The Djinn (18 page)

It had been
complete chaos then, but now, it was the picture of pristine serenity.

Until a single bubble blossomed from the center of the lake.
Then, another.
And a third.
Soon, the entire surface of the water seemed to boil with a violent fury.
 
And something within the bubbling caldron
moved slowly, deliberately, toward the rocky shoreline.

If Gregory’s
soldiers had remained for a few more hours they would have witnessed this. They
would have been enthralled by the spectacle of it all. And then, they would
have run in stark terror as a single muddy hand stretched out from the water,
 
clutched onto stones, and pulled a great
hulking mass of gelatinous clay onto dry ground.

The mercenary
could not get comfortable. It had been a little over thirty-six hours since
he’d taken Isabella prisoner and the Djinn
was
still
nowhere to be found. He was sure that the creature would learn of his love’s
disappearance and come to her aid. And the most likely place to start the
search would be in the very place from which she was taken. Yet now, as he
crouched low in the shadows of Isabella’s armoire, doubt was beginning to seep
into his mind.

Twisting on his
heel to relieve circulation to his feet, he peered through the crack in the
door. Archibald and three of his men lay hidden throughout the bedchamber. Six
more men lay in wait just outside the newly repaired doorway. The moment the
Djinn stepped foot into the room, he would be theirs.

Gerard’s heart thudded
rapidly against his chest. Where was he? They were running out of time. Gregory
was becoming increasingly unstable with every passing minute. Ever since the
ritual and the revival of
Rakeesha’s
golems, he had
locked himself down in Solomon’s Vault. He’d screamed through the door that he
was concocting a plan to retrieve both the Book and the ring—whether the Djinn
was
captured or not. Gerard was beginning to believe that
either his employer had gone completely mad or he knew more about
this Djinn
than he’d been letting on. But the baron was
convinced that he knew where the scroll and
Solomon’s Seal
would be, and was even now preparing his new weapons for an all-out assault on
God-knows-where.

But the
mercenary wasn’t nearly as optimistic. He still believed the best chance they
had was in capturing the foul creature that had made a fool of him just a
little more than a day before.

Gerard,
however, was beginning to wonder if he’d miscalculated. He wondered what was
taking the Djinn so long to pursue his ladylove.
Unless the
demon had been using the girl all along.
Perhaps he didn’t care for her
at all. Perhaps he was only using her for the information she could provide. It
didn’t seem likely. He’d seen the two of them on the balcony two nights before.
He’d heard them talking.

No, there was
something definitely real between the two of them, though Gerard was unable to
understand what it could possibly be.

His thoughts
raced as the shadows grew longer with the fading sun. It would soon be dark.
Surely the Djinn would be here soon.

****

The dark shape
struggled up the sheer wall of Baron Gregory’s palace, each movement a study in
patience and strength. Slowly, one stone at a time, his gauntleted hands pulled
him further toward Isabella’s balcony. Frankly, as far as he was concerned, he couldn’t
reach it soon enough. He was
neither as young or
as
agile as he’d once been. But the rigors he’d faced within the last few days—the
sleepless nights and the injuries that needed tending—made this particular
climb even more tenuous than he would have believed possible.

He breathed an
exhausted sigh as his right hand clutched the rail of the balcony and he hauled
himself over the ledge. Once on solid footing, he leaned back against the rail
and marveled at how his mentor, in his deteriorated health, had always
accomplished such physical feats with ease. The scientist in him found such
acts to be beyond humanly possible—even augmented with the medications that he,
himself, had concocted.

Taking a deep
breath, he pushed off from his perch, wrapped the black robe tightly around his
lithe frame and crept toward the double doors leading into Lady Isabella’s
bedroom. He reached out, turned the handle, and was mildly surprised to find
the doors unlocked.

His hand firmly
clutching the handle, he kept the door closed, and tensed.

Could be a trap
, he thought.
They took Isabella, which means they know
about
…

But even as he
thought these things, he realized how absurd he was being. The door was simply
unlocked because no one in their right mind would scale such treacherous walls
just to break into an unoccupied bedroom. After all, a thief worth his salt
would know that any jewels or other fineries would not be kept there. No, the
door was unlocked simply because no one thought about locking it once Isabella
was taken and Margaret murdered.

Of course, it
mattered little. No matter what lay in wait within those chambers, he would
have to go in. Search the place for any clues as to where they would have taken
her. Short of capturing and torturing one of Gerard’s men, it was the only
logical starting point. Though, he had to admit…after what they’d done to poor
Samuel, he definitely was not opposed to a little torture.

Smiling slyly
at the thought, he pushed the door open and stepped into the cool confines of
the bedchamber. Two steps
in,
he stopped to listen for
anything untoward. All remained still. He looked around, walking over to
Isabella’s vanity where she kept her toiletries, and laid a hand gently on the
tabletop. Everything in the room appeared exactly as it had been the last time
he’d been here. Not so much as a hair in Isabella’s brush was out of place.
Everything was exactly…
wait
a minute. The door!

He turned to
face the entrance and saw it barred by a thick cedar doorway. Exactly the same
as the one he’d seen on the few occasions he’d entered her chambers. But that
made no sense. Reports indicated that the door was hacked to pieces. With
Isabella gone, there would be no need to hurry to repair the door. After all,
there were more pressing matters for Gerard or Gregory to worry about.
So why a door?

Zounds
, he thought as he slowly crept
backwards toward the balcony once more. His eyes locked on the ominous closed
doors ahead.
The only reason would be to
conceal something on the other side
.

Just as he
reached the veranda’s doors, something burst from the armoire to his right. A
blur of steel and muscle leapt at him and he was brought down hard to the stone
floor. The air rushed from his lungs as the full weight of his attacker crashed
down on him. Then, the room was filled with nearly a dozen well-armed guards,
their sword blades pointed menacingly in his direction. Yet despite his
capture, the man on top of him pounded his fists continuously against his face
and jaw. Raw animal rage unleashed upon the shrouded figure’s helpless frame.

“I’ll kill
you,” roared Gerard, as his clenched fists thrashed at him. “For the
humiliation you’ve put me through, you will die this night, demon!”

The fierce
assault continued for several minutes. Already, he could tell that at least
three ribs were broken and he’d lost at least that many teeth. Besides that,
his head throbbed with each powerful blow, threatening to throw him into
unconsciousness. And he knew that to black out now would certainly be his doom.

“Captain, sir,”
said one of Gerard’s men. “The baron said he didn’t want the Djinn harmed. He
said that if we caught him, he wanted to question him before—”

The mercenary
ignored his man’s protest, pulled his robed victim to his feet, and sent his
knee into his groin. The captive buckled from the blow, wheezing for breath as
he rolled into a ball on the ground.

“Ah, you felt
that
, did you?” Gerard growled. “Good.
So you’re human after all. Let’s see how much pain you can take.” The mercenary
kicked him,
then
turned to his men. “Slap him in
chains. We’ll take him back to the safe house and have some fun with him before
Gregory even knows we’ve taken him.”

The robed man
was ruthlessly pulled to his and clapped in irons by Gerard’s men and it was all
he could do to just keep erect as they began pulling him to the door. The pain
was nearly unbearable. Almost every limb, as well as his jaw and neck, throbbed
with pain. Blood oozed from his nose and mouth as he was dragged across the
room.

“Wait!” Gerard
shouted from behind. His captors complied and the big mercenary walked around
to face his nemesis with a cold, dark glare. “Boys, I think it’s time we see
who it is that’s been plaguing us all this time, don’t you?”

Most shouted
their assent at the mercenary’s suggestion. Their ire and frustration over
their numerous defeats at the
Djinn’s
hands now shone
through without pity or fear. On the contrary, it seemed that now, while
looking at their prisoner, it was as if all the fear they’d once felt for the shadow-shrouded
demon was the thing of nightmares evaporating in the light of day. They were
reborn.
Newly invigorated by his capture.
The myth of
the creature would be finally exposed. No longer would his magic hold sway over
them.

“Gerard, sir,”
said one of his men. He’d been the only one that didn’t
seemed
enthused by the entire affair and the same one who tried to stop the mercenary
from beating their enemy to death. “I hate to bring this up, but the baron…”

Gerard spun
around furiously, spittle slinging from the corners of his lips. “And I
couldn’t care less what Gregory said!” he growled. “As a matter of fact, after
tonight, I suspect I’ll not be taking orders from the likes of Baron De
L’Ombre
ever again.”

And with that,
he turned back to his prize, reached out, and jerked the jet black hood
covering his captive’s head. Then let out a sharp gasp.

“Well, I’ll
be…” the mercenary grinned. “I should have known.
Makes
perfect sense that it would be you, now that I think of it.”

One of Gerard’s
men looked at him then back at his captain, shaking his head. “I don’t
understand,” the soldier said. “I’ve never seen ‘
im
before. Who on earth is it?”

“Oh, you’ve
seen him, all right,” Gerard said with a chuckle.
“About a
week ago now.
At Solomon’s Vault when Gregory was giving his little
tour.” He turned to face his men with an exaggerated bravado. “Gentlemen, allow
me to introduce you to the Djinn. This is none other than
Tufic
,
the physician of Gregory’s brother William.”

“I said talk!”
The back of Gerard’s hand slapped
Tufic’s
battered
face. “Where are they? What have you done with them?”

The physician’s
head sank low against his chest, blood gushed from open wounds around his eyes
and nose. They had been at it for nearly twenty-two hours. Upon catching the
“demon,” the mercenary had immediately taken him to the safe house in the
eastern sector of the city, where they bound him to a chair and began the long
interrogation process.

“Tell me!”
Gerard roared.

Tufic
lifted defiant eyes to meet his captor. He had very
little strength left and simply would be unable to survive his ordeal much
longer. The mercenary knew that he had very little time to obtain the location
of the Book and Solomon’s ring…which meant more drastic measures were becoming
necessary.

“Archibald,”
Gerard said, nodding over to the kiln.

His lieutenant
strode silently to the blaze, pulling out the fire poker,
glowing
white from the heat. He handed the instrument to Gerard and walked away to the
door.

“What are you
going to do?” asked a dazed feminine voice from the shadowy corner of the room.

“
M’lady
,” said Gerard. “You are tired and weak. You need
your rest. There’s no need to worry about this
vermin
. Soon, the spell he cast on you will be over and you’ll
finally be free of his influence.”

He walked up to
Tufic’s
slouching form, now wheezing for breath. The
blistering point of the poker hovered inches from his left eye.

“I’m not going
to lie to you,” the mercenary said with a malicious grin. “This is going to
hurt. It will hurt a great deal.”

The physician
raised his head again. Slowly, he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came,
before slumping back down again.

“Leave him
alone!” shouted Isabella, the chains that bound her legs and wrists clinking as
she struggled to stand. “You have the wrong man! That’s not the Djinn!”

Gerard stifled
a laugh. Of course it was the Djinn. He had caught him in the act, clothed in
the black turban and robes of the creature that had haunted him from within his
dreams for the past six months. The wench would say anything to save her love.

He looked down
at
Tufic
again, fists clutching the heated poker.
Still, something did not seem right about this. He’d seen the creature in
battle. He’d witnessed dozens of arrows perforating him with little effect. He
had seemed invincible—impervious to pain. Yet now, the dark power of
superstition stripped away, he appeared so small.
So weak.

Clutching the
long strands of
Tufic’s
jet black hair, Gerard yanked
his head up once more to look into his face. His enemy’s eyes were now glazed
over, his breathing strained and shallow. How could he and his men have been
beaten by such a weasel of a man? In hindsight, it seemed utterly preposterous.

The poker had
cooled to a dull red hue. He would now get the answers he sought. And soon, the
Djinn would be dead.

“You can’t do
this,” cried Isabella once more. “Please. I’ll do whatever you ask. Just don’t
hurt him anymore.”

The mercenary
jerked around to look at Isabella. Was she serious? Would she so easily give in
to his desire for her? Would she give herself to him for the life of this man?

“I’m serious.
I’ll be yours,” she said as if reading his thoughts.
“Completely.
Just don’t hurt him.”

Gerard stepped
toward the baron’s daughter, the brand forgotten. His rough, calloused hand
moved to the gentle lines of her face as he peered deep into her eyes.

“Completely?”
he repeated.

She let out a
resigned sigh. “Yes.
As long as you hurt him no more.”

“Captain,”
interrupted Archibald. “Need I remind you that we are in the baron’s employ? We
need the information the Djinn can provide.”

“Gerard, listen
to me,” said Isabella. “That is
not
the Djinn. You have it all wrong. You are killing an innocent man.”

The mercenary
stared into the eyes of the woman he’d longed for since coming to this accursed
Outremer
. He turned to look at his
lieutenant and then back to his captor. No matter what he did to the wretch,
Isabella would be his. She had no choice in the matter. But to have her
freely…that was far better.

However, my hatred for the Djinn possibly
equals my obsession with the woman
, he thought,
turning
again toward his helpless foe.
What to do
?

There were
other ways of recovering the artifacts. He needn’t kill the physician. Besides,
how much better to ensure the lady’s cooperation than to keep her love under
lock and key?

He faced
Isabella once more. Her gentle blue-gray eyes burned deep into his being. They
washed over him like a tidal wave of beauty.

“N-n-no,”
croaked a strangled voice from behind, followed by a horrible fit of coughing.

“So, there’s
still life in you yet,” Gerard laughed as he walked over to his captive. “And
it seems as though your tongue has been finally loosened.”

“Y-you will not
lay a hand on her again,” said
Tufic
, as a clump of
blood spewed from his mouth.

“I don’t think
you have much say in the matter, knave.”

“You are right,
but I’m not the one you have to worry about,” said the physician. “She’s right.
I’m not the creature you seek. The dark spirit of the Djinn is even now on his
way here to save me.
And her.
I promise you, you will
not escape his coming wrath.”

The mercenary’s
fist plowed into
Tufic’s
jaw, splintering bone and
teeth. He had had enough of this. He no longer cared about “winning” the
affections of his love willingly. He would take her against his will. But for
the audacity of this upstart, he would suffer greatly. And Gerard would take
great pleasure in that suffering.

“Take her
away,” he said to no one in particular. “She will not use her charms to sway me
again.”

The rustle of
chains, accompanied by screams of protests erupted in the guardhouse, as three
of Gerard’s men tried to gain control of the woman’s squirming form.

“No! Let me go!
I said, let me go!”

Laughter
exploded from the seven other guards in the house at the sight of their
comrades struggling against such a small woman. Isabella kicked and scratched
at anything within reach. One guard howled in pain as her nails dug deep into
one eye.

KNOCK
!

Silence
shuddered throughout the room at the sound of a single rap at the oak door of
the house. Only a few knew they were there, and those that knew had been
instructed that the captain was not to be disturbed.

Gerard glanced
at Archibald and nodded slightly. The lieutenant, understanding the silent
command, approached the door and opened it.

Nothing.

“Captain,
there’s no one there,” said Archibald as he turned to his superior.

“Your point?”

“My point is
that there’s
no one
there…at all.
Sir, you expressly placed Jonathan and the miller’s son at the door as
sentries. They’re not there.”

The hired
soldiers huddled nervously together, looking uneasily at each other…their
boisterous confidence suddenly draining from their faces. Isabella, forgotten
by Gerard’s men, crept to
Tufic’s
side. She tore
strips of cloth from her gown and tended to the physician’s wounds in silence.

KNOCK
!

“Y-your time is
up,” said
Tufic
, a knowing grin spreading painfully
across his face. “He’s here.”

“Shut,” the
mercenary released another backhand to the physician’s face, “up.” Grabbing
Isabella by the shoulder, he threw her across the room onto the makeshift bed
they’d prepared for her stay. “Get away from him, wench!”

The distant
rumble of thunder rippled through the sky, a harbinger of a great storm moving
toward them from the nearby sea.

“You can strike
me all you want,” croaked the doctor, wincing at the effort of moving his jaw.
“It won’t stop what is outside these walls. The Djinn, spirit of vengeance, is
stalking you even now. Get out while you can.”

Gerard turned
from his captive to peer at the door once more. What was going on? This made
absolutely no sense. He and his men were merely being irrational. They had the
Djinn
in custody. His men had probably
wandered off to find wine or to relieve their bladders. There was no need to
fret. But if that were so, why could he feel the icy pin pricks of dread oozing
down his spine?

“Captain,” said
Durgan
. “The Saracen doctor has the men spooked. What
if he’s telling the truth?”

“Nonsense.
He’s only playing to our fears.”

“But sir,
you’ve seen the way the Djinn fought. You saw how invincible he seemed. No
human could endure what we did to him in the tunnels. What if…what if the Djinn
really
is
a
spirit?”

“Don’t be
absurd,
Durgan
,” growled Gerard. “We have the Djinn
now. Behold,” he said as he lifted
Tufic’s
face up by
the chin. “He’s flesh and blood. Just like you and me.”

“But sir, all
I’m saying is…”

KNOCK
!

This time, the
knocking was louder…more insistent. One could say, angry even.

No one moved.
Every muscle in Gerard’s body cramped in a rictus of fear.
This wasn’t right. It wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. He had the
Djinn! He had Isabella. His victory was assured. Yet now, the smug confidence
that had carved its way into the mercenary’s heart began to erode.

“Would someone
open that door?” growled the mercenary, a marching cadence drumming within his
chest.

A young soldier
moved warily to the door. He stretched out his hand toward the latch, but
before he even touched the frame a great crash boomed from above. In unison,
every head turned skyward just as the limp form of the miller’s son plummeted
from the thatched roof above. A deafening thud echoed through the room. Fifteen
pairs of eyes fixed themselves on the lifeless form of the guard that lay
sprawled on the floor.

“That is
enough!” said Gerard, grim determination forcing itself through the mercenary’s
heart. “Soldier, open that door…now. Men, prepare for battle.”

The trembling
soldier turned his attention once more to the ominous door before him. Every
eye stood transfixed as his trembling hand reached for the latch. Suddenly, an
explosion ripped through the door, sending shards of wood and smoke throughout
the safe house. The guard crashed to the ground, his face disfigured from the
blast, as he breathed his last breath.

Smoke and
brimstone filled the room, as puffs of strange green glowing debris flitted
through the air. The room was pitch black, the candles and torches being
extinguished with the blast. Gerard’s eyes strained against the inky blackness
and smoke-filled haze, trying to make out whatever was going to come through
the door.

For several
long moments, nothing happened. The smoke filled the room, burning Gerard’s
eyes and lungs. It reeked of the fires from hell. He’d smelled the stench
before. But that was impossible! It made no sense. He
had
the Djinn. He had captured his enemy. He was sure of it. Yet
now, as his throat squeezed the air from his lungs, doubt spiraled out of
control in his mind.

A shadow glided
through the doorway—a human shaped silhouette against the night. Two burning
yellow-green eyes glared hatefully at the mercenary. The creature’s cloak
appeared ethereal as it flapped soundlessly in a hot breeze that seemed to come
from all directions at one time, engulfing it deeper into the shadows. The
scrape of steel against a scabbard rang out in the air as the creature drew its
sword.

“
DuBois
,” hissed the demon, its voice like none Gerard had
heard before. “It is time,
DuBois
.
Time
to meet the Creator.”

A great crack
of thunder erupted, just as white-hot streaks of lightning lit the doorway and
the surrounding room in a single flash. The image of the dark spirit blazing
brightly in the flash of the lightning bolt would be permanently burned into
Gerard’s memory for the rest of his life—depending on how much longer he had to
actually live.

A great deluge
poured down upon the damaged roof and onto the broad, heaving shoulders of the
creature that hunched menacingly at Gerard.

“Dear Lord!
Protect me,” the mercenary muttered at the terror that stood before him.

He’d been
wrong.
This
was the Djinn, not the
physician. He truly
was
a
demon—straight from the pits of hell—and no
man
at all. No power on earth could hurt such a creature. The mercenary had no hope
of surviving another encounter with such a thing that now stood before him.
Panicked, Gerard plowed forward, past the Djinn and into the downpour from the
heavens that would wash away the river of blood that would surely flow from
within the guardhouse.

The blood of Gerard’s own men.
The same men he knew were now
doomed, but then, that was their problem.

****

Isabella stared
silently at the Djinn as he tore through the remainder of Gerard’s men.
Archibald now lay dead on the ground, his head severed from the razor-sharp
blade of the scimitar. Three others wailed in terror and pain, as they curled
up trembling in defeat. Four fled from the house, bleeding with mortal wounds.