25 Nidintulugal’s Quandry
NIDINTULUGAL WONDERED JUST HOW MANY MORE TESTS SHAmash was going to put him through. Clearly meeting Shilo that morning in the temple was the first test. Had he passed it by scurrying with her out into the city? And helping her escape from the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar and the guards?
Or had he failed that first test? And because of it, failed the rest?
Though Nidintulugal supported King Nebuchadnezzar and appreciated all the fine things he had brought to Babylon, the young priest was not especially fond of some of the king's representatives, including the Hand. So while it might have been a favorable thing to keep the girl out of the Hand's clutches, perhaps it had not been the right thing to take her from the Temple of Shamash that morning.
Maybe he should have sought the counsel of the elder priests. Maybe Shamash had wanted the girl turned over to them for safekeeping. Nidintulugal had been handed over to the temple as a child, having lost his parents to an illness.
Was Shilo to have shared the same destiny?
But Shilo had not been able to speak their tongue at the time, and so who knew what the elders would have decided to do with her. If he had turned her over, would she have discovered the dragon in the cave? Would she have learned of the demon threat?
She came from far away, that was certain. Her skin and hair and accent were like none he'd ever encountered. But just where exactly had she come from?
"Where are you from, Sigmund?" Nidintulugal had resisted asking Shilo that question before. In truth, though he'd wanted to know, he hadn't wanted to possess that knowledge. Priests of Shamash were utterly truthful, and if someone had asked him where the girl came from, he would have told them. Would that bit of knowledge have mattered?
Now, walking in the pitch-black inside the Hanging Gardens, the priest's curiosity finally won.
"Whatdya mean, Niddy?"
Nidintulugal had come to accept Shilo calling him "Nidin" once in a while, and almost found the shortened version of his name endearing. But he did not like "Niddy." Somehow it felt demeaning.
"I mean . . . Sigmund . . . from what land do you hail?" Nidintulugal kept his voice to a whisper. "Certainly not Babylonia."
Sigmund made a funny noise with his mouth, striking his tongue against his teeth. "1 probably shouldn't tell you where I'm from, not that you'd understand if I told you. But then I'd have to explain just how I got here, and why it should be impossible for me to be here, and then—"
"Never mind, Sigmund. It was wrong of me to ask."
The priest wondered what Shilo thought of his question, as following so close behind she would have heard. Sigmund and she came from the same land—he knew that much—as their accent was similar, and they shared the fair complexion and dusting of dots on their faces. The boy, Kim, looked nothing like them and certainly claimed a different homeland.
"Among other things, Shamash tests my patience." Nidin-tulugal wondered what lesson Shamash expected him to learn by helping the girl and now shepherding her and these two boys through midnight black tunnels.
"Shamash? Who's Shamash?"
"Never mind." Sigmund definitely was from very far away.
Was Nidintulugal to learn that it was folly to help foreigners?
Or was it good to help strangers—no matter how strange they were?
He was helping them to the best of his ability—and helping a dragon and perhaps all of mankind in the process. Was this what Shamash intended for him?
Was he to take that leap of faith and go against society's strictures? Risk the wrath of the city officials? Perhaps risk the wrath of the elder priests? He'd certainly gone against the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar, who was in charge of Babylon in the king's absence. He'd been going against the Hand every minute of each day since in Shilo's company.
Avoiding the guards, not returning to his temple, "borrowing" an ox and cart and a robe from the villagers in Ibinghal.
Maybe Shamash's test was to accomplish something important, putting himself last and risking his life. He was doing that, too—every effort had been for this mysterious girl, and now for the even more mysterious dragon.
Nidintulugal picked up the pace, shoving thoughts of the girl to the back of his mind. Concentrate on the eggs, he told himself, and pray to find a way into Shamash's light.
He didn't know that Shilo and Kim had found a side passage and taken it. He thought them still behind Sigmund. He wasn't listening for their footfalls; he was too focused on what might be ahead.
"Georgia." Sigmund said the word a little too loud for Ni-dintulugal's liking.
"What?"
"I'm from Georgia, Niddy." Sigmund wisely dropped his voice back to a whisper. "I figure I might as well come clean and tell you, since you're being so good to help us and the dragon and all, and because we might die here by stepping in some big pit since we can't see anything. I figure if we die, you knowing I'm from Georgia ain't gonna make a difference. And I figure if we don't die, you knowing about Georgia ain't gonna make a difference either."
"Georgia." Nidintulugal liked the sound of the word. "Does it sit to the south?"
Sigmund chuckled. "Yeah, it's in the south, but not to the south of here. It's in the United States of America, a place that won't exist for at least two thousand more years. It's all magic, Niddy. I don't know if you—"
"I understand the concept of magic, Sigmund." Nidintulugal emphasized the boy's name, hoping that the show of respect might get the boy to stop calling him Niddy. "The dragon—"
"The dragon that I didn't get to see, but you and Shilo saw?"
"Yes." Nidintulugal regretted bringing up the question, as he feared they were whispering too much and someone might notice them. Whispers sometimes carried far too well.
"I think Shilo's from Georgia, too. Sounds like it anyway. Maybe South Carolina. Kim—Kim Stevens—was originally from Hong Kong. You couldn't have heard of that place either.
It doesn't exist in this time. But then he moved to Kennesaw— Georgia. He doesn't live too far from me." Sigmund made the noise with his tongue and teeth again.
"Anyway, magic brought me here—across time and space— Kim, too. Neato-keeno, huh? Georgia's across an ocean, and in my time we have botanical gardens like this one, but I bet you cant climb around underneath em. Oh, and we don't have dragons. At least, I don't think we do anymore, Niddy."
"We had best be quiet, Siggy. Lest someone hear us." Ni-dintulugal initially dismissed the boy's words of Georgia as ramblings meant to tease him. But the more he thought about it, the more likely it was that the boy told some fashion of the truth. But the future . . . was it possible?
He'd not thought of dragons as real, but he'd seen one.
He'd not thought he'd ever make a significant difference in the world, but here he was, trying to do just that by this venture.
If magic was possible, he supposed it was possible these two boys and Shilo came from another place, as well as another time.
It wras all very difficult—practically impossible—to comprehend.
"Shamash," he whispered, the words so faint he knew Sigmund and the others could not hear, "have I lost my way? Do I continue this? Or do I retrace my steps and return to your temple? Have I gone mad?" "Nuts" was the word Shilo had used for it.
A part of him wished he were mad, as it would explain all the odd happenings, or wished he were sleeping somewhere and dreaming all of this. But even as he said it, he knew he was sane and awake. A pale light ahead ended his musings.
He reached behind himself and touched Sigmund.
"I see it, Niddy."
"Tell Shilo . . . quietly."
Nidintulugal took a step forward, and then another, pressing himself against the wall as he went. The light was steady, and so it came from a lantern on a table or hanging from a hook. He hoped no one was there; he wanted the opportunity to see Shilo and discuss what to do next. Find the eggs, certainly. Get the eggs and themselves out, if they could. But where . . .
&nbs
p; "Shilo's not there." In his surprise, Sigmund spoke too loud. "Kim's not there either."
"Hush," Nidintulugal warned. "Are you certain? They might be farther back. We might have walked too quickly."
"They're not behind us. Shilo's missing!"
"Shilo?" The word came from in front of the priest and Sigmund.
The light flared brighter, then was blotted out as a shape moved in front of it.
"Did I hear someone mention Shilo? That's the name of the girl I seek."
Nidintulugal recognized the voice.
It belonged to the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar.
"Move back, Sigmund." The priest spit the words out through clenched teeth. "Be quick." Nidintulugal pushed Sigmund to speed him. "Hurry."
"I can't see, Niddy. I can't—" Sigmund tripped, either on his own feet or because the priest pushed him too hard.
Nidintulugal bent and groped in the darkness, hands closing on the boy's robe and tugging him up. At the same time, the light flared brighter still and was accompanied by the hurried slap of sandals against the brick floor.
"Take them!"
Nidintulugal could not make out any of the details, just that there were four men; a fifth and larger one behind them carried the light.
"Take them quickly, I say!"
Nidintulugal and Sigmund were grabbed by strong hands and thrust up against the wall. Two men held each of them. The men were dressed uniformly, but not as guards. Each wore a coal gray skirt that hung to just below their knees. Their chests and heads had been shaved, and their muscles gleamed in the light from the lantern.
Nidintulugal could have struggled against his captors, possibly breaking free and thus able to run. But Sigmund wouldn't be able to get away, he could tell, and so the priest did not resist.
"Hand of Nebuchadnezzar," Nidintulugal said.
Arshaka nodded as he approached, carrying a lantern in his right hand and a cloth in his left. He was dressed more simply than usual: a long brown robe that brushed the ground, a long left sleeve, and a bare right arm. A swath of yellow cloth draped around his neck to add a little color. The Hand dabbed the cloth on his forehead and neck; he'd been sweating profusely, even though it was cooler inside the Gardens.
"You are the priest ..."
"Nidintulugal of Shamash."
"I saw you with the girl called Shilo in front of the Ishtar Gate a few days past. All I wanted was to talk to her, and you helped her run from me. I meant her no harm."
Nidintulugal smelled the man. His clothes stank of sweat and of a perfume he'd used to help cover that smell.
"How could you think that the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar meant to harm a child?"
The priest opened his mouth to offer a reply, then thought better of it.
"I only wanted to talk, priest of Shamash. Like I want to talk now. Where ... is ... she?"
In the lantern light Nidintulugal saw Arshaka's face redden. "Is she with you? Did you lose her in the darkness?"
"Yeah, she was with us."
Arshaka turned and dropped his gaze to the boy.
As quickly as it had turned red, the color drained from Arshaka's face. His jaw worked, but no words came out, and his eyes grew wide.
"The hood, push it back. Do it."
One of the men holding Sigmund released one hand, brushed aside the hood, then regained the grip. The boy struggled a little, and so the man squeezed the caught arm tighter.
"Hey, that's not necessary!" Sigmund snapped. "I didn't do nothin' wrong, honest, and . .
Arshaka coughed and wiped at his mouth with the cloth. "Sigmund?"
"Yeah, my name's Sigmund. What's it to you, huh?" Sigmund tried to act tough, but his lips quivered, and he tried one more time to pull out of the men's grips.
Arshaka stared at the boy, holding the cloth in front of his mouth now.
"What do I want done with them?" Arshaka mused aloud.
He kept staring, as if he were looking into Sigmund and measuring him. The lantern nearly slipped from his fingers, the light jumping and sending him into action.
He stepped close to Sigmund and brought his face within an inch of the boy's. He held the lantern close, too, so that the light and the heat were bothersome.
"Shilo, Sigmund. Where is she?"
Sigmund blinked furiously and wrinkled his nose. "Don't know " he said after a moment. "Haven't seen her since yesterday."
"You were talking about her, Sigmund. Calling to her maybe."
Nidintulugal watched the exchange, his hands forming fists and arm muscles working beneath the men's grips. He liked the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar even less now. Again he thought about lashing out and trying to escape. He could return to the temple and relate the entire story to the elder priests, convince them to come here and help find the dragon's eggs . . . but then Sigmund might be alone, unable to break free. And Nidintulugal could not leave the boy.
"I said I haven't seen her since yesterday. But, yeah, we were talking about her. She's kind of cute, for a girl. Pushy, though. I think she left the city. Said something about going home."
"To Georgia?"
Sigmund's eyes grew impossibly wide. "H-h-how do you know about Georgia?"
"And the good old U.S. of A.?"
Sigmund nodded. "How do you ..."
"The girl, Sigmund. Where is she?"
"You deaf?" Sigmund taunted. His tone was filled with false bravery. "I said I haven't seen her."
Arshaka stepped back from the boy and turned to Nidintulugal. "How about you, priest?"
Nidintulugal cocked his head, like he didn't know what Arshaka referred to.
"I heard you mention Shilo, too. Your voice is easy to distinguish. Where is she?"
"I do not know." It was the truth. Priests of Shamash only told the truth.
Arshaka shook his head. "You really don't know, do you?"
"No, Hand of Nebuchadnezzar. I really do not know."
Arshaka's eyes narrowed, and he used the cloth to again wipe his forehead. "When and where did you last see her, priest?" Arshaka smiled. "Ever truthful priest of Shamash."
Nidintulugal swallowed hard and met Arshaka's gaze. "I last saw her yesterday, Hand of Nebuchadnezzar. In the courtyard before the Ishtar Gate. It was exactly as Sigmund says. She mentioned something about going home."
The priest felt his heart seize, and he struggled to keep from gasping and showing an outward sign of his lie. He'd never lied before—not that he could remember. Perhaps in his first years of life, before he'd been taken in by the Temple of Shamash. But not since then.
Never since then.
It was clear that the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar believed him. The Hand knew that priests of Shamash did not lie.
And so Nidintulugal had kept Shilo safe. But he'd damned himself and just failed the greatest test Shamash had put before him.
"It was before sunset," Nidintulugal added, continuing the falsehood. "I've not seen her since."
"Pity," Arshaka said. "I was looking forward to chatting with her."
26 Deep Trouble
WE RE IN TROUBLE, AIN T WE? KIM TUGGED ON SHILO S ROBE.
"Deep trouble."
"Deep pucky," Shilo said. It was an expression she'd remembered her father using. "Very deep pucky."
"Pucky," Kim repeated.
The man holding the lantern stared at her, his gaze flitting from her right arm, where the nut dye was running, to her face, squinting and perhaps seeing more dye running. It was clear he didn't know what to make of her, or the boy who poked his head out to better see what was going on.
"Skin condition," Shilo repeated. "I told you I've a problem. Uhm, I'm sick. So you don't want to get too close to me. It could be contagious. Your skin could get all runny, too. Just show us the way out of here." But I don't want to get out of here, she thought. I need to find Nidin and Sigmund and VI-banu's eggs. She was desperately worried about Sigmund. But she didn't know what else to say to the man.
"Shilo, you stink at bluffing," Kim whispered.
The man stood indecisive one moment more, then reached out again with his free hand, not in the beckoning gesture he'd used before, but trying to grab her.
Shilo jumped back, bumping into Kim and sending him to the floor. He cursed at her in a language she guessed was Chinese-—she understood each word and was amazed an eleven-year-old would know such atrocious phrases. She nearly fell, too, but she caught herself on the wall, scraping her bare arm in the process.
"Ouch. We don't mean any trouble," Shilo said, "just show us how to get out of here. That's all we need." Just to get out. And then back in another way after dark.
"I think I need to take you to Juvaii," the man said. "He will know what to do. Come here." He reached forward again, and this time Shilo darted under the sweep of his arm and spun around behind him.
"Don't touch me. I'm contagious," she tried again.
He turned, too, and the play of the light from the lantern in his hand sent shadows skittering across the floor and wall. The light struck the glazed images of animals, and it looked like some of them were moving. Shilo knew it was a trick of the light, but the man saw it, and it held his gaze for one moment too long.
Shilo reached out with both hands and grabbed the lantern. She yanked hard and pulled it from his fingers. She ducked below the swing of his left arm. His fist was balled, and she heard the air whoosh around it. She knew that if it had connected it would have hurt. She crouched and set the lantern on the ground, then leapt up and to her right, again narrowly avoiding a swing.
He lunged at her now, arms wide and intending to scoop her in, eyes flaring with anger. "You're the one the Hand wants. I know it! I've heard the whispers about you."
He would have grabbed her, but she fell backward, unexpectedly pulled off her feet when Kim yanked on the back of her robe.
She hit hard, the air rushing from her lungs, and a flash of pain racing up her spine.
Kim slid past her and drove his hand into the man's stomach, raised a leg and kicked at his knee.
Keeping his leg up and bent, Kim kicked at the man again and again, Shilo hearing a snap and a groan of pain. Kim had broken the man's leg. He fell, and Kim plastered himself against the wall. Shilo managed to skitter back just in time. The man sagged first to his knees, crying out when he landed on the broken one, then pitched forward and started groaning.