The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,13

to her side, pulling her to her feet as she crushed the hand holding her ankle with the hilt of the sword. She twisted free and swung the sword. “You killed her!”

He jumped back to avoid the blade. “You were going to go over to her!” The ghouls moaned, and he snatched back the sword before grabbing Nahri’s hand. “There’s no time to argue. Come on!”

They raced down the nearest lane as the ground shook. One of the tombs burst open, and two corpses flung themselves at Nahri. Afshin’s sword flashed, sending their heads tumbling.

He pulled her into a narrow alley. “We need to get out of here. The ghouls likely can’t leave the burial ground.”

“Likely? You mean there’s a chance these things might get out and start feasting on everyone in Cairo?”

He looked thoughtful. “That would provide a distraction . . .” Perhaps noticing her horror, he quickly changed the subject. “Either way, we need to leave.”

“I . . .” She glanced around, but they were deep in the cemetery. “I don’t know how.”

He sighed. “Then we’ll need to make our own exit.” He jerked his head at the surrounding mausoleums. “Do you think I can find a rug in any of these buildings?”

“A rug? How is a rug going to help us?”

The headstones near them shuddered. He made a hushing noise. “Be quiet,” he whispered. “You’ll wake up more.”

She swallowed hard, ready to throw her lot in with this Afshin if it was the best way to avoid becoming a meal for the dead. “What do you need me to do?”

“Find a rug, a tapestry, curtains—something fabric and big enough for us both.”

“But why—”

He cut her off, motioning with one finger toward the ghastly sounds coming from the opposite alley. “No more questions.”

She studied the tombs. A broom rested outside one, and its wooden window screens looked new. It was large, probably the kind that held a small room for visitors. “Let’s try that one.”

They crept down the alley. She tried the door, but it didn’t budge.

“It’s locked,” she said. “Give me one of your daggers, I’ll pick it.”

He raised his palm. The door burst inward, wooden splinters spraying the ground. “Go, I’ll guard the entrance.”

Nahri glanced back. The noise had already drawn attention; a group of ghouls rushed in their direction. “Are they getting . . . faster?”

“The curse takes time to warm up.”

She blanched. “You can’t possibly kill them all.”

He gave her a shove. “Then hurry!”

She scowled but hastily clambered over the ruined door. The tomb was even darker than the alley, the only illumination coming from the moonlight that pierced the carved screens and threw elaborate designs on the floor.

Nahri let her eyes adjust. Her heart raced. It’s just like casing a house. You’ve done this a hundred times. She knelt to run her hands over the contents of an open crate on the ground. Inside was a dusty pot and several cups, stacked neatly inside each other, awaiting thirsty visitors. She moved forward. If the tomb was set up for guests, there would be a place to visit. And if God was kind and the family of this particular deceased respectable, they would have carpets there.

She moved farther inside, keeping one hand on the wall to orient herself as she tried to guess how the space was laid out. Nahri had never been inside a tomb before; no one she knew would want someone like her anywhere near their ancestors’ bones.

The guttural cry of a ghoul pierced the air, rapidly followed by a heavy thump against the outer wall. Moving more quickly, she peered into the darkness, making out two separate rooms. The first had four heavy sarcophagi crammed inside, but the next looked like it contained a tiny sitting area. Something was rolled up in one dark corner. She hurried over and touched it: a carpet. Thank the Most High.

The rolled carpet was longer than she was, and heavy. Nahri dragged it through the tomb but had gotten only halfway when a soft noise drew her attention. She glanced up, catching a mouthful of sandy dust as it blew past her face. More sand swept past her feet, as if it was being sucked from the tomb.

It had grown eerily quiet. A little worried, Nahri dropped the carpet and peered through one of the window screens.

The smell of rot and decay nearly overwhelmed her, but she caught sight of Afshin, standing alone among a pile of bodies. His bow was gone; in one