“The Dhoshe-ri Road, Yezuddin?” Major Zefira Khorsandi eyed the blade’s embossed pommel after listening to his request. As she spoke, her left cheek twitched. Rashid hated that twitch almost as much as he hated his own pounding head. “What makes you think Ilterillo would take that path into Thanassos?”
“Well, I…”
Crushing the new woollen cap in his hands—he’d misplaced the previous one last night—Rashid shifted his weight, cursing his nerves and his fuzzy head. Ilterillo had a four hour start on them. He needed the Major to say yes, and quickly, before the Chandroli merchant and any chance he had of redeeming himself slipped from his grasp.
“I was perhaps thinking…”
“Thinking what?” Khorsandi leaned back against the wall of the chai house whose front room she’d commandeered to listen to the morning’s reports. She was a shrewd, calculating woman with shoulder length, ash blonde hair, deep set eyes and a crooked nose reportedly broken during the Battle of Heymir. There were as many rumours of her exploits as a young operative in the Colonies as there were tales of those who’d incurred her wrath.
“Thinking you found something in the bottom of your whiskey?” she said.
A few muffled laughs rippled the air. Rashid curled a fist. The room was cramped, filled with a dozen operatives, most seated on wooden crates about a barrel-shaped stove that gave out a pungent, yak manure-scented heat. The walls were plastered with yellowing news sheets, community rotas and government notices. On a too-small table before the Major, a Jhiriyan ordinance map formed a wrinkled coaster for several mugs of spiced, hot chai. Rashid shifted his gaze on the map.
“The Dhoshe-ri Road is a lesser known route, according to local informants, and one that leads directly to the Tasare Steppe.” The lie gathered pace and leapt from his lips, much like a rat off a sinking ship. “Given the arms Ilterillo is carrying are for Sirakos Arellehian, and he’s already running late with the shipment, I’m willing to bet he’s heading for Thanassos via the shortest, most direct route he can take.”
“Perhaps, but there’s several other roads he could have taken as well.” Khorsandi tapped the map. Her cheek twitched. “The Yargan Monarch doesn’t want us here, and I’m not keen to wear out what little welcome we have. I need more than a drunken hunch to act on before I send you out chasing zephyrs off mountain tops, Captain.”
“With respect, ma’am, I’m sober and it’s not a hunch. It’s deductive reasoning.” His fingers bit into the cap’s thick wool. A bead of perspiration dribbled down his back. “There’s no town of any size close to the border on the Dhoshe-ri Road, and the border post is a long way from any signal station. Ilterillo could cross the border long before your requests to delay all large caravans reach any of the nearby crossings.”
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“I can still smell the liquor on your breath, Yezuddin,” Khorsandi said, blunt.
Rashid stiffened at the rebuke, affixing his stare to a grease stain on the wall. He didn’t dare look anywhere else, especially not at the faces of those around him. His heart thudded in his ears. Had Khorsandi picked the lie? As fas as he knew, no one rose to the rank of major in the Ha’filu without the right political connections or the ability to read people like a map.
“Do you think I’m a fool, Captain?” the Major continued. “You abandoned your orders for an ale barrel and now you’re trying to save your skin. I could have you executed on the spot for your less than exemplary behaviour.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Fortunately for you, I neither have the time to complete the paperwork a summary execution requires, nor can I afford to lose an operative when I’ve only been permitted ten for the mission.”
“You are merciful, ma’am.” Rashid swallowed.
“Merciful my arse.” Khorsandi snorted. “Don’t fool yourself. This is about expedience. Nothing else.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He twisted the cap again, fighting the need to reef his pocket watch out and fret over wasted time. For every minute they spent arguing over maps and last night’s whiskey, Evannachet Ilterillo was a minute closer to the Yargan border.
“Gyaltsen.” Khorsandi turned to one of the two Yargan operatives forced upon them by the Yargan government to assist with finding Ilterillo. “You’ve travelled the Dhoshe-ri Road. Does Captain Yezuddin’s reasoning make sense?”
Tongsal Gyaltsen pushed herself off the wall. A distant relative of the Yargan Monarch, she was an attractive young woman with striking lavender eyes, long, cascading curls, and the solid confidence of a fortress in a storm. There was, however, no accounting for her poor taste in men. She’d taken Utlannah Desai, Zefira Khorsandi’s pet operative, and Shaliaat, a member of a powerful noble House, as a lover. The thought of them naked wrestling under the sheets turned Rashid’s stomach.
“It makes sense, Major Khorsandi.” Gyaltsen rubbed at a faint bruise on her neck. Rashid couldn’t help but wonder if Desai had put it there. “If I were Ilterillo, I would have tracked straight for Dhoshe-ri and bypassed Rhangdesong altogether.”
Khorsandi pressed a finger to the map. Her cheek twitched twice before she looked up. Her eyes were pale ice blue, sharp and hard as splintered glass.
“Take the Dhoshe-ri Road, Yezuddin. You’re to leave at once, then return to Rhangdesong when you’ve completed your investigations. The Empress’s commands are to be rigorously followed: if you find Ilterillo and attempt a recovery, no harm must come to the Thanassi boy travelling with him. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am, understood. Thank you, ma’am.” Inclining his head, Rashid pressed his right fingertips to his heart in a gesture known as Imperial Acquiescence, then locked eyes with Ayeshaa El’Khomid. El’Khomid’s lips formed to a faint smile, and he held her gaze for a moment longer than Jhiriyan propriety allowed. No doubt she was remembering last night. Too bad his memory was a complete blank.
“Yezuddin.”
The Major’s voice snapped his attention about. His cheeks flushed through with heat. “You’ll take Lieutenant Desai and Ms Gyaltsen with you. Operatives Al’Beshir and Fezmejil will remain here with me.”
Rashid’s stomach lurched. For a fleeting moment, he glanced at Utlannah Desai seated to the Major’s right, limned by a lone shaft of sun streaming in through the room’s grimy window. Remembering his manners, he lowered his gaze in the presence of a noble. The smug, Shaliaat golden boy would no doubt report his every twitch to Khorsandi. “Yes, ma’am.”
“One more thing.” Khorsandi gave a tight smile. Rashid swallowed. Whatever the Major intended to say wouldn’t be pleasant. When she smiled, it never was. “Ms Gyaltsen will take command.”