Chapter 12
He ran all the way to Neeramphorn. Using the Heart of the Mountain he could see in the dark better than a horse and was nearly as fast. The air was thin and foul, and his exertions required him to breathe more of it. When he saw the lantern light of a gatehouse, Ashok slowed to a walk and then moved off the road and crouched behind a tree.
Counting the guards, even if there were double their number inside the gatehouse, he could kill them all without too much trouble, but hoped that would be unnecessary. Ashok preferred being direct rather than subtle, but he could not afford to attract the attention of the Protectors. And truthfully, he found himself troubled by killing outside the justification of the Law.
Luckily this time there was another way. There were many stalls and wagons to provide cover, and since the gates were closed for the night, the proprietors were gathered around their own fires, eating, talking, or in some cases, already snoring. There were a few lanterns hanging around the gate itself, but the edges were cloaked in shadow. The stonework was rough, and that meant there would be hand holds. It looked like it might be a difficult climb…but not for one who had touched the Heart of the Mountain.
Calling upon its magic to make his senses sharp, Ashok snuck to the wall, darting from shadow to shadow. He was in a long dark coat and hood, with his weapons secured beneath so they wouldn’t rattle. He breathed through his scarf so they wouldn’t spot the rising breath. Some of the merchants were keeping an eye out for trouble, but they were concentrating on protecting their goods from robbers. Luckily there were no dogs to start barking at him.
A few times he made a small bit of noise, but the encampment here more than covered it. Not to mention the guards weren’t paying that much attention, and the city on the other side of the gate was exceedingly loud. Then someone began plucking the strings on a veena, and a woman began singing a song. Another merchant joined in with a drum. No one would hear him over that racket.
Reaching the wall, Ashok scanned for solid holds, then shifted the power of the Heart to strengthen his limbs. He jumped and caught a ledge ten feet up. Dangling there, fingers locked like a vise, he waited to see if the guards had heard, but they were still continuing their conversations. So he began to climb, shifting the Heart’s magic from his limbs to his eyes whenever he needed to spy a new hold, and then turning back to make leaps that would leave a normal man broken on the rocks below.
Sensing no guard posted at the top, Ashok made it through the battlements. Below him stretched the smoky chaos of Neeramphorn. The other side of the wall was better lit, but nobody was looking up, so Ashok leapt down and landed crouched, absorbing an impact which would snap a regular man’s legs.
Ashok hadn’t seen the soldier because he was lying in a pile of straw, nearly empty bottle of wine in hand. The warrior’s eyes widened when he saw the man in black fall from the sky. Before he could shout, Ashok was leaning over him, hand crushed over his mouth, eye to hooded eye.
“This is only a bad dream,” Ashok whispered. “Go back to sleep. You would not want to meet me in the waking world.”
The warrior nodded vigorously. When released the man didn’t cry out. In fact he made a great show of crunching his eyes tight shut and curling into a ball on the straw. Some of the warrior caste were certainly braver than others.
Ashok was so quick that he was two streets away before the frightened warrior opened his eyes, realized he was alone, and tried to raise the alarm. Hopefully enough wine was gone from that bottle that when his fellows heard the report of threatening figures materializing from the night sky, they’d dismiss it as drunken nightmares.
It had been many years since he’d last been to Neeramphorn, but the city had experienced such rapid growth that this area had not even been inside the walls then. It was so industrious that even after dark in the winter, the streets remained busy. Once he was certain he was away from suspicion, Ashok got out of the shadows and onto the boardwalk. His coat was long enough to hide his sword. With his hood up and scarf pulled over his face, he didn’t look too different from the locals. Since these were by nature a busy people, even his quick, determined walk was not out of place.
The crowd surged around him as shifts changed, tired workers going home and fresh workers going in. When he began spotting familiar landmarks, Ashok set his course toward the pleasure district. Industry gave way to the businesses that served them. There were a multitude of food stands, and a great many workers were on their dinner break. The coal smoke was replaced with smells of frying dumplings and curries, far more appetizing than yet another serving of Keta’s gamey deer.
Ashok himself did not understand commerce. It had always been beneath his station. When a Protector needed something, he simply requisitioned it in the name of the Law. Now he found himself wishing that he’d taken some of Keta’s banknotes in order to buy a decent meal. But that was just weakness speaking, because a criminal did not deserve a good meal, so Ashok ignored the delicious smells and refocused on his mission.
He began seeing red lanterns. The pleasure district was on the border between the Thao neighborhoods and those controlled by Kharsawan and Akershan. This was where most of the legal casinos, fighting arenas, brothels, and opium dens were located. It was open to everyone but the non-people. There would even be members of the first caste here, though they would more than likely be in disguise.
As the city had grown, the pleasure district had needed to expand, but trapped in narrow valleys, there was nowhere to go but up. The mountain was not too steep here, so they had built up the sides, driving pilings into the rocks. The buildings had gotten taller and taller over the years, and then they’d been connected by catwalks, to smoothly move customers from their betting to their drinking, all out of the weather. If you hit someone in the face with a cold mountain wind they might sober up enough to want to keep some of their notes. Ashok may not have grasped the intricacies of commerce, but the merchants of Neeramphorn certainly did.
The Face of the East was a large four-story building, connected to all the other buildings around it. According to the signs and what he could see through the windows and balconies, it catered to workers of wealth and warriors of low to medium status, and it offered gambling, alcohol, poppies, and pleasure women. Judging by the crowd outside, it was a popular place. Well guarded too, judging by the armed men controlling the door.
A few warriors tried to enter, but they were stopped and told they couldn’t come in wearing their swords. Drunken brawls were one thing, but drunken sword fights could be incredibly destructive. It was an insult to ask a warrior to give up his sword, and offense might be taken, but the clever merchants had found a way around that custom. Right beside the entrance was a sword polisher’s stand. It was a polite lie which enabled the warriors to say they weren’t being disarmed while they drank themselves stupid. Instead they were having their weapon professionally sharpened, cleaned, and secured until they returned to claim it with a ticket.
If this was where the bounty was to be delivered, then Gutch was more than likely being held inside, or at least somewhere nearby. If he’d still had the full authority of the Law, Ashok would have walked right up to the door, announced himself, made his demands, and then cut down anyone who disagreed. Such behavior now would only bring the Law down on his head. He had to find Gutch another way, but after twenty years as one, it was hard not to think like a Protector.
He kept his head low so the hood would cover most of his face, in the off chance someone here might recognize him. He pulled up a stool at a noodle stand across the road in order to watch the comings and goings. The proprietor asked what he wanted.
“May I have a cup of water?”
“No noodles?”
Ashok’s stomach growled. It had been a long run. “I have no money for noodles.”
“Then go!” the man shooed him away, waving his hands like Ashok was a troublesome monkey. “Get out, bum.”
It was difficult to be snapped at by someone who would have once been as insignificant to him as a flea. Ashok inadvertently slipped, forgetting his current status, and lifted his head. He looked the man in the eyes and, without raising his voice, said, “I thirst. Clean water. Now.”
The noodle man, or whatever title was fitting for a worker of his rank, nodded fearfully and scurried away. Ashok had been told by many a criminal that he was intimidating. He’d always assumed it was just due to his office. Apparently not. He went back to observing the Face of the East and tried to think like a criminal.
In the worst possible scenario, he would leave his sword with the polisher to gain entry, find Gutch, then kill whoever was guarding him with his bare hands and take their weapons to fight his way out. Or perhaps he would enter through one of the other establishments around it, then try to find an unguarded catwalk? One side of the building was not as busy as the others, so it looked promising. There was no street below there, only rocks. It was rather dark, and the building it was connected to on that side was rather close. There were rain gutters which would make for an easy climb, and he could enter through a window on the top floor, unseen.
Noodle man returned and offered him a whole jug of water. “Fresh from the tastiest natural spring on the mountain just this morning, then kept cool in the shade all day. There might even be a little ice in it.”
Ashok took the jug and drank the whole thing. When he was done he wiped his face on his sleeve. “Ah. Much better.”
“Of course, noble sir. We often get men of the highest caste who wish to experience the joys of the pleasure district, but who dress humbly to avoid attention. Please forgive my earlier outburst. No offense was intended.”
“No offense was taken. Thank you, merchant.”
“Enjoy the stool as long as you wish.” Then he went back to his paying, and far less threatening, customers.
Ashok found the whole exchange curious. Even without status, he was treated with deference, just because he acted like he deserved it. It was fascinating…yet led to uncomfortable conclusions. He went back to watching the building, just in time to see a familiar face.
Jagdish?
He almost didn’t recognize him since he had shaved his beard off, but he was fairly certain it was Jagdish who had just walked past a balcony on the fourth floor. Only he had been wearing the wrong uniform. Unless Jagdish had a twin brother in the army of Great House Kharsawan, the good risaldar was in disguise.
Gutch’s letter claimed they had been separated. Jagdish must have followed Gutch’s captors here, and now he was on the same mission as Ashok. Considering this place had to be swarming with criminals, it was a remarkably brave, yet probably foolish move. It made sense though. Jagdish was not the sort inclined toward hesitation.
Before Ashok could decide how to proceed, another complication presented itself. There was some commotion near the entrance. A man in a gray cloak had been stopped at the door, apparently refusing to give up his sword. His view was blocked, so Ashok couldn’t tell what it was the man showed the guards, but by the way the warriors immediately shut their mouths and scurried fearfully out of the way, he could guess.
That was a common reaction when a Protector displayed the token of his office.
No gleaming, intimidating armor. No show of force. No loud declaration to strike fear into the hearts of the lawbreakers. It was rare for a Protector to be so discreet. The only time Ashok had ever behaved that way was when he was worried about frightening away his target.
The cloaked man walked into the Face of the East, still armed. A guard ran off, probably to alert his employer that one of the ultimate enforcers of the Law had just entered the premises. He knew from experience that now there would be a great rush to hide any illegal activity, and once word got out, anyone who was wanted for a crime would leap out the nearest window and run for their lives.
The subtlety of the Protector suggested he was more than likely here looking for Ashok. His presence somewhere one, or possibly two, of Ashok’s associates were was no coincidence. Somehow the Order knew of their fellowship. Jagdish had disguised himself, but a Protector learned to read faces, separating out the general unease everyone felt around them from the dread of the guilty. Jagdish would be found, and since he was a man of character, would likely fight to the death rather than allow himself to be captured. He was skilled, but would have little chance against a Protector.
It was difficult to think like a criminal. The smart thing for a criminal to do in this situation would be to abandon his companions, avoid the Protector, and flee…Luckily for Jagdish, Ashok still struggled with such concepts.
Trying to appear nonchalant, he walked across the busy street and then around to the rear of the building. The backside had even fewer potential witnesses than expected. There were a few sleeping drunks, and one soldier lying so still he might actually be dead. It stunk, as this was where they threw out their waste when they were too lazy to walk to the proper disposal sites, but Ashok wasn’t here to serve citations for minor violations of the Law concerning sanitation and public health. He got a running start, leapt, and grabbed hold of the second-floor balcony. Pulling himself up, he made sure no one was looking out that window, but the curtain was closed. Then he tested the rain gutter and discovered it was solidly mounted. He began to climb.