The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,92

worry. “What happened? Are you all right?”

She pushed herself upright and rubbed her head, dislodging her shawl and wiping away the sweat that sheened her face. “I’m fine,” she mumbled.

One of the Ayaanle merchants rose as well. Upon seeing her uncovered face, he averted his golden eyes. “Is your lady ill, brother? We have some food and water . . .”

“She’s not your concern,” Dara snapped.

The trader flinched like he’d been slapped and abruptly sat back down with his fellows.

Nahri was shocked by Dara’s rudeness. “What’s wrong with you? He was just trying to help.” She let her voice rise, half-hoping the Ayaanle could hear her embarrassment. She pushed away Dara’s hand as he tried to help her to her feet, and then nearly fell over again as an enormous walled city loomed before them, so large it blotted out most of the sky and entirely covered the rocky island upon which it sat.

The walls alone would have dwarfed the Pyramids, and the only buildings she could see in the distance were tall enough to peek over them: a dizzying variety of slender minarets, egg-shaped temples with sloping green roofs, and squat brick buildings draped in intricate white stonework resembling lace. The wall itself shone brilliantly in the bright sun, the light glistening off the golden surface like . . .

“Brass,” she whispered. The massive wall was entirely built of brass, polished to perfection.

She wordlessly walked to the edge of the boat. Dara followed. “Yes,” he said. “The brass better holds the enchantments used to build the city.”

Nahri’s eyes roamed the wall. They were approaching a port of stone piers and docks that looked large enough to hold both the Frankish and Ottoman fleets. A large, perfectly cut stone roof sheltered much of the area, held up by enormous columns.

As the boat pushed closer, she noticed figures skillfully carved into the wall’s brass surface, dozens of men and women dressed in an ancient style she couldn’t identify, with flat caps covering their curly hair. Some were standing and pointing, holding unfurled scrolls and weighted scales. Others simply sat with open palms, their veiled faces serene.

“My God,” she whispered. Her eyes widened as they grew closer; brass statues of the same figures towered over the boat.

A grin like Nahri had never before seen lit Dara’s face as he gazed upon the city. His cheeks flushed with excitement, and when he glanced down at her, his eyes were so bright she could barely meet his gaze.

“Your ancestors, Banu Nahida,” he said, gesturing to the statues. He pressed his hands together and bowed. “Welcome to Daevabad.”

14

Ali

Ali slammed the stack of papers back on his desk, nearly knocking over his teacup. “These reports are lies, Abu Zebala. You are the city’s sanitation inspector. Explain to me why the Daeva Quarter all but sparkles while a man in the Sahrayn district was crushed the other day by a collapsing pile of garbage.”

The Geziri official standing before him offered an obsequious smile. “Cousin . . .”

“I am not your cousin.” Not technically true, but sharing a great-great-grandfather with the king had gotten Abu Zebala his position. It wasn’t going to let him squirm out of answering the question.

“Prince,” Abu Zebala graciously corrected. “I am investigating the incident. It was a young boy—he should not have been playing in the trash. Truly, I blame his parents for not—”

“He was two hundred and eighty-one, you fool.”

“Ah.” Abu Zebala blinked. “Was he then?” He swallowed, and Ali watched him calculate his next lie. “Either way . . . the idea of equally distributing sanitation services among the tribes is outdated.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Abu Zebala pressed his hands together. “The Daevas greatly value cleanliness. Their whole fire cult is about purity, no? But the Sahrayn?” The other djinn shook his head, looking disappointed. “Come now. Everyone knows those western barbarians would happily stew in their own filth. If cleanliness is important enough to the Daevas that they’re willing to put a price on it . . . who am I to deny them?”

Ali narrowed his eyes as he untwisted Abu Zebala’s words. “Did you just admit to being bribed?”

The other man didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “I would not say bribed . . .”

“Enough.” Ali shoved the records back at him. “Correct this. Each quarter gets the same standard of trash removal and street sweeping. If it’s not done by the end of the week, I’ll have you sacked and sent back to Am Gezira.”

Abu Zebala started