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Chapter Text

Although Lasaraleen had said she was dying to hear Aravis's story, she showed no sign of really wanting to hear it at all. She was, in fact, much better at talking than at listening. She insisted on Aravis having a long and luxurious bath (Calormene baths are famous) and then dressing her up in the finest clothes before she would let her explain anything. The fuss she made about choosing the dresses nearly drove Aravis mad. She remembered now that Lasaraleen had always been like that, interested in clothes and parties and gossip. Aravis had always been more interested in bows and arrows and horses and dogs and swimming. You will guess that each thought the other silly. But when at last they were both seated after a meal (it was chiefly of the whipped cream and jelly and fruit and ice sort) in a beautiful pillared room (which Aravis would have liked better if Lasaraleen's spoiled pet monkey hadn't been climbing about it all the time) Lasaraleen at last asked her why she was running away from home.
Chapter VII, Aravis in Tashbaan, The Horse and His Boy

“Cats and monkeys; monkeys and cats; all human life is there.”
Henry James

"The life of spies is to know, not to be known." The quote is attributable to George Herbert.

Part 1, from First True Spring in the Second Year of the Reign of the Four to Summer of the Seventh Year of the Reign Of The Four

First True Spring in the Second Year of the Reign of the Four

The stories all make Narnia sound better than it actually was. It was fine. Most of the time. Everyone always says that winters and primates don’t get on, and, except for a few oddballs in my family tree, it’s true.

So, as my grandmothers tell it, when Jadis and her cold moved in, the Talking Monkeys and Apes, and our cousins (it’s rude to call them dumb) moved out, south or west. And most didn’t want to admit it, but it was often, probably, better, even than before the Long Winter. Warmer, better food of the kind we liked, and more of it.

But for me and my kind, the weather, well, we don’t love the cold, but we’re Talking Primates and we could manage cold and snow with some planning and good shelter.

No, the real problem for our type of ape is that we like being where the people are. We like humans. We love a busy court, the merchants’ high streets, the crowded communes and villages outside a castle’s walls, or an active market at a port or on a waterway. The more people, the better.

And that was the real problem with Narnia. There were never many humans there. And when Jadis came, the humans she didn’t murder fled. So we did, too.

My clan stopped in Anvard, and that’s where I was born. But I didn’t stay there for long. If you’re smart (I am) and know how to keep your mouth shut (I can), any adventurous monkey could hitch a ride on a ship or in a caravan and head south, to Calormen and the city of Tashbaan, or one of the other cities further south or along the long coastline.

And well, fact is, Tashbaan is a wonderful place to be if you’re a monkey. The weather is great, the food is even better, and if you don’t give it away by talking, there are people everywhere. If you act cute and do things that are clever but not too annoying, people will happily give you a bed safe from predators and abusive traders, clean water for drinking and bathing, and fresh fruit any time you want it.

And there was always something happening, especially in the inner courts of that great City. The Calormene of Tashbaan were crafty and cultured. It wasn’t nice that the Calormenes called the Archen louts. But it was pretty true. In Tashbaan, they had plumbing. They had real medicine, not (just) leeches and amputations. They had universities and temples, roads and aqueducts. They were arrogant, sure, but they had reason to be.

As a Talking Monkey in Calormen, I knew the risks. If any of the Tarkaans and Tarkheenas had known that the adorable monkey crawling in the orange trees above them could speak and was understanding every word of their councils and plots, I’d have been burned or boiled as a demon fel. But they never knew, and I never gave them cause to suspect that I was anything but an occasional distraction who would, so conveniently, always get very quiet when their voices dropped to conspiratorial whispers.

I love Tashbaan.

And then, two years ago, all Narnians heard the call, even as far away as the inner courts of Tashbaan, and we followed we knew not what back to the Stone Table and Aslan. The good news, Jadis was dead, it was only winter half the year and there were four Human monarchs on the thrones of Cair Paravel. The bad news, it was still winter half the year and the Four were practically the only Humans within two days’ ride on a good horse. Or Horse, if they were interested.

And the food? Well, if you liked apples, it was fine. Me and my band went back to eating the crabs on the Cair Paravel sands. Made me long for the days sitting in durian and mango trees and listening to Calormene plotting. Once you’ve been accustomed to hanging around the courtyards of Tashbaan palaces and having the Tisroc’s second, third, and fourth wives fight for the honour of having a slave whack a coconut so you can eat it, Cair Paravel is really rustic. No disrespect, of course, but even Archenland was sophisticated by comparison. So many of the niceties for humans, which primates enjoy too, just aren’t very relevant when most of the population doesn’t have a thumb. Or hands. And whose idea of luxury is a branch positioned just right for a good back scratch.

And now it had all gone to Jadis. Again. I’d really been looking forward to the human delegation that had arrived from the islands for some sort of diplomatic visit. More people was good, listening in on some intelligent conversation with adults would be engaging, and the food would be better. But two of the visitors tried to assassinate the Kings and Queen Susan. So, all that excitement for nothing. There were guards and closed doors, and it was all just pretty grim. And disappointing.

I was sitting on the beach smashing crabs; some of my sisters and mothers were up in the trees ringing the beach to gossip about the dead assassins and betting with the Crows on who Queen Lucy’s new Royal Guard would be.

I glanced up as a shadow circled above me. In somewhere other than Narnia, I’d be worried about an eagle swooping down, snatching me up, and feeding me to her chicks. It was just a Crow. Well, Raven, but I called them all Crows.

Sallowpad landed next to my pile of discarded shells.

“Are you happy here?”

Typical Crow. Never one for pleasantries. I’d not spoken to him in weeks. We’d talked a lot about Calormen when he found out I’d lived there. Then, he moved on. I didn’t feel used or manipulated. Again, just a typical Crow.

“It’s fine, Chief. Same as last time we spoke. I’d add dull, but with the assassination attempt, that would be rude.” I smacked the crab in front of me. It was already dead, but sometimes you just needed to hit things. “What’s the mood of the Four?”

“I don’t know. I did not ask.”

“You might want to.”

Again, the typical Crow. They don’t have much in the way of emotions, certainly not human ones. I decided to help him along as I did feel for the Four and what had happened. “They are surely angry, of course, and frightened that this happened in their home, and trying very hard to hide the fear. And lots of second-guessing about what they should have done differently.”

He ruffled his feathers and bobbed his head. “This is why I come. Their Majesties recognise this was an intelligence failure. They have ordered formation of an intelligence service.”

That was interesting enough to make me stop smashing the crab. “Really? That’s surprising. More mature than I would have expected.”

The Raven turned his head to the side. “Meaning?”

A Human would have rolled her eyes. Birds were so smart about things and so dumb about people.

“You do know that they are still children? Granted, in Calormen and Archenland, Queen Susan would already be married, maybe even with a babe at the breast, and the High King would probably be campaigning, but they are all still very young by Human standards. Creating a system for spying and gathering intelligence means they’re thinking like adults.” I left out more sophisticated.

Wait. Why was he coming to me? Not just for emotional advice. Oh.

“Is there a Calormene connection to the assassins?”

Sallowpad ruffled his feathers, probably annoyed that I’d sussed it out so quickly. “Much too early to tell. But if this did start in Tashbaan, we’d never know.”

“I told you before the Tisroc was always trying to get into Narnia to spy on Jadis. Never worked, but they were trying right up to when I left.”

“It would be easier now. And why I came to you.”

I felt a thrill of excitement shiver down my back and my hair rose with it. I tossed my crab-smashing rock aside. Tash willing, I’d never eat another crab. I could be bathing in ass milk and slurping ices and fresh fruit.

“You want me to go back to Tashbaan. To spy. For you.”

“For Narnia.”

“Get me to Anvard. I can take it from there. I know just where to start.”

“The Tisroc’s court?”

I started combing my hair, thinking I’d need to neaten up. “No. At least not at first. If things haven’t changed, everything interesting always went through the Grand Vizier first. That’s where the real intelligence was. Axartha’s wife, Alohi, adored me.” They also had excellent mango trees at their Tashbaan villa and their country estate was in Mezreel and really beautiful.

“The Seraph leaves tomorrow, will dock in Galma.”

“Perfect. I can get a ship to Terebinthia and from there to Tashbaan.”

I stopped combing my fur. “On second thought, if I look really terrible, they’ll think someone stole me away and I staggered back to them out of devotion.’

“Ship,” Sallowpad ordered. “We don’t want you dying before you get there. I’ll tell King Edmund and Queen Susan we will have a spy in the Tisroc’s court within the month.”

Maybe I’d just get real skinny during the sea voyage. The trip didn’t take long but I wasn’t especially fond of fish.

Fall in the Third Year of the Reign of the Four

The problem with the great idea of sending me to spy for Narnia in the home of the Grand Vizier himself was that we really hadn’t made any provision for how to get the amazing intelligence I gathered back to Narnia. It helped once Faun Tumnus finally arrived in Tashbaan to open the Narnian Residence. I felt for him. He thought the Calormene diplomats and financiers were always giving veiled insults (they were), but they thought he disliked them and their country (Tumnus hated every stone in Tashbaan), and they perceived him as an unserious representative of the Crown. They weren’t entirely wrong. Tumnus’s chief qualification was loyalty to the Four and he’d come because they really didn’t have anyone else to send. Tashbaan was the top diplomatic post in all the Known Lands and Tumnus had no prior posting or experience and knew nothing of Calormene culture. He was diligent in trying to remedy his ignorance, but it was always an effort he took no pleasure in.

His presence in Tashbaan did make it much easier to exchange intelligence more regularly, but I still had to be very careful. It wouldn’t do for Grand Vizier Axartha’s favorite pet to be seen meeting with Narnians or going in and out of the Residence. I usually met the Crows on the rooftops late at night, long after the gates closed, and even the nightwatch had turned in and only those up to no good and the jackals at the Tombs were the ones still out.

Today was different. That afternoon, I’d moved the flowerpot on a balcony on the street side of Axartha’s villa; I didn’t see any obvious Narnian, but I heard a single caw from a lemon tree and knew the message would get to Tumnus. Urgent. Meet Tonight.

I made a nuisance of myself all afternoon, chattering nonsensically, throwing things at people, pulling the cat’s tail, trying to ride the dogs, and got caught sneaking food from the kitchens. Alohi and Axartha were so vexed, they finally banished me to the courtyard. Still, I waited until the horns sounded and the great gates of the City shut. Then I clambered up the tallest mango tree in the yard, scrambled across the roof tiles, and leapt and swung, from house to house, down two circles of the inner city, to the Narnian Residence.

I could sense the black birds flapping along with me. Not saying a word, but they were keeping an eye out, in case I was followed. The City was still full of sounds and smells, and lamps had not yet been doused. The Crows raised no alarm, though. It was a real relief when I swung from the roof of the Galman Embassy and landed in the lemon trees that adorned the inner courtyard of the Narnia Residence. My abrupt landing disturbed the fruit and several lemons bounced down to the pavers below.

“Zaki?” Tumnus called softly.

He was waiting for me.

“Yes, sorry about the lemons.”

I swung down and landed at his feet. “We should go inside.”

Tumnus was being very gracious but I was really too rattled and everything he offered, I either didn’t want it (Narnian spirits or beer) or could get better at Axartha’s home (fruit, cream, ice, nuts).

But he did know how to make me comfortable and had set up some low cushions on the floor.

He didn’t waste any time. “Tell me.”

“I went with Alohi to the Palace today. She was visiting Farib…”

“The Tisroc’s second wife?”

“Yes, none of us like her much. Alohi was trying to smooth the path, as the poets would say.”  

“We were escorted to the Residence, the private part of the Palace.” I paused, took a very human-like deep breath. “Tumnus, on our way to Farib’s courtyard, I saw and heard the Tisroc there. And he was with Ahoshta Tarkaan, and Kailash, the Finance Minister, and Mahrem.”

Tumnus sucked in a nervous breath. “I don’t like that combination. I’ve never met Mahrem…”

“Hope you never do. I don’t know that he has a title, but everyone knows he is responsible for Calormene intelligence and their secret police.”

Secret police weren’t words you used casually in Narnia, and certainly not with someone who had survived the Long Winter.

“Why the Residence? I assume it was so they could be assured more privacy?”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s the reason because it’s even worse, Tumnus. Lord Bar was with them.”

“Lord Bar?!” Tumnus hissed. “King Lune’s Lord Chancellor? Are you sure?”

“Positive. I recognised him from when I lived in Anvard. They used his name. They seemed…” I searched for the word… “familiar. This wasn’t formal. Or diplomatic. They laughed, Tumnus.”

I heard snapping beaks overhead. The Crows were listening. Their gossip could be a nuisance but this was important.

Tumnus settled back in his cushion and took a sip of his wine.

“What did you hear?”

“Nothing of consequence – it was all as he was leaving and I dallied as long as I could, which wasn’t long. But Bar did thank them. And said he would have to visit his banker before his ship sailed. They laughed at that.”

“Which could be innocuous or could be bribery.”

“Probably bribery given that Kailash, Ahoshta, and Mahrem are involved.”

The next question was why, and even though he was a fish out of water in Tashbaan, Tumnus was still very astute. He’d lived his whole life under Jadis and knew how spying and intelligence gathering worked. He asked the question I’d been avoiding.

“Axartha was not invited to this meeting, Zaki. What do you make of that?”

I scratched my ear, pulled my tail closer, and looked away. He’d probed the sore spot. I was fond of Axartha and Alohi but I couldn’t be blind to it. “He’s old, Tumnus. He has a reputation for virtue.” Not wholly earned but not wholly mistaken, either. “If there is something dirty going on, the Tisroc might keep him out of it so that he doesn’t hear any dissent.”

Tumnus took another sip of his wine. “I think something dirty is going on.”

From a coat tree, a Crow asked, “What of Ahoshta?”

“Who’s asking?” I couldn’t keep straight which Crows moved in and out of Tashbaan. I also couldn’t tell them apart, but would never mention that, of course.

“Harah!” the Crow announced. A smallish, so probably younger, Crow hopped down to a chair and bobbed her head. “Chief Sallowpad assigned me here. First foreign posting!”

Sallowpad must think highly of her. And Harah had asked a good question.

“Yes, what of him, Zaki? I’ve only met him once before.”

“Liked him that well, eh, Tumnus? Given the effort he’s making to ingratiate himself everywhere, that takes real planning.”

Showing that Tumnus did actually have the makings of a diplomat, he responded blandly, “Indeed, it does.”

“Behind his back, the Tarkaan class all refer to him as low. And they don’t just mean class. He’s always…” I searched for the right word.

“Rude?” Harah asked.

“No. The opposite.”

“Grasping,” Tumnus injected. “You get the sense he will engage with you and flatter you, but only until someone of higher rank or importance appears.”

“That’s Ahsohta!” I took one of the nuts from the basket Tumnus had set on the floor next to our cushions. He’d even shelled them, which was nice of him, as I wasn’t carrying a rock.

Tumnus turned to Harah. “We don’t dare commit this to writing, even in the cipher. You and Kangee should return to Narnia immediately and inform their Majesties of Lord Bar’s possible treachery. They will need to inform King Lune.”

Harah bobbed her head and fluffed her feathers. “Got it.” Another Crow hopped down next to her, Kangee presumably.

As a spy in the enemy camp, and, in my isolation, I’d begun to worry that I was too impulsive and hastily jumping to these conclusions. It was reassuring that the others were taking this as seriously as it had seemed to me.

I’m good at this. I can give instructions, too.

“Also, report back to Sallowpad and their Majesties that the fact that Ahoshta was in a meeting with Mahrem and the Tisroc suggests he’s set his sights high. If we see low ideas coming from Tashbaan, odds are, it’s started there.”

Winter in the Third Year of the Reign of the Four

It didn’t take long for the “low,” indeed, truly vile, to manifest. This time, Tumnus’s news must have arrived nearly the same time as my own intelligence. Harah was putting a flower in the pot just as I was trying to move it. We had a good laugh later over her indignant squawking and my hysterical screeching as we fought on the balcony. The housekeeper finally chased Harah away with a broom and gave me a fruit ice to soothe my nerves.

It was kind, but nothing was going to appease my anger and disgust.

I swung over to the Narnia Residence as soon as I could – too early for safety, probably, but this time, it was worth the risk.

Tumnus had already set us up to meet in one of the Residence’s inner meeting rooms. He shut the doors and windows and had dismissed all the Calormene staff for the night. Crows were perched all over the Residence, watching for spies, which was sensible, even if I didn’t think it necessary. Mahrem’s Secret Police, they now called themselves the Kilat, deemed the Residence an “intelligence-poor target.”

Tumnus had a large bottle already set out, though his company wouldn’t be drinking.

“Chief! It’s very good to see you.” I’d not seen Sallowpad since I’d left Cair Paravel. The Raven was perched on the back of one of the two big, stuffed chairs that were painted with flamingos and crocodiles. There was a mild insult there as Calormenes deemed flamingos as merely ornamental and crocodiles as primitive; I’d suggested Tumnus get rid of them but he thought the chairs were comfortable.

Sitting in the chair next to the Chief was a large, grey Narnian Rat. She was picking through walnut meats and scattering the shells over the cushions and floor. Only one Rat could be so messy with no comment at all.

“Hello again, Zaki.” Typical Crow. I was sure Sallowpad was glad to see me, but you’d never, ever know it.

The Rat raised her paw and speaking through a full mouth, mumbled, “I’m Willa, but if you’re as smart as everyone says, you’ve figured that out already.”

Queen Susan had sent her own most trusted emissary and spy. Since I’d left the Cair, Willa and Sallowpad together had built the Narnian Intelligence Service. Everyone called it Rat and Crow. I’d heard Willa had been put out that Sallowpad got “King Edmund’s Royal Murder” and she was only “Queen Susan’s Royal Mischief.”

“I’m honoured.” Between Tumnus, Willa, and Sallowpad, the only higher authorities in Narnia were the Royal Guards and the Kings and Queens, and maybe the Cair Paravel Cook.

Tumnus fortified himself with a foul-smelling spirit that was usually only consumed by Dwarfs and any human who didn’t mind blindness. “Zaki, what brought us all here is the tragedy out of Anvard. This is your news, as well?”

Cercopes preserve us, I needed to spend less time with Humans. I was starting to nod. “Yes. Axartha was summoned to the Palace early this morning. Is it true what they said? Lord Bar kidnapped Crown Prince Cor? And the Prince is…”

It was so ghastly, I couldn’t say the words. I’d barely managed to control myself during the blunt, horrific briefing Mahrem gave to the Tisroc, Axartha, and the rest of the High Council.

“Missing at sea,” Sallowpad croaked.

Willa paused in her chewing. “Presumed dead.”

Tumnus gestured at the solemn Crows ringing the room. “By the time King Lune finally overtook Bar’s ship, they were nearly in sight of Tashbaan. Bar was dead and the Prince, a rowboat, and one of his conspirators were gone. We’ve been looking all day.”

“Nothing,” Harah said solemnly.

The Crows were looking ragged and tired.

“You haven’t heard all the details, Zaki,” Willa said. “Based on what you provided, we quietly recommended Lune audit the Lord Chancellor’s accounts. I’ve been in Anvard the last three months. They discovered massive embezzlement. Lune dismissed Bar and foolishly kept him at liberty.”

Willa was obviously no diplomat. No one objected to her characterisation, either.

“Leopards don’t change their spots,” Willa went on. “So I searched Bar’s rooms and found Calormene currency and a lot of confidential material that should not have been stored anywhere but Lune’s lockbox.”

Willa probably read it first, even if Archenland was Narnia’s closest ally.

“Bar knew we were closing in on him. He had a crewed boat waiting. He took the child and fled.”

Tumnus leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his furry knees. “That’s what we know. What did you learn, Zaki?”

I picked up one of the shells Willa had dropped, a nervous habit. I didn’t have anyone to groom except myself. Sometimes Axartha’s cat let me groom her.

“Axartha was summoned to the Palace early this morning due to a letter King Lune delivered to the Tisroc. Most of the Council was there, including Mahrem and Ahoshta. Mahrem delivered the briefing. He lied about all of it, of course. Dismissed the letter King Lune had presented to the Tisroc as typical Northern madness. Denied any involvement.”

“Prince Cor?” Tumnus urged. “Was there any…”

They were all staring at me, hoping for something I could not deliver.

“Nothing other than the report that he was missing.”

The disappointment in the room was deep. I pushed on with my bad news.

“Ahoshta is capable of anything, and Mahrem is happy to execute it. I would put nothing past them. But most of the Council, including the Tisroc, considered the kidnapping senseless to the point of lunacy. I thought most of them were shocked by the stupidity of it. The piled heaps of scorn on Northern barbarians. It might have been an act, but I think the Tisroc was earnest in ordering a search of the coastline for a shipwrecked child.”

“For ransom,” Sallowpad said.

“Unlikely.”

“Why? Explain.”

I had just contradicted Chief Sallowpad, who had been handling intelligence operations since long before I was born. He’d managed the spy network in the final years of the Long Winter. But as good as he and Willa were, they didn’t know the Calormene. Their ignorance of Tashbaan culture was why I was important to Narnia, why I was a skilled spy, and why this very important, very smart audience was hanging on my every word.

“Sallowpad, to the Tisroc and Tarkaan class, they saw this as a stupid risk for no reward. There’s little value of a Crown Prince or eldest child as a hostage because no Tarkaan Lord or Vizier ever has just one heir or even two or three. That’s just bad planning and tempting the gods with catastrophe, which, to their mind, is confirmed by what happened here. The Tisroc already has twelve children, and he’s not stopping. And the Court is full of fosters. You lose an heir, you pick another, blood or fosterling. I’m not sure the Tisroc would ransom any of them.”

“Bar knew once exposed he was no use to Mahrem,” Sallowpad replied eventually.

I managed to not nod in agreement. “Bar might have thought, wrongly, that the Prince would guarantee his asylum in Tashbaan.”

Willa brushed her fur and stared at him. Her whiskers were twitching in earnest. She didn’t have the sensitivity of some other Narnians, but she was very perceptive.

“So not a ransom. But maybe something else. At the meeting, did anyone discuss a prophecy?”

“What? No, not this time. Why?”

It looked like Willa and Sallowpad were going to say something, but Tumnus interrupted. “Zaki, I’ve passed on to Sallowpad and Willa your observation that the Tisroc is superstitious and often consults soothsayers and astrologers before major actions. You say that there was no mention of a Narnian prophecy?”

I put both shells down, annoyed at my constant fiddling before this audience. “No.”

Willa filled in the gaping hole. “When King Lune’s boys were born, a Narnian Centaur prophesied that Prince Cor would some day save Archenland from the deadliest danger in which ever she lay.”

“We thought the Calormene might have ordered Bar to kidnap Prince Cor for this reason,” Sallowpad added. “To attain victory over Archenland in some future act of aggression.”

“No one said anything. And, I think, if they did know of it, they would have said something. Calormene have very low opinions of Narnian fortune tellers and if a prophecy had been in play, the Tisroc would have had his seer in the meeting. They…”

When no one said anything, and everyone kept staring at me, I realised that I was going to have to finish the sentence. “They think Northern poetry is uncouth. They still mock the When he shakes his mane, we shall have Spring again prophecy because they think it’s just more barbarian vulgarity.”

I was surprised I didn’t ruffle more feathers and fur with that one. Willa just sat on her haunches and twitched her whiskers. Sallowpad rustled his feathers. Tumnus sat back in his chair across from Willa and worked on perfecting a diplomat’s bland expression.

“Once they’ve rested, the Murder will continue to search,” Sallowpad said. “I must return to Narnia to report to their Majesties.”

“Please convey to King Lune my deepest sympathy, if there is a way to do so,” I added. I had no idea if they had told King Lune Narnia had a spy in Tashbaan who was the source of the Bar intelligence. I’d leave it to others to figure that out.

“I’ll be staying on for a bit,” Willa said, surprising me. “You’ll need more support, Zaki, with the next phase."

I was pleased, and annoyed, and felt my fur rise with my hackles. Were they second-guessing me because I’d failed to magically deliver Prince Cor? “And what is that?”

Sensing my annoyance, Tumnus put in quickly, “Zaki, you’ve done an outstanding job. Their Majesties are very grateful for your work.” Tumnus, at least, was able to say the right thing, at the right time. He was, after all, trying to be a diplomat.

“Thank you,” I replied a little stiffly, trying to bring my fur down. “More eyes and ears here would be in Narnia’s interests.”

I knew it was coming but it still hurt when Willa said bluntly, “It’s time for you to find your next placement. Axartha is losing power and influence. You need to get closer to Mahrem, to Ahoshta, and inside the Kilat. You need to be at the Palace more.”

Tumnus at least had the empathy to look sympathetic. I knew I shouldn’t expect any sentiment from Sallowpad or Willa in their request – no, demand – that I leave people I liked and who had treated me well. They were a Raven and Rat, and they thought a lot but didn’t feel much at all, or let emotions sway their thinking. That was sometimes an advantage. And sometimes it came off as really cold and rude.

I managed to avoid snarling or snapping at them and to force my hair down. “I know. I’ve been thinking about it. It will take some time, but Mahrem has a new wife and a young daughter. He won’t tolerate me joining his business at the Palace the way Axartha does, but, assuming he remains in this position, the daughter and wife will be there frequently with the Princesses.”

Sallowpad bobbed his head. “That works well with our plan!”

“Which is?” Willa and Sallowpad didn’t notice how stuffy and arch I sounded.

Tumnus did. “We couldn’t have developed it without your intelligence about how the Tisroc is superstitious. We want to play to his fears and make him believe that as much as he dislikes these… how does he describe the North, Zaki?”

I was being soothed and managed. Still, it was nice that someone considered my feelings and recognised my expertise. “He says that the sun is dark in his eyes every moment he remembers that Narnia is still free. He also believes that Jadis could have never been overthrown without powerful magic. He desperately wishes to conquer Narnia, but deeply fears acting on that."

“Yes!” Tumnus exclaimed. The spirit splashed out of his glass and a little spilled on Willa, who irritably flicked it away.

“So, we’re going to use that, increase it, make him fear ever trying to cross the sea or the desert to come after us,” Willa said. “We want to make him believe that Narnia is protected by demons and magic. That any attack on her would fail.”

It was intriguing. Even fantastic. It could work. But… “How?”

“Whisper campaign,” Sallowpad croaked, sounding very smug. “We did this in the last year of the Long Winter. Spread rumours of Aslan’s return, warmer weather, and humans. Made Maugrim chase his own tail.”

Willa flicked her own tail. I should remember to compliment her on it some time. Rats were very proud of their tails.

The pieces dropped into place. “Willa and I will spread rumours in the Palace. We can talk in places we won’t be seen but will be overheard. Something like…” I thought about all the conversation and pontification I’d heard over the years, the flowery language that hid dangerous thorns and many meanings. “Narnia is protected by a demon of hideous aspect and irresistible maleficence who appears in the shape of a Lion.” I spoke in a deliberately formal way, slow, and very human. I’d needed to practice to better mimic the soft Tarkaan accent. “Oh Tisroc, may you live forever, that Narnia is free may be dark in thy eyes but do not put your hand out so far North that it cannot be drawn back. Narnia is a land inhabited of demon fel, in the shapes of beasts that talk like men, and monsters that are half man and half beast.”

“Yes!” Willa exclaimed. “That! Just like that!”

I dropped my voice into a deep, conspiratorial whisper. “Only through strong magic could wicked children who now call themselves kings and queens, have killed the enchantress and broken her winter. Oh Tisroc delight of my eyes may you live forever, know that therefore the attacking of Narnia is a dark and doubtful enterprise.”

I really felt like I earned applause or bows for that. But only Tumnus had hands to clap and they were raised in salute with a drink in them.

Summer in the Seventh Year of the Reign of the Four

I was very happy when Lasaraleen outgrew dressing me in baby doll clothes. She still called me Bebek or Baybeeee, but at least I was no longer wearing nappies.

She was the only daughter of one of the most ruthless and powerful men in Tashbaan, who had had the favour of the Tisroc and the family expectations for her behaviour as the perfect little Tarkheena were very high. Lasarleen’s social schedule was relentless and, as I had predicted, she was very close to Tisroc’s family, especially the Princesses. During the Tashbaan season, she was at the Palace every day, and often overnight. She never stopped talking, knew everyone, and, as her favourite, dearest pet, everywhere she went, I went. Her job was to be as charming and ornamental as possible. She did this very well, and her parents, Mahrem and the very beautiful and mostly absent Nadide, were both very proud of her and very dismissive of her. No one seemed to hold Lasaraleen in any regard – she garnered no respect and she did not spark strong emotion; no one seemed to love her, but everyone liked her. She was as much a pampered pet as I was.

She never seemed to listen or pay attention to anything important. She was literate, could read and write, and figure numbers, but her path was never going to be in the service of scholarship or industry. It was all parties, schemes, romps, picnics, boat rides, clothes – so many clothes – and gossip. The view of her vacuousness was so widespread, we overheard a great deal, much of great interest to Narnia. Mahrem would scoff at the Tarkaans, agents, officials, and financiers who came to discuss Calormene secrets while Lasaraleen was in the room, playing, or pretending to read. “Nothing to worry about! It all goes in one ear and out the other! She’s my beautiful, empty-headed little girl!”

I bristled at how demeaning her own father was but it was as if Lasaraleen didn’t even hear it.

She was also the first member of the ruling Tashbaan class I’d come to know who was genuinely pious. She prayed daily to Zardeenah in the privacy of her rooms and would, at least every week, make an offering to Mother Azaroth Many Faced and leave coins in the fountain outside the goddess’s temple. Though it was not as regular, Lasaraleen also did her duty to Tash Farseeing and Atanta Mother of Horses. Even the Trickster would receive a piece of bread or fruit from her own breakfast place, with whispered words to return blessings threefold to those under his care.

She also never forgot a name or face. She prepared herself before every social engagement, not just that her appearance was perfectly appropriate, but that she knew every person who was likely to be in attendance. She would review aloud when she had last seen them and rehearse what she was going to say. It all sounded charming and was all completely calculated.

Still, knowing all this, I was surprised when her mask finally slipped. We’d returned from a gala at the Palace and it was very late. She had come home alone – Nadide and Mahrem had, as they usually did, each gone to different beds with different people.

I was not permitted in her room at night; Lasaraleen used to try to keep me there in a baby cradle until Nadide forbade it. It had been convenient because then I was free to steal away to make my report to Tumnus or Willa. But tonight, Lasaraleen had dismissed the servants and her parents were gone. She kept pulling me onto her bed and into her lap.

“Oh, Bebek, please stay. You don’t have to go sleep in the trees. You can have your bed again and stay with me. I’m not lonely when you are here.”

As she wouldn’t let go, I didn’t really have a choice. So I sat on her bed and let her groom me, which was nice. The cat never returned the service.

Lasaleen rooted around in her messy clothes chest and removed a book, bound in simple cloth, filled with blank pages. These were sold all over Tashbaan and were similar to the journals and ledgers the bankers and scribes used. Lasaraleen opened it and began counting hash marks on a page. A beribboned lead was hanging from the binding and she entered another mark with a sigh of satisfaction. “See, Bebek, my baby, I’m counting the days until I can give my maiden blood to Zardeenah. And then I can be married!” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And then I can leave this awful place.”

And then she proceeded to record, on a clean page, everything she had done that day. And every single thing that had been said when no one thought she was listening, with notations for who had said it. She talked the whole time to me as she scribbled, some of it barely legible. Much of what she recorded was prattle – what had been served at dinner, the entertainments on the lawn, which princesses she accompanied, the dances the girls had joined, which of the young princes she had spoken to, the schoolwork she had not done.

On another page, she prattled on and dutifully scrawled everything her father had said that day about last week’s 200 casualties suffered in the Western War and that the Tisroc’s army had lost the city of Ulubat to the rebels.

“Isn’t that sad about Ulubat, Bebek? Mama took me there three years ago. It was in a beautiful valley surrounded by mountains that still had snow on them! Snow, can you imagine, Bebek? It’s cold and like an ice that has been spread everywhere and it falls from the sky like rain.”

Lasaraleen then rattled on and scrawled in the page about how the conflict was straining the Calormene treasury and that the Finance Minister Kailash was asking the bankers for a loan secured by the agricultural production of the province of Akarca for a year.

“Akarca produces grains for the western provinces, Bebek. If Minister Kailash gives it all away, I wonder what the rebels will eat?”

Her penmanship was terrible and her spelling worse and I wasn’t sure if Lasaraleen comprehended what she was writing. She was a girl, younger than Queen Lucy. And maybe she listened and remembered without comprehending. Or maybe she had fooled me the way she fooled everyone else.

I wanted to race off to the Narnian Residence and tell Willa that the Western War was going catastrophically poorly for Calormen. The news shouted by the criers every day and the cheerful briefings we’d overheard at Council were lies. I wondered if the Tisroc even knew.

But I sat on the bed with her as she scribbled and rambled. I made soft cooing sounds when she stroked me, and I pet her hair, which also had the effect of undoing her complicated braids. Just before nodding off, she shoved the journal back into the drawer beneath a pile of frippery, silks, and slippers. Looking more closely about her messy room and recalling how she threw a tantrum anytime the slaves tried to tidy it, I saw that she had journals everywhere, stuffed in drawers and on shelves, under cushions and shoes, inside hats, buried in ribbons and silks, all appearing to be the debris and detritus of a girl’s messy life.

It took ten days before I found it and even now wonder if it would have been better if I’d left it buried in Lasaraleen’s scarves. The two of us had made a game of finding her journals – they were hidden in plain sight everywhere in her palatial rooms. And then I’d make a fuss and pretend to try to eat the pages and would calm only when she read to me. Having her interpret the scrawl was much easier than trying to decipher it on my own in the dark whilst she slept.

“So, Bebek, this is how it begins.  'Daddy met with someone today I didn’t know.' Oh! I remember this! He was very rough and stank of fish. I suppose he must have come straight here from the harbour; that was rude of him, wasn’t it, Bebek, to not even stop at the baths? He said he had come from Narnia. This was last month, the fourth day. It was the same day we went to that lovely party Princess Tashiri invited us to, on the river with the musicians playing all along the banks. Do you remember? I know everyone says Narnia is full of evil fel and ruled by a demon in the shape of a Lion who will eat you, but isn’t Narnia such a lovely word, Bebek? Nar-nee-ya. Narnia. Narnia. Very musical, I think. It is so far north that there is probably snow there, too. Papa gave the fishy man money in a leather bag. He never gave his name. I thought that rude but Papa did not mind. There was quite a lot of it and the banker wrote down the amount in Papa’s ledger. It was almost like a market, Bebek. Papa gave the fishy man money and the fishy man gave Papa a pouch with something in it. It, what Papa got, wasn’t heavy or big like the money was. The pouch smelled like dirty wool. I wondered what it was, so after Papa went to dine with Ahoshta Tarkaan, I went back to his office and looked in his lockbox. He keeps the keys in the vase that never has flowers in it. And you know, Bebek, it was a book, very like mine, with the pages all written in and bits of parchment and paper stuck between the pages. It was all about Narnia and life in the Palace and the Kings and Queens. But that writer had very pretty writing. Beautiful. Not like me. My writing, I mean, not me. I’m beautiful, of course. Bebek? Oh, Bebek, darling, what is wrong? Are you well? You seem very unwell. Are you angry? What are you upset about? Oh dear, do put your hair down, and your teeth in. You look quite frightened.”

I was terrified. It took a long time for Lasaraleen to comb and groom me until I was calm enough for her to sleep. I read the entry in her journal again, as best I was able, then shoved it deep into her drawer of underthings.

The house was very dark and quiet. Mahrem and Nadide were still out, separately pursuing their own pleasures. Tonight, though, was more urgent than their dalliances that I kept Willa and Tumnus well-informed of.

I crept through the quiet, dark halls. The servants were snoring in the corners and the guards keeping watch on the villa paid no attention to Lasaraleen’s spoiled pet monkey chattering to herself and moving about the pillared passageways and through the trees that decorated their master’s home. Mahrem’s office wasn’t locked. Why would it be? The house was secured by a vigilant guard, the slaves trusted, and the girl who overheard everything was empty-headed.

I knew this office well but had not been at this meeting with the fishy man because that day, last month, I had instead gone with Nadide to the Palace and listened in to a Council meeting. My heart was beating so fast and loudly, I was certain someone would overhear it. But there was only the flapping of bats outside the breezy open window and the distant calls of the jackals at the Tombs. My nerves were jangling so, I nearly upset the vase.

The lockbox was under a heavy panelled and ornate worktable that hid me well. Anyone coming by would not see me, and if they did, I was simply a curious pet monkey playing with something that caught her eye. I’d be chased away with a broom and banished from the house for a day until Lasaraleen threw another tantrum.

The lock was well oiled – everything about Mahrem was – and the metal hinge swung open soundlessly. The box was a new addition to Mahrem’s office. I knew he was pleased with its craftsmanship and security, but I had never seen him use it. There were various papers and a bag of what were probably high value crescents -- I would have to do a full inventory later. Tonight, I wanted only one thing.

I found it in a modest woollen pouch that was obviously of Narnian make. Tumnus had several nearly identical, likely from the same Beruna crafthall. Lasaraleen was right – the scent of the sheep that had given the wool still clung to the bag, and I easily imagined the Dwarf spinner and weaver who had made it. Inside was a journal nearly identical to the ones Lasaraleen filled. It had probably come from the same stall in the Bazaar.

I scanned the journal as quickly as I could; unlike Lasaraleen’s scrawl, I could read the clean, flowing script easily. Dread rose with my panic as I recognised the names, dates, and details meticulously recorded. I had to report this to Willa and Tumnus. Now.

I felt I was going mad. I knew I needed proof and I didn’t dare remove the journal, even for the night. As Lasaraleen had said, there were scraps of paper and parchment stuffed into the journal. I sorted through them quickly, my grim certainty growing with every word I read. A many-folded sheet made me sick with dismay but was what I needed. I refolded it as small as I could make it, returned the journal to its humble pouch, and tried to make all just as I had found it. My hands were shaking, so I again nearly upset the vase.

And then I flew out the office window, climbed the courtyard’s orange tree, and raced down to the Narnia Residence, with ruined lives crumpled in my fist.

A Crow must have been watching because Tumnus and Willa were waiting for me. Tumnus looked to have been roused from his bed. Willa was chewing on a walnut and looked to be wide awake. She’d only been back in Tashbaan for the last week and had probably been prowling the Palace all night.

“Inside. You two, no one else.”

I heard a protesting squawk overhead.

“Of course.” Tumnus didn’t command often, so when he did, he obtained immediate compliance. “Anyone listening, Willa, Zaki, and I require privacy. You shall be informed if and when I say so.”

Willa was already scampering into Tumnus’s inner office. I wondered if the larder or root cellar might be more secure, but by the time I got to the office, Willa was shutting the windows and examining every corner. “Anyone in here needs to get out now.”

She was so official, I felt an overwhelming urge to obey myself.

Tumnus joined us a moment later and firmly shut the door.

“What’s wrong, Zaki? What’s happened?”

The words didn’t come at first. I handed Tumnus the paper, knowing I was delivering horrible news. Cercopes preserve us.

“I found that in Mahrem’s desk this evening. It was in a journal filled with writing that looked just like that, in the same hand. The journal was in a Narnia wool pouch.” I pointed to the bag hanging on a peg behind the door. “Just like that one.” I stopped. Hiccupped with the stress and my tail lashed about with an appalling lack of control. “There’s…. there’s more. But you need to see that first.”

Tumnus solemnly unfolded the paper on the writing table and smoothed it out. His frown deepened.

Willa pulled herself onto the tabletop and studied the paper. “These are housekeeping notes from Cair Paravel. It’s been copied. The original is written daily on the wall of a storeroom in the Palace for the staff and Queen Susan.”

Willa paused and her whiskers twitched violently. “This is part of the royal schedule. It’s the packing list and roster assignment for King Edmund’s trip last month to Archenland.”

Tumnus had gone pale as the paper they were reading. Willa raised her head and stared at me. I felt like I was going to wilt. I wanted the ground to swallow me up. Cercopes give me strength.

“On the return from that trip, King Edmund’s party was ambushed. The King was separated from his escort. His Royal Guard was murdered. He only made it back alive because of the Tiger, Sir Jalur.” Willa’s voice had dropped to an angry hiss.

“The handwriting looks like yours, Tumnus, almost,” I managed. “I know it’s not, but…”

Tumnus sank into the flamingo crocodile chair. “It looks similar, Zaki, because all Fauns of my generation had the same teacher.”

“Hoberry?” Willa was still hissing and the hair was standing up on her back.

Mr. Hoberry was the head housekeeper for Cair Paravel.

“No,” Tumnus said in an anguished whisper. “That’s Noll’s handwriting.”

“The head of the night staff at the Palace,” Willa said.

“And Hoberry’s bondmate,” Tumnus added. He sounded faint, raised his hands to his head, and began squeezing his horns.

“Stop it, Tumnus,” Willa snapped. “Giving yourself a headache isn’t going to help here. What else, Zaki? You said there was more.”

“I found this because Lasaraleen told me. She said that a man who came to Tashbaan by ship met with Mahrem and delivered this journal to him. Mahrem gave him money in exchange, a lot of it from her description. Once she was asleep, I searched Mahrem’s office and found the journal. It’s of Tashbaan make. I recognised it immediately, and the bag it came in was obviously Narnian. I… I suspected…”

“Bribery and a spy,” Willa said bluntly. “Just like Bar.”

“Yes. I read the journal as quickly as I could, but I didn’t dare remove it.”

Willa inspected the page closely, sniffing it. “This page isn’t torn.”

“No. I didn’t need to make that decision. There were notes and scraps stuffed in it. I saw this page and recognised its importance. I compared the notes and journal entries and thought they were in the same hand – but I could be mistaken.”

“Unlikely. Sallowpad and I have suspected something for a while. We knew they would try to insert a spy, same as they did to Lune. You told us they’d tried even with Jadis. We got a warning that came to Queen Lucy through the Wolves in the Witch’s Remnant.” Willa spat out the name given to the Narnians who had been loyal to Jadis, who Queen Lucy had championed and sought to rehabilitate. “I came back to explore a Calormene connection while Sallowpad continued investigating at the Palace. You just saved me a lot of time.”

Willa jumped down from the table and ran to the shut door. “Oh, right. Zaki?” I jumped over to the door and turned the knob for her.

“Harah!” Willa called. “Kangee! Get over here.”

The Crows flapped awkwardly into the room and landed on the table; Tumnus hastily snatched the note away though both Crows looked at it curiously.

“Stop it,” Willa snapped. “I need you two to send the Swifts to the Cair. Tell them to fly to Cair Paravel with the message, Gryphon to Tashbaan.”

I knew the Swifts were the fastest long-distance fliers in Narnia but prone to hysterics. You had to keep messages very simple.

Willa rushed through the rest of her instructions. “Follow the Swifts as fast as you can. Go straight to Queen Susan and the High King. Tell them I have to get back. Can’t wait for overland or boat. I need to be flown. Also tell them to hold all ships and confine all docked crew to the boat. No one docks, no one leaves, until I get there.”

“The Gryphons don’t take passengers unless…” Harah began but Tumnus interrupted her, sounding miserable. “Willa is correct. We must return immediately. By Gryphon-wing. Both of us.”

Willa spun about to stare at him, her tail flipping about like a whip. “You’re coming, too? You sure that’s a good idea, Tumnus?”

“It’s all terrible, Willa. That’s why I have to go.” He handed the paper to me. “Return that immediately. Don’t get caught.”

“But, why?” Kangee asked, sounding plaintive and worried. Harah was watching me fold the paper and squeeze it in my fist.

“There is …” Tumnus began but Willa interrupted him. “It’s urgent enough that Tumnus and I are both willing to dangle from a Gryphon to get back to the Cair. What are you waiting for? We need two Gryphons, a flying rig for him, cage for me, and a quarantine of all ships. Find a Swift and get going.”

“Understood,” Harah sounded curt, even for a Crow. “It’s bad news, Kangee. Real murder and mischief, Rat and Crow. That’s all we need to know for now.”

They both bobbed their heads and flew back out of the room, calling for names I didn’t know. The Swifts were probably down for the night and roosting in the gardens. Willa slammed the door shut.

Tumnus was bent over in the chair, again clutching his horns in his hands, rocking slightly, and muttering what I thought was a prayer to Pan.

“I know you don’t keep much written down,” Willa said. “But burn whatever you have. I’m going to tell all the Birds to fly home in the morning. I have two Rats here, and we have the cook and a couple of other Narnians in Tashbaan.”

I realised I had no idea who else was here and that this had all been deliberate, to keep us ignorant of one another.

“I’m ordering everyone that in two days, they need to be at sea on ships flying Galman or Terebinthian flags. They can report to our Residences there and get home.”

Tumnus pulled his head up. His eyes were red-rimmed. “We’re closing the Residence?”

“Yes. For now. The High King can notify the Tisroc once…” For a moment, Willa looked uncertain. “Well, once we muck out the barn.”

“Am I supposed to be one of those ships, Willa?”

The Rat sat back on her haunches and stared me down. Her next statement, though, shocked me.

“I’d feel better if you weren’t here for a while, Zaki.” Willa, of course, clarified what might have otherwise been a kind sentiment. “If you are discovered, you would be tortured for information, and they would try to ransom you, and I’m not sure what support we’ll be able to give you.”

Rats and Crows were so alike. If I were a Human, I would have laughed.

“I need a few days to cover my exit. And create a reason to get thrown out of the house.” Getting caught sleeping in a baby bed in Lasaraleen’s rooms would probably do it. They wouldn’t punish her, but Nadide would evict me.

I hopped over to the door and opened it again. “May the gods fly with you, Willa. Greet Sallowpad for me.”

She gave me a salute, paw to her head, something I’d seen the Rats do. “We’ll expect you in a few weeks.”

Willa bounded out. I shut the door behind her, then hopped back over to Tumnus. I knew he didn’t want me to groom his fur, but I put my hand on his knee and softly stroked him, as Lasaraleen had done to me. “I’m sorry, Tumnus. I don’t know Mr. Hoberry well and have never met Mr. Noll. But they are both obviously dear to you and to each other. And one or the other is probably a traitor to Narnia.” I wondered if this was related to the assassination attempt so many years ago. These were questions Sallowpad and Willa would no doubt investigate.

He sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from the vest he was wearing. “Something Queen Lucy taught me.” He delicately blew his nose and let out a deep sigh. “The hand is Noll’s. Hoberry is too kind for this business. Noll, well, he is older and was in the Army before he joined the Cair Paravel staff. With my recommendation.”

With a sharpness I was surprised to hear, he added, “I’m surprised you did not first accuse me.”

“What?! No! Never!”

Tumnus stared at the ruinous paper crumpled in my fist. I didn’t understand his bitter smile. “Ask Sallowpad to explain it to you sometime. You should know it.”

He took a deep breath. “Go. You should not be away this long. Your role in this, well, you won’t be publicly honoured, but their Majesties will know. And protect yourself, Zaki. You’re good at that, I know. But you would be deeply mourned if anything happened.”

I smoothed the fur on his knee. “I don’t know Pan, but may he give you what you need for the days to come.”

“Cercopes preserve you, Zaki.”

It wasn’t yet dawn; the great horns trumpeting the opening of the City gates had not yet sounded. The morning birds, though, had begun to stir. With a heavy heart, I raced back to the villa. I wondered at the shadows that chased me. Or that protected me? I was too tired, too sad, and too paranoid. My gods were far away; perhaps Lasaraleen's gods would give me courage and safe passage.

Nothing hindered me, and all was exactly as I’d left it. Neither Nadide nor Mahrem had yet returned. I could smell the bread baking in the outdoor ovens, so the cooks were up. I returned the traitor’s note to the journal, more creased than it was before, locked it all up, returned the key to the wobbly vase, and crept back to Lasaraleen’s room.

She was soundly asleep, so I sat next to her, stroked her hair, and felt sadness that I was leaving her. For now, at least. I thought I would return. I just could not see the manner or timing of it.

“May your goddesses see the worth in you that others do not, Tarkheena. May you escape this house and not become imprisoned in another as wife to one who does not deserve you.”

A breeze fluttered through her rooms, the curtains billowed, and for a moment, in the dark before dawn, I saw a veiled woman, a pale, black-robed girl with a silver sickle at her throat, and a rat. I blinked and they were gone but I knew my prayer had been answered. The gods were abroad this night. I left Lasaraleen in the hands of Mother Azaroth Many-Faced, Zardeenah, Protector of Maidens, and their brother, the Trickster. The Rat god was not usually a patron of girls in Tashbaan, but the Trickster always appreciated a good joke.

I curled up next to Lasaraleen and petted her hair. I woke when Nadide started screaming at me and the housekeeper drove me out of the room with a broom. I didn’t look back, even as I heard Lasaraleen crying for Bebek to please come back.

Zaki is presumed to be Macaca fascicularis, the "crab-eating Macaque."

Cercopes, who Zaki invokes often, are the Kerkopes, or Monkey-men, and tricksters in the Greek pantheon.

Chapter Text

Monkey Business

Part 2

Spring in the Eleventh Year of the Reign of the Four

I eventually made it back to Narnia, hopping from ship to ship and port to port. I sent a message through the Narnia consul in Terebinithia. I didn’t want to be near the Cair, though I did eventually learn the whole miserable story. Mr. Noll took his own life, and a ring of Mole spies was uncovered. One died trying to flee the pursuit, the first instance of Narnian-on-Narnian violence since the Battle of Beruna. The remaining Moles were banished to northern lands where, presumably, they eked out a miserable existence until the Giants ate them.

A kind letter caught up with me in Seven Isles from Queen Susan, thanking me for my service, informing me that I would be knighted, though secretly, upon my return, and that no one blamed me. The secretly meant that the Murder and Mischief thought I might still have utility as a spy. I hadn’t really thought anyone would or should blame me. I did blame myself. It wasn’t something that the Raven or the Rat really understood. There was a Human, and ape, need to just… look away. Pretend the horrible wasn’t there because acknowledging the truth was so much worse.

I could have just put the journal back in the lockbox, returned the key to the wobbly vase, and pretended I’d never seen that a traitor had nearly succeeded in murdering King Edmund. As monstrous as that was, the betrayal and the lives it tore apart sometimes seemed worse.

I wanted to run back to Tashbaan. But instead, I pretended it was all fine. I returned to eating crabs on the sands of Cair Paravel and I gossiped about inconsequential things with my mothers, grandmothers, and sisters.

The talk, regrettably, was tiresome as it was almost exclusively about who the Monarchs were courting and when one of them might bond with another Human and get around to that business of producing heirs for the safety and security of Narnia. I got infected with the fever enough to momentarily consider mating and having a daughter of my own, but was fortunately able to talk myself out of it before I did anything stupid. I knew I’d be a terrible mother and just wasn’t interested in the infant at the breast.

The previous summer, things had become more interesting because King Edmund had been courting a banker from one of the great houses. I thought, though, that everyone was focusing on the wrong things. Most Narnians don’t even know what money was; they assumed the woman with King Edmund was a baker.

I tracked down Sallowpad and felt a little better after learning that he and Willa investigated the banker thoroughly. They even set the Hounds on her and, as the Pack was satisfied, the Murder and Mischief were, too. So, I left it alone.

I still thought it very odd. I’d seen many Bankers in Anvard and Tashbaan; they were very powerful, very rich, very smart, very discreet, and they held themselves completely apart to preserve their supposed independence. Bankers didn’t go courting. No one courted them. Certainly not monarchs. I was really curious how it was being perceived outside Narnia. So, I decided to find out for myself.

Anvard was in an uproar. Every conversation I overheard was a complaint, every grievance was about Narnia. The whinging was that King Edmund was off the marital market, poor things. The more conspiratorial-minded speculated that a banker had seduced Narnia and the other kingdoms were next, or, conversely, that Narnia had corrupted an independent banking house, which spelled economic catastrophe in all the Known Lands. And no one wanted black birds around.

People were gossiping about Narnia in ways I’d not heard before. I was concerned enough with the mounting conspiracies that I thought about trying to get word to Sallowpad or Willa. Then, all unknowing and as innocent as, well, a Narnian, the High King and Queen Lucy came to Anvard for a summer visit. And by Tash’s feathered balls, it was bedlam. The High King bellowed constantly (in private) and in public looked like his crown was always giving him a headache. Queen Lucy took to the training yards and dared anyone to say the word banking when she had a sword or bow in her hands. Their Guards were growling all the time.

I figured it would take two days for the news to reach Tashbaan and another four until the Council settled on the right words. Within a ten-day, the High King received his first formal invitation from the Tisroc. There wasn’t a Narnian in their party who could fashion the properly poetic response that translated into, “Thank you, I would be honoured.” Cercopes help me, Sallowpad enlisted me as the Royal Poet. They kept questioning whether I should really use the word “eyes” twelve times on a single page – delight of my eyes, light of my eyes, all is light to my eyes, may the farseeing eyes of Tash, may the sun be bright in your eyes. The Narnians had never heard that if something important could be said in 10 words, you demonstrated respect by making it 350 words in Calormen, and at least 500 additional words if the correspondence was intended for the Tisroc. The High King really didn’t want to be titled as descended in a right line from the Emperor-Over-The Sea but I overruled him. He was fine with Peter, the gift of Aslan, by election, by prescription, and by conquest, High King over all Kings in Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands and Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, but I put by conquest first, included the Magnificent four times, added Giant-slayer, and invented more titles and lineage. And Zardeenah’s three tits, none of them had any appropriate perfume to scent the elegantly written acceptance.

So that’s how I ended up back in Tashbaan. It was wonderful to be there in the waning heat of the summer, when everything was beautifully ripe and the water cool. Preserving all his options, Sallowpad ordered me under cover again. So, I darkened my fur with red clay and avoided being seen. Most of the social activity had moved to the seaside resorts and riverside villas for the final days of summer, so I never saw Lasaraleen.

At night, I would meet Sallowpad on the rooftops and tell him that the High King hadn’t been called a Barbarian more than four times that day and that, in fact, they thought he was far more intelligent than had been credited. The respect was both flattering and very concerning, as it meant Narnia could no longer hide behind her supposed childish ignorance.

Even more concerning were the whispers I overheard as I hung quietly in the trees of the Palace courtyards. Old Axartha was still Grand Vizier and once again proved his shrewd worth when he nodded to the Crows and crows roosting on the rooftops and murmured to Mahrem and the Tisroc, “Beware the black birds of the North.” Tashbaan was becoming dangerous for Crows.

The High King was petitioned, solicited, flattered, and, in the politest of terms, threatened. He courteously declined all sexual advances, and Mahrem tried both men and women. He held his own at council, committed to nothing, and trounced all comers in the training yard. By the end of the month, with much fanfare and many pretty words, the Narnians all sailed away, the visit so successful, both Sallowpad and I were very worried.

I stayed. I didn’t want another winter in Narnia. It was a little lonely with them gone, but I didn’t come out of hiding until the High King’s visit was a distant memory. At least I didn’t have to eat any crab while I waited.

“Do what you can, Zaki,” Sallowpad instructed before they sailed. “We need to reopen the Residence in the spring, if a suitable diplomat can be found.”

As the poets would say, I shall look for your coming in a hot winter.

It was unseasonably warm that year. Lasaraleen had affected me more than I had admitted, and I missed her company. I began to make regular, always discreet, offerings to Mother Azaroth, Zardeenah Maiden Protector, and the patron of spies, the Trickster. It was always what I could easily give without causing any comment, usually fruit from winter-blooming trees, flowers I plucked from tended gardens, or the occasional coin dropped in the market. I was just the silly monkey, aping what I saw the humans do and dropping offerings on the steps of the gods’ Tashbaan temples. I asked the gods to continue their protection of Lasaraleen, and that Axartha, when he crossed the River of Death, have a dignified passage and that Alohi be comforted.

The winter storms in the Bight blew themselves out, the port opened, and boat traffic began traveling again on the River.

One morning, just as the Calormene calendar turned, with much celebration from winter to spring, I was coming down from the inner circle of Tashbaan when the gods or chance had me swinging from one building to another, past the Narnian Residence. The building had been ransacked and then boarded up years ago, after we’d all fled to avoid the spillover of Noll’s treachery. This morning, the chairs with the flamingos and crocodiles painted on them were sitting outside, waiting to be picked up by a refuse collector or an enterprising person who didn’t mind the implication that the person sitting in the chair was dim and decorative.

The windows were open and gauzy curtains billowed out, admitting the crisp breeze.

I scaled the house wall and saw that the lemon tree in the courtyard had turned wild and tangled but fruit was budding. Curious, I landed gently into the tree, which released a burst of fresh, happy, lemony scent. A man was sitting at a writing desk in the courtyard. He was dressed in the style of a fashionable Tashbaan Tarkaan, in linen pants and a fine undershirt and tunic layered under a long, light woollen vest for warmth against the morning chill, all in bright Spring colors; in keeping with the polite custom of not wearing outdoor shoes inside, he wore velvet embroidered house slippers that were not new. He had a pot of fragrantly spiced tea, a small bottle of scent, and was writing in a beautiful, flowing script. The high-quality paper and clean, strong ink were all first-rate Calormene products that were appropriate for important words and business. He looked like a Tarkaan lord with his morning correspondence, except the man was fair, clean-shaven, and probably from Archenland.

He looked up at me, perched overhead in the swaying branch. “Good morning. If you are Zaki, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance and you come with the highest recommendation of mutual friends who love to make mischief. If you are not Zaki, well best be on your way and I won’t share breakfast with you.”

I swung down to a lower branch to look at the paper more closely.

To His Excellency, the Tisroc of Calormen, May You Live Forever, Blessed by Tash Farseeing, Son of Rahim Tisroc, Son of Ozan Tisroc, Son of Ilsombreh Tisroc, Son of Ardeeb Tisroc, who was descended in a right line from the god Tash, respectful greetings.

Allow me to present the Letters of Credence by which High King Peter the Magnificent of Narnia, the gift of Aslan, by conquest, by election, and by prescription, the High King over all Kings and Queens of Narnia now and in perpetuity, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, who is descended in a right line from the Emperor-Over-The-Sea, has appointed me as Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of Narnia To the Great Empire of Calormen, effective immediately.

“That’s not bad,” I told him. “You even have the perfume. I prefer adding Giant-slayer and you haven’t mentioned eyes yet. How’s your poetry?”

“Out of practice,” the man said. “I would appreciate your expert assistance. I am Peridan Pireson, most lately of Narrowhaven and now…” He gestured to the diplomatic letter of introduction.

“You are from Archenland? I don’t recall a son of Pire in diplomacy.”

“For these purposes.”

That was enigmatic.

“Should you have concerns with my credentials, do take the matter up with King Edmund, as he is responsible for my posting here.”

Another spy.

I dropped down to the ground and hopped over. I wasn’t so human that I shook hands. Peridan Pireson had, so far, shown more understanding of Tashbaan culture than I’d seen in any Narnian. I wondered where King Edmund had found him.

I probed again. “You got rid of the chairs with the crocodiles and flamingos.”

Peridan laughed and I caught a whiff of spirit in his morning tea. “Indeed, I did. Why in Tash’s hell did Tumnus keep them? Surely he knew the insult?”

“Oh, I told him. They were comfortable for his haunches, so he didn’t care. And as you have surmised, I’m Zaki. A pleasure to meet you, Peridan.”

“I’m honoured. The house is a shambles and their Majesties are keeping things limited for now. Based on what you reported during the High King’s visit, the Palace would likely notice a sudden Crow infestation within days of my delivery of the Letter of Introduction.”

“They would. Axartha would order the windows sealed and Mahrem would have the guards start shooting.”

“So, for now it will be you and me.” Peridan gestured to the letter. “Apart from assisting me with the paragraphs of poetic praise, can you give me the news since the High King’s visit?”

I sat on the courtyard pavers and poked at the ants. Why hadn’t I foreseen this question?

“Not really,” I eventually replied. “People have been indoors.” It was a lame, awkward response, and not wholly accurate.

“Have you seen Lasaraleen?”

I didn’t shrug any more than I shook hands or nodded my head. “Seen her but not… well, I can’t speak with her, can I? And apologise?”

It came out more bitter than I had intended.

Peridan sipped his spirit-spiced morning tea and I wondered if excessive drinking was how he coped with duplicity. I’d not yet found such a coping mechanism. Maybe prayer to the Calormene gods?

“Zaki, if you do nothing more than what you have already accomplished, you would still be one of the greatest contributors to Narnian security and intelligence. You are also our finest observer of Calormene culture and politics. You cannot join me in the diplomatic circles as you rightly deserve but your advice will be invaluable to our success here.”

I warmed to the praise, even as I was suspicious of it. An important but or however would surely follow and an order from Willa or Sallowpad to return to my former role.

“Spying on those we count as friends is a terrible burden that weighs on the soul and conscience,” Peridan said after an even longer and more thoughtful pause.

“I…” I had been ashamed to admit how closely I had been following her activities. “The family is still in the same villa, one circle down from the Palace. Mahrem remains in close, daily counsel with the Tisroc and Ahoshta Tarkaan. She is in the constant company of the Princesses. Nadide lives with her lover in a villa downriver. Mahrem has begun entertaining marriage proposals for Lasaraleen. Interestingly, he has politely declined to consider the older of the Tisroc’s sons, Rabadash, Nahmavar, Rashon, and Khalil.”

“Fatherly concern, perhaps, given that they are most likely to fall in battle or be assassinated or executed. And, where there is treachery, the wife often also dies with her husband.”

“Yes. She will likely perform the sacrifices and depart Zardeenah’s service this year, and marry next year.”

“With Nadide gone, that obstacle is also removed. I suspect that Lasaraleen would be very pleased to see you again.” The However finally came, though in a far different form than I was expecting.

“However, whether you elect to resume your previous clandestine reporting is for you to decide. I will have ample material to provide back to the Cair regardless.”

Peridan took a deep sip of his tea-flavoured spirit. “Now, shall we return to the matter of drafting poetry appropriate for his august Excellency the Tisroc, who we will not mention shall not live forever?”

Lasaraleen’s rooms were as messy as before. It appeared she had kept with her journal habit as there were many more than before. I didn’t look at any of them. Well, maybe a few.

The monkey decoration was a new addition. There was a worn, faded cloth stuffed monkey on her bed. There were pencil drawings that I think were Lasaraleen’s own work, including one of a Tarkheena holding hands with a monkey. It, and a beautiful, full-colour rendering by a professional artist, took a prominent place on her dresser. From my reflection in her mirror, the painting was an effort to recreate my likeness.

My guilt was such that I seriously considered fleeing again. Perhaps she was at the Palace for the night. Perhaps tomorrow, or next month, or next year, would be better. Perhaps never.

I had to dive into her closet and hide behind her many (many, many) dresses when the slaves came in to collect her dirty clothes in a basket and tidy her bed. This was apparently the compromise for they left the rest of the clutter undisturbed. Before leaving, they placed the stuffed monkey, very carefully, on a pile of pillows in the bed’s centre.

Lasaraleen’s sudden return cut off my imminent flight. She chattered to the guards, night staff, and slaves, though none said anything that I heard. She floated into the room, humming a popular dance off-key, set herself down in the chair in front of her mirror, and continued her monologue as she removed her jewelry.

“Well, Bebek, I do think that Princess Nehir is lovely, though she does put on airs now that she’s made her sacrifices to Our Maiden Protector and taken vows to the Mother’s Temple.” Lasaraleen was talking to my likeness on her dresser.

She continued. “I quite tired of hearing how she intends to study cartography. Maps are important, Bebek, as they tell you where to go, but I do wonder why anyone would wish to leave Tashbaan. The Tisroc may-he-live-forever agreed with me that there was no finer city in the whole world. And Bebek, let me…”

As she continued to speak to my painting, I came from behind her dresses and out of the closet. She saw my reflection in her mirror and started violently in her chair. She whipped around, suddenly pale and trembling.

“Bebek? Her voice hitched higher. “My Baybeeee?”

My mouth opened. I was going to say, “I’m so sorry,” but Lasaraleen burst into tears, surged across the room, wrapped her arms around me, and hugged me tightly.

Summer in the Thirteenth Year of the Reign of the Four

I accompanied Lasaraleen when she bade farewell to Zardeenah Maiden Protector. And no, I will never tell what occurred.

I also attended her wedding to Ahkermet Tarkaan, son of Kailash Tarkaan, son of Raisha Tarkaan, and so on in a not-so-direct right line to Tash. The celebration lasted a month and 1,000 people attended. Peridan was invited and did not embarrass Narnia by only wearing four outfits the whole time.

Mahrem chose his only child’s spouse very well. Ahkermet was the son of the Finance Minister and was fabulously wealthy. He was handsome, bathed regularly, had all his teeth, and was unfailingly polite. She retained full ownership of her bride price and dowry in the event of his untimely demise, and the sums reverted back to her family if she met with an “unnatural” demise. The only marital conditions Ahkermet Tarkaan imposed were that Lasaraleen agree to bear one heir and that she never embarrass him. In return, she received an enormous monthly stipend, a very large villa in the first circle of the City, right below the Palace, and access to family homes on the river, at the seaside, and Mezreel. Nadide had a frank conversation with Lasaraleen about the modest marital duties that awaited her, given that Ahkermet, like Mahrem, vastly preferred the company and bed of men.

Lasaraleen’s new villa was larger than her childhood home and she had it mostly to herself. She enjoyed her freedom and the respect that came with being a wealthy married woman. She regularly tithed and prayed to Mother Azaroth and was at the Palace even more than before. In her own home, the servants and slaves tolerated her with a sort of bemusement, as they knew she would never, ever carry out threats to beat them to death and starve them with only bread and water. Indeed, many households in Tashbaan gave the servants and slaves nothing but bread and water; that Lasaraleen considered it a punishment demonstrated how soft-hearted she was. She never raised her voice at anyone, much less a hand.

She still kept her journals and would read them to me. If something interesting cropped up, I would inform Peridan, but I didn’t go looking for intelligence either.

One morning, as I was enjoying breakfast with Lasaraleen in her villa’s lovely, lush courtyard, I noticed that a flowerpot on the balcony had a flower in it that I did not recall seeing before. When I went to investigate, I heard loud caws.

Peridan and I had never established a communication protocol, but the Must Meet Now message was clear.

I chattered, screamed, pointed, and tried to throw oranges at the trees in the neighbouring villa.

“Oh, Bebek, do be quiet!” Lasaraleen implored. “It is much too early for one of your tantrums.”

She tried to quiet me with cinnamon-scented eggy rolls and candied fruit but, of course, I was inconsolable and hysterical. Lasaraleen finally threw up her hands and shooed me away. “What? Is it a snake? A jungle cat? Take a stick and go beat it to death and do be quiet.”

I took the stick she handed to me, put it into my mouth, climbed her garden’s orange tree, and sped away.

It was risky to go to the Residence in the daylight of morning. Peridan felt having a regular band of Crows was dangerous for everyone, so there was usually only one and they would stay away from the Palace. I didn’t know if he had a Rat snooping around for the intelligence I had wearied of providing. This many Crows about signified something important. They raised no alarm as I clambered through the garden trees from the inner circle of Tashbaan to the Narnian Residence.

At the Residence, there was no one in the courtyard, and the windows were all shut, which meant this was serious enough to be indoors. I swung down from the lemon tree and spat out the branch.

Peridan silently emerged from the Residence; I hopped inside and he firmly shut the door behind us. I didn’t smell spirits on him, which meant he had been roused late enough to be sober but too early to fortify himself.

"Thank you for coming."

I followed him down the creaky wooden stairs into the house’s root cellar. It was disorienting to descend from the bright morning sunlight to the damp, dark cellar illuminated by pale, flickering candles. Midway down, I started, paused on the stairs, and inhaled deeply. Amid the musty scents of earth, ferment, and root vegetables was the unmistakable, spicy odour of blood that every prey animal recognised. A large canine carnivore in this strange and secret place could mean only one thing.

“Yes,” Peridan confirmed.

I landed on the bottom stair. “Your Majesty?”

A gray Wolf came around a wine cask. It was not, however, Queen Susan’s Royal Guard, but his mate, Briony.

“Queen Lucy?”

The Queen emerged from a dark corner. “Yes, Zaki, it’s me. Thank you for coming.”

She was dressed very commonly, in the plain, rough homespun of an Archenland farmer. Her bright blonde hair was bound up in a scarf. The Wolf Guard and jeweled dagger at her belt belied the point of the disguise. King Edmund would sometimes come to Tashbaan in a far more convincing costume and would leave the big, toothy guard on the ship.

I bowed. “Welcome to Tashbaan, your Majesty. How can I be of service?”

I could not imagine what had brought the Queen here. This was not her province or her inclination. It must, therefore, be extremely urgent to have come all this way with some attempts at secrecy.

Queen Lucy was very nervous and now, after all the effort, appeared to regret being here. She cast a worried glance at her Guard.

“My Queen has some important questions that she believes can only be answered here,” Briony prompted.

Queen Lucy nodded and found her footing. “Yes, thank you, Briony. I have questions for the two of you, Zaki especially because she has been here so long.” She now smiled reassuringly. “No offence to the excellent job I’m sure you are doing, Peridan.”

“None taken, your Majesty. I would suggest we make ourselves more comfortable, but I’ve inferred you arrived this morning and you are departing immediately on another ship.”

“Yes, we don’t have much time.”

“And I’ll have to put that collar back on,” Briony growled.

No one could mistake the Wolf for a common pet. If they went to the docks separated slightly, with Peridan holding a leash, no one would notice the shabby Archen peasant walking near them.

“Yes, I am sorry about that, dearest, but we obviously don’t want it known that a Monarch visited without due courtesies and diplomacy.”

She predictably grimaced. Queen Lucy was widely known for her plain-speaking gift of using words to say what she meant; diplomacy was the ability to generate many words with no meaning at all.

She took a deep breath and her words came out in a rush. “What can you tell me of Prince Rabadash?”

“That would be a book, your Majesty,” I replied as gently as possible. “In what arena? As an opponent on the tourney ground? As the leader of the cavalry? An enemy? An ally? In negotiation?”

“I believe,” Peridan said slowly, “Based upon what I heard in the early spring at Cair Paravel, that you wonder at his qualities as a suitor. In courtship.”

What?!

Just saying the words made Briony growl. Queen Lucy nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Peridan. Susan met him last year in the Telmar. She was…” The Queen fumbled then settled on, “impressed by the Prince. She wishes for further … engagement. We received an emissary last month from the Prince. Susan and Peter intend to extend an invitation to him to visit Cair Paravel. But…”

Again, she threw a worried glance at her Guard. “My mate dislikes Rabadash,” Briony said.

Queen Susan would disregard her own Guard? This was a terrible idea. I have to legitimise this first. Queen Susan is no fool but could she be fooled?

“Thank you, your Majesty and Royal Guard.” If I were a human, I’d stand straight and put my hands behind my back. Instead, I sat on the dirt floor and hoped I wouldn’t get distracted by a bug crawling around. "I would expect Prince Rabadash to be very courteous to your Majesties. I would expect him to be a model guest in Narnia. I think Her Majesty had every reason to be impressed. Rabadash can appear very respectful and attentive.”

“Appear?” the Queen asked sharply. I was reminded that Queen Lucy had excellent intuition and perception. With her easy manner, she would have been an excellent spy.

“In private, he can be very different,” Peridan said. “Impulsive, arrogant, and he often treats subordinates and anyone of lesser status poorly.”

“Given that he is a Prince, most everyone is a subordinate,” the Queen observed tartly.

Peridan nodded. “Just so, your Majesty. I would also add the whispered view that his arrogance may mask a weak character.”

“Meaning?”

“People who are smarter than he is can manipulate him,” I told her. “He is highly susceptible to influence.”

“In this, the Queen Susan would have a considerable advantage,” Peridan said, earning a wry smile from the Queen. “However, as I cautioned previously, I share the concerns of Willa that I see no legitimate advantage to Calormen in this alliance. This makes me strongly question motive and intent.”

Queen Lucy blew out an aggravated breath. “Yes, I heard you the first time, Peridan. And Willa before that. Is Narnia so very insignificant? All these politics! Can no one believe that perhaps they just like and respect one another?”

Peridan glanced at me and I knew what he wanted me to add. I plucked at the wood of the casket. Left alone with it, I’d probably shred the whole thing. “Your Majesty, the Tarkheena I live with is recently married. If I may share some candid observations?”

“Of course, Zaki, please. It is why I sought your advice. I apologise to both of you for my outburst.”

Peridan and I both sought to object but the Queen waved her hand. “Enough. I should not criticise the honest opinions I came to hear. Please continue.”

“I agree with Peridan’s views, your Majesty. At this level of society, matrimony is between social equals, or as near as possible. The Tisroc is awarded the status of a lesser god in direct line from Tash. He avows dominion over the greatest, most populous, most powerful, and most advanced nation in the Known Lands. In the politics of Tashbaan, no one, even another monarch, is equal to his likely heir – a view the heir would himself hold.”

“So always subservient,” the Queen said. Briony growled again.

“Yes,” I replied bluntly. “It is possible, as you say, that the Prince takes pleasure in the Queen’s company. He may admire her. He might even come to love her. Peridan said, and I agree, that the Queen might exert considerable influence over him, even manipulate him outright. But she and Narnia will never be deemed equals to him or to Calormen.”

The Queen crossed her arms across her chest and scowled. She did not, however, try to argue with me. “As if that’s not bad enough, you had additional reservations?”

“Yes,” Peridan began. “It was something Zaki and I discussed when Lasaraleen’s father was negotiating her marital contract and adroitly avoided committing her to any of the Tisroc’s elder sons, including Rabadash.”

“Her father is Mahrem, yes? And he is … blast, I’ve quite forgotten…”

“The head of Calormene intelligence,” Briony said. “And behind both the Mole spies and Lord Bar’s treachery.”

Queen Lucy stared at us. “And this horrid man did not covet an alliance with the next Tisroc?! Why ever not!?”

“Because Mahrem and the Tisroc both know that succession is often bloody. Numerous Tisrocs over the last four hundred years ascended the throne after murdering their predecessor. An even greater number of older sons were murdered before they could accomplish their goal. And if an heir is executed for treason, their families are murdered as well.”

My words landed hard and heavy. A candle sputtered out, making the cellar even more gloomy.

The Queen let out a deep breath. “My Guard, do you have any questions?”

“I do. There were reports that the Tisroc dislikes the free lands of the North and this was the reason for Mahrem’s actions against Archenland and Narnia. Would the Tisroc even allow Prince Rabadash to bond with Queen Susan when he thinks so ill of Narnia?”

“Oh yes, Briony, that is an excellent question! Perhaps the Tisroc would forbid an alliance?”

The Queen’s bright optimism was misplaced.

“On the contrary, your Majesty,” Peridan put in, “I believe the Tisroc would more likely view marriage as a strategic foothold for expansion into the North.”

Briony growled again as the Queen gasped softly. “Conquest?”

Peridan nodded.

“Zaki, do you agree?”

“I do, your Majesty.”

“Very well. Is there anything else?”

Other than murder or oppression of her sister, the Queen, and the overthrow of Narnia?

“No, your Majesty.”

Queen Lucy extended her hand. I took it and rose. Peridan and I both began bows but the Queen bowed to us first. “Thank you both. Please continue your….” I could tell she didn’t like to say it, “your surveillance of this Court. Please add Prince Rabadash to your work to the extent you are able. Report as you have. I shall do what I can, but I am not hopeful of altering the course here absent some significant change.”

Briony led us back up the rickety stairs and into the bright sunlight that did not seem to warm as it had. I left before the argument began about making the Wolf wear both a collar and a leash for their rush back to the river docks.

Early summer in the Fourteenth Year of the Reign of the Four

Maybe it was just that I wasn’t as young anymore, but I was exhausted. The visit of Queen Susan and King Edmund to Tashbaan and Prince Rabadash’s courtship was, in every respect, a nightmare. Lasaraleen’s social calendar was unrelenting and constant.  She attended everything and insisted I accompany her.

And then there was Ahoshta Tarkaan, now finally in the Grand Vizier position he had schemed to take from Axartha for so long. I joined Lasaraleen when she visited Alohi to pay her respects and deliver the coin offering for Axartha’s final passage across Death’s River. Even though Axartha’s passing was expected and peaceful, Alohi was devastated and I feared she would soon make the same journey as her husband of fifty years.

The picnics, balls, water boat rides, and parties with Lasaraleen were maddening. I was so close to my King and Queen, and to Sallowpad, and I dared not say a thing. Mahrem, Ahoshta, and Rabadash all had spies following the Narnians everywhere. I received an occasional nod or salute from King Edmund but I could not risk engaging with them and would not risk endangering Lasaraleen. Mahrem knew the Narnians used Talking Birds as spies and so had promised archers a bounty if any put an arrow through a black bird in or around the Palace. As far as I knew, they were ignorant of the Rats and Willa was still moving in and about the Palace. It was hugely dangerous for all of us.

Late at night, I would meet Sallowpad on the rooftop of the Trickster’s temple. He thought I was fanciful, but I figured we needed every bit of help we could get if any of them were going to make it out of Tashbaan alive.

“I have warned them,” Sallowpad said, sounding very glum. “Tonight, the hints became a threat. Ahoshta as much as told Tumnus that we’d only be permitted to leave if Queen Susan remains.”

Horrible but not surprising, either. “Easily in, but not easily out…”

“Like the lobster in the pot,” Sallowpad finished the old Calormene proverb.

It was so late, we were closer to dawn. Even so, Sallowpad had to wait for me because Lasaraleen had been too excited to sleep as she had danced that evening with Peridan and King Edmund. It made my head hurt. I fiddled with a bit of broken mortar and watched a large rat move purposefully across the roof.

The Trickster’s temple in Tashbaan wasn’t large or well-maintained. The trees hung heavily over the crumbling tiled roof, which allowed the god’s rats to scuttle in and out and about at night, and even during the day. The priests and priestesses in the Temple would never hinder or poison the god’s chosen creatures. There were, as a result, many nooks and broken places to conceal ourselves. Any dark shadows that moved were attributable to the rats around us. I’d become less certain over the years, as some of those shadows seemed to move without anything else attached to them. The gods were sometimes very close.

“King Edmund intends to breakfast with Rabadash tomorrow morning,” Sallowpad said, “and try to prepare him for the Queen’s possible decline.”

“People who tell Rabadash no don’t usually live much longer.” I fiddled with a broken tile, thoroughly depressed and deeply worried. “She’s embarrassed him, too, Sallowpad. It will be very difficult for him to preserve any dignity.”

“I’m worried about their Majesties’ lives!” Sallowpad snapped. “Not Rabadash’s reputation!”

I almost barked right back at him but that wasn’t fair. He’d tried. “Of course,” I soothed. “My point is that the perception that he’s been humiliated by a barbarian woman makes this even more uncertain. To try to regain that respect, I’d put nothing past him, or what he might be goaded into doing."

Sallowpad rustled his feathers irritably. He knew I was right. “Go.”

I slept so late the next day, Lasaraleen went out for her morning litter ride without me. I was enjoying a late breakfast and trying not to spill the smelly durian fruit all over the inner courtyard when a great ruckus announced her chaotic return. There were the usual pages, grooms, slaves, and escort – when Lasaraleen wanted to show off a new dress, she never went anywhere without at least 20 people.

In the portico, just inside the gates, a groom was leading away two ragged-looking horses who weren’t actually ragged at all. Cercopes preserve me, I was sure they were both Narnian Talking horses badly disguised as pack animals. And then I saw a shabby beggar climbing out of the litter.

Tash’s hell, what was going on? What was Tarkheena Aravis, daughter of Kidrash Tarkaan and betrothed of the Grand Vizier, doing here? Dressed as a peasant? With Narnian Horses? The rumours were that she’d run away or been kidnapped, but with no ransom.

Aravis whispered urgently to Lasaraleen, who sighed heavily and smoothed out her dress. "Here. All of you. And you, doorkeeper.” She swept her arms lazily about, making the bells on her sleeves jingle. “No one is to be let out of the house today. And anyone I catch talking about this young lady will be first beaten to death and then burned alive and after that be kept on bread and water for six weeks.” She turned back to Aravis. “There."

I desperately wanted to speak to the Horses, but the grooms and stablehands would be about. It was so odd that this happened when the Narnians were here in Tashbaan, staying just a few streets away. I couldn’t credit it. Cercopes guide me. Could I get word to Sallowpad and maybe they could rescue the Horses? Or perhaps they were spies like me? There was obviously some story here, and I decided I needed to hear it first, so I followed the Tarkheenas into the villa.

Lasaraleen was driving Aravis mad. There was the bath, and the hair styling, and the dress selection. My impatience was getting the better of me as well. By the time they finally sat down to dine and talk in the Pillar Room, I couldn’t stay still. Only the prospect of Lasaraleen banishing me from the room kept me in check. I had to be close enough to hang on Aravis’s every word and clambered all about until I found the best vantage. I finally settled behind Aravis’s cushioned seat, wrapped my tail tightly around me, and fiddled quietly with a coconut meat.

She was running away to Narnia to avoid marriage to Ahoshta – very understandable. Her mare revealed herself to be a Talking Horse. On the journey, they met another Talking Horse and his boy, a fisherman’s orphan named Shasta. So, the Horses were not slaves but free actors and had chosen to flee with their humans.

Though Aravis didn’t know the people, I concluded that, in a stroke of extraordinarily bad luck, King Edmund and Peridan had, that morning, mistaken Shasta for Prince Corin. Aravis was confident Shasta would be able to escape and meet her at the Tombs, and they would continue northward.

It was all very peculiar. What were the odds of two runaways, two Talking Horses, and a mistaken identity in the middle of a Tashbaan street? Why wouldn’t Shasta just reveal the truth to their Majesties? I couldn’t credit it. Perhaps he was worried the Narnians would return Aravis to her father, or even Ahoshta. He’d been a slave, so he was likely worried for his own life. It occurred to me that, with the crises enveloping the Narnians, Shasta might rightly conclude he was better off on his own.

Aravis and Lasaraleen argued and sniped about how to manage Aravis’s own escape from the City. It was Lasaraleen who found a solution, not a surprise to me, though certainly it would have been to everyone else. She would dress Aravis as a veiled slave, walk up to the front gates of the Palace, and escort Aravis to the water-door in the lower gardens. From there, Aravis would be able to rejoin Shasta and the Horses at the Tombs. It sounded hideously dangerous, but, gods willing (and were they willing? I couldn’t tell), it could work.

Aravis wanted to set out immediately. However, there was another party at the Palace tonight, so the “joke,” as Lasaraleen called it, would have to wait until tomorrow night. I was reluctant to leave Aravis alone and was still weighing the risks of speaking to the Horses. But I decided that if I attended the party with Lasaraleen, I might be able to get a message to Peridan or Tumnus.

The Palace glittered like a jewel. The Halls were ablaze with torches, boisterous music spilled out from the lawns, and the slaves were staggering about passing enormous trays of rare delicacies, roasted haunches, and whole pigs and fish, and platters of fruits, grains, and sweets. Wine flowed from fountains. There were jugglers, acrobats, and magicians performing in the gardens. There was a manic excitement in the air and the night surpassed even the excesses of the last weeks.

Lasaraleen was late, of course, and by the time we arrived, it seemed everyone was drunk or nearly so. The mood was raucously celebratory and the conversation so loud, I had great difficulty trying to focus on any one thing. It was all too much.

In the absolute crush of hundreds of people, I didn’t see any Narnians.

Lasaraleen figured out what happened before I could. “Oh Bebek! Isn’t it exciting! Everyone is saying that Prince Rabadash has received a very gracious message from Queen Susan. The Narnians are preparing a splendid event on their ship tomorrow night! Oh, Bebek, I do hope I am invited. Though perhaps it will be a very intimate party. Still, I am almost family. Bebek, I shall speak to Princess Fariba, I think she is best, don’t you?”

With her commitment to take Aravis through the Palace apparently forgotten for the moment, Lasaraleen waltzed off to the upper gardens where the tents had been erected for the Royal Pavilion.

I spotted Prince Rabadash lounging with his captains and cavalry by the ponds. They were very loud and in high, drunken spirits. As I watched, a veiled woman was pouring golden wine into the men’s flagons. She looked up and stared at me; it was as if I was pierced by an arrow. One of the men staggered by, and when the view cleared, she was gone.

Queen Susan sent a gracious message to Rabadash? And now all of Tashbaan, including the Prince, assumed a betrothal was imminent? What had changed in the last day?

This doesn’t make sense.

I climbed the nearest tree and began circling the lawns, moving from limb to limb and tree to tree. No Narnians. On my second circuit, I made my way to the tents of the Royal Pavilion. I was able to scale the tent poles and then, hidden by the drapery, moved very carefully between the supporting joists to position myself, right above the Tisroc, Mahrem, and Ahoshta. The beaded and bejewelled Tisroc was seated on a travel throne, eating from a very large platter. The Grand Vizier was flat on his face at the Tisroc’s feet. Mahrem was scrunched up on a tiny stool, two steps below the Tisroc; he dared to stare at the hem of the Tisroc’s robe.

It seemed the Tisroc ate for a very long time.

At a lull in the music, the Tisroc daintily wiped his lips on a napkin. “Is it certain?”

Mahrem continued to stare downward. “My lord, who-shall-live-forever, the Narnians spent much in the markets today and there were many deliveries of food and drink to their ship. It is possible their ship moved anchor to be in better position for their promised celebration tomorrow, which shall be, in every way, inferior to this glorious entertainment.” The Grand Vizier mumbled something about the poets and light in everyone’s eyes. Really, why didn’t they just squint? Also, Ahoshta’s poetry was really terrible.

“And if our honoured guests have not done so?” The Tisroc’s voice was so mild, it was unsettling.

There was a great silence among the conspirators. “I do not believe I have cut any of your tongues,” the Tisroc finally prompted. I could hear the impatience in his voice. Sometimes, I think the man really just wanted a straight answer. “Please enlighten me with your wisdom, oh learned ones.”

“Oh, Tisroc, who-shall-live-forever, to hear is to obey,” Mahrem began.

“And so, my Devious Minister, do obey me now, or else lose the ability to obey ever.”

“My lord, who is the delight of my eyes…”

I could smell the anxiety rolling off of Mahrem. “If the Narnians did not move anchor, they have fled, down the river and out to sea like beaten curs, back to the North.”

So, the Narnians weren’t at this party because they had all gone to the docks, boarded the Splendour Hyaline, and disappeared. The party food and drink were probably provisions for the journey. I sighed my relief so heavily, the curtain fluttered.

The Tisroc templed his fingers and was in that position for so long, I wondered if he might have fallen asleep.

“My lords, in the morning, please inform my inflammable son of the departure of my esteemed guests. As he has declined to investigate this matter of their absence from our entertainments, we see no further purpose in interrupting his congratulations and merriment.”

Mahrem was much quicker in this response. “I shall assure, estimable Tisroc, who-is-the delight-of-my-eyes, that your lord Vizier accomplishes this thus as you command.”

“Oh, impeccable Tisroc, in all your infallible wisdom, so you say it, so it shall be,” Ahoshta muttered into the carpet of the tent. “Happy are your humble servants to both be called to this duty.”

Mahrem and Ahoshta would argue all night over who had the privilege of informing a hungover Rabadash that Queen Susan was out of reach.

I had thought the conference was over but the Tisroc then said, “My advisors, we noted that those from the accursed North again included in their number demons in the shape of beasts that talk like men, and monsters that are half man and half beast.”

“It is so, my most cherished Tisroc,” Ahoshta said. “Though the sun was dark in my eyes, I dined with the little goat-foot yesterday eve.”

“Though the sun remains dark in my eyes for that Narnia is free, my esteemed though fervent son will importune us to some further aggression against this blasphemous annoyance to our reign and Empire. Whatever he might do in his vexation is for the gods and if he elects to cool his passions elsewhere, we shall not hinder him.”

“However,” and here the Tisroc’s voice turned cold and dangerous, “know that we deem action against Narnia unfavourable to the gods and we will not be moved to open war against a land supported by a demon of hideous aspect and irresistible maleficence. Tell me that you understand this and shall obey me and should I learn otherwise, know that your tongue is not all that shall be lost.”

I nearly fell out of the ceiling as the Tisroc quoted back words we had planted so long ago. They had taken root. Mahrem and Ahoshta both earnestly promised they would not betray the most beloved Tisroc, who would not live forever.

I was deeply uneasy. These threats likely would keep Mahrem and Ahoshta loyal to the Tisroc, for the moment. I did not think that his father’s disapproval would dissuade Rabadash from rash acts when he was about to be so publicly humiliated. There were no good answers and no way for me to warn Narnia. They had all fled and I was alone.

I was never doing this again. Ever. After this joke, as Lasaraleen kept calling it, I was going to find an orchard downriver of Tashbaan and never, ever venture out at night for clandestine activities. Or anything. Ever. I really meant it this time.

I pouted as Aravis and Lasaraleen left the villa, which would give me an excuse to follow them. Lasaraleen was really far better at the disguises than Queen Lucy was; Aravis looked every bit the superior slave girl, veiled, impeccably packaged as a gift to Princess Fariba for the invitation to the party on the Splendour Hyaline that, at this point, every person in Tashbaan knew had been a sham.

The humours and jokes at Rabadash’s expense were savage. I was certain Rabadash would not let this insult go unanswered and I was nearly as certain no one would try to stop him.

The strange colloquy I overheard among the Tisroc, Mahrem, and Ahoshta suggested to me that the Tisroc was willing to, as the Narnian saying went, let Rabadash foul his own nest. The Tisroc loved his throne far more than he loved an ambitious, spurned son bent on revenge. Ahoshta would happily shove Rabadash off a cliff; all accounts were that he detested the Prince, and though I had no intelligence to confirm it, I did wonder if Ahoshta had tried to encourage Rabadash’s obsession with Queen Susan in the hope of inciting just this miserable outcome. Mahrem, well, he would be steadfastly loyal to the Tisroc until the moment he was not.

I moved quietly through the trees, following Lasaraleen and Aravis as they walked to the Palace. The streets were still busy with diners and entertainment – no one wanted to go home when they could instead go to a coffee house or tavern and mock Rabadash as the failed lover.

Even so, I would look to the side or over my shoulder and see a shadow that wasn’t a merchant, reveller, or beggar. The shadows, seeming to move independently of any person who might cast them, flitted across the garden walls and trailed Lasaraleen and Aravis.

For a moment, my heart stuttered – were these the demon fel of Calormen? No, of course not. Surely that scuttling shape was just a rat? That other shape, so like the veiled servant I saw pour wine for Rabadash, surely it was only a shawl, blowing in a breeze on a windless night and I imagined its purposeful movement? A shadow overhead was a bat, of course, not a farseeing falcon, though such birds did not hunt in the dark?

As the poets would say, great deeds were afoot and the gods were abroad this night. I welcomed them with a prayer and moved on to the Palace.

I watched from the top of a tree as the guards at the Palace saluted Lasaraleen and admitted her and Aravis. The gates swung shut with a clang and the Palace was again quiet. I dropped from my branch to the wall, clambered along the top of it, and startled an archer stationed at a parapet. I screamed at the soldier, who was so startled, he dropped his bow. Just for show, I picked up his arrow, bit into it, and spat it out, then scampered away as he cursed me.

I was just a stupid, dumb monkey.

A roofed breezeway and colonnade beyond the Throne Room led to the Old Palace and then on to the gardens below and the water-gate Aravis and Lasaraleen sought. Monkeys, rats, and snakes all used these elevated byways to avoid people and get down to the river. After the ruckus of the night before, it was eerily quiet. I disturbed a few gentle black snacks who were digesting their latest meal and absorbing the warmth still in the tiles of the roofs. Having gorged on the leftovers of last night, the birds and rats were also lazily dozing in roosts and nooks on the roofs, at least those who had avoided the snakes.

Very few people ever came to this part of the Old Palace, even during the day. At this hour, the servants and slaves who had still been cleaning were all in the Halls of the new Palace, or in the Residence, tending to the royalty. The torches were rare here and burned very low on the walls. The shadows were even longer here but I was finding comfort in them now.

I scampered the length of the colonnade searching for Lasaraleen and Aravis. They had to come this way to reach the water-gate. If they had been discovered, I was sure there would be running soldiery and shouting. Lasaraleen knew this way well – the water boat rides of the last 10-day had departed from this gate.

My heart fluttered to a near stop a second time that night as I heard a door slam beneath me. Rabadash stalked away in the direction of the new Palace. Rabadash would not have been in this place alone at this dark hour. I waited. A few moments later, I saw a human hind end I would recognize anywhere crawl backwards out from one of the rooms. Ahoshta was meeting with the Prince? But his prostrate position meant the Tisroc must be in that room. What had happened? Dark deeds surely.

Ahoshta scuttled away, reminding me very much of the crabs my kind ate off the beach.

A few moments later, two slaves slowly backed out of the room, carrying two candles and behind them, the Tisroc. They retreated up the sloping steps, back in the direction of the Residence.

Lasaraleen and Aravis were deeply fortunate to have avoided this meeting. But where were they? Surely they had not already made it to the water-gate?

Mother Azaroth, give them wisdom. My lord Trickster, give them wits and luck.

And luck they surely had for no sooner did the Tisroc disappear, then the door opened again and Aravis and Lasaraleen staggered out. Lasaraleen was crying, “Oh my nerves, Aravis, how could you. We shall be killed!”

Aravis shook Lasaraleen, which really made my hair stand up. Lasaraleen had undertaken huge risks to help Aravis– and obviously it was much worse than I’d even imagined. “I told you, I’d rather die than stay and marry Ahoshta. Now take me to the water-gate. Now!” She again shook Lasaraleen by the shoulders. Lasaraleen snuffled back her tears and, together, they picked up their skirts and nearly ran down the steps to the river.

I wanted to follow them but was also deeply concerned with whatever this council had been. I needed to find Rabadash.

A sound of scratching and muted swearing coming from the same accursed room stopped me. Was someone else in there?

Incredibly, and I sent another thank you to the Trickster, it was a voice I knew very well. I jumped down to the paved passageway and opened the door.

Willa, teeth bared, spitting, and her hair standing straight out like a spiky ball, rolled out of the room.

“You!” she sputtered, jumping to her feet. “What are you doing here, Zaki?”

“You’re welcome.”

“I would have gotten the door handle. Eventually.”

I wanted to taunt her some more about the benefits of having proper hands but Willa was deeply agitated. “What happened in there, Willa? I saw them all leave.”

“Rabadash,” she spat. “He’s going right now to arm two hundred of his cavalry. They’re going to cross the desert, slaughter everyone in Anvard, and then ride on to Narnia. He plans to be there before the Splendour Hyaline docks and abduct Queen Susan.”

“Monstrous. Not at all surprising, I’m afraid. The Tisroc intends to disavow any knowledge of it?”

Willa tried to smooth her wild hair. “Yes. Your Tarkheena and the girl with her hid behind the sofa and I was under it. The Tisroc would have murdered us all in an instant if we’d been discovered. We were very lucky.”

Lucky? Yes, that was one way to describe it. As the poets would say, we are but pawns of the gods.

Willa finally gave it up and slumped against a pillar. I’d never seen her so defeated. “I don’t know what to do. We’re all alone and we must warn King Lune and Narnia. And I made a terrible mistake and missed something and now I’m trying to find them and…”

Wait.

“What did you lose, Willa?” But I realized I already knew. “The boy. Who looks just like Prince Corin. He escaped and…”

She snarled, though the anger was directed at herself. “How do you know about that?! We didn’t even realize the mistake until Prince Corin reappeared. The boy told Corin he was with a Talking Horse and they were going to Narnia.” She leaned closer. Her eyes were bright, almost feverish in their intensity. Her whiskers twitched. “Do you know where he went?”

“His name is Shasta. The Horse is Bree. I’ve not spoken to him but Shasta, Bree,” I pointed in the direction of the river, “and that girl with Lasaraleen and another Talking Horse are about to meet at the Tombs and ride on to…”

“Archenland,” Willa cried. “The girl heard the whole plan. They can warn Lune. We can get word to Queen Lucy at the Cair… I have to…”

I had to hold on to her paw to keep her from bolting down the passageway. “They’ll be gone by now, Willa. You can’t catch them.”

She spat at me but slumped back down, conceding defeat. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this.”

There was something I was missing. A fisherman’s orphan. In the south. Found by a Talking Horse. And another Talking Horse. An orphan who looked just like Prince Corin. On the eve of a surprise attack upon Anvard.

He will save Archenland from the deadliest danger in which ever she lay.

I felt as if I’d fallen from a tree.

“Could it be?” I whispered. “You think Shasta might be Prince Cor?”

She ran a paw over her ear. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. We didn’t have time. No sooner did Corin reappear than they all had to get to the ship.”

“And you stayed.” She’d sacrificed herself to stay and do her duty to Narnia.

“I had to try and find the boy. And Sallowpad told me your warning, that Rabadash humiliated would be very dangerous. So, I got some help and infiltrated the Palace. Now, I don’t know. Maybe try to send a message through the bankers or the Galman Ambassador, or…”

I had stopped listening. One of the shadows was back, at the end of the colonnade, and it was very corporeal and familiar. It was gesturing to follow.

“Willa, who helped you? Was it a rat?”

She paused in her nervous combing and again stared at me. I pointed. “I think you should follow him.” He gestured again, more urgently. Willa’s nose went up and her whiskers twitched.

“He’s not a rat. I don’t know what he is. He hates Rabadash, though.”

“He does.”

The god of the poor, the god of tricks and jokes, the god of the crossroads, the messenger god. “He’ll help you get home and warn Narnia.”

Willa sprang to her feet and whisked her tail around. “Are you coming?”

“No. There’s someone else I need to follow. And I need to make sure Lasaraleen does.”

Willa saluted me. “Good luck, Zaki.”

“May the gods be with both of us.”

She bounded away and disappeared into the gloom. I hopped down the steps toward the water-gate, looking for Lasaraleen. The reason she had not returned was because she was sitting on a bench in the garden, crying.

I climbed onto the bench next to her and stroked her arm.

“Oh, Bebek, I told you to stay home! I don’t know what to do! Oh my darling, it is awful. The things I heard. Prince Rabadash is bent on murder, Bebek. And the Tisroc and the Grand Vizier plotting, and I’m sure my father is also involved and it’s so terrible. I… I want to run away, Bebek. Follow Aravis and that peasant boy … but, Bebek, how could I do that? How many dresses would I need? I couldn’t take a litter…”

Lasaraleen, the empty-headed Tarkheena, who was not empty-headed at all, who remembered every name and every face, whose bedroom dresser contained the secrets of an Empire, buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

I was unsurprised when I saw a shadow against the wall of a veiled woman.  She was gesturing to a gardener’s path that I knew would lead to a tunnel and gate that merchants used to deliver goods to the Palace. It would be quite empty now and the lock was on the inside.  I tugged on Lasaraleen’s sleeve and pointed.

Lasaraleen looked up, blinked back her tears and gasped. “Mother?” She seized my arm. “It’s Mother goddess. Oh, Bebek, do you see her? She wants us to follow. Oh, Bebek, I’m sure we are quite safe now, if we just follow her. Bebek, dearest, can you do that for me, and be very, very quiet?”

I took a deep, honest breath.

“Yes, Lasaraleen, I do see her, yes, I do think we should follow her, and my name is Zaki, not Bebek.”