Page 4 of The Eyes of Tamburah
“But you only have access to the monk’s First Room of Knowledge. There could be plenty of evidence in the Second Room of Knowledge or the Third or the Fourth.”
Shyla swallowed the sudden knot in her throat. When she’d reached eighteen circuits old, the monks offered her a choice. Stay and take the oath, becoming a monk—with full access to the four Rooms of Knowledge—or go. From what she had managed to piece together, staying meant keeping the knowledge to herself and never seeing the great underground cities of Koraha, their world. Leaving meant loneliness and being viewed as an outcast. Her pale blond hair, eyebrows, eyelashes and even the fine hairs on her arms and legs, which all stood out starkly against her dark skin, all marked her as sun-kissed. Sun-kissed babies were considered the Sun Goddess’s children and they were abandoned in the desert to die so they could return to their proper mother.
The Monks of Parzival didn’t believe in this barbaric sacrifice. They had found her a couple kilometers from Zirdai and raised her. When she chose to leave the monastery, they gave her a pouch of coins and one boon, continued access to the First Room of Knowledge, but she no longer had access to their hearts.
Shaking her head at her maudlin—childish—thoughts, Shyla concentrated on keeping track of the turns and twists as Banqui led her down another five levels to his “upper-level” work rooms. They were all well lit with costly trol lanterns—the now orangey glow from the druk weak in comparison to the bright white of the trol. The Water Prince spared no expense for his personnel.
Banqui’s equipment normally occupied the first of the three large caverns, but since he had an active dig site, all that remained were broken shovels, frayed ropes, and worn pulleys. The second cavern housed his diggers. The rows of sleeping cushions were empty.
“They’re working on uncovering the lower levels of the Shem burial grounds,” Banqui explained. “Deep enough to be safe.” He guided her into the last room, which was his office and occasional sleeping quarters. “You can stay here until the sun reaches angle one-fiftyseven, then we’ll go topside.” Rummaging through the piles on his desk, he pulled out a roll of velbloud skin. “Here’s the map of Tamburah’s temple. I’ll be back later.”
The thought of being alone scared her. A surprise, considering she preferred to be alone. “Where are you going?”
“To check with the black market dealers, see if they heard anything.” He left, taking the druk lantern with him.
Right. Finding The Eyes needed to be their sole focus. She glanced at the sand clock. The grains poured through the narrow glass at the same rate the sun jumped across the sky. The clock read angle ninety, which meant the ball of fire that baked their world was at its zenith.
Shyla spread the map on the floor and weighed down the edges with the lanterns. Tamburah’s temple was located about three kilometers from Zirdai. The place had been built about fourteen hundred circuits ago in the classic hexagonal shape of that time period with one level above ground and twelve below. She bent over the velbloud skin and examined every centimeter of each line, shape, and smudge for all twelve underground stories. Many times hidden entrances or rooms were marked with an almost invisible symbol.
When nothing caught her attention, she searched for a magnifying glass and found one under a pile of broken pottery. How could Banqui get any work done in this mess? Returning to the map, she peered through the glass, repeating her scrutiny. Other than the slight flourish indicating the hidden vault where The Eyes had been, nothing else stood out. She sat back on her heels. Guess she’d have to wait and inspect the walls inside the temple. Shyla circled the areas she wanted to inspect with a piece of chalk.
Her stomach growled. When had she last eaten? Last darkness? She tended to lose track of time when working. Too bad she couldn’t visit one of the dining caverns. No doubt the Water Prince’s soldiers waited in all the common areas, hoping she’d appear.
A feather of fear brushed her ribs. All the rumors about the prince painted him as corrupt, power-hungry, and cruel. She didn’t trust rumors, but Banqui’s constant apprehension over upsetting the man gave them some weight. Yet the prince ensured every citizen of Zirdai had access to water. His soldiers built the aqueducts, maintained the air shafts, protected the city, and collected the taxes. If a citizen couldn’t afford to pay, they could join the Water Prince’s guards or, if too old or infirm, they could enter into the service of the Heliacal Priestess. No one died of thirst. Food was provided by the Heliacal Priestess and her deacons—they cared for the velbloud flocks and gamelu herds, and tended the vegetation caverns. Not wishing to draw unwanted attention from either group, Shyla paid the required stipend to them both each circuit.
Of course others tried to circumvent the tariffs. Refusing to pay or be indentured, they found their own water and grew their own food. Rumors of illicit water sources flew through the population like a grain of sand carried by high winds. All illegal activities were quickly stopped by either the deacons or the soldiers. The laws were spelled out quite clearly to all citizens, even a sun-kissed like her. Shyla didn’t know what became of those unfortunates once arrested, nor did she care. Her focus centered on her own survival—her income just enough to keep her independent.
Banqui returned and interrupted her morose thoughts. Shyla didn’t think it was possible, but he appeared even more disheveled and vexed than earlier.
“No luck.” She guessed.
He cursed and insulted the dealers’ mothers and grandmothers as he slammed the lamp on his desk.
When he calmed somewhat, she said, “You really didn’t expect them to tell you where they are. Did you?”
“None of them can sell The Eyes. Not without getting caught. If the Water Prince even suspects they have any knowledge…” Banqui cast about for a proper descriptor.
“What if they sell them to someone in another city?” Travel between cities required a great deal of funds. Most people remained in the city they were born in. But the treasure hunters were likely to have the means. “If it was me, I’d be long gone by now.”
He grabbed two fistfuls of his hair. “The Water Prince is going to kill me when I have nothing to report!”
She stood. “Calm down. If he kills you, he has no hope of finding The Eyes.”
“Not helping.”
“All right. Do you have any food or water here?”
That snapped him from his panic. “Oh. Of course. Here.” He strode over to a stone cooler and lifted the lid. Pulling out a jar of water and two thick rolls of velbloud jerky, he handed one to her while he searched for a couple of glasses. “Sorry, it’s all I have. My diggers live on this stuff when on site.”
“That’s fine.” Too hungry to care, Shyla gnawed on the end. The spicy ginger flavor of the dried meat filled her mouth. She washed it down with the water.
When they finished eating, Banqui donned a sun cloak. Woven from the hair of the velbloud, it provided protection from the sun’s rays. It also helped keep a person cool when traveling topside in the sun and provided warmth when the sun dropped from sight—an essential garment. Of course when the sun reached the killing zone, nothing worked. She exchanged her wrap for her sun cloak, smoothing out the wrinkles from being folded for so long in her pack.
“You’ll also need dillo leather boots.” Banqui strode into the diggers’ quarters. “Velbloud leather melts.”
She chased after him. “I already have them.”
He stopped short and turned. “Really?”
