Nezzar

Part One: The Purple Silk

Usman had just given away the last silver coin in Amytis' purse when a cloaked figure bumped into him and slipped something into his left palm.

Body stiffening, Usman refused to look back. His fingers closed over the patch of silk. He didn't need to look to know what it meant. Heart racing, he made a sharp turn to his left, strolling down the alley just after a cluster of grain traders and laundrymen.

Loosening his frame, Usman walked as though he were not in a hurry, as though he were an ordinary high-ranking palace guard going about his normal duties. The people made way for him as he passed, his large build and fierce features making their movement frenzied and quick. Who was he fooling? He was the most obvious man there was. No amount of casual walking or easy smile will rid him of the intimidating aura that poured off him. The fact that the late king of Babylon chose him to become a spy in the land of Media confused him; he had never expected the call of duty.

The silk in his grip was a harsh reminder of what his purpose in Media truly was. Though he was chosen by a different king, his loyalty must remain with whoever sat on the throne of Babylon. Nebuchadnezzar, the fiercest of them all. Usman shrugged, brushing away the foreboding that nipped at the recess of his mind.

All will be well.

Soon the crowd thinned and as Usman walked even further none could be seen freely strolling about. This part of the city was inhabited by the shunned and dangerous. The street he currently walked down was shaded by long shadows, the afternoon sun seeming almost scared to breach the lonesome environment with its light. He glanced around, his trained eyes looking out for any idiotic enough to trail him. So far, none came within his perception.

When Usman stopped before a weather-beaten door marked with a single stripe of black, he knocked twice then once. The paint mark was faded, hardly something that would draw the attention of passersby. Abilkubi had chosen a secluded dreary close. The houses on both sides of the alley were abandoned, decaying from lack of human presence. They only used the hideout when a message came from the king. A message had not come from Nebuchadnezzar since he became king. The foreboding swelled, taking more room in his mind.

The narrow slot on the door slid open, revealing dark sharp eyes that surveyed him before a series of scrapes could be heard. Soon the door creaked open.

Usman swiftly stepped into the one windowed room. Unbuckling his baldric that held his sheathed sword, he placed it upon the roughly hewn table before taking in the five men within the small damp room. They all resembled regular men of Media; full beard, no muscle-bound body, and no weapon in sight.

"Peace and power to great Babylon," Usman gave a slight incline of the head. "I received the purple silk—"

"Sit." Abilkubi cut in, his face pinched in a fierce frown. He seemed to be always frowning, that man. He wore a faded black thawb and his head was covered with a turban of the same colour. The sleeves of his garment still had mud stains on them. He must have fixed the meeting as soon as the message reached him.

Once Usman settled upon the last available stool, Abilkubi produced a scroll. "This came to me this morning. The messenger had changed horses thrice to get to Media as fast as possible, not even stopping to sleep."

"Whatever news he brought must be important then," Haban said. He was the shortest of them all and a baker on uzur street. With his round happy face and cheerful spirit, no one would suspect he was a spy of Babylon.

"Clearly it is important!" Abilkubi glanced at Haban as though he were an idiot. "You think we are here to merely exchange greetings?" Though it seemed impossible, Abilkubi's frown deepened even more.