Emissary (9 page)

‘No, he is well. He has drawn my ire, that’s all,’ he said casually.

‘Oh?’

‘That’s all,’ he repeated and she could tell from his tone that he would not be giving her any more on this subject. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t make it her prime business to learn more but she had subtle methods for achieving that. And the notion that Pez had finally displeased a Zar was too
delicious a prospect. This day was certainly turning out well. She patted his arm, smiling inwardly, but deliberately and deftly changed the subject as she reached for a glass of blood-red pomegranate juice. Quite fitting as a choice of beverage considering what was about to occur, she decided. ‘I was just remembering how this chamber was when I was chosen for the Zar’s harem.’

Boaz sipped the drink in his hand and she could see it simply gave him something to do. He was clearly distracted, showing no interest in her comment. She tried again. ‘So tell me more about the mute guard, Boaz.’

He sat up straighter, presumably understanding now that he must appear more interested. ‘These men you see here,’ he said, his goblet arcing across her line of vision, ‘have been selected as my new private bodyguard.’

‘Selected?’

‘Volunteered first, then culled for suitability and finally interviewed by me as the final seal of approval.’

‘And these fine young bloods are going to watch over you day and night. You explained that the Vizier was worried about some sort of attack.’

He nodded. ‘These men are all trained in the fighting arts and can protect me. They have committed to memory a series of signals so we can communicate—they are all in perfect health.’

‘I can see,’ she said approvingly as the line of men stripped down to their plain white baggy pants, revealing hardened, sculpted bodies. She was reminded of the Spur in a similar stage of undress just a year ago and how that sight had brought a rush of blood to her cheeks.

Tariq cleared his throat and the royals gave him their attention. ‘My Zar, Valide Zara,’ he said, bowing graciously, ‘these men will protect you with their lives. And though they will always be close to you, my Zar, what they see will never be revealed.’

Boaz nodded. ‘Do you men all freely volunteer for this role?’

Each, except one, who had been kneeling now stood, bowed and said the words, ‘I do, my Zar, I give all of me.’

Boaz frowned at the last man, who, at a signal from the Grand Vizier simply bowed and put his hand over his heart. Boaz glanced towards Tariq who gave a smug, almost imperceptible nod, as if to tell the Zar to remain patient, all would be revealed.

The Zar took a slow deep breath before he gave the next command. It frightened him to accept what these men were prepared to give for him. ‘Let it be so,’ he finally said. ‘Proceed.’

Boaz and Herezah watched as each man’s head was shaved in ritual fashion to the special chants of the Elim who were present. The song that the
men in red recited was one of farewell, similar to the words expressed prior to being ‘cut’ as a eunuch.

Each of the volunteers was then given a tiny glass of a dark liquid to drink.

Tariq whispered nearby. ‘We wait a short while for that to take effect.’

‘What is it?’ Boaz asked.

‘The dulling potion,’ Herezah answered for Tariq. ‘It doesn’t prevent pain but it puts the victim into an introverted mood, I’m told.’

Tariq nodded, impressed. ‘The Valide is absolutely correct,’ he said. ‘It takes them within themselves. The physic who prepared this potion says it makes them feel safe, at peace. We could do anything to them.’

‘That is considerate of you, Tariq,’ Boaz commented, not used to any pity being shown in the more barbaric practices of Percheron.

Herezah’s and Tariq’s gazes met. Herezah looked at the Vizier, expecting to share a mutual understanding. They both knew that this was nothing to do with being considerate and although she anticipated that Tariq would pick up the cue and explain more to Boaz, she saw only amusement in the Vizier’s eyes. She didn’t understand but then there was little to understand about Tariq these days. Herezah explained the procedure herself.

‘This is not done out of kindness, son,’ she whispered, ‘it is given to these men to keep them
still. A struggling man is a difficult one to “cut” accurately. Putting your volunteers into the soft stupor we speak of will ensure an easier time of it for the administrators.’ She had chosen her words with care.

‘I see,’ he said, showing none of the disappointment he felt surging through him. ‘Mother, do you enjoy witnessing events such as this?’

‘No,’ came the reply. ‘But I will never shirk my duty.’

‘It was not your duty to witness this. I invited you to attend or not attend. The decision was yours.’

Herezah again risked laying her manicured hand lightly against his arm. It was done with affection and she was delighted that he did not pull away despite his grumpy mood. ‘I understood the nature of your invitation. I do not feel compelled to be part of the grisly process of making a team of mutes. I do, however, see it as my duty to stand by the Zar, to support him in all of his endeavours, to help bear the burden of some of the less pleasant tasks and to share his pleasure at his successes. What you do today is unpleasant but important, Boaz. I know that you like beauty—in this you are your father all over again,’ she said, smiling softly, ‘and this is why I’m here, to be at your side through the uglier challenges of your role.’ It was eloquently done.

Boaz was once again struck by his mother’s strength. It wasn’t a revelation—he had always known it but now she was using it to help him, seemingly, rather than to help herself. All of his life his mother had used him as her means of elevating herself. Perhaps now that she’d attained that role of Valide—something she had dreamed of since arriving at the palace, probably—she could give her attentions for selfless reasons. He didn’t have Pez to talk this through with. The loss of his friend stabbed like a knife constantly in his back.

‘Thank you, mother,’ he said. And meant it.

They returned their attention to the approaching Grand Vizier. ‘My Zar, Valide, we will now begin the Making of the Mutes. May I proceed? I must warn it is…messy.’

‘Proceed,’ Boaz said, knowing there was no way back now.

They watched as the physic in charge of proceedings, who was one of the Elim, blindfolded each of the men, except the last one again.

‘Who is that fellow?’ Boaz enquired of Tariq. ‘I have not met him.’

‘No, Majesty, you have not. But I will explain his presence shortly. The men are being blindfolded because it is believed that the Elim performing the maiming must not see the suffering in the eyes of each victim. It is considered bad luck.’

‘Such a superstitious lot, the Elim,’ Herezah said, ‘they don’t seem too worried by what is perpetrated on the women of the harem.’

Tariq left that comment well alone. He noted that the Elim caught his gaze and he nodded.

The first man was held, his arms pinned from behind.

‘I can see now how the potion makes them compliant,’ Boaz whispered to his mother.

He watched as the Elim physic encouraged the man to open his mouth and once that occurred it all happened very quickly, much to Herezah’s satisfaction. Pincers pulled at the victim’s tongue and within a heartbeat the bulk of the tongue was cut off in a single slice of a keen blade. To prevent fatal blood loss the stump was cauterised with a glowing brand. The man fainted, groaning, but to Boaz’s relief there was no screaming or struggle.

‘They will wait for him to recover before performing the deafening,’ Tariq explained.

‘Surely it would be more merciful to do it whilst he was unconscious?’ Boaz enquired.

‘But it would be considered cowardly,’ Tariq followed up quickly. ‘This is about bravery and duty, Majesty. I know you wish it to be easy on the men who give themselves so freely. But the maiming is all part of the test of their commitment. That’s why they do not scream.’

The blindfold was removed and a cold linen was placed on the man’s face to revive him. As
soon as his eyes fluttered open, dazed by the pain, he was quickly restored to his knees and once again held securely, by two strong Elim this time. The physic reached for a vicious-looking needle and Boaz prayed to Zarab that he would not let himself down by looking away. He fixed his gaze somewhere slightly off the action whilst not giving away that he wasn’t actually looking and then he made himself think of something beautiful.

Ana came to mind and this was no surprise. He saw the stabbing movement and resisted the urge to gag as a small, sharp spume of blood hit the physic’s belly. Instead he thought only of Ana’s face, Ana’s hair, Ana’s newly voluptuous body.

And as the other eardrum of the brave warrior was pierced, this time to the sound of a guttural growl of pain, Boaz decided he would not tarnish his joyous thoughts of Ana with this ghoulish activity. He turned his mind instead to the boating picnic he had planned and all the fun activities he had set up for the girls’ enjoyment. Nobody from his harem would ever accuse their Zar of enforcing tedium in their lives. He imagined their squeals of delight at learning to fish and swimming carefree in the aquamarine waters. He was just wondering how he should organise to cook, on the riverbank, any fish that were caught, when his mother’s voice disturbed him.

‘My lion?’

It sounded to Boaz from the slightly strained query in her voice that this was not the first time she had said it.

‘Yes,’ he said, releasing himself from the spell of Ana. As he refocused he saw all the men bar one had ruined, bloodied mouths and running ears. Most were slumped on the floor against the helpful legs of an Elim to assist in retaining a modicum of dignity after their trauma.

‘Where were you, my love?’ Herezah asked, trying to lighten the tension swirling about him.

The smell of blood was thick in the room. He suspected she knew he had somehow vanished in spirit, if not in body, from the terrible maiming ritual. ‘I was thinking,’ he said and made it sound final. ‘We are done, Grand Vizier?’

One fellow began to wail. The Vizier cleared his throat. ‘That one might not turn out to be as suitable as we’d hoped. Yes, we have completed the maiming, Majesty.’

The maimed warriors were helped away, leaving one whole man in the room.

‘And this last warrior?’ Boaz asked.

‘My great pride, Highness,’ the Vizier replied and could not disguise the smug tone. He snapped his fingers and one of the Elim brought over the young warrior, whose gaze was fixed on the intricately patterned tiled floor. The slave knelt.

Maliz knew he must sell the notion of the mutes with precision. It was all about this one
man, the reason for the whole campaign to install a ring of guardians around the Zar.

‘This is Salazin, my Zar. He is the inspiration for this new personal protectorate you now have. I discovered him not so long ago. He is an orphan who has learned to tough things out the hardest possible way, Majesty, for Salazin was made deaf and dumb from an early age by an unfortunate illness.’

‘Ah,’ Boaz said, nodding with understanding. ‘He needs no maiming.’

‘He is perfect, Majesty, for Zarab made him this way.’

‘And Zarab led you to him, Tariq?’ Herezah asked, with a note of irony not missed by the Vizier.

‘I like to think so, Valide,’ he said and smiled privately at how close to the truth he spoke. Zarab had surely led him to Salazin and Salazin, he hoped, would lead him to Iridor.

‘How did you come across him?’ Boaz asked.

‘I was giving alms to some of the orphanages, my Zar, as you have requested. He was from one of the city establishments.’

‘Not the one you aim to close?’ Boaz replied. It was not really meant very seriously, more as something to say, but it obviously struck a harsh chord with the Vizier.

‘As a matter of fact yes, Majesty. I paid the orphanage a visit to consider how we would dismantle it, find new housing for its…’ he
searched for the word, found it ‘…guests. I needed to consider what would happen to the sisterhood who care for these youngsters.’

‘Where is this place we speak of?’ Herezah enquired.

Boaz looked at his mother, his glare defying her to make a fuss. ‘I have promised the Grand Vizier his own villa overlooking the Faranel. He has taken a liking to an orphanage and, although I’m yet to make a final decision, I have given him permission to consider how he will rehouse the present occupants.’

‘Are you talking about the Widows’ Enclave?’ Herezah asked, frowning.

‘I think it used to go by that name, yes, Valide,’ the Vizier answered without hesitation.

‘But that’s for army families,’ she said and it came out as an accusation.

‘Originally, yes,’ the Vizier said patiently. ‘But we have not had war in living memory and so now only a few families of the unlucky injured or killed army members live there. It no longer serves its original purpose, Valide,’ he said politely, adding, ‘It’s a huge place for so few people.’

‘But not so huge for one, presumably,’ Herezah replied tartly. ‘My Zar, with your indulgence, I might return to my chambers now. Again my thanks for including me in this special ritual,’ she said, inclining her head in thanks. She glanced somewhat angrily towards the Vizier and then
turned back to her son. ‘Perhaps you’ll take supper with me some time soon.’

Boaz stood and helped the Valide to do the same. ‘I shall look forward to it, mother,’ he said.

Tariq signalled and two of the Elim were instantly at the side of Herezah to escort her back to the harem. She rehooked her veil across her face dutifully, as she was now leaving the company of the Zar, and elegantly glided out of the room between her burly companions.

Boaz sighed. ‘The Valide does not approve of your plan, clearly.’

Maliz kept his counsel on that subject, schooling Tariq’s features so the Zar could not gauge just how much Maliz wanted that villa and the luxurious surrounds it would provide for him. It was time to gild the truth. ‘Salazin was one of the oldest in the orphanage. I gather from the sisterhood that he has no known living relatives. He makes no sound at all, my Zar. His deafness is profound.’