Black Salt

Black Salt - Chapter 07

 He couldn't bear to say goodbye, but when he left Kleon's chambers, he had a strong feeling that he wouldn't see his old friend again. The sun hit him as he stepped out of the library, heat like the heart of an ironsmith's furnace. It made him dizzy, and he felt a return of the sick vertigo he'd felt looking at Kleon. The city spread out before him, the sea and the harbour to his left, the grid-patterned streets to his right. The city had been planned to rival any capital in the world, and with its grand harbour, its palace, library and lighthouse, it was a brilliant beacon of civilisation. Amidst the fine marble buildings, people had thrown up houses in cheaper blocks of limestone, or simple baked mud bricks. Merchants came for the sea trade, scholars for the library, and nobles and foreign dignitaries came to trade power and prestige. Princes and whores walked the same streets, often hand in hand.

He sent a messenger to the palace, with orders for the guards to keep their vigil night and day. He added that if they failed in their duty a second time, he would have the chief of the guards flogged and dipped in the sea. He also reminded them to have someone watch over Leaina. He didn't need to tell them what would happen if they failed to protect her.

After that, he took the box to Lorcas, a locksmith from Sidon. Lorcas kept his neat shop, fronted with rose marble, on the waterfront of the Cibotus harbour, with a view over the shining sea, and the island of Pharos. Nikias knew that the marble facing was a fake, covering walls of old mud brick; Lorcas wore a glittering cap of emerald silk, and night blue robes with gold thread woven into intricate bird designs, but his clothes, too, were cheap copies of the real thing. Two years before, Lorcas had sold his wife a bronze lock box, covered with gilt roses. Nikias had found that one of the rose petals doubled as a secret catch, allowing anyone to unlock the box without a key. He'd snatched up his sword, but his wife had held onto his arm, and made him swear not to spill blood on her account. She had neglected, however, to make him swear not to threaten Lorcas, and this he had done, with such vigour, that Lorcas had promised him a lifetime of faithful service.

"Open it," he said, over the cup of mixed wine Lorcas had proffered.

Lorcas tugged at his wispy beard, and turned the box over. "Hmm."

"I said open it!"

"I see, I see. No need to scream like a harpy's orgasm."

Nikias choked on his wine.

Lorcas turned the box around three times, rapped it on his cluttered workbench, and then he screwed up his eyes, and peered at it under an oil lamp, which added a pungent stink to the aroma of metal polish and wood resin. "Yes. Yes!"

"Well?"

Lorcas lowered the box. "I can open it."

Nikias sighed. "That's the only good news I've had today."

"Come back next week."

His eyes widened, and then he threw the cup on the floor, where it smashed in pieces. "I need this box open now, Lorcas. Today! The king's life... No, your life depends on it."

Lorcas shrank, and held the box in front of his face. "Today? But..."

"Today."

"But this is an antique!"

"What?"

"Look at those holes in the eyes and nose. It's a Babylonian pin tumbler lock."

"Babylonian?"

"Alright, maybe it's Assyrian. Anyway, it's ancient, nobody uses them anymore. You Hellenes brought rotary locks when your Alexander conquered the world. Everybody uses them, from Carthage to Crete."

He narrowed his eyes, and leaned over Lorcas. "I don't need a history lesson. Open the box. Smash it, if you have to."

Lorcas yelped, his hands jumped away from the box, and his eyes rolled. "Oh no no no, my lord, prince of the sun and moon, don't ask me to...to break it. I did that once for a client, a noble lord, like yourself, but there was a trap."

Lorcas leaned forward, and Nikias bent closer, fascinated in spite of his irritation. "Go on."

"The designer had made it out of lacquered pear wood, with an inlaid filigree of silver butterflies. They had also built it with two compartments; with the right key, you would unlock your treasures; with a false key, you would unlock the trap. My client had no key at all, and he was in a great hurry, much like you."

Nikias snarled.

Lorcas chewed his lip, and went on. "I hated to damage it; a work of many months in the shop of a master craftsman. If you have never made such a thing, you cannot understand its value. But he insisted, as you insist, and so, against my will, my judgement, and my heart, I hammer a wedge into the seam, and split it open. Do you know what happened?"

Nikias nodded. "The second compartment."

"Yes. The box cracked apart like an egg, and the secret compartment sprang open. Out plopped half a dozen furious scorpions!"

Nikias stepped back, shuddering. He'd fight any man, but venomous beasts made his skin writhe. "Your customer, he..."

"Died."

"The scorpions."

Lorcas shook his head. "No, sir. The scorpions never touched him. When they tumbled out onto my bench, and he realised what he'd been carrying around, what he'd tried to open by himself, his heart failed. He died right where you're standing."

Nikias stared at floor, aghast. He walked back to Lorcas, trying not to move too fast. His eyes fell on the box, and the skull design seemed to leer at him. "You don't think..."

Lorcas sucked his teeth. "No way to tell. You see these markings?"

He peered at them, small gouges in the wood around the skull, like birds' feet.

"Babylonian writing. Not a dialect I know, but I've got a friend who should be able to read it. Probably just says 'hands off, you thieving son of a baboon buggering slave'. Anyway, I'll get his opinion, and see if he can put me onto a set of Babylonian keys."

"This has to happen today. This belongs to the men who tried to assassinate the king, and-"

Lorcas went pale. He dropped the box on his bench, and pointed a shaking finger at Nikias. "Assassinate... And you brought it here... You bastard. You child of snakes!"

His reaction surprised Nikias. His world had been shaken by the attacks, and he'd taken it for granted that everyone knew about them. Now he saw he'd been mistaken. "They failed. The king lives. They tried to get me too, and I'm fine."

"You call walking around with long tears in your flesh 'fine'? I thought you'd fought a duel over another man's wife."

He sighed, rolled his eyes, and grabbed Lorcas by his pathetic attempt at a beard. "I've got no time for this! Open the box by sundown. If you blab, the assassins will cut your throat. If you fail me, I'll nail your hands to your tongue, and throw you in the harbour!"

He left Lorcas a shivering wreck. As he left, he paused in the doorway. "Tell me what was inside that trapped box."

Lorcas sobbed. "Salt. A bag of salt."