THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) Page 10

  Ignoring her sarcasm, he replied, “Through the sewers, the ancient pipe system built thirty meters below the earth, long unused and longer forgotten.”

  “It’s true, Mariana,” chimed in the urchin. “I’ve seen these sewers myself. It would be a perfect escape for him and for you. For all of us, if it came to that.”

  “But only I know the exact route,” warned the stranger. “Deviate from it ten paces and a man would find himself lost in a hopeless labyrinth without a chance of ever getting out.”

  Mariana could feel her heartbeat quickening again. She was by no means convinced of what he was saying, but if it were true …

  “How do you know all this?” she asked. “You’re a stranger to Kalimar, a foreigner. What proof do you have that you actually know a way out beyond the walls?”

  “Ah, but do you forget that I was also sought by your soldiers? Unlike Ramagar I chose to hide not above the ground but below it. For days now I have studied this system of underground pipes. I cannot be wrong. The sewers will lead us to the river, more than a kilometer from the walls. Under the cover of darkness your escape will be easy. I will be your guide, fighting to protect your lives if I must. Then, when we are safely away, you can go your way and I shall go mine…”

  “And the price we must pay for your assistance is the scimitar.”

  He smiled caustically. “You understand me perfectly, Mariana. But for you it’s a bargain at any price. Ramagar will live, and you will be at his side. Think it over.”

  The street urchin pressed her further. “Listen to him, Mariana. You’ll come to trust him as I have. He means us no ill. None of us. And this dagger he seeks is rightfully his. You know as much yourself. Give it back, Mariana, please. Implore Ramagar to listen.”

  The girl sighed and tried to clear her confused thoughts. Events were happening now so fast. Friends had become enemies, enemies were offering to become friends. In a quandary, she leaned against the opened doorway, sagging her shoulders as she sighed. Would Ramagar trust this soft-spoken stranger, she wondered. Would these soothing words have convinced him half as much as she had been? Yet what other choices were there? Trusting this man was certainly a risk, but without his help what else might come? Only more despair, and death.

  “I cannot speak for Ramagar,” she said at last, turning herself and fully facing the stranger, “but I agree to your terms. Take us as far away from Kalimar as you can and the scimitar will be yours again.”

  The blond-haired stranger smiled. “Trust that you’ve made a wise decision.”

  Mariana looked at him sharply. “Have I?” she asked. “Let’s hope Ramagar feels the same—that is if we can ever find him.”

  The street urchin’s face lit up in a broad grin. “And that is where both of you need me,” he said. “In all of Kalimar I’m the only one with any idea where he is.”

  8

  Ramagar sat with his arms folded around his knees and his body arched forward, away from the damp planks dug into the earth. Above his head splintery beams dripped a steady flow of dirtied water. The ground at his feet was cold and coarse and he shivered every time the gusty wind forced itself between the boards.

  Opposite him crouched the street urchin. Drooping his head, staring at the scattered pebbles in the dirt, he waited for the thief to give his answer. Since the very first day he heard of Ramagar the boy had held the master rogue in awe and admiration. Now, though, it was a sad, hollow man who sat before him, and the boy’s features showed only sorrow and deep emotion. For here, close to the great ancient locks of Kalimar’s canal, beneath a decrepit, rattling walkway over looking foul cesspools, the greatest thief in the Jandari was forced to hide like a frightened animal, as broken as his dreams.

  Ramagar sighed, lost in thought, pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. When his eyes finally opened the boy saw that they were sunken and tired, attesting grimly to his plight.

  “And you swear that Mariana trusts him?” queried the thief.

  The urchin nodded with conviction. “I give my word, Ramagar. There is no treachery to fear. Only an honest trade—your freedom for the dagger.”

  Ramagar listened attentively, then cast his forlorn gaze heavenward. How much he wanted to see Mariana again, even if only for a few precious moments. To hold her close to him, kiss her, feel the softness of her skin against his own.

  “You must believe what I’ve said,” pressed the boy. His darting eyes made plain that he was nervously aware of the passing patrols diligently searching every nook and cranny from one side of the river to the other. “Won’t you come with me now, Ramagar? Mariana is waiting for us, for you …”

  The thief shivered at the mention of her name. And he asked himself if it had really been trust that led her into this strange alliance with the beggar. Or, as he secretly feared, was it nothing more than blind love and sheer desperation forcing her to close her eyes to the possibility of a carefully laid trap?

  The wind grew stronger and the boy listened for the sound of hoofbeats it carried. The soldiers were closing in. “We’ve so little time,” said the urchin to the rogue. “These patrols have been crisscrossing the city since dusk. If you agree to the offer, you’ll have to come with me now.” And as if to add emphasis to his words he placed his ragamuffin hand tightly around Ramagar’s sleeve.

  “Tell me, lad,” said the thief, looking deeply into the boy’s eyes, “do you put your trust in this man?”

  “I trust him with my life.” It was said swiftly, without hesitation. Ramagar knew the lad spoke with sincerity, although why he loved the beggar so was a complete mystery.

  Once again Ramagar sighed, this time leaning back and weighing the scales before giving his answer. It was a risky business to say the least, walking these sewers. A very risky business. He knew little of them; only that the superstitious folk of Kalimar held them in terror, daring to speak of them only in soft whispers—and even then never after the sun had set. These tunnels, by all accounts, were a honeycomb of rodent-and leech-infested arteries as black as midnight devils, colder than a graveyard. For more than a century they had been unused, with nary a man bold enough to venture so deep into the bowels of the earth. For it was said that once a man lost his way, he would never find it again. Insanity and death were surely all that awaited him.

  Ramagar knew what foolishness this darkened journey might prove to be. Yet, his state of affairs was such that even a plan like this offered a brighter future than the one surely faced if he turned the offer down. If his life had any value remaining, he had no choice but to put it into the hands of the strange beggar who called the prize of a prince his own, and claimed to know the long-forgotten exit which led beyond the walls. Ramagar did not mind putting his own life in jeopardy; indeed, the risk meant little. But the thought of Mariana sharing the burden—albeit willingly—sank his heart and left him in despair. This decision was the most difficult he had ever faced.

  At length he lifted his head and looked to the boy. “Very well; I accept the offer. The scimitar in exchange for freedom. In any case, I’d rather die in the sewers than let Oro and his goons gloat with satisfaction at the removal of my head in a public square.”

  The urchin twisted his way from under the footbridge and out into the open. He breathed a thankful sigh, then squinted his eyes and looked far into the night. He could see nothing, but as before the wind carried the distant sound of hooves.

  “Which way?” said the thief, coming to his side.

  The urchin smiled. How proud he was at that moment; the thief of thieves at his side, and together they would elude the pressing legions of the Inquisitors. “This way, Ramagar,” he said, pointing to the wet dung-smeared horse trail above the bank of the estuary. And side by side they disappeared among the shadows.

  Mariana held her breath at the sight of the two figures hugging the alley wall as they made their way toward her. Then she flew into Ramagar’s arms, weeping with happiness. They kissed briefly; the thief held her fa
ce in his hands and looked at her longingly. Mariana untied her headcloth and let it fall to the ground. Unpinning her hair, she shook it loose until it tumbled windblown and free over her shoulders.

  “I never thought I’d see you again,” she confessed.

  “Nor I you,” admitted the thief.

  They could have stayed that way for an hour, unspeaking, content to gaze into each other’s star-filled eyes. But there were other matters at hand; matters that could not wait. Ramagar held her close and looked to the beggar. Aloof, unconcerned with these matters of the heart, the yellow-haired stranger lifted his gaze from the crater-like hole at the far end of the alley and stared at the thief. For a while the eyes of these two strong-willed men locked; partly in anger, partly in respect. Mariana looked on with trepidation while they took long measure of each other, and she feared that this encounter might yet turn to confrontation.

  The fear, though, was short-lived. The stranger’s mouth cracked at the corners and a small smile appeared. “So,” he said in his accented voice, “you are Ramagar. We meet at last.”

  The thief nodded. “And I have kept my part of the bargain.”

  “You carry my blade?”

  “It is in my possession, yes. Once we are taken to safety it shall be returned.”

  “I would see it now,” said the stranger. “Not that I don’t trust you, master thief. Merely as a precaution that you still have it.”

  “A fair enough request,” replied Ramagar. Then he turned to Mariana and said, “Let him see it.”

  The stranger’s eyes widened in wonder as the dancing girl modestly turned from view and reached inside her tunic. Even in the darkness of night the golden blade glimmered as she held it.

  The stranger was agog; all this time of searching and plotting had been futilely spent. It had been within his very grasp—and he never once suspected. But the humor of this episode had not escaped him; he mulled his foolishness over and laughed. “You tricked me well, Mariana,” he said. “Have you had it all along?”

  She smiled mischievously. “From the very beginning.”

  The stranger scratched his head and sighed. “What more needs to be said? You’ve both kept your agreements; come, I shall keep mine.”

  With that, he beckoned them to follow. The entrance to the sewers seemed little more than a gaping hole on first inspection. Concave, crack-ridden, and seeping raw sewage, it was literally a black pit. A pile of rubble had recently been removed to expose a badly decomposed set of steps leading about ten meters down and ending at the base of a large, shadow-concealed metal doorway.

  Mariana tightened her hold on Ramagar’s arm and looked down with disgust. Small maggots and lice by the hundreds were crawling under and over the steps, swimming in the black, liquid pools that formed below the several exposed corroded pipes.

  Ramagar breathed through his mouth to blot out the stench. “Are the tunnels beyond that door?” he asked.

  The stranger shook his head. “Only the entrance to them. We’ll have to go deeper than that, I’m afraid. Much deeper.”

  Mariana bravely began to descend, the thief at her side, the stranger and the urchin taking the lead. The stranger was the first to reach the landing, whereupon he began to scrutinize the entrance while his hands deftly felt for the springed catch to unlock it.

  “What will we use for light?” asked the thief uneasily.

  The urchin provided the answer. He had wrapped a handful of oil-soaked rags around a fat stick of wood. Ramagar’s flints struck and caught; immediately the rags became a smoking blaze of fire.

  The catch-spring twanged and the stranger smiled. He pushed the door with all his weight and it slowly opened with a groan. Blackness fell back to the torchlight and Mariana gasped as a dozen sewer mice dashed helter-skelter for the distant darkness. The tunnel was not steep, although its incline semed constant. And it was only then that the thief and his girl grasped the true nature of the journey they faced. Green slime and moss covered the walls of rock; the entrance reeked of stale air and foul droppings.

  “I never said it would be easy,” said the stranger. “And it only gets worse the deeper we go. The tunnels we must use won’t even be reached for hours—and one wrong turn might mean we’ll never find them at all…”

  “There’s no turning back now,” said Mariana, fighting with all her strength to overcome her abject terror. “Lead on. The quicker we make this vile passage the sooner we’ll be out.”

  “And you feel the same?” he asked of the thief. “You want to go on?”

  Ramagar nodded grimly. He drew his dagger and clutched it firmly in his sweaty hand. “I didn’t come all this way just to turn back now.”

  The stranger smiled. “Very well.” And he shut the metal door behind. The lock sprang back into position and they knew they could no longer get out even if they wanted to. The only other exit was somewhere out there in the black; all they could do was go forward and find it.

  Holding the torch high, the urchin took the lead. Down, down, ever down they went, feeling the damp and the chill cut to their bones. There was little talk among them, and then only in quick whispers. The sounds of their marching feet echoed grimly in places they had passed: the slow, steady steps of the boy; the assured, confident, harsh steps of the stranger; Ramagar’s long, firm strides; Mariana’s moccasined light step hurrying to keep pace with the others.

  The initial leg of the journey had not in truth taken very long, but to Mariana it seemed like hours. At a place where the tunnel broadened dramatically before separating into three small tunnels, the stranger stopped. From somewhere unseen but close they could all hear a steady drip drip drip of trickling water. Mariana looked back at the ascending shaft and shuddered. In the black she could see a pair of staring eyes. Rat’s eyes. Cunning, frightened, hungry. The rodents, unseen, had been following every step of the way. Watching, waiting. Perhaps biding their time.

  “Which way now?” said Ramagar, blowing hot air into his cold hands.

  “The tunnel on the left,” replied the yellow-haired stranger. “It’s the only one that leads beneath the river.”

  “The river?” gasped the girl. “You mean we’ll be traveling below the water? These tunnels were built a thousand years ago. What if one gives way? Well all drown!”

  “It’s the only way,” said the stranger impatiently. “We’ll move fast. We’ll be safe. I’ve never seen the water rise higher than a man’s waist.”

  Ramagar looked at him with questioning eyes. “Then the tunnels do flood?” And he frowned when the stranger replied, “All the time.” Still, there was no choice but to move ahead.

  The urchin remained in the lead, taking them into a narrow, uneven tunnel where the ceiling was so low that all but the boy had to lower their heads. And the longer they walked it, the narrower it became; so narrow that Mariana had only to stretch her arms halfway out to feel the rough, mica-encrusted wall at either side. Water was seeping everywhere, through cracks in the ceiling and in the walls; she could feel the ground soften and her moccasins squish through mud. What sickened her most, though, was the sight of the roaches, disgusting brown and yellow things that wormed and scurried between the crevices as the offensive torchlight disturbed their search for food. But there was plenty of that, Mariana saw. Worms and spiders, weed and moss, not to mention the maggot-ridden flesh of dead rodents.

  “We’ll soon be out of here,” said the stranger to his companions. “This tunnel ends abruptly, if I recall, and we’ll come to a wide cavern where the sewers used to meet.”

  “Brrr,” shivered Mariana. “I can hardly wait.”

  As far as she could judge, by now the sun would have long risen. She thought wistfully of the blazing ball of fire in the sky, its warmth and comfort. And in a way she felt pity for these repulsive sewer-dwelling creatures who had never known daylight or warmth, and never would.

  The tunnel turned suddenly, sharply, becoming wider. They were still on something of a descent, but now it was lev
eling off. Occasionally they passed smaller tunnels leading off at angles at the side; deep, silent arches as grim as tombs. Mariana could only wonder where they led, but she was definitely not curious enough to explore.

  As the stranger had predicted, this tunnel came to an end without warning. The small band found themselves standing on the threshold of an enormous cavern, its ceiling up to fifty meters high in places. And the ceiling was studded with incredible formations: icicle-shaped stalactites sculptured from the limestone and dolomite that glittered in hues of gold and scarlet and flaming yellows above the pale light of the torch.

  Mariana and Ramagar stared in awe at the breathtaking beauty of the forebidding grotto. Their yellow-haired companion glanced at them and grinned. “Impressive, isn’t it? All the more so, when you bear in mind that this is part of a sewer.”

  “It’s stunning,” stammered Mariana, her gaze held high. “It sweeps you away, like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

  “A shame that no one else will ever see it,” added the thief. “It should be a shrine.”

  The stranger lifted his head and stared for a long while at the dripping, motionless cones of sparkling rock. “I don’t think I will ever come to understand this land of Kalimar,” he said with a sigh. “There is so much beauty to be found here, so much potential for your people. Yet you knowingly have let it all fall to such waste. A terrible pity. A crime. Beneath the earth there is so much wealth to be mined, above it, so much land that could be reclaimed from your deserts. Yet you allow it to remain barren, empty. No,” he shook his head, “I shall never understand.”

  Mariana and Ramagar exchanged quick, puzzled glances. This blond-haired beggar was certainly the oddest man they had ever known. Yesterday his mind and heart were filled with hatred and murder, today he spoke softly of beauty and nature.

  “Who are you, stranger?” said the thief suddenly. “Who are you really?”

  The stranger shook off his musings and smiled. “I am many men,” he answered mysteriously. “A wayfarer, a vagabond, yes, even a beggar.”