Zuma

The mayor boiled. Once again Gil defied her. Usually, the matters weren’t even worth a second glance, this time was different. He stroked his mustache. This time, the town may get annihilated. Some rumors had come from other regions about entire towns and villages vanishing for similar crimes – harboring the traitors of the blood – the rotbloods. Things have turned bad after the Emperor’s death. Zuma had lived in the Three Claws peninsula when the feral news arrived. Folks had celebrated until they understood that nothing would change for better.

Zuma comprehended the seriousness of Tenoch-Ling’s problem and at some unconscious and very remote level, he sympathized with her. But she was a difficult woman to deal with. She reminds me of my father. Unresponsive to other folks' needs. All that drives her is a necessity to fulfill her vision.

That was why Zuma decided to not get involved and if a threat would turn out to be real then he would leave the Cape Town behind.

He stood up and darted for the door, but the doctor got there first, coming up with a lame excuse and disappeared. Zuma reached for the door and—

“Innkeeper, stay.”

That old bastard has a better reflex than me! But he must be twice as old…

He turned around, his mustaches twitched madly, and he knew the troubles arrived.

“I appreciate your attention, Tenoch-Ling,” Zuma raised his hands. “I really am, but precious red sands help me, this entire endeavor is above my pay grade. I know nothing about—”

“Quiet,” the mayor cut in. “I know enough about your lapses of courage, but I don’t have time for this now. You’ll get information out of him.”

“I will?”

“Yes, idiot.”

“What information?”

“Are you this stupid or just pretend? Never mind, don’t answer,” she wheeled and rushed to her desk. She rummaged for a moment in a wooden box. Finally, she picked up a sheet of paper and slammed it on her desk. “I want every detail about him. But most importantly, which Royal House bastarded him.”

Zuma stared at the piece of paper. He didn’t trust his hands to take the sheet, they were too damp with sweat.

“Didn’t he say he is from the Fourth Region?”

“Lies,” Sul-Tizoca finally spoke up. “He can’t be trusted anymore. We should get rid of him.”

“And you think you can go and do it?” Zuma scoffed.

Sul-Tizoca’s face darkened and his hand came dangerously close to the pommel of his knife. Zuma immediately regretted his comment. This is not worth dying for a poke. He turned away, hoping that the hunter would leave the matter be.

“If I must I’ll do it. His kind is responsible for all the suffering in the world. The Fifth Region had been free from them for generation, but now they spread like a disease. Soon, we’ll have them here spitting at us, while we beg and crawl at their feet.”

Zuma shuddered because he realized what he was seeing before his eyes – fanatism and hatred. But this was wrong. Sul-Tizoca and Giliad had been friends for years. Sul-Tizoca had been the first man in the town who dragged Gil’s lazy ass out into the forest to hunt. How can one change in a span of a day? It may be that the threat wouldn’t come from Giliad’s presence here, but the hunter’s odium. I better check how much coins lay under the floor.

“You’ll do nothing of that sort, Sul-Tizoca,” the mayor said as she sat down. “Giliad is a valuable asset.”

“An asset?” he asked, disbelief painted on his face. “He’s an abomination.”

“I don’t care what he is,” the mayor replied harshly. “So, keep your anger contained until I say otherwise, is that understood?”

The hunter struggled, baring his teeth and straining his muscles, only to relent in the end. “I’ll do as you say, mayor. However, if people sniff the beast out, I’ll have no choice but to kill him.”

“Leave now.”

The hunter rushed to the door and Zuma followed.

“I didn’t say you can go, innkeeper.”

Zuma groaned.

“Mayor, for the love of red sands, I’m the worst choice to gather any information…” his voice trailed off as he realized the absurdity of the argument. The innkeepers heard the most. Folks let their tongues flap after one mug too many. None the less, Zuma had a bad feeling that the mayor expected more from him that she so far said. He wasn’t wrong.

“You’ll get him to talk. Use all the necessary means to get the information. I must know who he really is. I no longer believe that ‘Giliad’ is his real name.”

“I still—”

“Leave,” she cut him off. “And take the sheet with you.”

-

In the hall, Tan-Pak snored as if he hadn’t had enough sleep. The old geezer hardly woke up. Zuma has always wondered why the mayor kept the old man here. Today it became clear to him. He was a valuable asset. Like everyone in the council. Once we lose our usefulness, she would discard us like Tenoch-Ile. A chilling thought, but true. Time to depart Cape Town finally came. I won’t even miss this place.

He stepped outside. The heavy, humid air plastered to his skin and he badmouthed the weather. He missed the Red Cities. One day I’ll return, but not just yet.

“Did you see Sul-Tizoca?”

Yamil’s forehead creased, he eyed him for a moment, then turned without a word. Yeah, I guess, it was a stupid question. Seeing the guard, Zuma’s worry deepened. How could I forget about him? Suddenly, Sul-Tizoca didn’t seem a much of a threat. Mayor had unleashed Yamil only twice since Zuma’s arrival in Cape Town. A cold-blooded killer. It would be wise to step carefully for another few days – until my leave.

A sour mood accompanied him to the inn, where he passed the doctor on his way out. A moment later Giliad appeared, put a hand on Zuma’s shoulder, and strode for the marketplace. Red sands help me, what this was about? Did they just have a drink here? Cape Towners weren’t the brightest lot, but even they would sniff that something wasn’t right. There still should be time. Zuma hastened inside and an instant later, Izin-Pil appeared on his right. He jumped, regretting all these secret corridors he’d built within the inn. The girl has abused them to no end.

He gave her an angry look, but such things seemed counterproductive with this one. In some sense, she was harder to deal with than the mayor. Zuma shrugged off the shock and grabbed Izin-Pil’s arm and led her into the small alcove.

“What were Charcot and Giliad doing here?”

“Oh,” this was her only comment. Zuma shook off the irritation lest he’d kill her, took off his dirty apron, and pointed at the office above. He needed to figure out why these two had been here.

They emerged from the alcove, Zuma strode straight for the main stairs, while Izin-Pil sneaked into the kitchen and from there she would take the service stairs. No doubt inciting harsh reprimand from her mother.

Zuma’s office was three times smaller than the one the mayor occupied. He had no megalomaniac aspirations. Scrolls and books took almost all the walls save for the one in front of his desk which he used to craft new cocktail recipes. Doggy stains covered the entire floor and their odor sometimes has made his knees buckle. Yes, he needed a better ventilation system … did he? Now, that he decided to leave the town, it seemed a pointless thing to do.

Zuma tugged at his mustaches as he dropped on the chair. The impact made him groan. Red sands take Hopi-Ruc, gods but the man has promised him to add a soft leather overlay and fill it with wool. The local upholster was a known crook and Zuma now questioned his reliance on the man. Never mind him, I have a real pressing issue on my hands. He heaved his feet on the desk and leaned back waiting for Iz. She knows how to get on my nerves. I’m sure she’d make good proprietor after I’m gone.

The door must have a good day and not a single creak sounded as the barkeeper sneaked inside the office and spoke aloud. “I’m here, we can talk boss.”

Zuma jumped off the chair, his heart clogged in the throat, he needed a moment to calm down. I’m going to kill her before my departure, for the love of red sands I promise this.

“You’re a terrible person, do you know it?”

Iz offered an infuriating shrug, but the smile on her pretty face betrayed her real feelings – she enjoyed torturing others.

“You need a husband girl,” Zuma said, “to put some intellect back into that small skull of yours.”

“I do recall, boss,” she said with a dose of irony. “That you proposed when I’ve started working here. Fear not, I haven’t changed my mind. My heart belongs to someone else, right now.”

This surprised him. He didn’t think her capable of giving away much more than a sneer or silly smile. Anyway, this conversation led to nowhere.

“Good for you. Now, give me a damned report,” he returned to his chair, now facing Izin-Pil. “And make sure to not miss a word.”

She did as he asked. Oh, how he wished she’d miss most of her report. No doubt, this girl of all Cape Towners could piece together what she overheard. He knew her well enough to expect some sort of a pay negotiation. If the rumors about Giliad’s bloodline and the mayor’s shady dealings left the inn, Zuma would be as good as dead. No matter who would deliver a death blow – the Imperials or the mayor’s henchman. Death was death.

“Is that all?”

“Well, there is a lot of talks about the smokes from Yucca … but that doesn’t seem interesting.” No, it wasn’t. Not for you, of course.

“Yucca,” Zuma agreed. “I forgot about that forsaken village. Gods, it’s the worst day of my life. At least, it shouldn’t get any worse than that.”

Izin-Pil spread her arms. Something spoke in Zuma’s mind that she wasn’t finished. The barkeeper stepped to his left and sat down on his desk. This girl possessed unrivaled audacity … except for Giliad, of course.

“I kind of recall someone talking about the mayor’s brat—”

“Izin-Pil!” Zuma cut in harshly, but his fuel quickly ran out and he let the rudeness go unpunished.

She waited until it became clear he wouldn’t say anything else, then continued. “Sorry about that, but he is the worst. A little liar using his mother as a scarecrow.” A giggle escaped her. “And his band, muh, they are bad sort.”

“I bet they are,” Zuma agreed with a sigh. “What of him?”

“He paid Giliad a visit.”

Zuma’s eyebrows rose. “So?” And his heart began pounding in his chest.

“So, it means that the mayor summoned him…” she fell silent, her gaze hardened enough to rock him on the chair. “You were there, weren’t you?”

Suddenly, Zuma didn’t trust himself to speak. But he had to lest she drew wrong conclusions … or worse, the real ones. Not yet panicked, but deeply worried, Zuma worked up the courage to say something.

“The council matters.”

Izin-Pil scowled. “That’s lame!”

“That’s all there is!” Zuma replied as harshly as he dared. “You can now return to the bar. I need time to think.”

She left a moment later, but her face told him that she’d cause trouble, serious trouble.

Oh, gods, why have I left the Red Cities?