Odalisque (27 page)

Yes. You have convinced me of your magical power. All I need now is to see some of the treasures you’ve promised and we will seal our bargain.

Boaz found Pez, as instructed, in the Golden Garden. This was a private courtyard that no-one but the Zar himself could use. Sometimes it was used to entertain one of his Favourites or to impress a new odalisque, but in the main it was a place for peace and reflection away from the palace life.

‘What was that all about?’ Boaz hissed.

‘Forgive me, Boaz,’ Pez said and he sounded rattled. ‘I had to get us away from there.’

‘What in Zarab’s name happened?’

The dwarf shook his large head. ‘I don’t really know, in truth, but something chilled me.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘No neither do I, but something or someone was with us in your chamber.’

‘You jest.’

‘Do I look like I’m trying to entertain?’ Pez snarled.

‘No, you look frightened. I’ve never seen you like this. You think someone was eavesdropping? But where? There aren’t many places to hide in that particular room.’

‘No, I don’t mean like that. I mean someone was with us in spirit.’

Boaz raised his eyebrows in mock defeat. ‘Oh I see. An invisible eavesdropper.’

‘Don’t mock me, Boaz. I did what I did for our own protection. Someone was listening, I tell you. I don’t know who it was or why or even how they were doing it, but my Lore skills picked it up instantly.’

Boaz looked chastened. ‘Sorry, Pez. I don’t mean to make fun. It’s just so hard to stomach.’

‘Zar Boaz, you witnessed and experienced first-hand the power of the Lore. You must trust me when I use it as protection for us.’

‘I do trust you.’

‘Then know whoever it was listening to our conversation was not friendly. There was something dark and malevolent in its presence.’

‘This is getting worse,’ Boaz said, standing from the fountain edge he’d been sitting on. ‘What do you expect me to do?’

‘Nothing! Just don’t ignore my warnings or devalue them by not taking them seriously. Someone who is not your friend visited you today, Boaz, and it was done using the Lore. From now on we must be on our guard.’

‘Well if I can’t see or hear them, how will I know?’

‘You won’t but I will. If I should behave as I did tonight, yelling something about the moon, you’ll know I am warning you.’

‘All right…but we’re safe here presumably.’

‘I no longer feel we’re safe anywhere,’ Pez admitted. ‘I shall have to be much more watchful.’

‘So this is an enemy? Who could have sent this person?’

‘I have no idea. But it’s very dangerous. If I’m discovered—’

‘What would it matter, in truth, to anyone in the palace?’ Boaz challenged but not aggressively. ‘What could anyone do if it was revealed that you have your wits about you and this has been a trick you’ve pulled for years?’

‘It’s not the people of the palace I worry about, my Zar,’ Pez said cryptically. ‘Come, the feeling of
being observed is gone. You can return to your chambers to sleep.’

Boaz sighed. ‘I won’t be doing much sleeping until I hear about Lazar.’ But he followed Pez anyway who had decided to crawl out of the Golden Garden making braying noises like a donkey.

‘All right, how?’ Tariq demanded, his mind still reeling from the riches he had seen. Maliz had shown him the hidden treasure of the idiosyncratic Zar Fasha from a previous century, who had insisted on his corpse being entombed in the desert along with his fabulous wealth and entire harem. Except the people from the harem, unlike their Zar, had been very much alive when entombed and their twisted skeletons with jaws opened in agony were testimony to the desperate way in which they’d perished, screaming to be let out of their deep prison beneath the sands. None of this troubled Tariq—all he could focus on was the treasure itself and the decadent way he would soon be living once he had accessed it. ‘Although I’ve never understood what it is that you mean to do,’ he added carefully.

Maliz was back in his wizened guise of the near-toothless man. ‘I have explained enough. You want what I can give you. Now either you take what I’m offering or you leave and never come back. I can find another.’

Another what?
Tariq wondered, his mind racing to make a final decision.
Another fool?

Another host,
came the deep-voiced reply in his mind.
Let me be your guest,
he offered, more gently now.
And I will teach you and show you all that you have desired these years gone. I will keep my promise.

Have you always used another?

Yes. When I am dormant I deliberately seek old, unremarkable bodies to live within. They don’t require much effort from me and they can move around without drawing too much attention to themselves. This one is my favourite so far.
He laughed nastily.

‘What do mean, dormant?’

Maliz gave a despairing sigh and spoke in the old man’s voice again. ‘Must I explain it all? Surely you know your history. I rise when Iridor does.’

‘Iridor?’ Tariq clearly had no understanding of the old world.

‘The Messenger.’

‘Whose messenger?’ ‘Hers! The Goddess…Lyana!’

Tariq couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped. ‘Lyana? Are you mad? I know Maliz was a great sorcerer once and that legend says he made some terrible bargain with Zarab, but Lyana is just someone the priestesses of old fabricated to win favour.’

‘You are the one fooled. Lyana is as real as I am! I sense her coming and I know Iridor has
returned—he always comes first but he is cunning. He can hide himself better than she can. I must find them and destroy them. It is my reason for being.’

‘Is that your bargain with Zarab? Everlasting life?’

The old man nodded and gave his vile grin. ‘Life everlasting has its advantages, Vizier. You can be part of it.’

‘How do you mean?’

Someone groaned in the background but they ignored it. ‘Youth. I can provide it along with all the other promises I’ve made.’

‘I can be younger not just look younger?’ Tariq asked, astonished.

‘You can be anything I want you to be. You just have to tell me,’ Maliz answered, his tone seductive. ‘We are a partnership. You lend me your body—for a while. I bring all of your dreams true. I am not interested in your pursuits, Tariq. I have my own mission and the two don’t have to conflict. We just help each other achieve our desires.’

‘As simple as that,’ Tariq said flatly.

‘It need not be any more complicated.’

‘And then you will leave my body…when you have achieved your dreams?’

‘Of course,’ Maliz said truthfully. ‘I have no need of it beyond such time.’

It was more tempting than ever. ‘Why don’t you just enter a young man’s body, then?’

Maliz’s patience was running out. ‘You can only make a bargain with someone who wants what you’re offering. You were an easy choice.’ He did not add that his senses told him Iridor was near the royals so he was an obvious choice, particularly as he was so easily corrupted and desperate. ‘I need someone with intelligence, with some wisdom of years and with a desire to help me as much as I can help him.’ Tariq nodded, close to giving in now. ‘I find the young too selfish, self-absorbed. They don’t aim high enough these days. They want it all given to them. They are lazy. Not like you, Vizier. You’ve worked hard to make something of yourself and it’s fitting that your efforts are recognised. You are everything I have searched for. Will you not invite me in, brother?’

‘All right, Maliz. I give you permission,’ Tariq said, hardly daring to breathe now that he’d uttered the words.

Tariq could not know that Maliz was feeling similarly tense, sensing himself so close to his prize now. ‘You must say this: Maliz, come into me. Take my soul.’

If Tariq had thought through the careful phrasing he might have sensed the trap, but his thoughts were swollen with notions of power and grandeur.

He repeated the phrase dutifully without thinking.

And felt the spine-tingling entry of Maliz into his being and heard the cold, malevolent laugh of
the demon as he betrayed Tariq. At the end, the person who had been the Vizier didn’t even have the strength to make a fight of it. It was probably the shock of discovering what a traitor Maliz was, and all the lies that had been spun simply to have the Vizier’s body for his own, that left him unable to do anything but capitulate to the mighty force that was the Demon Maliz.

He gave a sad scream of impotent rage as his soul was shredded and spat out through his own mouth in a red mist of surrender.

Maliz smiled with Tariq’s mouth. The demon had risen.

Pez’s hopes were answered the following morning. He’d spent most of the night talking with the Zar, who was clearly too fretful to sleep. And when the young ruler had drifted off in the early hours, Pez was too anxious to take any rest himself. The previous evening’s intrusion had frightened him—it still did. Pez had never experienced anything like it before and as much as he tried to convince himself that the visitor—or whatever it was that had caused his blood to chill with fear—was somehow spying on the Zar, he could not shake off the notion that the intruder was watching him, not Boaz.

By sunrise, none of the sense of dread had left him and Pez was convinced that the invisible watcher meant only harm and he would now have to be intensely careful about how he conducted himself. Conversations with Boaz could no longer be open and honest. He would have to use his Lore skills to set up a special ring of protection around the two of them—and although that would prevent any spiritual being
eavesdropping, it could alert them to magic and it would sap strength from him. It would all depend on the being itself. He would have to think on it with great care.

Dawn had also shone brightly into Boaz’s bedroom, threatening another hot day, and the Zar had risen immediately and taken a bath in his private chamber.

After his first meal he began reading through some of the day’s duties. But Pez could tell the Zar was restless, eager for news of Lazar and keen to think about something other than his council’s advice regarding the city’s homeless, the need to finance a new cistern, celebrations for the holy month…the list seemed endless. Under the dwarf’s distracting influence and his assurance that it was safe to talk openly, Boaz was soon dispensing with Bin’s notes and instead discussing his idea of a picnic for all the new odalisques. It was a charming notion as far as Pez was concerned and he nodded excitedly as the young Zar outlined his plans.

‘You’ll need at least eight barges, High One, to carry that number of people.’

‘At least they’re all young and slim. If my father had done something like this he’d have needed twice as many for the same number of women.’

Pez muttered a gentle sound of admonishment. ‘Shame on you, Boaz,’ he said, grinning. ‘The women couldn’t help their size. There was nothing else to do but indulge themselves.’

‘I know,’ Boaz admitted. ‘I understand that now and it won’t happen in my harem. I’ll see to it that the women have plenty to occupy themselves of a more physical nature.’

‘Ooh,’ Pez said, pulling a face of mock embarrassment.

Boaz looked momentarily mortified. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ he replied archly. ‘I meant—’ Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a knock.

‘Come,’ he called as the dwarf began rolling around the room like a ball, yelling ‘kick me!’ to the Zar.

‘What is it, Bin?’ Boaz asked, ignoring the tempting invitation.

‘Forgive my interruption, Zar Boaz,’ the young man said, bowing low. ‘But you asked for any information on Spur Lazar to be delivered immediately.’

‘What news?’ he demanded and even Pez rolled to a stop.

‘A runner has been sent from the Spur’s house, my Zar. His manservant has returned, we’re told, and he’s blind drunk.’

‘Jumo, you mean?’

The youngster nodded. ‘I think that is his name, yes, High One.’ He inclined his head, waiting for orders.

‘Is the runner still here?’

‘No, we have sent him away, my Zar. I
presumed you would want to speak with the Spur’s manservant himself.’

‘And you presumed correct. Send our own men from the palace to escort him back.’

‘Should we give him some time to sober up, Zar Boaz?’

‘I want to see him as fast as they can bring him here. No excuses—I don’t care how drunk he is. And I mean our men, Bin, not the Spur’s soldiers.’

‘I understand, Zar,’ he bowed again and left.

‘Jumo drunk? It’s hard to imagine,’ Pez commented.

‘Perhaps he’s celebrating Lazar’s wellbeing,’ Boaz said hopefully.

‘Then why didn’t the runner mention the Spur’s presence? No, this doesn’t sound good.’ Pez felt a fresh sense of dread grip him.

Boaz gave a moue of disdain. ‘Don’t put the jahash on it before we know the situation.’

‘I’m not cursing it. I’m telling you what I think.’

‘Then keep your baleful thoughts to yourself, Pez. I’m taking this as positive news. If anyone knows where Lazar is, Jumo will.’

Pez kept his own counsel but the feeling of trepidation simply got stronger.

Jumo was brought to one of the Zar’s receiving chambers. It overlooked a vast courtyard with an ornamental pool and no windows, only open
archways, in order that on hot days cooling breezes could blow through the less formal meeting room. Pez loved this chamber for its beautiful tiled ceiling of blue and white. On the first occasion he had walked into this room he had instantly recognised the work of the Yaznuks, painters who had been captured and brought from the far east along with their exquisitely delicate work, most notably floral designs, that looked almost abstract from this distance. These days those designs, the paints they used and all of their techniques were a closely guarded secret held within three families who, over history, had evolved as the keepers of the art. They alone had royal sanction to produce the Yaznuk style as it was known and could mark their work with the distinctive dragon emblem.

Its beauty so mesmerised Pez that he registered Jumo’s arrival by his smell rather than by sight. A stench of liquor hit his nostrils and his attention was instantly dragged from the ceiling to the doorway where the spry man, normally so contained and correct, hung somewhat limply between the grip of two of Boaz’s private guards.

Pez was taken aback; as stunned, in fact, as Boaz looked, for this was more than the merry stupor of a man intoxicated. Pez managed to keep up his pretence of disinterest by circling the room and humming to himself, but his focus was riveted on Lazar’s manservant who appeared ashen, unfocused and, if Pez was right, filled with grief.

‘Let him go,’ Boaz commanded, slightly embarrassed for Jumo, and they all watched Lazar’s closest companion in life slump and then fall hard on his knees. The guards grabbed for him to keep him upright.

‘Is this how you found him?’ the Zar asked, dismayed. He had always known Lazar’s quiet, exotic friend to be entirely in control of himself.

‘No, Great One. He was smelling as highly as he does now but curiously he seemed sober.’ The man hesitated as if waiting for someone.

‘So what is this? An act for my benefit?’ Boaz demanded, irritated more by the look of uncertainty in the man’s eyes than any notion of guile on Jumo’s part.

The head guard arrived and bowed low. ‘Briz, explain what has occurred,’ he ordered.

Pez felt a fluttering about his heart, or was it his throat? Either way he felt suddenly breathless with tension. There was something dangerous about this situation, something not right. He watched the head guard take his time to consider his words before delivering them.

‘O Mighty One, moments after my men arrived at the Spur’s house, so did another messenger.’

‘Yes, and?’

Pez’s humming got softer and the dwarf became rigidly still.

Briz was noticeably reluctant. ‘That messenger brought the gravest of tidings, High One. This is Zafira, Majesty, of the Sea Temple,’ he said,
nodding to a tiny figure no-one had noticed until this moment when she stepped around and out from behind the guards. She tiptoed closer and bent herself in half to bow with great care to the young ruler. ‘Zar Boaz,’ she all but whispered.

Pez felt there was no longer any air to breathe. If Zafira was here, then everything had surely gone wrong.

Briz noted the Zar’s rising frustration and hurried on. ‘The priestess Zafira informed Jumo of his master’s death, which occurred last night.’

Jumo let out a heartbreaking groan that gave voice to Boaz’s silent, tightly held reaction and Pez’s feeling of utter despair.

Jumo spoke. ‘She said she would do everything to save his life,’ the distraught man wailed softly.

‘The Spur is dead?’ Boaz queried, uncomprehending, his throat tight with emotion. It was as if the language being used was alien to him and he needed to clarify his initial understanding.

‘It is the truth, Great One,’ Zafira confirmed, glancing briefly towards a shocked Pez whose only cover now was to close his eyes and hope no-one noticed how still he was.

‘Tell me!’ Boaz growled, too stunned to make a pretence at civility toward the old woman.

Zafira, trembling beneath her azure robes, stepped further into the room and bowed once more before clearing her throat. ‘I tell this tale—as I told Jumo—with the heaviest of hearts.’ They
all saw her steady herself and blink away the mist of tears in her eyes. ‘Spur Lazar took his last breath as a great cloud obliterated the moon during the small hours of this night gone. It was an omen, Highest One, for the darkness that reigned for several minutes signalled death for the Spur from the hideous injuries he sustained at the hands of those who punished him for protecting an innocent.’

It was a cleverly couched yet nonetheless direct insult to the Zar and he knew it, as did everyone in that chamber. Zafira held her chin high, however, no doubt wondering what price she would pay for her candour.

Boaz stared at the old woman, took in the pallor of her skin and her frailty and wondered at the long night she had spent battling to save a man’s life. He let the insult pass, almost felt he deserved it. As he glanced towards the once-proud Jumo a surge of pity welled up in him. He registered the shock on the face of the dwarf. And realised they all needed time to digest this tragedy. ‘Leave us!’ he said to the men.

‘Zar Boaz, I think—’ began Briz but he was silenced by his ruler.

‘I wish to speak to the priestess in private. You may wait outside if you insist—I shall come to no harm from an old woman and a clearly incapacitated man, both of whom I presume have already been thoroughly searched.’

Boaz continued. ‘Send messengers to the Valide and the Vizier. They will wait in the
antechamber until I summon them. I will give the news to them—no-one is to discuss anything of what has gone on here. Is that clear, Briz?’

‘It is, Mighty One.’

‘Good. See to it your men obey my command. Help Jumo into a seat before you depart.’

With the men dismissed, the young Zar returned his attention to the old woman who had seated herself—with a nod from Boaz—next to Jumo, presently looking steadfastly at his feet.

As soon as the door closed on the last man, Pez opened his eyes. ‘Zafira! I pray this is a ruse.’

Boaz noticed that she did not look him in the eye but shook her head sadly. It was suddenly all too much for her and the old woman began to weep softly. ‘We tried everything. It was the poison that killed him.’

‘Poison?’ Boaz interrupted. ‘What are you talking about?’ Then more realisation. ‘Pez, do you know this priestess?’

Pez nodded gravely. ‘I know Zafira and she knows of my sanity. We took the injured Spur to her at his instructions.’ He didn’t want to say too much more about his connection to the priestess, and he knew Boaz was too filled with despair to ask why the dying Lazar would wish to go to her. ‘The whip was laced with poison, High One. We only discovered this at the temple and knew it was a race against time that we would probably lose.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Boaz yelled, himself losing some control now. ‘So that’s where you’d been yesterday!’

Everyone was silent for a long time.

Finally Pez spoke the truth. ‘It never occurred to me until an hour or so ago that Lazar might not live. In hindsight, not telling you was wrong, Highness. Forgive me but I presumed the Spur would make his own decision about where to lay blame once he recovered. I didn’t feel it was my place.’

‘Not your place to tell me when you know of an intrigue that not only affects my realm but kills my head of security?’ Boaz roared back. And then the anger went out of him. ‘But who would do such a thing? The flogging was accepted by everyone as normal punishment for Odalisque Ana’s indiscretion.’

‘I’m sure the Snake would not have been used on one of your concubines, Zar Boaz,’ Jumo said, raising his head defiantly and surprising them all with the vehemence in his voice. ‘This was far more deliberate that you are giving credit for.’

‘You’re forgiven your insolent tone, Jumo, because of your grief,’ Boaz replied mildly, surprising Pez with his maturity. ‘Explain the poison,’ he demanded of anyone.

Pez signalled to Zafira that she should reply. ‘We discovered it was drezden, Zar Boaz.’

‘What is drezden?’

‘Snake poison,’ Pez answered dully. ‘The chosen brew of assassins.’

‘How do you know how to deal with it?’ Boaz said, looking between the woman and the dwarf.

‘I have some experience of healing snakebite,’ Zafira lied. ‘Lazar needed the special tea known as drezia, which is formed from the venom itself. He also needed sewing, for the wounds were savage.’

Boaz shook his head in wonder. ‘And you did all this?’

She nodded. ‘And anything else I could think of, but we lost him all the same. The wounds were too deep and drezden is immediately effective.’

‘He was rallying,’ Jumo countered angrily. ‘She said if I left he would likely pull through.’

Boaz frowned at Jumo’s rudeness, but Zafira jumped in immediately, squeezing Jumo’s hand as she did so. Pez saw her reaction and stored it away. Zafira was hiding Ellyana. What were they so afraid of?

‘I did think Jumo could be more help back in Percheron, Highness. It occurred to me that his network of contacts might yield more information and be of more assistance in the long run than him fretting by Lazar’s side. The Spur was all but unconscious by that time anyway. He was in a delirium before he slipped into a coma and succumbed to the full paralysis of the poison. It was probably best his close ones did not have to witness his end.’

‘Who are you suggesting brought this about?’

At this all three pairs of eyes looked wary. Pez shrugged. In his opinion it would not be politic to say the name. Zafira’s expression turned blank.