buildings and the high, irregular, windows had lost their glazing centuries ago. Piles of crates and other junk loomed over the alley doorway, as if garbage from all over the Barca had been deposited there for months.
In the midst of all this, Cheyne noticed a Fascini sedan, its purple fringe rippling as the Neffian slaves broke into a quick march. They pulled away from the front of the shop just as Og knocked softly in an intricate pattern on the heavy wooden back door.
Which opened somewhere in the middle of Og's percussion, a serving girl's small, irritated face appearing from behind it, much to his amazement and then to his distress.
'Where is Kalkuk?' said Og.
The young woman at the door winced, then motioned them quickly in with a bottle of linseed oil. 'Dead. They just put him in the ground. You gonna be dead, too, if she finds you here.'
'What's happened, Vashki? How Is Kalkuk dead? I just saw him the other day, and he was perfectly healthy, may he spend as little time as possible in the fourth purgatory,' muttered Og, his voice as low as the girl's.
'He was found by the hired men working for that foreign digger out at Old Sumifa. They are trying to hush it up, but my man works out there, too, and said the boss sent them home early yesterday. Kirmah recognized Kalkuk. We all knew Kalkuk was behind with his payments to Riolla, but it was only by a few days and we thought he could come up with something. Diggers brought him in, and his kinswoman buried him this morning, early. Look, I gotta work and you gotta go. The lady's just back from an appointment and she is not happy. She's Kalkuk's niece; we worked together in here sometimes, but she's the boss now-'
'Vashki? Who are you talking to?'
Cheyne turned toward the sound of the voice. A fragrance filled the room instantly: bergamot and myrrh. The owner of the red ribbon, the woman with the prince.
'Uh-oh,' said Vashki, resuming her work with practiced immediacy. 'Now you get to be thrown out in style. Just like the fancy Fascini boyfriend in here before you. Young Prince Maceo himself!'
A slender woman glided into the room, the large package in her arms obscuring her face. All Cheyne could see behind the box was a tumble of black curls pinned up loosely with combs and red ribbons. She put the crate down on the counter. Cheyne's view improved. Stupendously.
Thinking about the dead man from the ruins, for surely this Kalkuk was the same man, Cheyne had said nothing up to now. He cleared his throat roughly in an attempt to introduce himself and show her the totem, thinking that she might recognize it and all the mysteries would be solved. But Og pulled at his cloak smartly, and the young man swallowed his words.
'We come in search of a map, my good lady. I have done business with your uncle for long years now. Vashki here tells me he has recently passed on. I hope it was none of the Five Fatal Fevers.' Og bowed deeply, his nose all but touching the newly swept floor.
'Who are you? You both look familiar,' said the woman, her eyes flashing darkly.
'My name is Ogwater Rifkin, professional guide, and this is my friend, who searches for passage across the erg to the far country. Your uncle sold the finest maps in all of Sumifa.'
'You were part of my uncle's clientele?'
'Oh, yes, on many occasions. He and I did much good business together,' said Og. Cheyne gave him a puzzled look, suddenly wondering if Og had had anything to do with the man's murder. 'Well, at any rate, we did business,' Og allowed.
Noting the lack of other customers, the woman glared at him for a moment, her eyes red and swollen, sighed deeply, and then motioned them around to the front of the counter. 'Try not to touch anything, please.' Her voice was tired and aloof.
'Oh, of course, of course. You have, ah, really shined things up here. I've never seen it look so… empty,' said Og, searching for the stacks of brass sculpture filled with illegal Glavian shirrir, the stolen paintings waiting to be shipped on a midnight caravan, and the little piles of date pits that once littered the premises of his favorite black market. He marveled at what difference a day had made. The girl had worked fast.
'The shop, Muje Rifkin, is no longer what it once was. I am the cartographer who drew the maps-the correct ones-my uncle sold. I will ask you never to come again for the sort of business you no doubt conducted with my uncle. But today I will provide you a legitimate map for the legitimate fee in kohli.'
Cheyne could no longer remain quiet. 'Mujida, we are sorry for your loss, and thank you for serving us. My name is Cheyne,* he said. 'May I have the honor of knowing yours?'
Ogwater frowned his displeasure, thinking they would be there far too long now, and he really had reached his sobriety limit. His hands were beginning to shake and his mouth was dryer than the desert.
'My name is Claria. What is your final destination?' she replied, her voice a little less sharp, the first hints of a smile softening her angular face. Cheyne felt his cheeks go warm at the music in Claria's odd, lovely name. He almost forgot to answer her question.
'Uh… the Sarrazan forest, I believe,' he finally sputtered out.
'The Borderlands?' she began, a strange look crossing her face. 'Wait-I remember you now. Maceo almost ran you down in the street the other day. You're not from here. Don't you know-'
'He knows that's where he wants to go,' Og hastily injected. Claria raised a dark brow, but said no more.
There was no way around it. He would have to see if she recognized the totem. Cheyne reached into his pack and brought out the ganzite block. Claria took it without his expected reaction, but was immediately intrigued with the carvings.
'Where…?' Claria began.
'On site. Well, in a sort of crypt, actually.' He thought better of telling her that he had found it in her dead uncle's hand. 'I have to find out what the glyphs say. If you can read them, then we won't have to take the journey,' replied Cheyne hopefully. Og slapped his forehead in disgust. Vashki giggled from the corner.
'On site? You are a digger? You must have been there when they found Kalkuk. Do you know what happened to my uncle? You must tell me. They would say only that he had been murdered, that Riolla had it done.' Claria's eyes teared up again, and all Cheyne could do was shake his head.
'I am so sorry. I know less than you. Until now, none of us even knew his name. But I will tell my father. Perhaps he will want to speak with you,' he offered.
Claria nodded, holding the totem to the light, forcing her mind back on the business at hand. Cheyne found that harder to do. Her eyes were so clear, so golden, as they wandered over the crystal.
'Why is it, if you are a digger, you cannot read the language on this totem? I thought that was supposed to be a digger's particular expertise,' said Claria absently, picking up a glass to magnify the symbols.
'Because archaeologists are usually not epigraphers. And our linguist, the best there is, has no skill with this tongue, either.'
Claria looked up. 'Neither do I. I am sorry. I cannot read this writing. It is too old. But the last character- there is something very, ah, very strange about it, almost as though I have seen it somewhere before…' Claria tapped the crystal, pondering. At length, she gave it back to Cheyne.
'No. But if you really must go to the Borderlands, I think I have something here that will do for you,' she offered, ignoring both Og and Vashki, who seemed to be highly amused about something.
She looked out toward the street and, seeing no one, pulled a scroll from underneath the counter and unrolled it partway before spreading it full length on the tabletop. It was a fine rendition of Almaaz and the territories to its west, all the way to the Sarrazan forest and a little beyond.
'It's my best work. I took all the old maps I could find from caravan drivers who worked the routes before they were closed and drew this amalgam. This is the only copy. The information is years old, but nothing much ever changes in Almaaz. I hate to part with it, but I need this sale to pay for my uncle's sixteen days of requiem. Mourners are expensive.'
'This must have taken months…' breathed Cheyne as he traced a finger over the gilded compass rose. Claria smiled and nodded, placed weights on each corner, then laid a piece of purple string across a possible route for them around the western erg, down through the grasslands and then over the mountains. 'A long and dangerous journey, Cheyne. What you seek must be very important.'
'More dangerous than you guess,' mumbled Og, tracing his own route. 'We'll have to go through here and there also.' His dirty finger tapped first on the Wyrvil territory and then another area where Claria had skirted for a much longer, but far safer, way.
