There was another feminine outburst, Laella this time, then Arif was therebeside him, left hand on his right shoulder. Arif did not say anything. Aaronslipped his arm around his son's waist. In the background Stafa raised hellbecause his own break for freedom had been intercepted.
Aaron watched Mish and wondered why the crowd had turned ugly so suddenly.
What had the child-taker said? They would have turned on him, probably, hadthey known what he was.
He realized that the shadow of a man on horseback had fallen upon them. Helooked up. Into the wet grey eyes of an old hawk.
Joab.
The thin shell cracked, somewhere there in the back. The poison of hatredboiled through.
Joab, whose horsemen had overridden a Qushmarrahan company on the Plain ofChordan, leaving Aaron's father and brothers among the dead.
Aaron's body refused to be controlled. He rose slowly, coiled to spring. Hislimbs began to shake. A sound like that made by a cat trying to cough up furballs came from his throat.
Those grey eyes filled with surprise and maybe a touch of fright.
Aaron caught a glimpse of bel-Sidek standing on the far side of the street, watching him in amazement.
The dark fog parted. He shuddered, tore his gaze away from Joab, said, "Mish, come on," and gripped Arifs shoulder hard, headed him toward home. Mish camewithout protest, having heard something in his tone that silenced her penchantfor contradiction.
Yoseh watched the girl walk away, saddened, puzzled. "What the hell justhappened?" Joab asked. "I thought he was going for my throat."
Medjhah said, "You offended him somehow. About six years ago."
Joab looked at the veydeen man, grunted. "What went on here? Are these men allright?"
"Just a little battered, sir," Yoseh said. He explained about spotting thechild-stealer. Nogah came out of the maze and hovered nervously while hetalked.
The General closed the door he had held open a crack throughout theexcitement. He cursed softly, over and over. Azel had gotten away, but it hadbeen a close thing and those bastards-Joab and Fa'tad, at least-were going toput in some time trying to find out why the man had been in the area.
Azel never made mistakes. Not to the old man's knowledge. Nor to his own, either, probably. But his stroke of tactical inspiration, invoking the name ofthe Living, just might turn into a strategic nightmare.
Not Azel's fault, really. His own, for overutilizing his best man. Had anyonenoticed his frequent visits? Those had to stop, inconvenient as that would be.
He dared not have a child-stealer connected with this house or the Living.
The Living would have to disavow him, condemn him, demand that he be punishedfor using the movement's name. Azel was deft. He would evade trouble. Whatevernotoriety came of this would die out soon.
He looked across the room to his writing table, miles away. He had to scribblea note to Azel, warning him off, advising him that he would have to endure thename of outlaw for a time.
He started working his way along the wall, wishing there was someone he could bring in on what he was doing. He was too feeble to carry the whole burden.
But did he dare inform his khadifas? Most would be appalled, even outraged, though not all for the same reasons. Zenobel or Carza? Maybe. If it was presented carefully enough and he revealed the full scope of his duplicitous stratagem, so they would not be repelled by its unsavory immediate aspect. The old man had spent too much strength getting to the door. He did not retain resources adequate to the return journey.
For once bel-Sidek was not sorry about the condition of his leg. Had he been healthy he would have arrived in the middle of things, while tempers burned their hottest and reason bent before a draft out of Chaos. There was residual anger enough to trouble him as he questioned his neighbors.
Inner, secret shame had left some defiant. They could not admit that they had been gulled by a thug. His reassurances were not well received. He dared not pursue it too closely. He limped home irritated. Ortbal Sagdet had proven insiders could use the movement to their benefit. But who would have thought the baser sort of villain might use its name as a tool? He burst in ready to treat the General to an angry monolog. "Sir! Oh, Aram have mercy!" He dropped a squash he had bought for supper, fell to his knees. "Sir?"
The old man croaked, "Bel-Sidek?"
"Yes sir. I'm here, sir."
The flesh betrays the spirit." The old man's words came one to the breath. "Get me to the writing table."
Bel-Sidek lifted him. He was so light! "What were you trying to do, sir?"
"Watched that uproar in the street. Bel-Sidek, a beast of a man, a child- stealer, used our name to escape Dartar justice. If there is such a thing. Where are you going? I said the writing table."
Bel-Sidek lowered the old man into his bed. "You talk too much, sir. Shut up and rest." "The writing table. An order." "So try me for mutiny. At least you'll have the pleasure of being alive to enjoy it."
"The word has to go out. That man has to be caught. People are too eager to think evil of us now."
"Dictate. I'll take care of it."
The old man worked his way around till he faced the wall.
Stubborn old bastard. What was he doing walking around without help? At the very least he could have broken brittle bones.
Bel-Sidek began his meal preparations, and worried. He was supposed to joinMeryel again tonight. But it was obvious someone had to ride herd on the oldman, whose reason was slipping. He could not leave. But it was imperative thathe meet with Meryel and arrange for the disposition of the weapons in herwarehouse. They could not be kept there in a mass. Too much to risk.
Hadribel. The new khadifa of the Hahr had not yet left the Shu. He would doanything to overcome the embarrassment of Having allowed a Herodian agent torise so high in his organization.
Yes. Hadribel. He would not have to be away from the house more than a fewminutes to get Hadribel.
All the news came to Muma's first and fastest, Azel reflected sourly. Or, atleast, all the news that was bad news.
A child-taker stomped to death in the Asian. He did not want to go, but he hadno choice. If Agmed or Bel-Shaduk had got himself killed they would need toknow in the citadel. Now.
He half hoped the man killed was one of those two. That was the sort of whackupside the head the Witch needed to wake her up.
Azel pushed away from his table and went out into the late afternoon. Heheaded east by alleyway and back street. The better streets all boastedDartars headed for the Gate of Autumn and the compound beyond. He did not wantto run into any more Dartars. He was in a mood to try to hurt them and thatwouldn't be smart. They would only hurt him back.
He did not have to go rooting around the Astan to find out what he wanted toknow.
Here and there along Goat Creek, in the open spaces before the Old Wall, weregrounds designated for dumping. A Herodian conceit. They bred flies and ratsby the million. But so had the pre-conquest custom-still followed west of theacropolis-of dumping anything unwanted out the nearest window, in hopes therains would wash it away.
One of the bigger heaps served a grim purpose. It was there the corpses ofcriminals were thrown out for scavengers. It was next to the mound whereunwanted babies were set out to die or be found by those who did want them.
These days few were unwanted, few were exposed. Azel passed the placewondering if it might not have been better had he been exposed.
The body was there on Skull Heap. The day was failing but there was lightenough. He turned back the way he had come.
Sadat Agmed, looking pretty harmless now.
Mo'atabar came almost before Yoseh settled himself to his supper. "Fa'tadwants him as soon as he's eaten," he told Medjhah, who was in charge becauseNogah had stayed in the city with Faruk and another, hidden inside the Shumaze. "You, too."