THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (21 page)

Fire was strange to the baboons—and all the more terrifying as the Prince fanned the flames against the black sky and threw the torch high into the air. The monkey army broke in panic, tearing along the gorge. The torch hit the earth, igniting nearby patches of weeds which in turn set off yet other, more distant patches. In this waterless land it took only moments for the entire gorge to erupt into something of a furnace. Hopping, yelping, moaning, and cavorting, the baboons desperately tried to dodge the ever-growing flames.

All regimentation was gone; senselessly they rolled in the sand and wailed while their hairy coats smoldered and blazed. Torch after torch came hurtling through the night. It was not long before the gorge was completely devoid of any baboon who could yet run for its life. Those left behind hobbled and cried over the corpses of comrades long since broiled.

Panting, hands on their hips, the five travelers looked at the grisly scene below and smiled thankfully at their fortune. Mariana stared blankly at the cliffs and watched as what was left of the phalanx clambered among the ledges and over the top, running wildly for their very lives in any direction their legs would carry them. Even the dire shouts for order issued by their generals went unheeded. The troops were oblivious to commands; if the fight was to continue, then their leaders would have to carry it themselves.

The battle of the gorge was a total rout. And to this very day, as a matter of fact, it is still spoken of in baboon land with whispers and shudders.

“Run, you cowards!” hollered the haj, shaking an imperious fist as the last crippled stragglers dragged themselves into the night.

“And don’t ever come back!” chimed in Homer, his face black with grime and soot, but his teeth gleaming with his grin. “Unless you want some more of the same!”

Soon the flames were dying, and the travelers deemed it safe to climb down the hill and look over the wreckage of the battlefield.

“Will they attack us again?” Ramagar asked the haj.

Burlu wiped a grimy hand across his mouth and spat. “We taught them a lesson, this time,” he growled. “But the baboons’ king won’t rest so easily. If he can, he’ll send another army as soon as he can raise one.”

The Prince shook his head and sighed. “In that case, we’d better get out of their domain with all the speed we can make …”

Mariana nodded. But then she looked around at the carnage and tallied their losses. Of the seven mules, three lay dead at the edge of the gorge. Two more had run off the moment they saw the fire. That left two mules, two mules for the five of them. And to make matters worse, one of the absconded mules had carried the extra water bags. The little water left would have to be rationed, rationed while they walked to the sea.

At Kalimar’s northernmost border, nestled along a fertile plain at the foot of the mountain range known as the Great Divide, lay the port city of Palava. A free port, visited by ships from every maritime nation among the Eastern Kingdoms and from across many seas, it stood as Kalimar’s greatest contact with the world outside her desert borders. And because of its free trade, there came to it men and women from every walk of life: foreign merchants and sailors, traders from both the desert and the hills, opportunists, fanatics, religious sects of dubious worth, and a host of nameless others who made the port a melting pot of cultures, some strange, some exotic, some as secretive as the Druids themselves.

Much has been told of Palava; hardly a traveler to its walls did not return home filled with tales to whet the imagination. Its marketplaces and bazaars were like none others in all of the East. A visitor could wander through its maze of shabby streets and see a new wonder at virtually every corner. Once seen, Palava would never be forgotten. It was a city of the unusual, a city of mimes, of fire-eaters, magicians, and contortionists, dancers and strong men, flutists, animal trainers, lute players, and poets. Of head-shaven Karshi fanatics gathering to pay homage at the sight of the hovel where their leader was born. Of scholars and lunatics, of holy men who pierced their flesh with pins and needles and then lay down upon beds of broken glass, all to the amusement (and sometimes revulsion) of their audiences.

Whatever the visitors’ opinions, all agreed it was a city you would never erase from your thoughts.

Captain Osari, of the merchant ship
Vulture,
sat glumly at the inn, staring into his half-filled flagon of black Palavi beer. A hefty fellow, with prominent jowls and thick, slanting brows above keen, intense eyes, he made no pretense of hiding his moroseness on this particular evening. His cargo of furs and quarried marble had been delivered to its buyers in Palava more than two weeks before. His cargo for the return trip, cinnamon and other spices, sat in bags and crates at dockside ready to be loaded. His vouchers had been stamped by the proper authorities, his sailing permit had been issued without any problem. Now all he needed was to find a new crew.

Captain Osari put his head in his hands and groaned. A new crew! Where in this forsaken backward land of Kalimar would he find the caliber of men needed for the
Vulture?
Of his twenty hands only three remained, the others having run off the moment they berthed and their wages were paid. Osari knew he should never have taken such men on in the first place. It would have been better to have sailed on to Cenulam and signed on a crew of trustworthy hands. Men from his own land whom he could count on. True seafarers; not a bunch of swaggering misfits from the East. But time had pressed. The cargo was urgently required. So, he had done the expedient thing and hired on in the first port he reached. A very foolish mistake. Oh, the slouches had made it to Palava all right. Problem was, where would he get the men he needed for the return voyage? A voyage that would take them a thousand leagues from home across some of the most violent seas the world had ever seen.

Ah, to be back in Cenulam now. Among real civilization again. Far away from places like Kalimar. Osari shook his head sadly. Within three days’ time his permits would no longer be valid. His cargo would find another ship, while the
Vulture
would be forced to lie languid and rot upon this uncivilized shore.

It was with these thoughts in mind that the captain ordered another round of the bitter beer and blotted out the noise of the rowdy crowd of sailors milling about the inn’s tavern. Sailors indeed, he mused. They were nothing but dregs of the lowest kind. A poor substitute for honest seafaring men. Only sheer desperation had brought him here tonight; that, and an urgent need to get the
Vulture
away from Kalimarian waters before the corrupt military authorities took a mind to impound it.

Amid the flute music and the dancing girl’s cavorting and the raucous laughter that accompanied them both, the Cenulamian captain hardly saw the two hooded figures who had briskly entered and asked questions of the landlord. It was only when the proprietor pointed his hand in his direction that Osari took notice. One was a man, tall and rugged; the other a woman, well tanned and pretty, with fire in her eyes.

The man approached the table first. “Is the
Vulture
your ship?” he asked.

“Are you Captain Osari from Cenulam?” quizzed the girl.

The seafarer looked slowly from one face to the other before answering. “I am Captain Osari,” he said at last. “What of it?”

Mariana glanced to Ramagar and sighed. Then she turned with a smile to the captain, saying, “At last we’ve found you. We’ve been searching all day. Your first mate told us he hadn’t the slightest notion where you were …”

“And now you know where I am,” observed the captain dryly.

Ramagar leaned his forearm against the table and met the captain’s questioning gaze. “We would like to speak with you, Captain. A few moments of your time is all we ask.”

Sensing a business proposition in the offing, Osari gestured for them to take chairs. Then he snapped his fingers to catch the barmaid’s attention and shouted for a small bottle of sweet wine to be brought.

When the wine was served he leaned forward, his hands clasped together, and said, “What’s this all about? There must be a hundred captains in Palava. What is it that brings you to see me?”

“We understand that your ship is scheduled to leave for Cenulam,” said Mariana, wasting no time. “We want to book passage and sail with you.”

The captain nodded, thoughtfully wondering why these obvious Kalimarians seemed so eager to reach a land so alien to them. “Have you business to conduct in Cenulam?”

“Not in Cenulam itself,” replied Ramagar mysteriously. “But in waters nearby. We’ve queried every captain we could find. Only you are sailing across the Western Sea.”

Osari frowned. “It is a very long voyage, my friends. And a difficult one to boot.”

“We understand,” said Mariana. “We have some money; will this be enough?” She spilled the contents of a small purse onto the table. Osari stared at the glittering coins, a few gold, but mostly silver.

“More than enough for two,” said the captain.

Ramagar shook his head. “We are five. Five passengers—”

“And we’re willing to work to make up any difference,” added Mariana. “What do you say? Will you take us on your ship?”

Osari scratched his head. This was a most baffling offer. His companions certainly were not merchants, nor even traders, if he had sized them up properly. From the looks of it they were offering every penny they had in the world to make the journey. Curious, as most Cenulamians are, Captain Osari wondered why. Still, it wasn’t his affair, and he had need of the offered money to help defray the cost of a new crew.

“Have we a bargain?” pressed the thief.

The mariner nodded, but as his companions smiled he said, “There’s just one problem. My crew, you see, has seen fit to desert me. And unless I can find another one within three days’ time I’m afraid none of us will sail. Already the authorities are fining me for each day the
Vulture
stays berthed. And pretty soon they’ll confiscate the ship. Likely as not I’ll be as stranded in Palava as you are.”

Ramagar groaned. “There must be sailors about?” he questioned. “What about the men here?”

“Rabble,” Osari said honestly. “Murderers and cutthroats fled from their own lands to a free port. I wouldn’t trust a single one with a penny, if you want to know the truth.” Here he sighed. “And I have to warn you that even should some agree to sign on with me, I can’t vouch for your safety … Such is the nature of Palava’s sailors.”

Mariana looked at him evenly, with a small smile working around the corners of her mouth. “Captain Osari,” she said slowly, “my companions and I have just come from the desert. Nearly two weeks of facing one danger after another. The last fifty leagues we were forced to walk—with an army of baboons following every step of the way—”

Osari stared with disbelief. “Baboon Land? You two have traveled through Baboon Land?” He shuddered.

Ramagar nodded darkly. “And lucky we are to be sitting here with you tonight. But that’s a tale for another time. My companions and I are used to facing risk and danger. The dilemma of putting up with a thieving crew is a small matter. We can take care of ourselves, I assure you. All we ask is that you take your ship directly to Cenulam as quickly as possible.”

Osari downed the last of his drink. “So do I,” he groaned. “Believe me, so do I.”

“Perhaps there might be something we can do to help you,” said Mariana.

The seasoned sailor glanced about at the motley bunch of mariners for hire and shook his head. “I think not, my lady. Leave finding the best up to me. Be on the south quay at dawn on the day after tomorrow. By then I should be ready. You’ll not have any trouble in finding the
Vulture
; she flies the brown banners of the North. As soon as my spice is loaded and the inspectors have weighed the cargo, we’ll be on our way.”

The mention of inspectors caused both Mariana and the thief to wince—which did not go unnoticed by the captain’s sharp eyes. Ramagar looked briefly at the girl and they shared an unspoken thought: mingled with the inspectors was certain to be no small number of Kalimarian soldiers, who by this time would have received word from the capital city and would be on the lookout for the fugitive thief and his lover. If only a single soldier caught sight of them and suspected …

It was a sobering thought, one that Ramagar was not in the mood to deal with now. A smile returning to his face, he rose from his chair and clasped Captain Osari’s hand, shaking it firmly. “Until we sail, goodbye. Thank you, Captain, our bargain has been more than fair.”

Osari stood and bowed politely. “Mutually fair, sir. I’m looking forward to seeing you both again.” He turned to Mariana. “And maybe the next time we chat you’ll tell me more of your adventures in Baboon Land.”

The girl flushed. It was hard not to like the company of the easygoing sailor. “A pleasure, Captain,” she said. “But for now I think we should all just pray for a quick and successful journey.”

Osari grinned, adding thoughtfully, “Believe it or not, I’m every bit as eager to leave Kalimar forever as you are.”

With one full day to spend before Captain Osari’s ship was set to leave, the travelers decided to leave their clandestine lodgings and spend their time in seeing some of Palava’s colorful sights. Heading first to the major pavilions, they all laughed at the antics of street clowns and assorted acrobats, stood dumbfounded while a pipe player’s melodious tune somehow caused a lumbering viper to uncoil from its basket and weave its scaly body upward in a parody of a dance. Amazed, they watched a strong man break his chains, laughed at a puppet show, and cried at a tragic drama at the city’s huge amphitheater. The five farers enjoyed every moment of it all; even the usually sober-faced Prince was forced to admit he was having a good time. So unlike the capital city of Kalimar was Palava, that only the occasional sight of grim-faced soldiers reminded them that they had not left her borders at all.

But amid this merriment Mariana found herself feeling quite uneasy. It wasn’t the first time, either. Although she had not brought it up, ever since that first night in the desert when the haj had found tracks of a man and proven her suspicions, she had felt that somehow her every movement was being observed. There was nothing she could point to, nothing she coud prove, even to herself. No shadowy figures peered from dark alleys or lurked at the ends of the streets. It was just an unrest, a disquiet that was nagging her constantly and wouldn’t leave.