Skillful Death (46 page)

“What? When was this?”

“Decades ago. Before you were born,” Dom said.

“Dom, you’re not that much older than me. How could you have left anyone to die when you were an infant?”

“It’s hard to understand,” Dom said.

“No, it’s perfectly easy to understand. It was a scam. Those men were trying to extort you for money over something you didn’t do.”

“They didn’t ask me for money.”

“Yes, that’s the worst kind. They don’t ask you for money. They make you think it’s your idea to pay them off. Trust me, Dom. I’ve seen this kind of scam a million times. You have nothing to fear. You’re the victim.”

“They knew things.”

“Nothing more than guesses and deduction.”

“They called me Providential, and they spoke in my old tongue. They spoke in a language that I didn’t know I still remembered. I spoke in it too. And this,” Dom said. He unwrapped the shirt strapped around his midsection. A small spot of blood stained the cloth. Dom picked at the crusted blood on his skin.

“What happened?”

“One of them stabbed me.”

“Dear lord!” Pemba said. “We have to get you to the authorities. I was wrong. These men are dangerous.”

“I can’t go to the authorities,” Dom said.

“Why not? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“The man who did this is...” Dom said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “dead.”

“What? Dom, you must tell me everything.”

Dom took in a big, hitching breath and told the story from the beginning. Pemba had heard the original story about the tobacconist, but Dom told it again, so Pemba could hear it fresh. By the time he finished, Pemba sat next to him on the floor and mirrored his pose, with his head cradled in his hands.

“Sounds like there were a lot of witnesses in the cafe who heard you threaten the man.”

“He stabbed me!”

“Do they know that? You said you were in the corner. Did anyone see this man stab you?”

“I don’t know. Only the waiter helped me to the street.”

“Did anyone see you near either of the dead men?”

“Not the first one, but some of the people at the bottom of the stairs saw me.”

“How far away? Could they recognize you?”

“I can picture them, so probably.”

“Okay,” Pemba said. “We’ll need to get you out of the city without arousing suspicion. You still have something decent to wear? Get changed and I’ll arrange for transport.”

Pemba got up and moved towards the door. Dom still sat, staring at the floor.

“Dom, get up.”

“Yes,” Dom said.

♣
   
♢
   
♡
   
♠

Dom cleaned himself up, changed into his last good suit, and waited. Hours passed and worry settled into Dom’s gut. He watched the sunset through the window as his brain swirled with fear for his friend.

Pemba returned with a small bag just as Dom resolved to go search for him. Pemba walked Dom to the lobby and talked in his ear.

“A carriage is waiting for us outside. We’ll take that east through the manufacturing district. One of the barges will take you downriver to the next town and I’ll arrange for a nice passenger vessel to pick you up there. From there, you won’t arouse any curiosity.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I have meetings scheduled. I’d be missed. I’ll come as far as the barge and then I’ll come back. Besides, we’re checked in here under my name. We wouldn’t want our flight connected with the deaths.”

“Okay,” Dom said.

♣
   
♢
   
♡
   
♠

Outside, an elegant horse waited to pull their cart through the city. Pemba showed Dom into the carriage and tipped the driver extra to carry them down the less-traveled streets to their destination. Pemba pulled the curtains. They sat in the dark as the carriage began to move. Dom’s stomach made a slow, sick flip.
 

“How did you arrange for the barge to take me away?”

“I know the captain, and the man who contracted him,” Pemba said. “They were more than happy to have me in their debt.”

“And the remainder of the trip?”

“I’ll have to pay for the rest of the voyage. It will be pricey, but you have money. What’s the point in having it, if you don’t spend it?”

“I feel terrible that I’m leaving Diki again without saying goodbye.”

“Would you rather wait until morning?”

“No,” Dom said. “But we were supposed to have dinner with her.”

“I sent word,” Pemba said. “I’m sure she was happy to have the extra time for her course work.”

The carriage jerked to a stop. Pemba nudged the curtain for a peek and then turned to Dom. “I’m going to see why we stopped. Don’t get out.”

Before he could reach for the door, someone banged an insistent knock from the outside.

“No! Let me go out alone. It could be agents of the old men.”

“Don’t be silly,” Pemba said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Pemba pushed open the door and a hand grabbed him. In a dark instant, Pemba was gone and the door was slammed shut again. Dom scrambled across the seat and tried to follow. The door was locked. The carriage jerked forward again.

Dom threw aside the rear curtain and saw an empty street. He banged on the ceiling. The driver didn’t respond. He threw his shoulder against the door, but couldn’t generate enough force inside the small cabin. As the carriage jostled down the dark street, Dom stretched himself across the interior, pressing his hands against the wall and his feet against the door. He gritted his teeth and growled, expending all of his strength. The door snapped and flew open. Dom crashed to the floor and then dove out into the night.

He tucked into a ball before hitting the ground.
 

Up the street, he saw his carriage and two others come to a stop with a clatter of hooves. Men shouted and dropped from the sides. Dom sprinted down a dark alley as the men gave chase.

Dom jumped over walls and sprinted across small courtyards, hoping to find a dark corner where he could hide. Behind him, he heard the men shouting to each other as they fanned out and searched the night. All around, dogs barked and lights came on inside the closely-grouped houses.

Dom turned uphill—away from the river and the barges—hoping to throw off the pursuers. The shouts grew further away and Dom tried to shift from his panic to a stealthier escape. He cursed himself for every hard footfall.

A heavy shove from the darkness knocked Dom into a wall. Powerful arms gripped him and a loud voice summoned help. Dom struggled to get free, but soon the two arms holding him down became four, then six. A rough sack was pulled over his head. His arms were looped behind his back and bound at the wrists.

Dom fought and screamed as a dozen hands lifted him and threw him in the back of a cart. He bit at the hand muffling his mouth and he felt more bags being pulled over the first. Dom struggled for breath through the rough cloth as tight rope was wound around his head, pulling the sack into his mouth. Dom grew still. He focused on remaining conscious with the limited oxygen available. Despite his efforts, he felt the world receding.

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Dom woke on the floor of a small room. Candles burned in wall-mounted holders. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made from the same tan stone. Dom’s right eye was blurry and his eyelid felt tight. He tried to straighten his legs. As he did, he felt his arms being pulled back and a loop tightening around his neck. Dom bent backwards to relieve the pressure.

A door opened behind him, and Dom heard someone shuffle their slow feet into the room. The door slammed shut once more.

“Are you awake, Osman?” the old, grating voice asked. Dom recognized the voice of the old man from the tobacconist. He spoke the local tongue. “Or should I call you Dom, or Torma, or Constantine, or the father of Diki? It seems that you have plenty of names.”

Dom tried to turn his head to see the man, but the ropes cut into his neck.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let the ropes strangle you. I said I would do that with my own hands. It might take awhile. My hands are weak.”

“Loosen my ropes and we can discuss restitution. I have some money. I will make amends for whatever wrongs you claim I’ve committed,” Dom said.

The old man laughed. “You may have less than you think.”

“Whatever I have can be yours.”

“You’re right about that. But there’s only one thing you can give me. I want your suffering.”

“Y
OU
WERE
VERY
CLEVER
to come back here in this young body. We should have taken you more seriously. Iraz thought he had stabbed you well, but I told him, ‘Just because your dreams are no longer haunted by Osman doesn’t mean you can dispatch him so easily.’ The others, they thought your return was just a brief amusement in their old age.”

The man drew close. Dom felt a cold knife pressing into his back. The blade tugged at his clothes as the old man ripped a hole up the back of Dom’s shirt. The man threw the fabric aside and traced a hand across Dom’s skin.

“You could not free yourself from these scars,” he said. “I thought as much. I remember them well. They’re like the stacked peaks of mountains. I always thought it looked like you had taken a demon for a lover and she tore these marks into your back. You always claimed ignorance. Did you ever remember where these scars came from?”

“They were from a lion. I fought it when I was a child.”

“Ah, so you do remember your past. You feign ignorance no longer.”

“I remember some things,” Dom said.

“But not me?”

“No.”

“Not me, or my friends, or our young wives to whom you promised passage?”

“No.”

“Iraz took another wife, you know. He took a second wife and she gave him lovely daughters. She gave him so many daughters that he contemplated killing her as well so he could find a new woman to give him a son. It’s too bad you weren’t there to help him again.”

The old man took his hand from Dom’s scars and pushed to his feet so he could shuffle around and crouch near Dom’s face. In the dim light, with the old man’s wrinkles smoothed over by the flickering candles, a memory began to kindle. Dom saw this man crouching next to the head of a slaughtered water buffalo. In the vision, the man balanced a long, bloody blade across his knees.

A name appeared on Dom’s lips and he spoke without thinking, “Varol.”

The old man smiled.

Dom straightened his legs, pulling the rope tight around his neck and choking himself. The old man’s smile turned to rage and he thrust his knife towards Dom’s neck. Dom’s eyes closed as the rope choked off the conduits for his blood and breath.

D
OM
WOKE
AGAIN
IN
the same small room, with the same old man crouched next to him. His throat burned and his eyes ached, pulsing with each heartbeat. Now he lay on his back, with his hands under him. The rope around his neck had been cut.

“You tried to cheat me again,” Varol said. “I know what you were thinking: if you could die quickly, I would have neither need nor will to execute your daughter. I’m much too spiteful for that, Osman.”

“You have no revenge to seek against my daughter,” Dom said, in the old language. His thoughts still came in the language Denpa taught him, but his mouth wanted to speak to Varol in the old, guttural tongue.

“No?” Varol asked. Now he too spoke in the old language. “My wife was pregnant. Did you know that?”

The old man made an effort to lean close to Dom until their noses almost touched. Dom thought the old man was trying to get close enough to see inside his head. While the old man hovered close—close enough for Dom to smell the cinnamon on his breath—Dom kept his fingers still. When Varol pushed away, Dom began working the rope again.

“Do you know what happens to a pregnant woman who is denied food and fresh water? Her body rejects the fetus.”