The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar Read online

  “From what land do you come?” asked the thief.

  “And where will this journey end?” chimed in the girl.

  A hint of mystery returned to the stranger’s eyes and he shook his head sadly. “I have been asked that question countless times. I will give you an answer, but one that you may not readily understand.” He paused here, seeing the urchin listen as curiously as the others. Then he said, “I seek whence I have come, and I have come whence I seek.”

  “You pose us a riddle, stranger,” said Ramagar. “Can’t you be plain?”

  Mariana, though, seemed less puzzled than the others. Pushing hair away from her eyes, she said, “I think perhaps I can solve this riddle.”

  “You understand it?” said the thief.

  She nodded and locked her gaze with the stranger’s.

  “Many have guessed it,” he told her, “but few have understood —”

  “The answer is simple. You seek whence you have come, you have come whence you seek. Home. You are going home.”

  Clearly taken aback, the handsome beggar raised himself to his full height, eyes grown wide with surprise, and looked to Ramagar, who seemed just as astounded as he was.

  “She is a very wise young woman, master thief,” he said admiringly, “and you are a most fortunate man. Be sure to take good care of her. She is far too great a prize ever to lose.”

  “I know it well,” replied the thief, watching Mariana blush as he put his arm around her shoulder and cradled her close to him. “I almost did lose her once — but never again. She means more to me than anything, including your bejeweled dagger.”

  The stranger nodded sagely. “Then, my friends, you are both very wise …”

  “Best we be on our way,” interrupted the urchin, breaking the spirit of the moment. The stranger sighed and nodded.

  There were so many things that Mariana and Ramagar wanted to ask their new companion; so many puzzles that demanded solutions. But now, they knew, was not the time. Too many more urgent matters pressed. With resignation, they prepared to move on.

  The stranger took the torch from the boy and pointed it in the direction of a grim shaft set at the farthest comer of the magnificent cavern.

  “From here on I will lead the way,” he told them. “Stay as close behind me as you can — and cry out swiftly if you sense any danger.”

  Mariana gulped; she wasn’t sure just what he was referring to, but didn’t feel brave enough to ask. Ramagar again took hold of his dagger and gripped the girl’s arm with his free hand. The street urchin brought up the rear, and the little band moved on deeper into the threatening channel.

  One by one they crossed the cave until the gaping hole loomed menacingly before them. “This tunnel will take us under the river,” said the stranger as he poked the torch inside. Eerie shadows cascaded over green corroded iron pipes. The fiery light awoke a slumbering nest of tiny bats who screeched at the flame and darted on frenzied wings deeper into the gloom.

  “They’ll not harm us,” assured the beggar, and he boldly strode inside. The others followed in his footsteps.

  “Az’i!” moaned Mariana, placing her foot down lightly in the dark, smelly tunnel. The rusting pipe and gravel floor was covered with a thick coating of wet, green-tinted slime that had settled into stagnant pools at their feet. The slime was barely ankle-deep at first, but the farther they crossed into the tunnel the deeper it became.

  Cautiously the band walked through the muck, often slipping, sometimes sliding, cursing beneath their breaths, and straining their eyes for some clearer path where they might find relief from this misery. But the dark ooze only deepened, encumbering them until they were virtually wading through it.

  “Has this quagmire no end?” groaned Ramagar.

  “At this rate it will take us a day to get out of here,” grumbled the urchin.

  “And where did all this stuff come from?” wondered the girl.

  The stranger counseled their patience and then said no more.

  As they sloshed their way in silence, torchlight pushed away some shadows, and Mariana recoiled in horror at the sight of a procession of rats sitting on the edges of the pipes above and along the ledges of the wall of rock. The rodents hardly stirred; their beady red eyes followed the intruders’ every movement.

  It was then that the stranger trampled something underfoot, something that crunched beneath the weight of his boot. He stopped, handed the torch to Mariana, and lowered his hands deep into the slime. He lifted out a large, round object, encased in jelly-like muck.

  “What is it?” panted the girl.

  The stranger began to wipe away the jelly, bit by bit until there was no longer any doubt. It was a skull — a human skull.

  Mariana gasped. The gaping black sockets where eyes had once lodged stared at her, and the death mask seemed to be grinning.

  “I wonder who he might have been,” said Ramagar, huddling close to Mariana and inspecting the skull.

  “Probably someone who got lost and couldn’t find his way out,” replied the stranger. “He must have starved to death — then the rats took over.”

  “Poor fellow,” lamented the thief. “I wonder how many others might have shared his fate?” Then with a sigh he dropped the skull back into the slime. It plopped, splashing dully, and sank limply back to the bottom.

  Mariana shivered. She gave the torch back, saying, “Let’s get away from here as quick as we can.”

  And more grim than ever, the tiny band continued on.

  Soon the awful slime became more shallow, and some of the nauseating stench disappeared. They were still wading, but now in water. Overhead pipes dripped a steady trickle of raw sewage; it poured down the walls where tiny wingless insects fed hungrily on the filth. The shaft widened, descended sharply. Mariana felt her ears begin to plug, then crackle.

  “It’s only the pressure,” assured the stranger. “We’re directly under the river. Five minutes more and we’ll be on the other side.”

  It was cold under the river; colder than Mariana could ever recall being. Her teeth were chattering, her lips turning blue. Sensation in her fingertips had dulled, and her legs had become numb so long ago she no longer even bothered to think about them.

  Suddenly the water was draining; running off into downward catchbasins at the side of the wall. It gurgled and gushed in whirlpools, receding blissfully until the pebbly earth could be seen again, sparkling wet rocks shimmering in the light.

  The stranger wiped his cold nose and mouth with his hand, turned back to his companions, and grinned. “We did it. We’re across.”

  “Thank the heavens for that,” mumbled Ramagar, flexing his fingers and bringing them back to life. “Then the worst is over.”

  “Not quite, master thief. True, we’re on the other side, but it’s still a long way to go until we see the sky again. But come, beyond the next tunnel there’s another cavern, a small one, but with a stream of fresh water.”

  Mariana’s face brightened noticeably. “Water? Pure water? To drink and to wash in?” She glanced down at her tunic; it was smeared with a filmy residue of green slime. Her only consolation was that her companions’ clothes had not fared any better.

  The urchin picked lip one foot and groaned. “There’s something bothering me,” he said. “Something digging at me …”

  The stranger’s eyes fired darkly. “Quick! Take off that boot!”

  The boy seemed startled. “But why? What’s —”

  “Just do as I say! Now!”

  The urchin sat precariously against the rocks and winced as Ramagar and the stranger cut the leather and slid the boot off. Blood was trickling along the instep, up near the ankle. The entire foot was discolored and swollen — filled with oblong black blotches that were moving; slowly pulsating and digging into tender skin. The boy stared at them and screamed, “They’re alive!”

  “Leeches!” cried Mariana. “He’s stepped into a nest of them!”

  “Quick,” shouted the thief, b
olting to the stricken lad’s side, “bring over the torch!”

  The urchin gritted his teeth and moaned as the hot flame singed both a leech and his flesh. The stranger grasped the wriggling worm and tore it off, hurling it back toward the river tunnel. Then Ramagar put the flame close again and the boy writhed with pain. A second bloodsucker was pulled off, then a third, and a forth, all thrown back into the dark.

  “Now the other boot,” said Ramagar, tensely wiping sweat from his brow. Mariana took his dagger and cut the seam with a single stroke. The soggy, worn boot dangled, then fell. Mariana looked and reeled back in revulsion. The foot was covered with them, creeping, crawling, sinking their teeth into soft flesh all the way up to his calf.

  “Filthy parasites,” rasped Ramagar.

  The urchin whimpered with the next sting of heat, and then in panic at the sight of the leeches running farther up his body, tried to get up and run. The stranger restrained him, but only briefly. In his wild desperation the boy shook him loose and pushed him to the ground. Screaming, he flayed his arms and tried to run back to the tunnel. Ramagar quickly dropped the torch, drew back a powerful fist, and let it crack against the urchin’s jaw. The boy reeled and slammed back against the stone wall, banging his head, then slowly sliding to the floor in a crumpled heap.

  “We’ve got to get them off fast,” cried the stranger, picking himself up. “Otherwise they’ll work their poison throughout his body.”

  Mariana cradled the urchin’s head while the others went to work. She put her hand to his forehead and gasped. He was burning up, wracked with fever, his eyes half-opened and rolling deliriously.

  “Can we still save him?” she asked, frightened.

  The stranger moved his head from side to side, biting his lip. “We might — if we’re in time. I know something of the healing arts, just enough to save him, I think. But then he’ll need herbs, medicinal brews to nourish him …”

  “We’ll worry about that later,” said Ramagar, holding up a squirming leech between his thumb and forefinger and examining it before tossing it away.

  One by one they pulled the leeches from his leg. They tore open his shirt, found another already beginning to feed on his soft belly; found yet another inching its way from his back toward his neck. The boy’s tormented body was riddled with wounds, some of them oozing pus as well as blood.

  Ramagar unsnapped his cloak and wrapped it around the boy like a blanket. “We need to clean those wounds,” he said, lifting the urchin up and carrying him with both arms. “How far to that fresh water you spoke about?”

  “Only a few minutes, if we run.”

  The thief of Kalimar shifted his burden and nodded. Mariana held up the torch. “Then we run,” he said. “And pray we can save his life.”

  Swiftly they passed through a high, weed-infested channel. But the ground was dry and level and before they knew it they had come to the cavern. Ramagar spread his cloak beside the clean water and rested the urchin upon it. With nothing but rags, the three travelers cleaned the wounds thoroughly and tended to his needs before taking a well-deserved rest for themselves.

  Mariana and Ramagar quenched their thirst greedily, savoring the clear, cold water, then falling exhausted when they had done. The stranger, though, had yet to drink a sip. He placed himself next to the boy and sat motionless, his head hung low against his breast and his arms hanging loosely at his sides.

  Ramagar closed his eyes and fell into a light peaceful sleep. Mariana sat up, leaning against a wall, and watched the stranger as he held the boy’s hand and soothed his brow. She was deeply touched by his devotion.

  “The boy means a great deal to you, doesn’t he?” she said quietly.

  The stranger raised his head and looked at her with saddened, tired eyes. Eyes that told her they had seen much in the world, and now were truly wearied.

  “Yes, the lad does mean a great deal to me,” he said. “In all my long and lonely days in Kalimar only this boy, this hapless urchin, cared enough for a stranger to help him in his plight. He showed me where to hide, shared his blanket when we slept. Once, he even gave to me a crust of bread.”

  “A crust of bread isn’t very much …”

  “No, perhaps not. But it was everything he owned.”

  Mariana turned away her gaze and felt a lump rise in her throat.

  “It’s odd, though,” he continued. “We shared so much together these last days. I don’t even know his name.”

  “He has no name,” said the girl. “No street urchin does. They have no mothers, they have no fathers. No homes, no friends —”

  “But surely even a penniless boy has a name?”

  Mariana smiled bitterly. “You are foreign to this city, aren’t you? There are thousands like him. They live, they hide among shadows, they beg and they steal. And they die. No one knows who they are. No one cares very much. They are faceless children, unwanted and unloved. Vagabonds, wastrels, urchins — all without names.” Mariana sniffed as she finished and the stranger noticed the welling tears in the corners of her eyes. He smiled warmly.

  “Then we shall have to remedy this unjust situation by ourselves,” he said, offering a bit of cheer into their shared gloom. “We’ll give the lad a name of our own choosing. But it will have to be something the boy will like …”

  Mariana dried her eyes and, looking at the boy, forced a tiny smile of her own. “You are kind, stranger. He will like that. And he will be proud.”

  “And so shall his name be proud! But what shall we call him? Let me think …”

  He slitted his ice-blue eyes and ran a hand along his stubbled chin, lost in deep thought. Then he looked at Mariana and grinned. “I have it!” he cried, snapping his fingers. “A good name. A fine name. Noble and exalted. One worthy of his character. We shall call him: Homer. In my own land it means ‘the Wanderer’ …”

  Mariana rolled the word over her tongue. Homer. Homer. Yes, it was a very fine name. Her eyes sparkled with approval. “I like it. It fits him well. You have chosen wisely.”

  The stranger beamed, his features growing boyish. Just then, the boy began to stir and they both flew to his side. Mariana put her lips to his forehead and laughed. “The fever is breaking,” she said gleefully. “See for yourself!”

  And the boy opened his eyes, staring up at the pensive faces. Recognition flickered in his eyes. “What happened?” he whispered. “I can’t remember a thing … He put his hand to his bruised jaw and winced with the sting.

  “You’ve been ill,” said the stranger, tightening Ramagar’s cloak around him. “But soon you’ll be well. How do you feel?”

  “Thirsty …”

  Mariana laughed and drew some water. The. stranger sighed a deep sigh of relief. The poisons had not entered his bloodstream after all. The boy would live. Homer would live.

  “Sleep for a while,” he said to the boy. “We’re all exhausted and need some rest. And don’t fret; the worst of our journey is done. Now we begin the ascent to the surface. In a half day’s time we’ll see the sun.”

  Mariana glowed with the thought. The sun! Warm, gentle. Trees, grass, and birds. Flowing streams where she could bathe. A real bath. Perhaps she could find some soap, and she could scrub herself until her skin glowed and tingled. Wash her clothes spanking clean and forget the horrors of this dreaded sewer forever. It was a wonderful thought. She sighed with pleasure and closed her eyes. And when she fell asleep she dreamed only of the new life she and Ramagar would soon be able to lead.

  The harsh wind howled and whipped its way down to the bottom of the shaft. The torch had long extinguished and the travelers were forced to climb the tunnel in darkness, stumbling step by step, stretching their hands to the walls for orientation. Soon, though, the fissures above began to show needle-thin beams of light. Not very much, but enough to guide the way and lift their spirits by assuring them their ordeal was near an end. The wind was cold; its fury fueled their desire to move faster even as it bit through their flimsy cloaks and nibbl
ed away at their tender flesh.

  Hungry and aching, they pressed on, following the increasingly narrow pipes, breath labored as the incline steepened and steepened again. Then they took a turn from the frigid tunnel, thankful to be well away from the wind, but only to find themselves in a new black passage every bit as dismal and despairing as any they had seen before.

  “What happened to the light?” gulped Homer, shivering and gazing about into the void.

  “Are we lost?” asked Mariana.

  The stranger put his hand to the wall and felt the smooth, almost uncorroded iron. “Have no fear, my friends,” he said. “We are walking within a pipe; the last channel of our journey.” He rapped a knuckle loudly against the metal and it clanged dully. “Beyond this channel lies the doorway to freedom.”

  “But how will we find the way?” wondered Ramagar, his booming voice dimly echoing all the way back to the bitter shaft.

  “We’ll feel our way,” replied the stranger. “Just follow me. Each one will hold onto the cloak of his companion in front. This way we’ll be sure that we are together at all times.”

  Everybody did as asked and took hold. The stranger led the way, Ramagar grasping his cloak tightly and feeling Mariana clutch even more tightly to him, and Homer bringing up the rear, one hand placed firmly on the dancing girl’s loose tunic.

  Upward, ever upward, the huge pipe took them. And then a fringe of pale light glimmered fleetingly far ahead. They hurried on to reach it, knowing it to be the door, the massive stone exit that would bring them to the surface at last.

  Both the stranger and Ramagar set their shoulders against the awesome slab, and with a mighty heave they pushed it ajar. Bright morning sunlight blinded them all. Like children they groped their way through the narrow opening and fell in heaps upon a field of tall grass. They basked under the sky, shuddering at the memory of hours past, and shared in joyous mirth the sight of Kalimar’s high walls shimmering in the distance beneath fast-rolling clouds.