The Thousand Names Read Free

spring heat, and her hands were swathed in white bandages. Her voice was desiccated, cracked and dry, like the very voice of the desert.
    “Holy Mother,” Jaffa said, keeping his eyes on the broken flagstones, “I have news from the council.”
    “You bring more than news, it seems.” There was a dusty sound from the cloaked woman that might have been a laugh. “Onvidaer, bring me our guest.”
    There was a startled squeak from behind Jaffa, and the shuffling of sandals. The Grand Justice remained in his attitude of obeisance, sweat beading on his face. “I am sorry beyond words, Mother. I did not think—”
    “Rise, child,” the cloaked woman said. “No harm has been done. Now let us see what fish our net has caught.”
    Jaffa got to his feet and turned, weak with relief. Standing behind him was a young woman of fifteen or sixteen, scrawny and stick-limbed. Her skin was smudged with the filth of the slums, and she wore only torn trousers and a dirty vest. Her hair hung in thick, greasy clumps.
    Onvidaer had one hand on the girl’s upper arm, holding her still without apparent effort. He was a young man, only a few years older than his prisoner, but lean and well muscled, with the copper-gray skin of the Desoltai. He wore nothing but a loincloth, showing broad shoulders and a muscular chest to good effect, and his face was round, almost cherubic. His other hand held a thin-bladed dagger.
    “She followed Jaffa,” he announced. “For some time before he came here. But she has reported to no one.”
    “Such a ragged little alley cat,” rasped the woman in the chair. “But what house does she belong to, I wonder?”
    “No one,” the girl said. Her eyes were full of defiance. “I’ve done nothing, I swear it. I never followed him.”
    “Now, now,” the woman said. “Cool your anger. Were I in your position, I might do better to beg for mercy.”
    “I don’t know who you are, or . . . or anything!”
    “We will find out the truth of that soon enough.” The hood turned. “Summon Akataer.”
    A huge shadow detached itself from the wall behind the old woman, resolving into an enormous, hairless man in leather breeches and straps. He gave an assenting grunt and wandered out through the rear of the square, where empty doorways gaped into long-deserted apartments.
    “Now, child,” the old woman said. “Who sent you here?”
    “No one sent me!” she said, jerking at Onvidaer’s grip. “And I’m not a child.”
    “All men are children of the gods,” the old woman said, not unkindly. “And all women, too, even little alley cats. The gods cherish all their children.”
    “Just let me go.” There was desperation in the girl’s voice, and Jaffa had to harden his heart. “Please. I won’t tell anyone anything—”
    She stopped as the huge man returned, accompanied by a skinny boy of eleven or twelve years in a white wrap. The boy was as bald as his giant companion, with solemn features and bright blue eyes. He bowed to the old woman, nodded politely to Jaffa, and turned his eyes to the girl.
    “We will find out what she knows,” said the old woman. “Onvidaer.”
    The girl threw a wild glance at the knife. “Please. You don’t have to hurt me. I don’t know anything—I swear—”
    “Hurt you?” The old woman gave another paper-dry laugh. “Poor child. We aren’t going to hurt you.”
    Jaffa saw the sudden hope bloom in the girl’s eyes. At just that moment, Onvidaer moved with the speed of a striking snake, raising her wrist above her head and sliding the long, thin dagger into her left side beneath the armpit. It went in smooth as silk, finding the gap between her ribs. The girl gave a single jerk, eyes gone very wide, and then her legs buckled. She hung from the young man’s grip on her wrist like a broken puppet. Her head lolled forward, greasy hair swinging in front of her face.
    “I have no desire to cause anyone
pain
,” said the old woman. “Onvidaer is extremely