Black Salt

Black Salt - Chapter 25

 A week ago, he wouldn't have believed it. No, even a day ago, had someone suggested to Nikias that he would turn his back on the Black Salt investigation, take sides with the leader of the secret group, and help him by hunting a traitor in the city's aristocratic ruling class, he would have laughed, would have found it too astounding to take offense.

A new day was coming.

He rubbed his beard, which had begun to itch. He'd neglected to wash it in a couple of days, and now he was paying the price. He ignored the irritating sensation, and turned his eyes on Phaedrus, who stood in front of the table, rubbing his hands together. He noticed again how the man's appearance seemed to change. At first he'd looked like a snow drenched mountain, and later, like a shining immortal. Now he looked as ancient as an immortal, but heir to the wearying ills of age.

"I need a hint," he said.

Phaedrus gave a tired chuckle. "I have filled your night with hints. How many more can I give you?"

He made a wide circle with his hands. "This is not a small city. The people here are not all of one land, or language. The best place to hide a gem is a treasury, and we are not short of treasures."

"This is a flawed gem," said Phaedrus. "But remember, I have taken oaths."

"Oaths, yes, oaths... Promises that protect the one man who wants to kill you. I think the goddess would understand if you ignored that kind of oath."

Phaedrus drew himself up, face twisted, a mask of the furies. "Do you think I am not tested day and night? The strength of your oath is the strength of your heart. If the heart fails, no medicine will save you."

He put up his hands in an appeal for peace. "I apologise. I didn't mean to burden you with another test." Inside, he fumed. His fears were well founded. Alexandria had swelled, and her people could harbour any number of villains. It had taken persistence, ingenuity and outright luck to find Black Salt, and they were a large, organised group. To find one man...

As he struggled with his thoughts, he saw a shadow fall across Phaedrus's face. A moment later, the man swayed, and then sagged. He turned and caught the edge of the table, but his hands slipped. Nikias shot over to him, caught him, and helped him to sink into a chair. He stood over the man, and watched him, his brows pressed together.

"Am I your dying grandfather, that you look at me with such pensive eyes?" His voice had changed, he sounded weak and petulant.

"I could let you fall next time, if you'd prefer."

He laughed. "Sit, sit. And thank you. I don't like to admit I need help, but this body has served the god for a long time. It's been some time since I kept a late watch, and my body has no thanks."

Nikias sat. "I wouldn't have believed you could-"

A thunderous crash roared through the building.

He half-rose. "What in-"

A second crash sounded, followed by screams.

He snatched the sword. "We have to go."

Phaedrus wavered. Nikias saw the two faces of him; the strong, wise servant of Olympus warred with the tired, frightened old man. "I can't-"

Nikias threw the table aside, grabbed the man under one armpit, and hauled him to his feet. "This is a raid. That damned old man, Kalliphas! I thought I was lying, but he's outdone himself, just when I needed him to be incompetent!"

Phaedrus planted a hand on his chest, and tried to shove him away. "Leave me here. You need to get out before they find you."

"They won't hurt me, you old fool. They're trying to rescue me!" He felt warmth in his chest, and amused surprise. He heard a new scream, and it turned to sickening embarrassment. "They can't hurt me, but it's prison for you, or worse. Come!"

Phaedrus gave up the effort to push him, and tried instead to pull away. That didn't work either. Nikias gave up trying to reason with him, and turned his attention to escape. He dragged the old man towards the far door, the one he hadn't gone through, at least not while conscious. He had a struggle to open it with his sword in hand, and Phaedrus in the other, fighting to escape, but he managed it. On the other side he found a short hallway, lined with similar doors, and a staircase at the other end. The stairs ran up and down.

He heard the clash of arms, and the low, hoarse cries of battle from below.

"Which way, which way? Phaedrus, there must be a back exit. How can we get there?"

Phaedrus shook his head, and moaned. "Leave me. We're lost if you stay. Just leave me!"

"Who's staying? Not me. Damn you, you old idiot, we're not lost yet, but if you don't tell me the way, we will be soon."

Phaedrus folded over, seeming to cave in on himself. If he'd looked old and weak before, he now looked as ancient as a mummified corpse.

Nikias ground his teeth together, and threw a glance at the stairs. The sounds of battle grew louder with every second. The men of Black Salt may have been caught by surprise, but they had rallied to the fight.

"Listen to that," he said. "They don't know you convinced me. They're fighting for you. They're fighting to save your withered hide. They're dying to save you!"

Phaedrus looked stung, and new fire kindled in his eyes. His lips quivered, and then firmed into a thin line. He straightened his spine, and brushed off Nikias's hand. "This way," he said, and walked towards the stairs.

Nikias weighed the sword in his hand, and followed, watchful for danger from below. Phaedrus led him up the stairs, and into another hallway, similar to the last. He moved with evident purpose, but also with the short, shuffling steps of an old man. Nikias had to fight down the urge to hustle him along, and he couldn't stop glancing over his shoulder. He kept expecting his own guardsmen to rush up the stairs and confront him with raised swords. Men he had trained.

Men he knew like brothers.

Not one of them would understand what he was doing. He saw at once the futility of trying to explain it. If he faced them now, he didn't know what he would do. In their zeal to rescue him, they could cut down Phaedrus and a hundred men like him. He couldn't let that happen. The sword weighed heavy in his hand, and he asked his heart, can I fight my own men?

Can I kill my brothers?

He prayed to the goddess that he wouldn't have to find out.