The Desert of Souls, page 28
“At first it was a giant snake, Master, but then it became a horrible worm.”
“Dabir did not mention that.”
“He did not see it.”
Again Jaffar tapped his fingers. “Asim, Sabirah and Dabir both tell me that bhang was slipped into one of your meals.”
“It is true,” I said. “I did not expect the old women to be working for the enemy.”
“That you were deceived is not my point. My point is that you have experience now with the consumption of bhang. Is it not possible that these other things you think you saw were hallucination?”
“I do not think so, Master.”
“You did not consider your answer very long, Asim.”
“I did not have to, Master. I know what I saw.”
“So might a man say who took bhang.” He cleared his throat. “I know, for I saw far stranger things even than you and Dabir reported when the Greek Corineus drugged me. Consider more carefully. You talk of djinn and giant snakes and strange landscapes—although Sabirah can only relay to me what she was told by the two of you. She did not see these things. I think that you were tricked into the consumption of drugs once more.”
“I do not think so, Master.”
Now Jaffar frowned.
“Is it not possible, Asim, that you are wrong?”
I dared not answer in the negative, and yet I did not wish to admit to something that was not true, so the moment stretched on and Jaffar’s stare deepened. He cleared his throat.
“I suppose,” I said, “that it is possible.”
He nodded.
“Master, Dabir strove with everything at his disposal. We were outmatched by sorcery.”
His brow darkened, his mouth opened, but I spoke on.
“You saw the monkeys—there were other dead things given life. Also the wizard Firouz controls flame, Master, and it slew your sailors. The enemy was leagued with a tribe of Marsh Arabs, and I daresay they may have bribed the governor of Basra.”
He made a scoffing noise, but I persisted. “Yet against all of these odds, Dabir and I and Sabirah returned. If the governor had sided with us, we might have stopped the Magian there in Basra, and—”
“Captain!” Jaffar roared.
I stopped short. Jaffar clutched hard at the settee. “I no longer care about the theft—I have gifted the caliph with gold and ornaments ten times the worth of that stolen by the thieves and bungled by the two of you! What I care about is your failure, and the disappearance of my niece!”
I bowed low. “Master,” I dared, “these men are dangerous.”
“So too did the others say. And the city soldiers are alert for them. But that should not be your chief concern.”
“But it is, Master.” I looked gravely at him. “I have seen the Magian’s power. He is evil, and he would bring that evil to Baghdad.”
“You persist in this tale?”
“Aye, Master. It is no lie.”
He sighed through gritted teeth, glared at me, then rapidly tapped his fingers together.
I bowed once more. “Do not be angry with Dabir,” I said. “He—”
“You should be concerned with your own fate, not his!”
“My fate is as you will, Master. I stand ready to serve you, and the caliph, as always.”
“Yes, yes.” His scrutiny grew so great that I looked down at my feet. What was it he searched for?
After a lengthy silence, he sighed in defeat and addressed me softly. “Poor, foolish, loyal Asim. Brave Asim. What could you do but follow orders?”
I looked up in time to see him spiraling one hand in the air as if conjuring thoughts with the motion. He sounded as though he meant to convince himself. “After all, I had told you to follow Dabir and seek the thieves, and this you did as best as you were able. You had no orders about the girl, thus it was simple for a more clever man to convince you that your mission—the mission I, after all, had given you—was more important.”
“Master—”
“Do not interrupt, Captain! I hold you at fault, yes, but I cannot judge you too harshly.” He nodded. “After all, you, more than any other, have paid more heavily, what with your own injuries, and the death of your beloved nephew.”
I bowed my head.
“Here is what I judge. You, Asim, shall remain captain of my guard.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“I am more aware now than ever of your limitations, but knowing them, I yet value your strengths, which are many.”
I bowed to the waist. “Thank you, Master.”
“You may retire. Rest and recover for the next week, and then resume your regular duties.”
I bowed low. “I am grateful, Master.” As I rose, I dared the question that was on my lips. “But what of Dabir, and Sabirah?”
“That is not your concern,” Jaffar snapped. “You are dismissed.”
Once more I bowed. Usually Jaffar was not one to hold me to formalities of behavior, but given the tenor of the situation, I walked backwards, and made sure to bow once more before I opened the door from behind and slipped from the room.
The palace halls had never before seemed so empty. From far away, echoing and distorted by the stones and tiles, there came the drifting sound of music and singing. A celebration of some sort was under way, and for the life of me I could not imagine what it could be for. Not when Jaffar’s mood was so foul.
I’m not sure when I have ever felt so small. Though we had suffered much, none of it had mattered. My friends seemed destined for a fate they did not deserve, and a grave threat loomed unheeded. Nothing I had said, likely nothing any of us had said, had convinced Jaffar. His reasoning was sound—so sound I almost doubted my own experience—yet the truth gnawed at the chain that bound it like a trapped wolf I was helpless to free.
I prayed alone on my rug at the call to evening prayers, then lit candles and set to an officer’s most unpleasant task. With pen, parchment, and ink, it was time to write to the relatives of the slain soldiers and tell them that their men were perished. The worst of these letters would be for Mahmoud’s mother. I could not quite imagine how to begin, so I left it off for last.
Who, I wondered, would write the letter for Dabir? And to whom would it be sent? Surely his fate now was sealed. And poor Sabirah, what was to be her fate? Truly her choice to follow had been foolish, aye, and disrespectful to her family, but I knew the girl well enough to know that she had not lain with Dabir.
Four times I began the letter to Mahmoud’s mother—four times I crumpled the parchment and threw it aside. I had begun a fifth when I heard steps in the hallway at last. I set down the pen eagerly—an eagerness born of a desire for knowledge, I told myself, not of a desire to put off an unpleasant duty—and opened the door.
There were a trio of guardsmen in the hallway, one bearing a lantern. Omar and Saud were already unbuckling their sword belts, as a man will do when he is off duty and eager for the pallet. They started at sight of me in my doorway, then smiled.
“Captain!” Omar, the youngest of them, said with pleasure, “We’d heard you had returned.”
“Is all well with you?” Latif, the lantern bearer, asked. I knew he meant to ask as to my fate and station in the palace. A homely fellow, his wit was sharp, and I had already decided he would be my new first lieutenant.
“Aye, I am your captain still.”
They bowed their heads to me, and I think their pleasure was sincere. Omar congratulated me, Latif praised God, and Saud simply smiled his gap-toothed smile.
“I have been busy with letters,” I said. “What was the commotion about tonight?”
“Have you not heard?” Omar asked.
“If he had, would he be asking? Captain, the master’s niece is to be married tomorrow, and tonight was the marriage banquet.”
My first thought came to my lips. “That was swift. Who is the bridegroom?” Might Jaffar, suspecting the worst, simply have thrown up his hands and allied his house to Dabir’s?
“Irfan bin Mubarak.”
Ah, but I’d been foolish even to think that Jaffar would relent. Of course. The marriage to the son of a prominent Baghdad merchant would strengthen the family’s ties in the south. Would Sabirah yet act properly for her family’s honor? I hoped that she would do nothing rash.
“Have you heard anything about Dabir?” I asked.
Latif lowered his lantern and glanced over his shoulder. “The slaves were talking,” he said quietly.
“The slaves always know,” Omar added.
Latif continued. “Jaffar was going to behead him, but Sabirah wept and begged and pleaded and threatened to kill herself.”
Oh, no.
“So Jaffar told her that he would send Dabir to the caliph if Sabirah pledged straightaway to wed Irfan without remorse.”
“I wondered how it fell so quickly together.”
“Who would not wish to marry into the master’s family?” Latif said. “Even if there were some questions about the girl. Boulos says that you rescued her from kidnappers.”
“Boulos exaggerates,” I said.
“Nay, tell us the truth, Captain,” Omar pleaded.
Their honest good fellowship warmed me, but in truth I did not feel like revisiting the expedition just then. Those memories hung like a lead weight around my neck. Also it seemed likely a different version of events was being shared through the palace, and I thought it wise to learn what it might be before I spoke.
And there was the letter still to write. Thus I bade them good evening and retired once more to my quarters. I tried to convince myself that Sabirah, at least, was no longer my worry. I took some comfort from knowing that Dabir was alive and safe. I left the letter to the morning, blew out my candle, and climbed into my pallet.
Long and dreamless was that sleep. On those rare instances when I fail to rise for prayers it is never sloth that keeps me to my bed. This time it was great fatigue. With no companions to rouse me I failed utterly to hear the muezzin’s call. I did not wake until I heard my name. I blinked and sat up. Boulos stood at my shoulder, the little eyes in his fat face blinking rapidly.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
The day was well on, judging from the light flooding my room. I regarded Boulos sleepily.
“You did not rise for prayers,” Boulos said. “And you did not answer to my knock, nor when I called your name at entry. Forgive me.”
I rubbed my head. “I did not hear you.”
“Thrice I called. I had to shake your shoulder.”
I sat up more fully and considered him. “Is there an emergency?”
“Nay.” His head bobbed a bit. “I thought you might be dead,” he admitted.
“Dead?”
He offered his palms.
“What time is it, Boulos?”
“Well into the noon hour, Asim. Or should I say, Captain?”
Noon. I had slept long. And today, I realized, was the day. The sixth of Dhu’l Qa’dah. I turned my head and looked out the window; all seemed well. There were no ghosts, nor fire streaming from the sky. “Does the master need me?”
“Nay, the master is not even here. I came to offer my congratulations.”
“For what? Has Firouz been caught?”
“Firouz?” Boulos wrinkled his brow. “Nay, I meant for keeping your head. But then you did not show,” he added quietly, “and I wondered if perhaps you might have been … dealt with in some less obvious way.”
“The master would never do that,” I said, and Boulos eyed me as though I were a fool. He stepped into the other chamber as I slipped out of bed and into my garments. I hurried to stand at my window and looked out at the clear sky. I heard a distant clamor of the city, nothing more. By Allah, if Dabir had been wrong … my one hope had been that Firouz would arrive to carry out his plan and my friend would be vindicated when the Magian was stopped. But there was no sign of Baghdad’s doom. Normally I would have been happy of that.
“I’ve brought food,” Boulos said behind me, and by way of verification I could hear the clink of plates and platters. I smelled sweet cakes.
More fully awake, I realized then that Boulos, gossip that he was, had come himself to learn the details of my meeting with Jaffar. It was not simply that he loved a good story, but that his position depended partly upon knowing all that took place within the palace. Thus he sought always to be near the center of understanding, like a spider crouched in a web of lines. When something interesting happened at one end of the palace, the line would shake and Boulos would scamper off to learn all that there was to know. I did not begrudge him this; we were not intimates, but I respected him. The warm food was such a welcome sight that I invited him to join me, which he did with obvious relish. Lest you think it strange that a free man ask a slave to join him at table, remember that he was Jaffar’s chief steward and in many ways could be said to outrank me.
“I heard that Sabirah’s being married off today,” I said.
“True, true.” Boulos passed over a plate with candied dates, and I took one. “The caliph himself will attend. Any hint of scandal has been brushed under the rug. But tell me—how many of Sabirah’s kidnappers did you slay? Some say that you single-handedly fought off four of them, another that there were three, but that there were trained monkeys with poisoned claws.”
I eyed him closely to see if he jested.
“There was one monkey that time,” I said. “I do not think his claws were poisoned. His teeth did this, later.” I tapped at my neck.
Boulos sipped at the fruit juice. “One of the most endearing things about you, Asim, is that you are such a poor liar.”
“I do not lie about the monkey,” I said.
“Oh, I know—I can tell.”
If he could tell, why then was he amused?
“Is that why the master spared you?”
I grunted. “I told the master the truth. We all did—likely that is why he spared all three of us, though we failed his mission. Sabirah will be some other man’s worry, praise Allah. Dabir may not like working for the caliph, but surely it will be better than lying in a shroud.”
Boulos set down his cup. “My dear Captain. Do you really—are you really so blind?”
I had just selected a sweet bread and paused with it near my mouth. “What do you mean?”
He clucked his tongue. “Sabirah believed the master, but she is a girl, even if she is a clever one. She is young. What is your excuse?”
“What are you saying?”
“Do you really think that the master would spare Dabir?”
“Has he not promised Sabirah Dabir’s safety? I was told he would work for the caliph.”
“The caliph is the master’s closest friend, Asim. What do you think he will do with Dabir, knowing that the honor of Jaffar’s family name is threatened whenever Dabir’s name is mentioned?”
A coldness spread through my skin; my face felt like ice. I set down the bread.
Boulos chuckled once. “You dear man. You really didn’t know. Here I thought you had been shrewd.”
“Is he still alive?”
“I expect they’ll keep him that way until Sabirah is bundled away with her new husband.”
“But … he is a good man,” I said. “He never—nothing—” Words failed me.
“Here. Drink the wine.” He tried to pass me a cup; my thoughts reeled and I pushed his hand back.
“There is no one here but us. Drink! The wine soothes the master when he is troubled.”
“It is forbidden.”
“God would forgive you this once, I think.”
“Ai-a, what is it you want, Boulos? You tell me my friend will die, then press me to break the command of God?”
He sniffed, as though I had wounded his dignity, then leaned back against his cushion. “I sought merely to help.”
“There is no help for me, Boulos. I am a fool. Praise be to God, who gave me a mighty arm and a keen eye for fighting. Who am I to question why he gave me so little wit! Maybe I miss so much because I look without seeing, as Dabir says.”
“I did not mean to trouble you.”
I nibbled distractedly on the bread. Hungry as I was, I had lost my appetite. And my need of company.
Boulos sensed this. “Eat, Captain. You have been wounded. You need your strength.”
A thought flashed into my mind. Might Boulos be trying to poison me? Was that why he pushed food and drink upon me? But, then, if he was trying to poison me, why had he seemed concerned when I had been hard to wake? Surely the eunuch was not a poisoner … might it be that he had worried someone else had poisoned me instead of he, who wished the credit?
Tired of the second-guessing, I bit deeply into the bread and chewed with gusto. I would not be ruled by fear.
“Does not Dabir love Sabirah?” Boulos pressed.
“He is an honorable man.”
“Even honorable men have temptations. And they were gone a very long time.”
“It was not Dabir’s doing!”
Boulos offered up empty palms. “It looks bad.”
Anger roused from deep within me. “No one pays heed to the greater worry!”
“Which is?”
“The Magian and his plan! It is as if a clown dances and juggles on our left while an assassin stalks up behind with darkened blade.”
“And what is his plan?”
“To destroy the caliphate! He is a master of sorcery and has the tools he needs to bring down Baghdad!”
The eunuch nodded. “Ah, yes. The master said that the Magian had used bhang upon you and tricked your senses.”
Boulos seemed oblivious that I was clenching my fist so that the bread crumbled from between my fingers. He continued, “The master had bhang once, and wild sights. It may be that his experience saved you, for he understood how a man might be fooled.”
“I was not fooled!”
“But weren’t you tricked by Sabirah’s kidnappers?”
“That is, that was—”
“Asim, let me offer you advice. The master is honestly fond of you. Now, his heart is easily moved, but I think you are one of those whom he truly favors. If you argue against him or his judgments…” Boulos’s voice trailed off.
My thoughts churned and would not settle.
