Page 36 of The Maiden and Her Monster

“The accusation against the Maharal was a warning to the Yahad,” Eli?ka responded. “The rabbi is now perceived as a traitor to Valón. A murderer. The Yahad know that if the Ozmins can arrest the Maharal, they could come for anyone.”

“I need to know if the information they heard is true.” Nimrah motioned to Malka and Amnon. “What happened to the Maharal?”

“I’m not a newsboy, Nimrah.”

Nimrah let out a frustrated grunt. “Come on, Eli?ka.”

Eli?ka huffed, then focused on Malka and Amnon. “Alright then, what exactly did you hear?”

Amnon’s eyes shifted to Malka. With a clearing of her throat, she shared the recounting.

When Malka concluded, Eli?ka put her hands on her hips and mumbled a curse.

“It’s true that an Ozmini woman went missing years ago.

And that a woman—Miriam—reported seeing the Maharal kill her and drain her blood.

She was a Yahad, but converted to Ozminism before she shared her story at confession, a special honor bestowed upon her by Archbishop Sévren.

Whatever fair trial Valski promised him is never coming. And they have not let him go.”

“Sévren set him up, I know it.” Nimrah unclasped her cloak and threw it on the seat. She began to pace. “He always had his eye on the Maharal. What happened to this woman—Miriam?”

Eli?ka rolled her eyes. “She died. Just after her baptism, conveniently.”

The similarities between Imma and the Maharal left Malka light-headed. Two Yahad accused of using Ozmini blood for curses that did not exist.

“Sévren… he’s the same person who asked Rzepka to join the Paja,” Malka remarked, fingers rubbing circles at her temples.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Eli?ka said. “Along with being Ordobav’s archbishop, he is also the king’s most trusted spiritual advisor. He claims Triorzay sends visions to him, of whom to appoint and who commits crimes against King Valski. A load of horse shit.”

Malka peered back to the Ozmini altar in the corner of her room. “Do you not believe in the Ozmini faith?”

Eli?ka’s face twisted, as if Malka had asked a ridiculous question. “Of course, I do. But that is not faith. It’s power, and the lust for it.”

“We’re going to break him out,” Nimrah said, then smiled. “How lucky we are to be in the presence of someone with such intimate knowledge of the layout of Valón Castle and the New Royal Palace. Do you know how to get to the dungeon, Eli?ka?”

“Say you do manage to free him. What happens then?” Eli?ka pressed, ignoring Nimrah. “He’ll be as good as dead, a wanted criminal. Maybe he truly is sick as a dog. The Maharal is not a young man anymore.”

“The Maharal does not get sick. He hasn’t, for as long as I’ve known him. He ingests Kefesh-laced tonics to keep sicknesses away. I used to make them for him. They must’ve lied to keep him close. So, we break him out. Get him far away from here.”

Eli?ka quirked her brow. “What is the Maharal without his people, Nimrah? Do you think he would survive away from the shul Bachta for long?”

Nimrah opened her mouth defensively but faltered. There must’ve been more truth to Eli?ka’s reasoning than Nimrah cared to admit.

“If what you say is true, Nimrah, the public needs to see the Maharal’s health. If he is well, the Valonians will look to King Valski’s judges to be fair. Demand they reinstate his trial. He’ll be free as long as a trial date is set, until the verdict is reached.”

“Are you sure about that?” Amnon asked. “If Sévren and the court are willing to break the rules now, what stops them from breaking them again?”

Eli?ka smoothed her hands down her dress.

“Do you know why the Yahad are allowed to roam the Yahadi Quarter in between their accusations and trials, boy? Many of the Valonian Yahad are moneylenders. It’s a job that Ozmins, for religious reasons, are forbidden from occupying.

So, the court enacted a law allowing accused Yahad to keep working in the Yahadi Quarter until they are acquitted or charged.

They need that law in place to keep the city functioning.

They won’t break it, not even for the Maharal. ”

“And the judges, you think they will sway to the public’s will? Isn’t that against what they are put in place to do?” Malka asked.

Eli?ka laughed abrasively. “That’s a good one. The judges are loyal to Sévren. King Valski has a nickname in back alleys and underground taverns. The Dull King. He is losing popularity among all of Ordobav, but especially here in Valón as the sickness worsens and the people grow poorer.”

At the mention of a sickness, Amnon’s eyebrows shot up, surprise growing when Malka did not echo his shock. She rested her hand on his arm, another promise to explain later.

“All that,” Eli?ka continued, “has allowed Sévren to pull the important strings for Ordobav instead. If the public looks favorably to something, Sévren might listen, and call the idea his own to draw favor to him.”

Malka scrunched her face. “You know a lot about politics for a laundress.”

“Yes,” Eli?ka responded. “It is my business to eavesdrop. After all, gossip can be sold for a very high price.”

“So, we break him out. Get him in the public eye and show his sickness has gone and there’s no reason he cannot remain in the Yahadi Quarter until his trial,” Nimrah said confidently.

“Nimrah, do you truly think you could break him out with these two? If I poked them too hard, they would crumble like a stale biscuit.”

Eli?ka had a point. When Malka agreed to this deal, she didn’t truly process what it entailed.

Her mind whirled. It felt like the first time Imma had called her into her workroom, placing a needle and thread in her small hand.

Imma had taken a knife to a slab of sheep skin, cutting a sizable gash into its center, and told Malka to stich it closed.

Malka’s hands had shaken badly, her sutures too far apart, leaving gaps in the skin which peeled open again and again. She had poked and prodded too many times. If the sheep were alive, she would’ve caused it pain.

She was eight again, with a needle in her hand for the first time.

“Amnon will have to help in other ways, I’m sorry.” Nimrah attempted an expression that landed somewhere between discomfort and pity. Neither of which, Malka thought, her friend would appreciate.

Amnon swallowed, trying to hide the shame from his face. But he was never good at masking his feelings. He desired to be needed, to be helpful. And he was needed, just not in the way he had grown accustomed. Malka needed him to rest, to be safe. She needed him there at the end of all this.

Nimrah’s attention darted to Malka. “But her…”

Unbidden heat. Nimrah’s penetrating gaze made her want to tear at her skin, the intensity of it hitching her breath. “You’d be surprised what she is willing to endure in her hatred for me, and her desire for my death.”

Malka recalled what she had said to Nimrah in the belly of the tree, hiding from the pelting hail.

It is indescribable. To lose someone you couldn’t imagine life without. And then stare her killer in the face.

It had been easy to hate Nimrah when Malka blamed her for Chaia’s death. Easy to hand her over to Father Bro ? ek. A monster. A murderer.

But Chaia was not dead.

Though Nimrah was by no means innocent, Malka reasoned. She remained the cause of Mavetéh’s curse. Remained a murderer, a monster.

So why did her gut still stir?

“I see,” Eli?ka said, breaking the tension between them.

“So, I once again ask, Eli?ka. Do you know where the dungeon is?”

With a dramatic sigh, the laundress shuffled to the edge of the rug and flipped it over, revealing the dense network of warp threads on its underbelly.

In the newly uncovered floorboard, she began to dig her fingernails into one of the grooves until a panel popped out of place and revealed a secret compartment.

From it, she retrieved an ornate chest, no bigger than a wicker bread basket.

As Eli?ka set down the chest, plumes of dust began to dance in the air, as if to celebrate their newfound freedom. The laundress, having none of it, waved her hand to disperse the motes before untucking a necklace from her bosom. On the thin chain was a key that she pressed into the lock.

“If this information comes back to me, I will deny it,” Eli?ka warned.

Nimrah bent around Eli?ka to examine the chest’s contents. She reached in, but Eli?ka slapped her wrist.

“Not all of this is for your eyes, Nimrah.”

Malka placed her bowl on the table and came near the chest, though she kept far enough away to avoid getting swatted. It was filled with scrolls and loose pieces of parchment, objects of all shapes, and samples of intricate fabrics.

“What is all this?” Malka asked.

“It’s a collection from my time as a laundress.”

“You were given these things?” Amnon asked.

“No, boy, I took them. As you must with anything in life. I knew my time as a laundress would only last so long. I needed something to guarantee my livelihood after that time ended. So, I took things here and there. A scroll lying around untouched for years, fabric the seamstresses had discarded. Things no one would miss but would fetch a decent coin if I needed to sell them.”

“Ah, here it is.” Eli?ka unrolled a piece of parchment, stretching it flat on the ground. It was a map of some kind, labeled in the Jalgani script.

“Is this a map of the New Royal Palace?” Malka inquired.

“More or less. It’s a floorplan made when the late King Manek wanted to extend the chapel to encourage more devotion within the royal laity.”

“And they didn’t notice its absence?” Amnon asked.

Eli?ka shrugged. “You’d be surprised how the details get lost when there is political turmoil.

At the time, there were trade disputes between Ordobav and Vigary.

Once the new chapel was built, I think the papers were forgotten, especially seeing as the architect who planned the chapel had family in Vigary.

He was dismissed soon after he drew up these plans. ”

“That’s unfair,” Malka voiced.

“Such is the way of politics, girl.”

Nimrah reached over Malka’s shoulder, plucking the map from the floor. “Do you think it’s still accurate? A lot can change in forty years.”

“Accurate enough. King Valski might resent his father, but not enough to waste the time and resources to break new ground, especially when the chapel had been proved a success. No, the staff were the ones to feel his petty wrath.”

Amnon shook his head. “This is a map of the royal chapel in the palace, not the dungeons. How will it be useful?”

“Ozmins always build tunnels from their royal palace chapels to the castle dungeons. Not only does it allow direct access for the priests to perform a prisoner’s last rites, but this closeness fosters a more watchful eye of Triorzay, the desired outcome being either salvation of the dying, or a punishing reminder of their sin. ”

“That leaves one question,” Amnon said slowly. “How exactly will you get inside of the palace to get to this so-called chapel?”

“You have anything else in that hiding place of yours that might be able to help us answer that?” Nimrah asked Eli?ka.

“You are too accustomed to the Maharal and his endless wisdom,” Eli?ka said, a little sadly. “I don’t have every solution for you. I’m sorry.”

Nimrah cursed, putting a fist to her mouth.

Malka’s brows pressed together, thinking of Vilém. If he worked at the university, he might have connections to the palace, or at least advice. The thought of dragging Chaia into this unsettled her, but their rescue had to be meticulous.

“I might know a man to ask.”