When he had eaten as much of the creature as he could manage, Athir tossed its remains aside. They landed with a splash somewhere beyond his range of vision. Then the Ship’s Rat took a long, close look at his rescuer.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Why did you set me free?”
“You know me, Fidi-tsotsi,” she replied. “From the Ashaki. My name Kalisha. They call me ‘Amiya-girl.’”
Athir remembered her as she was without the mask ... a somber girl who would appear from time to time with loot from the former Beit Amiya. His heart sank as he realized that she was a favorite of Jass Mofo.
So this isn’t a rescue after all, he thought. It’s a cruel trick, just what I should have expected from Mofo...
Athir tensed his muscles in anticipation of instant action. Kalisha was armed; he was not. But he was a full-grown man, and she was only a girl. Surely he could overpower her, then take the mask and use it to light his way while he searched for a way out of the Underground ... and then out of the city. The dagger wasn’t even in the girl’s hand now. And his own hands were quick.
As if she had been listening to his thoughts, Kalisha suddenly bared her dagger with a speed of hand that matched Athir’s at his best.
“You stayin’ with me,” she said.
Athir relaxed. Better to keep her talking, then find a way to distract her, he thought.
“Why don’t you take off that mask,” he suggested. “It must get hard for you to breathe with it on all the time.”
“Mask don’ want to come off,” Kalisha said.
“How’s that?”
“I carry Mask for long time, it don’ want me to put it on. Then one day, Mask tell me to put it on. Then it tell me where you be, and tell me to come get you. Now, I wait for Mask to tell me what to do with you.”
“I ... see,” Athir said noncommittally.
Inside, he shuddered.
This girl is crazy, he thought. And the mad were the most dangerous to deal with of all, because there was no way for even the shrewdest operator to anticipate what they might do next, or why. That was the reason Athir had never stolen from anyone he suspected of insanity.
“Do you think the mask might want you to take me out of these sewers?” Athir asked hopefully.
“No,” Kalisha replied. “Too dangerous up there. Muvuli ...”
“So you’re not going to take me to Jass Mofo?”
Kalisha shook her head. The mask moved with her, as if it had become part of her body.
“Mask want you. Forget Mofo.”
Athir stifled a sigh of relief. Kalisha might be mad, and she was carrying a weapon. But at least he was better off with her than he would have been had he remained trussed in the alcove like a sacrificial offering. And he had shadows of his own to avoid above the Underground. If his enemies could pluck him out of the Gebbi Senafa, it might well be better for him to remain here, hopefully well beyond their reach. And, even though she was clearly deranged, at least Kalisha did not appear to want him dead. Not yet, anyway.
Sooner or later, though, the Ship’s Rat would be free – Mask or no Mask.
“Come,” Kalisha declared. “It better not to stay in one place too long.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Athir muttered as he followed the glow of the Mask into the darkness.
3
Sadness suffused the Empress Tiyana as she sat in the Throne Room of the Gebbi Senafa. She did not sit on the Lion Throne; she would not have the right to do so until her formal coronation ceremony. She did not look forward to that event ... or to any other. Or even to living another day with the onerous weight of the sorrow that pressed down on her like a leaden shroud.
Instead, she sat at the bottom of the steps that led to the dais upon which the Lion Throne rested. The ancient, ornate seat loomed high above her. Its shadow penetrated beneath her skin and darkened her soul.
She imagined that Gebrem was still sitting on the Empire’s throne. But in her mind, the image of her father became as it had been the last time she saw him, lying dead beside his overturned gharri. And she thought of the Lion Throne as a Blood Throne ...
Tiyana shook that image from her mind as she tried to concentrate on the Degen Jassi who were coming one-by-one to affirm their fealty to her. It was a ritual that dated back to the time before the Matile built cities of stone. Was it only yesterday that Tiyana stood by Gebrem’s side while the Degen Jassi paid similar tribute to him after the death of Alemeyu?
That recollection brought a new wave of grief, which Tiyana struggled to suppress. The time for more tears was later. But not now. Not here.
Tiyana did not want to be Empress. Not this way. She would have preferred to be a shamasha if being so would have allowed her father and Keshu to live. But that was not to be. The Empire was in her hands now ... hands that she kept clasped tightly together, so that the Degen Jassi would not see how badly they were trembling.
Her father ...dead.
The man she wanted to become her husband ... dead.
Others close to her had survived the attack. Kyroun ... her Fidi friend, Byallis ... her Matile friend, Yemeya. But the part of her that should have been grateful that they were still alive lay dormant, as though it had died along with Keshu and Gebrem. When she had more time to grieve alone, she would appreciate the good fortune of those who – including herself – had survived. Now, though, she could not.
The voices of those who were offering their allegiance to her seemed to be coming
