Sunrise on the Mediterranean (46 page)

“Hurry along,” he said, watching me. Though I had gotten stronger, I still couldn’t lift a full normal-size jar after filling
it. Which made this huge one impossible, especially since I kept sneezing. Exasperated, he carried the full jug for me, up
the steps, passing women on their way down. Did he notice the looks we gave each other?

At the top of the stairs I tripped myself, rolling back down, trying not to bash my head too badly. The guard shouted for
help, then ran to the top of the stairs to get someone, leaving my jar on the step. In seconds the women who had just passed
us were helping me up. Another woman took my cloak; we had already painted her face to look like mine. Sadly, she was bruised
already.

She lay down in my place while I hobbled and ran down the stairs. The other women clumped on the stairwell, blocking the guard’s
way back down.

Moments later I was staring into the depths of the dark water from my bucket perch, both ropes in my hands, the whispered
“Good luck” wishes of the women in my ears.

I realized that tunnels of dark water should be terrifying; however, my particular experiences had prepared me for this exactly.
I had no uncertainty that I’d find a way out, nor was I frightened that I’d stay underwater too long. After all, during my
time in Aztlan I’d survived a bloody complicated labyrinth, not just once, but three times. This should be a piece of cake.

Cold cake. I sneezed again, felt my nipples pebble beneath my dress from the chilly updraft. My hands were shaking so much
that I could barely work the ropes. Voices, the guard’s, the women’s, floated down to me. Now or never.

According to the women, I would be submerged for only a few seconds since the well was more of a pool. When I got into it
I could swim out—hence the reference to “lame”— since you could move through water even without using your legs. If I followed
the current, it would lead me outside to where one of the contingencies of Yoav’s soldiers waited.

If the women’s words could be trusted.

Geronimo, I thought, releasing the ropes. The flax raked my hands as I plummeted toward the water. First its iciness grabbed
my dress. I hissed as it touched my legs, then my belly. With a giant gulp of air, I was in the dark wetness.

Allowing some inborn sense of direction, not to mention the water flow, to lead me, I quickly found my way to the drain at
the bottom of the well. Things were going great—I was pretending to be a stick of wood, seeking the way out— when I got stuck.

I was holding my breath, submerged in a cascade and wedged in like a cork. Stone cut into my shoulders, tore at my breasts.
Real fear grabbed me as I struggled. Nothing moved; my ears were aching from the water pounding me from above.

Oh God, oh God. The urge to sneeze was growing; my lungs were burning. I felt my legs swinging free in the passage beneath
me, while water was building up behind me. I could see nothing and wondered briefly if this were it. Had my vanity done me
in, or was this a plot on the women’s part?

My nose was itching, and I inhaled automatically, gagging on water.

And sneezed so violently that my body ripped free. I dropped like a rock into the passageway beneath me, the backed-up waters
cushioning my fall. Water closed over my head for a moment, then I was on my feet. Hurting, but standing in waist-deep water.

I walked in total darkness for about a hundred paces, hearing nothing except myself sloshing through water as I headed down
a gentle hill. I moved slower, sensing the passage widen out. There just possibly might be someone standing guard. I didn’t
sense another presence, but I was cautious.

Suddenly the tunnel turned, while simultaneously changing grade. With all the grace of which I am capable, I fell, slid, and
crashed into a shallow sunlit pool. I surfaced, sputtering, instantly sobered by the sight of covered corpses lying at the
water’s edge.

One of the
gibori
—Abishi, I think—greeted me as he hauled me out of the water. He wrapped a cloak around my shoulders. “What happened to those
men?” I asked, wiping my face.

“They are Yoav’s spies. They got caught and fought with the Jebusi guards.” Abishi looked away, and I noticed that he’d been
crying. “Would you like to see them?”

I paused but didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to recognize the few faces I associated with living and laughing soldiers
with the bloodstained bodies lying next to a water source. Had any of our guys won? “Do the Jebusi know we are here?”

Abishi’s expression was resigned. “Not yet, but they will by the next watch.”

His words made my blood go cold. These women, this small group of women, had risked everything to help us, to buy freedom
for themselves, to have the right to keep their children. “Then let’s go,” I said.

“Yoav has planned two attacks on different sides of the city if we need the distraction.”

“The man loves strategy,” I said.

“Ken,”
he said, then looked at me with concern, his gaze moving over my body. “
Isha!
Were you attacked? Are you healthy? Do you need wine? Bread?”

I sneezed, shaking my head. I bet I did look a fright. Unwashed, slippery, running makeup, ratty clothes, hair dye. Yikes!
“The drain attacked me.” I didn’t even want to see what wounds I’d sustained; the cold was numbing, a feeling that probably
helped about now. “You aren’t going to fit well,” I said, gesturing to his shoulders. “The passage is very narrow. Take only
the smallest men and let’s go.” How long had it taken me to get here? Time in the water had no sense of passing. The sun was
still shining outside, the birds still singing on this summer afternoon.

“Is there anything—”

“
Lo.
Let’s go.”

Wading through the utter darkness of the spring was cold but also surreal. Outside it was bright and happy, beneath the city
we were planning on killing.

However, my conscience had been somewhat assuaged because Waqi had asked me to invade. Then other women— I don’t know how
they learned—began bumping into me in the market, whispering, “I’ll help,” or, “Count on me.” The city’s women wanted new
rulers, new laws. It wasn’t all of them, I was certain, but a very vocal minority, led by the queen. They wanted a chance
to see their children live.

The caveat was that I negotiate their freedom. No
herim
or
hal
for this group. No slavery, either. Yoav was desperate enough that I thought he would agree. Zorak thought so, too—Zorak,
who had become less my shadow and more of a guardian angel for Waqi and the little, still unnamed, one.

The men behind me were silent, only a few shallow breaths betraying the dozen soldiers slogging through the water. My sandals—I
was surprised I still had them—tugged at my feet, giving the feeling of walking in flippers. The farther we progressed, the
deeper the water got, moving up from our calves to our thighs to our waists. Shivering and wet, I led the men up the dark
passage. We dared not use any light, but in the midst of the darkness I felt the walls, the ceiling, the mass of earth, weighing
down on us. The sound of falling water attested to the presence of the shaft.

We were well inside the city walls. Was everything going according to plan?

After adjusting my dress so that it covered my knees, I began the laborious process of climbing up the duct. I’d rock-climbed
before, but never through the middle of a waterfall, with no gear, and in a dress! Beneath me the soldiers lined up to shove
my body through. The stones tore at my hands, while water cascaded straight onto my head as I blindly fumbled upward, always
upward.

The channel narrowed; we’d never be able to make it through. Clinging like a barnacle to the wall, I slipped my knife from
my waist, using the haft to chip away at the limestone. Just losing a few inches would make such a huge difference!

Bits fell onto the men beneath me, then a large section dropped. I winced as I heard the surprised shout at impact. After
I carefully tucked my knife back, I continued to climb. Squeezing through was still tight but doable, especially with a prod
from below. I barely had time for a huge gulp of air before I was in the pool.

Lungs bursting, I surfaced. I treaded water for a moment, waiting to read our prearranged signal. It was still silent here;
we were several dozen feet beneath the city yet.

The soldiers popped up in the pool around me, each gasp signifying another of our group joining in. It was amazing how much
and how well I could see in the darkness. The rope and bucket bobbed on the surface of the water, the mouth of the well shone
a dim square of light between us. The smallest square.

We had to take the other route; this one was being guarded.

As we watched, the bucket was lowered, only voices and shadows discernible above.

Trying not to splash, I gestured for the men to follow me. We would swim to the source upstream, for the water moved downhill
from here.

This was where it would get hairy, since no one had taken this particular pathway in a long time, Waqi had said. As I surface-dove,
a remembered phrase slowly saturated my mind, soothed me.
The waters will guide, they will purify, they will offer salvation.
The words off the time portal in modern Egypt for a traveler of the twenty-third power.

Okay, Chloe. Remember.

While the soldiers waited and watched the well covering, I swam to the far end of the pool, feeling around on the stony wall
for an opening. The water ran through this well pool, then down the drain we’d just come up. Which meant it came from somewhere
above us, but just how big was the “faucet”? Finally I found it, a two-by-two channel of total blackness filled with rushing
water.

I gestured for Abishi to hand me some rope to tie us all together, me in the front, him bringing up the rear. Blind and lame
in a big way, I thought. I closed my eyes, resting them from the masses of water that threatened to wash away my eyeballs.

We were moving uphill, breaths held, our bodies being torn and battered by the icy, flowing water. I saw spots behind my closed
lids, and my chest was completely aching, burning, when I noticed the channel had widened enormously. The water level had
dropped.

Half swimming and half walking while clinging to the rope, we moved upward against the current. Then we began dog-paddling
at a 60 percent grade as the passage narrowed again, pushing the water almost to our chins. I barely heard the sounds of the
dozen soldiers above the roar. Then we were walking level again, the water at our thighs.

I would have missed the opening had I not been running both hands along the wall. A crevice, with a breeze. I halted, feeling
the next soldier come to a stop just behind me. Craning my head, I looked out—daylight! We were close!

Now how did we get out of this channel and into the streets? This was the part none of the women had known.

Seeing no other alternative and realizing that the Jebusi were now noticing some guards missing, which meant time was running
out, I tied my skirt around my thighs, then squished myself through the crevice. I gritted my teeth as the stone abraded my
skin. Fortunately I was tall and skinny and could slip through sideways. Also, I could probably make an excuse for being there,
if I got caught. A tribesman would be spotted in a millisecond.

I wedged myself through the five-foot-long crack-style shaft, halting for a moment at the mouth of it. Would I be ambushed?
I waited two, maybe three minutes. No one. Was that to lure me into a false sense of security?

After five minutes I hissed at Abishi to walk on through the water. I was safe, and I would meet him at the mouth of this
thing, wherever that was. Please God, let me find the source.

I dropped immediately onto all fours, watching and alert. I heard nothing out of the ordinary—not yet. To my north I saw a
mansion. I knew the tunnel ended inside it in the courtyard there; that’s what I’d been told. So far, the directions were
accurate. If the queen had cleared out the rooms, as she’d promised, then I’d be okay.

If not, then this could be the worst part, for no one was there to help me. I was on my own.
Oh God, please don’t let me get caught.

Surveying the front of the house, I saw no guard dogs, just an older man slumbering on the front stoop. It was the Mediterranean
siesta hour, and the sun was hot, drying me almost immediately. No one was moving as I skirted the front in favor of the back
doorway.

It would be open, right? I pushed against it, then harder, enough to feel the catch of metal. The door was bolted from within.
Damn, she hadn’t gotten to the doors. Backup plan? I walked around, looking at the windows. They were high and narrow. And
barred. Great.

Scaling a house wall in broad daylight was not smart, but I didn’t know what else to do. Beneath me soldiers waited; throughout
houses in this city women waited. I sighed and unwound the rope from over my shoulder. It took me six tries before it looped
around the wooden bar in the clerestory window.

Grinding my teeth against crying out when the rope cut into my already agonizing palms—which inspired me to shred part of
my dress for protection—I climbed up and slipped in between the wooden poles.