Part 60 (2/2)

Soft, soft laughter. ”They belong to me now. To us. To the sisters of the desert wind, to the lilitu. They shed blood in our streets, on our ground.Your men are ours by right. Body and soul, flesh and blood. And we will use them. Oh yes.You say that they are soldiers come to fight? Then fight they will.They will be our knights, our champions.”

”No. It's not fair. It's those Taliban f.u.c.ks who are your enemy. If anyone's stealing your stuff, it's them. My men killed them.They're heroes.”

”They will be heroes. Our heroes.”

”No.You had no right to take them.”

”As I said . . . they became ours when they drew blood on our streets.”

”You b.i.t.c.h, that's not fair!”

The unseen woman made soft shus.h.i.+ng sounds, the way a mother would soothe a hysterical child. ”Listen now. Listen. We are cruel, but we are not dishonest.We repay our debts.”There was a long pause, then she spoke again, her fetid breath moist on his cheek.”We took from you because we claim the right to do so, and that is fair. But you are here, in our market stall, and you beg for something we have that you want.That is as it should be, for it is in keeping with this place. And so we will barter honestly with you.” ”What are you talking about? Barter for what?”

”You know.”

”No . . . this doesn't make any sense.”

”Oh, yes,” she cooed. ”You want something returned. Restored. Brought back.”

”Yes, but-”

”But we must have something in return. Something to replace it.This for that. Something of value for us, and something you value for you.”

”Please,” he said, and even he didn't know if it was an entreaty or an acknowledgment that the d.i.c.kering could begin.

”What will you give me for what you want?” she asked.

Finn began to cry.

4.

<script>