Chapter Seventeen
The column of dragoons wound through the maze of old streets and alleys that made up Unkabi. They passed dilapidated market stalls and empty streets. Cobbles worn smooth by time lined the road and despite the decaying state of much of the city, the streets were relatively clean. As they moved north through the city, it became cleaner, and the colours on the houses looked brighter. Walls were painted with white lime.
“We are nearing the bazaar and the place where Sala lives,” Ugruz noted.
Dryden heard the noise of the great market of Unkabi before they arrived and a fragrant spice was carried on the breeze. Then they turned a corner and he caught a glimpse of it down an alley. Colour, light, and the vibrant sound of masses of people echoed down from somewhere else. Before he could ask about it, or turn to see it, it was gone, and Ugruz pointed to a great archway, “Shuja lives there.”
“What is the history you have with the man? You said he was your master, but why do you fear him?” Dryden asked.
“He was more than my master. He was my owner. He does not treat his boys kindly.”
Dryden heard the tone and understood fully what the man meant. He felt his own face darken, “Does Sala Shuja speak the Vastrum tongue?”
“Well enough,” The man replied.
“Lieutenant Albans!” Dryden shouted back
“Sir!” The officer came riding up and saluted.
“Find us a place to stay for the night. Take Sergeant Steele. Ugruz, assist Lieutenant Albans and Sergeant Steele. Find a place to stay where the men can rest and horses can be stabled, quickly now if you please,” Then he turned to Captain Khathan, “Keep the men here while I parlay with this Shuja. Be ready for anything. Mar, with me,” Dryden gestured to the wizard’s pouch of aethium, “Prepare yourself, he may be an agent of the V.A.C. but I know not this man or his intentions.”
The troopers dismounted and began to prepare to fight if needed. Mar took a cigarette that he had already rolled, lit it, and took a puff. His good eye dilated as he smoked, and as usual, a look of bliss passed over his face. Ugruz, Albans, and Steele rode off to find quarters for the squadron. Dryden and Mar left their horses with the squadron and walked through the great archway into the mansion. As they passed through, a man stepped out from behind a great pillar. He was armed with a kind of short spear and had several pistols strapped to his person, he spoke something in Vuruni. Dryden looked the man over, he had brown skin, a dark wrinkled face, and an ugly scowl.
“We’re here to see Sala Shuja,” Dryden stated matter of factly, his tone even.
The man frowned harder, “Sala Shuja, no see.”
“We’ve been sent by General Haddock, you see.”
“Genral Hadduck no see.”
Dryden tried a different tack, “We’re friends of Colonel Hood.”
The man looked him up and down, “Hood?”
“Hood,” Dryden replied.
The man whistled and a teenage boy came running, he spoke to the boy who went running quickly towards the main house. Dryden glanced around the courtyard of the mansion. It had looked nearly abandoned at first, but as he looked he saw more and more guards who were placed to be difficult to see. Some had jezails he could see. Others he only caught glimpses of. The mansion was very well guarded indeed. They sat in uncomfortable silence while they waited. It was not the boy that returned, as a minute later a man in a great colourful silk robe wearing a huge white turban came out from the main entrance to the house trailing a retinue of servants and towering shirtless guards, “Friends of Colonel Hood!” The man boomed, “Welcome, welcome to Unkabi!”
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Dryden took a few steps forward, “Sala Shuja, I presume.”
“I am, who is it that my friend Colonel Hood sends to me?” The man was large and heavy set, he had a broad face with olive skin and bright green eyes. His chin was covered by a great big white beard that was well-trimmed and oiled. He had a smell like he had bathed in scented oils and perfumes. Despite being well on in years, he had a vibrance to him and Dryden wondered if this was truly the same man to whose cruelty Ugruz had referred.
“Major Dryden, 13th Dragoons,” Dryden extended his hand, “This is one of my officers, Marten Pyke.”
Shuja took his hand and shook it, “Ahh, Dryden, you are famous! Even here in Unkabi, we have heard the name. You are the man who survived the slaughter of Shah Kurush, are you not?” He still felt awkward being known and he was surprised that he was known in this place.
“I am,” Dryden answered, “You should know that Colonel Hood did not send me. He fell at Golconda.”
Shuja’s face darkened just slightly, “Ahh, well for that I am sorry.”
“He was a good soldier, among the very best of us. It may be that he was captured, he stayed behind at Golconda to cover our retreat.”
Then a smile returned to the man’s broad face, “Will you and your friend here come in and enjoy my hospitality? I have questions for you, and I am sure you have not sought me out simply for my genial company and famous hospitality.”
“It would be our pleasure,” Dryden replied. He thought again at the guards and the darkness that came across the face of Ugruz whenever this man had been mentioned. It was incongruent.
The older man turned, clapped his hands, and said, “We have guests!” And swept back into the mansion, clearly expecting them to follow him. They did. The mansion had a somewhat drab exterior. Inside was another matter. Brightly woven tapestries and wall hangings covered the entry, metal lamps hung from the ceiling, lighting the way brightly, and lush blue and red paisley carpets covered the ground. The man swept into a drawing room that was already well-prepared for hosting guests. Platters were arranged with fruits and baked foods of many kinds, few of which Dryden recognized. A samovar was steaming with tea.
Shuja gestured to two chairs, “Please.”
They sat, “Are you expecting guests?” Dryden asked.
“Indeed,” Shuja grinned. Something about the way he smiled put Dryden immediately on edge as if the man knew something vitally important that he did not, and furthermore, that the man knew what he had over him, “What brings you to Unkabi, Major?”
“You knew we were coming,” Dryden said suddenly. He was not surprised by that fact particularly, but now it dawned on him. It was this man’s business to know what was afoot in the east.
Shuja eased back into his chair, “Tea?” He did not wait for an answer, but spoke in Vuruni and a boy came and filled cups of steaming tea from the samovar, then served them. The tea smelled strong of mint.
Dryden took the cup but then set it aside, “You also know why we are here or have deduced it.”
The man ignored Dryden’s statement, “Have you ever seen a miniature drake?” He said more words in Vuruni, “I find them fascinating.”
“No,” Dryden answered, “I have not.”
“Indeed? Surely your wizard has,” He looked to Mar, who was looking suspiciously back at Shuja.
“I have only read of drakes,” Mar replied coldly.
Shuja whispered to the boy again who went from the room, “I have one. I have sent my boy to bring it. He will show you.”
“You know why we are here, do you not?” Dryden asked, his tone frustrated at the delays.
“I do. You chase Aisa An-Beya. I have found chasing women to be one of my great frustrations in life. They are so difficult to catch, and when you do, they are not compliant. What is it you wish of the An-Beya witch? Did she spark your desire, Major?”
Dryden frowned, “She killed my army, damn you.” His frustration was growing into hostility.
“Oh Major, there is no need for that. You wish to have her as revenge?” The man smirked, “That is unbecoming of an officer as I understand it.”
“I do not wish to have her. I wish to defeat my enemy. I swore to end her, and I will.”
“Ahh, be careful what oaths you swear in this land, Major, it will hold you to them.”
“So I have learned,” Dryden growled.
“You know everything that happens in this city, do you not?”
“I do.”
“I seek Aisa An-Beya. Where is she?”
“She is in the city,” The man’s false smile slowly grew into a wicked grin.
“You will tell me, sir,” Dryden stood.
One of the big shirtless guards stepped forward, his hand holding a huge poleaxe. The guard was big and thick with both muscle and fat. He had a pudgy dark face and his head was shaven bald.
“You will not make demands of me in my own house, Major,” Shuja still sat grinning.
“I thought you a friend to Colonel Hood.”
“There is no loyalty to the dead in Unkabi,” Then he turned and said something in Vuruni. The guard stepped forward, and another guard entered the drawing room from the hall. “Put down your weapons, Major, and you may find yourself spared.” Another figure entered the room. It was a man. He had one arm, a patch on his eye, and a vicious grin. In his one good arm, he held a wickedly curved sword. Dryden knew this man. It was Zhan An-Zhigo.
Seemingly from nowhere, Dryden suddenly smelled a hint of freshly cut grass, he heard Mar whisper next to him, “Duck,” and then everything burst into chaos.