Odalisque (23 page)

Jumo insisted on carrying Lazar on his back again. Their host led the way surprisingly briskly up broad, mercifully shallow steps cut into the cliff face. Zafira climbed slowly next to him.

‘What are we doing here?’ Jumo muttered to her.

‘I don’t know but it feels right, don’t you think? It’s too much of a coincidence that she came along just when we needed help. She said she’d answer our questions—we must be patient.’

At the top of their climb they saw a cottage set back from the cliff edge, a small copse encircling its back.

‘Here we are,’ the old woman said. ‘The lepers are housed a long way from here. There are only six of them left anyway, and I rarely see them. Jumo, can you manage?’

‘Yes, let’s just hurry. His breathing has changed.’ It was true; Lazar was suddenly struggling for breath.

Once inside, the old girl took command again. ‘Lay him on the pallet and light some candles from that lantern, Jumo. We shall be busy and the sun will set without us knowing. Zafira, perhaps you would make us some quishtar?’ The
priestess was happy to busy her hands and immediately set to finding the utensils and materials she needed.

Their host returned her attention to the man on the bed and his anxious friend, who was placing lit candles nearby. ‘Are you afraid of snakes, Jumo?’ He shook his head, not looking at either of the women, but focused on the grey pallor of Lazar’s complexion and the rapid heaving of his chest. ‘Good. In the cellar is a heavy-lidded jar. Inside are two snakes. The yellow-bellied one is harmless. The one with the striped back is deadly. He is the one we need. Have you handled a snake before?’

‘I have,’ Jumo replied, not able to hide his irritation at her lack of anxiety and his growing terror that Lazar would die today. ‘What does this have to do with Lazar?’

‘Drezden is made from the poison of the drezia snake. It’s favoured by assassins who want to be gone well before the death occurs. Drezia venom is deadly but slow, if not given orally. On its passage to the heart it simply numbs. Once it reaches the heart, however, it paralyses and death is instant.’

‘You want me to milk the snake?’ he asked, deliberately rushing her to save Lazar’s life rather than giving lengthy explanations.

‘Precisely,’ she replied. ‘Here, straight into this,’ she said, pointing Jumo to a small porcelain cup.

‘How does this help Lazar?’

And at last he heard through her mild manner to the concern she had worked to disguise. ‘Do it now, Jumo, my brother. He is too important to risk. I will explain once we’re all set.’ He followed where she gestured and found the entrance to the cellar. ‘Be careful. If it bites you I have no medicine that will stop the poison killing you.’

‘Very reassuring,’ he muttered, as he began to descend.

‘His breathing sounds very shallow,’ Zafira noted again.

‘Not a good sign,’ their host replied, Jumo already forgotten and left to his fate. ‘But that’s to be expected. My name is Ellyana. Forgive my poor manners.’

Zafira nodded. ‘Shall I take off the linens?’ She pointed towards Lazar’s back.

‘Yes, please.’ They heard a small scuffle from below. ‘Jumo?’ Ellyana called and there was an element of fright in her tone.

‘I’m all right,’ came a muffled voice and the two women glanced at each other with relief.

He emerged a few moments later with a clear liquid—barely enough to cover the bottom of the cup it was contained in.

‘It is enough,’ Ellyana said, answering his look of worry. ‘Now, let me explain. I promise to be brief. I have seen this sort of poisoning before and delivered in a similar style. It can be beaten. However, if Lazar survives, you need to know that he will never be whole again.’ She paused so her listeners could digest
that dark news. Neither spoke so she continued. ‘Jumo, your master will always need the poison of the drezia snake close. He and it are now bound together, forever, like lovers—even though they are enemies.’

‘What occurs?’ Zafira asked for Jumo’s sake; the man was so stunned by the news that he seemed unable to speak for himself.

‘There will be no warning. A trembling, wasting fever will strike. Very debilitating. The only temporary cure is more of the venom in its purest form and in tiny quantities…far less than we have here. Right now though we have to flush the poison from his body. We need lots of quishtar and my own brew. There will be pain—severe—and you will both need to be strong for him. He is going to suffer badly if he is to recover.’

‘Will he recover?’ Jumo dared to ask.

‘If I’m frank—and I fear I should be with you—then I would say he will most likely perish. Too much time has elapsed, his wounds are frighteningly dangerous. The poison aside, those injuries alone have the capacity to kill him,’ she said gently, and he hated the sympathy evident in her expression. ‘We will try but I think you must be prepared to lose him, Jumo.’

‘He is strong,’ Jumo countered.

Her tone was even more tender when she risked closing a hand over his arm. ‘I know. And you will be equally strong for your friend.’

Jumo ferociously blinked the tears rushing to betray him. ‘What about his wounds?’

‘We will need to clean them thoroughly and then sew the deeper ones to close them against infection. For the rest we shall have to rely on this salve,’ she said, indicating a stone jar. ‘Could someone help me with that, it’s very heavy.’ Jumo obliged, grimacing at its weight, and slid off the lid at her nod. ‘It smells bad but it is a wonder ointment,’ she continued. ‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind smearing that onto some of the less vicious wounds right now. It will seal them from the air, from disease.’

‘They’re all vicious,’ Jumo said, shaking his head at the state of Lazar’s body but taking the jar to him anyway.

‘Zafira, do you have steady hands?’

‘I suppose, why?’

‘You will need to do the sewing, my sister.’ Ellyana held up her own shaking fingers. ‘Part of growing old,’ and her sad smile was only for the priestess.

Zafira looked worried. ‘I’m not sure I can—’

‘I will help you,’ Ellyana assured, not giving the priestess another chance to protest. ‘We must all wash our fingers with this special soap paste,’ she warned, pointing to a pot. ‘It will burn your skin but it will ensure your fingers are very clean and we will not infect Lazar’s wounds as we treat them.’ They both nodded. ‘Right, let’s clean our hands and then we begin. We have a long night ahead of us.’

As if in response, Lazar groaned weakly.

‘What do you mean, you can’t find any trace of him?’ Boaz demanded.

Tariq’s lips pursed. He had failed the Zar in the first task assigned him. ‘Forgive me, High One. I have sent runners to the Spur’s house, to the barracks, even to the city temples, where I thought he might be laid out by the priests for medical help. No-one has any information to give us.’

‘Well, someone must have seen him depart. Where is Shaz? Perhaps he has some notion.’

‘No, High One. Apparently Shaz and his assistant handed the Spur’s body to that fellow called Jumo, Lazar’s second, and the man departed the Courtyard of Sorrows. One would assume he’d take him straight back to the Spur’s house for care from a physic, but apparently not.’

Boaz frowned. ‘Send out word into the city. Someone must have seen something. I want information from you and your spies by the end of the day, Vizier.’

Tariq bowed, wondering what had risen up in Boaz. It was as though the boy had aged five years since the afternoon flogging. The Vizier felt he was being ordered around like a slave by a lad whose voice had barely broken. ‘Immediately, Your Majesty,’ he said, through clenched teeth hidden by his beard.

A soft gong sounded, saving him further conversation with the young Zar.

‘Go about your business, Vizier. I’ll await your news,’ Boaz said wearily. ‘Enter!’ he called over Tariq’s head. Bin emerged into the chamber as the Vizier departed. ‘Yes?’

‘High One, the Grand Master Eunuch and Odalisque Ana await you in the antechamber of your study.’

‘Ah, good. I wish to change. Can you send in my dresser.’

‘Of course. I will bring your visitor into the study when you are ready.’

Boaz returned to his bedchamber and within moments his dresser arrived. After changing into loose linens—all white with a charcoal grey waistcoat—he asked the servant to order refreshments.

‘Some frozen sherbets and a flask of chirro,’ he suggested. The man bowed and departed.

Boaz stepped from his chamber into a small reception room that led to his private study, smaller and more intimate than the one where he normally received people. He was paying Ana a high compliment in permitting her to visit him in this room. He knew he was risking the wrath of all the people vying for his loyalty in doing so and this pleased him greatly. Once inside he took a deep breath before reaching to pull a chord that sounded a bell outside.

The double doors were opened and Bin ushered in a slim, veiled figure dwarfed by a sour-looking Grand Master Eunuch. Boaz realised he
was actually holding his breath with nervousness. He let it out slowly as the oddly matched pair stepped into the middle of the room and Ana, well prepared by Salmeo, immediately sank to her knees and then prostrated herself as was required. Bin closed the doors.

Salmeo took the lead. ‘Your High One, this is most unusual to break harem protocol. The girls are not yet acquainted with all of the rules and we haven’t even enjoyed the ceremony of the handkerchiefs.’ Although the words were polite enough the tone was acid. ‘Perhaps I should remain here with the Odalisque Ana whilst—’

‘That will not be necessary.’ Boaz was going to add thank you and stopped himself at the last instant. It was time he got used to giving commands. ‘I am changing some rules, Salmeo.’ He did not allow Salmeo the moment he needed to offer his caution at such a suggestion. ‘The first is that it is to be my choice as to when and how I meet with the members of the harem. I think the handkerchief ceremony is romantic but trite for these modern days. If I’m old enough to rule, I’m certainly old enough to be in the company of a female my own age, in the middle of the afternoon and without a chaperone, and certainly without all the trials and innuendo which apparently had to be ploughed through in my father’s day.’

Salmeo’s feelings, normally so well disguised, were plainly written over his aghast expression. ‘But, Your High One, I—’

Boaz feigned dismay. ‘I trust you’re not about to caution me?’ he said, amazed that his voice was so steady, the tone so condescending. It felt suddenly wonderful to wield a power that could have a man such as this gabbling before him. He pressed his point. ‘I’m not bedding her, Grand Master Eunuch, I simply wish to talk with her. You’re very welcome to remain whilst we speak.’ He paused only briefly to take a breath before adding: ‘So long as you remain outside. I desire a private conversation with Odalisque Ana.’

The huge black man again opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He glared at the prone figure of Ana—who had not moved since her arrival—and then into the simmering expression of the Zar.

He could not win this one but he knew who could. ‘I shall do that, High One,’ he answered as humbly as he could manage. Then he bowed and left, hurrying to seek an audience with the Valide.

Boaz looked at the figure on the ground. ‘Please, Odalisque Ana, rise.’ When she was standing before him, her eyes still cast to the floor as presumably she’d been instructed, he gestured towards some comfortable divans by the grand windows. ‘Join me.’

‘I thought you were angry with me, Zar Boaz.’

He sighed softly. ‘I am. Lazar has suffered pointlessly today because of your headstrong ways, but I made my rebuke public for entirely
different reasons than you think. I think the Spur will have understood, so be assured I haven’t asked you here to make you suffer more. I’m sure you’re suffering enough.’

She bit her lip hard in order to force back the tears. ‘I have never felt more lost than I do right now…or bereft. If I could change what happened today, if I could take back my actions, I hope you know I would, Zar Boaz.’

Sincerely done, he thought. ‘You’ll have to forgive the décor,’ he said brightly. ‘This is my father’s choice. I haven’t the heart to change it, even though the Valide suggests I impose my own style.’

‘You loved your father,’ she spoke from behind the gauzy pale blue veil, eyes still downcast.

‘You may remove your veil, Odalisque Ana. It is not required in my private presence, and I allow you to look upon me.’ She raised her eyes and he was pleased to see the directness with which she held his gaze now that permission was hers. She took off her veil slowly, careful not to disturb her hair that had been brushed with a hundred strokes, Elza counting each and smearing an oil into it to make it shine even brighter. As her face was revealed to him once again, and this time at such close proximity, he felt his breath catch at the sight of her. He had thought this girl beautiful from a distance, but Ana, he now discovered, was infinitely more fetching this close. Her skin was smooth and
unblemished but slightly burnished from the sun. He remembered how the harem women worked hard to keep their complexions as pale as possible but on Ana this golden colouring was like a glow from within…sun-kissed.

‘I did love my father very much. I miss him,’ he said.

‘I love my father too, Zar Boaz. I miss him as deeply as you miss yours.’

‘Please, sit down with me.’ He watched her glide to the divans and carefully seat herself opposite him. ‘Where is your family from?’

‘West. The foothills. My father is a goatherd.’

‘Is he proud that his daughter now lives in the palace? It must be a far cry from what he is used to.’ He had considered this a fair question, one designed to encourage her to talk about the family she had left behind. He was not ready for the quiet rebuke.

‘My father is a simple man, Your High One. He has no conception of palace life. He also had no say in my being brought here. If it were left to him I think he would be proud for me to have remained as a goatherd’s daughter.’ She lifted her chin and as her eyes met his he instantly recognised a kindred spirit; both of them too young to be on the paths they were, both wishing they could be pursuing the lives they wanted rather than the ones they were being forced to follow.