5

Both a boat and a team of horses were ready for us upon our return, for my nephew was efficient, but as Esfandiar thought it most likely the thieves had left via river, Dabir declared we would board the boat. There was a brief delay for the gathering of my own gear—which did not take overlong—and for the gathering of Dabir’s. While the scholar was in his apartments and the priest aboard the boat, Jaffar pulled me aside. We stood under a portico next to the dock outside Jaffar’s palace, watching the vessel rock on the waves beneath an assault by the rain. The lightning had given out at last, and the night itself was black as pitch. Only the glow of the lanterns, each surrounded by a gold nimbus of light, held back what seemed the very breath of Iblis. Surely he had aided the departure of the thieves, for how might we be expected to find our way after them in such weather?

Dabir had briefed the master, who now looked grimmer than I had ever seen him. He waved Boulos back so that it was only he and I standing together, master and servant, and our voices were pitched low so that they might not be heard over the patter of the rain.

“You heard all that transpired?”

“Yes, Master.”

“What do you think?”

“It is hard to know.” I took in a deep breath so as to weigh my thoughts. Jaffar watched tensely.

“I have seen many strange things this day,” I confessed to him. “A dead bird that flies. A monkey trained to steal—”

“You really think the bird was dead before you killed it?” Jaffar asked. Though Dabir had briefed him in more detail, he remained skeptical.

“Look to the body, master, filled only with sawdust. And look upon the dry limb I sliced off the monkey.”

“It was a small leg,” he answered, “and you likely splattered all the blood out when you struck it off.” He sounded doubtful even as he spoke, hoping, I think, to convince himself more than me.

I did not mean to argue that particular point. “It may be. But you must concede, Excellency, that strange things are under way.”

He nodded agreement.

I pressed on. “This tale of Ubar and an angry Magian priest leagued with the Greeks seems no less mad than any of the rest of it. This priest we brought seems an honest man, and Dabir believes what he says.”

“You truly think he can help?”

“He knows the way to Ubar, or thinks he does. I suspect there is more to this than the Magian has so far told, but—”

“He has kept things from you?” Jaffar asked sharply.

“Nay. We were in a hurry, and the matter was complicated. I think he will tell more to Dabir as we travel.”

Jaffar sighed. “Much hinges upon Dabir. He is in command. If his are the eyes which see, you must be the hand that wards.”

“I shall be the sword that cuts, and the arm that shields.”

He nodded, looking slightly more pleased. “Be it so.” He looked back over his shoulder and stepped closer. “There is something else you may need to be, Asim, though it saddens me to say it.”

He did not speak, and in the end I had to prompt him. “What is that, Master?”

“An executioner.”

“Of whom?” I asked, though I feared I already knew the answer. Even so, when he said it, I repeated the name in shock.

“Dabir.”

“Dabir?”

“God will it not to be so. But I worry, Asim. I know that he, too, lusts for knowledge. And he has reason to be angry with me, does he not?”

“Master, I do not think—”

“Would not you be angry with me, were I to dismiss you?”

“But I have done no wrong.”

“So must he be thinking. Much depends upon him, Asim, and sooner or later he will realize that his is the power. Whatever it is that these men seek, be careful of Dabir should it fall to his hands.”

“I hear, Master.” I hoped my voice betrayed no reluctance, though I inwardly shrank from the thought of such a deed.

He nodded.

“But, Master,” I ventured, “I have seen nothing but loyal service from Dabir.”

“You are his friend?”

“I suppose that I am,” I answered, though he was not the sort of friend of my youth, nor, indeed, one with whom I shared many common interests.

“Remember, Asim, where your loyalties lie.”

I bowed. “Master, I did not mean—”

He motioned me to rise, impatiently, and looked once more over his shoulder. “Likely it will not come to it.”

“Master, I—”

“Here is Dabir,” he said quickly.

And the scholar joined us, one servant bearing a chest behind him. Jaffar unnecessarily reminded us both then as to our duty to recover the gold door pulls, and then told us to go with God. We boarded the rocking ship in the night and quite soon were on our way.

I cannot say much of the journey’s first night, for I spent much of it hunched over the boat’s side, heaving, and the rest of it lying under the boat’s awning wondering when next I might. Between the wondering and the doing I groaned occasionally and for the first time in my life looked back fondly upon the time I was knocked unconscious from a blow to the helm and lay stunned in the dirt of the practice yard.

The worst was over come the gray dawn, and I slept fitfully then. I was awakened not by the sun—for the sky was overcast and the light dull—but by the twang of an oud. I opened my eyes a crack to find the cursed poet sitting beside me, an instrument to hand. His long wisp of a beard quivered as he grinned at me.

I growled at him to go away, but instead he sang, plucking at the strings all the while.

I was kitten-weak and weary. Yet the idiot sang, an insufferable smile upon his long face.

“With mighty groans he left his bed

And crossed the planks with staggered tread.

With shaking hands he gripped the rail

His eyes were red, his face was pale.

“He retched and moaned and lurched away

And lived to fight another day

Or night, for he returned again

And fought the foe but could not win.

“And now his eyes alight once more

And color’s back, though rather poor.

I must confess I’ve never seen

By morning light a face so green.”

Hamil then had the audacity to chuckle at his own composition, and from somewhere close by other voices rose in laughter.

I cursed him roundly.

“Ho, Asim, master of the sword!” Hamil put the instrument to one side. “Has the slayer of mighty foemen been overwhelmed by a stretch of water?”

“Would you like to swim it?” I pushed up to a sitting position. All around me were the sounds of a ship in motion—the rattling of ropes and rigging, the lap of water against the hull. Dabir looked up from the scroll of vellum he considered nearby.

“Leave him be, Hamil,” Dabir instructed.

Hamil grinned at Dabir, then at me. “Fear not, Asim. No one thinks the less of you, just because you were the only one upon the length of the vessel that fell sick. Even the ship captain’s son, a scrawny nine-year-old, had but kind words—”

“Begone, poet, or I will smash that oud over your head!”

He stepped away, chuckling.

“What,” I said to Dabir, “is he doing here?”

“Jaffar sent Hamil to observe so that he might tell the tale and make it easier for Jaffar to write.” Dabir had set down the paper to hand me a small green leaf. “Here, chew this.”

I did as he bade, though the leaf was bitter, then quaffed deeply from my water sac. I was more thirsty than I had first supposed, and a foul taste from my vomiting lingered in my mouth. I washed the water about with my tongue but the unpleasant flavor did not altogether leave.

“Where are we now?” I stretched my shoulders, then stood, belted on my sword, and checked my turban. It was awry, and dusty, so I brushed it free and rewrapped it as Dabir answered.

“Half a day south of Baghdad. We made good speed.”

I eyed the reed-lined riverbank to right and left, and the scrubby grassland spread beyond it. It seemed a bright, empty place. “It strikes me,” I said, stepping close, but not so close that my reeking breath might reach him, “that a horseman could overtake us swiftly.”

“True,” Dabir conceded.

“Thus, if they were on horses, they might be well ahead of us.”

“Ah, but will they have a steady change of horses, and a safe road?” Dabir shook his head. “They are upon the river. They must reach Ubar by sea, from Basra. And Basra is most swiftly reached by the Tigris.”

I expected to see a map; instead, Dabir’s parchment proved to be awash with mathematics. “What are those numbers for?”

A brief, proud smile brushed Dabir’s lips, and his eyes shone a bright blue. “I have been calculating the speed of our ship and the likely speed of those we pursue. Certain variables cannot be known, of course, but…” Dabir pointed to one set of figures. “We can assume that Diomedes the Greek and Firouz were not within the palace when they sent the monkeys for the pulls. They would have left shortly thereafter. Either the monkeys brought them the treasure outside the palace and the men fled to the boat, or the monkeys brought the treasure to the boat itself. In either case, the boat can only be a few hours ahead of us.”

I nodded. I was not sure why the numbers helped in this deduction, but did not ask.

“Further,” Dabir continued, “ours is a new ship. We can assume that theirs is not.”

“Of what bearing is that?”

“Ours shall be trimmer, with less growth beneath the water, fewer leaks, finer sails. Likely they hired a vessel. We,” he continued, “should gain on them over the course of this day. We might well see their sail before noon.”

“We might well see their sail even now,” I said. “There are hundreds of boats upon the Tigris. How to know which is theirs?”

Dabir let the paper roll shut and frowned. “That is a problem mathematics will not solve for us. Here is the thing, though. If we make speed, we may overtake them, and await them at the site of the ruins.”

“Waiting in hiding like a lion,” I added.

“Exactly.”

For a scholar he used his words with economy.

I left him and walked forth to familiarize myself with the boat. She was a two master, a broad tub built for river travel. For much of its length the Tigris is but six to thirteen feet deep, which has the depth to kill a man but hardly to welcome the ocean rigs. This vessel had deck space to spare—all the better for Jaffar to hold parties upon—although on this journey she carried little but supplies to see us downriver with as few stops as possible.

The sails were brown triangles that caught the wind as the tanned sailors slung the cloth to meet it. We were aided by the current, which I was told always strengthened in the spring months with rain swelling the banks and floodwaters rushing down from distant mountains.

It required a surprising number of men to tend the sails, a dozen in all. Aside from these there was the stout Captain Ibrahim and his shadow, a gap-toothed youth who stared as I walked past. The captain only nodded, for he was engaged in shouting at a man in the rigging.

Mahmoud and five of my best soldiers idled on the deck, striving not to grin at me. Mahmoud rose and came to attention.

“Did you sleep well, Captain?” A smirk tugged at his lips.

“You are to watch for black birds,” I told him.

All pretense of humor vanished from Mahmoud’s manner. “Birds? What sort of birds?”

“Black birds.”

Mahmoud peered at me as he might a drunkard. “The skies are full of black birds.”

“I would hate to interrupt your shatranj game,” I growled. “Watch for birds who are watching us. The enemy employs magic.” I passed on, leaving him scratching his head.

I had no particular aim, merely the desire to look as if I did, so I strolled on to the front of the vessel, which sailors call the prow. Here sat the priest, neither at prayer nor with a nose in a book; he merely watched the horizon. I could not tell if he scanned for other ships, or if he watched the empty land to right and left, and I did not ask. While I had questions for the old man, now was not the time, thus I passed on.

Back from the prow was an entrance to the ship’s hold; I made it seem as though this had been my destination all along, for I felt the eyes of the men upon me and did not mean to provide further opportunity for ridicule. I threw open the hatch and descended the steep ladder steps. Soon I stood stooped in the dark space, which smelled of wood shavings and rope and tar. About me were crates and wicker baskets, and also the squeak of rats, for the vessel was not so new that they had failed to find their way aboard. Surely there was a cat stalking them as well, somewhere.

I walked hunch-shouldered amongst the crates and paused, wondering what I might say I had been about down here.

It was then that I heard a woman’s voice, whispering a name.

“Abdul?”

In ordinary circumstances the moment would not have held any sinister aspect, but there in the dark of the hold, with the events of the previous two days playing in my mind, the voice set spurs to my imagination. What woman would lurk down here in the shadows? No one but a witch in league with those we pursued, naturally, so I put hand to hilt and crept forward. My shifting weight set the planks complaining.

“Abdul?” The voice came again.

The space was too close for sword work, so I freed my knife. “Come out, witch,” I said.

There was no answer.

There was a narrow space between two of the baskets. Into that I lunged, my left hand outstretched, the right hand with knife lifted. I grasped clothed flesh.

“Unhand me!” came the indignant shout.

I was not so strange to female flesh that I failed to recognize a thigh, which I released, for I also had recognized the voice.

“Sabirah?” I said.

“Captain Asim?”

A faint trickle of light leaked down from narrow gaps between the deck planks above, revealing a feminine silhouette on a narrow, waist-high shelf; a kneeling woman, one arm drawn protectively across her chest, the other raised with an upturned jug, brandished like a cudgel. I caught a whiff of her lavender-scented perfume.

“Come out from there,” I growled.

She lowered the jug. “Captain,” she pleaded, “do not reveal me—”

“I most certainly will! Why are you here?”

She did not answer me that. I sheathed my knife, stepped forward, grasped her wrist, and pulled her roughly from her alcove. She resisted only a little as I led her out and up the ladder, where she stood in the light, shielding her eyes. I blinked, too, for even a short time in the darkness rendered the overcast sunlight overwhelming. I heard an outcry of surprise, and then all was silence. By the time my eyes adjusted, Mahmoud was before me, shaking his head in disbelief.

He rubbed his beard, staring overlong at the girl in my estimation, before turning back to me. He was sufficiently surprised that he failed to address me by rank. “How did you know, Uncle?”

I did not lie. “I am older and wiser, Lieutenant. Did Dabir go below at any time?”

“Nay, I do not think so.”

“Dabir knew nothing,” Sabirah said. “I snuck aboard myself!”

“And why would you do that?” I asked.

Sabirah stood straight and stared defiantly up at me. “To help, of course!”

“Who is Abdul?” I demanded.

I saw her jaw set determinedly behind her thin veil. Dabir and the ship captain and the poet all crowded up to us then.

“Who is this?” the captain demanded.

Dabir talked over him. “Sabirah! What are you doing here?”

“I came to help,” she repeated weakly.

“Help?” I said. “Now we will have to turn back!”

“Ai-a,” the captain was saying, tearing at his beard. “There should be no woman on my ship!”

“This is Quadi Jaffar’s niece,” Mahmoud explained.

“What were you thinking?” Dabir demanded of her.

The girl turned away and stalked for the awning. Dabir held up a hand when I started to follow. “Let me speak with her.”

The poet watched them walk off, shaking his head. “This can bring nothing good.”

The ship’s captain nodded his agreement. “Truly said.”

“Is there someone on your ship named Abdul?” I asked.

“My son is named Abdul,” the captain answered. “Why do you ask?”

“That is who Sabirah called out to when she heard me approach.”

The captain growled, furious. “The wretch must have aided her!” He strode off, calling his son’s name.

We watched Sabirah and Dabir confer at length. Mahmoud and I remained by the mast, with Hamil lingering nearby. I did not welcome his presence, especially as he wandered back and forth seeking a better angle on the scholar and maiden, occasionally obstructing my own view of them.

“We will have to turn back,” the poet asserted suddenly. “We can go no further with the vizier’s granddaughter.”

“We cannot turn back,” Mahmoud countered. “Our orders are clear: recover the treasures. Any delay and they’ll be lost.”

“I’m sure the master did not figure her into his orders,” the poet replied. “If there is battle we will be exposing Sabirah to danger.”

Mahmoud was unconvinced. “There’s no more danger for her going forward than sending her back. We can guard her better than anyone.”

“What if there’s a fight on board the ship? She’ll be in the thick of it!”

“Dabir is in command,” I told Hamil curtly. “The decision is his.”

He fell silent then, Allah be praised, and it was not too much longer before Dabir rejoined us, Captain Ibrahim at his heels.

Hamil could not hold off asking questions, even though Dabir clearly was readying to brief us.

“How did Sabirah come aboard?” the poet asked. “And why?”

“She claims to have disguised herself as one of the cargo bearers,” Dabir said. That must have seemed as unlikely to him as it did to me. “I think she protects some slave or servant she bribed for help smuggling her on board.”

“And Captain Ibrahim’s son must have been taking her food,” Mahmoud said.

“He was.” The ship captain’s eyes blazed fiercely. “I swear that I did not know. That boy shall rue the day—”

“Go easy on the child,” Dabir said. “He was being commanded by a noblewoman. And he is not so young that a pair of flashing eyes do not convince, yes?”

Ibrahim only grunted.

“Why did she come, though?” Hamil asked. “Does she really think she can help?”

“She believes she can.”

“How?” the poet demanded.

“You will have to ask her, I think.” The annoyance audible in Dabir’s tone seemed directed more toward Sabirah, at whom he cast a backward glance, than the poet. “I would not speak to her immediately, though. She is not, currently, talkative.”

“So we’re taking her back, right?” Hamil asked.

Mahmoud objected stridently. “Then the mission will be lost.”

“Mahmoud is right,” Dabir said with quiet conviction. My nephew’s broad face widened in a proud smile as Dabir continued: “We cannot risk losing the pulls. I anticipate great danger to the caliphate if we do not recover them. Sabirah must remain with us and if we haven’t overtaken them by the time we reach Basra, she will return to Baghdad with Captain Ibrahim when we transfer to an ocean vessel.”

It was a simple enough plan, and wise, so that no one objected further. Hamil’s curiosity, however, had been piqued. “It’s certain the caliph will be angry with Jaffar—and he with us—if we do not recover the pulls, but how does that endanger the caliphate?”

Dabir ignored him. “Asim, may we speak privately?” He motioned me to the rail.

“Of course.” I nodded at Mahmoud, who stepped away.

Dabir waited for him to retreat, then spoke softly. I felt certain he would confide some important piece of information Sabirah had shared, or further explain his concern for the safety of the caliphate. He said nothing of either. “Tell your men to keep watch for birds such as the one you destroyed.”

“I already have,” I said.

He looked startled at that, and then nodded. “Good.”

I made a mental note to give the instruction to the rest of the men.

He started to turn away.

“Dabir,” I said.

“Yes?”

“The girl—this will not look well for you. The master will seek to blame you.”

“Jaffar is a reasonable man.”

“Not where this matter is concerned.”

Dabir frowned. He lowered his voice. “What would you have me do, then, Asim? Which would anger him more? Keeping the girl aboard, or losing any chance to recover the pulls because I turned back with her?”

I nodded. “You are between two bad places.”

“Indeed.”

“We might send her back on some other boat.”

“Then who would guard her? Think, Asim. We can afford neither the delay nor the loss of soldiers to transfer her to a northbound ship—for I’d send her with no less than three of your warriors.”

I saw that he was right. We might need every one of my men if it came down to a fight over the pulls. “Suppose,” I ventured, “that Sabirah comes to harm on this journey.”

“That is the worst possible outcome. We must both strive to ensure that does not happen.”

I nodded. “And if we don’t recover the pulls?”

He smiled thinly. “There is always Spain, I suppose. That was a jest,” he added.

“I know.”

“I do not wish you thinking that I would consider—”

“I know a joke when I hear one,” I said. “Even a bad one. Tell me, though. How does she think she can help?”

“She expects to decipher any further puzzles we encounter—but also she is angry with Jaffar. She wishes to remain my pupil. So she came.”

“Does she not see that she puts her favorite tutor in greater jeopardy?”

“She is a brilliant girl,” Dabir said, “more clever than you realize. But she is eighteen. She can speak languages of the past, but she does not see more than a few days into the future. She lives for the moment.”

I grunted my acknowledgment.

If Sabirah hoped for a continuation of her lessons, she was sorely disappointed, for Dabir ignored her that evening, and through most of the next day, although he was courteous.

Sabirah did not outwardly take offense at having her wishes thwarted; she merely turned to other tutors. She spoke with whomever she could, and you can be certain that every sailor was eager for a word with the pretty noblewoman. She asked many questions about the waters and the sailing craft and life along the shores. Sabirah shared gentle jests that the sailors found amusing, and they in turn presented her with little treasures—bits of wood that they had carved, or choice fruits. I suppose most of them were in love with her a little bit for her delight in the simple pleasures of seeing a flock of heron erupt from the grass, or in hearing one of the sailors croon a sad love song from the southern marshes. If she was no beauty of the ages, she was pretty in an unassuming way, in no small part because of her charm and grace and quick-wittedness.

I ordered my soldiers to stay clear of her, which they did unhappily. Hamil was under no such orders, though, and spent long hours speaking with passion about the works of the great poets and reciting fine passages from memory. It pleased him to be near a woman, I think, and to be expert in a field, for he carried his small frame with even more pride than usual as he walked off to speak with her.

For my part, I kept close watch though I maintained a distance. In truth I had never assumed a more nerve-wracking duty than watching every movement and gesture around the girl, and I slept poorly when I slept at all.

Sabirah was all smiles and politeness; Dabir, though, seemed more irritable by the hour and took to walking around the prow of the ship when he was not talking with Esfandiar. By the second day, on the heels of afternoon prayers, she asked him a question about the life cycle of a fish. He hesitated, but in the end could not help but answer.

Thereafter tutoring began in earnest once more and Dabir seemed happier for it, even if he remained rather tense and formal. He continued to enlist the aid of the poet and, occasionally, Captain Ibrahim or a sailor. Even the old Magian priest was brought in to the circle to offer instruction. I was skeptical of this at first, for I thought it unwise to allow teachings from a man of another faith. A follower of Zarathustra is apparently taught that truth is best of all that is good, after God, which I found a fine thing. So much of what Esfandiar said made sense that I asked him if Zarathustra was one of the unnamed prophets of the Koran.

As is the way with wise men, his answer was cryptic. “Some have said so. Surely he was a prophet of God.”

“Then it must be so,” I said.

“I am glad you hear wisdom in Zarathustra’s teachings,” he said.

So the days passed in conversation. The mornings would dawn fresh and clear and the waters would lap the sides of the boat as we sailed on our course. The heat rose as morning waned into afternoon, and then Dabir would conduct his studies with the girl, breaking only for mealtimes and prayers. These seemed happy studies, for there was much laughter. But then Sabirah was alight with laughter. She was the very queen of the little kingdom that was our boat. She was like the sun, for she warmed all who came near. Even the sailors and my soldiers were more docile in her presence, and cursing and rude behaviors were at a minimum. Mahmoud not only groomed his hair each morning, but saw to it that his garments were kept clean, as well as those of the rest of the men. Dabir enlisted him to tell of great battles, for my nephew had read widely upon the subject, and had sat at the feet of officers who’d seen many campaigns.

We watched always for boats, and we saw them aplenty, as large or larger than ours, heading upriver toward Baghdad or downriver to Basra, laden with goods. I knew that woolen garments, silk, porcelain, and perfumes came from Baghdad. From downriver came goods from India, China, and other stranger lands: nutmeg and cloves, teak, sandalwood, tin, and peculiar curiosities. None, however, obviously carried a pop-eyed Greek, an evil Magian, and a parcel of undead birds and monkeys.

The journey seemed a spring idyll on the river, one that I had to remind my charges was actual duty, not a pleasure cruise, so that they might keep watch. Only Mahmoud truly believed me about the birds, I think, though all claimed to study the skies.

As night fell the next evening Dabir talked to Sabirah of the stars. Already she knew more about them than I, for there were old tales told from ancient days, when the Greeks were brave heroes and not schemers clinging to a dying dream. A few of us gathered around to listen, including Hamil, and he claimed he was put in mind of a story, if anyone wished to hear. Naturally all of those in earshot did, so a number of us sat down on the deck while he spoke to us of Rostam and his seven quests. I thought it was finely told. So, too, did the other listeners; little Abdul begged that another story might be relayed, and Hamil was debating out loud whether or not he should speak again of Rostam, or perhaps a story of love—playing with the audience’s desire, in actuality—when Mahmoud clapped me on the back.

“Uncle Asim has a story,” he said. “Tell them of what happened in the ruins of Kalhu.”

“Nay,” I said. “I am no poet.” Moreover, I was tired, and in little mood to listen to Hamil’s mockery of me should the tale go poorly.

“Jaffar has told it many times,” said Hamil. “I could tell it, if you wish.”

“Well,” Mahmoud said doubtfully, “Uncle Asim and I were both there. With Dabir.”

“Why don’t you tell it, Asim?” Sabirah asked me, and Mahmoud, too, offered encouragement. I looked over to Dabir and he looked back with a nod. Their gaze was strangely insistent. I did not guess why.

“Very well,” I said, and decided to humor them. How best to set the mood, though? “Think not of the river,” I told them, “or of the night, but of day, and of the plains far to the north.” I cast around for a good place to begin. “It was the spring of last year that a wily Greek came to Jaffar. It seems that the Greeks always bring trouble when they come visiting, doesn’t it? Corineus was his name, and he was witty and charming. And he had a lovely daughter.”

“How lovely?” the boy asked quickly.

Mahmoud leaned over to him. “She was beautiful, with huge dark eyes and…” I think he might have said something else, but he glanced over at Sabirah and his voice trailed off.

I took his hint. “Lydia was almost as lovely as Sabirah, if truth be told. Between her beauty and that Greek’s silver tongue, Jaffar somehow was convinced that he should journey to Kalhu. Now there is little enough reason to wander about any of the ruins of old Ashur. They sit naked and gray, abandoned on the plains like old bones, and all their treasures have been looted for a thousand years. Yet this Greek lured Jaffar out there with the promise of fabulous artwork to be seen in the wreckage of a dead king’s palace, and since Jaffar went, that meant there also went a team of slaves for digging, servants to raise and lower tents and see to any of His Excellency’s whims, herders to care for animals and cooks to prepare them, and, of course, soldiers, which is why Mahmoud and I were there. Jaffar also invited some of his counselors, which is how Dabir became involved.

“It was a week’s ride to Kalhu, and no easy task for me in arranging protection for the master and his many attendants, but Jaffar looked on the whole thing as a merry jaunt, never dreaming what the true intent of Corineus and his daughter could be.”

“What were they planning?” Abdul asked.

Hamil shushed him. “A good storyteller will take you there in time. You must be patient.”

Was that a compliment, from Hamil? If so, it was the first I had ever heard for me from his lips.

I cleared my throat and continued. “I don’t want you to imagine shining ruins gilt in splendor. There was almost nothing whole—foundations, yes, walls, an occasional gateway, but mostly there were shattered towers and building stones. Corineus set the slaves to work digging. I posted soldiers—for there were lions about, and there might be thieves, too, and I familiarized myself with the city’s extents.

“On the morning of the expedition’s third day, I stopped during my patrol rounds to admire a faded and cracked fresco of a bearded archer in a chariot hunting lions. On the whole the people of Ashur had wrought their art with skill; mounts were carved in mid-gallop with lifelike detail, the armed hosts along the walls with startling ferocity. The figures themselves were somewhat stiff, but the detail was extraordinary, for one could see all the ringlets in a man’s hair and beard, and all the hairs of a lion’s mane; also the muscles in the horses’ legs. It was pleasing to contemplate such finely fashioned martial scenes.

“While I examined that ancient chariot, I heard the sound of feet swishing grass blades and turned to find that a scholar from Jaffar’s household was standing behind me, with Mahmoud behind him. Both now gazed at the stone. This was Dabir, though I did not know his name.”

Dabir interrupted, “Truly? We had met twice before.”

I shrugged by way of apology. “I have never had the knack of recalling the names or duties of the countless hakims, scholars, and courtiers who frequent the master’s palace, though a few have since become unforgettable.” Dabir looked thoughtful at this, but said no more. I continued. “The scholar’s eyes held that intensity of purpose you’re so used to seeing. A sword hung off his left hip.

“ ‘Behold the artist’s trick,’ he said to me with an amused smile. ‘A thousand years ago he fashioned this piece.’

“I saw no trick and looked back and forth between him and the art, wondering at his words.

“ ‘Now his work pleases us,’ the scholar continued, ‘two men he never met. Perhaps it will delight other unknown men in a thousand more, when we two are as forgotten as he. The artist defeats the ages.’

“It was strange to think so far into the future to a day when I myself might be dust, but there amongst the battered remains of the ancient city it seemed altogether proper, and I found myself nodding and studying the stone in more detail.

“Mahmoud bowed his head to me in some excitement, and told me that he and the scholar Dabir had found a goat, that it was most disturbing, and that I should come see. I had little interest in goats, and told them so.

“ ‘One was missing from the pens yesterday morning,’ Dabir said. ‘One of Mahmoud’s men found the carcass.’

“I thought Mahmoud foolish for bringing such a concern to me. Some wild dog or daring lion had doubtless snuck into the camp and drug off the hapless beast. ‘What of it?’ I said, but Dabir shook his head.

“ ‘No animal or thief slew this goat,’ he said ominously. ‘Someone killed it to use for magic.’

“I did not ask how he came to this incredible conclusion. I thought perhaps he was bored or trying to make himself important, but his expression was grave and I saw I must look further if only to satisfy my curiosity. So I bade them to show me the body.

“We wound our way through the heaped mounds of masonry and the remnants of long, high walls. What remained of Kalhu stretched for many acres and the main body of our encampment was out of sight when my nephew stopped before a rough waist-high block and pointed over it. Beyond was a weathered rectangular pit two spear lengths deep and three spear lengths wide, bordered by stones and accessed from a set of crumbling stairs. At its bottom was a small mound of dirt, a spade, and the carcass of a goat, its head separated from its body.” I could tell I had my listeners now. Even Esfandiar had come over, and the gathered crowd waited expectantly for what I might say next. There was nothing to be heard over my pause save the croaking of frogs in the rushes.

“The smell was worse than I had anticipated. I stepped close enough to see that the goat was not eaten, by beast or man, as the scholar had said. Its body was intact except for its stomach, where pale little worms writhed in a long, straight slash.

“ ‘Someone has removed its entrails, to read them,’ Dabir informed me, and I made the sign warding off evil.” I made the sign then for my listeners. “Then Dabir stepped over to the eyeless head. He explained that someone had carved peculiar figures in the horns, but that was plain to see. They were incised all up and down their length with symbols and letters unknown to me. I stared at it a long time without touching it, though I did wave away flies. Finally I stood. ‘Very well, I’m sure you’re right,’ I said. ‘Someone needs to be punished for goat killing. Likely they were trying to work a love potion or something.’

“ ‘This is not the magic of the marketplace,’ Dabir insisted. ‘This is not about health or love. This was done under cover of night with great care, and those involved do not wish others to learn of it.’

“I did not challenge these assumptions. ‘How did you learn of it?’ I asked. ‘And who are you?’

“ ‘I,’ he said, ‘am Dabir ibn Khalil. I thought you knew me, Captain Asim.’

“I merely nodded, irritated, and asked if he were a goat herder as well as a scholar.

“ ‘No,’ he answered without hesitation, ‘I overheard the report one of your soldiers made to Mahmoud when they found this goat’s body, and when I expressed interest, he invited me to accompany him.’

“Mahmoud spoke up: ‘Latif had been patrolling this quarter when he noticed some wild dogs nosing about this old pit. He chased them off and then saw that they’d been scratching at the loose dirt in this corner. The horns of a goat were poking through the soil, and when he pulled them free and realized the slain goat was probably ours, he came to give me account of it.’

“Dabir pointed to the head. ‘It is missing both tongue and eyes. The symbols carved on the horns are Eblaite, I think—an ancient language similar to Akkadian. And look here. Do you see this, in the wall?’ He moved to the far side of the pit where a fierce bearded face looked at us from the nearby stone. Time had worn away portions of some of his curling hair, but his scowl was etched deep. Dabir stepped to that visage and touched his left hand to first the lips and then one of the hollow eye sockets. ‘There is blood here.’

“ ‘Why would they have smeared it there?’ Mahmoud asked him. His eyes were alight with interest.

“ ‘I am not yet sure.’

“Mahmoud seemed inclined to stand there and stroke his beard, watching Dabir think. The more I contemplated the goat’s empty, staring eye sockets, the more they bothered me, so I took the shovel, threw dirt over the goat head, then handed the tool to Mahmoud and bade him to bury the rest. As he set to work I considered Dabir in a new light. He was right to have been drawn to this peculiar matter, and, while I knew nothing of the symbols or his claims of magic, I too suspected some sinister purpose. ‘Who has done this and why?’ I wondered aloud.

“ ‘I should not like to rush to judgment, Captain, but—’ Dabir hesitated and glanced at Mahmoud. ‘Your nephew is rightly suspicious of the Greeks. There are three of them; there are three sets of tracks here. Or at least there were, before your men moved over the area.” He pointed to an undisturbed corner to the right. “One of the them had a small, slippered foot, like the daughter of Corineus.’

“ ‘So they did this?’ I asked.

“ ‘It would seem likely.’

“ ‘Very well. I will wring the truth from them,’ I said.

“Dabir shook his head at this. ‘Be cautious, Captain,’ he said. ‘The Greek and especially his daughter Lydia wax high in our master’s esteem. If you confront them when he is nearby, he will likely excuse the matter and they will be alerted.’

“I saw the sense in this, so I said, ‘Let us call upon Jaffar and see if we can pry him from Lydia. Then we shall tell him what we think.’

“Near the midday hour I thought to find Jaffar dining in his tent, but he too was admiring the art of Kalhu. The two guards I’d assigned that morning were with him. Naturally so too was Lydia and her guard, a large-thewed Greek. His girth made my soldiers nervous even though he carried no sword, and they prudently flanked the master.

“The daughter of Corineus turned at our approach, brushing a lock of dark hair from her high forehead. She and Jaffar were looking over a carved relief of bearded figures rowing a warship amid wondrous fish. Now Mahmoud has said that Lydia was lovely, and it was so. She was in the flower of her beauty, and the wind against which she struggled blew her long dark hair across her face, shaping soft curves with her green dress. Lest you think the master charmed merely by eye, I should make it clear that she was very clever, as well. Too clever for her own good, as it turned out. She was witty and laughed pleasingly at the master’s jokes. She understood his talk of history and literature, and seemed to share his thoughts on many subjects but added observations that impressed even Jaffar. Her Arabic was pure, but she spoke it with the faintest trace of an accent that was somehow”—I labored for the right word. In truth her voice was alluring, but I did not wish to say that—“endearing. I know not why. In any case, Jaffar’s eyes sparkled whenever he looked upon her.”

Mahmoud laughed at this. “It is true!”

“We told Jaffar that we wished to speak with him alone on a matter of import,” I said. “It was clear to both Dabir and myself that Lydia was concerned over what we might say, for she eyed us with suspicion. Jaffar reluctantly bade her to excuse us and cast a long look her way as we moved off. I immediately suggested that he should not trust her.

“Jaffar’s eyebrows rose, and I sought quickly to explain the matter of the goat. Somehow my telling failed to sway Jaffar, for I saw a smile play about the corners of his mouth. It grew even larger as he glanced at Dabir, as if he thought the scholar behind some game.

“ ‘You jest, surely,’ Jaffar said. ‘You think she has slain animals and drawn strange pictures upon their horns?’

“With his wording, it did sound somewhat preposterous. Dabir bowed and tried to explain that we had found tracks at the site that looked very much like those of Lydia, but Jaffar only chuckled and said that we must be mistaken.”

Sabirah interrupted then. “I have heard this story many times, and I have never heard my uncle say the Greek woman had so captivated him. Is this true?”

“Oh, yes,” Mahmoud agreed.

“I’m sure you did not hear it this way because Jaffar was in the room,” Hamil said, laughing, and too late I wondered if I should be so honest in front of the little man. But the poet seemed truly to be enjoying himself. “Speak on, Asim! What happened next?”

I glanced over at Dabir, wondering if he, too, were concerned with the way I told the tale, but he gave me an encouraging nod, so I took a breath and continued. “In the end we managed to convince Jaffar that at least we were concerned, and so, mostly to humor us, he allowed us to accompany him through the rest of the day. To protect him from the girl or any goats, he said. I cannot speak for Dabir, but I was somewhat embarrassed by then.

“It was later, during evening prayers, that the slaves broke through the rubble Corineus was having them excavate and found a hidden passage beneath the ruins. Corineus sent word to Jaffar, and Dabir and I hastened with him to see what was found.

“The whole of this section of ruins was built into a hillside, and Corineus earlier told us he thought it Kalhu’s citadel. The slaves had been digging into it for three days, and this day Corineus had pushed them hard, commanding they dig into the evening. The rubble that they’d cleared was piled in a great mound. They stood, leaning heavily against their spades, some quaking with exhaustion. Corineus, though, grinned at sight of us and urged us to follow him into a dark archway.

“Jaffar asked him what he’d found.

“Corineus answered eagerly. ‘I have discovered a huge repository of vibrant frescoes, and a great library of tablets with fascinating ancient markings.’

“Jaffar said that they must get Lydia, then, and insisted Mahmoud be sent to find her. We could not know that Mahmoud’s search was a waste of time, for the daughter of Corineus was already deep underground. The Greek knew this, but said nothing, keeping her doings secret. Dabir and I and two of my soldiers walked with Jaffar into the tunnel, Corineus preceding. Dabir shot me a look which I took as a warning to be on guard—as though I were not already. Jaffar was altogether too comfortable with the Greek.

“I took a torch thrust at me by a dirty slave and followed Corineus and Jaffar into the tunnel. It widened until three men might walk abreast, but it was not so tall. I had to bend forward or the top of my turban brushed against it.

“The stone was covered in fading paint, depicting blue water and a great walled city. I would gladly have examined it more closely, but was more concerned with those about me, and my senses stretched taut against sign of betrayal—swift footsteps, a sword pulled from its sheath, whispered words. I heard none of those things, and there were only three turns of the tunnel before we came upon an opening in the right-hand wall. A great stone door had been swung aside. Four sweat-streaked Greek retainers labored at a mound of slabs five paces farther down the corridor.

“ ‘The wonders await, honored one.’ Corineus halted and wiped sweat from his brow. Foreboding filled me.

“ ‘Let me look first, master,’ I urged, ‘lest there be some hazard the infidels have missed.’ I drew my sword, and its curving length shone with a red tongue of reflected flame. I stepped lightly into the room, advising vigilance with a glance to the two rear guards I left by Jaffar.

“ ‘I, too, will go,’ I heard Dabir say. I think he wanted a first look at the tablets.”

“I also wanted to make sure it was safe!” Dabir objected good-naturedly.

“Almost I lost my balance, for I stood at the edge of a narrow stairway. There were but four steps descending into a wide chamber supported by a forest of square columns around its perimeter. Between the columns were stacked thousands of clay tablets, some tumbled and cracked upon the floor. I saw nothing else.

“I climbed down, and Dabir’s feet scuffed the stone on the stairs behind me. And then I heard Jaffar cry out. I whirled in time to see my men sinking under Greek knives and Corineus wrestling Jaffar from the threshold. The great stone door swung in toward me, faster than I thought possible. It shut with a thud as I took the stairs in a single bound. Dabir and I pushed against it as one, but it did not yield.

“I sheathed my sword and threw my full weight against the door. It budged not an inch. Outside I heard the dull ring of hammer on iron and guessed they spiked the door.

“I cursed them, as you might expect, and my voice echoed from the stone. The torch flame shuddered as I thrust again against the door. Only my shoulder felt my efforts.

“Dabir remained infuriatingly calm, and told me that there was no getting out through the door. I scowled, shoved the torch at him, and charged the door a final time. It still did not move. We were trapped, there in that dusty room that had not been opened in a thousand years. And it might not be opened for a thousand more.”

I let the thought of that sink in as I looked over the faces of my listeners. All of them waited expectantly, even Dabir. I judged my telling to be a success so far.

“Anger gripped me like a mighty flame. I could not help thinking of the worm-eaten goat and its severed head, and wondered if that is what the Greeks intended for my master. How could I protect him, trapped as I was behind the stone?

“Dabir stepped away from the door and followed the wall, torch in hand.

“ ‘We can hope there is another exit,’ he said, adding more softly, ‘or Kalhu’s future visitors will find our bones in this room amongst the tablets.’

“I eyed the darkness and then joined him in stalking around the room. The torchlight spilled over the plain stone columns and the stacks of clay tablets. They were decorated only with triangles and bird scratches, for the people of Ashur did not know the proper method of writing. I wondered if Dabir could make sense of it. He could, as I learned later, but I did not ask him then.

“It took less time than I had feared to make a complete circuit of the walls. Everywhere were the piled tablets and the stone pillars. There was no other way out, so I started back to the door. Dabir put a hand on my arm to stay me, and I was so tense that I spun on him and demanded what he wanted. He only pointed into the darkness.

“ ‘What?’ I asked him.

“ ‘There.’ Dabir carried the torch closer to one of the walls.

“ ‘What?’ I growled.

“And exasperation rang in his voice. ‘You look, but you do not see! There! An arch!’

“I scowled at him, but followed his pointing finger. Once more I saw only the piled tablets and the rough square columns upholding the level ceiling, and yet … one mound of the tablets was different from the others. A black, crescent-shaped sliver showed at their height, instead of the flat, broken bar of dark above the others.

“We advanced together. Dabir began to carefully remove the tablets and set them aside in similar order, but I knocked them clear. They shattered into pieces as they struck the ground. Dabir looked horrified for a moment, but did not protest, and within a short time a dark gap below the curving door frame was revealed.

“ ‘Now do you see?’ Dabir asked me.

“The torch sputtered in his hand. The tablets had been stacked to my height and three quarters my sword reach but I’d soon scattered enough of them to widen the entry before my eyes and stare down the throat of a tunnel. After a little more effort I had cleared the opening to my waist. That was enough, and with sword in hand, I clambered into the passage, urging Dabir to hurry.

“But Dabir told me to hold, saying that the torch needed more fuel, and thus we took off our turban cloths. We had little else at hand with which to feed it. He wrapped the cloth about the flame, singeing his fingers more than once, and then we resumed our exploration. The dark tunnel curved to left and right, then branched in two, widening slightly. Along the left wall the ancients had stacked some stones and broken bits of columns, blanketed now by dust. Dabir thought the left tunnel would be the better choice; I know not why.”

“I thought it would veer toward the central passage,” Dabir explained.

“The torch gave out fifty paces farther. A light is great comfort in a strange warren of enemies and who-knows-what ancient evil, and I was not pleased to lose this one. Dabir lay the cursed thing quietly along the wall, saying we might find some use for it later, then I moved forward by feeling along the dusty, uneven surfaces. My imagination populated the dark with crawling things and black efreet and vengeful spirits.

“And then I saw something that set my heart to racing, for there, in the thick black ahead, were six dim red points of light. They were grouped in twos, at the height of a man, and I thought that, not one, but three efreet with flames set in their skulls awaited us. I clenched my sword and bared my teeth.

“ ‘They speak,’ Dabir whispered in astonishment.

My audience there on the boat looked almost as surprised as Dabir and I had been. I let them savor the moment before plunging on. I was thoroughly enjoying myself, which assuredly had not been the case when I was experiencing the events I was then relating. “I heard the voices as well, despairing. How might I fight invisible demons with glowing eyes? But then I recognized the voice of Lydia, and Corineus in answer, though I could not make out their words.

“ ‘Ah,’ Dabir said in realization, and he urged me forward with a tap on the back.

“I drew close enough to see that the glowing eyes were but six small holes cut in the wall. Light from another room showed through them. I shook my head in relief, and put my face to one set as Dabir stepped to another. No doubt ancient spies had used the holes in the exact manner we did.

“Two low fires burned in a square chamber. I saw Jaffar, standing as yet unharmed, though Lydia’s muscular guard held his collar with one hand and a sword to his neck with the other. He swayed slightly, as though stricken with fear, or drunken, but he looked whole. I breathed a prayer of thanks to Allah. Corineus and slender Lydia stood nearby, their faces turned to a square column into which a bearded face was carved. The Greek’s servants were nowhere to be seen. So intent was I on Jaffar’s welfare that I had to look twice before I saw the horror they addressed. The wet, red thing hanging from the lips of the carved stone face was a tongue—the shining orbs in its sockets were goat’s eyes. I made the sign against the evil eye.

“ ‘The wealth of your kingdom, majesty?’ Corineus was saying.

“And then the stone lips moved. I do not lie. There came a hoarse rumble from the stone: ‘It shall be yours.’ ”

My listeners gasped audibly.

“ ‘Have I not kept my promises?’ the deep voice asked. ‘But first you must keep yours. Is this the ruler?’ The eyes moved. Somehow this was more awful even than the voice, or the tongue. They were prominent and staring, and their stone lids did not blink. ‘He is not arrayed like a king.’

“Corineus bowed his head. ‘As I feared, majesty, I could not bring the caliph himself. But this man is his trusted friend—’

“The stone face cursed him. But then Corineus told of Jaffar’s power, and how he had the ear of the caliph, and that he was one of the most powerful men in all the caliphate, and the voice grudgingly said it would take him. While this went on I sought vainly for a release in the stone—a catch, a latch, something that might be a sort of opening. There was nothing. And then I heard Lydia speak.

“ ‘Wait—’ she said, ‘you have not yet passed on your secrets. You have not fulfilled your bargain.’

“The stone lips curled. ‘You accuse Tiglath-Pileser of deception?’

“ ‘No, no, majesty,’ Corineus said quickly in a tone even more ingratiating than he’d used with Jaffar. ‘She wishes merely to hear a sampling of your promised wisdom. As do I. It was no easy matter recontacting you once we came here, or readying this man for you. We have proved our faith. Now show us yours.’

“ ‘Very well,’ the eerie voice continued.”

I lowered my voice and straightened my back, doing my best to imitate that ancient, regal manner of speech. “ ‘Gather the strongest about you, and arm them well. Send them to take from the weak, take a part for yourself, and reward them with what remains. Give them riches, and women, but do not let them rest. Most will die, but more will come, eager for the treasures. In this way you build your power.’

“Lydia did not sound pleased with this advice. ‘This is no secret,’ she said. ‘There has to be something else!’ She calmed herself and asked if there were more, and that old stone face spoke on.

“ ‘Leave no enemy alive. As your forces grow, you ride forth, and take more. So long as you gather the strong to your side and reward them, there will always be more!’

“ ‘This spirit has no secrets,’ Dabir whispered to me. ‘He taught those tactics to the world all too well, alas.’

“I asked Dabir what we could do, and he wondered if the two of us might lift one of the broken pillars we saw earlier, saying further that the wall seemed thin. Eagerly I grasped his idea, and we hurried off, for Lydia had begun to chant as she walked about a circle drawn on the flagstones before the face. Dabir said this was a spell. As we moved off into the darkness, I told Dabir I wished we still had a torch.

“ ‘I wish I were in a warm bath,’ he said sourly, then urged me to haste.”

Dabir cut in quickly. “You leave out part of their doings, Asim. Corineus and Lydia argued at greater length.”

I shrugged.

“It is Asim’s story,” Hamil said.

“I think it important to note,” Dabir continued stubbornly, “that Corineus said the king had doubtless learned many things other than Arabic in his millennia in hell, and he looked forward to knowing those secrets. A king from his time, you see, would not have spoken Arabic, though I have often wondered that they did not converse in Greek. Perhaps he was practicing for his new role.” Dabir said the last as if speaking to himself.

I waved this off. “That doesn’t matter.”

“A good storyteller must tailor his story for his listeners,” Hamil agreed. “Go on, Asim. If someone cuts in again, the rest of us shall stare him down.” Everyone seemed to agree, and nodded, then looked at me to continue.

I cleared my throat. “Well. We moved into the darkness, feeling our way. And before long I struck the pillar’s end with the toe of my boot and cursed mightily—under my breath, but mightily. I do not think that sort of thing ever happened to Rostam. Then Dabir and I lifted a part of one of those broken pillars. Even quartered as it was, the thing was quite heavy, and I staggered to bear it.

“With it in my arms I jogged back into the darkness, my sheathed sword slapping my thigh. I hurried both to build speed for ramming and because I feared if I did not move fast I would have to drop the thing. Dabir followed, breathing heavily and supporting the pillar’s back end.

“This time when I saw the burning eyeholes it was with relief, and I increased my pace. I grunted against the burden in my arms. My back ached, my biceps began to numb. And my toe still hurt. Still I ran, building speed, and we smashed the pillar into the wall. Chunks of masonry flew away and a jagged opening was torn from the spot where the eyes had peered, almost to the floor. Something sharp struck my head and then I was through the gap. We pushed the pillar away from us, and it crashed into three long pieces. I drew my sword.

“Our entrance had in no way been quiet. Every eye in the chamber stared at me, even the horrible ones shoved into the stone face, even Lydia’s. She paused in her magics. I called to God and ran forward, whirling my blade over my head.

“Corineus yelled something in Greek and the burly Greek guard shoved Jaffar away to come at me. Our swords met, throwing sparks.

“The Greek was strong and no stranger to the blade. We struck and parried, trading blows again and again. Each time I swung, his weapon was there to block mine, as mine was for his. It grew clear to me swiftly that we were matched in both speed and strength. I could spare little attention to anything else in the room. I did know that Dabir had run forward to confront Corineus, who had grasped a wobbly Jaffar and held a knife to his throat. I could hear him call out for the two of us to stop, but there was no stopping the Greek, and I had no mind to be killed by him, so the two of us kept fighting. Lydia, meanwhile, resumed her chant. And that awful old voice from before Muhammad roared for her to hurry.

“I had a plan then, and I increased my onslaught. The Greek warrior blocked expertly as I came on, not realizing my objective as he retreated. I swung from my left, locked his blade, and in a flash stepped in to clout his face. He leapt backward. Lydia cried out.

“The warrior landed in the midst of the circle. Instantly he threw back his head, staggering. His mouth shook, straining against a scream that did not come. The blade fell from twitching fingers and rang against the floor. Backing him into the sorcery had worked even better than I’d supposed. Whatever dark magics the circle contained were now afflicting him. He crumpled to the floor. It was no warrior’s death, but I dared not cross the circle to finish him with steel. Lydia swore at me, but I paid her no heed. Jaffar, shaking his head as though dizzy, wrestled awkwardly with Corineus, whose knife was gone. Dabir watched, sword poised. He dared not strike for fear of hitting Jaffar.

“I had more faith in my arm. My blade cut through Corineus’s clothes, and his spine, before he knew I was there. He collapsed upon Jaffar, flopping and bleeding. The girl screamed rage behind me. I bent to help up Jaffar, who expressed gratitude to us both, though he seemed to have trouble focusing. I learned later that he had been drugged, so that he was ever after unsure about what he had really witnessed.

“At a noise from behind, Dabir and I whirled as one.

“The Greek guard was back up. This time he growled wickedly. His eyes were lit with vicious intelligence. Behind him the tongue hung slackly from the stone lips and the eyes that should never have moved were dull and glazed.

“The warrior laughed and came for me once more! I thrust, but he deflected it with an effortless twist of his hand. The old dead king had taken the warrior’s body, and the old kings, you see, were not the sort who waxed fat on their thrones watching dancing girls. This one knew swordcraft. As he swung high and low against me, now feinting, now thrusting, it was all I could do to defend. Mayhap he had learned a trick or two in the nether realms, for I was panting hard in only moments.

“Again he laughed and his deep voice bore that strange ancient accent. ‘You will die first!’ There was pleasure and hunger in those words.

“I pressed my attack, but that was just what he wanted. He parried and thrust, slicing through my jubbah and drawing blood along my side. If I had not slid back he would have struck me dead. Pained, startled, I leapt away, watching his eyes. He grinned wickedly. Beyond me, Dabir busied himself with the circle about the stone; Lydia knelt over her father’s body.

“The dead king whispered in a dark, low tone and the shape of my sword blurred! It took the form of a hissing snake and snapped at my wrist.” I paused in my narration to find the audience’s attention anchored surely to my every word, then resumed in a confidential tone. “Now here is where the old dead king made his mistake, and you soldiers should heed well. He had me, understand. He had more skill than I, and more power. I was fighting purely on the defense. All he had to do was keep pressing me, and he would have won out. Instead, feeling cocky, he sought a more complicated victory. When my sword transformed into a snake he probably meant for me to fling it aside—but I flung it at him.

“A curious thing transpired. The snake struck him and stuck out of his chest. Then its form blurred once more and I saw that my blade had pierced his side. He looked down in bewilderment as blood gushed from him. He staggered slightly to one side, my hilt wobbling in him. The blood flowed down his tunic and his thighs.

“ ‘No matter,” he said, sneering. “I will simply take another…’ And he stepped toward the circle, only to utter a strangled cry, for Dabir had stepped into the circle and stood beside that hideous stone. You might think that was a foolish thing, but he had broken the protective magic and written the name of Allah across the top part of the stone. When I snatched the blade from the Greek’s body and struck him again, he fell and died, emitting a wail of terror as the dead king’s soul fell back to the court of Iblis.”

I was quiet for a long moment, letting them picture the scene, and finally little Abdul could take it no longer. “What happened then?” he asked.

“Well, Jaffar was grateful, as you might imagine, and showered us with praise. He might have doubted his senses, but he was certain we had saved him. Lydia rose stiffly from the body of her father, her head high. No matter that she was a short woman; she looked tall with dignity. ‘What will you do with me?’ she asked.

“ ‘I do not know,’ Jaffar admitted. That he said this was remarkable given the usual duties of his office. He pressed a hand to his head, visibly forcing himself to concentrate. ‘You have been party to murder and lies.’ He looked away briefly then added, ‘I don’t suppose you were made to participate unwillingly?’

“ ‘No,’ she said fiercely. A silence grew before she ended it. ‘Your man killed my father.’

“ ‘That is regrettable,’ Jaffar said, ‘but all these events are of your making. Were you so desperate for power that you would let no propriety interfere?’

“Her lovely face screwed up in anger. ‘Desperate?’ she snapped. ‘Yes. Now, I suppose, you will take me before other men and pronounce a man’s justice upon me. Do so. My only crime is wanting some share in a world ruled by bearded fools.’

“Jaffar’s eyes widened a little, then he frowned sadly. His voice, when at last he spoke, was soft. ‘Ride, Lydia. Take one slave and ride, as swift as you dare, and do not darken this land again. I wish never to look upon you.’

“She stared at Jaffar as though she had not heard him properly. Finally she said, ‘But my father’s body—’

“ ‘Go!’ Jaffar barked.

“And thus she left, though she gave me a final dark look. She hurried from the room and was gone. There is not much more left to tell. My wounds were bandaged. We never found any gold or jewels, though we dug for a little longer because we’d heard the spirit saying such things were hidden there.”

“There were the tablets,” Dabir countered. “We took wagonloads back to the House of Wisdom.”

“There was that,” I said. “Most of them spoke of the deeds of that dead king, though, and made for gruesome retelling. Dabir and I prospered and stand high now in the master’s favor because of that day. And … there is nothing more to tell.”

Everyone praised me then, saying that I had done a fine job. I concealed my pleasure with a long stretch and yawn and rose, saying that it was time for all but those on watch to settle in for the night. A few of them lingered.

Mahmoud drew close. “Last time you told the tale, the dead king called forth a demon with a man’s face and you fought it while Dabir struggled through the magic circle.”

“Well,” I said, “a good storyteller tailors his story for his audience.”

Hamil, waiting beside him, laughed. He actually slapped me on the back. “That was nicely done, Captain. Nicely done. The ending could have had a little more punch, but I have heard worse from folk who make their living with such things.”

“Thank you, Hamil,” I said.

“We should talk more, you and I,” he said. “About storytelling.”

I nodded my consent, feeling odd at this change in his usual manner with me. I’d hoped for a quick word with Dabir, but I saw him withdrawing with Esfandiar. I started to follow, but Sabirah was there, and clearly wanted to speak. She looked up at me and I was struck by the way her eyes silvered in the moonlight.

“I have heard Uncle tell that tale,” she said, “but never in that way. He said nothing about any magics.”

“Aye. The bhang made him witness many odd things. He only thought himself the victim in a strange murder ritual.” The master had never directly accused either Dabir or me of fabrication, but subtle remarks he’d made discouraged us from arguing against his version of events. He’d once told us, smiling, that no extra details were required to earn his favor, for he was already grateful to us.

“He never spoke so about the Greek woman. Was she truly so captivating, or was that just for the benefit of your listeners?”

“She was a striking woman,” I said. “Though short. I expect she will age less gracefully than you.”

Sabirah blinked at me, seeming not to know how to absorb this information. I guessed that I misjudged the purpose of her query. “I have another question, Asim.”

“Aye?”

“Have you had any storyteller’s training?”

“Nay.”

“So your skill is all learned by listening to others?”

“I suppose it is.”

“And natural instinct, I expect. Do you still think that those bowls were confused?”

I said nothing for a time, for all good feeling left over from my success as a storyteller fled on the instant. I had momentarily forgotten such things. “Good night, Sabirah,” I managed finally. She studied me for a moment, then walked off for her cramped quarters. I stepped away to where Dabir and the Magian sat quietly together. The spars rattled gently against the mast, and the insects chirruped among the grasses.

Esfandiar paused in midsentence to glance up at me, then continued. “—disclosing any more.”

“Pardon my saying this, Dastur,” Dabir went on without looking to me. “You are no young man. A desert trip will tax your energy.”

“I know this.”

“The trip might kill. What harm, then, will come from sharing the route with me? Tell me the way, so that you can return home with Sabirah when we arrive at Basra.”

Did Dabir, then, mean to learn Ubar’s location? Could this be what Jaffar had warned me of? Was Dabir trying to take more power for himself?

“You words hold wisdom,” the old man said slowly. “And I will consider them carefully. It may be that it will do good to have more than one of us knowing the way … but I mean to go with you.”

“Why?” Dabir prodded.

“I am at least partly to blame for Firouz,” Esfandiar said, then sighed deeply. “He is my son.”

“By the nine and ninety names,” I said softly, then crouched down beside them. “Why did you not say something sooner?”

“I think Dabir has guessed for a while. Have you not?”

Dabir turned up an empty palm, but said nothing.

“If he is your son,” I said, “then you can tell us his nature—his weaknesses, and what other sorceries he might know.”

The priest breathed in deep. “He is my son, Captain,” he said in his soft, low voice. “It is a sad thing to contemplate the downfall of one’s own child; it is a worse thing to aid in its planning.”

I studied the old man anew. His eyebrows were coarse and thick; he smelled of sweat and old paper. Almost I told him that I was sorry, but I did not know how.

“He was a good son,” he continued in his slow, sad way, “quick to learn, slow to anger. I thought surely that the breath of God moved through him, and it may be that I spoke too pridefully of him, both to my friends and to him. He mastered the hymns and the teachings and much more, but I think now that he learned too fast to gain wisdom at the same moment.”

“You said he was angered,” Dabir prompted.

“The poll tax and land tax weighed heavily upon the community in Mosul. There was a matter of property being confiscated when monies could not be paid, and”—he glanced hard at me—“some of the folk yelled too loudly. Soldiers were called in. My son’s wife and many of his friends were killed when the uprising was put down.”

Dabir nodded with a knowing frown.

“Firouz turned inward, then, and hate took root and flowered darkly. At first he tried to sway others to heed him, but we warned him it was not the way of Ahura Mazda to seek vengeance, and that he walked a dangerous road. He grew silent; we found, though, that Firouz had sought out hidden texts and lost knowledge.” Esfandiar finished after a long pause: “He refused to explain himself, and showed no remorse. And thus we revoked his title.”

“What has he studied?” Dabir asked.

Esfandiar looked up at him. “I did not know this until later, understand. He unearthed secrets of old Ashur, and wizardry of the Hebrews and Babylonians. He read dark texts that have no business upon this earth. He sought to master the pure flame of God.” The old man shook his head. “Would that I could have recognized the path that he was on, so that I might have turned him from it. I think the best I can hope for him now is an end that falls swift and painless.”

What can you say to a man such as this, a wise man, a good man, who has raised a venomous son and who suffers in the coils of that knowledge? I had not the words to soothe him.

“Do you know a way to stop his sorcery?” Dabir asked.

“There are certain ancient cadences and signs that I have studied. They might protect us.”

“Will you share them with me?”

Esfandiar eyed him sharply. “Your thirst for knowledge reminds me of his.”

“I seek merely to shield us.”

“Be certain you mean what you say,” the old priest said, rising. He moved aft.

Dabir and I remained where we were.

“I think,” Dabir said to me after a time, “that this voyage will not end as happily as it has begun.”

“Perhaps. We may yet triumph, though, God willing.” I did not add my chief worry: that our mission would not end well for him regardless of outcome. Jaffar could not be pleased that his niece chased after her tutor, and Dabir was likely to be blamed whether she came to harm or not. And what if the priest was right, and Dabir sought knowledge for the wrong reasons? Jaffar had warned me of just such a thing. Dabir might have guessed my thoughts, for he studied me closely before rising and following the Magian.

The next day Mahmoud spotted the bird.