The Unbottled Idol (Chapter 9)

Article Three of the Imperial Code guarantees all idol worshippers the right to grovel and debase themselves, so long as no other articles are violated in the process. Neither you nor the children on your watchlist have the right to ignore that. The next time one of them decides to graffiti a Lotus den, I will hold you personally accountable.

- Memorandum from Lieutenant Colonel Ceyran Tahirov (Yanülevi Chapter of the Imperial Inquisition, Gatekeeper Directive) to Captain Mohsen Yavari

Worship of the Lotus Lords isn’t about prayer or sermons, sacraments or sacrifice.

The temple Kowsari and I now enter appears, at first glance, to be an upper-class version of the gambling parlor above us. The high-ceiling chamber has marble walls and is lit by a crystal chandelier. Perfume fills the air. The thirty-odd patrons I see drink fine barbarian liquors and play card games while a harpist serenades them. Women in scandalously low-cut dresses circulate around the tables, serving drinks and finger foods.

However, it’s impossible to miss the centerpiece of the chamber: a jade statue of a sinuous woman, clothed in lotus flowers that conceal nothing. There’s a whiff of opium beneath the perfume. Silk-curtained alcoves containing broad couches line the circular walls, and the harp music can’t fully cover the exclamations from behind the closed curtains. The visible patrons are either drunk beyond decency or assessing one another with evident hunger.

A Lotus den might not be a house of prayer, but here, the Matron of Lotuses and the daevas of her hedonistic pantheon get exactly what they want from humanity.

I eye the pedestal beneath the Matron statue. A table skirt of gold lamé encircles her feet, hanging to the floor. There might be a gold-plated shrine hidden under there. Lotus dens often keep such insulated safe havens as hideouts for daevas.

It would also be a good hiding spot for an ifrit.

Kowsari doesn’t give me the chance to investigate, instead steering me across the den to the table farthest from the lift. It isn’t hard to guess who we’re here to see. At the head of this table sits an Ead tribesman in his mid-forties. Rings of wood and ivory encrust his fingers. The veil exposes the topaz glow throbbing within the ivory rings.

Kowsari waits until we stand over him before announcing our presence. “Hello, Peynirci.”

Peynirci puffs upon the slender medwakh in his right hand, sending forth streamers of purple smoke from his nostrils, and considers the cards in his left before looking up. His gaze rakes Kowsari up and down. “My dear, you look ravishing tonight. I trust you got past my landlord without too much trouble?” His voice is surprisingly deep for a man of such small stature.

“Yes, I was discrete,” Kowsari assures him.

Peynirci gestures with the medwakh. A serving woman hurries over to offer us glasses of some clear liquor. Kowsari takes one and sips it; I do as well, albeit more cautiously. The stuff burns my mouth like acid, and my teeth vibrate as the Soul repulses whatever enchantment is laced into the drink.

“Are you here for more than games tonight?” Peynirci leers at Kowsari.

A palpable chill emanates from Kowsari. “I’m afraid so.”

“Ah. Business, then.” Peynirci sighs. “Let me finish this hand.”

“We’ll be in your office.” Kowsari drags me towards the curtained alcove behind Peynirci’s chair.

There’s no divan here. Instead, two divs sit on stools, with a black door behind them. These dæmons have mauve flesh, goat horns, and boar tusks. Even seated, they’re taller than me, but someone has tailored enormous plum suits to fit them – cheap suits, at that. The linen’s thin enough for me to see a diffuse topaz glow shimmering under their collars.

The divs glare at Kowsari and I. Their expressions slacken slightly as that topaz glow brightens. I glance back to see Peynirci idly stroking one of his ivory rings. The div on the right answers the unspoken command, springing lightly from his stool and opening the door for Kowsari and I.

Peynirci’s office isn’t what I’d expect from the leader of a Lotus den. There’s no table of uneaten delicacies, no bed from private liaisons, and no private stash of fine mey. The luxuries I do see would not have been out of place in Dutt’s office. The lone exception is that, in place of a window, Peynirci has a canvas splattered with a prismatic whirlpool of colors. The painting has a hypnotic blue aura around it, so I quickly direct my gaze to the opposite wall. There, a series of shelves displays an eclectic selection of daeva relics in glass cases.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Kowsari asks. “You’ve survived with your virginity intact.”

“I pray those bouncers are tight-lipped. I have an image to maintain. Children look up to Black Hand fighters, you know.”

Kowsari studies that accursed painting. “They’re exceptionally discrete. You wouldn’t believe the ‘respectable’ folk who come here.”

I’m not going to ask for names. They won’t bring me any peace of mind, nor will I have any power to do anything about them. The Inquisition can monitor daeva cults, but nothing I saw in that den breaches the Code.

Nothing specific to the den itself, at least. “Are you aware that this place uses slave labor?”

“Whose? Those divs?” Kowsari sips the glass of enchanted liquor. Whatever its magic is supposed to do, she isn’t visibly affected.

“I can see their binding collars.”

Kowsari sighed. “He’s getting brazen again.”

My stomach clenches. “If you know he’s doing this, why aren’t you arresting him? Or pressing the Ead inquisitors to arrest him, at the very least?”

“He covers his tracks. Take those divs. Legally speaking, I doubt they’re slaves. Indentured servants, maybe. There’s probably a contract that limits their term of service and guarantees them a fortune. Sooner or later, they’ll be going back to their homeland to live like kings.”

“Is there proof they weren’t bound first and then compelled to sign those contracts?” I growl.

“Archon and Empire, Yavari. We take Peynirci out, and someone more dangerous and less scrupulous takes his place. Besides, he’s useful. He keeps a finger on the pulse of dæmon trafficking operations, and so long as we don’t cause him trouble, he’s generous with his knowledge.”

The office door opens. Peynirci steps through it, taking a drag from the medwakh and swirling a drink in his free hand. He casually kicks the door shut behind him. “You should consider coming by here for less professional reasons,” he tells Kowsari as he strides to his desk. “Several of my regulars would be happy to entertain you.”

“So they’ve told me,” Kowsari says drily.

Peynirci finally spares me a glance. Recognition dawns on his face. “The same goes for you. After the victory you pulled off last week, I’d be happy to provide you with a few tokens to visit my establishment in future. Even middleweight Hands are popular with women, you know.”

“I just came to get Kowsari through the front door,” I grunt.

Peynirci drains his glass and smacks his lips. To Kowsari, he remarks, “If you brought a man this stiff into my den, you must be desperate.”

“Yavari has his other uses. He was instrumental in the arrest of one of your contractors,” Kowsari says.

“Which one? My sommelier? The man who grows my opium?”

“The safecracker you sent into the Shapiev residence.”

It’s hard for me to not gape at Kowsari. You think he sent the rakshasa to steal the binding ring? And we’ve brought it to him anyway?

Peynirci shakes his head and slouches into the cushioned chair behind his desk. “If I’d sent a thief into a diplomat’s house, that would hardly be your business, would it? Nothing about that violates –”

Kowsari tugs at the chain around her neck as Peynirci speaks. A lamé pouch pops free from her dress. Before Peynirci can finish his sentence, she works the pouch open with his teeth and plucks out the ring. I reflexively cover my nose, but the pervading cloud of Ead magic swallows its stench.

“Ah,” Peynirci says.

“Thought you might want to know that it’s broken.” Kowsari’s wrist curls, as if to toss the ring onto Peynirci’s desk.

Peynirci shrugs. “I know.”

Kowsari recovers before the ring leaves her hand, turning the near-toss into an idle display of rolling the ring across her fingers. “Then what’s it worth to you? Another trophy for your collection?” She jerks her head towards the shelves.

“It was already in my collection. I’ve been compensated handsomely to dispose of it,” Peynirci answers.

“Are we really expected to believe that you’d willingly destroy that kind of power?” I interject.

Peynirci rolls his eyes. “One does not survive as the host of a major den without accepting that, at a certain point, restraint is necessary. The previous owner of that ring learned this lesson the hard way. Once it fell into my hands, I knew it was better to eliminate the temptation and win the ifrit as an ally, so I offered it a deal. It gave me nine years of service here in the den, in exchange for me arranging the destruction of the ring. It fulfilled its end of the bargain two months ago.”

“Let me guess: you researched that rock the parīs used to hack each other’s wings off, lured Shapiev here, and then got her drunk enough on this to compel her to destroy the ring for you?” Kowsari holds up her empty glass.

“An elegant solution, was it not? Everything arranged indirectly, without the ifrit’s knowledge, so that the ring couldn’t compel it to stop me.”

“Except it didn’t work,” Kowsari says. “Only the Stone’s been smashed. What, did the ifrit figure it out and feel compelled to intervene?”

Peynirci waves a dismissive hand. “I don’t understand the specifics. I just know that the ifrit visited me two nights before Shapiev’s death and informed me that it sensed the attempt to break the ring. It also told me that the attempt had failed. It’s still bound to the ring, and it still expects me to deliver on my promise.”

Two nights before.

That straightens out the timeline. Unfortunately, it begs the question of how Amāstrī’s intervention was provoked. Yazata intervention can be delayed if they can’t find their target, but Shapiev was hardly in hiding during the days before her death. There’s also the matter of why Aahil smelled a Stone that night.

Kowsari is saying, “Are you sure it’s still bound? Because I’ve already tried to summon it.” She pointedly slips the ring on to her finger. “Shall I demonstrate?”

“Just because it doesn’t materialize in a cloud of brimstone, that doesn’t mean the call isn’t heard,” Peynirci says. “It no longer has the power for frivolous displays.”

The answer’s right in front of me. I’m certain of that. However, between the hot pressure of the Soul inside me and the caustic vapors of Ead magic burning my nose, I can’t focus enough to put my finger on it.

Kowsari glances at me. “Yavari? Does that sound right to you?”

“When Kir Nikbin enslaved ifrits, he did so by exploiting their addiction to power and desire,” I say slowly, more thinking aloud than answering. “That’s part of the reason the rings use Philosopher’s Stones. The ifrit is addicted to fulfilling desires, and using a Stone to do so amplifies that high beyond anything else it could otherwise experience. That’s also what keeps it from taking the ring for itself, or destroying the ring, or harming its master. The enchantments constantly remind the ifrit that it can’t fulfill its craving unless it remains obedient to its current master.”

“If you deprive a hyena of food, will it not feel hunger? Will it not still come running when the dinner bell rings?” Peynirci counters.

Maybe he thinks I’m challenging the idea that the ifrit would still obey the ring. Maybe I would have gone down that road, if he hadn’t spoken. Instead, something clicks into place.

“The Three Jeweled Bottles,” I say.

Kowsari frowns. Slipping off the ring, she goes back to rolling it over her fingers. “You’ve both lost me.”

“In the myth of the Three –”

“I know the story, Yavari. I just don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Then you know that the only ifrit who escaped its bottle was the one who surrendered to the will of the yazatas, finding freedom by not being mastered by its urges.” I resist my own urge to give Peynirci a pointed look; now’s not the time or place to try converting the man. “The other two ifrits turned to the daevas and ended up becoming their slaves, instead of being slaves of the bottles.”

“Get on with it, Yavari.”

I sigh. “The addict escapes one vice by finding another one.”

“So there’s another Philosopher’s Stone in play,” Kowsari concludes.

I nod.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Kowsari rounds on Peynirci. “Did you procure another Stone for the ifrit?”

Peynirci bursts into hearty laughter. “My dear, what makes you think I could possibly acquire one of those? I already told you I came into the ring by accident. If I could just pick Stones up on the black market like shanks of lamb, I would have done that in the first place! Destroying the ring would have been easy! I could have just handed this other Stone to the ifrit and wished for it to destroy the ring for me!”

A Stone and a wish. Of course. That’s all it would take for the ifrit to free itself. All it would need is a Stone …

The air hums around me, as if a thunderhead of understanding looms overhead, but no revelation strikes. The Stone is the sticking point. Peynirci’s right about how astronomically difficult it would be to acquire one, especially on short notice. It’s not like the ifrit could synthesize one, either. Kir Nikbin remains the only mortal to ever accomplish that.

I watch Kowsari roll the ring across her fingers. The miniscule rubble of the destroyed Stone twinkles. In this lighting, those specks look even more like congealed blood than they did in my office.

Nikbin did claim to be a yazata incarnated as a human being. There was probably something exotic about his blood that –

The golden stroke of revelation strikes, and the thunder of its arrival blasts through my mental fog. I curse my own foolishness. The moment I interviewed Aahil, I should have connected these dots. We never needed to go after the ring.

Kambūjiya, forgive me. I hope we’re not too late.

“I have no further questions, Inquisitor,” I declare. “Let’s go.”

Kowsari smirks. I can tell she’s ready nettle me about stepping on her toes. However, before she speaks, she sees my expression. A flash of predatory focus displaces her glibness. Then she sticks the ring back into its pouch and saunters up to Peynirci’s desk.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you, Peynirci. Thanks for the drink.” She sets down her empty glass.

“Leave the ring,” Peynirci commands.

“No. I don’t think so.” Kowsari’s tone is coy, but the predatory chill in her eye is more pronounced now. “If you’re right about the ifrit still heeding this ring, we’ll need to summon it to testify about Shapiev’s assassination.”

“Oh, I see. Robbing a dæmon of free will is a Code violation when us mere kuch neshin do it, but the almighty Inquisition does as it pleases?” Peynirci strokes one of his ivory rings. The magic inside it strobes at his touch.

“Yes, for the same reason that an execution is different from murder. Besides, unlike you, we don’t plan to indenture the ifrit for a decade before we free it.” Kowsari stuffs the pouch down her dress and begins walking towards the door.

“How noble,” Peynirci drawls. “Unfortunately, much like the ifrit, I am under contract. I still need to destroy that ring.”

The door to the office opens before . The two divs duck through it. One of them snarls at us.

“Hand it over, my dear. Then may you go,” Peynirci says.

Kowsari backs up three steps, putting me between the divs and her, and looks at me expectantly.

I sigh. “Did you not bring a gun?”

“Where do you expect me to hide a holster in this dress?” she asks, slipping her heel out of her left shoe.

Silently, I begin my mantra to the Shepherd. Make my flesh as steel. My bones as tungsten. My joints as mercury. My nerves as copper.

The world slows as the Soul rises into me and alters me. At half-speed, I watch Kowsari spin and kick in Peynirci’s direction. Her left shoe soars through the air and strikes him in the face.

With twin roars, the divs charge.

Thank you all for joining this week! Chapter 10 releases September 2nd! I hope you’ll join us for the 2-on-1 brawl!