Brotherband 4: Slaves of Socorro (31 page)

‘So it’s the tenth hour now. I figure we’ve got two hours before the midday prayer session begins?’ Hal said.

‘Plenty of time,’ Gilan agreed, and they began to make their way down the slope to the city. Gilan decided to enter by a different gate from the one he had chosen the day before. Both of them were dressed in the long white robes and
kheffiyehs
that he and Lydia had purchased and they entered without incident – choosing to follow a family group with baskets and nets of produce to sell, who occupied the gate guards as they calculated how big a bribe they could levy. Hal simply held up a gold five-dirum piece and the guards waved them through.

They threaded their way through the narrow, flagstoned streets to the prayer tower. The surrounding square was virtually deserted. One elderly beggar was dozing in the sunshine, his back leaning against a wall. Other than that, a few people passed by, none of them paying attention to the two white-robed figures.

There was no door at the base of the prayer tower – just an open arch-topped doorway. Inside, they could see the first few risers of a metal grid staircase winding round the interior walls.

‘Trusting folk,’ Hal observed.

‘Why not?’ Gilan replied. ‘There’s nothing here to steal.’

Gilan and Hal glanced both ways up and down the street and, picking a moment when nobody was looking in their direction, they plunged into the dim coolness at the bottom of the tower.

The metal stairs rang and vibrated under their feet as they made their way upwards, winding round and round in the darkness. There was no handrail on the inside of the stairs, so Hal and Gilan kept their right hands brushing against the outer wall of the tower.

The stairs seemed endless and the darkness became blacker the higher they climbed from the entryway. Then, as they approached the top of the stairs, the light began to grow again until they eventually emerged onto the narrow balcony with its ornate carved railing, at the very top.

They took a few seconds to catch their breath. They were both fit and in excellent condition, but it had been a long climb. Then Hal stared out over the city, spread out below them.

‘Spectacular!’ he said. They could see the massive gold market roof off to the south, and beyond that, a wooden amphitheatre that was the site of the slave market. The houses, shops, manufactories and other buildings sprawled far below them. People moved on the busy streets, looking for all the world like small insects scurrying back and forth.

And finally, to the south-west was an unrestricted view of the harbour and the ships moored there. Hal turned his attention to the section he had been unable to see from the hill outside the city. He scanned it for some time, working slowly over each section, then gave a satisfied grunt.

‘There she is,’ he said quietly.

Nightwolf
was moored alongside a wharf on the south-east, or inland, side of the harbour. The long, lean hull stood out among the smaller, wide-beamed trading vessels that surrounded her. He studied the layout of the harbour, noting that there were plenty of unoccupied berths in the northern arm of the bay, where the harbour narrowed and a river fed into it. Glancing from
Nightwolf
to the less occupied reach of water, he satisfied himself that a mooring there would be hidden from the wolfship’s view. He’d simply have to bribe the harbour master to make sure of securing a berth in that northern arm.

‘One small problem,’ he muttered to himself. ‘We’ll have to sail out past her when we leave.’

He pondered that problem. He planned to re-rig
Heron
with her normal sails and yardarms once they were in the harbour. They’d need every ounce of speed they could get out of her when they made their escape. The city would be alerted and undoubtedly any ship trying to leave harbour would arouse suspicion. And, even with
Heron
’s normal rig,
Nightwolf
was probably the only ship in harbour that would be able to match her speed.

‘We have another small problem,’ Gilan said quietly. ‘Someone is coming up the stairs.’

T
hey could hear footsteps shaking the metal stairs, far below them. Hal glanced around desperately, looking for some way to escape. If they went down the stairs, they would run into the person who was coming up.

Of course, they could wait by the doorway that led to the balcony and overpower whoever it was – so long as it was only one person. He listened again and could hear only one set of footsteps labouring upwards – growing slower the further they came.

He was loath to do this, however, as he didn’t want to attract any attention, or raise any sort of alarm in the town. It was more than possible that someone had seen them enter the tower. If the prayer leader were found unconscious, the word might go out that two foreigners in long robes had been seen here. That could lead to a hue and cry and might alert Tursgud to the fact that he had been followed.

He looked at the Ranger and saw that he was obviously thinking along the same lines, looking for a way to escape.

Except there was none.

‘Maybe we can hide round the far side of the balcony?’ Hal suggested.

But Gilan shook his head. ‘They move around the balconies, calling the prayers to all points of the compass. We could try moving around ahead of him but the balcony is too small and the tower too narrow. He’d spot us for sure.’

‘What’s he doing here anyway?’ Hal demanded angrily. ‘You said he didn’t lead any prayers until midday.’

Gilan shrugged apologetically. ‘I may have got the times a little wrong,’ he admitted.

Hal glared at him. ‘Well, this is one heck of a time to find that out!’ he fumed. ‘What are we going to do?’

In reply, Gilan gestured upwards. ‘The roof,’ he said. ‘We’ll climb up there. Chances are he’ll never look up.’

The roof was a steep conical affair, covered in smooth, flat tiles. It projected out a little further than the balcony, providing vestigial shade to the prayer caller – although close to midday as it was, any shadow it cast was virtually nonexistent. The tiles were covered in the dust and dirt of many years in the desert air. They looked slippery, Hal thought. He didn’t like that.

But Gilan had already climbed onto the balcony. Reaching out and a little backwards, he seized the edge of the tiled roof and heaved himself up. For a moment, his legs dangled over empty space as he got a firm hold. Then he clambered onto the roof, one hand grasping the pointed spike that surmounted it.

‘Come on!’ he hissed urgently. The footsteps were closer now. Closer, but even slower.

Hal hesitated. He was used to swarming up and down the masts of ships without a second’s thought. But a mast was nowhere near as high as this. He glanced over the balcony rail and his head swam.

‘Don’t look down!’ Gilan warned him, a second too late.

‘You could have mentioned that earlier,’ Hal said through gritted teeth.

The footsteps on the stairs were growing ominously closer. He stepped one leg up onto the balustrade, leaning in to support himself with his hands on the tower wall. Then he stepped the other leg up as well, half turning so that he was facing the tower.

He gripped the edge of the roof. A small gutter ran round the circumference. It provided a handhold, but it was frighteningly small. He hesitated. To gain the roof, he’d have to swing himself up and out over the yawning drop below him.

‘Hurry it up! I’ve got a friend in Araluen who’d be up here in seconds,’ Gilan said in a loud whisper. He seemed to think that would encourage Hal to move faster.

‘Maybe you should have brought him,’ Hal snarled. Then, taking a deep breath, he heaved himself up and over the edge of the roof, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth, dust-covered tiles. He hung in the balance for a second or two, then Gilan seized him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him up.

His legs were still dangling over the edge of the roof when they heard the prayer leader arrive on the balcony – fortunately a little way around the tower from where they were. Hal drew them up quickly and half crouched, half lay on the steeply sloped tiles. He could feel his hands and body slipping, ever so slowly. Gilan strengthened his grip on Hal and stopped him from sliding further. They crouched on the roof, their faces only centimetres apart.

Below them, Hal could see the back of a turban-clad head as the prayer leader moved to begin his call. His voice rang out with amazing power, ululating and wavering in a strange singsong chant. In the first few words, Hal caught the name ‘Kaif’. Obviously, these prayers were for the god of harvests, family life, business success and two or three other categories that he couldn’t recall at the moment.

‘What if he looks up?’ he whispered.

‘He won’t,’ Gilan said definitively. When Hal looked at him, he shrugged – as well as he could in their current position.

‘Who climbs all this way and then looks up?’ Gilan whispered. Then he added, ‘Now shut up before he hears you.’

There was little chance of that happening. The prayer caller’s deep baritone voice rang out over the city, booming out his requests for a happy family, a good harvest and a profitable year. Or at least, Hal supposed that was what he was praying for. The prayers, naturally, were in the Arridan language.

He felt himself slipping again and pressed his flattened hands as hard as he could against the dusty, slick tiles. There was little resistance there. Gilan, with his grip on the spire giving him an anchor, heaved him back up a few centimetres. But he was in a bad position, with little leverage.

The caller stopped and Hal breathed a sigh of relief.

He’s finished, he thought, and none too soon. Maybe he’ll go down now.

But to his horror, he heard an echoing prayer ringing out from the next tower in line. And then the next after that. Once all five had finished, the caller below them began another prayer, his rich voice booming and echoing over the city.

‘Does he have to cover off all his categories?’ Hal asked desperately.

Gilan nodded, biting his lip with the effort of holding Hal steady. ‘Probably,’ he replied.

Fortunately, this prayer was shorter. But they still had to wait until it was repeated from the other five towers, the voices growing progressively fainter as the distance increased with each one.

The caller moved to the other side of the tower and began his next chant. He was out of their sight now and Hal took advantage of the fact, and the noise that the caller was making, to place his feet further apart, pressing hard against the tiles of the roof to get better purchase. For a moment, as he moved, he began to slide again and his heart shot into his mouth.

At this point in proceedings, he realised, if he tumbled back down onto the balcony and overpowered the prayer caller, people would immediately sense that something was wrong. The prayer sequence would be broken and the callers in the other five towers would be waiting for their tower to continue the prayer. It wouldn’t take long for someone to come and investigate.

Perspiration sprang out on his forehead. And, worse still, on his hands.

‘Hold on!’ Gilan hissed.

‘Try saying something useful!’ Hal snapped back at him. He removed one hand from its tenuous grip on the tiles, wiped it desperately on his robe, then pressed it flat against the tiles once more. He repeated the gesture with his other hand.

Thorn would have fun up here, he thought, and resisted a hysterical urge to giggle.

The prayer rang out across the city as the other towers repeated it. Then their caller was chanting once more. As he came to the end of this chant, Hal was sure he detected a note of finality in the man’s voice.

Oh please, just finish it and go, he pleaded silently. His right leg was beginning to cramp with the effort of holding his weight against the inexorable force of gravity pulling him towards the edge of the roof.

Again, the other towers repeated the prayer. Then the man appeared on the balcony below them again, close to the doorway. He threw back his head and called something that sounded like:

Haiyaaahali!

This had a definite note of finality to it. And the other towers repeated it in order, the series of
Haiyaaahalis!
echoing across the sprawling buildings below.

Hal watched the top of the turbaned head turn towards the doorway leading to the stairs, then disappear from sight. He groaned with relief as he heard the man’s footsteps receding down the metal stairway. Then he allowed himself to slide over the edge of the roof, swinging his legs back in to the balcony and letting go.

He misjudged slightly, catching his ribs on the balcony edge as he tumbled down, then landing heavily on one knee. But those two pains were nothing to the agony in his thigh as the cramp suddenly knotted and took hold of the large muscle there.

He rolled onto his back, his knee raised, grasping the tightened muscle and groaning. Gilan dropped lightly down and knelt beside him.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

Hal glared at him through the agony of the cramp. Why do people ask that when you’re lying on your back groaning, Hal wondered. Instead, he simply shook his head and said through gritted teeth, ‘Cramp.’