“We can’t leave now,” Jebel objected. “They might need our help.”
“They’re more than capable of helping themselves,” hissed Tel Hesani.
“But—” Jebel began.
“The people here think we’re their associates,” Tel Hesani said. “If Bush and Blair are hanged, we’ll hang too.”
Jebel didn’t want to abandon the traders, but he didn’t want to end up with his neck in a noose either. So he picked up his bags as Tel Hesani had commanded, and they slid from their benches and began to steal their way to the door.
At the table, Masters Bush and Blair weren’t panicking. In fact, they acted like this was no more than a minor inconvenience.
“I think we are no longer welcome,” Master Bush said.
“Should we retire to our mats?” Master Blair asked.
“Don’t bother,” the Um Safafaha laughed. “You won’t be needing them.”
“But we paid for them,” said Master Bush. “If we’re not to use them, we should be entitled to a refund.”
“We’ll put it towards the cost of burying you,” the Um Safafaha said.
The other three gamblers stood and backed away from the table. People rose from their mats and joined them, forming a purposeful half-circle. Masters Bush and Blair didn’t react, except to casually gather their winnings.
“I’m sure you good gentlemen won’t object if we bag the swagah,” Master Blair said.
“It will save you a job once you’ve hung us up to dry,” Master Bush added.
“Go ahead,” one of the gamblers grinned. “We like men who can see the light side of their own execution.”
“Oh, we believe you have to be able to laugh at everything in this world, don’t we, Master Blair?” Master Bush said.
“Indeed,” Master Blair agreed. He finished bagging his share of the coins. “Laughter keeps the world turning. That’s why my partner and I spend much of our time… I wouldn’t say mastering… but learning new tricks. We like to amuse those we meet. Perhaps you’d like to see a trick before you take us outside—assuming you’re not planning to hang us from the rafters in here.”
“Go ahead,” the Um Safafaha cackled. “Perform all the tricks you like, long as they ain’t vanishing tricks.”
The crowd laughed. Jebel, who was almost at the door, wondered if the Masters meant to joke their way out of their predicament. He didn’t think that they could, but he silently wished them the best of luck as he reached for the handle.
A man stepped in his way. Jebel looked up and saw that it was the innkeeper. “Don’t leave now,” he growled. “You’ll miss all the fun.”
Jebel looked back at Tel Hesani. The slave glanced around. Nobody else had spotted them. The innkeeper was the only one aware that they existed. But if they tried to knock him aside, they’d draw the attention of the mob. Tel Hesani gave Jebel a signal, and they took a couple of steps away from the door.
Master Blair had fished a small ball out of a pocket. It was a peculiar mesh ball, made of interlacing strands of a fine material. There was a metal triangle in the middle. “Observe,” Master Blair said, tilting the ball and squeezing it. The triangle slipped through a gap between strands. He caught it, then poked it back into the ball, shook it, and teased the triangle through another gap.
“I don’t think much of that,” the Um Safafaha grunted.
“You haven’t seen the best part yet,” Master Blair said. And with a fast flick of his wrist, he sent the ball flying at the larger man’s throat. It struck him just below his Adam’s apple and bounced off. The Um Safafaha started to bring his hands up to protect himself, then realized he had nothing to fear. He looked down at the ball, which had landed on the table and was rolling back to Master Blair, and sneered.
“Is that it?” one of the gamblers asked, disappointed.
“Almost,” Master Blair said. “But if you look closely, you’ll see that the triangle has disappeared.”
“That’s supposed to make us laugh?” the gambler snorted.
“No,” Master Blair said, then pointed at the Um Safafaha. “That is.”
The Um Safafaha began to choke. Eyes bulging, he staggered backwards and fell over a table, scratching at his throat, gasping for breath, blood bubbling from his mouth. He tried to rise again but didn’t make it. As a huge gout of blood burst from his lips, he collapsed, shook, then went still.
“And so the giant was brought low,” Master Bush muttered, and stood. He was holding two mesh balls similar to Master Blair’s, one in each hand. “Does anybody else want to argue the finer points of the game with us?”
Nobody answered. The eyes of those around the traders were full of hate—not because they’d killed the Um Safafaha but because they had cheated the mob of a hanging.
Master Blair took his time picking up the bags of swagah and putting them in his pockets. When he was finished, he yawned and stretched. “I could do with a good night’s sleep, Master Bush. Shall we take to our mats now?”
“I would advise against it,” Master Bush said. “The air is rife with treachery. I believe our sleep would be disturbed by agents of vengeful wrath.”
“A pity,” Master Blair sighed, then started towards the door. Two more of the mesh balls appeared in his hands as if by magic. People quickly stepped out of his way, then took another step back when Master Bush followed him.
The traders were almost at the door when Master Blair spotted Jebel and Tel Hesani. “There you are!” he boomed. “I thought you had departed already.”
“We couldn’t get out,” Jebel said, nodding at the innkeeper.
Master Blair raised an eyebrow at the um Shihat. “Would you please step aside, kind sir? We wish to leave.”
“I want a death tithe,” the innkeeper snarled. “That savage was part of a group. They’ll come here looking to cause trouble when they find out he’s dead. The only hope I have of keeping them quiet is to fix them up with ale and women.”
“A troublesome task,” Master Blair said. “You have my condolences.”
“I don’t want your condolences,” the innkeeper growled. “I want a death tithe. A tenth of your winnings—that’s fair. Then you can leave without any trouble.”
“That would be fair,” Master Blair agreed. “Except I think he was traveling by himself, and you are trying to con us.”
“A tenth is not so much,” Master Bush said. “Perhaps we should take this good man at his word and pay the tithe.”
“I have looked deep into his eyes, Master Bush. He is a liar. I am certain.”
“I ain’t no liar!” the innkeeper barked. “And I ain’t letting you out unless you pay that stinking tithe.”
Master Blair’s smile tightened. “And if we choose to kill you, sir?”
“You won’t,” the innkeeper snorted. “Killing a savage is one thing, but if you kill me, you’ll have half the soldiers in Shihat on your backs before you’re ten paces out the door.”
Master Blair nodded. “You make a valid point. But I believe we could get more than ten paces from here… twelve at the least. Master Bush?”
“Most definitely twelve,” Master Bush murmured.
Master Blair tutted. “You have placed us in a dilemma. If we pay, we’ll never know who was wrong and who was right. And we are men who hate to live in doubt. So, as hazardous as it may prove to be…”
With a lazy smile, Master Blair’s left hand jerked, and the mesh ball struck the innkeeper in the middle of his throat. As he fell aside, choking, Master Blair yanked the door open, grabbed Jebel, and thrust him through. He made to grab Tel Hesani, but the slave was already following the boy. Master Blair spun, launched his final ball at the crowd—Master Bush had thrown both of his too—then the pair of traders darted after the um Wadi and his slave, slamming the door shut on the screams of the outraged mob.
“This way, gentlemen,” Master Bush said, heading for an alley.
Jebel started to follow the traders, but Tel Hesani caught him. “We shouldn’t go with them
,” he said.
Jebel paused. Events had unfolded so quickly, his head was in a whirl.
Master Blair winked. “You’re free to make your own way if you wish, young Rum, but we know this town better than you or your slave. My advice is to throw your lot in with us.”
The pair fled down the alley. Jebel stared at Tel Hesani, wanting him to make the call. The slave hesitated, then heard the door of the inn opening. Slapping Jebel’s back, he pointed after the traders. They ducked down the alley just before the first members of the mob appeared, screeching bloody murder.
Jebel and Tel Hesani soon caught up with Masters Bush and Blair. The traders were making good time, but they weren’t racing. Master Blair even took a moment to stop in front of a window to check his appearance and smooth his mustache.
“You didn’t have to kill him,” Jebel gasped.
“The Um Safafaha?” Master Blair said, surprised.
“No—the innkeeper. Why didn’t you pay him?”
“He would have raised the alarm regardless,” Master Blair said. “I know his sort. He would have set the soldiers on us even if we’d given him all our swagah.”
They turned down another dark alley. Jebel had no idea where they were. He could hear the mob somewhere behind, yelling and cursing. He was terrified, but Master Blair seemed unaffected by the uproar.
“Was it true?” Jebel asked Master Bush as they jogged. “Did you cheat?”
“Please!” Master Bush said with a pained expression. “One never asks a valued friend such an insensitive question.”
“Where are we going?” growled Tel Hesani. He would have gladly broken free of the traders, except he didn’t know the town.
“The docks,” Master Bush said. “We have a small skiff moored and ready to sail. There isn’t much room, but you’re more than welcome to share it with us.”
“We can’t,” Jebel said. “I’m a quester. I have to travel on foot.”
“I understand,” said Master Bush. “But in an emergency such as this…”
“No,” Jebel said stubbornly. “Sabbah Eid would curse me if I did.”
“As you wish,” Master Bush sighed. “I admire your dedication, even though I fear it may prove your undoing.”
They jogged in silence, winding their way through the dark, twisting streets. The sounds of the mob faded but didn’t go away. Jebel’s heart pumped furiously. He had never had to flee for his life before. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.
Ten minutes later they reached a quiet section of the docks. There were few boats moored here and Jebel soon smelt why—they were by the rim of a sewer, where waste overflowed into the as-Surout. The stench was overwhelming. Jebel reeled aside and was sick. Tel Hesani was almost sick too, but he managed to keep his food down. Masters Bush and Blair seemed oblivious to the smell. They made for a skiff tied close to where the waste opened into the river. A wretched boy was standing guard. He was naked except for a short sword strapped to his side. He drew it now and snarled at the traders. Master Bush tossed him a silver swagah and pushed onto the boat.
Master Blair tossed another piece of swagah to the boy, then shooed him away. He turned to smile at Jebel and Tel Hesani. “Last chance, good sirs. We’re sailing north, following much the same route as you. But we’ll cover it faster, and we won’t have to worry about cannibals, alligators, mosquitoes, or the other nuisances of the swamp. We’ll gladly take you with us.”
“We can’t,” Jebel said miserably. “It’s a condition of the quest.”
“Very well. On your own heads be it.” Master Blair jumped down into the boat and untied the last of the knots.
“There’s a bordello two streets over,” Master Bush said as they pushed out into the current. “It has a cellar bar, one of the worst holes in Shihat—and that’s saying something! But it’s dark and quiet there. My advice is to pick your way to it and keep your heads down until morning.”
“Thank you,” Jebel said, sorry to see the pair leave, despite the trouble they’d brought upon him. “I wish you luck with your mining venture.”
“And we wish you all the luck of the gods with your quest,” Master Bush said. As the current caught the skiff, the trader sat alongside Master Blair, and each man took up an oar and began rowing.
“We’ll look for you farther up the trail,” Master Blair called, waving with one hand. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”
“I hope so,” Jebel replied, waving in return. He would have liked to watch the strange Masters sail out of sight, but Tel Hesani nudged him roughly. “All right,” Jebel snapped. Turning his back on the river, he hurried after Tel Hesani as the slave led him in search of sordid sanctuary.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The cellar bar was dark and moldy, filled with shifty, foul-smelling clients of the bordello. A few candles burned in a corner, the only light except for occasional flares as somebody lit up a length of smoking tobacco.
The pair of refugees bought drinks and stood—there were no chairs or benches—in the darkest crevice, trying to avoid contact with those around them, shivering with cold and fear.
The night passed slowly and uncomfortably. At one point Jebel leaned against the wall and tried to doze standing up. Something long and slimy slithered down the neck of his tunic. Yelping, he tore off the tunic, slapped away a leech-like creature, and kept clear of the wall after that.
Finally, as Jebel was weaving on his feet, Tel Hesani spotted daylight when the door to the cellar opened and another customer stumbled down the steps. “We can leave now,” he said.
“What if the mob’s still out there?” Jebel asked nervously.
Tel Hesani shrugged. “I imagine they will have returned to the inn to slake their thirst hours ago.”
“Then why didn’t we leave sooner?” Jebel snapped.
“Our descriptions will have been passed to the soldiers. It was better to wait until those on the night watch were replaced.”
Leaving the cellar behind—forever, Jebel hoped!—they trudged through the streets. It wasn’t as busy as when they’d arrived the previous evening, but there were enough traders on the move so they didn’t stand out.
They walked to the edge of Shihat and presented themselves to a guard at one of the town’s northern gates. He barely looked at them, only waved them through—the guards had little interest in those heading north.
Jebel and Tel Hesani kept to the west of the as-Surout and marched to where the two main tributaries of the river joined. Once past that, they were in Abu Nekhele. There was a small border crossing, guarded by lazy, sullen soldiers, most of whom had been posted there as a punishment. They demanded a bribe of four silver swagah for Jebel and two for Tel Hesani. At the slave’s urging, Jebel haggled them down to three and one, then the pair were allowed to pass.
The exhausted um Wadi and his slave walked a mile farther, then Tel Hesani pitched a meager camp in a copse by the river. They crawled beneath their blankets, pulled them over their heads, and were dead to the world in minutes.
Tel Hesani was praying when Jebel awoke. The slave prayed at least three times a day, no matter where they were. He’d kneel or sit cross-legged, close his eyes, trace small circles with the thumb and middle finger of his right hand over his eyelids, then place his hands palm down on the ground. Sometimes he stayed like that for ages. Jebel had often wondered whom he prayed to, but hadn’t wished to appear curious, since he was determined to treat Tel Hesani with the disdain a slave deserved. But after last night’s escape, he felt closer to the pale-skinned man. It wasn’t the stirrings of friendship—the very idea made Jebel laugh—but he felt that Tel Hesani need no longer be completely ignored.
When the slave made the small circles over his eyes again and opened them, Jebel said, “Which god were you praying to?”
Tel Hesani regarded the boy with surprise. For a moment he said nothing, and Jebel thought he wasn’t going to reply. But then, glancing at the sky, he said, “My people have only one god.”
J
ebel frowned. “What’s his name?”
“God.”
“A god called God?” Jebel snorted. “Ridiculous!”
“Many think so, my lord.” Tel Hesani smiled and pushed himself to his feet to make a fire and prepare breakfast.
“Wait a minute.” Jebel waved him down. “I’m interested in this God of yours.”
Tel Hesani regarded Jebel warily. “What would you like to know?”
“How can you just have one god?” Jebel asked. “Who controls the rivers, the wind, the rain? Who keeps the sun burning and the stars shining? Who blesses marriages, ensures clean births, and oversees the dead?”
“God,” Tel Hesani said simply.
“He does everything?”
The slave nodded. “We believe God is in all places at all times.”
“So he’s responsible for everything that happens?”
“No,” Tel Hesani said. “God could control everything, but he chooses not to. He lets people follow their own path.”
“Then what were you praying to him for?” Jebel asked.
“My people pray to feel closer to God, not to ask him for favors.”
Jebel scratched his head. “If your God is so powerful, why doesn’t he help you? We’ve been taking slaves from Abu Kheshabah for centuries. The Um Kheshabah have no army to stop us from raiding, so we’ve enslaved countless thousands of your people. Why doesn’t your God free you all?”
“He does not wish to interfere. We could never be truly free if he did.”
“He doesn’t sound like much of a god to me,” Jebel huffed. “Our gods are fierce warriors, strong like us. Your God’s weak and pitiful. You would believe in proper gods if you were as mighty as the Um Aineh.”
“But we were,” Tel Hesani said, then immediately went quiet.
“What?” Jebel snapped.
“Nothing, my lord,” said Tel Hesani quickly. “I spoke out of place. I beg—”
“No,” Jebel interrupted. “I want to hear what you were going to say. Tell me.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I don’t care what you’d rather. Tell me!”
“Very well.” Tel Hesani’s eyes flashed with anger. “But I hope my master will remember that he forced me to speak.”