As they stepped into the unusually warm night, Osmund found he didn’t feel his usual jittery excitement.
The stranger had been very receptive to Osmund’s suggestion, rising to his feet almost at once and pulling him by the arm, barely stopping by the door long enough to dress. Osmund could chalk that up to eagerness easily, and ignored the sudden feeling of…
What was it currently curling around in his gut?
They left the grounds of the governor’s mansion behind, weaving through the streets of Shebyan. Stray dogs and cats wandered freely, and beside them went people in all manner of dress, stumbling home from long hours at work and evenings spent swapping gossip in the empire’s coffeehouses. The smells of the city transformed with every corner they passed, the wafting aromas of meat and dough mingling with other, less pleasant urban odors.
Something, Osmund recognized with sharper and sharper clarity, was amiss. That sense of wrongness only intensified the deeper they crawled into the bowels of the city, until Osmund realized he wasn’t sure he’d be able to navigate his own way home.
At first, he tried to calm himself by saying he’d never been intimate with a Meskato man before – so what if the man wanted to bring him back to his house? Perhaps that was the culture – but eventually, he had to concede that the possibility of being dismembered in an alley somewhere was becoming too great a risk just for a bit of fun. He raised his voice, “Um,” and tried to dig his feet into the road, but the man kept pulling as if he hadn’t said anything. Now he was really alarmed.
This was bad. What were the odds that the first man Osmund would try to sleep with here would turn out to be some sort of... maniac? In spite of the orc Nienos’ warning, the danger hadn’t come from Cemil after all. Osmund could have laughed at the never-ending irony that was his life, if he only weren’t so terrified.
Wait a moment, he thought belatedly, as an almost equally terrifying thought occurred. He was actually larger than this man. Not to mention he’d been pitching bales of hay all week. He could overpower him!
“Stop!” he commanded in enunciated Meskato, trying his best to channel Father’s authority, and pulled away with all his might. This time his efforts were effective. The man stumbled, straightened himself, then hushed him urgently.
“Don’t yell, you fool! You aren’t in any danger,” he hissed, and Osmund froze in surprise. The man spoke near perfect Tolmish, his accent better even than Cemil’s, although he was clearly a native of the empire.
For the first time, Osmund squinted his eyes through the gloom for a real look at him. The fellow’s dark robes were almost conspicuously plain, and so large that they hid the contours of his frame. He’d apparently donned a pair of spectacles when they’d left the bathhouse, and they gave his face a youthful, boyish appearance, although he must’ve been older than Osmund. “Who are you?” Osmund asked suspiciously, as the man cast wary glances up and down the street. “This… isn’t what I thought it was, is it?”
“I wanted to wait until we were somewhere more private to explain,” the stranger sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a way that pushed his glasses up to his forehead. “Call me Emre. Please, hear me out. We could be allies if you gave us a chance.”
Allies? Osmund panicked. “You… know who I am?” he blurted.
The man – Emre – gave the open windows all around them another uncomfortable look; the occasional glow of an oil lamp marked the existence of wakeful eyes and ears at this late hour. He growled out what was plainly a curse under his breath, although it was no Tolmish or Meskato word that Osmund knew. (The servants at the house often swore to themselves in private – Osmund by now could have penned an entire ‘vulgar slang’ addendum to his borrowed dictionary.) Shuffling into the shadow of a darkened, two-story building, Emre beckoned Osmund over with the urgent wave of his hand. Against his better judgment, Osmund followed.
“Naturally, I know who you are, why do you think I’ve brought you here?” Emre continued once they were hidden. “You’re a stablehand at the şehzade’s house.”
Oh, thank heavens! Osmund hoped the relief wasn’t written all over his face, though this raised even more questions. Emre went on, “I hope you'll forgive the bit of misdirection, but I've been hoping to get you alone for a while. And, well... I saw an opportunity."
Osmund flushed with embarrassment, and a bit of indignation too. He hated the idea that he’d been so… well, easy. "What could you possibly want w-with a stablehand like me?" Osmund cried. "If this is some scheme involving the horses, I won't be an accomplice!"
"I don't care about your horses."
They're not my horses! Osmund thought snippily. And you should care about them, because they're very lovely horses! “T-then what do you want?!” he demanded, fear rising up again. “I-if it's Cemil you're after–”
Emre laughed at him, and Osmund was so puzzled he forgot to be afraid. "First name terms already?” he observed, and Osmund flushed. I really have to stop forgetting the title! But then, everyone probably just thought he was an uncouth Tolmishman with no manners. Emre became serious again. “No. This isn’t that kind of job.”
‘That’ kind of job. Osmund frowned and gathered his wits to leave. “Whatever this is, I-I don’t like it and I want no part! Now, if you’ll excuse me–”
“How about this?” Those footsteps drew close in the dark. “You’ll be rewarded, and money is no object.”
Osmund stopped dead at the incredible claim. Mistaking this for interest, Emre kept talking.
“Cemil has something we want, and you’re in a prime position to help us get it. It’s as simple as that.” He, too, was forgoing use of the prince’s title. (What was that about?) “No violence, no one harmed. You don’t have to get your hands dirty. Just a little bit of…”
Osmund finished the sentence for him. “…thievery?”
Emre gestured vaguely. “We don’t have to use that word.”
What could be so important that they’d be willing to go to such lengths? If Osmund were a more cunning man, maybe he’d stay and find out. But his curiosity could get stuffed – he could tell this was nothing but trouble, and the less he knew of it, the better. “No thank you,” he managed stiffly. “I don’t think I’m the man you want for this job after all.”
He’d made it a few paces when he heard, “Şehzade Cemil will doom his people and destroy himself!”
That… got Osmund’s attention.
He’s just a lunatic, his racing mind supplied. Ignore him! Go back to your bed! “What… do you mean he’ll destroy himself?” Osmund asked, unable to hide the minute tremble in his voice.
“I see. So you’re an honorable sort.”
“Is he in danger? Please just come out with it!”
They were facing each other now, back in the dim light of the quiet street. “Listen well,” Emre warned. “Terrible things are on the horizon, and Cemil has a large part to play. If, and 'if' is the real operative word here, he survives.”
If there was one thing to be said about the man, he didn’t lack for dramatic affect. Osmund shuddered. Emre asked, “Tell me, do you want anything resembling a peaceful life?”
The former prince of Valcrest swallowed. And then, though Emre hadn’t earned his trust, he nodded.
“Then I suggest you leave Shebyan as soon as you can, and never look back,” the man advised grimly. “Or, if you want to help Cemil, we make common cause. He has to be parted from that accursed item. But we must be quick about it!”
“I,” Osmund began. How would he have finished that sentence?
I can’t help you, I don’t trust you.
I can’t help you, I’m too afraid.
I’m–
He never had to find out.
There was a sudden rhythmic sound – hoofbeats against the city streets, and they were fast approaching. Emre cursed again, loudly this time. “Pay attention. Surely you know what we’re after.” Osmund very much didn’t! “You must take courage. Get close to him and take it. Take it and run until I find you, for the good of all. If you feel any gratitude towards that prince, you’ll do it.”
“I-I can’t!” Osmund protested weakly. “Even if I wanted to help you, there’s no way I’d have a chance!”
Emre’s mouth curled into a humorless grin. “If you don’t already, then you soon will,” he said, enigmatically, and then – vanished without a trace!
Illusion magic! So he was a mage after all.
Osmund wheeled around to face the horse cantering in his direction. Maybe… maybe it was even Cemil himself. Maybe he’d returned from the hunt, found his new horseman missing, and launched a daring rescue. But, as he saw when the figure came into the light, it was only a mounted watchman.
“Some sort of commotion, sir?” the man asked in Meskato, though in Osmund’s frazzled state it took him a moment to realize he even understood the words. Finally he gave a feeble nod.
“Just got lost in the city,” he murmured, weakly scanning the darkness. It seemed to loom large all around them, a gaping void between every house. A million different places for Emre to hide, even if he hadn't been invisible. The thought brought him a fresh wave of dizziness, and his heart pounded frightfully in his chest. “Sir, w-would you help me find my way back to the governor’s mansion?”
The officer eyed him with clear dubiousness, but
provided him the escort back home anyway. Osmund’s feet felt heavy all the way
back to the house.
Comments (10)
See all