Tales of the Djinn_The City of Endless Night Page 6

  The young man collected it one-handed then reached up the shelf behind him for the scrolls. With a start, Iksander realized the shopkeeper’s second arm was gone. His sleeve hung empty from his shoulder. To fail to have such an injury healed or, at the least, replaced with a magical prosthetic was highly unusual.

  In his city, the sultanate subsidized basic healing care. He’d thought the empire did as well. Had this changed under Luna’s reign? If it had, why was she still popular?

  Disinclined to be caught staring, Iksander shifted his gaze to a collection of secondhand flying carpets that leaned on the wall nearby. Having a private means of transportation would be convenient.

  “Are those for sale?” he asked.

  “If you’ve got the juice to run them.” The young man stared at him impassively. “They aren’t pre-charged.”

  Iksander sensed more undercurrents he didn’t understand. “How much for the large blue one?”

  Again, the man named a price that seemed unusually low. Though Iksander knew bargaining was expected, he couldn’t bring himself to haggle. “Would you hold it for us if I pay you half upfront?”

  The young man shrugged. “Collect it before closing and I will.”

  Hoping he wasn’t making a mistake, Iksander counted out the coins. “Come on, you two,” he instructed his companions.

  Connor and Georgie were suppressing giggles like naughty schoolchildren. Iksander didn’t ask what had amused them, just led them back onto the street.

  He guessed his purchases earned him a bit of consideration.

  “There’s a reading room around the corner,” the shopkeeper called after them.

  The reading room was a roofed-over alley, raised above ice and snow on a rough plank floor. Warmed by braziers, the humble shelter offered a selection of old bound books and well-worn chairs. Currently, it was empty of all but a skinny senior djinniya with her nose in a fat novel. So many layers of silk wrapped her ancient body she might have been wearing her whole wardrobe.

  As Iksander stepped up and into the space, he noticed a sign soliciting donations . . . and a device to accept them. That surprised him. In his city, individual highborn families sponsored public libraries. For common people, they were free. The donation device—clearly designed to accept energy contributions and not coin—was a gold-flecked black stone with a handprint depression in its middle. Deciding to observe local custom, he placed his palm in the intended spot.

  He expected the thing to nip off a little magic, the way such devices generally did. The pain that lanced up his arm caused him to hiss in shock. He yanked his hand back but not before it went numb. The collection station hadn’t nipped his magic. It had sucked down a greedy gulp.

  The senior djinniya found this hilarious.

  “Careful, young man,” she cackled. “That one bites.”

  He restrained the observation that she might have warned him before he stuck his hand in. “Is it functioning correctly?” he asked instead.

  The old woman laid a finger beside her bony nose. “Only our dearly departed empress knows that answer.”

  “Don’t touch that,” Iksander said when Georgie and Connor leaned curiously toward the thing. “I believe I’ve donated enough for the three of us.”

  IF THE OLD LADY HADN’T been sneaking looks at them, Georgie would have squeed with delight over the magic scroll. Once she unrolled it, a simple tap accessed four different djinn newspapers. A flick of her finger made each page crackle and turn over.

  Her amusement at swiping back and forth drew Iksander’s attention. “As I understand it, this scroll isn’t terribly different from human e-readers.”

  “It feels different.”

  “Yes,” Connor agreed. “It’s exactly like real paper. I can almost smell the ink.”

  Iksander surrendered the point by shrugging. “Maybe when you’re done playing, you’ll let me know if you glean information to help us achieve our goals.”

  Because he was right, Georgie didn’t tease him for being a spoilsport. They’d dragged three armchairs together for the sake of cooperation and privacy. The darkness outside and the glow of the brazier made the gathering feel cozy.

  “This might be important,” Connor said. He shook his simulated paper and began to read aloud quietly. “‘Protests Suppressed in Fourth District. Early Tuesday morning, in defiance of mandatory patriotic levies, a gang of rioters set fire to the tariff station on Mozhay Road. Police were called but not before the station administrator was badly burned. All insurrectionists were apprehended and await questioning. According to the Fourth District mayor, any attempts to evade collection of lawful taxes that support our great empire will be dealt with severely.’”

  “Interesting,” the sultan said, “though we might do better to concentrate on stories specifically dealing with power or magic or portals.”

  “But this does have to do with that. Look at the photograph beside it.” Connor passed his scroll to Iksander, who spread it across his lap. Georgie leaned over her chair arm so she could see as well. The crystal clear, full-color image showed the charred wreckage of what she presumed was the tax station. This close to the sultan, she noticed he smelled good even through his power plant coat. She didn’t think the effect was aftershave. Iksander smelled natural—like a sunbeam warming a patch of mint.

  Connor pulled her from the thought by tapping a detail on the photograph. “See right there? That’s the same device they’ve got for taking donations here. I think people are paying taxes with magic and not money.”

  Iksander’s jaw had fallen. He shut it now slowly. “That’s outrageous. Apart from working on the Draw, where citizens only participate annually, personal magic is sacrosanct. Djinn might offer it voluntarily or use it to do their jobs, but it can’t be forced from them. That would be illegal.”

  “It must not be illegal here.”

  Iksander sat back stunned in his chair. He’d shoved his hood off so he could read. Evidently, djinn didn’t have bad hair days. Some of his wavy locks had escaped their tie, and the gleaming lengths looked even more like gold in this dimension.

  Georgie fought an urge to rub the strands between her fingers.

  Her resistance was for the best. Shaking his head, the sultan recovered his powers of speech. “I suppose the patriotic tariff explains why people in this neighborhood don’t have power for luxuries. And maybe why Luna had so much at her disposal when she came to conquer us. Her taxmen must be siphoning quite a bit. Normally, rest and time restore our reserves.” He handed back Connor’s scroll. “That was a good catch. I’m not sure how it helps us, but let’s see what else we come up with.”

  Because she couldn’t find a search function, Georgie resorted to skimming. The Money Times was a dry, dreary bore, as was The Wealth Advisor. Thankfully, The Smoke Report was livelier. There she read an article about an upcoming rally to raise funds for widows and orphans of soldiers lost in what the journalist called “the recent military action to preserve our sovereignty.”

  She was three paragraphs in before she realized the writer was describing Luna’s invasion of Iksander’s city.

  If she hadn’t known the empress’s curse was responsible for the troops’ petrified condition, she’d have assumed Iksander was the aggressor. Luna’s “valiant men” had made the “ultimate sacrifice” and were simply “fallen heroes defending their homeland.”

  The account sounded so reasonable she paused to consider if she really knew the truth. She only had Iksander’s version of events versus this reporter’s, and conceivably he might lie. A moment later, she shook her head. Georgie had personal experience with Luna. The woman she’d known as Alma West stopped at nothing to fulfill her ambitions: killing, torturing, even plotting to rule humans. She and not the sultan was the conscience-free megalomaniac.

  She let out a noise of disgust that attracted Iksander’s notice.

  “What did you find?” he asked, leaning closer to see the article. He stiffened after a few seconds. “T
hat’s not true. The Glorious City didn’t start the war . . . unless you think my refusal to hand my throne to Luna justifies her attack.”

  “Well, I know it’s baloney,” Georgie said, “but I don’t think her citizens do. Not that telling them is likely to do much good. Most people believe what makes them feel better about themselves—human people, anyway.”

  Iksander sighed. “In that respect, djinn aren’t dissimilar.” He frowned as he noticed something else. “The writer doesn’t mention she went dark. Luna killed people to enact her curse. That’s death magic. Their ‘brave ruler’ automatically turned ifrit—as her seers undoubtedly know.”

  “They must not want the knowledge to get around. I guess it’s lucky for them she’s out of the way for now.”

  Iksander winced at her comment. “Yes. Lucky.” He shook himself. “We should continue our research. No need to get distracted by the scope of her government’s deceptions.”

  They continued to read in silence. Connor found an article about an area being closed for energy conduit repairs, and Iksander hummed over a debate currently underway in the Empress’s Council of District Lords. That body was discussing whether to send a carrier across the gulf of the In-Betweens to discover what, if anything, could be done to help Luna’s frozen troops.

  “More like what remains in the Glorious City to profit from. Luna’s curse didn’t destroy our infrastructure. They could walk in and claim anything.”

  “That’s not good,” Georgie said.

  “No, it’s not. On the bright side, traveling the In-Betweens by warship is a tremendous expenditure. Luna will have depleted her treasury badly to do it once. If it were me, I’d send a small exploratory force via portal.”

  She guessed this seemed too doable to him. He fisted one hand so tightly his nails dug into his palm. Noticing this himself, he forced his fingers to uncurl. “It’s pointless of me to worry. I can do nothing for my people from where I am. God willing, Arcadius and Joseph will reach the Glorious City before our enemies. They’ll find a way to shore up defenses.”

  “The three of us aren’t chopped liver,” Georgie said. “Maybe we’ll get there first.”

  He smiled. “Maybe we will.”

  “Not that it’s a race.”

  The sudden amusement in his spring green eyes heated her. “No, not that it is.”

  She cleared her throat and blinked at her suddenly unreadable newspaper. Was embarrassment interfering with her magical translator?

  “We need a break,” Connor said. “We should get up and stretch our legs.”

  For a moment, she thought Iksander would protest. Then his face changed, as if an unexpected realization had caught him by surprise. He looked at her, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  “All right,” he decided, rolling up his scroll as he rose. “Let’s clear our heads for a few minutes.”

  Chapter Three

  IKSANDER’S HEAD NEEDED clearing. Georgie had said maybe they’d get there first—as if returning to her world wasn’t her priority. He had no right to expect her to concern herself in his troubles and yet she kept doing so.

  Her support pulled at him more than he was comfortable admitting.

  Leave that for now, he ordered. He’d see what she chose when they actually had a choice to make. For the moment, they were still searching for straws to grasp.

  It occurred to him the angel hadn’t contradicted her statement.

  He sealed his hood closer to his face as they stepped back into the cold. He didn’t choose a direction, simply exited the reading room alley and let his feet lead him. The market square wasn’t large, just a few blocks of shops with a strip of snow-covered ground between. Humbler vendors lined the pavements on either side, their wooden stands offering foodstuffs and small conveniences. The municipal lampposts burned dimly but well enough to see. Somewhere nearby a school was letting out. The piping of children’s voices rode to them on the air. The sound reminded him of his own city.

  Luna’s citizens are just people, he thought. Surviving the best they can.

  Georgie had got ahead of him. He noticed when she stopped to gawk at a structure whose entrance was boarded up.

  “What’s this place?” she asked in an intrigued tone.

  The sign atop the painted front said PROSPEKT MARKET VARIÉTÉ. Twice the size of neighboring establishments, the facade must have blazed with color once upon a time. Since then, it had fallen prey to the same magic shortage as the rest of the area. Its elaborate light display was dark.

  “I believe it’s a theater,” he said. “Or maybe a view café. Those are places for viewing stolen human media. Television. News. Some djinn make a cottage industry out of interdimensional piracy. I suppose the locals don’t have the juice to pull signals anymore.”

  “I wonder if we can look inside.”

  He should have guessed she’d be interested. In the human world, Georgie’s business centered on salvaging old items.

  She didn’t wait for him to answer, but went to examine the boards nailed across the door. She let out a pleased exclamation when the side of one pried loose.

  “I don’t think you should do that,” Iksander cautioned. “The property owner might get upset. Plus we’re trying to keep a low profile.”

  “Just a peek. I have to see what sort of treasures djinn abandon.”

  “Georgie . . .”

  To his dismay, she braced her weight with a foot and gave a more forceful heave. With a not at all discreet crack, the board came off entirely.

  “Can you stop her?” Iksander asked Connor.

  The angel was laughing a little bit. “Not when she gets like this.”

  “Come on,” Georgie said, halfway through the opening. “It looks perfectly safe inside. We’ll be in and out in ten minutes.”

  “We may as well go ahead,” Connor said. “We’ll be harder to spot inside.”

  The sultan wished he could argue with this logic. Repressing a sigh, he followed the pair into a dark lobby. The illumination filtering in from the street allowed them a shadowy view.

  “Hold on.” Georgie’s silhouette made a grand gesture. “Fiat lux!” she declared.

  She wasn’t accustomed to the strength she had in this dimension. Two bulbs popped and shattered from being overamped. If that weren’t enough to draw attention, every other light in the place came on, a glare that would be hard to miss outside.

  Muttering a curse, Iksander hastened to re-seal the door behind them.

  “Oops,” she said. “Guess we better hope the locals weren’t looking this way right then.”

  They waited a moment, but no cries arose to protest their trespass.

  Georgie grinned, and Iksander shook his head.

  “This place is beautiful,” Connor said, turning to take in a curving double stairway and an overhead chandelier. “I thought this was a working class neighborhood.”

  The lobby was attractive, beneath the coating of dust and grime. True, the chandelier was only crystal, the gold on the woodwork thin gilding. The long drapes were dark blue velvet, the carpet deep burgundy. Though the glass and brass concession stand was empty, a few sweet wrappers lay crumpled on the floor.

  “I love it,” Georgie exclaimed. As if drawn magnetically, she wandered toward the rightward sweep of the double stair. “Look at this gorgeous silver leaf wallpaper. Oh, there’s a sign for the projection booth!”

  Iksander sighed aloud this time. More powerful men than he wouldn’t head her off from exploring that.

  GEORGIE MOANED WITH pleasure at what they found inside the booth: a mint condition 1930s Simplex movie projector. All the knobs were in working order. Once she blew off the dust, the light turned on and the motor whirred without the least stutter.

  “Where did they get this?” She flicked the wheels on and off. “And where are the film reels to play on it?”

  “I expect someone smuggled it through a portal,” Iksander said. “Having a machine from the human realm helps in grabbing
data . . . the like draws to like principle.”

  “This thingie could be a reel.” Connor held up an appropriately sized silver disc.

  The sultan nodded in confirmation. “That’s a signal holder. Whatever the theater showed last should be on it.”

  Not needing to be asked, Connor grinned and handed the disc to Georgie. She stuck it where a normal reel would have gone.

  “Go watch on the balcony,” she urged. “I’ll start this and join you.”

  Barely a minute later, she scooted into a cushy velvet seat between the men. The film hadn’t yet begun. Though the sultan had dimmed the lights, she still saw how amazing the cinema was. Built on three levels, with maybe three hundred seats, it was a Beaux Arts jewel box in gold and red. The proscenium stage looked deep enough to put on a play.

  Georgie had seen pictures of royal opera houses less fancy.

  “Ooh,” she said as the screen lit with images. “It’s not human entertainment. It’s djinn! That’s a panorama of this city.”

  The words KING KONG VERSUS THE FAIR MAIDEN rolled up the frame.

  “A monster movie,” Connor said happily. “Too bad we don’t have popcorn.”

  Djinn directors cut to the chase apparently. Georgie just had time to settle before the quake and thump of beastly footsteps announced the ape’s approach.

  “Oh he’s fabulous,” she said as Kong appeared between two buildings and let out a mighty roar. “That’s really good CGI!”

  “It’s a seeming,” the sultan corrected. “A magical hologram.”

  The effect was great either way. The giant ape was a beautiful golden brown with an extremely expressive face. When he beat his furry chest, she totally believed it. When he swung his arm to sweep the cross-topped onion dome off a church, the broken debris appeared to shoot straight at them.

  The spectacle sucked Connor in as well. “Here comes the flying carpet army!”

  Tiny men perched on rugs were shooting laser guns. Sadly for them, the fire only irritated their enemy. Kong swatted them from the air, which resulted in pieces of mangled bodies propelling toward them 3-D style. Georgie winced at the generous gore. Djinn must like their films bloody. More flying carpets replaced the fallen, plus a contingent of weaponized ice buses.