The Djinn (7 page)

“Hurry up,
Samuel, we haven’t got all night,” Horatio said as knight and squire loped up
an uneven stretch of a stone walkway in the east end of the city. “We wasted
too much time fawning over Lady Isabella. We were supposed to be there five
minutes ago.”

Samuel huffed
as he scampered up to his cousin. He was nearly five years Horatio’s junior and
already more unfit than the elder knight. Of course, it could have something to
do with Samuel’s massive girth around the belly, mused Horatio.

“I’m sorry,
sir,” the squire wheezed, gripping the right side of his ribs with one hand.
“But your legs are much longer than mine and this hill is killing my shins.”

“Much longer?
You’re four inches taller than me, Samuel.”

“Am not.
Remember when Gram measured us back home? You were
a full foot taller than me.”

Horatio shook
his head in disbelief. “I was ten years old. You were six.”

“Oh, that’s
right,” Samuel said as he absently pulled a greasy lock of his chestnut hair
away from his eyes.

Turning away
from the dull squire, the knight pushed on up the steep incline. The crier had
already announced the midnight hour several minutes ago—the precise time
Gregory had instructed the two of them to arrive at the Jehoshaphat Gate. He
was not going to be happy about their tardiness and Horatio was growing quite
ill of being scolded by the arrogant jackal.

“I’d be better
off in William’s house,” the knight mumbled to himself.

“What did you
say, cousin? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Nothing,
Samuel. Just move it.”

The two picked
up their pace when the hill gave way to flattened cobblestone. No torches lit
the series of alleys and back streets Horatio and Samuel trod and the going
would have been much harder if not for the unnaturally large moon that hovered
in the sky. Its eerie glow brightened their way as easily as lanterns blazing
through the fogs of London.

Horatio’s mood
lightened as he spied the great gates of Jehoshaphat only yards away.

“Be stout,
Samuel. We’re almost there,” he said, a sudden rush of energy fueling his
steps.

There was no
answer from behind. Come to think of it, Horatio couldn’t recall hearing the
constant puffing of his squire for some time now.

“Samuel?”

The knight
stopped in mid-stride and turned back to look for his cousin, but there was no
sign of him.

Oh no
, thought the knight.
Not again. Please not tonight. Not ever
again, Lord
.

Horatio
retraced his steps, scouring the darkened doorways and deserted alleys they had
passed since the knight had last heard the footsteps of his cousin.

“This can’t be
happening,” the knight muttered as his heart drummed against his chest.
“Samuel!”

Nothing.
Not a sound. He was alone.

Horatio
struggled with indecision. Should he keep searching for Samuel or continue to
the meeting with Gregory and his foul mercenary Gerard? He couldn’t believe his
misfortune. He prayed silently to God for a simple reason for all of this. He
prayed he would not have to face the
Demon
tonight and that his squire was safe from harm.

Samuel had not quite
recovered from his encounter with the Djinn. He had refused to speak freely of
his ordeal, but he had been a different person since that night. He was no
longer as quick to laughter as he once had been and his stride appeared to be
much heavier now as if burdened by a great weight. Horatio winced at that
thought. Despite his overwhelming flaws, his cousin had always been the purest
of sorts. He was not meant for such dark things.

He remembered
the boy, a mere twelve years old at the time, running around their farm back
home—chasing that crazy pig of his and oinking uncontrollably, convinced he
could communicate with the dumb beast. Samuel had eventually fallen headfirst
into the slop trough after an ill-formed strategy to lure the swine into his
arms. The pig trotted around him like a victorious conqueror, but the boy’s
laughter could not be stifled despite his failure. It had been positively
infectious. His entire clan, including Horatio, had joined in the merriment.

That was how he
remembered Samuel. But the lad was a different person now.

Several days
ago, Horatio’s cousin had confessed that he had not been entirely truthful in
his account of the
Djinn’s
attack. He told the knight
that the creature had spoken to him about grave matters—things that were dark
and sinister. Samuel had refused to reveal any more than that. He had given his
word to the demon that he would keep silent. And while Horatio doubted such an
oath should be kept to a creature so vile, he didn’t press his cousin for any
further details. He just hoped the lad would tell him when the time was right.

Now he truly
feared he might never get the chance. There was nothing for it. Horatio knew he
could not go onto the meeting without his loyal friend. He turned around and
continued his search.

****

“Samuel!”

Samuel’s head
jerked up to look around the darkened alley. His cousin was nearby and
searching for him. His pulse quickened.

“Don’t worry,
lad,” said the living shadow standing in front of the squire. “We’ll be through
with our business before he finds us.”

“He’d
understand, you know. He’s brave and strong—and above all, good.”

“I know he is,
Samuel,” said the Djinn. “There’s no finer man in all Jerusalem than your
master. But he wouldn’t give us the chance. He’s too blinded by
duty
.”

The squire’s
eyes dropped once more. The creature was right. Horatio meant well, but until
he opened his eyes to evil the baron and his ilk were committing, he’d continue
blindly serving the wrong side.

“What would you
have me do?” asked Samuel, who had given up the silly notion that the creature
before him was an evil spirit. In fact, despite the
Djinn’s
own protests, he had become convinced that he was, in fact, an avenging angel
of the Lord.

It had been in
the way the creature had spoken to him—just days ago now, but seemingly like
ages—when he had spirited Samuel away and tied him up. The
Djinn’s
words had been so comforting. He had told the boy that he would not so much as
hurt a single hair on his, or Horatio’s head. Not a thing easily believed
except for the kind eyes hidden in the dark recesses of his turban—once he’d
seen past the greenish glow, that is. Samuel had believed him instantly.

Everything he
had thought of the creature until that moment had skittered away on the desert
wind. At that very moment, Samuel had known he was in the presence of one who
served the True and Living God. Of course, if Horatio had heard that, he would
have been convinced that the “demon,” as the knight often referred to the
Djinn, had used some wicked enchantment to beguile him. But the only
enchantment the squire had seen in the creature was sincerity and hope.

“Did you hear
me, Samuel?” asked the Djinn, who had been instructing the boy of his plans.

“I’m sorry,
sir. I was pondering.”

A gentle
chuckle escaped the linen fabric of the angel’s turban. “That’s all right, lad.
I know all this is a bit much to ask of you. I wouldn’t have, but that I
gathered you for a man of stout heart and noble courage.”

“Aye, sir.
All I wish is to serve Him what saved me from my
sins.”

“Good,” said
the Djinn. “So this is what I ask of you.”

The man in
black explained the task that he required from Samuel. Patiently, he answered
the squire’s questions with warmth and concern until they were both convinced
the lad understood his role.

“Samuel!”
Horatio’s voice was growing nearer.

“Now, hear me
boy, your cousin is upon us,” the Djinn continued. “There is danger in this. If
you are caught, do not resist. Tell them all you know and they may go light on
you.”

“But I’d
never…”

“Listen to me.
Tell them everything. You do not know enough to jeopardize anything that I’ve
worked on. You only know your part. You will betray no one by giving them what
they ask. It would pain me to see you come to harm, lad.”

“All right,”
said Samuel, as he knelt down at the
Djinn’s
feet,
his eyes clenched with pride over his task. “I will do all that you ask of me.”

“Stand up,
Samuel. I am no god to
be worshipped
, nor king to be
revered. I am but a mere servant—like you. Now be strong and find your cousin.
He worries for you.”

The squire
looked up to find that he was now alone in the alleyway. It seemed to Samuel
that the creature had simply stepped into the very shadows like a doorway and
disappeared. The thought of it unnerved him. There was just so much about the
Djinn that he didn’t understand.

Still, he knew
there would be time enough to reflect on the creature’s nature after tonight.
Now, he must get back to his cousin, who was at this point, frantically scouring
the streets for him.

Samuel smiled.
No matter how much Horatio pretended to dislike him, the lad knew his cousin
would go to the ends of the earth to protect him from harm. Muttering a quick
prayer, he ran out of the shadows and into the moonlit streets.

****

“Samuel!”
Horatio cried as he sprinted around the corner, nearly bowling his cousin down.
“Thank God you’re well. I was worried.”

“I’m fine.
Everything is all right. I just had a bit of a fall back there and became
disoriented.” Samuel hated lying to his cousin, but he saw no way to avoid it.
“You know me. I’ve no sense of direction at all.”

The knight
smiled at his young charge, relief flooding his veins at having finally found
him—and none the worse for wear. But something in Samuel’s eyes disturbed
Horatio. Something was not quite right.

A scuffling
noise above broke the knight’s gaze at his squire. Looking up, he caught a
fleeting glimpse of something black moving about on the rooftop of a small
mercantile.

He turned his
eyes back to his cousin, who casually looked down at his feet as if mesmerized
by the shape of his shoe. Horatio looked up at the roof one more time, but saw
nothing. Perhaps it had been his imagination, though there truly was something
about Samuel’s demeanor that unnerved him. The knight vowed to get to the
bottom of it before the night was through, but now they needed to make haste to
Gregory’s meeting. The baron was no doubt cursing them at that moment for being
late.

With a smile,
Horatio placed an arm gently around Samuel’s shoulder. “Come, cousin. We have a
meeting to attend.”

The squire
returned the smile. Whatever dark shadow loomed inside Samuel’s soul seemed to
vanish with his contagious grin. For one brief moment, Horatio saw the same
light-hearted boy he had remembered from their youth. The knight promised
himself that he would do all he could to see it for years to come.

Gregory’s
patience was wearing thin. Horatio and his halfwit cousin were nearly thirty
minutes late. One of the baron’s greatest irritations was the lack of respect
by his men and recently, Horatio had been the most disrespectful of all in his
employ. He wasn’t sure why the knight’s absence surprised him.

Granted,
Gregory had asked the two simpletons to check on his daughter before coming to
the meeting, but they still should have been here by now.

Unless…No
! He wouldn’t even entertain
such notions. The damnable creature that had haunted him in these last few
months was beginning to plague his every thought. He was seeing the Djinn in
every shadow.
In every flicker from the corner of his eye.
And this had led to a nagging sense of dread—dread of the
Djinn’s
next attack.
An unreasonable fear that the creature would get
to him at his weakest point.
It’s what he would do if roles were
reversed. He would go after the one thing his enemy treasured most. In
Gregory’s case, that would be Isabella.

It was bad
enough the demon had absconded with
Solomon’s Seal…
an
object of immense importance to his plans. But that simply wasn’t enough for
the Djinn. No. He’d sent a not so subtle threat in his latest attack against
Gerard and his men. The baron reached into his tunic and absently pulled out
the oval medallion from around his neck.

Gregory traced
the medallion’s inscription with his finger. It had taken nearly six years and
a veritable fortune to translate, but he had finally done it. He’d unlocked the
secret location of Solomon’s Vault where the baron’s life had changed forever.
He’d been searching, under the Holy See’s instructions, for the fabled
Urim
and
Thummim
stones…but what
he’d discovered once opening up the tunnels that led to the Vault made those
relics completely insignificant. The medallion had been the key to the
discovery of a lifetime. Perhaps even the greatest discovery in the history of
the Crusades.

Of course,
after he’d gleaned all he could from the medallion, he’d given it to his
daughter on her eighteenth birthday.
A prize worthy of a
princess.
A divine gift to a divine gift.

Then, one day,
two months ago, the medallion had disappeared without a trace—from Isabella’s
very bedchambers, no less. At the time, it had really not concerned him too
much—after all, he already had the information he needed from it. He’d simply
assumed his daughter had misplaced it.
An irresponsible
oversight, to be sure, but nothing to raise suspicions of sinister dealings
afoot.

Now, he knew
differently. The Djinn had been in his daughter’s bedchambers. He had taken it
from her while she slept. Its return was a clear warning: “I could have taken
your daughter any time I chose.” Gregory shuttered at the thought. It was why
he was taking such special precautions now with her—why he’d practically
sequestered her in her room and why she was being watched so tenaciously now.
He would not allow the demon to have her.

But he could
not think such thoughts tonight. Not now, when the hour he had worked for was
so near. Soon, the Djinn would be a mere trifle and the prize Gregory had
sought—had sacrificed so much for—would be his. The baron shrugged off the gloomy
thoughts and turned his gaze to the five other men who
did
have the courtesy to arrive on time.

Well, not all
who were present had arrived on time.
Tufic
, his
brother’s physician, had only just arrived. The insufferable heathen hadn’t
even apologized for his audacity. It was out of sheer grace that Gregory had
invited his brother to the meeting in the first place—William had, after all,
been invaluable in his research into Solomon’s golems and his guidance and
wisdom would be needed before the final stages of the baron’s quest were
complete. But, of course, his brother couldn’t attend due to his illness—or
rather, the fact that most of the gentry in Jerusalem considered him unwelcome,
thought Gregory. So, instead of attending the meeting himself, William had sent
his loyal representative.

The baron
shuddered as
Tufic’s
cold eyes glared at him. There
was just something unsettling about the physician, though Gregory could not
discern what it was.
 
He was typical of
most natives of the
Outremer
—dark
skin with close cropped black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache and beard. His
mustache was curved at the ends to form two tight loops above his upper lip.
Thick, bushy eyebrows hung over a narrow, beaklike nose.

No,
Tufic’s
appearance was that of any other Saracen. Gregory’s
apprehension of the doctor was not from his looks—it was in the way he stared
at the baron. It was clear that the heathen held great animosity toward him.
Tufic’s
eyes burned with rancor whenever their eyes met and
Gregory always had the sense that, if left unchecked, the physician might use
one of his surgical instruments on the baron’s exposed neck.

Remembering the
task at hand, Gregory pushed back all thoughts of mistrust, fear, and
irritation. This meeting was just too important. He forced a broad smile to
form on his face as he motioned for his guests to enter the large, stone
doorway that led down to his private tunnels.

“Come,
gentlemen, the time is at hand.”

“But what of
your men?” asked
Tufic
with a sardonic
grin.
“You have complained of them all evening. Are you so
quick to give up on them now?”

“Obviously,
they have been delayed,” Gregory said, taking a deep breath to ease the
irritation building within him. “They’ll catch up to us, I’m sure. Horatio
knows the way.”

All six men turned
to the heavy oak door that had been pulled open by Gerard’s own men just prior
to their arrival. Besides the baron, his brother’s physician, and Gerard, the
group consisted of Monsignor Tertius, a Moroccan nobleman who had renounced his
title, wealth, and land to serve the Holy Church. A direct representative of
the Pope, Tertius had been sent to the
Outremer
to check on why Gregory’s mission had been delayed. The Vatican, it seemed, was
getting impatient and they would be most displeased when they learned the truth
behind this expedition. This, of course, did not concern Gregory in the
slightest.

The fifth man
invited to the meeting was the most unusual, if not dangerous, choice for
Gregory’s endeavor. Unfortunately, the baron had
no
choice—Al-Dula
ibn
Abdul was a
necessary evil in the purest sense of the phrase. Al-Dula was an infamous
Muslim warlord from Egypt and one of the top ranking officials in Sultan
Saladin’s cabinet. He was also ravenously ambitious.
Claiming
to be a direct descendent of the Prophet Mohammed, Al-Dula held aspirations to
wrest control of the Sultan’s realm and establish himself as the new Caliph.
He’d also been the one to provide the medallion to Gregory that pinpointed the
exact location of Solomon’s Vault. An heirloom from when his family held
considerable power while Jerusalem was still in Muslim hands. Though the baron
had despised forming a partnership with the man, he would never have discovered
the Vault without him.

Of course, he’d
nearly had to sell his soul in order to obtain the piece of jewelry. Al-Dula
had wanted nothing less than the means to overthrow Sultan Saladin and he was
convinced, just as Gregory, that the power to do that lay deep within Solomon’s
Vault. In the end, the baron decided, the price would actually serve his own
purposes quite nicely as well. After all, Saladin had his eyes set on Jerusalem
at that very moment. To remove him from power now could only benefit Gregory in
the end.

Of course,
Al-Dula had not come alone. He brought an uninvited guest—the sixth and final
member of their party. Gregory had not been told the man’s name and truth be
told, he wasn’t sure he cared to know. Al-Dula had volunteered some information
on the strange and silent guest, dressed in a black and gray tunic, a dark red
turban, and a thick black beard that hung down to the man’s chest.

Apparently, the
sixth guest was a member of a secret Saracen society—a group known and feared
throughout the Muslim world as the Hashshashin and made up of elite clerics,
completely devout in their religion to the point of fanaticism. And, if what
Gregory had heard about the sect was true, they had honed the art of murder to
the point of almost supernatural perfection.

The baron
glanced at the silent killer in their midst and he couldn’t help but utter a
silent prayer to whatever god would listen that he would find an ally in the
man—the cleric would make a ruthless enemy.

“Come, gentlemen,”
Gregory said. “History awaits us this evening.”

The baron led
the way down the stone staircase that descended into the bowels of the city.
Flickering torches, interspersed several feet apart, lit the long, spiraling
steps. Fire-cast shadows danced along the curved walls as the seven men
struggled to maintain solid footing on the narrow stairs. After several
minutes, the group came to level ground—a long dark tunnel stretching deeper
into the earth before them.

“Just a little
further,” said the baron, turning around to look at his guests. “What I have to
show you is just—”

His words hung
in his throat. The hashshashin was no longer with them.

“My friend,”
Gregory addressed Al-Dula, “it seems as though your man may have gotten lost.”

“You needn’t
worry yourself, Baron. Emir is quite capable of taking care of himself.”

“Yes, well, be
that as it may, it is essential that we all stay together.”

Panic began to
swell within the baron’s chest. He didn’t like this at all. It was bad enough
that Al-Dula had brought this killer with him to their meeting. He was an
unaccounted variable in the entire scheme and Gregory did not like unknown
variables.

Al-Dula was a
man motivated by greed and ambition. This made him predictable and, thereby,
trustworthy to a certain point. But this “Emir,” as the future Caliph had
called him, was motivated by something altogether different—devotion and
fanaticism. To a man like Gregory, whose only commitment was to
himself
, these were alien and unfathomable concepts. He
simply could not be sure how to anticipate the actions of such men.

For a brief
moment, thoughts of William flitted through his mind.
You would know, wouldn’t you, brother
? Gregory thought.
You’ve always acted according to your
convictions
.
You would know exactly
what to expect from this hashshashin
.

Taking a torch
from a wall sconce, the baron turned toward the darkened tunnel just as a
scream from above echoed down the narrow confines of the stairwell, stopping
Gregory in his tracks and chilling the hearts of the entire group. In unison,
they spun around as a great commotion descended the steps toward them.

Suddenly, Samuel
careened down the stone steps, tumbling end over end. The young squire crashed
to the dirt floor at the feet of
Tufic
, who
immediately stooped down to examine the lad for injuries.

Sounds of a
fierce battle ensued, the clatter of clanging swords exploded above them.
Horatio jumped into view, his back turned to Gregory and the four other men who
watched slack jawed at the duel. The knight was pushed back, blocking a blow
from a curved scimitar—the attacker still unseen around a corner.

Gregory froze
with dread. He had heard rumors of the curved black blade wielded by the
Djinn—a blade exactly like the one now struggling to hew the outmatched knight
to pieces.

Horatio took
another step backwards, bringing his assailant finally into view—it was Emir.
The brutal hashshashin pushed his advance, nearly knocking Horatio from his
feet, but the knight brought up his shield, narrowly escaping a decapitating
blow.

“Lord Gregory,
get out of here!” cried Horatio as he glimpsed over his shoulder to see the
baron and the others. “It’s the Djinn!”

Emir crouched
down as the knight swung his blade around in a full arc, attempting to slash
the cleric in half. The hashshashin swung his right leg up, entwining it
between Horatio’s own legs and twisted. The knight flew through the air
helplessly, tumbling straight for the crowd of onlookers.

The cleric
bounded the steps three at a time until he came to Horatio’s inert form.
Grabbing him by the neck, a long slender dagger appeared out from a fold in
Emir’s tunic and flew towards the knight’s throat.

“Enough!”
commanded Al-Dula.

With skill that
Gregory had never known possible, the zealous Emir flipped the blade into his
palm in mid-swing, striking Horatio with the butt of the dagger. The knight
gasped from the blow as Emir raised himself to his full height and looked down
at Horatio, bloodlust in his eyes.

“L-Lord
Gregory,” said the knight. “It’s the Djinn. Don’t let him escape.”

The baron
raised an eyebrow, an amused smile growing across his face.

“Pick
yourself
up, fool,” he said. “This isn’t the Djinn.”

Tufic
, finished examining Samuel’s
wounds,
held out a hand for the knight and pulled him up. A quick examination revealed
no serious injuries and Horatio explained what had happened to initiate the
fight.

“We were
running late because of a disturbance in the eastern sector,” Horatio lied. He
was in no mood to explain Samuel’s brief, inexplicable disappearance. “We
realized you must have gone down into the tunnels ahead of us, so we hurried
along.”