A/n: This chapter was supposed to be called "How Philip Discovered Something Worth Knowing," but the site won't let me post a title that long.

The air grew heavy and moist as Faraji and Philip reached the coast. Dawn arrived blue and cold as Zalindreh rose into view, its buildings silhouetted against the gloomy light. Philip let out a neigh of relief; he said something about rest and a meal at long last. Faraji didn't hear it; a melancholy look fell upon the cheetah's dour face—a look of wistful longing mixed with a flash of anger. Just as quickly as it appeared, it fell away, as Philip's voice became filled with worry.

"By the Lion's mane," he said. "Do you smell that, spotted one?"

Faraji broke out of his trance and drew in a light breath. "I should wonder if I have smelled it before."

"It was exactly what I found in the river in Erizad," said Philip. "It's the smell of death again."

Faraji gulped down a knot in his throat. The port city sat upon an inlet of land rising over the ocean, like an eagle surveying the sea from its perch on a cliff. The city had ten times as many buildings as Teebeth could boast, and half stood taller. Tens of thousands live here, said the cheetah. And if the Red Death is here, and he can smell it…this may be my chance to help.

"You would know better than I," said the horse. "Will we find friends here?"

"Only if we have something worth trading. Since we have no goods to speak of, we might as well offer our help."

"Indeed. As long as you tell the truth about our journey and offer our services as a token of friendship, I see no reason for them to not let us in."

The guard pushed a hand forward. "I cannot let you in."

"I implore you, my friend. All we want is food," said Faraji.

"Even so, I cannot let you in until circumstances improve."

"What circumstances?"

"Surely you know of the illness. Zalindreh has not suffered yet, and our masters want to make sure of it."

"Mehan, the disease may have arrived. The Narnian and I smelled and tasted it in the waters of Erizad, and now we're smelling it here."

"Do you expect me to believe that?" said the guard. "I have been stationed here since midnight and have smelled nothing."

"Nor did any of the Sons of Adam," said Philip.

"Then why should I believe you? How can I be sure you won't spread this disease to us?"

"All we want is to follow the smell to its source," said Faraji. "You can allow us into your city, put soldiers on our flanks, even keep the Narnian out here and lead me by the blade of a sword. All we want is to be of service. If we are, perhaps your master will grant us a meal. If we find nothing, all you will have given us is your time."

The soldier seemed to be considering the offer. "If I inform the Tarkaan," he said slowly, "who will I say has arrived?"

Faraji's heart went into his throat. He felt Philip tensing beneath the saddle, as if warning Faraji to tell the truth.

"I..." Faraji let out a breath and bowed his head. "I am Faraji, the jamira of Reza Munir of Palár. This is Philip, the steed of King Edmund the Just. As you no doubt know of my deeds in Teebeth, on behalf of the Narnian I must plead with you for leniency."

The stone wall rumbled along its track and slid into the wall with a loud boom. Dark filled the jail cell, and the smell of rotting hay and mouse dander threaten to make Faraji gag. The cat scrambled to his feet and shook the hay and dirt off his pelt. "I suppose this is what they call leniency."

"They have no choice," said Philip. "You killed two men in Teebeth, and for all they know, you will kill a dozen more here."

Faraji sighed. "I don't suppose they will be lenient enough to feed us."

Philip let out a low breath. "Food or no food, at least we can rest. Besides, I still have my conscience, which is of greater sustenance than any feast."

Faraji scoffed. "Spoken like a man on the gallows, who smiles because he has his health."

The cheetah huffed away and jumped onto the stone bench that jutted out from the wall. He tucked his paws under his chest and glanced upward. At ground level sat a slim, barred window, and the newborn sun had just begun to shine through. "I only hope your conscience comforts you when the Calormenes forget we're in here."

"We will not be forgotten, spotted one," said Philip. "Aslan has more for us to do than rot in a hole."

"What you fail to realize, Narnian, is that unlike you and your people, Calormenes do not simply tremble at the name of Aslan. The only way to reason with them is by duplicity and façade."

"I am quite familiar with their disrespect toward Aslan. But because of your duplicity, two Calormenes are dead."

Faraji sighed. "Lest you forget, Narnian, I was trying to save your life."

"You had to save my life because you bartered with the Tarkaan, and you had to do that because you lied to the guards about our identities. Until now, every move you've made has been wrong. My compliments to you for finally listening to common sense, but it's too late to reverse the consequences of all the other choices you've made."

"I've had quite enough of you," said Faraji. "If you will only allow me to sleep, I would be most grateful. Now that we are in here, Aslan won't dare to come after me now. It is only when I am vulnerable when he would attack, and I would like the opportunity to rest in safety, if that wouldn't be any trouble."

Philip scoffed. "Not at all."

The cat tucked his paws under his belly and curled himself into a ball, wrapping his tail along his spine.

Faraji's nap was shallow and dreamless, and when he awoke, he saw that hazy gray light of noon wandered in through the window. The stone wall rolled away and a man stood in the entrance, and Faraji darted up and sat on his haunches. The young Calormene's head was wrapped in a turban with a spike protruding out of the folds. A slim mustache stretched over his upper lip, and his chest rose and fell as it gathered his weary breath.

"I am Naresh, captain of the guard of the Tarkaan's house. One of my men said you were willing to help us; did he speak the truth?"

Philip nodded. "Of course."

The man let out a weary breath. His forehead glistened with sweat, the kind you gather after a hard run. "We need it. Two of my men are bleeding from the nose and mouth. Seventeen civilians have reported to our doctors with the same symptoms, and it's only getting worse. Whatever you have to offer that is of any use, I will take it."

Faraji rose onto all fours and swerved off the bench; he knew what Philip was going to say before the horse opened his mouth. "Have any of your animals reported a foul smell in the water?"

"No, but all of them have told me of a strange taste in the air."

"When the last Red Death outbreak swept through this city, was there ever a problem with the water?"

"No."

Faraji could see Philip glowering at him, but the cat paid it no heed. "What about imports?"

"The last ships left port yesterday evening."

"What was on the ships? Anything—anyone—that could have carried the disease?"

"There were no prisoners from the Eastern Islands. No animals. Most of it was food."

"Once these foodstuffs are unloaded, where are they sent?"

"To any Tarkaan who ordered them. We sent caravans to Calavar and Azim Balda last month. The last shipment to this city arrived…" At that, the man's face fell in horror. "Yesterday morning."

Faraji's face fell. "It must be something in the shipment," said the cat. "Symptoms appear within less than a day."

Philip nickered. "That doesn't make sense. Why would Teebeth be overwhelmed by this when no caravans went out to them in the last month?"

"What else could it be, Narnian? It's the only explanation that makes a measure of sense!"

"We don't know enough, spotted one, and until we know more, your guess is no better than mine."

"You don't have a guess!"

Philip ignored him. "Naresh, if it please you, I want to inspect every kind of food that arrived yesterday. If the smell is in any of it, I will know."

With a somber look, Naresh waved a hand, and Faraji and Philip followed him up the stairs. "My commanding officer said you wanted a meal in exchange for your services," he said. "That may be granted."

They showed no sign of relief. Philip was even more somber as all set foot, hoof, and paw at the top of the stairs, wondering what else they would see as they wove through the labyrinthine streets. Meanwhile, Faraji glowered at the horse, and his lithe body tensed with every step, ready to make a move.

A line of men, women and children filed into the stairwell that dropped below ground to the dungeon of the ruins of an old castle. All held cloths to their noses and mouths as blood soaked and stained the fabric, and a pair of soldiers stood guard, ushering people in and passing fresh towels to all who asked. "By the Lion's mane," said Philip, his whisper barely heard over the coughing and crying. "There must be at least sixty people in this line."

"Now do you acknowledge my thoughts for once?" said Faraji. "Something is in this city, and it must have come in yesterday."

"We still don't know, spotted one."

"Yes, and we will not know as long as you keep proposing desperate ideas," said Naresh. "I don't want you on this mission. Let me and the Narnian handle it."

Faraji bared his fangs. "I am on a mission of great importance. This is my journey, not his."

"The gods did not bless you with the wisdom or the smell of a horse," said Naresh. "You have much between your ears, and most of it is irrelevant. Go with the soldiers to the cellar; do these people a favor and try to comfort them."

"I will not play nursemaid to the dying. I am here to rescue this city and this country from the Red Death, and that is what I will do."

"Spotted one!"

Faraji growled at him. "You had your chance to be a hero in Rasul. This is my time."

Philip laid a hoof on the cat's tail. Within a blink, Faraji burst in a furious whirl of fur and claws, and a pawful of claws sliced into Philip's shank. The horse screamed in terror and sent his front legs airborne, and Naresh ducked back and aimed his pike at the cat's head. Faraji scrambled onto all fours as Philip landed, and the cheetah's jaws peeled back to show every serrated tooth as he roared:

"THIS IS NOT YOUR HONOR! IT'S MINE!"

Naresh aimed a furious glare at him, keeping the pike aimed at the cat's head.

Philip was gasping for breath as he said, "You don't deserve honor, Erizadi." His voice was low and cold. "You attacked me…you insulted me…now a city is dying…and you can't think of anyone but yourself."

Naresh waved his hand to a pair of soldiers in the road, and the turbaned men stood at attention, awaiting Naresh's command. "Take the cheetah back to the prison."

Faraji glared at him. "What?! No! I'm here to help!"

The soldiers ignored him and flanked him on both sides. One of them swung the blunt end of his pike across the cat's face; Faraji hissed and yowled as the other clamped a shackle around his neck. The chain jangled as the soldiers walked away, starting to drag Faraji across the stone floor. "DAMN YOU, NARNIAN!" said Faraji. "IF I DON'T HELP, ASLAN WILL KILL ME!"

Naresh let out a sigh and knelt down to wrap Philip's bleeding shank in a cloth. Philip gave a soft whinny and shook his head, staring down the street as Faraji wriggled and squirmed. "It would serve you right, you little beast," said the horse. "Please, Naresh, lead the way."

The two passed under a towering arch and swung right. One look at the kitchen and its dozens of pots, pans, furnaces and jars would make you think you had stepped into the kitchen of the Tisroc, but Philip paid it barely any attention. Two soldiers, as their superior had ordered, stood at either end of a twenty-foot counter, where fruits and vegetables and grains and morsels of all sorts had been laid in a single file along a gray-and-black mosaic.

Philip nickered and bent his head over the counter. The onions, mushrooms and sweet peppers radiated enough color and flavor to make your mouth pang, and the grains gave off their earthy aromas that hearkened Philip back to the fresh grass of Narnia. The sweets and bottles of a strong liquor all smelled as they ought. At the end of the line sat a dark red pepper that looked choked and wrinkled, as if someone had tried to squeeze the juice out of its flesh. Philip didn't need to inhale deeply; one sniff was all he needed.

The horse lifted his head and turned to face Naresh. "I don't understand," he murmured. "The smell is still in the room, but it's not in any of these foods."

Naresh nodded. "There should be more," he said, turning to his soldiers. "Go to the cellar. Bring up whatever else you—"

"Wait a moment..." Philip's voice trailed off. "If I could follow the smell..." His head swiveled one way, then the other, and back again. With a nicker, the horse clopped along the floor, step by dawdling step to keep from losing the trail. He followed it to the yawning archway that opened to face the street, and he panned left and right again. To his left, stairs trailed up along the side of the house. "It goes out," he said, "and then...up these stairs to..."

Philip took in a short breath, and another. "If you please, Sir, what is up these stairs?"

Naresh started to speak, and the meaning of his own reply struck him. "Damn it. The Tarkaan is giving a feast—now."

The man broke into a run and bounded up the stairs. Philip followed behind, his hooves slamming against the slabs. The stairs wound like a ribbon along the side of the manor, and Philip feared he might slip and tumble through an arch and plummet to the ground (If I do, Faraji had better not be watching, he thought). Naresh disappeared around the bend, and Philip panted and slipped around the corner, scrabbling with his back hooves to regain his balance.

At the end of the hall gaped an archway flanked by soldiers, and from deep inside bellowed a regal and pompous-sounding man: "Let the feast...begin!" Platters and utensils clattered as Naresh and Philip burst through the curtains, and Naresh burst toward an aisle and charged between two long rows of tables as he said:

"My Lord, wait!"

The room filled with murmurs and complaints. The Tarkaan furrowed his face in protest. "Am I your servant, that you should put us off our meal—and worse, that you should bring a Narnian to haunt us?"

"My Lord, the gods may be smiling on us again. They have sent this traveler into our country to help us find the cause of our troubles." He turned to Philip, who gave a shy whinny.

"Sir, the illness that has brought great suffering to your people is being spread by something in the food. I followed the smell up here, and I can only conclude that something in this hall has been contaminated with the disease."

Another wave of murmurs rippled back and forth across the room. Even the Tarkaan showed a hint of surprise on his hard face. "And what do you request?"

"Only to inspect every dish that has been brought into this hall." Philip sniffed the air and repressed the urge to gag. "If I may, Sir, I should fancy starting with yours."

The Tarkaan turned to Naresh. His mouth hung open in a mix of anger and bewilderment. "He wants to smell of my meal, he says?"

"My Lord, if it brings us closer to ending this tragedy, it is hardly an inconvenience."

"Putting me and my guests off our food is more than an inconvenience. It is a disgrace. Twenty soldiers of the highest ranks are dining with me; we do not need a Narnian to spoil the celebration."

"My Lord, if the Narnian does not say anything of use to us, we can deal with him. But if he does, we need to hear it—for our sakes."

"Whinny-inny!" said Philip. "I can also tell you for certain what foods are safe to eat. Every mushroom, pepper, grain—"

The Tarkaan waved a hand. "Enough. Do what you must, and be gone."

Philip sighed in relief as the servants laid the platter on the table, and the horse bent his head down over the food. When his head hovered over the pearly white fish, he lurched backward and shuddered.

"Sir, that is most definitely the smell of the Red Death. Bring any of your Talking Beasts in here; they will confirm it."

This time, the murmurs were followed with gasps. The Tarkaan blanched a little, his mouth lowering. "Naresh, go to the ruins. Ask them if they have eaten any of the balik."

Naresh nodded and turned on his heel. As the footsteps faded on their way up the stairwell, the Tarkaan rose up from his seat, like a great and terrible king ready to proclaim a fearful declaration. To the horse's surprise, the man's hard face began to soften in relief and fear. "Let the feast be postponed. I will order my slaves to prepare food per the Narnian's request. Until we know more, I will ask you to bear with me as we sort out this matter."

The Tarkaan glowered at Philip as he waved a hand. Two pikemen flanked the horse on both sides.

"Take him back to the prison. Let him wait until we decide what to do with him and anyone who may be with him. And let them be warned: Should we discover that this grand feast was disturbed for no reason, or if any of their dire warnings have been proven false, they will answer for everything they've done, for every crescent and minute that has been wasted."

Philip nodded in resignation, and he followed the soldiers out of the dining hall.

A day and night passed, or so Philip had thought. He had slept so long in a windowless cell that he had forgotten all sense of time. Whether he had skipped an entire day, he did not know, though he felt weak enough to wonder.

Now and then, Philip listened for Faraji, for any sign of life outside the cell, but heard nothing. He and Faraji were kept in separate cells on the order of the Tarkaan (something about a conspiracy, or so Philip had overheard). A clump of hay was given every evening, a pail of water that smelled of earth, but nothing else. Philip nibbled and sipped without complaint, though he still felt weaker than he did when they had left Teebeth.

A muffled jangling made his head swivel. There was a grunt and a scuff of dirt, and the rolling door slid on its track. Naresh loosed his grip on the edge of the stone and strode inside. His thin face was somber but glad, making Philip's heart leap within. "You were right—it was the balik."

Philip sighed. "How many?"

Naresh shook his head. "No fewer than four hundred."

Philip gave a soft neigh and stood on his spindly legs. "And what about us?"

"Come," said Naresh, slipping a key into the wall. "I will explain everything to you both."

He propped a foot against the doorway and splayed his hands on the stone, and with a grunt the wall rolled away. In the wan light, Faraji gathered himself and stood to attention. He aimed an angry glare at Philip (who knew the cheetah had not risen out of his mood).

"It's all right," said Naresh. "You both are free to go. The Narnian was right: Every last man, woman and animal who has fallen ill in the first wave of sickness? All of them have eaten the balik."

Faraji stared at the horse, but aimed his words at Naresh. "Are you certain?"

"We are. Per the orders of the Tarkaan, no one has caught or sold any balik in two days, and all who have eaten it were ordered to stay in their homes. We have been patrolling the city for the last three days, and only twelve people have fallen ill since yesterday. As of now, there are no new cases to report."

Philip let out a sigh of relief that gave way to a laugh of triumph, which made Faraji glare all the harder.

Naresh let a small smile tug at his mustache. "The Tarkaan is sending you off with his blessing. To the Tisroc (may he live forever), he has sent a request for safe travel and any provisions you need in Tashbaan. In the meantime, you will need to stay a little longer."

Faraji swallowed a knot in his throat. "How long?"

Naresh waved a hand toward the open doorway and said, "However long it takes us to fit you with all the food and water you can hold."

Neither horse nor cheetah spoke as Zalindreh drifted away behind them. Philip was too relieved and merry to complain, and Faraji too dismal to say anything worth his effort. It was much easier to glower at the horse. They were walking on seashore, with Philip carrying bags filled with food and water, but the horse's canter was so merry, one would think he had been walking on clouds.

"You can stop that, Narnian," he said. "I am quite aware that my part in this has been a miserable failure, largely thanks to you."

"I beg your pardon? I was not the one who attacked a horse."

"You knew Aslan was angry at me for what I had done in Teebeth. I had a chance to make amends with him by doing something worth praising. Instead of giving me the opportunity, you stole it from me."

"If you are as educated as you would lead me to believe, you should know Aslan does not permit rivalry. Because you are too proud and too desperate to salvage what little reputation you have, you have only doomed yourself to learning the lesson again. Besides, the Erizadi are an arrogant and foolish race; it does them good to be humbled, and as often as possible."

Faraji let out a voiceless chuckle. "The time will come when you eat your words, Narnian."

"Why? I speak only what is true. You know nothing about Narnia or the ways of Aslan. And by the way, I think it is quite clear why Aslan has sent you on this journey: to humble you. That, and to teach you that Narnians are not the uneducated derelicts you think we are. I do not need a scholarly upbringing to teach me what I already know by heart."

"Oh, and what do you know? How to bluster at length?"

"At least when I bluster, I say words that people understand. You, however, speak as though you swallowed a book."

"How droll."

"Worse than that, you fancy yourself to be greater than all the Narnians put together. You think of me as being utterly beneath contempt. There is yet another lesson to be learned, and it is something only Aslan can teach you if you were willing to learn: Pride is an illness, and it kills every living thing it touches. Even the Red Death cannot match its deadly power." Philip craned his head with a proud huff. "You would do well to learn that, spotted one."

Faraji growled. "Someday, you will regret your piety and arrogance, and I will be sorry if I am not a witness to it. Ever since we met, all you've done is ridicule and insult me, and you've blustered about the wrath of Aslan whenever I've made a mistake." The cheetah turned away. "I won't miss you when this journey is over."

Faraji turned away and lost his gaze in the scrolling golden shore beneath his paws.