The Desert of Souls, page 8
I walked hunch-shouldered amongst the crates and paused, wondering what I might say I had been about down here.
It was then that I heard a woman’s voice, whispering a name.
“Abdul?”
In ordinary circumstances the moment would not have held any sinister aspect, but there in the dark of the hold, with the events of the previous two days playing in my mind, the voice set spurs to my imagination. What woman would lurk down here in the shadows? No one but a witch in league with those we pursued, naturally, so I put hand to hilt and crept forward. My shifting weight set the planks complaining.
“Abdul?” The voice came again.
The space was too close for sword work, so I freed my knife. “Come out, witch,” I said.
There was no answer.
There was a narrow space between two of the baskets. Into that I lunged, my left hand outstretched, the right hand with knife lifted. I grasped clothed flesh.
“Unhand me!” came the indignant shout.
I was not so strange to female flesh that I failed to recognize a thigh, which I released, for I also had recognized the voice.
“Sabirah?” I said.
“Captain Asim?”
A faint trickle of light leaked down from narrow gaps between the deck planks above, revealing a feminine silhouette on a narrow, waist-high shelf; a kneeling woman, one arm drawn protectively across her chest, the other raised with an upturned jug, brandished like a cudgel. I caught a whiff of her lavender-scented perfume.
“Come out from there,” I growled.
She lowered the jug. “Captain,” she pleaded, “do not reveal me—”
“I most certainly will! Why are you here?”
She did not answer me that. I sheathed my knife, stepped forward, grasped her wrist, and pulled her roughly from her alcove. She resisted only a little as I led her out and up the ladder, where she stood in the light, shielding her eyes. I blinked, too, for even a short time in the darkness rendered the overcast sunlight overwhelming. I heard an outcry of surprise, and then all was silence. By the time my eyes adjusted, Mahmoud was before me, shaking his head in disbelief.
He rubbed his beard, staring overlong at the girl in my estimation, before turning back to me. He was sufficiently surprised that he failed to address me by rank. “How did you know, Uncle?”
I did not lie. “I am older and wiser, Lieutenant. Did Dabir go below at any time?”
“Nay, I do not think so.”
“Dabir knew nothing,” Sabirah said. “I snuck aboard myself!”
“And why would you do that?” I asked.
Sabirah stood straight and stared defiantly up at me. “To help, of course!”
“Who is Abdul?” I demanded.
I saw her jaw set determinedly behind her thin veil. Dabir and the ship captain and the poet all crowded up to us then.
“Who is this?” the captain demanded.
Dabir talked over him. “Sabirah! What are you doing here?”
“I came to help,” she repeated weakly.
“Help?” I said. “Now we will have to turn back!”
“Ai-a,” the captain was saying, tearing at his beard. “There should be no woman on my ship!”
“This is Quadi Jaffar’s niece,” Mahmoud explained.
“What were you thinking?” Dabir demanded of her.
The girl turned away and stalked for the awning. Dabir held up a hand when I started to follow. “Let me speak with her.”
The poet watched them walk off, shaking his head. “This can bring nothing good.”
The ship’s captain nodded his agreement. “Truly said.”
“Is there someone on your ship named Abdul?” I asked.
“My son is named Abdul,” the captain answered. “Why do you ask?”
“That is who Sabirah called out to when she heard me approach.”
The captain growled, furious. “The wretch must have aided her!” He strode off, calling his son’s name.
We watched Sabirah and Dabir confer at length. Mahmoud and I remained by the mast, with Hamil lingering nearby. I did not welcome his presence, especially as he wandered back and forth seeking a better angle on the scholar and maiden, occasionally obstructing my own view of them.
“We will have to turn back,” the poet asserted suddenly. “We can go no further with the vizier’s granddaughter.”
“We cannot turn back,” Mahmoud countered. “Our orders are clear: recover the treasures. Any delay and they’ll be lost.”
“I’m sure the master did not figure her into his orders,” the poet replied. “If there is battle we will be exposing Sabirah to danger.”
Mahmoud was unconvinced. “There’s no more danger for her going forward than sending her back. We can guard her better than anyone.”
“What if there’s a fight on board the ship? She’ll be in the thick of it!”
“Dabir is in command,” I told Hamil curtly. “The decision is his.”
He fell silent then, Allah be praised, and it was not too much longer before Dabir rejoined us, Captain Ibrahim at his heels.
Hamil could not hold off asking questions, even though Dabir clearly was readying to brief us.
“How did Sabirah come aboard?” the poet asked. “And why?”
“She claims to have disguised herself as one of the cargo bearers,” Dabir said. That must have seemed as unlikely to him as it did to me. “I think she protects some slave or servant she bribed for help smuggling her on board.”
“And Captain Ibrahim’s son must have been taking her food,” Mahmoud said.
“He was.” The ship captain’s eyes blazed fiercely. “I swear that I did not know. That boy shall rue the day—”
“Go easy on the child,” Dabir said. “He was being commanded by a noblewoman. And he is not so young that a pair of flashing eyes do not convince, yes?”
Ibrahim only grunted.
“Why did she come, though?” Hamil asked. “Does she really think she can help?”
“She believes she can.”
“How?” the poet demanded.
“You will have to ask her, I think.” The annoyance audible in Dabir’s tone seemed directed more toward Sabirah, at whom he cast a backward glance, than the poet. “I would not speak to her immediately, though. She is not, currently, talkative.”
“So we’re taking her back, right?” Hamil asked.
Mahmoud objected stridently. “Then the mission will be lost.”
“Mahmoud is right,” Dabir said with quiet conviction. My nephew’s broad face widened in a proud smile as Dabir continued: “We cannot risk losing the pulls. I anticipate great danger to the caliphate if we do not recover them. Sabirah must remain with us and if we haven’t overtaken them by the time we reach Basra, she will return to Baghdad with Captain Ibrahim when we transfer to an ocean vessel.”
It was a simple enough plan, and wise, so that no one objected further. Hamil’s curiosity, however, had been piqued. “It’s certain the caliph will be angry with Jaffar—and he with us—if we do not recover the pulls, but how does that endanger the caliphate?”
Dabir ignored him. “Asim, may we speak privately?” He motioned me to the rail.
“Of course.” I nodded at Mahmoud, who stepped away.
Dabir waited for him to retreat, then spoke softly. I felt certain he would confide some important piece of information Sabirah had shared, or further explain his concern for the safety of the caliphate. He said nothing of either. “Tell your men to keep watch for birds such as the one you destroyed.”
“I already have,” I said.
He looked startled at that, and then nodded. “Good.”
I made a mental note to give the instruction to the rest of the men.
He started to turn away.
“Dabir,” I said.
“Yes?”
“The girl—this will not look well for you. The master will seek to blame you.”
“Jaffar is a reasonable man.”
“Not where this matter is concerned.”
Dabir frowned. He lowered his voice. “What would you have me do, then, Asim? Which would anger him more? Keeping the girl aboard, or losing any chance to recover the pulls because I turned back with her?”
I nodded. “You are between two bad places.”
“Indeed.”
“We might send her back on some other boat.”
“Then who would guard her? Think, Asim. We can afford neither the delay nor the loss of soldiers to transfer her to a northbound ship—for I’d send her with no less than three of your warriors.”
I saw that he was right. We might need every one of my men if it came down to a fight over the pulls. “Suppose,” I ventured, “that Sabirah comes to harm on this journey.”
“That is the worst possible outcome. We must both strive to ensure that does not happen.”
I nodded. “And if we don’t recover the pulls?”
He smiled thinly. “There is always Spain, I suppose. That was a jest,” he added.
“I know.”
“I do not wish you thinking that I would consider—”
“I know a joke when I hear one,” I said. “Even a bad one. Tell me, though. How does she think she can help?”
“She expects to decipher any further puzzles we encounter—but also she is angry with Jaffar. She wishes to remain my pupil. So she came.”
“Does she not see that she puts her favorite tutor in greater jeopardy?”
“She is a brilliant girl,” Dabir said, “more clever than you realize. But she is eighteen. She can speak languages of the past, but she does not see more than a few days into the future. She lives for the moment.”
I grunted my acknowledgment.
If Sabirah hoped for a continuation of her lessons, she was sorely disappointed, for Dabir ignored her that evening, and through most of the next day, although he was courteous.
Sabirah did not outwardly take offense at having her wishes thwarted; she merely turned to other tutors. She spoke with whomever she could, and you can be certain that every sailor was eager for a word with the pretty noblewoman. She asked many questions about the waters and the sailing craft and life along the shores. Sabirah shared gentle jests that the sailors found amusing, and they in turn presented her with little treasures—bits of wood that they had carved, or choice fruits. I suppose most of them were in love with her a little bit for her delight in the simple pleasures of seeing a flock of heron erupt from the grass, or in hearing one of the sailors croon a sad love song from the southern marshes. If she was no beauty of the ages, she was pretty in an unassuming way, in no small part because of her charm and grace and quick-wittedness.
I ordered my soldiers to stay clear of her, which they did unhappily. Hamil was under no such orders, though, and spent long hours speaking with passion about the works of the great poets and reciting fine passages from memory. It pleased him to be near a woman, I think, and to be expert in a field, for he carried his small frame with even more pride than usual as he walked off to speak with her.
For my part, I kept close watch though I maintained a distance. In truth I had never assumed a more nerve-wracking duty than watching every movement and gesture around the girl, and I slept poorly when I slept at all.
Sabirah was all smiles and politeness; Dabir, though, seemed more irritable by the hour and took to walking around the prow of the ship when he was not talking with Esfandiar. By the second day, on the heels of afternoon prayers, she asked him a question about the life cycle of a fish. He hesitated, but in the end could not help but answer.
Thereafter tutoring began in earnest once more and Dabir seemed happier for it, even if he remained rather tense and formal. He continued to enlist the aid of the poet and, occasionally, Captain Ibrahim or a sailor. Even the old Magian priest was brought in to the circle to offer instruction. I was skeptical of this at first, for I thought it unwise to allow teachings from a man of another faith. A follower of Zarathustra is apparently taught that truth is best of all that is good, after God, which I found a fine thing. So much of what Esfandiar said made sense that I asked him if Zarathustra was one of the unnamed prophets of the Koran.
As is the way with wise men, his answer was cryptic. “Some have said so. Surely he was a prophet of God.”
“Then it must be so,” I said.
“I am glad you hear wisdom in Zarathustra’s teachings,” he said.
So the days passed in conversation. The mornings would dawn fresh and clear and the waters would lap the sides of the boat as we sailed on our course. The heat rose as morning waned into afternoon, and then Dabir would conduct his studies with the girl, breaking only for mealtimes and prayers. These seemed happy studies, for there was much laughter. But then Sabirah was alight with laughter. She was the very queen of the little kingdom that was our boat. She was like the sun, for she warmed all who came near. Even the sailors and my soldiers were more docile in her presence, and cursing and rude behaviors were at a minimum. Mahmoud not only groomed his hair each morning, but saw to it that his garments were kept clean, as well as those of the rest of the men. Dabir enlisted him to tell of great battles, for my nephew had read widely upon the subject, and had sat at the feet of officers who’d seen many campaigns.
We watched always for boats, and we saw them aplenty, as large or larger than ours, heading upriver toward Baghdad or downriver to Basra, laden with goods. I knew that woolen garments, silk, porcelain, and perfumes came from Baghdad. From downriver came goods from India, China, and other stranger lands: nutmeg and cloves, teak, sandalwood, tin, and peculiar curiosities. None, however, obviously carried a pop-eyed Greek, an evil Magian, and a parcel of undead birds and monkeys.
The journey seemed a spring idyll on the river, one that I had to remind my charges was actual duty, not a pleasure cruise, so that they might keep watch. Only Mahmoud truly believed me about the birds, I think, though all claimed to study the skies.
As night fell the next evening Dabir talked to Sabirah of the stars. Already she knew more about them than I, for there were old tales told from ancient days, when the Greeks were brave heroes and not schemers clinging to a dying dream. A few of us gathered around to listen, including Hamil, and he claimed he was put in mind of a story, if anyone wished to hear. Naturally all of those in earshot did, so a number of us sat down on the deck while he spoke to us of Rostam and his seven quests. I thought it was finely told. So, too, did the other listeners; little Abdul begged that another story might be relayed, and Hamil was debating out loud whether or not he should speak again of Rostam, or perhaps a story of love—playing with the audience’s desire, in actuality—when Mahmoud clapped me on the back.
“Uncle Asim has a story,” he said. “Tell them of what happened in the ruins of Kalhu.”
“Nay,” I said. “I am no poet.” Moreover, I was tired, and in little mood to listen to Hamil’s mockery of me should the tale go poorly.
“Jaffar has told it many times,” said Hamil. “I could tell it, if you wish.”
“Well,” Mahmoud said doubtfully, “Uncle Asim and I were both there. With Dabir.”
“Why don’t you tell it, Asim?” Sabirah asked me, and Mahmoud, too, offered encouragement. I looked over to Dabir and he looked back with a nod. Their gaze was strangely insistent. I did not guess why.
“Very well,” I said, and decided to humor them. How best to set the mood, though? “Think not of the river,” I told them, “or of the night, but of day, and of the plains far to the north.” I cast around for a good place to begin. “It was the spring of last year that a wily Greek came to Jaffar. It seems that the Greeks always bring trouble when they come visiting, doesn’t it? Corineus was his name, and he was witty and charming. And he had a lovely daughter.”
“How lovely?” the boy asked quickly.
Mahmoud leaned over to him. “She was beautiful, with huge dark eyes and…” I think he might have said something else, but he glanced over at Sabirah and his voice trailed off.
I took his hint. “Lydia was almost as lovely as Sabirah, if truth be told. Between her beauty and that Greek’s silver tongue, Jaffar somehow was convinced that he should journey to Kalhu. Now there is little enough reason to wander about any of the ruins of old Ashur. They sit naked and gray, abandoned on the plains like old bones, and all their treasures have been looted for a thousand years. Yet this Greek lured Jaffar out there with the promise of fabulous artwork to be seen in the wreckage of a dead king’s palace, and since Jaffar went, that meant there also went a team of slaves for digging, servants to raise and lower tents and see to any of His Excellency’s whims, herders to care for animals and cooks to prepare them, and, of course, soldiers, which is why Mahmoud and I were there. Jaffar also invited some of his counselors, which is how Dabir became involved.
“It was a week’s ride to Kalhu, and no easy task for me in arranging protection for the master and his many attendants, but Jaffar looked on the whole thing as a merry jaunt, never dreaming what the true intent of Corineus and his daughter could be.”
“What were they planning?” Abdul asked.
Hamil shushed him. “A good storyteller will take you there in time. You must be patient.”
Was that a compliment, from Hamil? If so, it was the first I had ever heard for me from his lips.
I cleared my throat and continued. “I don’t want you to imagine shining ruins gilt in splendor. There was almost nothing whole—foundations, yes, walls, an occasional gateway, but mostly there were shattered towers and building stones. Corineus set the slaves to work digging. I posted soldiers—for there were lions about, and there might be thieves, too, and I familiarized myself with the city’s extents.
