Could it be?
Of course not. The Fates neither loved him so well nor hated Sagdet so much.
He sank down onto his heels, tucked his hands in, turned his face down, andwatched under his brows. The man passed within ten feet without seeing him.
It was the one called Edgit. Perhaps the old man would want to know that hehad been here.
Azel moved almost before Edgit was out of sight. He had scouted the house. Thebest way in was through the front door. If he got there quickly whoever hadlet Edgit out might think the guest had returned for something.
He knocked. In seconds the door opened. An irritated voice started to say,
"His Lordship ..."
Azel shot his left hand to the man's throat, gripped. He brought his right around in a hook to the temple. A brass knuckleduster took the impact. The mansagged.
Azel lowered him to the floor, easing him out of the way of the door, which heclosed but did not latch. Quickly, but with care because he did not know theinterior layout, he passed through the house to the back, then to the eastside, to unlatch the doors there and open alternate avenues of retreat. Onlythen did he approach the one room from which sounds of life could be heard.
The door was not latched. And the sounds were what he'd suspected them to be: those of a man and woman rutting.
Gorloch be praised! Or the Fates, if it be deserved. The woman was astride, facing away, and the man had his eyes closed. Azel slipped into the room. Hepicked up a discarded sash as he crossed the room, wrapped one end around hisleft hand, let the other fall free. The woman sensed his approach in the laststep, started to turn. His blow stilled her curiosity before she caught aglimpse of him No stopping the man from seeing him and loosing a startled, squeaking, "You!
What the hell are you doing?" as he thrashed out of his entanglement with thewoman and started to flee on all fours. "Who sent you? The General? Is hetrying to scare me? I don't have to put up with this!"
Fat jiggled olive skin. Absurd broad buttocks humped and swayed. He gainedground. He reached the corner where Azel wanted him, scrabbled at the walls toget to his feet, spun with a mouth full of bluster and threats.
None of which got spoken.
"Oh, Aram! You mean it! Damn it, man... . I'll back down. Tell him! I'll doit his way. You don't have to do this! We can deal!" He raised pudgy hands, pushed at the air. "Don't! What do you want? I've got money... . Please?"
Azel was close enough. Leaving one imaginary opening to his right, he feintedwith the sash in his left hand.
Sagdet darted for the perceived opening.
Azel's fist smashed into the side of his head. He spun against the wall.
Before Sagdet could recover his wits Azel had the sash around his neck and aknee in the middle of his back.
Sagdet struggled, as any dying thing must, but his efforts only served to puthim facedown on the floor, where his assailant had a greater advantage. Oncethere he could do nothing but paw and claw and pound the stolen carpet againstwhich he was being crushed.
Azel felt the body shudder, smelled the stench as sphincters relaxed. Sagdetmust have had an abominable diet. He held on for a count of another twenty, then knotted the sash in place.
He went to the woman, touched her throat. Her pulse was strong and regular.
Good. None should be hurt who had not earned it.
He walked a reverse course through the house, leaving the side and back doorsopen wide. He checked the pulse of the man he had left inside the front door, found it a little ragged but not dangerously so. He looked outside carefullybefore he departed. Leaving the front door standing open, too.
It would not be long before thieves accepted the invitation and swept to theplunder, obliterating completely the reality of what had happened.
The General wakened to the whisper of the street door. The light of the lampmoved across the outer room. "Is that you?"
"Yes."
"Back already?"
"Yes."
"It's done?"
"It's done. The man Edgit was leaving as I arrived."
Something stirred in the old man's innards, settled in the pit of his gut liketen pounds of hot, poisonous sand. He could not become accustomed to orderingexecutions. "Good, then."
The lamp moved away, back toward the street door. "He promised that he'd mendhis ways. That he'd never do it again."
The old man listened to the door close, perhaps shutting him off from half athought. What the hell had the man meant?
That had not been a taunt, nor an accusation, nor even a bald statement offact. It had had an odor of admonition about it, a smell of the cautionaryparable.
The mass in his gut grew heavier.
He drifted off to sleep without having figured it out.
Aaron tore chunks off a sheet of unleavened bread and used them to dip bitesof whatever it was that Mish had made for breakfast. He did not notice that the bread had been burned on one side or that the rest of the meal could not be identified even by someone paying close attention. He barely noticed whatMish was doing while Laella still slept.
After the late night with Reyha and Naszif they had come home to find Stafarestless and whiny with a mild fever and stubbornly insisting that he had notbeen weaned.
Aaron thought Laella had made a mistake nursing the boy as long as she had butthat was not on his mind. Nor was he preoccupied with the task that faced himat work. He had not built and set a mast step before, but it was just a job ofcarpentry and he had faith in his skills as a carpenter.
No. His preoccupation remained Naszif and what, if anything, to do about him.
And he knew he had come to an impasse because he was unable to remove himselffrom the situation far enough to view it dispassionately. He could notdiscern, much less untangle, his chains of personal and moral and patrioticobligation. If such existed. He was not sure they did.
It all depended, first, upon the depth of his conviction that Naszif hadopened that hidden postern. If the accusation was mere prejudice, if there wasdoubt about the guilt, if someone else had been the malefactor, then there wasno problem. Naszif could be ignored.
But if Naszif was guilty, then the Living might be clutching an asp to itsbosom.
Was it his place to be concerned? He had a sentimental, romantic attachment tothe Living, but no commitment. He wasn't sure he really wanted them to doanything about the occupation. Some out-of-the-dark, miraculous triumph by thediehards might hurt him more than it helped.
Before the coming of Herod his life had been good. But it was better now. Hegot paid more. And there was as much work as he wanted, so that he could takehome as much money as he wanted. And the Herodian operators never tried tocheat a man of his wages.
He had prospered under the Herodian occupation. He had been lucky. To balancethe extra mouths in his household Aram in his kindness had given him nodaughters to dowry. He had almost enough saved to get his family out of theShu, over the hill, and into the Astan, where they could have a decent life.
If Laella did not become pregnant in the next year ...
He could work for himself in the Astan, doing work he enjoyed. Building shipsrequired craftsmanship but allowed no scope for individual vision or artistry.
Among the few concrete certainties in Aaron's world was his conviction thatNaszif had opened that postern in that tower.
Coming home last night he had asked Laella who she considered to be her bestfriend. He had gotten the expected answer without hesitation or reflection: Reyha. Then he had asked who she considered her worst enemy, or who she mosthated. Consciously he had anticipated hearing the name of a neighbor with whomshe had been feuding for years. But unconsciously, maybe, he had expectedsomething akin to the answer he did get after several minutes of reflection.
"The people who made Taidiki kill himself."