The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar Page 8

At the end of the grim road they paused to catch their breath.

  “What next?” Mariana asked, panting.

  Ramagar furrowed his brow. “We still need those horses,” he said. “If we follow the road to the palace we’re bound to come to a stable.”

  “You’d steal our horses from right under the regent’s nose?” she said, bewildered.

  Ramagar chuckled. “Sort of poetic justice, isn’t it?”

  Soon the road had broadened and they found themselves reaching even higher ground, a place where the fog was merely the thinnest of hazes and they could look back almost without obstruction at the harbor below. There, the fog was still spreading out like a blanket, settling slowly over the estuary, obliterating all of the eastern half of the city including the Jandari.

  Mariana took a deep breath of the clean, fresh air and sighed thankfully. She could see the moon, hazy and high above the distant palace walls, and the dim glitter of stars flickering against the velvet black sky.

  A low stone wall, partially covered by twirling boughs of ivy, twisted up and down the road’s shoulder. Behind the wall stood rows and rows of leafy palms, willows, figs, and a plethora of other colorful fruit trees. They paused to rest and take a drink from a brook. Ramagar bounded the wall and came back in a moment grinning, his hands filled with apples.

  Mariana sat on the wall, her bare feet dangling over the side and her toes barely nudging the cold water. Her scuffed, worn boots at her side, she eagerly took one of the apples and savored her first bite. On either side of the wide road stood an array of homes, the likes of which she had never seen before. They were made of brick, with real glass set into the windows and spryly colored roofs of tile. She stared at them in amazement. Tall iron gates stood before every one; there were gardens and flowers and ponds overflowing with color. So far removed was she from the squalor of the Jandari that for a while she wondered if this entire setting was not just part of a dream.

  Ramagar chomped loudly into his apple and threw away the core. “We’d best be on our way,” he said. “We can’t afford time to dawdle.”

  Mariana sighed and began to put her boots back on. Then Ramagar suddenly stood up and pushed her harshly off the wall and into the grass. Before she could lift her head he was beside her again, telling her not to make a sound.

  Ahead down the road, making their way through the peaceful streets, rode three soldiers, their blue tunics shining in the moonlight. Mariana and Ramagar at once knew them to be palace guards — probably on their nightly patrol of the western edges of the city. Stern-faced and handsome, they spoke little among themselves, content to keep their eyes straight ahead and their hands on the hilts of their curved swords.

  “Do you think they’ve seen us?” she whispered.

  Ramagar bit at his lower lip. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  “But they’re not Inquisitors,” protested the girl. “They won’t be looking for us …”

  He looked at her with steely, cold eyes. “We can’t take any chances.” Then, to Mariana’s shock, he drew a dagger of his own from inside his shirt.

  “Ramagar, no! There are three of them!”

  The voice was rough and deep. “Come out of there!” it barked.

  Mariana froze. Peeking above the wall, she saw that one of the soldiers had ridden ahead of the others and had now stopped some twenty paces before the wall.

  Ramagar was about to leap, dagger at the ready, when the girl quickly pushed him down from sight. She stood up slowly, smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt as best she could, all the while widening her shy gaze at the demanding soldier. Ramagar crouched low beside the wall and watched the girl in puzzlement.

  The keen-eyed soldier gaped at the sight of the girl, certainly surprised at his catch, and secretly somewhat delighted. One hand held firm on the reins and the other loosened the hold on his weapon. His eyes wandered over her from head to foot, noticing the opened buttons, the firm, supple breasts half exposed in the soft silver moonlight. He looked deeply into her eyes, black as coals, luminous and entreating, stirred at the sight of her slightly parted lips, nothing less than seductive.

  “Who are you, girl?” he barked down at her, controlling his restless stallion. “What are you doing here?”

  Mariana sat down on the edge of the wall, her arms stretched behind and her chin held high. She made sure that her dress was raised slightly higher than normal modesty would permit. Then, secure in the knowledge that the soldier’s attentions were undivided, she coolly put the apple to her mouth and took another bite.

  “Well?” said the soldier, sounding vexed. “I asked you a question.”

  “I came to visit a friend,” she replied with a smile.

  A shadow crossed the soldier’s brow. “Oh? You have friends here, in this part of the city?”

  “Very important friends, Captain. Influential, as well. They pay me quite handsomely to visit them.”

  The soldier eyed her shrewdly. “Where do you come from?”

  Mariana tossed back her head and laughed. “From the Jandari, of course.”

  On the surface her story was preposterous; after all, what gutter slut from across the river could possibly claim to have friends within sight of the palace walls? Yet the girl was indeed a beauty; who could say for certain that some high-ranking court minister had not sent for her to share an idle evening’s pleasures? This possibility struck a note of caution in the soldier. A single angry note written by such a minister could dispatch him to a life of cleaning out the regent’s stables.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Mariana, Captain. Perhaps you may have seen me dance —”

  The soldier scratched his chin and nodded. She did seem vaguely familiar. He beckoned her to come closer.

  Mariana lowered herself from the wall and, hips swaying, stood before him. Their eyes locked and hers danced with merriment. Although she would never admit it to Ramagar, she was beginning to enjoy this little ruse.

  He leaned over and touched the edges of her flowing hair. “Do you often come to this side of the river, my dancing princess?” he asked.

  Mariana shrugged and pursed her lips. “Men pay better here — or didn’t you know that?”

  The soldier laughed heartily, beginning now to like this little vixen from the Jandari. Her obvious charms were difficult not to appreciate. He began to wonder now if this chance encounter could not somehow be turned to his personal advantage.

  Reading his every thought, she looked up at him and grinned. “Would you like for me to come with you now?”

  The soldier fidgeted and looked back over his shoulder. His two mounted companions were hanging back in the distance, feigning lack of interest.

  “I — I’m still on duty,” he said, clearing his throat nervously. “But I’ll be off at dawn. That’s not too long to wait for me, is it?”

  He’s hooked! she thought.

  “Then why not come to my room. Captain? Perhaps you’d like to spend the day with me? I’m sure it would be an enjoyable experience for you …”

  The soldier swallowed hard and nodded. “What street?” Without thinking, she gave him Oro’s address, trying not to smirk at the thought of the handsome soldier knocking at the door and the ugly little hunchback coming to answer it.

  The soldier committed the address to memory and stirred when Mariana added, “Don’t forget. I’ll be waiting.”

  The captain threw her a quick kiss and turned his stallion sharply. Then he rode off down the road to rejoin his waiting companions. No sooner had he disappeared from sight than Ramagar bounded from the wall with all the haste he could muster.

  “Why in the name of heaven did you do that?” he bullied, so livid that tiny veins were bulging from his throat.

  “Would you rather have fought all three all by yourself?”

  “Of course not!” he ranted. “But don’t you think your own measures were a little extreme?”

  Mariana felt her face flush, and she stood on her t
oes and kissed her lover fleetingly. “Why, Ramagar,” she chided, “I didn’t know you were so jealous.”

  The thief grunted and wisely let the matter drop.

  Holding hands, the two continued their journey toward the tall spires of the palace, unaware that the little incident, from inception to conclusion, had been carefully observed. From behind the massive trunks of the willows the blond-haired stranger in rags stood and bemusedly shook his head. Clearly this rogue and his beautiful girl were not going to be as easy to fool as he had thought.

  It was easy for the thief to pick the lock of the black iron gate, far easier than he ever imagined it would be. What a shame, he mused, that he would not have the opportunity to tell his peers back at the Demon’s Horn of this daring exploit. Here he was, in the small hours before dawn with little but the most rudimentary of tools, casually picking the locks of the regent’s finest stables. True, and most unfortunate, that these were not their liege’s private stables; still they were royal property — and it amused Ramagar no end that he and Mariana would make their escape upon steeds whose backs had previously known only royal behinds.

  The lock snapped with a quick click. Mariana swung the gate open carefully, her eyes darting in every direction, while Ramagar bolted through the opening and raced for the stable. The lone sentry posted at the gate rolled over and moaned, a hand resting on the swelling bruise the thief had expertly delivered to his jaw only minutes before.

  Ramagar dashed across the bridle path, avoiding the shadows cast by the barrack-like servants’ quarters, and panting, slipped like a lizard inside the slightly ajar stable door. He stifled a sneeze as his nostrils were greeted by the musty sawdust air. Then he gazed around in wonder. There were easily two dozen horses in the stable, each with its own stall, and piles of hay in the back were stacked right to the ceiling.

  He walked slowly to the first stall and peered over the gate. A fine black stallion shook its mane and whinnied. “Hush, hush,” Ramagar whispered, and he reached over and stroked the nervous animal’s nose. The horse calmed and Ramagar opened the gate and led him out gently, so as not to frighten the other watching horses. He looked the stallion over and admired the regent’s taste. He was a beautiful specimen. Tall, sturdy, defiant. The sort of horse every man in Kalimar must dream of one day owning.

  He kept the stallion occupied with a clump of hay and went on to inspect the next stall. A short, stocky mare stared back at him with dumb, pensive eyes. Ramagar nodded to himself, turned, and cast his gaze along the wall. Bridles and harnesses were all firmly in place. The first bridle he slipped over the gray mare, the second onto the waiting black stallion. Then he darted to the door and called softly to the girl. Mariana came running as fast as she could.

  “We’d better hurry,” she said anxiously, looking first to her lover and then to the horses. “That guard you hit is going to wake up any minute.”

  The thief smiled grimly. “Everything’s all set. The mare is yours.” And he handed her the reins.

  Mariana took one look and gulped. “But what about a saddle?” she moaned.

  Ramagar frowned. “There aren’t any. Maybe we can buy one somewhere tomorrow. For now it will have to be bare-back.”

  The dancing girl closed her eyes and sighed. Already she could feel the stinging bruises on her behind. She said nothing as he helped her mount and watched him while he took the stallion firmly in hand.

  “I’m scared,” she said, as they prepared to ride.

  “Not as scared as you’re going to be if we don’t manage to get out of the city. Anyway, you’ll get used to it. Just show her that you’re the one in control. Keep your body loose, try to sway with her as she runs.”

  Mariana nodded.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Whenever you say —”

  All of a sudden, they both looked up, startled. The stable doors had been flung open wide, and a sleepy-eyed servant stood staring at them, a small lantern dangling from his hands. And beside the servant stood two of the most vicious dogs that either of them had ever seen.

  “Who are you?” demanded the servant in a shaky voice.

  Ramagar whooped and slapped the mare and his stallion. Both horses bolted ahead. The servant wisely jumped to the side and rolled onto the grass as the horses thundered past. The hounds gave chase, yelping and snarling, barking at the top of their lungs, yapping at the horses’ heels. Lamps began to be lit in a dozen windows, and a great commotion started as others servants and soldiers came running, pants unbuttoned into the chilly night air.

  “Stop them!” someone cried. “Don’t let them escape!” called another. “Bring them back!” chimed a third.

  But it was too late; the unseen riders had long broken for the road, darting among the trees and well away from the palace and its environs. Soon even the dogs were left panting behind, exhausted and whimpering, uselessly continuing to bark sporadically after their prey. By the time the first group of soldiers rode from the gate, they could only scratch their heads in confusion, trying to figure out which of many ways the thieves might have gone. It made no difference though. The riders were too well along their way to be caught.

  7

  The sky was changing color from black to azure, violet, and plum, then suddenly blood-red pouring up from the comers of the horizon. Along the sandy road came the caravan, a kilometer-long procession of camels and packmules and donkeys, all worn and weary, all shuffling slowly under the weight of their burdens. Snorting and wheezing, they moved to the crack and the sting of the taskmaster’s whip and the shouts and whistles of the muleskinners until the time when the gates of Kalimar came into sight and the long journey was at an end.

  The tradesmen lifted themselves from their wagons and beasts, and shook the dust from their flaming-colored robes, watching with sly eyes while the host of laborers unpacked their wares. It was then that the soldiers and inspectors came onto the scene. They assessed the wares and tallied the levies to be imposed, blindly misreading the scales at the feel of silver passing clandestinely into their palms.

  While all this transpired the city began to awaken from the long night. As always, it was the sound of morning prayers cried from the minarets that brought most from their slumber. Soon the streets and bazaars would be crowded with the throngs crossing from one side of the river to the other. Most citizens would be completely oblivious to the numerous patrols of soldiers marching through the streets and guarding each of the Nine Gates. Most, that is, except for those who had something to fear, those whose escape meant the difference between life and death.

  Mariana walked slowly and casually along the perimeter of the caravan. Unsought by the Inquisitors, she had passed through the gate with hardly a glance, although she was still careful to keep her gaze low and her veil high. Three times they had been thwarted in their plan. Three times! Alert guards posted at the road beside the Old Wall had signaled the alarm before their horses could even attempt to make the dangerous ride through. They had been forced to turn back, seek another route. But Ramagar’s next choice proved equally disastrous; dodging whistling arrows, they had barely made it away in time. Fortune in the shape of night had been with them, though, and they had managed to elude all chasing sentries. But now it was day, and there was little refuge they might seek if this fourth attempt for freedom failed.

  Mariana’s eyes scanned the road and the attentive soldiers on either side. She felt uncomfortable in the new clothes Ramagar had stolen for her. Her moccasins, a size too loose and poorly laced, slipped with every step. The tunic blouse with its high gathered neck irritated her throat, and the sleeves, far too long for a girl her height, kept falling below her knuckles, trapping her hands. Her hair was pinned up now, tightly bunched under a white headcloth. With her veil firmly in place, she knew she looked the part her lover had intended her to play: that of an anxious merchant’s wife come to the caravan to find her long-missed husband.

  She strolled among the crowd, here and there pretending to catch
sight of some traveler or other she recognized. Then, hiding her distraught eyes, she sluggishly drew away from the caravan and passed back beneath the arched wall into the city.

  Well away, in a side street that led to the central markets, Ramagar stood waiting. The horses were watering in a slime-filled trough, and the thief, dressed in the outrageous brown robes of a Karshi religious fanatic, paced up and down the flagstones with his hood covering his head and shading his face.

  The sight of the girl and her downcast eyes told him the result of her foray.

  “It’s no use,” she said. “Soldiers are everywhere. Az’i! I’ve never seen so many in one place at a single time. They’re sending a whole army to catch you.”

  The thief wiped his brow and cursed the heat of the day. How these damnable fanatics wore their robes even at high noon left him bewildered. Here it was, less than an hour after dawn, and already his body was drenched in sweat. He gazed up at the rising run. Time was running out, he knew. Hour by hour the noose was tightening. He must make his move soon, while he could, while there was still a move to make.

  Mariana watched as he took the horses by the bridles and walked them back to the edge of the street. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “They’re expecting us to come riding through the gate like demons from hell,” he replied sullenly. “Charging down the road like crazed, trapped animals. Well, we’re going to fool them.”

  Mariana held her breath. “How?”

  “We’re going to walk. Slowly, leisurely. One at a time. You’ll have no trouble, you’ve already proved as much —”

  Her pulse was throbbing. “And what about you?”

  He smiled thinly. “I’ll be close behind. A Karshi fanatic, on his way to self-flagellation in the desert. They do it all the time, you know. I shouldn’t cause any attention.”

  The dancing girl grasped her hand around his sleeve. “But what if you’re asked to lower your hood? They’ll want to see your face before you pass, Ramagar. They’d be fools not to.”