10

We had no friends in that place, and no allies other than the Bedouins from whom Dabir had rented the horses. They loaned us robes that night and rode with us out to a small camp a mile from the city, where they invited us to rest in an old tent. I thought Dabir was entirely too trusting of them, but when I pointed this out he said only: “What would you have me do, Asim?”

Thus while we talked I sat at the tent flap, listening, expecting at any moment to be surrounded by Bedouin foes who had sold our location to Firouz and meant us to remain until he could come for us and pay them more.

“This is better anyway,” Hamil said once he had taken his place on the rug across from Dabir. “You would have been killed trying to stop Firouz on your own.”

“Better?” Dabir repeated bitterly. The hot coals from the cooking brazier we’d borrowed threw shadows across him, emphasizing the lines in his face. He looked years older. “With thirty more men dead at Firouz’s hands?” He referred to the sailors, killed aboard the governor’s vessel. “Better, that we chase him into the desert with Sabirah? We cannot leave her in the village, either alone or with the two of you. Firouz has too many allies and spies there. This is hardly ‘better.’ ”

Hamil smiled glumly and looked down.

“I know the way he is going,” Sabirah said with great seriousness.

“You do?” Dabir asked tensely. I might even have detected a note of hope in his voice.

She nodded. “I overheard them speak of the course to take via the stars. Though I did not understand all, I can remember clearly the constellations and numbers.”

“Dastur Esfandiar never shared the location with me,” Dabir said. “What precisely did they say?”

Sabirah proceeded to rattle off a series of numbers and degrees, interspersed with commentary. It made little sense to me but I gathered the information would help determine the positions of stars at certain times. “You know the use of an astrolabe,” she finished. “We can find the way!”

“You see,” Hamil said, “all is not lost.” He fought a smile, then could contain himself no longer. His hands rose with his voice excitedly. “You must not be sad! You achieved the impossible! You rescued Sabirah! And your trick worked, by Allah! Firouz set himself on fire! And your clothing protected you from the flame!”

“Sabirah is free.” Dabir frowned. “But I was not so clever as I thought. I wish I’d thrown the spirits a moment sooner, while Firouz still held the papers. I’d brushed them with oil.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Sabirah interjected. “Firouz insisted he had already memorized the calculations, but Diomedes would not trust him. You saw that he recognized your changes.”

“Why would the villain bargain for papers he’d already committed to memory?” Hamil asked.

“On our journey here,” Sabirah answered, “Firouz and Diomedes often argued. Firouz assured the Greek that it did not matter if you appeared with the documents or not, because he could reproduce them at will. But Diomedes was not convinced and insisted that the original papers be found before they moved forward. It seemed to me that Firouz agreed because he wanted rid of me and because he relished the opportunity to demonstrate superiority. But then, too, Diomedes is the chief source of the monies used to outfit their expedition. They seem to respect each other, but maintain some suspiciousness.”

“I wondered at their resources. So Diomedes is an agent of Empress Irene?” Dabir prompted.

“I am positive. Diomedes was angry, and said this to Firouz: ‘Perhaps you think that my mistress will only be angry with me, should I fail. Her reach is long, my friend. Her coffers are not so deep as the Muhammadens, but she will spare no expense in hunting down those who have failed her.’ Firouz then said: ‘The empress will be fully pleased with the both of us, you may be sure.’ Following that their voices grew more indistinct as they stepped farther away from the wall I listened at, and I could not hear more.”

For the first time I truly understood Dabir’s appreciation for the girl’s mind.

“He is more than an agent, though,” Sabirah said. “Diomedes has mastery over dead things, Dabir. I saw him at work on a seabird one evening, sewing its belly closed.”

“Aye,” I agreed, “the monkey protected him this night.”

“He told Firouz how he would soon have need of more black stones if he was to keep losing servants. They guessed that either you or predator birds had finished some of his spies.”

“It was not us, alas,” I said.

“So we face two wizards, not one,” Hamil said thoughtfully. I wondered what he would make of that in his poem.

Dabir’s attention remained fixed upon Sabirah. “Did you learn exactly what they intend with the pulls?”

“They mean to return from the desert with a stone,” Sabirah replied.

“A stone?” Dabir repeated. “What sort?”

“I wish they had said more, but Diomedes was cautious, even though I pretended meek stupidity. Firouz is confident that what he recovers from Ubar will doom Baghdad. He said, ‘When we switch out the stones, the caliph will well remember the day his people destroyed mine.’ He worried most about the timing of his expedition, and any delays, for it was important to him that he return to Baghdad on the anniversary of some massacre.”

“That helps,” Dabir said. “Now at least we have a timetable, and a final destination. Did they mention the Keeper of Secrets? If they sought some kind of magical stone, he might bestow it.”

Sabirah shook her head, frowning. “I never heard the djinn mentioned. But then they often spoke in lowered voices, and I was kept in a tiny cabin separate from theirs, so that there is doubtless much that I missed.”

We spoke on for a longer while, Dabir probing for more information with his questions, but soon I suggested that we gain what rest we could.

I remained awake through the night, alert for the betrayal that did not come, thus, when I lay down for a brief sleep that morning I was not awake to stop Dabir’s reconnaissance of the village in disguise. He returned shortly to announce that Firouz had departed for the desert before dawn.

We had enough money to hire guides for the desert, or to hire passage on a ship, not both, and Dabir had decided that we would chase after Firouz. When Hamil asked how we would return to Bahgdad after the desert, with no money left, Dabir said that there were many troubles before us and that one came later than others. I myself wondered if any one of us would be returning alive, but did not voice my worry.

The chief Bedouin was Hadban, a lean fellow on the steep side of forty. Dabir and I sat down with him inside his tent before midday prayers and bargained with him to purchase passage and the aid of desert guides. After much talk, Hadban agreed for a princely sum—most of the rest of our money, as well as those rings Jaffar had purchased for us in the marketplace—to lead us into the empty quarter with his son and nephew, though they assured us that there was nothing much to be seen there. Hadban advised against the woman joining us, suggesting even that she could stay with his women. I did not know enough about Bedouins at that time to take him at his word. They are shrewd negotiators, the Bedouin, but unfailingly polite and garbed in honor. Which would have seemed worse to Jaffar? To leave her under the care of strangers, or to take her into a deadly desert in pursuit of enemies? We were so far gone at that point there was little worrying what Jaffar might say; I doubted anything short of a miracle would see us into his good graces again.

So it was that we climbed into saddle and rode south into the wilderness. The deserts I had known were flat, barren, and rocky, and so was this one for the first day. Come evening its character changed, for we entered the empty quarter. If the empty quarter has rocks, they are not to be seen, for they are buried beneath vast drifts of sand.

It is hard to portray the lonely immensity of the place with any justice. The brown dunes roll to the horizon, rising sometimes for hundreds of feet, gentle on one side and precipitous upon the other. From the height of the greatest of them one can see far, and the monotony of the view both disheartens and inspires awe. There is nothing to be seen but the dunes, identical in their composition but infinitely variable in their shape, height, and sweep.

My recollection now of that journey has blurred the events of the days and nights so that it is impossible to separate them aside from a few key moments, rising above the tide of memory as small peaks. During the days I looked always for one of the birds, but saw none. As a matter of fact, I thought at first that nothing lived out there but occasional scrub brush until Hadban one evening reached into the sand and pulled forth a small scaly lizard. Hadban grinned at me. “They are everywhere, below the surface, if one knows how to look.”

I tried mastering the how of looking and must confess that I never did learn, although once I spied a tiny spider.

I hope I need hardly emphasize the heat. We would pause in the hottest hours of the day, and sought ever to move from shadow to shadow. I had thought we would move at night, remembering that Dabir had told me our way would be pointed to by the stars. Night travel, though, was too hazardous, for one could not see the footing as well. Besides, it was very cold in the night. Thus we readied for travel every day before first light, then traveled from shade to shade—when we could find such luxury—until midday, then again through the afternoon and evening. Dabir and I were more accustomed to the sun, but Hamil and especially Sabirah had to contend with its burning rays. The Bedouins, noting their difficulties, provided them with traditional desert garments. They apologized that they had no clothing suitable for a woman. Sabirah did not mind, and donned a loose white robe and head cloth along with Hamil.

During the first three evenings the wind gusted out of the emptiness and blew energetically into the night, coating everything with a fine layer of sand. The grit lodged everywhere. In my boots. In my underclothes. In my food. In my nose. Yet these were not sandstorms; Hadban assured me that I did not want to experience a sandstorm in the empty quarter. No, the evening winds were merely another dependable feature of that place.

There was no sign of Firouz. The sand shifts so much one should not expect to find tracks. I had thought, seeing as how Firouz had left only a half day before us, that we might sight them.

“Are we headed the proper direction?” I asked Dabir the second night. There amongst the endless expanses it was easy to imagine losing one’s way.

“Sabirah said that they meant to follow the position Merak held on the eighth hour of the night of the twenty-first. That is the direction we follow—her memory is flawless.”

He sounded as if something still troubled him. “And yet?” I prompted.

He lowered his voice. “Suppose that there was some detail they did not discuss? She would not know if they did not speak of it that night.”

“Will you know if we have gone too far?” I asked.

“At the end of six days. And we will not be able to search much longer than that with the supplies we have.”

“God give that the girl overheard all that there was to learn,” I said.

Sabirah was no longer the girl holding court, as she had been upon our river travel. She was more subdued. But though the heat and the thirst encouraged silence upon our travel, it did not altogether still her tongue. Of the Bedouins she asked many questions concerning the desert and camels. Always the Bedouins were courteous and polite. From time to time she would look over at me with a curious, questing look, but I in no way encouraged her attentions.

Except during a few short evening hours, all of us spoke less than was our habit, even Hamil. Perhaps it was the place imposing its spirit upon us. The dunes crouched like hungry cats, a force both patient and irresistible. Only the camels seemed unaffected by the environs. They snorted, they snuffed, they bayed. They made noxious noises and smells.

At least my she-camel, Ghadah, was a cooperative creature. Dabir’s was stubborn in the mornings; mine never gave me a moment of trouble. Indeed, if God had fashioned more camels in her likeness it might be that everyone in the world would have desired the beasts. It took me a few days to accustom myself to her gait, for camels run differently from horses. Both legs on one side move, then both legs on the other, imparting a swaying motion. It is not unpleasant. One always hears about the trouble mounting the animals; the trick is to twist their head to one side as you climb into the saddle. You must lean back as they push up with their rear legs and lean forward as they push up with their front, or you will surely spill, as happened three days in a row with our poet. The second day was especially amusing. As the camel pushed up on its hind legs Hamil soared over its head not so much like an arrow, but a drunken bird, and continued to flutter his arms in the sand upon landing. The Bedouins thought this fine entertainment, and it was the first time I’d heard Sabirah laugh since we’d crossed into the dunes.

I am sure they thought her manner unconventional, but it was clear that the Bedouins had judged that she was not shameful; indeed, they were almost as solicitous of her welfare as Dabir, who was on hand whenever she climbed on or off her mount lest she suffer from the same troubles as Hamil.

On the fifth evening, Dabir told the Bedouins that we must talk of things to come.

The seven of us sat about a tamarisk fire, the Bedouin each resting one arm on a knee while the other leg was thrust out before them, as is their habit. The wind for once did not assault us. Venus shone high over Sabirah’s shoulder.

“The winds are low tonight,” Dabir said. “It is time to push on. The stars will guide us from here.”

Hadban shook his head. “You know that the sands are treacherous at night.”

“I have no choice,” Dabir said. “We should be nearing the place Firouz seeks. If Asim and I travel on through the night, I hope to catch them unaware before further trouble may be unleashed.”

Hadban pulled at his beard. His nephew and his son looked back and forth at each other and at their patriarch, waiting for him to speak. He said nothing.

Hamil, though, had grown agitated. “I’m coming with you.”

Dabir shook his head. “You must stay here with Sabirah.”

“You two are pledged to recover the treasure,” Hamil said, and I groaned, for the Bedouins knew nothing of a treasure. “I am ordered to write all that transpires for Jaffar.”

“Jaffar!” exclaimed Hadban’s son.

Hadban looked at the youth, then back to us, and smiled thinly. “We knew that you were in service to some great lord. We were not sure which one.”

“We serve Jaffar the Barmacide,” Dabir said. “This is Sabirah, his niece. If we fail he will reward you handsomely for her return.”

“You speak like men who expect to die,” Hadban said.

“I must plan for contingencies.”

“There should be none of this talk,” Sabirah said. The Bedouins looked at her curiously. “We should strike at Firouz together. With the swords of these brave men beside yours, you will not fail, and then honor will come to all of you.”

Hadban’s nephew and son heard this with keen interest and watched Hadban for response.

“We need numbers,” Hamil said. A plaintive note entered his speech as he thrust up his chin. He looked over at the Bedouins. “Will you and your family join us? Think of the reward of a grateful caliph.”

“Hamil, Sabirah,” Dabir said quickly, “I did not hire these men to fight for us. They must see you safely from the desert—and perhaps to another port.”

“But we need more numbers,” Sabirah said, sounding agitated.

Hamil started to object once more, but Hadban gave off tugging at his beard and spoke. His voice was thin, but certain. “It is true that we did not agree to fight. We pledged to safeguard the four of you in and out of the desert, and that we shall do.” He gestured to Dabir. “You need not worry for the girl if you do not return; we will see that she is sent safely back to her uncle. Take Hamil, for you will surely need another sword against these enemies. Sabirah will come to no harm while under my protection.”

“Father,” said Naji, Hadban’s son, “do you not think—”

“I have already said what I think,” Hadban said smoothly, and his gaze brooked no argument.

“Should we not bargain?” Naji persisted quietly.

Hadban turned a kindly eye toward us. “Do they look like men of great resource, Naji?”

Naji said nothing.

“They are servants come to the end of their rope,” Hadban continued, “sworn to reach the bottom of the chasm.”

“We are honorable men,” the poet declared, “and if we succeed, we will see that you are rewarded.”

Hadban seemed faintly amused. “I thank you. Now you should rest before making your way.”

“I thank you, Hadban,” Dabir said formally.

We stood then, and moved for our separate tents. I heard Hamil telling Dabir that he’d thought that had gone well, and then I felt a hand upon my shoulder. It was Sabirah. She beckoned me to follow.

I steeled myself for the awkward duty of breaking her heart. I would strive not to wound her too severely. She turned and regarded me after we walked around the side of the tent. Her dark eyes mirrored starlight.

“Asim,” she said tensely, “you are a soldier. You know that we should stick together.”

These did not sound like the words of a lover to me. She raised a finger to tick off a point in the air, just as her uncle Jaffar often did.

“If you three go alone,” she continued, “you shall be outnumbered, but if we stay together, we are likely to be an even match.” She raised a second finger.

“That cannot be,” I said.

“Listen!” Though her voice was low, she was still emphatic. “I can stay back while the six of you sneak up on their position at night. I will be perfectly safe. But for your sake—”

“Sabirah, we cannot ask the Bedouins into a fight not of their making.”

“Then pay them to fight!”

“We have no money, Sabirah, and someone must protect you.”

“But I don’t need protection!”

“Clearly you do. You should never have left home,” I added.

“But you’ll be killed!”

I sighed. Now came the challenging moment. “I know you think you can’t live without me,” I said, “but you will live on, and bear strong sons to another man, and have a comfortable life.”

Her brows lowered and she started as though she’d suddenly spotted a dog’s leavings upon a valuable rug. I recalled that my eyebrow still resembled an old man’s knuckle.

“You’re … very nice,” she managed in a quiet, embarrassed tone, “and I don’t want you to die … but I do not think of you in a … a marrying way.”

I myself was surprised by the defensive sound of my voice as I responded. “Dabir said that you did not hold off talking about me.”

“Oh,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I did not mean to suggest…”

Suddenly I understood that she was trying to be polite about not breaking my own heart, and I sighed. Dabir, for all his intellect, had completely misread the girl.

“Sabirah,” I said, “be at ease, for I have no interest in you either.”

She let out a great breath but did not relax: still she held herself tensely, hunched slightly forward.

I stepped closer. “Sabirah, it is bad enough if you fancy me, but Dabir? By the Ka’ba, Jaffar is angry enough with him already. You see that, do you not?”

She was wide-eyed but mute.

I wanted to make sure that she understood. “Assuming we survive and succeed, do you think Jaffar’s going to like Dabir enough to marry you to him?”

I knew my arrow had found its mark, for she looked away and down.

“It can never be. Jaffar will send one or the both of you away. Allah help me, but the lives of both of you may be at risk for all that we have undergone. You must forget Dabir, and do what is best for you.”

She spoke quietly now to herself, much as Dabir sometimes did, but in an utterly different spirit. “I do not wish to live without—”

“Now that is folly. If you truly love Dabir, you must honor his sacrifice this night.”

Her eyes burned into mine then and I saw that they glistened with tears.

“If you love him you must turn away from him,” I told her. “All else is fantasy.” Her lips moved as though she wrestled over an objection, and I cut her off sharply. “You know this is true. Always Dabir praises your wit. Use it. When you persist in loving him, you doom him. If, God willing, we survive these next days there is still your uncle’s wrath to be faced. These dreams you have will be the end of you both.”

She did not answer for a time. She wiped at the edge of one eye and looked up finally, though she did not meet my eyes. “I wish you had never gone to the marketplace,” she confessed slowly, softly. “Then the day would dawn tomorrow and I would go down the hall after prayers and have a simple lesson of Greek, or history, or medicine.”

Those lessons did not seem simple to me. “That cannot be. And you cannot love him.”

She lowered her head then and tried to hide the tears that she wiped away. Before I could reach forward she turned and hurried away. I followed only far enough to see her enter her own tent. I watched for a time to see that she did not exit, and then left her.

Dabir and the poet both waited for me in ours, and asked what Sabirah had desired.

“She fears for us,” I said simply.

“Ho!” cried the poet. “She fears for the handsome guard captain.”

“Not so much as you might suppose,” I said.

Dabir’s response was curt. “We should rest a short time. There is a long night before us.”