“ONE . . .” MARCO SAID.
The servants shoved us closer. They shouted instructions to the slaves, who sharpened their blades on long leather strips that hung from the sides of the slabs.
“Two . . .”
Placing their machetes on the slabs, the three wardum walked toward us. One of them carried a pot full of liquid. Each slave dipped his hand in the pot, coating it in some kind of oil. Two of them went toward Marco and Cass, the other to me. He nodded and smiled, reaching toward my head.
“Thr—” Marco began.
“Wait!” I shouted.
Fingers massaged my scalp with warm oil. The servant hummed as he worked, smiling gently. I glanced over to Cass and Marco. They looked as baffled as I felt.
In moments my bewilderment gave way to relaxation. It felt good. Incredibly good. As if my mom were alive again, shampooing my head. As I closed my eyes I saw Marco rushing off to an alcove with a rectangular hole in the floor. And I heard a sigh of great relief.
When my servant was done, he gestured toward the slab. Next to it, the machete gleamed in the light from the open window. Marco and Cass turned, as their slaves finished oiling their hair. “What is going on here?” I asked.
“It’s a makeover,” Marco said.
“Did we really look that bad?” Cass asked.
“I mean with the knives?” I said.
Now the three wardum, finished with their work, were all gesturing toward the slabs.
“Easy, Brother Jack,” Marco said. “I’m betting they’re not going to hurt us. I’ll go first.”
He lay faceup on his slab. His servant pulled him toward the top of the slab, so his hair hung over the top edge. Taking the machete, the wardum brought it down swiftly. I flinched. A lock of Marco’s hair fell to the floor.
Marco smiled, closing his eyes. “Sweet. Can I get a back rub?”
When they were done, our hair was trim, our feet were washed, and we had fancy new tunics and sandals. The servants gave us over cheerfully to the guards, who grunted with what seemed like admiration at our new look.
“What the heck did we do to deserve this?” said Cass, as we were escorted back into the hallway.
“Either they think we’re some kind of visiting gods,” Marco said, running his fingers through his hair, “or they’re preparing us for slaughter.”
Cass gulped. “Thanks for that cheery thought.”
The guards quickly ushered us into the hallway, where two female attendants waited patiently with Aly. She was scowling, her own hair oiled and garlanded with flowers, her tunic replaced by a flowing toga-like gown. “If you take a picture, I will kick you,” she grumbled.
“You look nice,” Marco said.
Aly raised a skeptical eyebrow. “But not as nice as Daria, I’ll bet.”
Together we were led back through the snaky corridors and out another door into the sunlight. A sweet tang hit us as we marched along a stone pathway, past colorful gardens and birds bursting with song. It was an area of the palace grounds we hadn’t seen on the way in. Trellises arched overhead, their purple blossoms tickling our faces. Simply clad wardum trudged in and out of a mud hut with bowls, shovels, and gardening equipment.
We stopped at a door, flanked by two windows—an entire two-story house was actually built into the city’s inner wall and extended behind it. The guard opened the door and ordered us inside.
Another team of wardum bowed to us in the entry room. Two of them carried trays of fruit and flagons of liquid. Two others took us on a brief tour. The first floor had a sun-filled room with a small pool, sleeping quarters, and a locker full of salt-cured meats. The second had simple bedrooms. We ended on a roof deck overlooking the palace grounds. The air was cool and sweet. As the slaves placed the fruit on a table surrounded by cushioned chairs, I stared in disbelief. “Is this where we’re staying?”
“I thought goggle-eyes was going to throw us in jail,” Marco said, “not paradise!”
As he dug in to the food with two fists, Cass, Aly, and I walked to the waist-high wall around the roof. We scanned the sculpted landscape of gardens and woods. I could see a small cattle pasture, a pig pen, a vegetable garden. “Do you see anything that looks like the Hanging Gardens?” Aly said.
“Evitagen,” Cass said, shaking his head.
Over the treetops, I spotted a distant flash of white. Grabbing a chair, I stood on it and caught a glimpse of what looked like the roof of a temple. “Maybe that’s the top of it. Looks like a ziggurat.”
“Orff onooway fannow,” Marco said through a mouthful of food.
“Either that’s really bad Backwardish, or you need to swallow,” Aly said.
“I said, ‘only one way to find out,’” Marco replied. “Let’s go see the place.”
He headed for the stairs. We all tromped down after him to the bottom floor. As we flung open the front door, two guards turned, gripping their spears. “Later, gladiator,” Marco said.
He got about two steps. The guards went shoulder to shoulder, blocking his way.
“Whoa, peace out,” Marco said, backing into the house. “Kumbaya. Nice work on the biceps. Who’s your trainer?”
“What now?” Aly said.
Marco turned. “We go to Plan B. There’s more than one way to escape.”
He strode back upstairs, followed by Cass. But Aly was looking at something over the guards’ shoulders.
At first I didn’t see anything unusual. But I did notice the birds had stopped chirping. Totally. Another sound floated through the gardens, like the trilling of an impossibly beautiful flute. The guards seemed to melt at the sound. Smiling, they turned away from us.
Daria appeared around a bend in the path. She was still wearing a head scarf but no longer a veil. Her face was the picture of bliss as she sang. Now I knew why the birds had stopped. They couldn’t compete with a sound like that.
I waved and shouted hello.
“Hello!” Daria replied, as the guards parted, gesturing for her to come inside.
“We can’t have her around while we’re trying to escape,” Aly hissed. “Why is she coming here?”
I shrugged. “She’s the language person. The only one who managed to pick up a few words of English. Plus, in case you don’t remember, she saved our butts. I don’t know what she told the king, but it set us free. I’m guessing they think we’re exotic foreigners. He probably sent her to get further info from us.”
Aly shook her head. “This is a trap, Jack. Think about the history. Babylon was always under attack from Persia. Nabu-na’id would have hated the Persians. Eventually they defeated him and took over Babylon. When they found out how he’d been ruling the city, they were appalled by what a bad king he was.”
“I could have told them that,” I said.
“And here we are, four strangers wandering into town,” Aly barreled on. “Of course they suspect we’re enemies! This girl could be a spy, Jack. The first line of interrogation. They treat us nicely, fill us with food and drink, and then—zap!—they move in for the torture.”
“Torture—Daria?” I replied. “How? She sings us into a coma?”
“I’ll stall her,” Aly said. “You go up and tell the others. Make sure she can’t see them planning an escape.”
I raced inside. Cass and Marco were at a window in the back of the house, looking down over the outer wall. When I told them about Daria’s arrival, neither of them reacted much.
When I leaned out the window and looked down, I realized why. Directly below us, tracing all three sides of the building, was a wide moat.
“Any ideas?” Cass asked.
“It would be pretty easy to swim across that,” I said.
“Not so fast,” Cass said. From a plate of food, he took a hunk of unidentifiable leathery-brown dried meat and tossed it out. The water roiled with green scales and beady black eyes. A long, crocodilian jaw snapped open and shut.
“Welcome to Paradise,” Marco said softly. “Paradise Prison.”