Master Bush moved the conversation on to Jebel and Tel Hesani’s plans. Where would they go next? Did they need any swagah to tide them over? Could he and Master Blair help in any way? Jebel said that they were fine, that they meant to head west, then north along the as-Sudat. Remembering Tel Hesani’s warnings, he didn’t tell them how much swagah he and his slave were carrying but said they had enough to struggle by on.
“We hunt for food most of the time,” he lied. “We’re getting quite good at it.”
Jebel thought Tel Hesani would be proud of the smooth way he’d lied, but the slave was paying little attention. His head was swimming, and his vision had blurred. Then his stomach clenched, and he doubled over. He thought at first that his food had disagreed with him, but as he straightened he caught Master Blair studying him with a cold gaze and realized he’d been tricked. Summoning all of his strength, the Um Kheshabah tried to leap to his feet and cry foul. But dizziness washed over him, and he fell off his chair, moaning.
“Tel Hesani!” Jebel cried. “What’s wrong?” He bent to turn the slave over.
“Easy, young Rum,” Master Bush said, holding him back. “If he’s having a fit, he might bite.” He pretended to examine Tel Hesani while the barman and the other customers looked on with mild interest. Then he cursed. “Master Blair, have you tried any of that honey?”
“Not that particular jar,” Master Blair answered. “Why?”
“You’ve been conned,” Master Bush huffed. “It’s old stock.”
“What’s happening?” shouted Jebel. “Will he be all right? Is there anything—”
“No need to panic,” Master Blair said, reaching down to pick up Tel Hesani. “Foul honey can turn a man’s stomach. But it’s nothing to worry about. We’ll take him outside, pump him dry, and once he’s thrown up, he’ll be fine.”
Master Bush grabbed the Um Kheshabah from the other side. They stood, holding the semiconscious slave between them. “Jebel,” Master Bush grunted. “Could you get the door for us? The effects of the honey will probably strike you as well sometime soon.”
Jebel ran ahead to open the door. He did feel somewhat queasy, but his wits were still his own. He stood aside as the traders tottered out, then closed the door and followed as they dragged Tel Hesani around to the rear of the inn. There was a gutter there. It was overflowing with waste, and flies buzzed around it. Masters Bush and Blair dropped Tel Hesani close to the gutter, then stood back, wiping their clothes, smiling slyly.
“Shouldn’t you hold him up while he’s vomiting?” Jebel asked. “And I thought you said you were going to pump—”
In a flash, Master Bush clubbed the side of Jebel’s head with a cudgel. As Jebel staggered backwards, Master Bush whipped the boy’s hands behind him and bound them with a strip of cloth. Stuffing a leather ball into Jebel’s mouth, he tied another piece of cloth around his chin and neck, rendering him incapable of anything louder than a grunt.
While this was happening, the three Um Saga from the bar stepped into sight. Two of them picked up Tel Hesani. “A moment, good sirs,” Master Blair stopped them. Crouching over the slave, he rifled through his pockets and picked him clean of his bags of swagah. Then he stepped back and grinned. “He is yours now.”
“You not say he have swagah,” one of the Um Saga said, eyeing the bags.
“Maybe he doesn’t,” replied Master Blair. “I don’t know what’s in these. But whatever they hold, it’s ours. You get the slave as we agreed, nothing more.”
“Maybe we take boy too,” the Um Saga growled. “And not pay you anything.”
“That wasn’t our deal,” Master Blair said, and there was an edge to his voice. “You haven’t had to fight to subdue the slave. We’re giving him to you for a pittance. It would be foolish to get into an argument, when you can simply pay us the price we agreed and be on your way without any bother.”
The Um Saga studied the foreigners. They were smaller than him and his partners, but something about them made him think they would not go down easily in a fight. Besides, he and his men had come to Jedir only to kill a few free hours. The slave was an unexpected bonus. There was no point risking their lives when there was no need.
“Here,” he said, tossing a handful of silver swagah down by the gutter. “Keep the boy and bags. May they bring you no luck.”
“The same to you with your slave, good sir,” Master Blair laughed, stooping to retrieve the coins, picking a few out of the waste where they’d fallen, taking no notice of the filth or swarming clouds of flies.
Jebel roared into the folds of his gag when he saw the Um Saga pick up Tel Hesani and head away with him. He kicked at Master Bush and desperately tried to tear his hands loose. But the fake Master had bound him expertly. He knew the boy couldn’t break free, so he stood back while Jebel struggled angrily, then took his cudgel and clipped Jebel’s right knee, so that he collapsed in agony.
“That’s what you’ll get anytime you make a nuisance of yourself,” Bush said.
Blair came over and kicked Jebel hard in the ribs. “And that’s what you’ll get if you look at us the wrong way,” he added.
Then they picked up Jebel, stripped him of his swagah, pointed him towards the inn, and thrust him ahead of them, casually debating what they could buy with the surprising amount of money that they had taken from the pitiful boy and his slipshod slave.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The staff and customers of the inn barely blinked when the odd traders came back minus the tall man and with the boy bound and gagged. That was life in Abu Saga.
Bush and Blair dumped Jebel in his room and tied his legs together. They didn’t remove his gag. Bush pulled Jebel’s trousers down and stuck a bedpan by his side. The pair then retired to the bar, where Jebel could hear them singing drunkenly a few hours later and far into the long, lonely night.
He couldn’t believe this was happening. His world had always been an orderly place. He’d led a calm, steady life. Now everything had fallen into chaos, and he had lost control of his destiny completely. Not only had he failed to complete his quest but he’d surrendered his freedom into the bargain. Not for the first time since leaving Wadi he cursed his rash decision to quest. What a fool he had been to chase invincibility, when he could have simply carried on as normal and put his disappointment behind him. A life of quiet shame as a trader or teacher would have been vastly preferable to one of slavery or an abrupt, early death.
When he considered his range of options, Jebel paused, confusion temporarily getting the better of his horror. What did the bogus Masters have planned? If they meant to sell him, they’d surely have let him go at the same time as Tel Hesani. Were they going to torture him? Kill and eat him? Worse?
Jebel got no sleep that night, struggling vainly with his bonds. He tried to break a chair and use the splintered wood to cut himself free, but he couldn’t. He kicked at the door, hoping to attract attention, but either nobody heard him over the singing in the bar or the um Jedir simply didn’t care. He even prayed to the gods for help, though he felt ashamed afterwards and regretted bothering them.
Bush and Blair slept in late the following morning. They went down for a bath and breakfast when they awoke, and were bright and cheery when they unlocked Jebel’s door and propped him up.
“We’re leaving,” Bush said, cutting through the cloth around Jebel’s ankles. “You’re coming with us. My advice is to accept your lot and make the best of it.”
“We meant what we said last night,” added Blair, grabbing Jebel’s chin. “If you annoy us, we’ll punish you. Push us too far and we’ll kill you.”
“But if you work hard, we’ll reward you,” Bush said pleasantly. “We’re not ogres, merely businessmen who act in our own best interests.”
“A whipped servant is nonproductive,” Blair said. “We’d rather praise you than lash you.”
“Treat us with respect, and we’ll take care of you,” Bush promised. “You might even grow and prosper from the experie
nce.”
“Look upon yourself not as a slave,” Blair said. “Think of yourself as a… I hesitate to say protégé… an apprentice of sorts. You can learn from us and earn your freedom, or you can resist us and suffer.”
With that, they pushed Jebel out of the room, down the stairs, through the town of Jedir, and out into the bitterly cold wilderness of Abu Saga.
The trio headed slowly north, Jebel trudging miserably in front, Bush and Blair following, chatting about the weather, the landscape, what they’d like for dinner. They didn’t remove Jebel’s gag. He was starving by early evening when they stopped for a rest, but the pair ignored him as they ate from a basket of sandwiches and fruit. They proceeded at the same easy pace when they were finished, arriving at a village shortly before dusk, where they paid for lodgings in a private house. Bush and Blair slept on a narrow bed; Jebel, on the floor without even a rug.
The following morning the traders finished off their food, purchased bread and meat, then resumed their path, taking a slight western turn. They paused by a stream at midday for lunch. Jebel’s stomach was growling, and he watched with an angry, hungry grimace as they tossed away crusts and fatty pieces of meat.
When the traders were done, Bush glanced at Jebel and frowned. He made a hand signal to Blair, who studied the boy and nodded. Bush reached behind Jebel and untied the knots of his gag. He unwound the cloth, then pried the ball out of Jebel’s mouth carefully, in case Jebel tried to bite.
Jebel coughed fitfully and gulped in air. His lips were cracked and bleeding, and his mouth felt as if it was full of blood. Bush handed the boy a flask of water. Jebel took a huge swig, rolled the water around in his mouth, then spat it out. He took another gulp and let some trickle down his throat. It was painful, but after a while he was able to drink normally.
“You can finish off the scraps of food,” Blair said, nudging the crusts and offcuts with a mud-encrusted boot. Any other time, Jebel would have refused such an insulting offer, but he was too hungry to turn up his nose. Staggering across on his knees, he bent over the bits of bread and meat and chewed at them like a pig.
Bush and Blair watched Jebel eat, and both smiled thinly. They hadn’t wanted to feed him until he was desperate, so that he learned to depend on them and accept even the smallest shred of mercy with the gratitude of the truly needy. They knew from past experience that this was only the first lesson of many. They couldn’t expect the boy to master obedience instantly. But it was a promising start.
When Jebel was full, he glared at the traders. He hated himself for acting so cravenly, and silently vowed never to behave this way again, although secretly he knew he’d do the same thing the next time they starved him.
“Why are you doing this?” Jebel groaned. “We were your friends.”
“No, my poor, deluded boy,” chuckled Blair. “You were victims waiting to be taken advantage of.”
“Did you really think it was luck that we turned up in Jedir at the same time as you?” Bush asked. “Jedir’s not on the way to Disi. If that’s where we were headed, we’d have sailed farther up the as-Sudat.”
“We’d been waiting for you,” said Blair. “Watching the mouth of the siq to see if you made it through.”
“But why?” Jebel gaped.
“We hoped you’d bring lots of gems and swagah,” Bush said. “Failing that, we knew we could sell the slave and keep you to serve. It was a no-lose situation.”
“But you’re wealthy traders,” Jebel said. “You deal in fortunes. Why pick on a pair of simple travelers like us?”
Blair raised an eyebrow. “Who told you we were wealthy?”
“You did.”
“And you believed us?” Bush chortled. “More fool you! No, young Rum, we’re a pair of lying rogues. We’ve spent our lives searching for fortunes and have come close a few times but never quite made it. We’d have retired long ago if we had. Life on the road is entertaining, but it can be an awful drag too.”
“It was all lies?” Jebel asked, feeling sick.
“Not entirely,” said Blair. “We have traveled a lot, although not as widely as we led you to believe. And we do hope to go beyond the al-Meata one day and mine for riches. But we need funds to get started, and at the moment we’re sorely lacking in that department.”
“We make a nice bit of swagah most months,” Bush added. “But we like to live the high life when we hit a city. We crave luxuries and fritter away our earnings on good food and wine and bad women. We scatter our swagah across a variety of inns and bordellos and leave with fond memories but empty pockets.”
“So what do you want with me?” Jebel asked, steeling himself. “Why hold on to me when you let Tel Hesani go?”
“Ah,” Bush smiled, tapping the side of his nose. “That, my young servant, is something you’ll find out in the not-too-distant future. For the moment it must remain a mystery. Now, if you give us your word not to scream every time we pass somebody, we can leave your gag out. Otherwise…” He produced the leather ball and tossed it up into the air.
“I promise,” said Jebel quickly.
“A wise choice,” Bush said, pocketing the ball. “They’d take no notice of you anyway. Nobody leaps to a slave’s rescue in this wretched country.”
“What about my hands?” Jebel asked. “Will you free those too?”
Bush pursed his lips and checked with his partner.
“Not yet,” Blair said. “Let’s give it a few weeks and see how you get on.”
Weeks…
To Jebel, the word sounded like a life sentence.
The first snowfall of the year came a couple of days later. Jebel had never seen real snow, and he was amazed by the thickness and beauty of it when he woke to find the world transformed into white. For a few moments he forgot his sorrows and stared in awe at the land around him. It looked as if it had been painted by the gods. Patches of trees and bushes were still visible, but much of the landscape had disappeared during the night.
“The fabled Abu Saga snow,” Bush said from within the comfort of a thickly lined fur rug. “Don’t you hate it, Master Blair?”
“With a passion,” said Blair, shivering even though he was similarly protected from the morning chill. “I still think we should have wintered in Abu Aineh.”
“But think of the riches we’d miss out on,” Bush tutted. “We must put business first. There will be long spring and summer nights at the end of this snowy tunnel, when we can enjoy the fruits of our earnings in style.”
“I know,” Blair sighed. “Still…” He sneezed. “I hate it, Master Bush, and no amount of rationalizing can alter that fact.”
“Then let’s not rationalize,” said Bush, unwrapping himself and emerging like a furry butterfly. “Let’s get to work and teach young Rum some useful lessons.”
It would be another few days before Jebel discovered what work entailed. They proceeded slowly, the traders in no rush.
Apart from an extra pair of socks and a cap, Bush and Blair gave Jebel no new clothing. They freed his arms sooner than they’d threatened, and he had to clap his hands together constantly while walking, and rub them up and down his sides to stop himself freezing. His teeth chattered, and he shivered so badly that he found it hard to hold a flask steady when he was drinking. At night when they lit a fire, he’d huddle as close to it as he could and fall asleep sitting up, extracting every last flicker of heat from the dying embers.
Finally, after a week of aimless wandering, they came to a town. Like Jedir, it was fortified. When Bush and Blair saw it, they consulted one of their many maps and discussed their plan in whispers, then skirted the town and made camp at the base of a hill. Not lighting a fire, they sat wrapped in furs, waiting for dark, while Jebel jumped up and down and slapped his sides, trying to keep warm.
They broke camp when night fell. The moon was almost full, so it was easy to find their way. Jebel expected the pair to head for town, but instead they circled around to the north to a graveyard surrounded by a fen
ce topped with thorns, nails, and wicked-looking spikes.
Bush and Blair stopped by the rear gate once they had completed a circuit of the graveyard. The larger Abu Saga graveyards were guarded, but this one wasn’t—the people of the town must have had insufficient funds to stretch to a full-time guard of their dead and instead relied on the fence to keep out intruders. Jebel heard Blair mutter, “Do you think it’s worth our while?”
Bush replied, “We might as well try it while we’re here. Besides, it will be an easy start for the boy.”
The gate was locked with four lengths of chain, but Bush produced a bunch of long needles and went to work on the locks, snapping them open one after the other. When the last had been dealt with, he pushed the gate open and entered. Blair shoved Jebel in, hurried after him, then swung the gate closed behind them.
The graveyard was a dark, eerie place. Trees blocked out most of the moonlight, and the snow didn’t lie as thick here as it did outside. There were no headstones, only mausoleums.
Bush and Blair strolled through the graveyard. Bush was whistling softly and Blair was humming. Jebel recognized the tune, an old ballad, “The Merry Dance of the Dead.” He didn’t like it here and hoped they wouldn’t stay long. But why enter in the first place? Were they meeting someone? Did they plan to perform some dark rite involving the spirits of the departed?
They stopped by one of the largest mausoleums. There were no names on it, but the faces of the dead had been carved on a plaque on the eastern side of the tomb. There were five of them, all men. No women were buried here. Women were second-class citizens in Abu Saga and were hardly ever afforded the luxury of a burial when they died.
“A glum bunch,” Blair noted, studying the five carved, stern faces.
“But wealthy,” Bush mused, then tapped the side of the mausoleum with his foot. “Up you go.”