The Orphan Read Online Free Page B

house of Taso the Great. He ran a food shop in the front of his house, where Babylonians rich and poor could find all manner of provisions. The “Great” part of his name referred to his generous belly, which had been known to get stuck in doorways.
    At the end of the alleyway, I peeked around carefully, toward the rear of Taso’s house. All the buildings here were perched at the top of a long, moat-like hole known as the Trough of Tears. In the times before Nabu-Kudurri-Usur, public enemies were tortured and thrown to their deaths here. Their cries were said to echo upward through the night, so that only the poor or hardhearted lived here now. I heard a door open and flattened myself to the wall.
    Taso the Great emerged from his rear door, holding an enormous bucket nearly the size of his legendary belly. He lumbered to the edge of the cliff, and with a grunt tossed out the bucket’s foul contents.
    I waited until he was back inside, then tiptoed to the edge. What extraordinary luck—an old wooden ladder led downward into the pile of refuse. I could climb down and scoop the freshest layer off the top.
    I lowered myself, guided by moonlight. I could see movement within the scraps, so I hissed, causing a team of rats to scurry away. They scolded me with angry squeaks as I climbed as far down as I could, holding my breath. I gripped the ladder tightly with one hand, and with the other I leaned down to scoop up a few handfuls of fruit peels and vegetable scraps. Stuffing them into my pouch, I scrambled back to the top.
    A clopping of leather sandals rang out from the alleyway between buildings—a guard on patrol. Instead of returning on that path, I made my way across the ridge, skirting the backs of the houses. Most of them were empty and in disrepair, their occupants put to death by Nabu-na’id. It didn’t take much to anger the king. Sometimes a poor appearance was enough to earn a guard’s spear in your back.
    With a voice like yours, Daria, you should be performing for the king. Nico’s words infuriated me. The thought of entertaining the king made my stomach clench. It was a wonder that tyrant had not torched the slums. Given the choice of being kept by the king and living my wretched life, I’d take the wine shop and the streets. With Sippar surrounding us, the city was already prison enough. Who needed to live in a trap within a trap?
    At the last house, I peered around carefully. I could hear the low murmur of conversation in the street. More guards? I couldn’t be sure. I hid in the doorway of a mud-brick house.
    A warm desert wind brought a fresh whiff of rot from below. In the distance I could see flickering light from some of the houses and from the palace ziggurat, spiraling upward. Past that, just beyond the bend of the horizon, was Sippar. The moving boundary that encircled Babylon. The black veil had descended many years ago. Sippar, which most thought of as certain death.
    It was whispered around the city that I had actually come from Sippar, not just been found near it. I didn’t believe that.
    I didn’t believe any of the myths about Sippar. A ring of death, past which nothing existed—it seemed the sort of thing you’d tell a child to keep her from playing in the woods. There was a world beyond the boundaries of the city, of that I was sure. Something more than this. A place that was truly our home.
    The wind was unusually strong, and I feared a sandstorm. I curled my knees up to my chin as it became louder, until it sounded like the wailing of the dead.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    I AWOKE TO a sky of dimming stars. Below me, the city winked up through the gathering light, as the night’s blackness slowly gave way to a silvery predawn.
    You fool! You weren’t supposed to sleep!
    I bolted to my feet. Stealing the pomegranate had been exhausting, but there was no excuse for my letting down my defenses. I could have been discovered by guards. Or by