A Thousand Glass Flowers (The Chronicles of Eirie 3) (22 page)

Walking around the shop he cursed audibly as he banged into things, reaching to snuff all
bar the oil-lamp on his desk. His shadow
moved and there was a muffled thud as he knocked against a gilt chair in the meagre light from the flambeau
s either side of the entrance.
Finally he stepped out and reached up to extinguish the lights, pulling the door behind.

But as he went to lock it, a beggar
accosted him asking for alms.
Curiosa pushed at the unfort
unate, sending him on his way.
Disdain manifested in the exaggerated flick of his coat and then the antiquarian turned and walked haphazardly into the alley maze, leaving a gaping hole of daring behind.

I swear he didn’t lock the door.
Lalita’s heart galloped and she headed across the street, walking with brazen confidence because to
scuttle would smack of intent.
Outside Curiosa’s she grunted and bent toward her slipper, taking it off to shake a pebble out and finding it necessary to lean a
gainst the lintel of the shop.
As she shook her footwear with one hand she allowed the other to run down the frame, feeling for the latch of cold iron, whereupon she moved her finger and slipped it into the space behind.
Thank you, Mother of the World,
half a smile stretched for half a second as her eyes lifted heavenward.

She glanced around.
The coffeeshop was closed, all activit
y humming from distant alleys.
The backs of a pair of clerks were disappearing toward the bazaar where she could hear tabla and
horn and shouts of enjoyment.
An elderly man shuffled past and gave her a look as if she were in the way as she struggled with her slipper but then
he was gone and she was alone.
She heard approaching steps and with speed, pushed the door ajar to slip inside, grabbing the handle on the other side and turning it so it latched without a sound.

She stood perfectly still
surveying the room, her nerves stretched so tight sh
e wondered if they might snap.
She needed to pinpoint where to go, do it and leave before her body knocked something in he
r anxiety and caused a tumult.
The journey from the door to the lamplit desk and back again reminded her of a journey through a massive forest where every step could entrap, bringing wights down upon her b
y the mere snapping of a twig.
Between she and the desk there was no straight path, only a meandering track edged with stands of chairs and chaises and tables piled high with ridges and peaks of fragile glassware and porcelain.

To her left the casement clock ticked soothingly and in the dim light she could detect the smile on the moon-face, taking
it as an omen of good fortune.
She was positive Curiosa would have put the carpetbag on o
r under the desk after she left
if he hadn’t locked it in
his private rooms.
But that was a risk she must take and she began to creep forward, edging between candelabra and épergne until she reached her most immediate destination, the desk with the lamp, light poo
ling in a perfect gilt circle.
She surveyed the marquetry top but there was only sheaf upon sheaf of ledgers and an ormulu bowl fil
led with quills and reed pens.
She knelt down and felt underneath in a subfusc that smelled of dusty carpet and aged timber and the cloying aroma of a bin full of cigar end
s.
Her hands moved over the thick slub of the Raji ru
g and then she felt it – a lump.

Her hands ran up worn plush until she came to a leather handle and a catch and her breath stuck in her throat.
A quick puff and she unlatched the bag, feeling around in
side.
There was tissue, an ocean of it concealed in the dark depths, and it crackled loudly within the cavernous quiet of the shop, more and more tissue but no paperweights.
None.
The noble
lady’s address then, quickly.
Move on.

She slipped her fingers over first one page and then another of Curiosa’s paperwork, dragging each to the light, checkin
g, seeing nothing but numbers.
And then she saw it, a dark leather book, slimly bound with a tooled cover saying
Curiosa
and she knew it was an address book. Her hand reached out but the booklet began to slide down t
he angled surface of the desk.
She
moved to grab it but too late.

It hit the floor with a muffled thud
.

Not so loud then
, and she let her breath gush out.

Stepping back she forgot about the enameled bin filled with cigar ends and her heel hit it with a sound as strong as if
she beat a giant temple drum.
Her heart increased its frenzy, sweat prickling in her armpits as she listened, frozen in time and space.
Nothing.
I can’t believe it.
She breathed quickly.
I must g
et the address – at least that,
I must have that.
She picked up the book and turned to beat a hasty and most necessary retreat and as she did she cried out.

A vast shadowy bulk filled every avenue of escape and a hated voice whis
pered in her ear.
‘Ah, my angel niece, how good it is to see you again.’

Chapter Sixteen

‘Don’
t touch me, you street hyena,’
Lalita snarled, rabid hate wishing all manner of deaths on the man in front of her.

Kurdeesh’s thick fingers tugged one last time at the bonds that pinioned her arms and then moved toward her face to pinch her ch
eek hard before he stood back.
‘Watch your tone, Lalita, and then spare
a glance at your predicament. You’re trussed like a hen.
And what a
naughty chick you have been.’
He guffawed as he ran his fingers up her arm, letting them linger as he
skimmed them over her breasts.
Lalita shoved a shoulder at
him but it only made him laugh.
‘Escaping from the Royal Seraglio – ah well,
there
is a death sentence!
Ste
aling as well, my little bird.
Surely there shall be pain then,
much
pain before death.
W
hat shall it be, do you think? The loss of a hand?
But
no, it will be death outright.
Have you seen w
hat they do to women like you?
They might stone you, stone upon stone until you are a battered
but very dead mess.
Or they might bag you up and throw y
ou off a tower into the Ahmad. But no!’ He snorted. ‘They might behead you.
Ah, my love, such promise to be ended in such a way.’

Lalita spat, the mucous landing on hairy toes spread over the w
idth of his sandals.
The fool hadn’t searched her, neither pocket nor trousers and the dagger lay a
gainst her skin, taunting her.
Aine, if she could get at it
, she would slit his eyeballs. ‘What do you intend, Uncle? To inform on me?
Then think on thi
s.
You murde
red your brother and his wife. Don’t sneer at me, you pig! I can prove it.
I stake my life that you have things of value stolen from Imran’s and Sora
ya’s house as you killed them.
The Sultan knows this already, I told him when he informed
me of their deaths.’
A growl rose from her throat so that she barely recognized herself, satisfaction as she
noticed her uncle’s pale face. ‘I will tell you this, snake.
Do
you know what the Sultan said? No?
The death of an odalisque’s family is the d
eath of the Sultan’s family.
The last I heard, it
was a fate of much magnitude.
Drawn and quartered, I believe, and flayed, but I think the flaying
happens before the butchering.
And there’s such a lot of skin to flay, isn’t there?’

Kurdeesh advanced on
her, his jowls trembling. ‘Shut your mouth, bitch.
I could kill you now if I liked but Curiosa wants the wretched
paperweight so I must tarry.’
His massive body towered over her and she smelled sweat breaking through the cover of sandalwood and she hel
d tight to her courage.
‘After that Lalita, precious little flower, I
will snip you off – like so.’
He made slitting movements over his throat, one way and then the other.

‘I’
m not afraid of you, Kurdeesh.
You want
to indict me for the stealing?
By all means contrive it but you risk your own fate by doing so and as for Curiosa, the paperweights he claims as his are stol
en and he took them knowingly.
It is not a huge leap of faith to think that his entire collection has
been acquired in like fashion. It would be easy enough to ascertain.’
She forced he
r face not to collapse with the fear that edged along her nerves, dra
w
ing herself up. ‘I’ve nothing to live for.
You took away e
verything that was dear to me.
You will be doing me a kindness by ending my life forthwith.
I care not.’
She moved to sit on a box, turning away so she would not, could not, see his face because if she could she w
ould have ripped it to shreds.
Out of the corner of her eye she had an image of her uncle’s large body swaying and then the sound o
f air moving close by.
A punch clouted the side of her head near the temple and she fell forward, stars shooting across a galaxy and ears roaring before succumbing to a stultifying blackness.

Her uncle’s voice vacillated faintly from a far-off distance as her head throbbed, a pain settli
ng deep in her temple and ear.
‘If you hadn’t been drunk, you would have bee
n here to handle her yourself.
She trie
d to escape. I hit her. So?

She lay still, keeping her eyes closed as the two disgruntled voices tra
cked back and forth.
A warm dampness soaked under her cheek and she realized she had cut her head on falling, striking her forehead on
some unforgiving obstruction.
Outside in the yard, she heard Curiosa’s hens clucking and horses’ hooves clattering over cobbles with the voice of an underling speaking to the beasts.
After dawn?
How many hours have passed?
Her brain curdled under the effort of thought and she decided it was easier to lie still and listen to the two men s
quabbling than to rationalise.
She shifted her head slightly so she could watch them.

‘Find out where your wretched paperwe
ight is, Curiosa, and be done.
The longer that little whore is around, the shorter our li
ves shall be I am telling you.
Better to slit her throat the minute you know.’

‘Kurdeesh,’ C
uriosa held up a shaking hand.
‘I don
’t wish to know what you plan. That’s your business.
Mine is to have my property returned and that is all.’

‘But it suits you to have m
e finish her off, doesn’t it?’
Kurdeesh sucked noisily on a
betel nut.
‘Otherwise the true provenance of your wares will emerge.’

‘
Alright.
But
I want the paperweights first.
Something tells me the items are
more valuable than I thought.
Maybe if I can get the two your niece has, I can sell them to that noblewoman although Aine knows she unsettl
es me to the edge of my being.
You have no idea – the way she looked at me with those violet-ink eyes shrivelled my soul.’

Lalita glimpsed his fingers curling into a horn sign and then dragging out a set of amber worry
beads from his pocket. The trembl
ing fingers passed over each bead looking for solace and a rush of delight surged through her a
s she watched the beads shimmy.

‘I
f I can contrive the fortune I think the bits of glass might be worth then I shall leave
Fahsi,’ he continued. ‘I’ve had enough.
Time to be scarce.’

‘Souls, Curiosa?
I am think
ing you sold yours long since.
For you the gelt was always worth more than a mere shriveling, eh?
Surely.’ Kurdeesh laughed. ‘You are one of my kind.
I counted m
y blessings the day I met you.
Just think – if I had not killed Hobarto when I did, you would ha
ve had no paperweights at all.’ He sniffed. ‘But enough.
The little chit must be dealt with.’

Heavy footsteps vibrated through the floor under her cheek and she shuddered as a hand grabbed her shoulder, shaking her
. Murderer.
Slum-dog.
‘Come, angel niece,’
the meaty fingers pinched her.
‘Wake up, little flower.’

A groan escaped reluctantly as her brains rattled, her cut face scraping across the floor as he pulled her into a sitting position.

‘Aine Kurdeesh, what have you done to her? Look at her face.’

Warm blood trickled freshly down her cheek and she longed to wip
e it away, too proud to do so.
Curiosa came toward he
r with a clean piece of linen. ‘Don’t touch me, infidel.
Don’
t,’ she hissed as he advanced.
‘I mean it or I shall scream.’

Curiosa looked despairingly at Kurdeesh and again there was that swishing sound of air moving before her head whipped sideways with the
impact of an open-palmed slap. Kurdeesh’s voice growled.
‘The paperweights – the one Imran gave you and the
one you stole. Where are they?
Tell us a
nd we shall go easy with you.’
He ran his f
ingers over her burning cheek.
‘You never know Lalita, we might even let you go.’

Lalita fought against the panic threatening to overtake her, memories of a lifetime of sec
ret threats from her fat uncle.
‘And if I don’t?’

‘Oh,’ Kurdeesh thrust her onto a pile of jute bags and
began to pull at his clothes.
‘I think you will.’

‘Kurdee
sh,’ Curiosa’s voice screeched.
‘
I shall not be a party to this. Do not.
She is you
r niece.
How
can
you?
It’s
immoral
!
’

Kurdeesh turned back to the antiquarian and spoke
with words that choked Lalita.
‘And who would know, Curiosa, because y
ou
won’t tell.
Morality or
otherwise means little to me.
I have always fancied the little sweetmeat so if you
don’t want to watch, go away.
You want to know where the paper
weights are, I shall find out.
Leave.’

‘Tell him girl, tell him please, and
things will go easy with you.’
Curiosa begged as he turned away.

Lalita deigned not to answer but her heart stopped for one second as the curtain fell behind him and
Kurdeesh untied his trousers.
At that moment she would have been grateful even to be crawling up the Sultan’s bed and she wriggled backward with fearful desperation, her hands clawed in front of her
and tied in bonds that were…
Aine, they are broken.

Kurdeesh grunted blindly as he spread himself over her, unaware of her hand scrabbling at
her waistband.
As his weight began to lower, his hands pulling at her trousers, the curved dagger settled itself in her palm and she closed her eyes, stabbing upward with a frenzied hatred that f
illed every inch of her being.
She pushed the blade harder, twisting and turning it, every movement an expunging of the pain she had felt at the deaths w
ithin her family.
Opening her eyes, she met Kurdeesh’s staring back at her with surprise.

He collapsed, an avalanche of flesh crashing down on her.

‘Here, Lalita, my hand.’
Finnian’s voice drove through the horror.

‘Get me out. Help me.’
Hysteria began its inexorable climb as she reached for his hands to pull her from under the massive carcass.

She began to shake, a wave of nausea flooding through her as she beg
an to retch and then to vomit.
Finnian held her until she emptied but even so she began to
fold, her knees caving.
His arms caught her and she knew nothing more until f
resh air slapped at her cheeks.
Finnian held her upright in the back alley
as chest-cleaving sobs began. ‘I k…
’

‘Ssh,’
Finni
an whispered close to her ears.
‘Say nothing, Lalita, now
is not the time for sentiment.
Cry if you must but later, f
or we must not be caught here.
Can you stand on your own?’

She nodded, panic almost blinding her.
The paperweight.
The locket.
She scrabbled in her pocket and at her neck and caught a glimpse of her fingers, stained and sp
attered with Kurdeesh’s blood. ‘My hands, my clothes.’
She dragged frantic fingers back and forth through her garments, trying to scrub the blood away.

‘Hush,’ Finnian hugged her close and as she struggled to wipe the gore, her clothing changed – a heavy black sari and plain leather sandals, her hair wound ti
ght, her hands clean and soft.
He picked up the excess of a veil and draped it around her neck over the locket and she sequestred her shaking fingers amongst the folds of fabric.

‘We must go, Lalita.
It may only be a matter of mom
ents before they find Kurdeesh.
Quickly, w
e must get down to the ghats.’
He spoke with urgency and she tried to focus her eyes more clearly as if lo
oking at him would ground her.
His dark grey costume was now a plain homespun black, the image of
a man in heavy mourning.
His hand slid along her shoulders, supporting her as she began to stumble alongside and a wave of fear crashed over her as
the weight of his arm settled.
She
thrust at him, shoving him off. ‘No!’ S
he stood like a trapped wild c
at, unable to think. ‘No, don’t touch…
’