7

Now after my mother and my father and my eldest brother, there was no relative I treasured more than my eldest brother’s son, my nephew Mahmoud. It may seem that he was at the bottom of a long list, but he was at its height in a way, for he was the only one of these still living. I knew him for a strong swimmer, better even than I, yet I had not seen him surface, nor had I seen him lying among the bodies my captors forced me past. I was in agony to ask if others had surfaced, but if Mahmoud had survived, I did not wish to give away his existence. Worries that he had not, however, tormented me: perhaps Mahmoud had struck his head upon the wood, or inhaled when he should have exhaled, or tried to help another swimmer as I had done and not been so lucky when the fellow panicked. If he had survived I wondered if he’d held on to his weapons, and prayed quietly that he did as they dragged me through the swamps, for Firouz had told a half dozen of the men to stand guard and look for other survivors, with specific instructions to kill all but Dabir.

I revealed none of this; did not, in fact, speak another word. Neither did my captors to me, save to curse when they thought I took too long pulling on my boots. My feet and socks were wet and filthy. I produced squishing sounds as I walked.

Before long we descended another bank into a marsh channel where we climbed into a boat of sewn skins. The marsh tribe was named Al-Bu Chilaib. Why anyone should intentionally name themselves after dogs I do not know, but it was the way of these people. There was a lean, hungry aspect to them. I have heard some say that all Marsh Arabs are thus, and that may be true, for they live in a wild place where living is hard. Not all, though, are so hostile to outsiders, which I later learned.

As we rode through the maze of channels I contemplated throwing myself over the edge of the craft and swimming for freedom, but I did not know where I would go. It might be that some better chance of escape would be granted me, but I confess that I thought my fate was writ. In the scheme of things I knew that my death would be no great event, and that the frogs would continue their singing and the stars their wheeling whether I lived or died. This might have provided comfort to some philosopher, but none to me.

Eventually dark structures loomed up out of the night. I knew them for the houses of these people; they were long and narrow with rounded roofs. We did not stop at the first, or even the second, but drifted toward the largest structure of all, standing on its own little island. My captors tied the boat off on a pier, beside the more sturdy craft that bore Firouz and the others. Diomedes and most of the bandits traveled on; I could not see their destination for I was hauled out of the boat and shoved roughly along. Nearby two water buffalos were roped under a fragile looking lean-to: one snorted at us as we walked by. Somewhere farther off a dog barked until shouted into silence.

This building was the mudhif, a sort of a tribal gathering spot and guesthouse. It was an arched chamber of reeds that stretched twice the height of a man and extended more than three times that width from side to side. Once the door was thrown open for Firouz, who preceded us, I saw the mudhif’s floor too was built of reeds partly concealed by dirty old carpets just visible by virtue of the hearth fire built up in the building’s center. A hunched servant tossed willow branches into the fire’s midst and set it crackling.

Firouz paced for a moment on the other side of the hearth, then collected himself and called out orders. Most of the men he sent away. Two stood with me, as did the snake man, whom I now knew to be named Ali.

“Sit,” said Firouz. He swept a hand down toward some dark lumpy cushions near the hearth. “Take your ease. We need not be enemies.”

He must have thought me an imbecile to trust his changed tone. I did not move. “You have stolen from my master,” I said, “and slain my men.”

He laughed almost warmly, then moved closer to me. His tone was fatherly. “By what right is Jaffar your master? He has no power over you than what you give him. You might slay him in an instant.”

What madness was this? I knew no proper answer.

“And your men—again you say that I slew them, but would they not have done the same, to me, given the chance?”

“They would not have slain you when you were helpless.”

He made a rude noise, and his voice grew mocking. “We were not fair, were we? Should battle be fair, Captain? Should we measure out our swords to make sure that they are all the same length and sharpness?” He drew even nearer and crossed his arms. I am by no means small, but he had a little height over me, and so looked down. “Should we ensure that only warriors of precisely the same skill cross blades? Should we roundly measure their muscles?”

I frowned at him. “There is such a thing as decency.”

“You are merely annoyed that I killed a man that you had troubled to pull from the water.”

I was, it was true, but there was more to it than that. I had liked those men. I had trained them, praised them, cursed them into action; I knew their wives, and their families. And it was I who chose them for this mission. I could imagine them laughing or striving on the practice field, or boasting to one another over their games of chance. Now that memory was marred by sight of their twisted, arrow-ridden bodies, left for carrion.

“War is not fair, Captain. You know that. Certainly Jaffar knows that. It only seems fair to the victor. And somewhere”—he pointed vaguely at my heart—“you know that as well. Now, come.” He turned and barked to the guard who had stolen my sword. His name was Pig—the Marsh Arabs had strange names for one another. “Bring us wine.”

“I do not drink the wine,” I said.

“Then you shall be in a sorry state, for the water here has an unpleasant tang, and you are likely thirsty.”

“I do not mean to share salt with you in any case. Nor to drink any liquid of your stinking Marsh Arabs.”

One near me growled and his hand whipped to his sword blade.

Firouz raised a palm and gently motioned the man at ease.

“Take care, Captain, lest you offend someone.”

“What is it you want, Magian?”

“A simple thing. A trifling thing. Sit.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“As you will.” Firouz approximated a royal wave and lowered himself into cushions, his back to the fire. “You make my job as host challenging. I know your boat is only the spear point of a larger force from Jaffar. How many more men follow, and how far behind are they?”

It was only then I realized that I had some leverage. Whether it was merely because of a grand sense of self-worth or because he was up to far more than mere thievery, Firouz assumed we’d thought him a greater threat and had set more men after him. Might I spin a thread out of this web that led to a longer life?

While I considered this unasked for opportunity, Pig arrived and presented Firouz with a chipped brown cup. The Magian took it from him and drank. Ali, the knife man, waited on Firouz’s right side, seemingly idle.

“I thought your birds would tell you all you needed,” I said at last.

“Through them I see, but do not hear,” Firouz replied. “And I know Dabir’s cleverness. He made show of the armed men on your boat. Those that follow are hidden, are they not?”

He had overthought the problem as well as overestimated his own importance. Still I knew not how to use his weakness to my advantage. And so I stalled.

“You ask me to lead more men to their deaths,” I said.

“Deaths? No one need die. If I know how many there are, and how far behind, then I might avoid them altogether.”

I grunted and said nothing. He took this as something other than what it was; perhaps he thought I considered his words.

“I really wish none of you, personally, harm. I know you are merely instruments. I actually hold some affection for Dabir.”

It occurred to me then that he had mentioned Dabir by name several times, and I eyed him.

“Did he not tell you?” Firouz’s eyebrows arched.

“Tell me what?”

Firouz laughed. “He and I are old friends. We were comrades in younger years. We both studied at the House of Wisdom, learning secrets.”

The House of Wisdom was one of the most famous buildings within the whole of the caliphate—a great library and storehouse full to the brim with books and writings and the scholars who pored over them. I did not know that Dabir had been a part of the institution, although it did not surprise me. His relationship with Firouz did.

“You lie,” I said.

Firouz chuckled. “Dabir and I were the only two in a generation who mastered Akkadian, and we worked for a time as translators. I’m surprised he didn’t mention this?”

“It didn’t come up.” Was he telling the truth? Why would he seek to fool me with such information?

Firouz’s head craned forward and he studied me. “No matter.” His manner grew more brusque; it was as though he then addressed one beneath him rather than an equal. “Tell me the disposition of the men.”

There were, of course, no men to tell him about. I decided to buy time by whatever means I could. “What will I earn if I betray them?”

“I will let you live, to send word to the caliph of my power.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I am merciful and compassionate. As a ruler should be. As your caliph is not.”

Did he mean to compare himself to Allah the compassionate and merciful? “I would be a fool to return to my master and the caliph having failed at a mission and betrayed my soldiers.”

“Then stay here, and live as an officer in my own guard.”

I considered the dirt-speckled man at his side. “Your officers do not seem as prosperous as those of my master.”

Firouz’s voice grew sharp, his pronunciation precise and forceful. “I am tiring of this, Captain. There are less pleasant measures that I can take. With ease. Flame proves a fine persuader.”

The door opened and in slid another figure. The sudden influx of wind in the cylindrical building set the fire wavering in the central hearth, as if to emphasize Firouz’s threat.

Firouz glanced over, then back at me, then turned once more and stared at the newcomer. Ali drew his blade, and the two men to my side muttered in frank curiosity.

It was Dabir.

One of the Marsh Arabs came behind him, but it seemed not so much that Dabir was his prisoner as that the Marsh Arab was his attendant, so self-possessed was Dabir. True, his boots squished at every step, but his head was high, and his eyes bright. Also, his weapon was still at his side.

“Dabir ibn Khalil.” Firouz pronounced the name with wonder and motioned his men to rest.

“Firouz Caspari. Peace be upon you.”

“And upon you, the peace.”

Dabir walked forward; the man behind him followed, hesitant.

“I wish that you had contacted me,” Dabir said. “So much of this might have been avoided.”

“I did not think you would pursue me so far,” Firouz said, rising as Dabir drew closer. I looked back and forth between them.

“He is a murderer, Dabir!” I said warningly.

“I think I can tell whom to trust,” the scholar replied without looking at me. “So you knew that I was looking over the door pulls?” he asked Firouz.

“I did.”

“Then why did you not seek me out? All this”—Dabir encompassed the men about us with a sweep of his arm—“and your magical exertion, was unnecessary.”

Firouz smiled almost sadly. “It is easy for you to say this now; you have no options now that my man captured you.”

“Your man did not ‘capture’ me, Firouz. I walked to him”—he indicated the Arab behind him—“and demanded audience.”

Firouz looked to the big-shouldered man behind Dabir, who assented with a nod: “It is true, Sheikh.”

“Well, you had few options in any case other than throwing yourself upon my mercy.”

“Nay, I have many options. The simplest would be to find my way to another village and thence to Baghdad. But I would not have volunteered for this mission had I not thought that I could catch and join you.”

I could not hold back a gasp. So Jaffar was right, and Dabir was a betrayer.

Firouz continued to stare at him, saying nothing for a long moment. “Why would you join me when you do not know my aim? Or have you guessed it?”

“It is easy to see you seek knowledge from the Keeper of Secrets.”

Firouz smiled, saying nothing.

“There are grievances I myself nurse,” Dabir continued, “not unlike yours. And questions I would like answered.”

“You have done nothing about your grievances.”

“I lack your ambition. But I am not shamed by that. You know well how much use I might be to you.”

Traitor! If I could do nothing more before I died, I would slay the pair. The attention of my guards was clearly held by the drama before them; I slid my hand toward the knife pommel jutting from the belt of the man on my left.

Firouz stroked his beard thoughtfully, still considering Dabir.

My hand closed on the hilt and I pulled it clear. I heard a cry of surprise from my right, and whirled in time to see the pommel that struck my forehead. My own sword had been used against me!

Bright motes danced before my eyes and I staggered, but I lashed out at the man and heard an outcry. I meant to leap toward Dabir, but my legs were uncertain.

Ali appeared before me. His leg slammed mine and suddenly I was kissing the rug and his foot was pressed down against my hand.

“Should I kill this clown?” Ali asked.

Firouz’s voice was almost a purr. “What do you think, Dabir?”

The traitor did not answer immediately. “He is a buffoon,” he said slowly. “But I cannot condone his death outright, Firouz. He once saved my life.”

“He has refused my service,” Firouz said.

“Perhaps you can send him back to the caliph with your demands.”

“This, too, I have offered him,” Firouz said. “He has been rude.”

I glared up at them both.

“Jaffar’s niece is my prisoner,” Dabir said. “He values her greatly and will pay well for her return. I’m sure this one will agree to convey a ransom demand.”

Firouz laughed. “I thought you lacked ambition.”

“I do not lack the eye to see opportunity.”

“Where is she?”

“Bound; safe until you and I strike a compact.”

“Very well. Pig, take your men and escort this lout”—he pointed at me—“somewhere safe. We will save him for Dabir.”

“He sliced my arm!” someone above me wailed.

“You heard me,” Firouz said sternly. And so I was hauled to my feet with an encouraging kick or two, and then marched outside.

“He didn’t say you had to be left whole,” Pig whispered to me as we moved through the doorway. His greasy fingers wriggled on the hilt of my sword.

The traitor and the murderer remained by the fire, gabbing like the old school friends they were, and the only thing that pleased me was that it took three armed men to guard my steps. My gait was still unsteady, but I pretended my balance was worse than it was in truth. At that moment I had no desire beyond killing Dabir and Firouz. The door closed behind us. All my senses were alert to seize any opportunity, and all my thoughts bent to that one end. I would die in the process, aye, and Sabirah would likely perish, but the greater evil would be eliminated. To think that I had considered Dabir a friend!

Outside the air was still, though the croaking of frogs was more pronounced. Two guards sat near the boats, dark shapes against a darker shore.

Pig ordered one of his men in the boat while the brute I’d wounded shoved me after. And then, at the dock’s edge, I heard him gurgle. I turned in time to see the fellow go down. Behind him was a broad, dark shape with glinting steel in his hand.

“Mahmoud!” My voice was a glad whisper.

“His sword, Uncle!” Mahmoud hissed.

The man I’d thought a guard had already risen and stabbed Pig from behind. The Marsh Arab grunted, clutched at me, and fell lifeless into my arms. I took my father’s sword from him, praised God, and dropped the dead man into the boat.

The last of my guards was sinking into the reeds. I grinned, for with their faces turned toward me I recognized one of those I’d thought a waiting guard to be Lufti, my soldier. And the man who’d stabbed Pig was the poet, Hamil.

I grabbed Mahmoud and kissed him on both of his hairy cheeks. Also I slapped his shoulder. The other men, too, I clasped, even Hamil, who grinned at me. Water dripped from his little beard.

“I feared you were dead!” I told Mahmoud.

His easy, lopsided grin reminded me suddenly of his father.

“Now we strike,” I said. “There are three of them, and four of us.”

“Dabir said we should wait for his signal,” the poet whispered.

“Dabir betrayed us,” I said. The moment I spoke this aloud I realized that his entire appearance must have been a ruse. I groaned at my own foolishness. “What is he doing?”

“He aimed first to free you,” Mahmoud relayed, “then to learn more from the leader.”

“Where is Sabirah? How many others survived?”

“Sabirah waits in the boats with Ghalib.”

I smiled again; so another of my men was left.

Mahmoud waved generally toward a dark patch on our right; the reeds were tall enough that I saw nothing. “Five sailors live.” Mahmoud continued softly. “We slew a score of the river men. But there are many more in the homes about us.”

I nodded, considering. Dabir was braver even than I thought, to walk boldly into the camp of his enemies with a lie framed upon his lips.

“There are but three other men within,” I said. “One is a knife fighter, another the mage who wielded fire against us. The third wears a sword, but I do not know his skill. We four—we five—can take them quickly, and flee.”

“Should we not do as Dabir commanded,” the poet asked, “and wait for his signal?”

“We are exposed, here,” I said, “in the midst of our enemies. We must strike fast, while we have the advantage. Dabir is no military man—though I praise his courage. I can playact as well, and make a fine diversion. Once I have their attention, you and Lufti will charge in after. Hamil will wait by the door and move in if needed.”

The poet sounded skeptical. “Can’t that sorceror just set us all on fire?”

“I will trust Dabir to slay him, as he is standing close.”

Mahmoud looked doubtful, but I clapped him on the shoulder. “Do as I bid. We shall strike the head from this snake, retrieve the treasure, and be on our way.”