8

I flung wide the door and brandished my sword, striking left, then right. I meant to play my role even more finely than Dabir had played his, so I spoke in a booming voice.

“Dabir! There shall be a reckoning! Stand you forth, betrayer!” Again I slung my blade, and its passage through the air set it humming with menace. “You will pay! Serpent! Prepare thee for a smiting that shall rend your flesh, smash your bones, and send you to the courts of Iblis!”

It was a darkened room save for the fire that burned in its center hearth, yet there was light enough to gauge the reactions of the men within. Firouz and Ali whirled in surprise, while the swordsman fumbled for his weapon. Dabir managed a look of dismay that was utterly convincing.

“Ali,” Firouz shouted, “silence that cock’s crowing!”

The little knife fighter leapt to his feet, a blade in his hand before I’d crossed half the distance to him.

Dabir and Firouz stood as well, and the swordsman looked to his master for instruction.

“Lay down your weapon, fool!” Dabir demanded.

“He is too much of a nuisance,” Firouz remarked. “We shall find you another messenger.”

Reflected fire shone on a short length of metal in Ali’s hand that a moment later twirled through the air toward me. I sidestepped and swung and somehow deflected the knife, which slashed into the reed wall on my left.

I closed on Ali, laughing, but the little fellow had no end of tricks. He flung powder before me, and there was no help but to blink at the stuff—sand, I think. In that moment he leapt and thrust with his short, fat sword. I had to parry in close, deflecting the strike near the very hilt of my own blade. Dabir and Firouz argued over some point that I could not hear.

The little man spun with more acumen than many dancing girls. There were no wasted movements or flourishes—he was economy and grace and I would have admired him had I not been fighting for my life. I am used to the offensive, but between his skill and the grit that I still blinked away I found myself on defense. Worse, the swordsman was closing in on my left.

A rush of feet came from behind, at the same moment that Mahmoud’s voice called, “Right with you, Captain!”

I laughed deep in my throat then, glad to see Ali retreating. Lufti dashed in to engage the swordsman. Dabir and Firouz struggled over a satchel while Firouz hurled imprecations. Dabir snatched it clear but overbalanced, God be praised, for as he dropped Firouz swept out a hand. Flame from the hearth followed at the gesture, missing Dabir’s head by only finger spans. The fire struck the reeds on the right and licked greedily up and over the walls in a moment, spreading faster than hungry ants. Dabir scrambled off the floor and dashed toward me, teeth set in determination, a satchel hugged to his chest.

Firouz was illuminated behind him, backlit by fire like a demon, his hand uplifted. I thought then that he and Dabir and Mahmoud and I would all be suffused in flame. Yet for some reason he did not grip us with fire.

“Stop them, Ali!” Firouz’s voice cracked in desperation.

Mahmoud leapt ahead of me with a glad cry and struck at Ali. Dabir reached me, glared darkly, and moved past. I stood guard as Lufti backed from the opponent he’d slain, then called for Mahmoud to follow.

And then we were through and out the door; Mahmoud at rear guard while the height of the reed house flared blinding red.

Outside the poet waved us into a captured watercraft. Our sailors, manning the paddles, struck out furiously before any of us were settled into place. Sabirah huddled in front, watching with wide eyes. Mahmoud, the last one in, landed heavily behind us even as our vessel shot away. Ali shouted fury from the pier, already three spear lengths behind us.

“Faster, dogs!” I barked. “It is too soon for paradise!”

Other men were venturing from their own reed huts and staring as we poled past, and behind was the sound of Firouz, shouting, “Slay them! But bring me that pack!”

I grabbed up a paddle and set to work, yelling over my shoulder for Mahmoud to set his lazy arms to motion, for there was another paddle at my feet. Instead, Dabir took it up and stroked on the other side.

We sped on past two reed huts and out into the maze of lanes. “Left!” Dabir called from behind me, and I heard the poet, who sat aft, calling for the steersman to swing wide.

“How do you know the way?” I asked Dabir.

“I paid heed,” Dabir said. His voice was tight, controlled.

Mahmoud was hunched against him.

“Dabir, give Mahmoud the paddle; he is stronger.”

Dabir hissed through gritted teeth, as if he were keeping in a curse. “Left again!” he called, then, “This was your plan? To blunder through the night with no clear exit?”

“I rescued you!” I reminded him.

“I rescued you! Didn’t Mahmoud tell you to await my signal?”

“We outnumbered them and had the element of surprise. It was time to strike.” Why was he complaining? We were away and we had what we’d come for.

Dabir called for us to turn right. I risked a glance behind and by the light of the flaming reed house saw the outline of at least one boat under way behind us.

“Mahmoud, how many are back there?”

I thought at first that he was silent because he was assessing their numbers. The quiet, though, stretched on.

“Your nephew is dead, Asim.” Dabir paused between gasps for breath, for he worked the paddle furiously.

I was not sure I’d heard him properly. “Dead?” I repeated stupidly. “How?” After all, he’d thrown himself into the boat like Dabir and myself.

“A knife cast from Ali struck him between the shoulder blades as he leapt.”

The breath caught in my chest as if I myself had been struck.

“I am sorry,” Dabir said.

“Why did you say nothing?” I had a mind to turn back and seek Ali.

“I am sorry,” Dabir repeated.

And then there was nothing to do but row. It was fortunate indeed that Dabir knew the way, for I could not have seen through the tears that blinded me.