Water Sleeps (26 page)

I took my turn on watch. I discovered that I was not the only one with problem
dreams. Everyone slept poorly, including Narayan. Iqbal’s baby never stopped
whimpering. The goats and donkeys, though not allowed inside, also bleated and
snorted and whimpered all night long.

The Grove of Doom is just plain a Bad Place. No way around that. Some things are
black and white.

Morning was not much more pleasant than night had been. And even before
breakfast, Narayan tried to sneak away. Riverwalker showed remarkable restraint
in bringing him back still able to walk.

“You were going to run out on me now?” I demanded. I had a good idea what he
really had in mind but did not want him to suspect I knew what had become of the
friends he had expected to rescue him. “I thought you wanted that book back.”

He shrugged.

“I had a dream last night. And it wasn’t a good dream. It took me places I
didn’t want to go, with beings I didn’t want to see. But it was a true dream. I
came away with the certainty that neither of us has any chance of getting what
we want if we don’t fulfill our ends of our bargain. So I’m here to tell you I’m
playing it straight up, the Book of the Dead for the Key.”

Narayan betrayed a flicker of annoyance at my mention of a dream. No doubt he
had hoped for divine guidance and had failed to receive it last night. “I just
wanted to look for something I left here last time I visited.”

“The Key?”

“No. A personal trinket.” He squatted beside the cook fire, where Mother Gota
and Suruvhija were preparing rice. The Radisha, to the amazement of all, was
trying to help. Or, better put, was trying to learn what was being done so she
could help at another time. Neither woman offered the Princess’s status any
special respect. Gota snarled and complained at the Radisha exactly as she would
have done with the rest of us.

I watched Narayan eat. He used chopsticks. I had not noticed that before.

Paranoid me, I searched my memory, trying to remember if Singh had used the
customary wooden spoon in the past. Uncle Doj, like all Nyueng Bao, used
chopsticks. And he claimed they constituted some of his deadliest weapons.

I was going to go crazy if I did not get Narayan out of my life for a while.

He smiled as though he was reading my mind. I think maybe he put too much faith
in my word on behalf of the Company. “Show me the book, Annalist.”

I looked around. “Doj?”

The man appeared in the temple doorway. What was he up to in there? “Yes?”

“The Master Deceiver wishes to see the Book of the Dead.”

“As you wish.” He descended the leaf-strewn outer steps, rummaged through one of
the donkey packs, came up with the oilskin package we had retrieved from the
Shadowlander tomb. He presented it to the Deceiver with a bow and a flourish,

stepped back and crossed his arms. I noted that in some mystic manner, Ash Wand
had found its way onto his back. I recalled that Doj’s adopted family bore
Narayan Singh and the Strangler cult an abiding grudge. Deceivers had murdered
To Tan, the son of Sahra’s brother Thai Dei. Thai Dei lay buried beneath
glittering stone with the Captured.

Uncle Doj had offered no promises to Narayan Singh.

I wondered if Singh knew all that. Most of it, probably, though the subject
never arose in his presence.

I noted, also, that without plan or signal, my other companions had placed
themselves so that we were surrounded by armed men. Only Swan seemed unsure of
his role. “Settle and have some rice,” I told him.

“I hate rice, Sleepy.”

“We’re going places where there’ll be a little more variety. I hope. I’ve eaten
rice till it’s coming out my ears, too.”

Narayan opened the oilskins reverently, set them aside one by one, ready to be
reused. The book he revealed was big and ugly but not much distinguished it from
volumes I saw every day when I was Dorabee Dey Banerjae. Nothing branded it the
most holy, most sacred text of the darkest cult in the world.

Narayan opened it. The writing inside was completely inelegant, erratic,

disorganized and sloppy. The Daughter of Night had begun inscribing it when she
was four. As Narayan turned the pages I saw that the girl was a fast learner.

Her hand improved rapidly. I saw, too, that she had written in the same script
used to record the first volume of the Annals. Were both in the same language?

Where was Master Santaraksita when I needed him?

Out on the Naghir with Sahra and One-Eye. No doubt complaining about the
accommodations and the lack of fine dining. Too bad, old man. I have the same
problems here.

“Satisfied that it’s genuine?” I asked.

Narayan could not deny it.

“So I’ve lived up to my half of the bargain. I have, in fact, made every effort
to facilitate it. The game is back to you now.”

“You have nothing to lose, Annalist. I still wonder how I would get away from
here alive.”

“I won’t do anything to keep you from leaving. If revenge is absolutely
necessary, it’ll be that much sweeter down the road.” Narayan tried to read my
true intentions. He was incapable of accepting anything at face value. “On the
other hand, there’s no way you’ll go anywhere if you don’t produce the Key. And
we’ll know if you try to pass off a substitute.” I looked at Doj.

Narayan did the same. Then he settled into an attitude of prayer and sealed his
eyes.

Kina may have responded. The grove did turn icy cold. A sudden breeze brought a
ghost of the odor from the place of the bones.

Singh shuddered, opened his eyes. “I have to go into the temple. Alone.”

“Wouldn’t be a back way out of there, would there?”

Singh smiled softly. “Would it do me any good if there were?”

“Not this time. Your only way out of here is not to be a Deceiver.”

“So be it. There’ll be no Year of the Skulls if I don’t take a chance.”

“Let him go,” I told Doj, who stood between Narayan and the temple. River and
Runmust, I noted, now had bamboo in hand, in case the little man made a break.

“He’s been in there a long time,” River complained.

“But he’s still there,” Doj assured us. “The Key must be well hidden.”

Or not there anymore, I did not say. “What’re we looking at here?” I asked Doj.

“I’m not clear on what this Key is. Is it another lance head?” The Lance of
Passion had opened the plain to Croaker, then had ushered the Captured to their
doom.

“I’ve only heard it described. It’s a strangely shaped hammer. He’s about to
come out.”

Narayan appeared. He seemed changed, invigorated, frightened. Riverwalker
gestured with his bamboo. Runmust raised his slowly. Singh knew what those poles
could do. He had no chance if he tried to run now.

He carried what looked like a cast-iron war hammer, old, rusty, and ugly, with
the head all chipped and cracked. Narayan made it seem heavier than it looked.

“Doj?” I asked. “What do you think?”

“Fits the description, Annalist. Except for the head being all cracked.”

Singh said, “I dropped it. It cracked when it hit the temple floor.”

“Feel it, Doj. If there’s any power there, you ought to be able to tell.”

Doj did as I said once Singh surrendered the hammer. The Nyueng Bao seemed
startled by its weight. “This must be it, Annalist.”

“Take your book and start running, Deceiver. Before temptation makes me forget
my promises.”

Narayan clutched the book but did not move. He stared at Suruvhija and the baby.

Suruvhija was using a red silk scarf to dab spit-up off the infant’s chin.

Fools! Idiots!

W hile we were getting ready to travel, one of Iqbal’s kids—the older
boy—noticed a particularly deep flaw in the head of the hammer. The rest of us
had been too busy congratulating ourselves and deciding what the Company would
do once we brought the Captured forth from the plain. The boy got his father’s
attention. Iqbal summoned Runmust and me.

Being old folks, it took us a while to see what the boy meant. Us having bad
eyes and all.

“Looks like gold in there.”

“That would explain the weight. Doj. Come here. You ever hear anything about
this hammer being gold inside?”

Iqbal began prying with a knife. A fragment of iron fell away.

“No,” Doj said. “Don’t damage it any more.”

“Everybody calm down. It’s still the Key. Doj, study it. Carefully. I don’t want
all the years and all the crap we went through to go to waste now. What?”

Weapons had begun to appear.

“Look who’s here,” Swan said. “Where did those guys come from?”

Slink and his band had arrived. I exchanged looks with Slink. He shrugged. “Gave
us the slip.”

“I’m not surprised. We screwed up here. He knew somebody was out there.”

Suruvhija still had the red scarf draped over her shoulder. “Folks, we need to
get traveling. We want to get across the bridge at Ghoja before the Protector
starts looking for us.” From the beginning I had pretended that getting across
that bridge would give us a running chance.

I told Slink, “You guys did a great job at Semchi.”

“Could’ve been better. If I’d thought about it, I’d’ve waited till they damaged
the Bhodi Tree. Then we’d have been heroes instead of just bandits.”

I shrugged. “Next time. Swan, tell that goat we’re going to eat it if it don’t
start cooperating.”

“You promise?”

“I promise we’ll get some real food when we get to Jaicur.”

O ur crossing at Ghoja was another grand anticlimax.

We all worked ourselves into a state of nerves before we reached the bottleneck.

I sent Slink forward to scout and did not believe a word, emotionally, when he
reported the only attention being paid anyone went to those few travelers who
argued about paying a two-copper pais toll for use of the bridge. These
tightwads were commended to the old ford downstream from the bridge. A ford that
was impassable because this was the rainy season. Traffic was heavy. The
soldiers assigned to watch the bridge were too busy loafing and playing cards to
harass wayfarers.

Some part of me was determined to expect the worst.

Ghoja had grown into a small town serving those who traveled the Rock Road,

which was one of the Black Company’s lasting legacies. The Captain had had the
highway paved from Taglios to Jaicur during his preparations for invading the
Shadowlands. Prisoners of war had provided the labor. More recently, Mogaba had
used convicts to extend the road southwestward, adding tributaries, to connect
the cities and territories newly taken under Taglian protection.

Once we were safely over the Main, I began to ponder our next steps. I gathered
everyone. “Is there any way we could forge a rescript ordering the garrison here
to arrest Narayan if he crosses the bridge?”

Doj told me, “You’re too optimistic. If he’s going south, he’s already ahead of
us.”

Swan added, “Not to mention that if he fell into the Protector’s hands, she’d
find out everything he knows about you.”

“The voice of an expert heard.”

“I didn’t take the job voluntarily.”

“All right. She could, yes. He knows where we’re headed. And why. And that we
have the Key. But what does he know about the other bunch? If he doesn’t get
caught, won’t he try to intercept them so he can do something about getting the
Daughter of Night away from them?”

No one found any cause to disagree.

“I suggest we remind one another of that occasionally, so it gets said sometime
when Murgen is around to hear it.” Sahra never promised to spare Narayan’s
ragged old hide. Maybe she could ambush him and take back that unfinished first
Book of the Dead.

Swan pointed out, “That crow is still following us.”

A small but lofty fortification overlooked the bridge and ford from the south
bank. The bird was up top watching us. It had not moved since our crossing.

Maybe it wanted to rest its bones, too.

River whispered, “We still have one bamboo pole with crow-killing balls in it.”

“Leave it alone. It doesn’t seem to mean any harm. For now, anyway.” I was sure
it had tried to communicate several times. “We can take it out if anything
changes.”

At Ghoja we heard nothing but the traditional grumbling about those in charge.

Rumors concerning events in Taglios seemed so exaggerated that no one believed a
tenth of anything they heard. Later, after we reached Jaicur and were taking it
easy for a while, the temper of rumor began to change. It now carried a subtle
vibration suggesting the great spider at the heart of the web had begun to stir.

It would be a long time before any concrete news caught up but the general
consensus was that we should get going right now and not dawdle along the way.

Runmust discovered that a man answering Narayan’s description had been seen
lurking in the vicinity of the shop operated by his now-pseudonymous offspring,

Sugriva. “The man does have a weakness. Should we kill Sugriva while we’re
here?”

“He’s never done anything to us.”

“His father did. It would be a reminder to him.”

“He doesn’t need reminding. If Narayan is so dim that he thinks we’re done with
him now, let him. Just let me be there to see the look on his face when we catch
him again.”

Narayan had stood out in Jaicur because the city was still very nearly a
military encampment. People would remember us as well, if asked during the next
few weeks.

I roamed around looking for my childhood a few times but nothing that I
remembered, people or places, good or evil, remained. That past survived nowhere
but within my mind. Which was the one place I wished that it could die.