Chapter Twenty-One
“The Kattak hate us,” Fix grunted.
“Yes,” Indrajit agreed. “They eat the flesh of other men and they plant their eggs in us.”
They stumbled toward the nearest exit Indrajit knew of. He would have pushed them to move faster, but as it was, he ran so fast the lamp flickered and threatened to go out.
He turned toward a distant hint of daylight and jumped at the sight of a crowd of ghosts, moving together to his left. He looked closer and saw a panel of glass, rimmed with steel and crowded about with crumbling yellow brick and black earth. Beyond it lay a chamber whose walls and floors were of a smooth, ceramiclike substance, the color of drogger milk. On the far side of the small chamber, mirrors hung on the wall. Raising the lamp, Indrajit saw himself reflected in each of the mirrors, and again in the window.
“Black god’s breath,” Philastes groaned.
Indrajit turned to look at the Pelthite. His face was contorted by sorrow.
The Gund. Manko had been a groaning beast to Indrajit, but Philastes and Manko had been chatting away for a couple of hours.
“I’m sorry,” Indrajit said. “Maybe the life of a jobber isn’t for you.”
“I grieve,” Philastes told him. “Don’t warriors grieve?”
“Warriors grieve,” Indrajit agreed.
“Go faster,” Munahim said.
Indrajit resumed his trot.
“Does it hurt?” he asked Munahim. “The . . . eggs?”
“Not yet,” the Kyone said. “But I know how it ends. I’ll take my own life before I let that happen to me. I’ll immolate myself.”
“They hate Kish in particular,” Fix said.
“Everyone hates Kish,” Indrajit said. “Especially the people who live here.”
They had reached the source of the daylight. A crack far overhead let in light; squinting, Indrajit thought maybe there was an opening in the floor of an alleyway, or a chimney that climbed between building.
But the shaft was steep, the walls were smooth, and it was raining again.
“Consult the map,” Yammilku said. “What’s the next nearest exit it shows?”
Indrajit and Fix each pulled out a copy. Indrajit put his away, deferring to the Kishi’s ability to actually read, and passed the lamp flame behind the map.
Fix grunted. “Forget about an exit. I think we can get to the Vin Dalu directly, without going aboveground.”
“That would be convenient,” Indrajit said, “as there are people on the surface who do not wish us well.”
“As always,” Fix pointed out.
“Welcome to Kish,” Munahim said. “Hurry.”
Fix led the group down a staircase made of a steel lattice. At the bottom, they entered a smooth pipe. Indrajit heard an echoing sound, seemingly from overhead.
“Do you hear a voice?” he asked. “It’s echoing, but it’s rhythmic. Maybe it’s chanting something? Or counting? Philastes?”
“It’s a voice,” Philastes said. “I don’t understand the words. I can’t even guess at what language it might be.”
“The Kattak used to rule here,” Fix said.
“You read this in a book?” Indrajit asked.
“No,” Munahim said. “I know it, too.”
“How do you know it?” Indrajit wasn’t sure he really wanted an answer.
“I feel it,” Fix said.
“In my belly.” Munahim’s voice was mournful.
“You know it because the eggs inside you know it,” Philastes said.
“If you know more about Kattak life cycle,” Indrajit said, “now is a good time to tell us.”
“I’m just guessing,” the Pelthite said. “But the Kattak pass down memories. They have the memories of their parents and also the memories of the men in whom they incubate.”
Indrajit felt ill. “This does not make me feel kindly toward them.”
“Perhaps the men in whom they incubate share in the experience,” Philastes said. “Perhaps Fix and Munahim will know more about the Kattak as a result of this experience.”
“I dreamed strange dreams, wrapped in paper,” Munahim said.
“My knowledge of the Kattak grows more definite with the passing of time,” Fix said. “I remember the bacchanalia hosted by the embassy. The drugs, and when servants of the Lords of Kish, or ambassadors of other nations, or wealthy merchants, were lethargic or unconscious from blue loaf or yip or alcohol, I remember the implanting of eggs.”
“It will be greatest right before you burst,” Philastes suggested. “As the eggs develop into larvae and then into nymphs, they are becoming conscious. Their consciousness and knowledge are bleeding into you.”
“Burst?” Yammilku sounded nauseated.
Indrajit felt nauseated. “On the plus side, Fix, you’re gaining knowledge without having to read a book.”
It was a jape, and Indrajit expected Fix to respond as to any other jest, with a jab at the Epic, or at the shape of Indrajit’s head.
“It’s a strange sensation,” Fix said. “My knowledge grows, but I don’t have the feeling of having learned. I don’t have a memory of when I discovered new facts, or the image in my mind of a page I was looking at when I read a new idea. Instead, I just look into my mind and there is more there than there used to be.”
“Disturbing,” Indrajit said.
“When you say ‘burst,’” Yammilku said, “do you mean that insects will come out of you? That eggs are growing inside you that will at some point hatch?”
“Yes,” Munahim said. “Hatch and kill us. Welcome to Kish.”
“Why do you keep saying ‘Welcome to Kish’?” Yammilku asked.
“I’m practicing,” Munahim said. “Trying to sound like a local. So I throw in the phrase after anyone says something cynical.”
“Just keep your mouth shut and growl,” Yammilku suggested. “You’ll sound local enough.”
“Welcome to Kish,” Munahim said.
“And don’t worry,” Yammilku said. “I’ll light you both on fire if you start hatching insects.”
“Thank you,” Munahim said.
“The Kattak used to rule Kish,” Fix said.
“A lot of people used to rule Kish,” Indrajit shot back. “It’s the City from the Dawn of Time, the First City. The Druvash used to rule here, you don’t see them being grumpy about it.”
“Possibly because they’re dead,” Yammilku said.
“Before the Empire,” Fix said.
“So hundreds of years ago,” Indrajit said. “Maybe a thousand years. A thousand years ago, the Kattak had a big paper mound here somewhere. Are you telling me they hate Kish because they lost that mound? That they hated the Empire for centuries, and now Kish, because a thousand years ago, someone stole their land?”
Munahim groaned. “We’re learning that they have long memories. Some Kattak may perceive these as events that happened during their lifetimes.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Fix stopped. They stood on a brick plain, with a ceiling so high above them that the lamplight didn’t reach, and walls so far away that Indrajit couldn’t see them. “We’re close,” he said. “There has to be a passage from here that leads us to the Vin Dalu.”
“Wait,” Indrajit said. “You brought us this direction without knowing for certain there was even an open path?”
“I had a high degree of confidence,” Fix said. “And we could always retrace our steps.”
“I can smell the Vin Dalu,” Munahim said.
Indrajit wrinkled his nose. “I smell mold. And slime. And maybe the hint of something rotting.”
“The Vin Dalu have walked this way recently,” Munahim said. “The one in the middle.”
“Maybe this is the way to the foundling house,” Indrajit said. “Where they keep the orphaned children of their murdered enemies.”
“They experiment on those children,” Yammilku said.
“I don’t think those stories are true,” Fix said. “And if they are, I will smother my conscience, if the Vin Dalu can help Alea.”
“And me,” Munahim said.
“Yes,” Indrajit agreed.
Munahim loped into the darkness, sniffing at the air and stooping to sniff at the ground. The others followed him.
“If the Kattak hate Kish so much, why do they have an embassy here?” Indrajit asked.
“Oh, that’s easy,” Philastes said. “It’s especially important to have embassies at the capitals of powers you don’t get along with. An ambassador to a friend is just a host of parties. Ah . . . you know, ordinary parties. Receptions after a theater performance or the opening of an art gallery, that sort of thing. An ambassador to an enemy has to be a negotiator, and someone who delivers ultimatums, and a manager of spies and even assassins.”
“Really?” Indrajit asked.
“Absolutely,” Philastes said. “I mean, I’m not a spy. I thought maybe one day I would be, but . . .”
“But you procured men to be eaten by the Kattak,” Fix pointed out.
“Slaves and criminals,” Philastes said.
Indrajit was baffled. “Why would any power accept the ambassadors of an enemy? Knowing that they are there to give cover to spies and assassins?”
“Far better to have the spies at an embassy,” Philastes said. “Then you can keep an eye on them. If there’s no embassy, the enemy will still send spies, but they’ll be disguised as merchants, or as neutral third parties. Harder to find.”
“Also, you still want to be able to talk to your enemies,” Fix said.
“And if you don’t accept his embassy full of spies,” Yammilku said, “he won’t accept your embassy full of spies.”
“That makes the whole world sound as cynical as Kish,” Munahim said.
“Fine,” Indrajit said, “the Kattak hate Kish. If they can hold a grudge for a thousand years, then they probably hate a lot of people. So what?”
Fix shook his head. “I’m not sure. It feels . . . there’s more . . . there’s something . . .”
“Huh.” Indrajit saw a shape bulking in the shadow ahead and raised his lamp higher. “Is that an entrance?”
Munahim reached the door as Indrajit asked the question. The portal was circular and had a circular wheel jutting from its center, like a ship’s wheel mounted as a knob. Both wheel and door were of brushed steel, gleaming orange in the lamplight.
Munahim grabbed the wheel and tried to turn it, but it didn’t budge. He dragged on the door and then pushed, and it wouldn’t move.
Fix took the ax from his belt. He spun it backward and rapped hard on the steel with the blunt poll. The resulting clang reverberated in Indrajit’s bones, across the chamber in which they stood, and back again from the far wall, returning as a crisp echo.
Yammilku took a step back.
Indrajit shifted his position to keep an eye on the Heru and placed his hand on Vacho’s hilt.
They waited.
Fix raised the hatchet to knock a second time, but the door opened first. The wheel spun, as if on its own. The door moved straight outward with a hissing sound, then swung away from the wall, stopping at a ninety-degree angle.
The middle of the three Vin Dalu stood in the door. A strip of white light ran around the inside of the circular doorframe, illuminating his features. He smiled. “Fix,” he said. “Munahim. Indrajit. But I don’t know your companions.”
“Philastes Larch,” Philastes said.
“My name is not important,” Yammilku grunted.
The Vin Dalu nodded. He gestured at the harness Fix wore. “You have found something that may be the Girdle. Well done.”
“Alea?” Fix’s voice caught.
“She’s unchanged. Bring the harness inside, let’s put it to the test.”
“Give the sorcerer the Girdle,” Yammilku said. “We can wait outside.”
“No, we can’t.” Munahim staggered through the door.
“We’re going in,” Indrajit added. “Betel wants you to come with us. I want you to come with us. You’re not scared of a little necromancy, are you?”
Yammilku made a short piercing cry in the back of his throat and passed through the door.
“So when you answer the door . . .” Fix said as the Vin Dalu closed the door, then touched illuminated tiles on the wall beside it. “Do you do that as the Vin Dalu Diesa?”
“Then, I am doing the work of the Vin Dalu Rao.”
The Vin Dalu Rao led them back into the complex of the Vin Dalu, stamping on his walking sticks. Yammilku walked stiffly, his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword the entire time. Philastes stumbled with his mouth open and his eyes racing to take in every sight that passed.
“How long can Alea wait?” Munahim asked. “And can you . . . can you kill Kattak eggs?”
“Eggs?”
Fix sighed. “The Kyone and I have been implanted with Kattak eggs. They will hatch as nymphs within us.”
“When?” the Vin Dalu asked.
“That’s what we don’t know. We do know that someone else who died as a result of such an implantation believed that the Girdle of Life would save him.” Fix stared at his feet. “Munahim has been loyal, Dalu. Heal him first, if you must choose. Heal me last.”
“We diagnose before we heal,” the Vin Dalu said.
“Is that also part of your ethic?” Indrajit asked.
“Of course.” The Vin Dalu inclined his head slightly. “But also, to do otherwise would be madness. Let us examine you.”
The other two Vin Dalu met them in a room whose walls were all brushed steel. A bulky ceramic box with handles and switches on three sides squatted in the corner. The box had an arm at the top that reached to one side and dangled a black cable beneath it. Alea lay under her blanket on a table, pale face and feet jutting from the covering. A second table stood parallel to the first, its top bare.
“Give us a moment,” the middle Vin Dalu said. He then addressed his brethren.
Again, the language was incomprehensible.
“What are they saying?” Indrajit murmured to Philastes.
Philastes’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. But I think they might be speaking Druvash to each other.”
“That’s possible.” Indrajit nodded.
Fix paced in a tight circle, taking deep breaths.
“What is it?” Indrajit asked him.
“The Kattak,” Fix said. “They don’t just hate Kish.”
“Like I said,” Indrajit agreed, “they probably hate everyone.”
Fix shook his head. “No. I mean they have plans.”
The Vin Dalu turned to the group. “Fix, Munahim,” the eldest said. “We must examine you urgently. Fix, lie on the table.”
Fix opened his mouth to object, but then complied. He moved gingerly onto the table, wincing as he bent at the waist. From a shelf beneath the table, the Vin Dalu removed implements: a metal tablet, a glass wand, a large pair of spectacles. The youngest of the three slowly passed the wand over Fix’s body and limbs while the middle examined him through the spectacles and the eldest stared at the tablet.
Yammilku’s fidgeting became a twitch. He turned his head to look at Alea every few seconds and made a discomfited chirping sound.
“Munahim,” the youngest Vin Dalu said, and they repeated the process with the Kyone.
When they had finished, the eldest rested his hand on Munahim’s shoulder, keeping him lying on the table. “We see the eggs,” the eldest said. “They are low in your bodies, in your bellies, around your spine.”
“We know,” Munahim groaned.
“We believe the Girdle of Life can be used to kill the eggs,” the eldest said. “At which point, your bodies will slowly absorb the eggs over time. Or, failing that, we could eventually remove them by surgery.”
“But it will take many hours to repair the Girdle,” Indrajit said. “To attach the Girdle to the machine. Is that it there in the corner? It will take lots of time to prepare.”
“No.” The eldest of the Vin Dalu smiled. “The Girdle is robust. We will examine it, but we think we can immediately connect it to the machine, and the completed device will be ready to operate.”
With no further prompting, Fix shrugged out of the harness and handed it to the middle of the Vin Dalu. He in turn limped to the machine in the corner and began hanging the Girdle from the machine’s arm.
“But killing the eggs will take many hours,” Indrajit predicted. “So if you heal Fix and Munahim first, you won’t be able to help Alea.”
“You’ve got a pessimistic streak,” Philastes said.
“I just don’t want to get my hopes up.”
“We think it should take mere minutes to kill the eggs.” The eldest of the Vin Dalu smiled.
“But there are side effects,” Indrajit said. “Fix and Munahim will be sick for days. They will each have to give up an eye. They’ll be emasculated.”
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Munahim muttered.
“They will feel slightly ill,” the Vin Dalu said. “Later, they will lose some hair. But not much.”
“That’s it,” Munahim said. “Do it. Do it now before Indrajit suggests any more reasons why it might be a bad idea to heal me.”
“I’m just trying to be thoughtful,” Indrajit said.
“Wait.” Fix pressed his face into his palms. “How long until the eggs hatch and kill me?”
“A day, at least,” the Vin Dalu said. “Maybe two days, maybe even three. Of course, we’re extrapolating a growth rate based on what you’ve told us. If the growth rate accelerates for any reason, it could be sooner.”
“How would I know when death was near?” Fix asked.
“Your belly will become distended as the eggs become larvae,” the Vin Dalu said. “As they excrete, you will spew black bile from your orifices.”
“Ugh,” Indrajit said.
“Heal Munahim,” Fix said. “Then Alea.”
The eldest of the Vin Dalu frowned. “But not you?”
“Me, yes, eventually,” Fix said. “But not quite yet.”
“Why not?” Indrajit asked.
Fix shook his head. “Because the Kattak have something horrific planned. I think they’re aiming to destroy the city. And the longer I wait, the more I know about the plan.”