THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (12 page)

The hooded man smiled a sly smile. “Ramagar has something that belongs to me. Something very important.”

At this the girl shuddered. Comprehension was beginning to dawn and she felt her calm unhinge. The stranger pushed off his hood and she stared at the flowing golden hair, the penetrating ice-blue eyes. The beggar! She gasped. The mysterious man in rags!

“I’ll never help you!” she flared uncontrollably. “You want me to help you find Ramagar so you can kill him yourself!” And she jumped up from her place and stepped backward until she was against the wall, trembling, trying to plan her escape to the street.

The stranger stayed unperturbed. “I’m not seeking to kill your lover, Mariana,” he drawled slowly. “Only to regain what is rightfully mine—”

“Ha! Don’t make me laugh! And where did you steal it from, I wonder? What pocket did you pick to dare claim it as your own?”

Anger fired briefly in his eyes, but by the time he replied it was gone. “I did not steal it,” he answered. “It belonged only to me.”

She gazed up and down his ragged dress. “You? A beggar? You expect me to believe such nonsense?”

“Believe what you like,” he replied. Then he narrowed his eyes and locked them with hers. “But I
will
have the scimitar back, I promise you that much. It matters not to me if I take it from a dead thief or a living one.”

“Worm! Then find him by yourself!”

Skirt flaring she turned to go, but the urchin’s hand on her sleeve stopped her. “We do want to help him,” the boy insisted, his own eyes large and honest. “Please, hear us out—”

“What have you to lose, Mariana?” added the stranger. “Ramagar is doomed in any case. So why not listen to what I have to say?”

She eyed him suspiciously, filled with loathing and contempt. If he dared make the slightest threatening move toward her, she would take out the dagger he so badly desired, and indeed give it back—straight through his black heart. But it did amuse her to think that while he so fretfully sought the blade, in truth it was only paces away.

“Well?” said the stranger.

“Talk, then. I’ll hear you out.”

Nodding, he said, “There’s an old route out from the city that few living men even dream exists. A way out where not a single soldier will be looking.”

“An unused road?”

“No, not a road. Not a land route at all.”

“Then what?” she sneered. “Will we all fly over the walls like birds?”

Ignoring her sarcasm, he replied, “Through the sewers, the ancient pipe system built thirty meters below the earth, long unused and longer forgotten.”

“It’s true, Mariana,” chimed in the urchin. “I’ve seen these sewers myself. It would be a perfect escape for him and for you. For all of us, if it came to that.”

“But only I know the exact route,” warned the stranger. “Deviate from it ten paces and a man would find himself lost in a hopeless labyrinth without a chance of ever getting out.”

Mariana could feel her heartbeat quickening again. She was by no means convinced of what he was saying, but if it were
true …

“How do you know all this?” she asked. “You’re a stranger to Kalimar, a foreigner. What proof do you have that you actually know a way out beyond the walls?”

“Ah, but do you forget that I was also sought by your soldiers? Unlike Ramagar I chose to hide not above the ground but below it. For days now I have studied this system of underground pipes. I cannot be wrong. The sewers will lead us to the river, more than a kilometer from the walls. Under the cover of darkness your escape will be easy. I will be your guide, fighting to protect your lives if I must. Then, when we are safely away, you can go your way and I shall go mine…”

“And the price we must pay for your assistance is the scimitar.”

He smiled caustically. “You understand me perfectly, Mariana. But for you it’s a bargain at any price. Ramagar will live, and you will be at his side. Think it over.”

The street urchin pressed her further. “Listen to him, Mariana. You’ll come to trust him as I have. He means us no ill. None of us. And this dagger he seeks
is
rightfully his. You know as much yourself. Give it back, Mariana, please. Implore Ramagar to listen.”

The girl sighed and tried to clear her confused thoughts. Events were happening now so fast. Friends had become enemies, enemies were offering to become friends. In a quandary, she leaned against the opened doorway, sagging her shoulders as she sighed. Would Ramagar trust this soft-spoken stranger, she wondered. Would these soothing words have convinced him half as much as she had been? Yet what other choices were there? Trusting this man was certainly a risk, but without his help what else might come? Only more despair, and death.

“I cannot speak for Ramagar,” she said at last, turning herself and fully facing the stranger, “but I agree to your terms. Take us as far away from Kalimar as you can and the scimitar will be yours again.”

The blond-haired stranger smiled. “Trust that you’ve made a wise decision.”

Mariana looked at him sharply. “Have I?” she asked. “Let’s hope Ramagar feels the same—that is if we can ever find him.”

The street urchin’s face lit up in a broad grin. “And that is where both of you need
me,”
he said. “In all of Kalimar I’m the only one with any idea where he is.”

8

Ramagar sat with his arms folded around his knees and his body arched forward, away from the damp planks dug into the earth. Above his head splintery beams dripped a steady flow of dirtied water. The ground at his feet was cold and coarse and he shivered every time the gusty wind forced itself between the boards.

Opposite him crouched the street urchin. Drooping his head, staring at the scattered pebbles in the dirt, he waited for the thief to give his answer. Since the very first day he heard of Ramagar the boy had held the master rogue in awe and admiration. Now, though, it was a sad, hollow man who sat before him, and the boy’s features showed only sorrow and deep emotion. For here, close to the great ancient locks of Kalimar’s canal, beneath a decrepit, rattling walkway over looking foul cesspools, the greatest thief in the Jandari was forced to hide like a frightened animal, as broken as his dreams.

Ramagar sighed, lost in thought, pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. When his eyes finally opened the boy saw that they were sunken and tired, attesting grimly to his plight.

“And you swear that Mariana trusts him?” queried the thief.

The urchin nodded with conviction. “I give my word, Ramagar. There is no treachery to fear. Only an honest trade—your freedom for the dagger.”

Ramagar listened attentively, then cast his forlorn gaze heavenward. How much he wanted to see Mariana again, even if only for a few precious moments. To hold her close to him, kiss her, feel the softness of her skin against his own.

“You must believe what I’ve said,” pressed the boy. His darting eyes made plain that he was nervously aware of the passing patrols diligently searching every nook and cranny from one side of the river to the other. “Won’t you come with me now, Ramagar? Mariana is waiting for us, for you …”

The thief shivered at the mention of her name. And he asked himself if it had really been trust that led her into this strange alliance with the beggar. Or, as he secretly feared, was it nothing more than blind love and sheer desperation forcing her to close her eyes to the possibility of a carefully laid trap?

The wind grew stronger and the boy listened for the sound of hoofbeats it carried. The soldiers were closing in. “We’ve so little time,” said the urchin to the rogue. “These patrols have been crisscrossing the city since dusk. If you agree to the offer, you’ll have to come with me now.” And as if to add emphasis to his words he placed his ragamuffin hand tightly around Ramagar’s sleeve.

“Tell me, lad,” said the thief, looking deeply into the boy’s eyes, “do
you
put your trust in this man?”

“I trust him with my life.” It was said swiftly, without hesitation. Ramagar knew the lad spoke with sincerity, although why he loved the beggar so was a complete mystery.

Once again Ramagar sighed, this time leaning back and weighing the scales before giving his answer. It was a risky business to say the least, walking these sewers. A very risky business. He knew little of them; only that the superstitious folk of Kalimar held them in terror, daring to speak of them only in soft whispers—and even then never after the sun had set. These tunnels, by all accounts, were a honeycomb of rodent-and leech-infested arteries as black as midnight devils, colder than a graveyard. For more than a century they had been unused, with nary a man bold enough to venture so deep into the bowels of the earth. For it was said that once a man lost his way, he would never find it again. Insanity and death were surely all that awaited him.

Ramagar knew what foolishness this darkened journey might prove to be. Yet, his state of affairs was such that even a plan like this offered a brighter future than the one surely faced if he turned the offer down. If his life had any value remaining, he had no choice but to put it into the hands of the strange beggar who called the prize of a prince his own, and claimed to know the long-forgotten exit which led beyond the walls. Ramagar did not mind putting his own life in jeopardy; indeed, the risk meant little. But the thought of Mariana sharing the burden—albeit willingly—sank his heart and left him in despair. This decision was the most difficult he had ever faced.

At length he lifted his head and looked to the boy. “Very well; I accept the offer. The scimitar in exchange for freedom. In any case, I’d rather die in the sewers than let Oro and his goons gloat with satisfaction at the removal of my head in a public square.”

The urchin twisted his way from under the footbridge and out into the open. He breathed a thankful sigh, then squinted his eyes and looked far into the night. He could see nothing, but as before the wind carried the distant sound of hooves.

“Which way?” said the thief, coming to his side.

The urchin smiled. How proud he was at that moment; the thief of thieves at his side, and together they would elude the pressing legions of the Inquisitors. “This way, Ramagar,” he said, pointing to the wet dung-smeared horse trail above the bank of the estuary. And side by side they disappeared among the shadows.

Mariana held her breath at the sight of the two figures hugging the alley wall as they made their way toward her. Then she flew into Ramagar’s arms, weeping with happiness. They kissed briefly; the thief held her face in his hands and looked at her longingly. Mariana untied her headcloth and let it fall to the ground. Unpinning her hair, she shook it loose until it tumbled windblown and free over her shoulders.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” she confessed.

“Nor I you,” admitted the thief.

They could have stayed that way for an hour, unspeaking, content to gaze into each other’s star-filled eyes. But there were other matters at hand; matters that could not wait. Ramagar held her close and looked to the beggar. Aloof, unconcerned with these matters of the heart, the yellow-haired stranger lifted his gaze from the crater-like hole at the far end of the alley and stared at the thief. For a while the eyes of these two strong-willed men locked; partly in anger, partly in respect. Mariana looked on with trepidation while they took long measure of each other, and she feared that this encounter might yet turn to confrontation.

The fear, though, was short-lived. The stranger’s mouth cracked at the corners and a small smile appeared. “So,” he said in his accented voice, “you are Ramagar. We meet at last.”

The thief nodded. “And I have kept my part of the bargain.”

“You carry my blade?”

“It is in my possession, yes. Once we are taken to safety it shall be returned.”

“I would see it now,” said the stranger. “Not that I don’t trust you, master thief. Merely as a precaution that you still have it.”

“A fair enough request,” replied Ramagar. Then he turned to Mariana and said, “Let him see it.”

The stranger’s eyes widened in wonder as the dancing girl modestly turned from view and reached inside her tunic. Even in the darkness of night the golden blade glimmered as she held it.

The stranger was agog; all this time of searching and plotting had been futilely spent. It had been within his very grasp—and he never once suspected. But the humor of this episode had not escaped him; he mulled his foolishness over and laughed. “You tricked me well, Mariana,” he said. “Have you had it all along?”

She smiled mischievously. “From the very beginning.”

The stranger scratched his head and sighed. “What more needs to be said? You’ve both kept your agreements; come, I shall keep mine.”

With that, he beckoned them to follow. The entrance to the sewers seemed little more than a gaping hole on first inspection. Concave, crack-ridden, and seeping raw sewage, it was literally a black pit. A pile of rubble had recently been removed to expose a badly decomposed set of steps leading about ten meters down and ending at the base of a large, shadow-concealed metal doorway.

Mariana tightened her hold on Ramagar’s arm and looked down with disgust. Small maggots and lice by the hundreds were crawling under and over the steps, swimming in the black, liquid pools that formed below the several exposed corroded pipes.

Ramagar breathed through his mouth to blot out the stench. “Are the tunnels beyond that door?” he asked.

The stranger shook his head. “Only the entrance to them. We’ll have to go deeper than that, I’m afraid. Much deeper.”

Mariana bravely began to descend, the thief at her side, the stranger and the urchin taking the lead. The stranger was the first to reach the landing, whereupon he began to scrutinize the entrance while his hands deftly felt for the springed catch to unlock it.

“What will we use for light?” asked the thief uneasily.

The urchin provided the answer. He had wrapped a handful of oil-soaked rags around a fat stick of wood. Ramagar’s flints struck and caught; immediately the rags became a smoking blaze of fire.

The catch-spring
twanged
and the stranger smiled. He pushed the door with all his weight and it slowly opened with a groan. Blackness fell back to the torchlight and Mariana gasped as a dozen sewer mice dashed helter-skelter for the distant darkness. The tunnel was not steep, although its incline semed constant. And it was only then that the thief and his girl grasped the true nature of the journey they faced. Green slime and moss covered the walls of rock; the entrance reeked of stale air and foul droppings.