Kabarāhira might not sleep, but it fully came to life in the daylight.
Crowds flowed along the cobbled streets. The poor wore cotton, while the rich draped themselves in silk, but all dressed in vibrant colors. Attendant-wights and guard-wights guarded storefronts or escorted wealthy patrons. The daylight washout out the glow of their ghostfire, and their owners had dressed them in uniforms as bright as what the living wore, making it hard to identify them unless one could see their bare skulls. The lamp-wights hanging overhead were likewise muted, through the sunlight made them more beautiful, gleaming off the green patinas that formed upon their protecting copper coatings. The buildings that lined the streets also gleamed, their facades made of marble, alabaster, or various whitewashed materials. Above the chatter of pedestrians, the tinkling dance of wind chimes upon the breeze could be heard. Any unbound bhūtas in the area would be lurking in the relative quiet of back alleys.
This time, it was Rajeev who led the way. Yadleen could tell he didn’t know where he was going. Rather than simply tell her where his supposed forger lived, or even asking her how to get to a specific district, he asked cryptic questions to the guide-wights that hung in the intersections. The babble of these wights lead them on a zigzagging course through the north side of the city, going the opposite direction around the hill from their journey the previous night. More than once, Rajeev tried to cross a trade lanes. Yadleen had to reroute them to pedestian bridges to safely avoid heavy laden wains pulled by a menagerie of beast-wights.
At last, they wandered into the Graveyard Quarter. Wights all but disappeared from the streets. Even the lamp-wights overhead were replaced by brass oil lamps. Complexions grew noticeably fairer, darker, or redder than normal for Ātapararans. Were it not for the buildings – most construction in Kabarāhira was performed by wight labor, so even in this foreign quarter, architectural styles were limited – it would be hard to tell that they were still in the same city.
The dæmons only added to the alien atmosphere.
Div slaves took the place of attendant-wights, their hulking, horned, purple forms looming over the crowds. They bore the palanquins of their parī masters, allowing those winged women to travel with a measure of privacy. Djinn merchants dressed in fine silks hawked wares gathered from across the Hegemony, the Empire, and the otherworldly realms from which dæmons hailed. A man with the fur and head of a tiger stalked along the street, trailed by a trio of robed attendants who resembled bipedal raccoon-dogs. There were stranger things down the alleyways, but Yadleen knew better than to look. Even bhūtas knew to stay out of those shadows.
Rajeev stopped just shy of a jeweler’s shop. He squinted up at the sign above its door before drawing Yadleen aside. In a low voice, he said, “You can explain exactly what documents we need, can’t you?”
“Of course I can,” she replied.
“Good.” He took a deep breath. “Now, listen carefully. You need to handle this next part on your own. The man in there will help you, but he can’t know I’m here.”
“I take it this has something to do with why you went straight to Master Baig without any paperwork, instead of coming to him first?”
Rajeev hesitated. “Let’s just say that, if I had known I’d needed the papers, I still would have tried my luck with Dadiji’s letter alone.”
“Why?” Yadleen folded her arms. “You might as well tell me. I’m already committed to this.”
That same scowl she’d seen in the summoning chamber – his tell when he was being indecisive, she realized – danced across Rajeev’s face. Yadleen stood her ground. At length, he relented.
“The owner of that shop in an operative of the Imperial Inquisition,” he said flatly.
Yadleen couldn’t believe her ears. “He’s what?”
Rajeev had the gall to look relieved, perhaps thinking she didn’t know what the Inquisition was. “He’s a preserver of –”
“He’s a member of the Empire’s secret police?”
“– the Empire’s cultural laws,” Rajeev finished.
“What is one of them doing here?” Yadleen demanded. “Everyone knows the Empire’s spying on us, but isn’t the Inquisition supposed to spy on your own people?”
Rajeev shook his head. “He’s an observer, not a spy. The Inquisition doesn’t just exist to preserve the Archon’s vision. They want to educate. Part of that education means keeping track of how far behind the …” He hesitated. “Monitoring the cultural attitudes of our neighbors.”
His jab about Kabarāhira being a ‘barbaric country’ flashed to mind. Yadleen had a feeling he’d nearly referred to her by an equally insulting term. She wondered if he expected her to be grateful for his restraint.
“And why would a cultural observer be able to forge official documents?” she probed.
“He’s also supposed to help refugees and any Rangers in dire straits. I feel like this qualifies.”
“So why don’t you go in there?”
“Because the moment he lays eyes on me, he’s going to realize I’m a Ranger, no matter what lie I spin. He’ll then report to his superiors that I’m here, and his superiors will talk to my superiors, and then the Rangers will send people to drag me home. I’d rather not have that happen before Dadiji’s last request is fulfilled,” Rajeev explained. “If you go in there, though, and just explain Dadiji’s circumstances in general terms, we can avoid that complication.”
It seemed a rather convoluted excuse, yet Yadleen was too tired to unravel it. “The last time I tried to bluff someone, it didn’t go well.”
“You don’t have to bluff. Be honest about why you need his help. Just don’t mention my name.” Rajeev grasped her shoulders. “The worst he can do – to you, anyway – is refuse. And if he does, we can fall back on those flensers you mentioned.”
Yadleen considered peeling his hand off, but the thought of grabbing his hand made her think of his gentle grip, and suddenly, making a fuss about this seemed childish. “Fine. I’ll do my best. Are there any code words or anything else I need to do?”
“If you tell him you my grandmother was a civilized woman, that will probably warm him to you.” Mercifully, Rajeev released her.
Yadleen snorted. “I should have guessed.” She took a moment to tidy her kameez before brushing past Rajeev and entering the shop.
It was a cramped, gloomy establishment. A single lamp-wight hung in the middle of the room. Whether by the proprietor’s instruction or because of a bad binding, the bhūta within had pulled itself completely into the skull, leaving only a sullen glow to shine through the eyes and nose. The air was heavy with lily perfume. A polished wooden countertop formed a horseshoe around the side and back walls.
Yadleen took one look at the glass cases of merchandise behind the counter and fought to contain a scornful laugh. This was some the cheapest jewelry she’d ever seen. There were no pearls, no amber, no nacre or coral or ivory. Instead, the cases glittered with gold and silver and gemstones. It looked pretty, but all of it could be produced with alchemy. The Kimian Empire had devalued these substances years ago.
This is the worst possible cover for an agent of the alchemists.
“Help you, ma’am?” a voice rasped.
