THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (10 page)

“Very important friends, Captain. Influential, as well. They pay me quite handsomely to visit them.”

The soldier eyed her shrewdly. “Where do you come from?”

Mariana tossed back her head and laughed. “From the Jandari, of course.”

On the surface her story was preposterous; after all, what gutter slut from across the river could possibly claim to have friends within sight of the palace walls? Yet the girl was indeed a beauty; who could say for certain that some high-ranking court minister had not sent for her to share an idle evening’s pleasures? This possibility struck a note of caution in the soldier. A single angry note written by such a minister could dispatch him to a life of cleaning out the regent’s stables.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Mariana, Captain. Perhaps you may have seen me dance—”

The soldier scratched his chin and nodded. She did seem vaguely familiar. He beckoned her to come closer.

Mariana lowered herself from the wall and, hips swaying, stood before him. Their eyes locked and hers danced with merriment. Although she would never admit it to Ramagar, she was beginning to enjoy this little ruse.

He leaned over and touched the edges of her flowing hair. “Do you often come to this side of the river, my dancing princess?” he asked.

Mariana shrugged and pursed her lips. “Men pay better here—or didn’t you know that?”

The soldier laughed heartily, beginning now to like this little vixen from the Jandari. Her obvious charms were difficult not to appreciate. He began to wonder now if this chance encounter could not somehow be turned to his personal advantage.

Reading his every thought, she looked up at him and grinned. “Would you like for me to come with you now?”

The soldier fidgeted and looked back over his shoulder. His two mounted companions were hanging back in the distance, feigning lack of interest.

“I—I’m still on duty,” he said, clearing his throat nervously. “But I’ll be off at dawn. That’s not too long to wait for me, is it?”

He’s hooked!
she thought.

“Then why not come to my room, Captain? Perhaps you’d like to spend the day with me? I’m sure it would be an enjoyable experience for you”

The soldier swallowed hard and nodded. “What street?”

Without thinking, she gave him Oro’s address, trying not to smirk at the thought of the handsome soldier knocking at the door and the ugly little hunchback coming to answer it.

The soldier committed the address to memory and stirred when Mariana added, “Don’t forget. I’ll be waiting.”

The captain threw her a quick kiss and turned his stallion sharply. Then he rode off down the road to rejoin his waiting companions. No sooner had he disappeared from sight than Ramagar bounded from the wall with all the haste he could muster.

“Why in the name of heaven did you do that?” he bullied, so livid that tiny veins were bulging from his throat.

“Would you rather have fought all three all by yourself?”

“Of course not!” he ranted. “But don’t you think your own measures were a little extreme?”

Mariana felt her face flush, and she stood on her toes and kissed her lover fleetingly. “Why, Ramagar,” she chided, “I didn’t know you were so jealous.”

The thief grunted and wisely let the matter drop.

Holding hands, the two continued their journey toward the tall spires of the palace, unaware that the little incident, from inception to conclusion, had been carefully observed. From behind the massive trunks of the willows the blond-haired stranger in rags stood and bemusedly shook his head. Clearly this rogue and his beautiful girl were not going to be as easy to fool as he had thought.

It was easy for the thief to pick the lock of the black iron gate, far easier than he ever imagined it would be. What a shame, he mused, that he would not have the opportunity to tell his peers back at the Demon’s Horn of this daring exploit. Here he was, in the small hours before dawn with little but the most rudimentary of tools, casually picking the locks of the regent’s finest stables. True, and most unfortunate, that these were not their liege’s private stables; still they were royal property—and it amused Ramagar no end that he and Mariana would make their escape upon steeds whose backs had previously known only royal behinds.

The lock snapped with a quick
click.
Mariana swung the gate open carefully, her eyes darting in every direction, while Ramagar bolted through the opening and raced for the stable. The lone senty posted at the gate rolled over and moaned, a hand resting on the swelling bruise the thief had expertly deliverd to his jaw only minutes before.

Ramagar dashed across the bridle path, avoiding the shadows cast by the barrack-like servants’ quarters, and panting, slipped like a lizard inside the slightly ajar stable door. He stifled a sneeze as his nostrils were greeted by the musty sawdust air. Then he gazed around in wonder. There were easily two dozen horses in the stable, each with its own stall, and piles of hay in the back were stacked right to the ceiling.

He walked slowly to the first stall and peered over the gate. A fine black stallion shook its mane and whinnied. “Hush, hush,” Ramagar whispered, and he reached over and stroked the nervous animal’s nose. The horse calmed and Ramagar opened the gate and led him out gently, so as not to frighten the other watching horses. He looked the stallion over and admired the regent’s taste. He was a beautiful specimen. Tall, sturdy, defiant. The sort of horse every man in Kalimar must dream of one day owning.

He kept the stallion occupied with a clump of hay and went on to inspect the next stall. A short, stocky mare stared back at him with dumb, pensive eyes. Ramagar nodded to himself, turned, and cast his gaze along the wall. Bridles and harnesses were all firmly in place. The first bridle he slipped over the gray mare, the second onto the waiting black stallion. Then he darted to the door and called softly to the girl. Mariana came running as fast as she could.

“We’d better hurry,” she said anxiously, looking first to her lover and then to the horses. “That guard you hit is going to wake up any minute.”

The thief smiled grimly. “Everything’s all set. The mare is yours.” And he handed her the reins.

Mariana took one look and gulped. “But what about a saddle?” she moaned.

Ramagar frowned. “There aren’t any. Maybe we can buy one somewhere tomorrow. For now it will have to be bareback.”

The dancing girl closed her eyes and sighed. Already she could feel the stinging bruises on her behind. She said nothing as he helped her mount and watched him while he took the stallion firmly in hand.

“I’m scared,” she said, as they prepared to ride.

“Not as scared as you’re going to be if we don’t manage to get out of the city. Anyway, you’ll get used to it. Just show her that you’re the one in control. Keep your body loose, try to sway with her as she runs.”

Mariana nodded.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Whenever you say—”

All of a sudden, they both looked up, startled. The stable doors had been flung open wide, and a sleepy-eyed servant stood staring at them, a small lantern dangling from his hands. And beside the servant stood two of the most vicious dogs that either of them had ever seen.

“Who are you?” demanded the servant in a shaky voice.

Ramagar whooped and slapped the mare and his stallion. Both horses bolted ahead. The servant wisely jumped to the side and rolled onto the grass as the horses thundered past. The hounds gave chase, yelping and snarling, barking at the top of their lungs, yapping at the horses’ heels. Lamps began to be fit in a dozen windows, and a great commotion started as others servants and soldiers came running, pants unbuttoned into the chilly night air.

“Stop them!” someone cried. “Don’t let them escape!” called another. “Bring them back!” chimed a third.

But it was too late; the unseen riders had long broken for the road, darting among the trees and well away from the palace and its environs. Soon even the dogs were left panting behind, exhausted and whimpering, uselessly continuing to bark sporadically after their prey. By the time the first group of soldiers rode from the gate, they could only scratch their heads in confusion, trying to figure out which of many ways the thieves might have gone. It made no difference though. The riders were too well along their way to be caught.

7

The sky was changing color from black to azure, violet, and plum, then suddenly blood-red pouring up from the corners of the horizon. Along the sandy road came the caravan, a kilometer-long procession of camels and packmules and donkeys, all worn and weary, all shuffling slowly under the weight of their burdens. Snorting and wheezing, they moved to the crack and the sting of the taskmaster’s whip and the shouts and whistles of the muleskinners until the time when the gates of Kalimar came into sight and the long journey was at an end.

The tradesmen lifted themselves from their wagons and beasts, and shook the dust from their flaming-colored robes, watching with sly eyes while the host of laborers unpacked their wares. It was then that the soldiers and inspectors came onto the scene. They assessed the wares and tallied the levies to be imposed, blindly misreading the scales at the feel of silver passing clandestinely into their palms.

While all this transpired the city began to awaken from the long night. As always, it was the sound of morning prayers cried from the minarets that brought most from their slumber. Soon the streets and bazaars would be crowded with the throngs crossing from one side of the river to the other. Most citizens would be completely oblivious to the numerous patrols of soldiers marching through the streets and guarding each of the Nine Gates. Most, that is, except for those who had something to fear, those whose escape meant the difference between life and death.

Mariana walked slowly and casually along the perimeter of the caravan. Unsought by the Inquisitors, she had passed through the gate with hardly a glance, although she was still careful to keep her gaze low and her veil high. Three times they had been thwarted in their plan.
Three times!
Alert guards posted at the road beside the Old Wall had signaled the alarm before their horses could even attempt to make the dangerous ride through. They had been forced to turn back, seek another route. But Ramagar’s next choice proved equally disastrous; dodging whistling arrows, they had barely made it away in time. Fortune in the shape of night had been with them, though, and they had managed to elude all chasing sentries. But now it was day, and there was little refuge they might seek if this fourth attempt for freedom failed.

Mariana’s eyes scanned the road and the attentive soldiers on either side. She felt uncomfortable in the new clothes Ramagar had stolen for her. Her moccasins, a size too loose and poorly laced, slipped with every step. The tunic blouse with its high gathered neck irritated her throat, and the sleeves, far too long for a girl her height, kept falling below her knuckles, trapping her hands. Her hair was pinned up now, tightly bunched under a white headcloth. With her veil firmly in place, she knew she looked the part her lover had intended her to play: that of an anxious merchant’s wife come to the caravan to find her long-missed husband.

She strolled among the crowd, here and there pretending to catch sight of some traveler or other she recognized. Then, hiding her distraught eyes, she sluggishly drew away from the caravan and passed back beneath the arched wall into the city.

Well away, in a side street that led to the central markets, Ramagar stood waiting. The horses were watering in a slime-filled trough, and the thief, dressed in the outrageous brown robes of a Karshi religious fanatic, paced up and down the flagstones with his hood covering his head and shading his face.

The sight of the girl and her downcast eyes told him the result of her foray.

“It’s no use,” she said. “Soldiers are everywhere.
Az’i!
I’ve never seen so many in one place at a single time. They’re sending a whole army to catch you.”

The thief wiped his brow and cursed the heat of the day. How these damnable fanatics wore their robes even at high noon left him bewildered. Here it was, less than an hour after dawn, and already his body was drenched in sweat. He gazed up at the rising run. Time was running out, he knew. Hour by hour the noose was tightening. He must make his move soon, while he could, while there was still a move to make.

Mariana watched as he took the horses by the bridles and walked them back to the edge of the street. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“They’re expecting us to come riding through the gate like demons from hell,” he replied sullenly. “Charging down the road like crazed, trapped animals. Well, we’re going to fool them.”

Mariana held her breath. “How?”

“We’re going to walk. Slowly, leisurely. One at a time. You’ll have no trouble, you’ve already proved as much—”

Her pulse was throbbing. “And what about you?”

He smiled thinly. “I’ll be close behind. A Karshi fanatic, on his way to self-flagellation in the desert. They do it all the time, you know. I shouldn’t cause any attention.”

The dancing girl grasped her hand around his sleeve. “But what if you’re asked to lower your hood? They’ll want to see your face before you pass, Ramagar. They’d be fools not to.”

“Then,” he drawled, sucking in the hot air through his mouth, “you keep on going. Don’t stop, don’t pause, don’t even turn around.”

Her eyes met his. “I—I don’t think I can,” she whispered.

The thief took her hand and smiled; a kind smile behind red and weary eyes. “You have to, Mariana. That’s the way I want it. The way it has to be. Look, you asked me to take you with me, and I agreed. Well, we’ve done our best. But I’ll not allow you to be dragged off to the dungeons with me.”

“I’ll not leave you,” she said firmly.

“Yes, you will.” His voice was cold and devoid of emotion. “You’ll do exactly as I tell you or I’ll leave you here right now. I mean it, Mariana. Now will you do as I ask?”

Mariana nodded her head slowly, knowing that this time there would be no changing his mind.