The Rift Walker (17 page)

“Can you make it back to the boat?” She was ready to abandon everything and carry him if necessary. The din of the merchants disappeared into the background as they realized there was no sale to be made here.

He shook his head as his breathing became more regular. A quivering hand wiped at his face. He looked drained, but he patted her hand that still gripped him. “I was just conserving my strength.” His eyes were narrow slits behind the shades, as if the sunlight were still blazing into them.

“Let's just go. Leave all this and let's get back to the boat.”

Gareth grew more awake and took in the parcels scattered at his feet. “Nonsense. You went to all the effort. It'd be foolish to leave everything behind now.” He bent to pick them up, but she pulled him back up almost angrily.

“I don't care.”

“I do. It means survival for you.” He grabbed the basket and, to Adele's shock, he struggled with it.

“Gareth,” she whispered, frightened to see him weakened.

“Lead the way back to the boat. I just need to lie down for a bit.”

He refused to relinquish his hold on their provisions, so Adele grabbed the other end of the basket. “We'll do it together.” To her relief, he didn't argue, but that only worried her more.

Up ahead on the thoroughfare stood a squad of uniformed policemen, showing pamphlets and photographs. They were stopping everyone passing by. Adele jerked to a halt.

Gareth stopped beside her, breathing heavily. “What is it?”

“Road block.” She altered their direction, aiming for a dark alley. Unfortunately one of the sharp-eyed policemen saw her hesitation and purposeful avoidance. He elbowed another officer and came after them. A curse slipped through Adele's lips.

“I can't outrun them,” hissed Gareth.

“I know.” She stopped and shoved the basket behind some crates strewn in the alley. “Can you fly?”

“I can't carry you. Not now.”

“Just float up and hide. When they go past, come back down. Simple.”

He hesitated. “They'll find you.”

“Just go.” She darted for a dark alcove, rewrapping her scarf into a new shape and stripping her cloak off to lie on the ground. She watched Gareth drag himself up the wall until he alighted on the roof. The sun beat mercilessly on his shoulders and he hunched over like a dark gargoyle, watching her.

The policemen rounded the corner with weapons clattering. Adele sat back into the doorway, bent over and appearing to be no more than a street urchin herself. The officers glanced at her and ran on. Adele sighed with relief, thinking she was in the clear. Then one slowed since the empty alley gave them no clue as to where their prey had gone.

“Miss?”

Adele looked up hesitantly, her head wrap held tight to her face, her eyes downcast with contrition.

“Did you see a couple run past here?” the policeman asked.

She nodded and pointed.

“Thank you.” The officer turned to go.

Adele could not believe her good fortune. But the other policeman's feet still stood before her.

“Show me your face, miss.”

Her heartbeat raced. There was no doubt they would recognize her. A photo of Princess Adele was in his hand staring back at her. She realized she would have to fight her way out of this. She couldn't leave Gareth here in this heat. Her hand shifted to grip a nearby brick. The man's partner was coming back.

She looked up at her target and steeled herself. A dark shadow dropped on top of the approaching policeman. Gareth landed heavily on him, and the man collapsed without a sound. The partner turned toward the new threat, and Adele stood up and swung with all her might. The brick clipped him on his helmet, but with enough force to stagger him. Adele followed through with a sharp jab to his chin, and the man fell next to his partner.

Gareth was on one knee, trying to rise. She grabbed him and helped him stand.

“I don't have much time.” He was shaking and pale.

She swiftly kissed him and then pulled him down the alley.

“Wait, your basket.” He grabbed it.

“Forget the basket!”

“No.”

Together they slipped out of the alley, heading away from the police. Adele spied an empty carriage and whistled shrilly for the driver's attention. Within moments, they were inside the slightly cooler interior of the cab with the basket at their feet.

Gareth sighed as he sagged against the cool leather. Adele squeezed his hand, directed the driver to Bulaq, and then proceeded to yank down all the shades on the cab, plunging the interior into darkness. Gareth's blue eyes opened to regard his princess and found her face full of worry.

“Stop that,” he ordered. “If anyone has a right to be vexed it should be me. I'm hardly any help to you. Nothing more than a burden.”

Adele let out a little sigh, attempting a small smile that her anxiety could barely tolerate. “It will be fine. We'll make it.”

“I fear that little boy could best me at the moment. Add the donkey, and I would surely fall. It's not something I find comforting.”

“I'll protect you,” she teased. “That nasty donkey won't hurt you.”

He scowled at her, but then a weak smile creased his lips. “You're not funny.”

She pressed her cheek to his. “Liar. You find me hilarious.”

The trip to the harbor was soon over, and as the carriage halted, Gareth had to gather his remaining strength. He hissed slightly as he stepped back into the sun, his skin feeling as if it was shriveling up to parchment.

Nasir was waiting at the correct berth, guarding their wares with a stout stick in hand. Adele thought it was more likely he used it on the donkey, but it wouldn't surprise her if he whacked a beggar or two who strayed too close. The boy brightened immediately upon seeing his employers approach.

“Lady Pareesa! No one has touched your belongings! I have seen to that. I held off three burly sailors who wanted to steal from you. And numerous desperate vagabonds!”

Adele gestured to the boat. “If you could help us load the supplies on board, I will double your compensation.”

“And by compensation, you mean cash?” he verified.

The princess laughed at his shrewdness. “I do.”

“Done!”

Adele helped Gareth carry the basket onto the deck. He was so unsteady she was afraid he'd pitch over the side, but soon she had him down in the dark hold.

“That's a relief,” he said tiredly.

“Stay down here.”

He closed his eyes.

The princess returned to the wharf where Nasir waited patiently. She handed him his payment. It was much more than was agreed upon, and he beamed his good fortune.

“You more than earned it,” she assured him. “Both of you.” She glanced at the sleepy donkey.

“Ha!” exclaimed Nasir. “I did most of the work while he just sat there and brayed at the sailors. Lazy animal. I should trade him for a camel.”

Adele knelt beside the little donkey. “Does he have a name?”

“He doesn't have one. I just call him Knothead when I yell at him.”

Her hand brushed down the long face of the donkey, who opened bleary eyes at her before sighing and leaning into her touch. “Every animal deserves a name. Knothead. Most likely you named him for this small bump on his forehead.” She rubbed the little bump set high under his forelock. “I've been told that such a knot was once the horn of a unicorn.”

“Really?” Nasir's eyes grew round. His hand reached out to touch the small bump on his donkey's head. Then it dropped away quickly. “Aw, that's just from when he ran into a door.” But his argument was weak and his tone soft.

“Perhaps, but it might be wiser to believe otherwise. Just in case.” Adele winked. “Farewell, Nasir. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

The young urchin bowed low to her. “If ever you are in Cairo again, be sure to find me.”

“I will.” Adele yanked free the knot restraining the boat and shoved its bow away from the dock before leaping lightly onto the deck. She waved good-bye.

Nasir stood resting one hand gently on the withers of his partner as he raised his other hand in farewell to his best customers. “Good luck, Lady Pareesa! To you and your vampire friend!”

Thankfully, no one on the dock reacted to the child's bizarre remark.

Soon the wharves slipped out of sight between the large ships and barges, and Adele slipped the dahabiya into the river traffic. The heavy airship coverage thinned with time, and she didn't feel safe until they were at least an hour outside the city. As the sun dropped below the distant horizon, Gareth struggled topside.

“Are you hungry?” Adele asked.

“No. I won't need to feed today.”

“How long can you last?”

“Quite a while. But you can't. Eat.”

Adele put together a simple meal for herself, eating self-consciously in front of him. As the stars brightened and the air cooled, they lounged on deck. She reached over and squeezed his hand, hoping to bring him comfort.

He observed her with a weary smile. “The heat was more intense than I imagined today. You took command of the situation admirably.”

Adele snorted with mock derision. “Would you mind writing a letter of recommendation to the court? They seem to think I'm only suited for teas and christening ships.”

“Why would they think that? You survived Cesare. You are obviously more capable than anyone else.”

“Well, several reasons. First, I'm a woman. Second, I'm half Persian.”

Gareth shook his head in confusion. “Why should that matter?”

“It shouldn't, but that's what
some
in Commons believe, that bunch of stuffy old men with giant mustaches. You see, the days of the vampire conquest are like epic myths to many of the old families, who like to pretend they're purely descended from the northern exiles. They prefer to ignore the fact that the Empire is built on Arabs, Africans, Indians, and Persians as well as Europeans. It's sad. But that's not the primary reason why the grandees look on me with disfavor. They're much more prejudiced against me as a woman than as a Persian.”

“They're fools. Females possess a unique perspective on ruling. They often temper their force with compassion and understanding. Often, avoiding a battle is greater than winning it. Males find that difficult. You have the balance of a fine sword. You can strike, but you can also parry. I see you as a magnificent ruler.”

Adele blushed at his praise. “Are you just saying that because you love me?”

“Yes,” he said firmly.

Adele grinned widely. “So do vampires have many queens? Or is your society strictly ruled by men? I could have seen Flay as a frighteningly capable queen.”

“Flay could never have been queen. She had no ancestry. But we have many queens. The New York clan, for instance, has a queen. Fen.” Gareth suppressed a shudder. “I might add, she is fond of me.”

“Is she now?” Adele leaned forward. “Do tell.”

“She is ancient and brittle. An old paramour of my father.”

Adele's smile turned into a grimace. “Okay, that's disturbing. How old is she?”

“As old as rocks. But the point is she's smart and calculating. She's held off rival clans for centuries, not to mention the Americans for over a hundred years. The fact that she's a female has no impact on her skills. Nor on yours.”

“Thank you. I think that if given the chance I will do a good job ruling Equatoria.”

“Yes,” he said succinctly.

“Someday,” she sighed wistfully. “Until then, we are just simple river folk.”

“How delightful.”

Adele set a bright lantern on the prow of the boat. “I'll take first watch.”

“Please sit with me for a while. Days from now, I may be so incapacitated from the heat I won't be able to enjoy your company.”

“Of course.” Adele complied. “Here, rest your head in my lap.”

Curious, he lay back against her and found peace from his weary day. They talked of all the things they had experienced in the months apart. Adele showed him the dime novel with its garish and bawdy cover art.
The Princess and the Swordsman.

Gareth studied it with great interest. “What is this?”

“It's a story. About you and me. They're very popular. And there are also plays. That's where people pretend to be others on stage, for an audience.” She showed him the playbill for
Desire in the Dead North.

“People pretend to be us?”

“Yes.”

“Are they good at it?”

“They're all right. I've seen a few dramas starring us. Some were better than others.”

He opened
The Princess and the Swordsman
and saw a black-and-white drawing of a man in a flowing long robe with a head wrap similar to Greyfriar's, carrying a broad-bladed scimitar. Cowering behind the dashing adventurer was a frightened young woman dressed for a harem. Under the picture was the legend:
The Greyfriar stands ready to defend the helpless Princess Adele.

“That looks nothing like either of us. And why are you cowering? That's not like you.”

Adele shrugged. “It's just for entertainment. Accuracy isn't the point. Here, this is my favorite drawing.” She flipped to another picture of a man with a cape and a sword, his arm around the waist of a beautiful woman. The two were on the verge of a kiss. In the air around them were hairy, clawed beasts with wings. Adele read the caption in a melodramatic voice,
“She was betrothed. He was a hero. But they found forbidden love in the crypts of Scotland.”
She laughed. “But at least all the stories have happy endings.”

“Are we always together?”

“Every time.”

“Good.” With that knowledge, Gareth relaxed, and he fell asleep.

C
OLONEL
A
NHALT CLOSED
the drawer of his desk and locked it. He turned off the gas light on the wall and glanced around the small office he maintained but rarely occupied—perhaps for the last time. As he reached for the door, it flew inward and the shadowy space was filled by a small figure in a Bedouin robe. For a moment, Anhalt thought a street urchin had found his way into the palace.

“Colonel!” Prince Simon exclaimed. “Have you heard anything?”

“I have not, Your Highness.” Anhalt stepped into the corridor, pressing the boy out, and closed the door behind him.

“Then where are you going?” Simon indicated a fat valise in the colonel's hand.

“I am going to investigate a report of Her Highness in Damascus. But it is likely false, as usual.”

“Can I go?”

“
May
I go.” Anhalt immediately assumed the corrective role of Adele in her absence. “No, you may not.”

“Why? It's boring here. Everyone's all upset over Adele. Senator Clark walks around like he owns the place.”

The colonel started down the hall with an arm looped over the boy's shoulders. “I understand, but you must remain. Until your sister returns, you are the heir.”

“That's stupid!” Simon shouted. “She's the real heir, but she's the one always out having adventures all the time. And I'm stuck here in boring Alexandria!”

“It does seem silly, doesn't it? But your sister is a unique individual. And if you leave, who will care for the cat?”

“I'll bring him.”

“Cats don't travel well.”

“This one does. He came all the way from the north.”

Anhalt chuckled. “True. But even so.”

“And I didn't get to meet the Greyfriar,” Simon grumbled. “He was here and I didn't even talk to him.”

“He was busy. Perhaps he'll be back.”

“If he does, Senator Clark will shoot him.” The boy brightened. “Or maybe Greyfriar will shoot Clark!”

“No one will shoot anyone.”

“Please let me come with you. Please!”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Prince Simon. But where I'm going, you can't follow.”

“Damascus? I've been there.”

Colonel Anhalt halted before the prince. “There are times when we all must do what we'd prefer not to. You have been called on to do such things more than most your age. But you are a prince, and it is your lot in life. I have been very proud of you. No matter what happens, please don't forget that.”

Simon regarded Anhalt with a curiously adult gaze. “You are coming back, aren't you?”

The Gurkha paused. He reached up and touched the Imperial Service Medal he wore on the chest of his red tunic, the only decoration he displayed despite earning many. He saluted the boy.

“It has been an honor to serve you, Your Highness.”

Anhalt spun swiftly and strode away.

The candles that lit the interior of the Djibouti tavern were guttering and stank of cheapness. The entire room reeked of sweat, beer, hashish, and repressed fear and anger. Hushed conversations buzzed along with the flies.

When Anhalt entered, bleary eyes turned on him. Then some swung away, but others continued to stare at the stranger. Despite the nondescript khakis, this man was clearly not a regular. He was firm and straight, not bent with secrets. His eyes were not red with alcohol or hatred. The curiosity was palpable as the stranger crossed to the bar. His hands rested on his holstered revolver and the hilt of his sword, but he was likely the most lightly armed person here. That included the bartender, who regarded him without moving.

Anhalt said, “I'm looking for someone.”

“Don't know him.”

“I am not with the authorities.”

The bartender grinned at the unintended joke. “Oh, you're not, are you?”

Several men at the bar turned to the newcomer, annoyed at being interrupted from their quiet quest for cirrhosis. One of them growled, “There's no one here. Be on your way before we get annoyed.”

Anhalt ignored the man and continued, “I'm looking for Captain Aswan Hariri. I am a friend of his.”

“If you're a friend, then you'd know where he was—if he existed, which he don't, so far as I know.”

Anhalt felt sweat dribbling down his neck. The air was stifling. “I was told Captain Hariri frequented this establishment.”

The bartender rubbed his dark Somali face. “I'll give you some free advice, mate. Leave now. And don't come back.”

A man laughed as he lay in the corner working the overhead fan by pulling a string attached to his big toe. Dust sparkled in the sun shafts penetrating the broken window shutters. Chairs across the room scraped as more men took interest in the scene. There were murmurs of “imperial” and “police.” As they found more bravery in numbers, figures moved toward Anhalt with open sneers and hands in pockets or on belts where weapons rested.

“Attention, gentlemen.” The colonel inched away from the bar in case he needed more room to maneuver. “This is a simple transaction. I am looking for my friend. If I find him, I will go away. No one needs to die.”

Several men snickered and made comments about exactly who would die today. Then a thin European seated at the bar came at Anhalt with what he must have felt was a cunning move, swiping with a dagger.

Anhalt easily slipped the strike, kicking the man in the chest and knocking him off his stool while drawing his Fahrenheit saber. The glowing green sword held the room in amazement for a few seconds, since such finely wrought examples were still rare in such sordid environs.

Another blade came at Anhalt and he struck the man's arm, raising a scream of pain from the attacker. Now the colonel's revolver was out too. A large brute lunged and he sidestepped, bringing the pistol butt down on the back of the man's head. A glimpse of a threat from behind brought the saber in an arc so it ripped through a man's shoulder with fire.

Anhalt vaulted onto a table, scattering liquor bottles and beer pints. He kicked a large hookah at a man who caught the glass and water full in the face. At the first sign of a pistol in the mob, he fired and dropped the gunman.

The door was blocked by a crowd, some of whom were rushing out, but others stood and waited, smiling and hoping for a chance at loot when the foolish intruder was eventually brought down.

“Kill him!” came a shout. “Damned imperial! Kill him, boys!”

Anhalt slashed again and again, driving the mob back, leaving streaks of green chemical in the air. He fired at another man who reached for his leg. The bullet impacted the table, spraying shards of wood. Then the man's hand separated from his arm. Anhalt watched curiously as the disembodied hand slid off his boot to the tabletop.

A man jumped onto the table with him, and he saw behind the trailing turban the dark face of Aswan Hariri. “Follow me, my friend. I'll cut a way out!”

Instantly, Hariri leapt from the table, swinging a broad scimitar and firing point-blank into the crowd. The drunks fell back, shouting and screaming, flailing to be out of harm's way. Anhalt followed, striking around him with the saber, firing only when a threatening blade or gun came too close. Hariri kicked a man through the door and they surged out into the bright African sun. The two men spun in the dusty street and fired around the tavern's door frame to drive their pursuers back inside.

“Run!” Hariri shouted.

Anhalt followed the flowing robes of his friend, slipping between tan brick buildings, hurdling low fences, cutting through open doorways of homes. He occasionally turned to fire back at dogged pursuers, who became fewer and fewer with every twist and turn through the chaotic town.

Finally, Hariri stopped, with chest heaving, to scan the empty street behind them. He kept his pistol extended, waiting, as many faces stared out from behind doors and windows.

Anhalt said, “We're attracting attention with weapons in the street.”

“This is Djibouti, not Alexandria. Count yourself lucky children aren't returning fire.” Hariri then took off at a trot. “Come. I've a safe place not far from here.”

Apparently,
not far
meant fifteen minutes running through the searing heat. Finally, Hariri led them through a nondescript archway into a courtyard with a cooling fountain. They passed into a dim room looking out on the blue harbor crowded with dhows and steamships, while the achingly blue sky was full of airships.

Hariri pulled off his gun belt and sword, stretching with relief. He was tall and dark and thin. He wore a slight beard that curled off his chin. His deep brown eyes were quiet and haunted, no matter the smile beaming from his lips. He tossed a heavy water skin to the colonel.

Anhalt downed the water greedily and wiped his mouth. “Thank you.” But he didn't mean for the drink.

“You're welcome. To say that I'm surprised to see you is an understatement. Someone found me on the street telling me that a policeman was asking for me by name. I had to see for myself who would be so bold or desperate. Or stupid.” Hariri laughed and dropped onto a pile of cushions. “And behold, it was you in the process of being killed.”

“I did not realize I stood out so. Apparently polite enquiries are frowned upon in that place.”

Hariri nodded with a sly eyebrow. “I'll never be able to drink there again. Ah well, their ale was like bath water.”

Anhalt sheathed his sword and sat on a bench along one wall. “I'm glad to have found you, in any case.”

“It has been years, my friend. Was it Zanzibar when we last fought together?”

“Yes.”

“I'm surprised you can afford to be seen with one such as I.”

“What passed between you and the Imperial Air Command isn't my concern.”

“Of course. I hear you have done well. Commander of the princess's guard?”

“That is correct.”

“The lady Adele is quite the handful, so I've heard.” Hariri laughed, but when he saw Anhalt's grim reaction, he became serious. “I'm sorry. Can I assume she is the reason for your visit to my humble home?”

“You can. I need your help, Aswan. I need a trustworthy captain and crew who can handle a brig in the face of difficulties. Without questions.”

Hariri sighed. “I can always find men who have no curiosity. But, forgive me, they will require payment.”

“I have money,” Anhalt said. “And if we succeed, there will be great rewards. If we fail—” He shrugged.

“It is not for me I ask.” Hariri sat forward earnestly. “I would serve you for no reason other than that you are Colonel Mehmet Anhalt, commander of the White Guard.”

The colonel finished reloading his pistol. He sat back and crossed his legs. “I am no longer commander of the White Guard. As of yesterday, I am a traitor and deserter.”

“Well, who among us is perfect?” Hariri pursed his lips with concern. “Is this turn of events something you have done for your lost princess?”

“It is.”

“If I may, my friend, you were always the most loyal Equatorian I ever knew. Why do you risk everything for her?”

“I promised her mother.”