shuddered, his
shouting face fresh in her memory.
But then her traitorous recall lingered on his earlier kindness and she admitted that her heart
had
skipped beat after beat as he looked
at her, she couldn’t deny it.
And when he touched her, she felt desire in her deepest, most pr
ivate places.
She lusted after it, any touch, even his shoulders pressing against her as he folded his body onto the dainty divan earlier.

She kicked at the tile, sending a sharp fragment skidding across the floor.
He mesmers me with his very proximity,
that’s all he does. None of it is real. Glamour.
It’s what his sort does.

She stood up
. He shan’t.
I
must
find the remaining paperweigh
ts and protect my tiny family.
I’ll not have
them
murdered on a whim.
She had no doubt her Uncle Imran would have considered her out of her mind, that her Aunt Soraya would have despaired but she also had no doubt Kholi would say
, ‘Please, Lalita, I rely on you.’

Kholi, I owe you this.
I owe our fam
ily this.
There is no one else, only me.
She would search and secure the third and fourth paperweights before Finnian and t
hus she would go to Curiosa’s.
She must make sure no others were hidden away.

Warm night air caressed her.
The town walls had kept the heat of the day compressed within the souks and the hour would approach dawn before the stale fug lifted like a blanket to allow the cold desert v
apours to cleanse and refresh.
As she walked, she pulled up the grey silk scarf to cover her hair and then wrapped it twice around her neck so she could blend as she inched into the shadows away from the light of torchères and braziers.

The night crowd was boisterous, the end of the week bringing with it thoughts of a different life, perhaps to relax and enjoy inste
ad of nuzzling the grindstone.
To most Fahsi citizens one day was the same as another – hard and hot and compiling seven days of each week where one worked to keep oneself or o
ne’s family fed and sheltered.
But the holiday spirit always infested the end of the we
ek and today was no different. Food vendors thrust aromatic end-of-the-week
morsels under L
alita’s nose as she pushed by. Drink stalls offered refreshing
bev
erages but she shook her head.
The pastry bakers held out trays of specially coloured nougats and sweets as something of the air of the festival hung around but she
ducked her head and walked on.
Musicians, acrobats and jugglers drifted along the edges of the ba
zaar, busking to small crowds.
As Lalita wove in and out of the shadows, she spotted a music-box grinder with a petite golden tamarind monkey dancing on his shoulder to a tune that unaccoun
tably reminded her of Finnian.
The music tinkled and plucked and sounded exotic and altogether Other so that goosebumps raced each other up her arms.

‘Lady.’

She ju
mped as a hand brushed at her.
An odd character smiled, his teeth
gleaming in the evening light.
‘Woul
d Lady like her fortune told?’
He grinned again and she saw the unmistakable red of betel juice in his mouth and it reminded her of blood and her stomach folded on itself.

‘No,’
she said, trying to pull away. ‘No thank you.’
But the fellow held tight, bald head shining in the
light of the flames all about.
In a second she realized that to draw attention to herself with this gypsy was a dangerous thing so she relaxed in his grip and said, ‘How much?’

‘Cross my palm with gelt but no silver.’

Alarm bells began to ring.
No silver?
An Other – surely not.
And yet silver is a curse to Others
.
As she scrutinized his
face, he winked.
She dragged out a brass farthing that Rajeeb had placed with others in her pocket.

‘Quickly.
I must rush.’

‘Ah Lady, do not be so h
asty, it is a dangerous thing. I shall read your palm.’
He turned over the hand that he held and with long fingerna
ils, began to trace her lines. ‘Hmm.
A powerful heart line and l
ook, you shall have great joy. Ah but here and here…
’ his face closed down, eyes shutting to mere slits, the mouth concealing the bloody betel stains.

‘Yes?’
She wished to be gone, the fellow was surely a charlatan and with every moment of delay, she chafed to be ahead of Finnian.

‘Thy life is short, though full of love,

Thy hand it fits so like a glove in his.

He is strong and thou must know,

For thee and thine, he must go

To where to follow, none ca
n return.

The hardest lesson thou must learn.’
And then the fellow was gone as if he was never there and his enigmatic words shivered th
rough her mind. Fate? A prophecy?
She had no time to ponder and pushed the rhyme to where she could not think about it as she once again resumed her shadow walk along the alleys.

Lantern upon lantern lit Curiosa’s, dancing off mirrors and silver plate, spotless
porcelain and gold candelabra.
Whatever hope Lalita had of creeping in was lost as
she glimpsed the luminescence.
Curiosa stood at
the door surveying passers-by.
One hand jiggled the pocket of his coat as he searched for something and the othe
r held a cigar.
Finally he found what he wanted and he struck at the doorfram
e with the match to ignite it.
But it fell from his hand and he bent, swaying,
Aine swaying,
and tr
ied to pick it off the ground.
He lurched back against the door-frame, turning the match round with great difficulty to its other end and this time succeeded in jumpstarting a flame, but then began the laborious business of lining the match up to the cigar.
He’s drunker than a lord.
A grin followed the thought and Lalita’s heart gave a little skip.
Aine be thanked.
He staggered back inside a
nd her resolve began to soar.