The Djinn (9 page)

The baron
nodded as relief flooded his body. At least his concerns over William’s man
could now be laid to rest. His whereabouts was now accounted for.

Al-Dula came to
Gregory, leaned in close, and whispered, “I’m not sure what is going on here,
Baron, but there is too much at stake to allow such incompetence in your
ranks.”

“Don’t you
think I know that?”

“I’m not sure
you do. You have not done well against this spirit that haunts you. Now, you
allow this man’s squire to wander off unhindered into your treasure vault.”

“I can assure
you, Al-Dula, everything is under control.”

The Saracen
warlord grabbed Gregory by the collar and pulled him to his face. Fire burned
in his eyes as he glared at the baron.

“Listen to me,
little man,” Al-Dula hissed. “We had a deal. The price for helping you find the
Vault was that you would provide me the means to do away with the Sultan once
and for all. An army of golems could do just that. There is simply too much at
stake to—”

His words were
cut off by the sound of scuffling feet and a cry of pain in the passage that
Gerard had entered. Several seconds later, the mercenary walked out from the
dark, holding Samuel by the scruff of the neck.

“I found him
marking the walls with this,” said Gerard, shoving Samuel to the ground and
holding up a strange writing instrument. “He was leaving some kind of secret
message to someone.”

Gregory slapped
Al-
Dula’s
hands away from his tunic and stepped
toward Samuel’s prone form. They had been infiltrated. Somehow, the Djinn had
bewitched the whelp…the baron was sure of it. Kicking the squire in the gut,
Gregory spun around and walked toward the tunnel that led back to the entrance.

“This meeting
is over, gentleman,” the baron said. “Gerard, take the traitor to the dungeon
and prepare him for questioning. We will continue this tour of the treasure
vault when I have the answers I seek.”

Horatio hurried
over to his injured cousin and lifted him to his feet, but Gerard pushed him
away.

“He’s mine
now,” the mercenary said with a malicious smile.

“Horatio!
Come in, come in,” said the familiar voice of
William De
L’Ombre
from behind the beautiful, red
velvet curtains.

The knight
hesitated, struggling to prepare himself for what awaited him upon entering his
old friend’s parlor. He had not seen William in years—not since before he was
taken prisoner and came to live with Samir
ibn
Nassad
, the sheik who had taken such a liking to him that
he made him officially an heir to his title and fortune. He’d not seen him
since before he had contracted that horrid disease.

Horatio
shuddered at the thought. It was just so difficult to accept. William had
always been so strong, so vibrant. And while he was by no means the biggest and
strongest of the knights, he had always been the most courageous and…Horatio
sighed at the next thought…loyal.

Yes. William
had always been loyal to a fault. Something that Horatio knew could not be said
about himself. It had been because of him that William had been injured and
captured in the first place. It had been because Horatio had been flung from
his injured horse…because he had lain helplessly immobile on the battlefield,
his fallen horse pinning his legs, that his good and
loyal
friend had turned around to save him. It had been because of
him that William had suffered such disgrace by the other gentry in Jerusalem.

And what had
Horatio done to repay him?
Nothing at all.
Not once
had he ever come to William’s chateau to check on him. Not one single time had
he visited, seeking to discover the truth behind what the others were
saying.
He hadn’t even bothered to come when the sheik and
his other sons—William’s own adopted brothers—had been massacred by Gregory’s
mercenary army.

No, Horatio
didn’t know the meaning of the word loyalty. Only now, when his cousin and
squire lay helpless in Gregory’s dank dungeons did he bother to show his face
to his old friend. He was so ashamed. But he didn’t know what else to do. Only
Gregory’s brother had any chance of influencing Samuel’s release.

Taking a deep
breath, Horatio pulled the curtain back and walked into the parlor. His tension
eased when he did not walk headfirst into the leprous monster his imagination
had concocted over the years. William was covered from head to foot in loose
fitting white robes and a semi-opaque veil that covered his entire head. His
hands were even gloved with some fabric that the knight had never seen before.
Shiny.
Smooth. He wasn’t sure what the material was, but it
looked very expensive.

“My friend!”
William’s joy over seeing Horatio seemed to
permeate the air. “It’s so good to see you. I have missed—” He paused, cocking
his head as he looked at the knight. “Are you all right, brother?”

The knight’s
head hung low. He wasn’t sure what he could say. He knew that William loved him
as a brother and would never hold any grudges against him, yet he could not
bring himself to look at him. Shame welled up, threatening to rupture inside
him like a septic poison.

“I’m sorry,
William,” he said. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t bother you with my
troubles.” Horatio turned to walk out of the parlor, but was stopped by a
bandaged hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t go. I’ve
missed you, my friend. Please stay. Tell me what troubles you.”

“It’s wrong of
me to be here,” said Horatio, turning to face the man he had let down so many
times in the past. “I just didn’t know where to else to go. I don’t deserve
your help, but I had nowhere else to turn.”

To Horatio’s
surprise, William let out a soft, warm laugh as he led the knight to a circle
of plush pillows on the floor. He motioned Horatio to sit.

“My dear
Horatio,” William said. “You are one of my oldest and dearest friends. I would
do anything for you…you should know that.”

“But it’s
all my
fault. It’s because of me that all this has happened
to you.”

“What? Are you
the one that gave me leprosy? Did
you
turn my brother, gentry, and even Jerusalem’s king against me?”

Hearing his
friend put it that way, Horatio realized it sounded preposterous. Still, he
could not help but feel responsible. No worthy response came to him.

“Listen to me,”
continued William. “You are no more responsible for the things that have happened
to me than you are for the sun rising and setting. You are my friend. You are
more of a brother to me than Gregory. I would not turn my back on our
friendship for all the treasure in the
Outremer
.”

“But I…”

“No ‘buts.’
There is nothing you could ask that I wouldn’t turn the world upside down to
accomplish.”

Without waiting
for the knight to respond, William beckoned to a servant girl, who came over
and crouched low to hear him whisper something in her ear. Nodding, she walked
out of the room and came back soon after with two goblets of wine. Horatio took
one graciously and sipped at the sweet liquid.

“Now, please.
Tell me what troubles you,” William said.

Horatio knew
that his friend truly meant everything he said. He would do whatever it took to
help him—even if it meant storming Gregory’s dungeon himself to free Samuel.
There is truly no nobler a man in the world
than Sir William
, he thought.

Resigning
himself to overcome his shame, the knight told his friend everything that had
been happening in Jerusalem for the last several months. He detailed his
encounter with the Djinn and how the dark spirit had been plaguing Gregory and
his men. He told of Samuel’s strange behavior and his actions in the tunnels
that led to his arrest.

“I just don’t
know what to do,” Horatio said. “They won’t even let me in to see him. Gregory
will not see me. And that scoundrel of a mercenary—Gerard—there’s no more evil
man in all Jerusalem than he. He takes pleasure in all of this.”

William leaned
back against one of the pillows, his veiled eyes looking up toward the ceiling
in thought.

“Yes, I have
heard most of what you have told me already,” the leper said. “
Tufic
has filled me in and Gregory came to consult me on
this
Djinn
problem.”

Both men sat
silently for several long moments. Horatio could not remember ever having been
in a more uncomfortable position. He loved William as much as anyone could love
a brother, yet despite the leper’s abounding forgiveness, the knight had
difficulty letting go.

“This
Djinn
is a very serious problem, Horatio,” William said,
breaking the unsettling quiet in the room. “Samir spent many hours regaling me
with tales of the Muslim lore and legend. The
djinni
stories were some of his favorite myths.”

“Myths?
But surely he believed in such things. All Saracens
do, don’t they?”

William burst
out with his all too familiar laughter. Horatio hadn’t heard his friend laugh
in years, yet for some reason, it felt as if it were only days. Still, he
enjoyed seeing his friend in such high spirits—even in such dark times as
these. It brought
a certain
calm to him, as if all was
well with the world.

“Aye, my
brother, most Muslims do believe in such things. Such creatures are written
about in their holy book. Yet Samir was no follower of Allah.”

“What? But I
thought…”

“You thought
what Gregory and the others wanted you to believe, Horatio. Samir was a
Christian. Yes, he was born a Muslim and inherited a Saracen’s title, but he
was more a believer in the Nazarene than any of the so-called Crusaders that
invade the City of David.”

“He was a
Christian? But how is that possible? How did he carry out the sacraments
without a priest?” Horatio’s eyes grew wide at his next thought. “If he was
Christian then why would Gregory’s forces ride in and kill…oh, no.”

“Yes, dear
brother.
Exactly.
Samir, his sons, and his entire
household were killed under false accusations that their Muslim ideals were a
threat to the kingdom,” explained William, who had become quite somber. “Of
course, truth be known, much of the blame should fall on his eight sons.”

Horatio took
another swig from the wine and William filled his cup to the rim again. Without
a word, three servants were ushered into the room and set down large bowls of
fruit on the table before the knight.

“Eat up,
Horatio. My tale will take some time and it’s time you know everything. Don’t
worry about Samuel. Everything will be taken care of soon enough.”

****

Samuel knew
things were bad when he could smell himself. He hadn’t bothered to bathe for several
days before being arrested and now, being stuck in his cell overnight—it was
just too much. Even for him.

His nose
involuntarily wrinkled at the odor that wafted up from his fetid rags. He
immediately winced in pain from the facial movement—Gerard had certainly done a
job on his face. He wasn’t sure how long the mercenary had beaten him, but it
had felt like forever.

The young
squire couldn’t believe he was in this mess. It was bad enough that the rats
scampering on the stone floor of his cell were gradually gaining the courage to
move ever so much closer to him, but the food that was brought for him to eat
was little more than liquid slop that swine would find unappetizing. And Samuel
knew all about pigs—oh, he missed Master
Flatnose
so
much. He couldn’t help smiling as he thought of his faithful pig from back
home.

The smile
quickly faded, however, as doubt crept into Samuel’s mind. Had he made the
right choice in obeying the
Djinn’s
request? Why had
he even listened to the creature? At the time, it had made perfect sense. He
had been confident that the spirit had come from God and not, as others were
saying, from the fire of Hades itself. He wasn’t sure why. It had something to
do with the creature’s voice…it just sounded so soothing and gentle.

Now, as the
squire’s eyes tried to adjust to the squalid dungeon, he wondered if, perhaps,
that voice had not been laced with poisoned honey.

“Bloody demon,”
he muttered to himself as he shifted his weight to the left to ease the
pressure on his right leg. He sat uncomfortably, cross-legged, on the stone
floor. Chains stretched from both wrists and ankles to the wall, two feet
behind him. Blood trickled down his hands from gashes made when the irons were
bolted around his wrists.

Oh, why did I do it
?
Why didn’t I tell Horatio about the Djinn
?

Since that
first night, Samuel had been visited by the creature four separate times—always
while he slept soundly in the backroom of the barracks. After the first
visitation, he had been convinced that he had dreamed the whole thing up. But
after the second…well, there was really little room for doubt.

The Djinn had
told him things. Things that Samuel wished to the Lord Above he could forget.
He had told him about Gregory and the evils the man brought with him from
France. He had explained the baron’s plan and how, if he succeeded, thousands
of people would be enslaved—all hope being squeezed from their lives with no
recourse at all. It just seemed so gruesome. Samuel couldn’t help but want to
offer any assistance he could.

And what harm
had Samuel really done, anyway?
None that he could see.
He couldn’t figure out why Lord Gregory and that buffoon Gerard had treated him
as badly as they had. All he did was walk down one tunnel, attaching funny
little pouch-things to each of the torches that lit the way. The pouches had
all been connected by a strange thin wire. Then, there was that strange marking
he’d been asked to make—“…on the eastern wall,” the Djinn had told him. “Be
sure it’s on the eastern wall.” But it hardly made any mark at all. It had been
some weird yellow-green color that barely showed up at all.

No, Samuel just
couldn’t figure out what all the fuss was about. Still, he hadn’t told them
about the pouches. No matter how rough Gerard got with him, he just felt that
they were something he ought
not
mention. Somehow he
knew they were very important to the Djinn and despite his nagging doubts, he
still believed he had done the right thing.

The clank of a
key and creak of the great metal doors opening from around the corner of the
cell jerked Samuel back to the present. Someone was coming and so far, whenever
anyone had come to visit him, it had usually ended with a severe beating. He
prayed that it wasn’t Gerard.

His hopes,
however, were dashed as the large mercenary swaggered around the corner, an ominous
grin spread across his face.
Samuel’s heart leapt, nearly
lodging itself in his throat.
This couldn’t be happening again.
Oh, please Lord, no
. Then, a sight
appeared behind Gerard that sent a tidal wave of relief washing over him—
Tufic
strolled nonchalantly to the barred door of the
squire’s cell.

The physician
and mercenary glared at each other for several long seconds without a word.
Gerard was obviously not happy about
Tufic
being
there, but it was clear that he had no choice.

“All right,”
said
Tufic
. “Now, open the door and get out. The
agreement is that I have ten minutes alone with the poor lad.”

“If you don’t
watch your tone, you’ll be spending a much greater time with him than ten
minutes.”

“The baron
wouldn’t like that, now would he?”

“It makes no
difference to me,” growled the mercenary. “He doesn’t pay me enough to care
what he thinks.”

The physician
gave a gentle smile at the larger man. “I’ll be sure to let him know that when
I present my diagnoses of your captive.”