The desert wind carried the stench before the cloth was lifted.
Nephtides na Neidos worked with practiced calm. From Ganima he took a strip of red wool, smiling faintly as he packed it into his nostrils. From a small, costly vial he let a single drop of mint-and-tospit oil soak into the wool. Only then did he draw his dagger.
Steel whispered.
With a steady hand he lifted the cloth from the dead man’s face.
Crassus Tace leaned closer, eyes narrowing.
“There,” he said quietly. “Beneath the ribs. That cut. Is it… flesh? Or an incision?”
Nephtides said nothing. He placed the needle-fine tip of his damascene dagger against the wound and gently pried it open.
“Ganima. The pincer.”
She placed it into his waiting hand and turned away, one hand covering her mouth.
The cut released a foul gas, thick and rotting. Nephtides waved the air aside sharply and reached inside. When he withdrew his hand, he held a small vial slick with corruption.
Crassus stared. “A vial? By the Sardar…”
Even the kaiila nearby flattened their ears and turned their heads.
“Nothing on the front,” Nephtides muttered after finishing his inspection. “Still intact. No Beni Saqab work.” He had the body rolled over. The back was worse—blackened blood pooled beneath failing tissue. “Burn him quickly. Even vultures shouldn’t eat this.”
Crassus took the vial, turning it slowly between his fingers.
“Have you ever had trouble with the Kur, Nephtides? Or with a man named Tyr Connel?”
The question hung heavy.
Nephtides snorted. “A few disagreements. The Kur and I rarely see eye to eye.”
Crassus swallowed. “If this is what I think it is… this is a Kur weapon. A chemical agent. Designed to counteract the serum Earth-born barbarians take.”
Understanding dawned slowly, terribly.
“If I drank this,” Crassus continued, voice low, “within twenty ahn you would see a man of nearly a hundred years standing before you. All at once.”
Silence followed.
“So,” Nephtides said carefully, “it is lethal to aged Earth-born slaves. Or freed ones.”
“Yes,” Crassus replied. “And this is their message. Tyr and I didn’t destroy all of it.”
Anger flashed across his face. “Damn it.”
Nephtides crossed his arms, gaze hard.
“Then we prepare. The Good Kings do not place this many agents and riches in one oasis for nothing.”
Crassus nodded grimly. “You will have trouble again. With the Kur. And with my former colleague.”
At last, the truth came spilling out—of stolen ships from Earth, of wives taken by slavers, of Kur plots to poison the waters of Ar itself. Of Eva, his companion, unknowingly fitted with a Priest King implant and made Ubara of a hidden city. Of Tyr, condemned to slavery, escaped, and now hunting blood.
“You tried to remove the implant,” Nephtides said slowly. “While she lived.”
“Yes,” Crassus snapped. “I would not let her remain a puppet. She would be free—or die.”
Nephtides’ eyes darkened.
“You may have created something far worse.”
The desert seemed to lean closer.
At length, Nephtides held out his hand.
“Give me the vial. My specialists will examine it. And you will write down everything you remember. Every detail.”
Crassus released it without hesitation. “Activation is through the lymphic system. One of the Black Caste knows of this—an assassin named Crow. He may still oppose the Kur.”
Nephtides took the vial using his caste-colored shawl, never touching it directly.
“This goes to the physicians,” he said. “And you—dispose of the body. Two dunes south. Over the gray drop. Let the desert finish it.”
Crassus laughed quietly. “I wish you well, Nephtides.”
“May you always have water,” Nephtides replied.
Later, as the sun bled into the dunes, a strange, fat desert bird landed at Nephtides’ feet. Its belly opened with a hiss, cold vapor spilling from within. The vial vanished into its cryostasis chamber.
“Only to be opened by Arcady physicians,” Nephtides ordered.
The mechanical bird flapped skyward, clumsy but determined, disappearing beyond the dunes.
Nephtides watched it go, then turned to his slaves, leashes in hand.
“That man,” he growled softly, “is a dangerous psychopath.”
The sands whispered agreement.