Cracks in the Shell

Chapter 10

They left Zui at the garden doors as he disapproved of their returning to the city and refused to join them on their field trip. It had already taken Ayzili several minutes just to convince him to unlock the garden’s doors. 

After traveling through several stately corridors and chambers, they emerged from the inner sanctums of the city into the familiar maze of alleys and flats. As it was now late in the evening, the marketplace had emptied out, and a slight mist hung in the air beneath the canopies. Ayzili held a torch to light their path.

“Her father’s out on expedition. So friends will bury her,” she said, ducking between two booths. “They’ll be here all night.”

Apparently the little girl had lots of friends, for the wake was quite crowded. The courtyard in front of them brimmed with tables, each displaying bowls of chicken, jugs of wine, and rolled up snacks Carlos couldn’t identify. People walked amongst the food without touching a morsel, some visibly sobbing, others smiling as they told stories. 

“What expedition was her father with?” Carlos asked as they followed Ayzili into the crowd. 

“One along the coast. To collect yamala.” She must have read the confusion on his face for she motioned to the dagger sheathed at her ankle. “Poison. It’s how we kill the baka. You don’t know this?”

“Got it. I’m a quick learner,” Carlos said. “So she was home alone?”

“Yes, very unwise.” Ayzili shook head. “But a neighbor checked on her before she went to bed and then found her the next afternoon.” They sidestepped a crackling fire pit, in which a heap of rag dolls burnt. Before Carlos could comment on this, an old man grabbed Ayzili’s wrist. 

“Do you have any hoholi?” he asked. 

“No, you don’t need that,” she shook off his grip and moved toward the front door.

“What’d he want?” Henry asked.

“To throw seeds into the coffin. Distracts the bocors.” Realizing they still didn’t understand, she added, “Protects the dead from evil priests.”  

“You’re talking about zombies?” Henry joked. Ayzili’s stare wiped the smile from his face. She shook her head and then pushed them under a purple curtain draped across the doorway. 

Beneath the fabric was a thick wooden door, currently open. Carlos figured the girl would’ve secured this if she were home alone. Ayzili confirmed it; the neighbor said the door was locked the previous evening and found open when he returned in the morning. So Carlos checked for signs of forced entry. He found none. 

“Is this the only entrance?”

“Yes, except for a window inside, but it’s barred.”

So the girl opened the door herself, or else someone had a key, Carlos thought. Both options pointed to someone close to the victim. Ayzili didn’t know how many keys existed, however, or who had them. 

“Can I speak to this neighbor?” he asked.

“Yes, later.” 

“The sooner the better.” Carlos turned his attention to the rest of the home and tried to commit it to memory. At his age, that wasn’t a good idea. He wished he had his old sketchpad. 

The inside of the house flickered gold from dozens of lamps. Little more than wicks floating in bowls of oil, the lights were scattered about the home’s monastic furniture – on shelves, tables, chairs, and a family altar lined with clay pots. A pungent citrus smell lingered in the air, masking the odors of food outside. Carlos shivered. His daughter’s favorite perfume had that same lemon-lime fragrance. Memories of it ran screaming through his head.