A steady westerly wind sped the Halcyon on its way and Taziri landed in a grassy field just outside Nahiz a little more than an hour after leaving Port Chellah. Kenan had lingered by the windows, staring down at the murky lane of the canal and the rustling tree tops, peering intently at the ferry as they passed over it. If he had seen anything, he did not mention it. The rest of the flight had been quiet.
Taziri shut down the engines and helped Ghanima lash the airship to a pair of old oak trees at the edge of the field. Kenan hovered in the open hatchway as Evander stumbled out onto the grass, groaning as he stretched his back.
“I guess I need to stay here and watch Hamuy,” Kenan said.
“I guess.” Taziri glanced up the road at the little village around the ferry landing. “It’ll be another few hours before the ship gets here. Is there anything we can do now?”
“Probably not.” He shrugged. “Sort of a hurry-up-and-wait situation. Happens all the time in police work. You can go get something to eat or get some rest.”
Taziri trudged over to him, her hands in her pockets. “Look, marshal, I realize we’re dealing with some very dangerous people, and I’m happy to help out, but I’m a pilot and I have my own responsibilities back home. I’d like to wrap this up as soon as possible. It’s been a long night and a long morning, and I’ve had enough excitement for this year. So is there anything you can do to help get me out of here?”
Kenan shook his head. “Nope. The major is on the ferry with the ambassador. The ferry is slow. We wait.” His face tensed slightly and he nodded toward the village. “Go get some lunch.”
For a minute, she wondered if she had the authority to throw him and his prisoner off her airship and just leave them. I need to deal with that doctor in Arafez. And Isoke needs me. Yuba and Menna need me. These Redcoats are just using me for a free ride and wasting my time. “Come on, Ghanima, let’s go get some food.”
The village of Nahiz had once overlooked the banks of the Bou Regreg River from a hillside several hundred yards away, but after the engineers and masons and dredges had done their work, the village found itself poised on the very edge of the Zemmour Canal. The fishermen had adapted readily enough, finding the stone lip of the canal walls more comfortable seating than the rocks along the old shore and installing makeshift ladders to help unfortunate or clumsy souls back up out of the water. A shaky rope bridge had been suspended between two wooden towers across the canal in the village itself, while a broad stone and iron bridge arched above the canal just south of town. The new landing and ticket office brought a steady flow of workers and peddlers through the village, some heading west for the wealth and promise of the big city, others fleeing east back to their family homes, their reasons and stories rarely offered to strangers.
As they entered Nahiz, Taziri strolled past the landing and confirmed that the ferry wasn’t expected for at least another two hours, and then they wandered up past the waiting horses and stage coaches to the long stone inn across the hillside where the smell of freshly brewed tea and crushed mint spilled out of the open windows. The innkeeper had a tajine simmering, and so they passed a quiet hour savoring lamb stewed with apricots, raisins, and honey dusted with turmeric, ginger, and saffron. They spoke little, and only to compliment the food or praise the bright clear skies above the dark canal.
Afterward, they sat outside with their tea and watched the hustle and bustle of Nahiz on a warm spring afternoon. At first, the stillness of the empty streets was disquieting. Then a single fisherman trudged up the road past them. A few minutes later the same man trudged back down past them to the canal.
“Is your hand all right?”
Taziri glanced down, unaware that she had been rubbing her numb fingers. Her wrist had felt shaky during lunch just trying to hold a glass. She slipped her hand into her pocket and said, “I’m sure it’s fine. I think something fell on my arm in the fire.”
Ghanima nodded. “You seem really eager to get home. Family?”
“My husband and daughter. You?”
“Just my sister. My twin, actually,” Ghanima said. “I’m a little worried. I don’t know what she knows yet about the Crake. I don’t want her to worry about me if someone reports the wreck.”
Taziri nodded. “As soon as we get to a town with a telegraph office, we’ll let the brass know where we are and what’s going on.”
“Okay.”
The small talk droned on for the next two hours as the sun inched lower in the sky and the fishermen sauntered up and down the lane in ones and twos, sometimes with a few perch, trout, or eels on a string. Finally, a soft toot in the distance announced the arrival of the ferry and the two pilots shuffled down to the landing to wait. When the steamer pulled in and the gangway was dragged into place, the passengers streamed off with bags and children in tow. A considerable crowd began to form along the canal-side road, but after resituating their belongings and waiting for their companions, the travelers quickly dispersed either into the village or down to the main road and the stone bridge.
Taziri and Ghanima studied every face and figure that passed them, and when the flow of passengers thinned out and finally stopped, they caught the attention of one of the deckhands to ask if there was anyone else left. The young man shrugged and invited them to look around, so they stepped aboard and made a quick circuit of the outer deck and the inner cabin and even tugged at the locked storage bins, but ultimately they were shooed off as the crew got ready to close up for an hour so the boiler could be refilled and the deckhands could get a quick meal.
“Were we wrong?” Ghanima asked. “Maybe those men at the pier lied. Maybe the major and the ambassador never got on the ferry at all.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they got off somewhere else.” Taziri jogged after the last deckhand. “Excuse me! I just wanted to ask a quick question. Did you notice a large man in a red coat with an older woman in a gold jacket?”
The boatman raised a tired eyebrow. “A what? I don’t know.”
“They were supposed to take the ferry in from Port Chellah to meet us here,” Taziri said, forcing a pleasant smile. “But they weren’t on board. Maybe they got off at one of the locks?”
The boatman sighed and appeared to actually give the matter a moment’s thought. “Maybe. I don’t remember a guy in a red coat, but I think an old lady got off at the second lock. I didn’t notice what she was wearing.”
“Oh hey.” A second deckhand, farther up the street, turned to call down to them. “I know who you mean. Yeah, I saw her get off. Second lock, just like he said. Silver hair, right? Black and gold jacket, green dress. I helped her off the gangway.”
“Oh really?” Taziri forced herself to keep smiling. “That’s funny. Did she mention where she was going?”
“Nah, but there’s only the one path over the ridge from there, up to the highway to Khemisset. It’s a long walk, unless she managed to catch the two-thirty stage coach from Chellah to Khem.” The deckhand shrugged. “Course, if she was going to do that, why the hell did she get on the ferry in the first place?”
The two men joined their comrades in the inn, leaving Taziri and Ghanima to exchange confused looks.
“Now what?” Ghanima asked.
Taziri said, “Chaou got off, but the major didn’t. I guess we have to trust that the major is still following her. The only alternative is that he’s lost or dead.”
“Dead? Him? That seems pretty unlikely.”
They began walking back toward the field where the Halcyon waited. Taziri said, “I think we need to stop playing cat-and-mouse with the ambassador. We’re just wasting time now. We’ll go to Arafez so Kenan can turn Hamuy over to the marshals and organize a proper search party.”
“What about the Espani doctor?” Ghanima glanced at her. “Are you turning that over to the marshals too?”
Taziri wiggled her numb fingers. “No. That’s something I have to see to myself.”
“It’s not your fault, you know,” Ghanima said. “Other people took your idea and did bad things with it. That makes them the bad guys, not you.”
“Yeah, I know but…after all those other articles shot down my battery design, I decided to put my notes in the university archive anyway. I figured that someone else might want to see my work. Maybe they could come up with something better.” Taziri squeezed her left hand into a fist. “And I wanted the copy fees. It’s only ten percent, but it’s better than nothing. I had this fantasy that hundreds of other students would buy the copies and fix my battery design and I’d make enough to buy a bigger house.” She shook her head. “I was so stupid. Only one person ever bought the notes. I guess now we know who.”
Ghanima shrugged. “It’s still not your fault that bad people are doing bad things. You need to get over it.”
Taziri nodded to herself. “I’ll try.”