golden light, burning like the setting sun. The air around the aetherium shimmered and rippled. “The grip and sheathe are protected from the heat by a special ceramic. The blade itself can only be forged by a trained master from the far east, because they refuse to teach our own smiths how to do it. But none of that really matters. What matters is what is contained in here.” He shoved the blade home, hiding the fiery light.
“And what is contained in there?” Kenan asked.
“Souls. You see, this metal, which your people have so aptly called aetherium, drinks in the aether mist, and any soul that happens to touch the steel is caught in the aether riptide and sealed inside. The more souls swallowed by the blade, the hotter and brighter it becomes, though it never melts. And when wielded by a master swordsman, the souls speak and give their wisdom to their master.”
Shifrah watched Kenan’s whole face grow tight and tense and she wondered whether he was seriously considering what he had just heard or whether he was trying to suppress his natural inclination to ridicule all things that fell outside his Mazigh sense of logic and science.
“So, you’re saying that if you kill a man with that sword, you can steal his soul?”
“Exactly.”
“So, you’re saying that Don Lorenzo’s soul is in that sword right there?”
“Yes.”
“And what is Don Lorenzo’s soul saying to you right now?”
Aker’s only answer was a sour smile.
Shifrah cleared her throat. “None of that matters right now. What matters is that I have a network of allies in Alexandria who can help us avoid the Mazighs and find work somewhere else, at least for a little while.”
“I don’t want to work somewhere else,” Kenan said. “I want to drag his murdering ass back to Tingis and watch him hang for killing the Don.”
“Then shoot me now.” Aker held out his empty hands and grinned.
“I’d love to, but that’s not how I work.” Kenan yawned. “When we get to Carthage, I’m going to stick my gun in your mouth and march you right onto the next train back to Tingis and then hand you over to the police.”
“And why would I go along with that little plan?”
“Because bullets are faster than swords.” Kenan smiled. “Then again, you’re a delusional cultist, so I may have to shoot you once or twice somewhere unimportant to get you to cooperate. But don’t worry. I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”
Shifrah shot him a stern look. “You’re not going to shoot him or anyone. And you’re not taking him back to Tingis. I’m sorry your friend died tonight, but these things happen. You knew who I was and you knew who I work with. If you had a problem with it, you should have said something before now.”
“And you shouldn’t have mistaken my silence for my approval.”
“I don’t care. Do what you want. Just leave Aker alone. I need him.” She rested the tips of her fingers on the handle of the stiletto in her right boot.
“Why? Why do you need him?”
“Because he’s been back to Alexandria more than I have. He knows the new players in town. I need him to help me find Omar.”
Aker rolled his eyes. “I already told you. Omar is dead.”
“You know that for a fact? You saw his body? No? Then shut up,” Shifrah snapped at him. She turned back to Kenan. “Omar took care of me. I owe him. If he really is gone, then I don’t have a contact anymore, so I need to find out who has been sending me all these orders over the years.”
Kenan frowned. “What orders, exactly?”
Shifrah sighed. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because you want me to turn my back on my home and just walk away from my job, from my responsibilities. I won’t do that if it puts my people in danger. So what sorts of orders has this mystery man been sending you?”
Shifrah paused. “If Omar has really been missing for seven or eight years, then it includes my orders to come to Marrakesh the first time, to work for Lady Sade, to help destabilize the Mazigh government and put someone on the throne who would be more friendly to Alexandria.”
Kenan frowned a little deeper. “Lady Sade. I haven’t thought about her in years. That was a hell of a mess. Rioting in Arafez. Assassinating the queen. You’re saying that this new mystery boss of yours set all that up?”
“Probably.”
“All right,” Kenan said. “Then I won’t arrest Aker here. Yet. We’ll go to Alexandria and see what we can see, and I’ll play it by ear from there. Deal?”
Shifrah blinked. “You’re coming with us?”
“Of course. I’m not letting him out of my sight unless I get a damn good reason to.”
Aker smirked. “How charitable of you.”
Shifrah shrugged. “Fine. But you’ll need to watch yourself. Alexandria can be a dangerous place. Especially for foreigners.”
Kenan laughed. “You can say that about any place. I’ll worry about Alexandria when we get there. We have to get through Carthage first, and that won’t be any picnic either.”
Shifrah raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that? What’s going on in Carthage?”
Day Two
Chapter 5. Qhora
Through her little round window, she could look out over the wing at the rolling hills and wide open plains of Numidia. Patchwork fields and tiny towns and ant-like cattle spread out below, slowly sliding back across her view as the Halcyon droned on and on into the predawn sky. A faint smudge of pale gray and pink and yellow had appeared on the horizon, growing brighter in fits and starts between when she fell asleep and when she jerked awake.
There were moments when she wanted to reach forward and slit Salvator Fabris’s throat for what he had done to Enzo, and to Enzo’s students, and to her. The pointless chases, the midnight raid, the cold jail cell, and the young men bleeding all over the floor.
But none of them had died.
The boys were all back home at Enzo’s fencing school just outside Madrid, training, playing, and waiting for their master to return. Qhora sighed and felt a horrible stain crawl over her memory of home. She would have to tell them. One day very soon she would have to walk inside, call them together, and say out loud that Don Lorenzo was dead, and they would all have to leave to find other schools or to go home and find something else to do with their lives. Don Lorenzo’s fencing school was already a thing of the past.
For a moment, she envied their ignorance. But only a moment. Their doom was coming. All their plans and hopes of the future were already shattered. They just didn’t know it yet.
She tried to remember the faces of the two people Salvator had killed in the Pyrenees. The Italian chemist and the Eranian student. Plane crash survivors, refugees, and ultimately victims of someone else’s greed and cruelty, their bodies left by necessity high on a mountain path in a raging snow storm. She wondered if anyone had ever found the bodies, or if they were still there where Enzo and Taziri had left them.
Qhora sighed. It’s all so far away and long ago now.
She couldn’t bring herself to care about the young Italian. Dante had been a rude and selfish creature. But the girl, Shahera, she had reminded Qhora of a childhood friend in faraway Cusco. And for her death, Qhora almost pulled the Songai knife from her boot and plunged it between Salvator’s shoulder blades.
But she didn’t. She needed him. For now. Needed his money. Needed his knowledge. Maybe she would even need his sword. But then, when this was over and she didn’t need him anymore, then she could kill him. She could kill him for Shahera, and Enzo and the boys, and even for Dante.
Why didn’t Enzo kill him when he had the chance?
They had dueled. The Italian lost. But Enzo let him go. Qhora’s lip curled into a little smile.
