The Eye of Midnight (23 page)

The cousins settled into soft pillows that night, under clean, cool sheets and chenille spreads, but before sleep took them, Grandpa entered the room. He set the Eye of Midnight on the nightstand and pulled a chair between their beds.

“The time has come to talk about what happens next,” he said. “I find myself, as the saying goes, on the horns of a dilemma. The fact is, we cannot stay here, any of us, as we are all in grave danger.

“Thanks to the two of you, and to Nura, the threat of the Hashashin on these shores is crippled now. The Rafiq is dead, and the
fida'i
are scattered; the hidden lair is reduced to a charred ruin, and the Old Man's sinister plot lies in shambles. But even though the danger to the city has passed, our own peril is still very real. Our enemy knows that we possess the mirror he covets, and now he grows desperate, and his killers will no longer proceed with caution. The Old Man will send more of his
fida'i,
and he will strike down anyone who stands between him and his treasure, though he risks much in doing so in a far land of whose customs and laws he knows little.”

“So what can we do?” Maxine asked bleakly.

Grandpa hesitated. “I intend to return the Eye of Midnight to the Old Man,” he said.

“What?” cried William.

“After all that?” said Maxine. “After everything we've been through? You'd just hand it over to the Hashashin without a fight?”

“Hand it over? Not exactly. I plan to take it to the Old Man in person. I will go to his fortress in the desert and bring his precious trophy to him. It is of no worth to me, but he has something there that I value very much.”

“Uncle David,” said William.

Grandpa nodded gravely. “The Old Man's fortress is far from here, across three seas,” he said. “Two of water, one of sand. It will be heavy work.”

“And what will you do with us?” asked Maxine.

“I haven't decided,” said Grandpa slowly. “I could put you on a train back to your homes tomorrow. You could stay with neighbors, perhaps.” His eyes dropped and he smoothed the crease of his trousers with his forefinger. “Perhaps you would be safe there,” he added, “if the Hashashin believed you no longer had the mirror.”

“You wouldn't just leave us, would you?” said Maxine, begging him with her eyes.

Grandpa didn't answer but sat silent with his thoughts.

“What makes you think he'll be so eager to trade?” she asked. “Out there in the desert surrounded by all his killers, why will he bargain civilly with you?”

“Yes, well, this is a matter which may require some finesse,” Grandpa admitted, “or perhaps the opposite of finesse, whatever that may be. My plan is still being formulated and by the nature of the situation must be somewhat extemporaneous.”

The cousins looked skeptical.

“Come, come!” he said with an injured scowl. “I'm not exactly a novice in these matters. I know the desert like the back of my hand. I understand every subtlety of the Hashashin mind. I speak their language and dialects fluently. Rest assured, I am equal to the challenge.”

It seemed there was nothing more to discuss. Grandpa was clearly resolved.

“So when are you leaving?” asked William at last.

“The ship sails day after tomorrow.”

“Don't go,” whispered Maxine.

“Sleep now,” said Grandpa, rising from his chair. “We can worry about tomorrow when it comes.”

The lights went out, the door closed behind him, and William and Maxine were alone. They were beyond tired, in mind and body, but their thoughts were churning, and despite their exhaustion, they found sleep impossible. A low murmur settled over the darkened room: the faucet dripping in the bath, a chorus of lovesick crickets outside their window, and in the next room a confidential conversation not quite loud enough to decipher.

Something in the tone of Grandpa's and Sufjin's voices lured William from his bed. He took a glass from the bedside table, gulped down the contents, and crept across the room. Warily he pressed the glass to the door and leaned against it. Maxine, disapproving greatly, found her own glass and did the same. The discussion in the next room became audible.

“Do you hear yourself?” said Sufjin. “It is impossible. They barely survived the city.”

“They were alone. This would be different. They would be under my supervision.”

“Ah yes, well, we may all rest easy then.”

“Easy? Not easy, perhaps. Cautiously optimistic.”

There was a long silence.

“And what do you suppose their parents would have to say about it?”

“The parents, as you well know, are unavailable for consultation.”

“Yes, but perhaps we might make some guess regarding their opinion.”

“If pressed on the point, their parents would undoubtedly want the children wherever they are safest.”

“And that would be halfway around the world in the middle of the desert, to your way of thinking? The influence of the Hashashin on these shores is a tithe of what you will find across the Mediterranean. You know that better than I.”

“The strength of the Cafara is greater there as well. Here they would be unprotected. Vulnerable.”

“Then why go? Stay and protect the children. Surely this errand can wait a few weeks.”

Silence again.

“You know the answer. What was lost has been found, what I have squandered lies hostage beneath the fortress of Alamut in the Dungeons of Paradise, and now the old jackal loses patience. I must not arrive too late and miss my only chance to mend what I have broken.”

William's ear had started to ache from leaning against the water glass. As he shifted his weight the floorboards made a faint creak beneath him. The voices in the next room halted, and the cousins caught their breath and stood stock-still. Before there was even a moment to dive back to their beds, the knob turned and the door sprang open, and William and Maxine sprawled out onto the floor.

“Eavesdropping is thirsty work,” said Grandpa. “May I refill your glasses?”

The cousins picked themselves up, and Grandpa folded his arms across his chest. “What did you hear?”

“Not much, really,” said William.

“All of it, then, eh?”

They gave him a guilty nod.

“I guessed as much,” said Grandpa. He studied them thoughtfully. “So how about it?”

Sufjin shook his head in reproach and turned toward the window.

“How about what?” asked William.

“Are you coming along?” said Grandpa. “I'm offering you the chance to join me on my journey. It seems to me the wisest course. So I ask you again, how about it?”

William cleared his throat uncomfortably. “It sounds pretty dangerous,” he said finally.

“Possibly. Though no more dangerous than the alternatives, I suspect. If you stay behind, there is a strong chance the Hashashin will find you eventually, wherever you may be. Persistence is one of their stronger suits. They know your value to me and will use you as pawns to get what they want. And once you have served their purposes…”

The cousins stared at each other, their faces pale.

“I'm sorry I've dragged you both into this,” said Grandpa, “but now I see only one way out, and that lies in the middle of the desert on the far side of the globe. It's the medicine we must take if we would be free of them.

“But there is a silver lining. It would be the adventure of a lifetime, and for my part, I would choose not to leave my grandchildren behind—the grandchildren I have only now in my old age begun to know. I find I've grown rather fond of you both and have a mind to keep you close by, where I can look after you. And who knows, maybe we will have the chance to leave our mark on one another along the way.”

Maxine caught her grandfather's sleeve and clenched it tight. “I don't care about adventure, Grandpa,” she said. “And traveling across the ocean in some rat-infested, leaky old boat sounds perfectly awful to me. But I don't want to leave you. I'll follow you wherever you go.”

This pierced the old man's heart, and for a moment his confidence seemed to falter. He scratched his chin and opened his pocket watch, pondering something inside the case, but presently his certainty returned, and he looked to his grandson.

“How about you, my boy? Can I interest you in an adventure?”

“I don't know,” said William. “I'm not so sure my parents would care much for the idea.”

“They almost certainly would not.” Grandpa nodded. “I will answer to them, however.”

William's eyes glinted as he pondered the prospect of surveying a shimmering stretch of dunes from the hump of a swaying camel, and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

“I'll take that as a yes, then,” said Grandpa, ignoring Sufjin's disapproving scowl. “Now it's time for bed. No more hijinks. We have a mountain of preparations to make in the morning.”

The Mayfly Inn slept. The world was dark and quiet; even the crickets outside rested from their sonnets. In the delicate stillness Maxine rose from her bed and crossed the room. She raised the window and felt the cool, damp night steal in over the sill; closed her eyes and smelled the silver-leafed cottonwoods, heady-sweet and tart like apple cider. When she opened her eyes again, William was standing beside her, holding the silk-swathed mirror.

“Summer sure got here in a hurry, didn't it?” he said, casually unwinding the black silk ribbon as he watched a host of fireflies wander the meadow between the porch and the lapping water of the lake.

“Is it what you thought it would be?” asked Maxine. “When you showed up on Grandpa's doorstep, did you ever imagine any of this?”

“I guess not,” he said with a laugh. “I sort of thought I'd be playing backgammon and bird-watching all summer.”

Maxine studied William's face for a moment. “You're as happy as a cricket, aren't you?” she said. “Sailing off into the East like Sinbad, with a pack of wild-eyed killers on your trail.”