#shacklesofthestorm

The Qrahr

Kherim turned around a corner and walked by the shady traders populating every inch of the roadside. They were an interesting bunch, somewhere between a charlatan merchant and a beggar. Some of them mongered bijoux, fake jewelry, or miracle ointments, others sold more dangerous things from behind tight-knit jackets, eyes flashing back and forth. The lord stopped, squatted down in front of a man and gently picked up a small vial of translucent liquid.

“What did we agree on, Jashmid?” he asked, but the man just wrapped his arms around himself. He was thin, only thickened by the dirt to make him look vaguely human. He could be twenty or two hundred years old, Kherim would have believed both.

“That I won’t cause any trouble. But that doesn’t mean I can only sell my knowledge and my goods to you!” he lashed back, but the qrahr let it fly this time.

“So you know what happened. It’ll spare us some time, which is good. But you’re going to waste this time apologizing for yourself, which is not good. I’m not here to drag you to prison, nor to judge you. I’m here for answers, Jashmid.”

Kherim gave up the squat and sat down on the ground in front of the man with his legs crossed.

“If time is so important to you... Tell me what you want.”

“Who ordered the choking air?”

Kherim doubted he’d get an honest answer, but he had to try. He knew Jashmid too long and too well, from the day he stepped in front of him at the war camp near Qajar and waved that milky white, mist-filled bottle in front of him.

“What do I get for renting out one of my customers? You know I’m sensitive to that.”

The man was hesitant, his smart and lucrative brain cogs clicked back and forth, weighing in on the risk and profit. Kherim didn’t have time for him to decide which one would be worth it. He needed answers, quickly.

“Delicateness is a luxury for you, Mixer. Can you imagine what Charta would do to you if he knew you poisoned Saleel? Do you even know who he was?”

Jashmid shook his head. “I know Charta. Naturally. But not this Saleel, only that he was some important man.”

“Quite important,” Kherim nodded at the poisoner. “Important to the city, and important to my brother. Whoever set you up knew his business, or got unlucky in picking targets. Four years ago, someone who was equally important died in a simple robbery.” Kherim leaned back and pointed towards the city’s border, causing several heads to turn towards them in the process. “If you walk enough outside the east gate, you can find the skeleton of that killer. The falcons still wear their claws on his skull.”

Little by little, the lord leaned closer and closer to Jashmid’s horrified face, while his own reflected disgust and pity. “To tell you the truth, I don’t like that sound, it’s like they are scratching on my own skull,” he whispered as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear it. When there was only an inch-wide gap between them, Kherim poked the poisoner’s forehead with his finger, causing him to snap back. “It’d be a shame for your head.”

“Well…” Jashmid began very slowly. “That sounds like a fair offer. However, the customer only messaged me through a servant. He called himself the Marid.”

There was a short pause, short enough not to let the general interfere.

“Listen, I don’t want to stick my nose in demons’ business. Maybe you shouldn’t either, qrahr.”

“The Marid?” Kherim said, raising an eyebrow. “Kahlaran hasn’t had a djinn since my grandfather’s time, Jashmid. It’s not a demon, it’s a street rat with a showy name. Although he knows what he’s doing.” Kherim scratched his beard. “What did this servant look like? Did he have a name?”

Jashmid shook his head. “He was like every other boy at the docks. He didn’t introduce himself, but he brought a lot of money so I didn’t ask questions.”

“Since when don’t you ask questions?” the qrahr asked leaning back, then let the conversation drop. He knew well enough how to recognize a lost lead.

“Tell me something about this Marid. Is this the first time he’s bought from you?”

“Not before, not since,” the poisoner answered shaking his head. “He paid fifty golden suns for that bottle. I mean, for the contents, the boy brought the bottle with him.”

“And you didn’t get suspicious then?” Kherim looked disapproving and repressed an emerging sigh into an angry snort. Loafers and ne’er-do-wells sighed at everything.

“Have you heard of him before? Did he do business with anyone else on the street?” the lord asked, tilting his head towards the other quacks, poisoners, beggars, and pickpockets. Some turned aside with disgust, but some looked back at him with a killing intent. Jashmid looked around as if he thought hard about something before he gave up and leaned closer to Kherim.

“I don’t know exactly who, but I’ve heard things about him. They say I’m lucky he knew I wouldn’t ask anything if he paid well, and I’ll do what he wants. But others... He made them do despicable things, mostly through extortion. The people here believe he’s a demon because he always knows how to cause the most harm. He knows everyone’s secrets.”

“Secrets...” Kherim said, humming to himself while he pulled a leg up to rise. “A pile of golden suns lets you learn a lot of secrets. He’s not a demon, but he’s dangerous. Next time he sends a boy from the docks to you, you’ll remember his face. Scratch a mark into his forehead if you must, but I want to know who’s delivering his mail.”

The lord reached into his pocket and pulled out two shimmering gold coins and threw it in Jashmid’s lap.

“Choose your customers better from now on, Jashmid. It would truly be a shame for your head,” he said as he walked away. From the corner of his eye, he saw the mixer sink the coins in his bag with relief.