The Lost Desert Files

    The Zafara Double Agent was having breakfast when a palace guard ruined it.

    This was not unusual.

    The breakfast part was unusual.

    The palace guard part was not.

    She had just sat down outside a small bakery in Sakhmet. The bread was warm. The tea was hot. For once, nothing was on fire.

    Then the guard showed up.

    "King Jazan wants to see you."

    The Zafara closed her eyes.

    "Good morning to you too."

    The guard looked sorry.

    "It sounds important."

    "They always sound important."

    "Well..."

    He looked at the bread.

    "The archives were robbed."

    The Zafara opened one eye.

    "Oh."

    Then she stood up.

    "Now it sounds important."

    The royal archives were full of boxes.

    Boxes on shelves.

    Boxes on tables.

    Boxes under tables.

    Boxes that looked like they had been placed there years ago and then forgotten by everyone.

    The Zafara had always thought the archives were secretly made of boxes.

    King Jazan stood near a long table.

    Nabile was there too.

    Neither of them looked happy.

    "Morning," said the Zafara.

    "It is not," said Jazan.

    "Fair."

    Nabile handed her a list.

    The Zafara looked at it.

    Then she looked at Jazan.

    Then she looked at the list again.

    "They stole paperwork?"

    "Important paperwork," said Jazan.

    "It is still paperwork."

    Nabile folded her arms.

    "You sound disappointed."

    "I was expecting cursed gold."

    "No."

    "Old weapons?"

    "No."

    "A statue that screams?"

    Jazan pointed at her at once.

    "We are not talking about the statue."

    Nabile turned to him.

    "What statue?"

    "No statue," said Jazan.

    "It screamed for two days," said the Zafara.

    "It was one and a half."

    "It felt like four."

    Nabile looked between them.

    "I am going to ask about that later."

    "Please don't," said Jazan.

    The Zafara looked back at the list.

    Her smile went away.

    "These are all from before Razul fell."

    The room got quiet.

    Nabile looked at Jazan.

    Jazan looked at the table.

    The table did not help.

    "Well," said Nabile. "That's not good."

    "No," said the Zafara. "It's not."

    She read the list again.

    Travel papers.

    Old guard reports.

    Letters.

    Copies of messages from Sakhmet and Qasala.

    Nothing shiny.

    Nothing easy to sell.

    Nothing normal thieves would want.

    "That is boring," said the Zafara.

    "Yes," said Jazan.

    "That makes it worse."

    Nabile frowned.

    "Why?"

    "Because no one steals boring things unless they know the boring thing is not boring."

    Jazan sighed.

    "I understood that. I wish I had not."

    The Zafara walked around the table.

    Some boxes had been thrown open.

    Some papers were on the floor.

    One scroll had rolled under a chair.

    It looked messy.

    Too messy.

    She crouched and looked under the chair.

    "Someone wanted this to look rushed."

    Nabile came closer.

    "Was it not rushed?"

    "No."

    "How do you know?"

    The Zafara picked up the scroll under the chair.

    "This was placed here."

    Jazan stared.

    "It is under a chair."

    "Yes."

    "That is your proof?"

    "No. My proof is that it is the only scroll under a chair."

    Nabile looked around.

    "Oh. That is weird."

    "Very weird," said the Zafara. "If someone makes a mess, the mess is messy everywhere. This is messy in places."

    Jazan rubbed his forehead.

    "I hate spy things."

    "I know," said the Zafara.

    "Did Razul's people do this?"

    "I don't know."

    "That is not helpful."

    "I know that too."

    She looked at the lock on the archive door.

    No marks.

    No scratches.

    No broken metal.

    "Key?"

    "One night guard lost his," said Nabile.

    "Lost?"

    "Got hit on the head and woke up in a storage room."

    "Oh. That kind of lost."

    "He is fine," said Jazan. "Very angry. Mostly because someone stole his boots."

    The Zafara paused.

    "His boots?"

    "Yes."

    "Why?"

    "No idea."

    The Zafara looked toward the door.

    "I hate this already."

    They questioned the guards one by one.

    The first guard had seen nothing.

    The second guard had heard a noise, but thought it was a Petpet.

    "What kind of Petpet?" asked Nabile.

    "I don't know, my lady."

    "You heard a mystery Petpet in the royal archives and did not check?"

    The guard looked embarrassed.

    "It was a very small noise."

    The Zafara looked at him.

    "Small crimes are still crimes."

    "Yes, ma'am."

    The third guard had seen a palace worker carrying a red scroll case.

    The Zafara stopped.

    "Red?"

    "Yes, ma'am."

    "Dark red?"

    "Yes."

    Nabile looked at her.

    "That means something."

    "It might."

    "That means yes."

    The Zafara gave her a look.

    Nabile gave her a look back.

    The guard looked at both of them and seemed to want to become part of the wall.

    "Where did the palace worker go?" asked Jazan.

    "East gate," said the guard. "I thought they were allowed."

    "Did you see their face?"

    "No. Scarf."

    "Height?"

    "Normal."

    The Zafara sighed.

    "That is never useful."

    "Sorry, ma'am."

    "Were they wearing boots?"

    The guard blinked.

    "Boots?"

    "Yes."

    "Uh. Yes?"

    "Palace guard boots?"

    He thought about it.

    Then his face went pale.

    "Yes."

    The Zafara turned to Jazan.

    "Found your boots."

    Jazan looked very tired.

    "I would like one normal crime."

    "You live in the Lost Desert," said Nabile. "That seems unlikely."

    The Zafara searched the archive again.

    This time she moved slower.

    She looked at the table.

    She looked at the floor.

    She looked at the boxes.

    Then she found it.

    A small piece of black thread, stuck between two wooden boxes.

    She picked it up.

    "Oh."

    Nabile came over.

    "What?"

    "Oh no."

    Jazan came over too.

    "What?"

    "Oh no no."

    Nabile frowned.

    "That is not an answer."

    The Zafara held up the thread.

    "It is thread," said Jazan.

    "Yes."

    "Is it magic thread?"

    "No."

    "Is it cursed thread?"

    "Not that I know."

    "Then why do you look like that?"

    The Zafara turned the thread in her paw.

    "Razul's agents used signs. Small signs. Thread. Marks in sand. Scratches on stone. Things no one else would notice."

    Nabile's face changed.

    "And this one?"

    The Zafara looked at the thread.

    "It means the real message is somewhere else."

    Jazan stared at the little thread.

    "I hate it."

    "Me too."

    "Did you use these signs?"

    The Zafara paused.

    "Yes."

    Nabile did not say anything.

    That was nice of her.

    Jazan looked at the missing records list again.

    "So someone using Razul's old signs stole records about Razul."

    "Yes," said the Zafara.

    "And wore a guard's boots."

    "Yes."

    "And left us a clue."

    "Yes."

    Jazan looked at the ceiling.

    "I miss boring paperwork."

         By noon, they were in Sakhmet.

    The city was loud and hot and full of people selling things to other people.

    Nabile asked questions.

    The Zafara listened.

    This was a good plan.

    People liked Nabile.

    People did not always like the Zafara.

    A fruit seller had seen someone with a red scroll case.

    A potter had seen someone in a palace cloak.

    A bread seller had seen the same person bump into his stall and not say sorry.

    The Zafara bought bread from him.

    Nabile stared at her.

    "Are you eating during the investigation?"

    "I lost my breakfast."

    "You did not lose it. You left it."

    "It was taken from me by events."

    "That is not a thing."

    "It is now."

    The bread seller pointed east.

    "They went that way," he said. "Fast too. Nearly knocked over my honey cakes."

    The Zafara stopped eating.

    "Did they touch the honey cakes?"

    "No."

    "Good."

    Nabile shook her head.

    They reached the eastern gate a short time later.

    Near the place where caravan animals were tied, another black thread hung from a post.

    The Zafara stared at it.

    Nabile stared at it too.

    Then Nabile said, "I am starting to dislike thread."

    "Good. You are learning."

    "What does this one mean?"

    "Continue."

    "To where?"

    The Zafara looked outside the city.

    Beyond the wall was sand.

    A lot of sand.

    The Lost Desert was very good at being sand.

    "There is an old safehouse out there," she said.

    "One of Razul's?"

    "Yes."

    "Do you know where it is?"

    "Yes."

    Nabile waited.

    The Zafara added, "Mostly."

    "Mostly?"

    "It has been a while."

    "How long?"

    "Long enough that I hoped I would never go back."

    Nabile nodded slowly.

    "That is not a good answer."

    "It is the answer we have."

    The safehouse looked terrible.

    Nabile stopped walking.

    "This is it?"

    "Yes."

    "This is the safehouse?"

    "Yes."

    Nabile looked at it again.

    Half the roof was gone.

    One wall was cracked.

    Sand was everywhere.

    "You worked here?"

    "Sometimes."

    "Voluntarily?"

    The Zafara thought about it.

    "That is a complicated question."

    "I will take that as a no."

    They walked inside.

    There was even more sand inside.

    Nabile looked down.

    Then she looked around.

    Then she looked down again.

    "How is there more sand in here than outside?"

    "Experience."

    "That is not an answer."

    "It is if you stop asking questions."

    Nabile ignored that.

    There was a broken chair in one corner.

    Or maybe half a chair.

    The Zafara was not sure.

    The chair was not helping.

    Neither was the room.

    "This place is awful," said Nabile.

    "Yes."

    "You spent time here."

    "Unfortunately."

    "You could have picked a better safehouse."

    "I did not get to pick."

    "Who did?"

    "Razul."

    Nabile nodded.

    "That explains a lot."

    The Zafara could not even argue with that.

    She walked toward the back wall.

    Something looked wrong.

    Which was saying something, because everything looked wrong.

    Most of the floor was covered in sand.

    One part was not.

    Someone had cleared it recently.

    "That is new," said the Zafara.

    Nabile walked over.

    "How new?"

    The Zafara knelt down.

    She looked at the footprints.

    Then she looked again.

    Then one more time.

    "I don't know."

    Nabile blinked.

    "You don't know?"

    "No."

    "I thought you were good at this."

    "I am."

    "Then why don't you know?"

    The Zafara pointed at the footprints.

    "Because they are annoying."

    Nabile looked.

    "Oh."

    "See?"

    "Yes. Those are annoying."

    There were footprints.

    Maybe one person.

    Maybe two.

    The sand was not helping.

    The sand never helped.

    The Zafara stood up.

    Something on the wall caught her eye.

    Words.

    Someone had scratched words into the stone.

    Nabile read them first.

    "The debt remains unpaid."

    They both stared at the wall.

    Then Nabile looked at the Zafara.

    The Zafara looked at Nabile.

    Then both of them looked at the wall again.

    "Do you know what that means?" asked Nabile.

    "No."

    "Really?"

    "Really."

    "I was hoping you knew."

    "I was hoping I knew too."

    "That is unfortunate."

    "Very."

    The Zafara stepped closer.

    There was a loose stone near the message.

    That was not new.

    She remembered that stone.

    She wished she did not.

         "Oh no."

    Nabile looked up.

    "What?"

    "Oh no."

    "What?"

     The Zafara grabbed the stone and pulled.

    A small space was hidden behind it.

    There was a scroll inside.

    Nabile groaned.

    "Oh come on."

    "Yeah."

    "You know what that is."

    "Yeah."

    "I know what that is."

    "Yeah."

    Neither of them looked happy.

    The scroll was sealed with black wax.

    A scarab was stamped into the wax.

    Nabile pointed at it.

    "That is bad."

    "Very."

    "You still have not told me what the thread means."

    "I know."

    "And?"

    "I was hoping it meant something else."

    "Did it?"

    "No."

    "That is unfortunate."

    "Very."

    The Zafara broke the seal.

    She opened the note.

    She read it.

    Then she read it again.

    Then she handed it to Nabile.

    Nabile read it.

    Then she sighed.

    Then she read it again.

    You wore his shadow once.

     Now follow it again.

     Bring the stolen records to the place where Sakhmet first lied.

     Come alone.

    "Well," said Nabile.

    "Yeah."

    "That is a trap."

    "Yeah."

    "We are not doing that."

    "Probably not."

    "Probably?"

    The Zafara looked at the note.

    Then at the wall.

    Then at the note again.

    "I hate spy stuff."

    Nabile stared at her.

    "You are spy stuff."

    "I know."

    "I just wanted to make sure we were both aware of that."

    The Zafara rolled the scroll back up.

    "I need to tell Jazan."

    "Good."

    "And Tomos."

    Nabile blinked.

    "Tomos?"

    "He knows old routes outside Sakhmet."

    "He also asks many questions."

    "So do you."

    "Yes, but my questions are useful."

    The Zafara looked at her.

    Nabile shrugged.

    "Usually useful."

    They left the safehouse as the sun started to sink.

    Sakhmet was bright in the distance.

    The Zafara still had sand in her boots.

    She was sure she had sand in places sand should not be.

    Nabile walked beside her.

    "So," said Nabile. "What now?"

    The Zafara looked back at the safehouse.

    "Now we find out which of Razul's spies forgot to stay gone."

    Nabile nodded.

    Then she pointed at the road.

    "And after that?"

    The Zafara started walking.

     "After that," she said, "I am getting another breakfast."

    "Again?"

    "Yes."

    "It is almost dinner."

    "I know what I said."

    To be continued…