A Chime for These Hallowed Bones (Chapter 11, Part 1)
The day after visiting Tesfaye’s shop, Yadleen rose before sunrise. Rajeev was, predictably, waiting behind the ossuary. She wordlessly beckoned to him and led the way to the townhouse while the city woke around them.
“Where are we going?” he asked her.
“I’m doing my part. Now I need you to do yours,” she answered. “Our workspace needs to be cleaned, top-to-bottom.”
“We can’t work in the ossuary?”
Yadleen scowled at him.
Rajeev waved off the expression. “Very well. Can’t risk besmirching Babaji’s precious honor. But where else can we work? Your home?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Babaji owns properties that he leases out to less established necromancers. He’s letting us use his townhouse in the Dosanjh Market. There’s a shop on the first floor, which won’t be much use to us, but the second-floor apartment will be a suitable workshop. There’s even a studio on the roof where you can stay.”
Rajeev scoffed. “And, what, I’m supposed to just sit around in this townhouse until you say we can start?”
“Like I said, you’re going to clean the place. Not you, of course,” she amended, because Rajeev had opened is mouth to make another snide remark. “We’re going to rent a labor-wight to do the work while you supervise it. I’m sure that even an alchemist can manage that.”
“‘Labor-wight?’ How many different types of wights will I need to keep track of in this city?” he grumbled.
“There’s not a formal designation system, if that’s what you’re asking. People use whatever labels are convenient to understand what tasks a wight is best suited for. I can refer to it as a ‘attendant-wight-designated-for-unskilled-labor’ it that’s easier for you.” Yadleen pointed at the cage hanging in the intersection ahead of them. “Look. There’s an attendant-wight-for-giving-guidance-to-travelers.”
“I take your point.”
It took only a quarter of an hour to reach the Dosanjh Market. It sat halfway between Master Baig’s ossuary and the Well, on the north side of one of the oldest squares in the city. All the buildings here were pitted and gray from centuries of sun and rain, but the people were no less vivacious than their upslope neighbors. The market was already bustling when they arrived.
Rajeev surveyed the swirling mass of humanity and undead. “Do we need to worry about whoever’s using the shop? Or will the … labor-wight … and I be alone?”
“There’s a warrior-wight who guards the premises. Other than that, you’ll be undisturbed.”
A tiny pavilion at the edge of the market offered labor-wights at daily rates. Yadleen insisted on inspecting them, much to the impatience of Rajeev and the annoyance of the proprietor. A few questions addressed to the bhūtas inside the wights weeded out the ones without the temperament for effective housekeeping. From there, it was a simple matter of opening their brown cotton robes and unwinding their turbans to check on their binding prayers and wiring. Yadleen made her selection and handed over the deposit and fee for three full days of labor. In exchange, she received a steel tuning fork.
Yadleen held out the fork to Rajeev. “Here. You might as well practice directing it.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Rajeev stared at the fork.
The pavilion’s proprietor gave him an incredulous look.
Yadleen whacked the fork against one of the pavilion’s supports. The metal tines hummed. She held it up to the attendant wight, as if fending it off with a holy talisman, and spoke slowly and clearly. “Follow that man.” She pointed at Rajeev.
The attendant wight stared at Rajeev.
Yadleen tossed Rajeev the fork and swept from the pavilion. When he followed her, the wight dogged his heels. To his credit, Rajeev caught on right away. He struck the fork against the pavilion next to the necromancer’s and ordered the wight to back off by saying, “Stay two meters behind me.”
The undead servant obligingly halted until Rajeev had put the prescribed distance between himself and it.
Yadleen led Rajeev around the periphery of the market. “Don’t lose that fork,” she warned him. “You won’t be able to control the wight without it.”
Rajeev held the fork up. Sunlight flashed off it as he twisted it about. “How does it work?”
“You hit it against things, and it holds a specific note.”
“No, I mean magically.”
Yadleen pinched the bridge of her nose. It was too early in the morning for this. “Do you truly not understand how binding magic works? This isn’t even something exclusive to necromancy. What, has the Empire outlawed binding entirely?”
“It’s severely restricted under Article Seven of the Imperial Code.”
It was absolutely too early for a lecture on whatever Article Seven was supposed to be. Instead, she said, “You don’t need to practice binding magic to understand the basics.”
Rajeev halted and folded his arms. “Basics or not, this isn’t common knowledge where I’m from. Please. I’m relying on you here.”
If your grandmother hadn’t gotten herself Unnamed, you would have known it.
Yadleen swallowed that needlessly cruel retort. Rajeev almost sounded humble; she couldn’t spit on that. Besides, she’d have to explain how wights worked sooner or later. Here and now was as good a time as any to start.
“There are a lot of different ways to control a wight,” she explained. “You’ve noticed how bhūtas react differently to various sounds, right? And the Naga’s Tongue, of course.”
“I have.”
Yadleen beckoned him out of the square, into the shade of a storefront that was currently shuttered. When he joined her, she unwound the labor-wight’s turban to reveal the silver-inlaid etchings on the skull.
“The binding prayers don't just cage the bhūta. They alter the bhūta’s perception of reality and allow us to alter the stimuli that control it.” She caressed the curling script around the ear canals. “This part here translates commands in Ātapararan, or another language designated at the time of the binding, into the Naga’s Tongue.”
“Then what’s the fork for?” Rajeev asked. “It’s not like I needed one for those wights in the cages. They wouldn’t shut up.”
“Guide-wights are supposed to help anyone who speaks to them. That’s not usually desirable. Do you think Master Baig wants Cyrus to obey any fool who walks in off the street?”
Rajeev’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Cyrus?”
“The hippopotamus I set on you the other day.” Yadleen rewound the turban.
He stiffened. “No. I suppose you wouldn’t want that thing to listen to just anyone.”
She hid her smile and finished fastening the turban. “That’s why the bindings of most wights will be keyed to turn this translation magic on and off in response to specific stimuli. Audio cues, like that tuning fork, are the easiest to incorporate. Getting them to obey specific people, or anyone bearing a specific symbol, or anyone who says a specific code phrase are common as well, though that takes more labor to prepare. The bindings can even deafen the bhūta to certain sounds. That’s why most wights ignore wind chimes.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” That sounded too antagonistic, so in a more mellow tone, she added, “I can explain it in more detail, if you'd like.”
“You’ve given me enough to be getting started, I think.” Rajeev struck the tuning fork again the wall of the building and commanded the labor-wight. “Follow me. Stay two meters back.”
They continued onwards and rounded the corner of the square. The townhouse owned by Master Baig came into view, about twenty meters off. The studio on the roof was barely visible from this angle.
“Why didn’t Babaji bind … Cyrus … to obey specific people?” Rajeev abruptly asked.
Yadleen looked sharply at him. “What?”
“I mean, that would be a lot easier than using bells and cymbals, right? A lot safer, too, given how big that thing is. Surely, Babaji could make it recognize all his journeymen and apprentices, right? Or at least recognize him, so he doesn’t have to bother with the throat-singing?”
Yadleen hesitated.
Unfortunately, Rajeev guessed the answer. “Wights can’t tell the difference between a real person and a rakshasa imposter, can they?”
It’s far too early in the morning for this nonsense, too.
A smile crept across Rajeev’s face as the silence stretched. Yadleen bristled, expecting some smug comment, but he just kept her in suspense. When she couldn't take it any longer, she demanded, “What of it?”
“I haven’t been giving Babaji enough credit,” he murmured.
His rueful tone caught her off-guard. “You’re right. You haven’t,” she spluttered.
“He’s learned from Dadiji’s mistake. That’s good.” After a beat, he added, “Then again, maybe he thought of it because he’s a rakshasa, and he knows one of his peers could displace him. Rakshasas can be cutthroat about fighting over a good name.”
Unbelievable.
Thank the Chorus, they were close to the townhouse now. Yadleen ended the infuriating conversation by fishing the keys from her pocket and hurrying ahead to the door. She fit the key into the brass lock and turned it.
There was no clunk of the latch releasing. The door was already unlocked.
Thank you for reading! Chapter 11 Part 2 arrives October 9th!
If you’d like to learn more about the Kimian Empire, you can find more stories here!
