THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (22 page)

She had not mentioned it to Ramagar, positive that he would only smile and assure her it was imagination, tell her she was becoming too jumpy. Nor had she spoke of her fears to the haj, although she knew that he alone might give her thoughts the credence they deserved. After all, this was their last day upon shore, their last day ever in Kalimar. By tomorrow all her concerns would be gone.

It was early evening when they returned to their rooms at the inn. Restless for time to pass, they decided to enjoy the best supper the inn could provide. Gathering in the dining accommodations of the tavern, they ate a splendid feast of rare roasted beef that even Burlu had to grudgingly acknowledge was among the finest he had ever sampled. There was no shortage of wine, both domestic and imported, lots of music, and even more song. The haj, of course, frowned upon receipt of the bill, thinking that city ways were far too expensive for a hill man’s tastes; but he was fully aware, as they all were, that after tonight, money would have little meaning for them, and in any case there would be no place to spend it. It was best to make the most of it now, while they still could, momentarily allowing themselves to forget the monumental journey about to unfold.

One by one, groggy-eyed and weary, they all returned to their rooms, bellies filled and heads considerably lightened. Mariana kissed Ramagar goodnight and lit the candle beside the bed. At first glance everything seemed completely normal; but then she noticed the open window.

Walking to it slowly, she saw that the dust on the outside sill had been disturbed. And more than that, she was positive that a fleeting shadow of a man or a boy had just swept quickly past her vision in the alley below.

Losing no time, she woke Ramagar told her tale, and frowned while he looked at her and grinned. “Don’t be so upset,” he told her, cradling her in his arms. “Palava is filled with rogues, just like the Jandari. Are you so surprised that a thief came in and tried to find something of value?”

Mariana looked away, unsatisfied. “I think it’s more than that,” she confided. “I think someone was looking for something. Oh, Ramagar, I’m frightened.”

His eyes grew cold as he propped himself up, tossing aside the blanket. “Looking for what?”

She shrugged. “I—don’t know. But more than just a purse or a piece of jewelry …”

“Could it have been soldiers? Inquisitors come up from the capital?”

Mariana shook her head firmly. “No, an Inquisitor wouldn’t bother to come through a window. More likely he’d break down the door.”

The thief drew her closer to him and ran his fingers through her dark hair. “Then it was only a thief. Hush, Mariana, don’t be scared. If you like you can spend the night here, with me.”

She nodded, smiling like a child, and nestled herself against the crook of his shoulder as he leaned back and closed his eyes. “I’ll be all right,” she whispered. “Maybe I am just a little too tense. You try to sleep, I’ll just stay by your side …”

Ramagar had fallen asleep even before her thought was finished. Mariana kissed him and lay still and silent, listening to the sound of his breathing. And soon her fears were gone. Ramagar had been right, she was sure. It was only a thief; a common thief. Nothing more. And then she laughed to herself. Less than a month before Ramagar was such a thief; the master rogue of the Jandari. And she had been what? A dancing girl, with no future, no hope of ever attaining any of the things a woman dreams about. Now, though, because of the Prince’s dagger, all that had irreversibly changed. They had fled Kalimar; crossed an inhospitable desert and beaten a formidable foe. Joined forces with a prince, come to love a kindly old haj. Even seen the wonders of Palava. Hard to believe that all this was only the beginning.

Suddenly she felt no fear of this night or of the days ahead. It crossed her mind that if she could live her whole life over again she would not change a thing. Bridges were meant to be crossed, no matter how high or how fearful. It was her good fortune, she reasoned, that she would always have Ramagar at her side to cross them with her.

The thief smiled in his sleep as she put her head beside his and gently kissed him. Then closing her eyes and yawning, she eagerly anticipated the coming of dawn.

11

Homer was kneeling, tying as securely as he could the last strap around their meager baggage. Then, when it was drawn as tight as he could pull, he looked up at his waiting companions and grinned. “All set,” he announced.

The haj munched on a freshly baked biscuit and nodded. “Good,” he said, brushing his hands of leftover crumbs. “Then we can get going.”

Ramagar drew himself up from the cushioned chair and glanced out the large bay window. While Burlu paid the landlord he stared at the predawn Palava skyline. Here and there above the roofs a soft gray hue was pushing back the black, tickling the edges of the domes and obelisks and thinly spreading higher against the waning stars. From somewhere distant came the cry to morning prayer, and down a quiet avenue a handful of robed holy men hurried on their way to answer the call.

For a moment the thief felt a twinge of terrible sadness overtake him. Tears began to well in his dark, cold eyes. Never again would he come back to Palava. Never again would he set foot upon the sandy desert shores of Kalimar. As harsh and as cruel as the land may have been, it still was, after all, his home. And leaving one’s home, never to return, is the hardest thing a man can do.

Mariana knew what was in his mind; in many ways her thoughts were identical. She came quietly to his side and drew him away slowly, knowing that for them to wallow in regret would only make leaving that much worse.

Ramagar took her hand, and smiled. The past was past, it could never be altered. Now they must look to the future. Drawing his hood over his head, he left the inn and walked briskly into the street to join his friends, determined never to think of Kalimar again. Like the Prince, he was now a man without a country.

The walk to the docks was completely uneventful. They were all just another band of robed hill folk visiting the city. Even the occasional passing soldier never even turned his head.

At last they reached the south quay where the
Vulture
was already loaded and busy with sailors scrambling about the deck and checking the rigging. Ramagar gazed with interest at the boat, taking note of her sharp, arching head and her slim bow running along her convex sides all the way down to the rounded graceful stern.

The
Vulture
was a large ship, worn and ragged in places, but as sturdy and fit for duty as any you would ever find. Perhaps eighty meters long from stem to stern, twelve in breadth, she seemed as well fitted as the finest Kalimarian vessel ever constructed. There were two masts, iron banded, taut, and well tapered. From the furled lower crimson sails to the upper yellows, her spars were long and graceful, and Ramagar knew that within an hour’s time these latticeworks would be stretching a skyful of colored canvas into the strong sea winds.

With some fear and trepidation the band passed the milling pursers and Palava inspectors and walked the gangplank onto the main deck. A silver coin or two cleverly placed into the right hands by the haj ensured that no questions would be asked of the passengers.

Captain Osari stood at the quarterdeck, hands folded behind his back. As his passengers stepped on board he grinned and saluted. “Welcome to the
Vulture,”
he told them. “You arrived just in time. We’re ready to hoist anchor.”

“And not a moment too soon,” mumbled Ramagar. As he looked down to the end of the pier he saw a patrol of dark-tunicked soldiers heading straight for the ship.

Osari saw them, too, and frowned. “It’s probably a trivial matter,” he said distastefully. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

“Ahoy, captain of this vessel!” shouted a hawk-nosed commander, rushing to reach the gangplank before it was lifted.

Osari leaned over the rail and eyed the man carefully. “I’m the captain,” he called down. “What do you want?”

The soldier saluted him respectfully, but adroitly kept one hand clutched at the hilt of his long dangling sword. “I’m under orders to inspect your crew, Captain—”

The
Vulture’s
wily commander grimaced. “I’m afraid you can’t. You should have come earlier. We’re almost under way.”

But the soldier was as firm as the man he addressed. “You have no choice, Captain Osari. No ship is to leave Palava without being thoroughly searched.”

The captain grew red. “Searched? What in heaven or hell are you talking about, man? My ship’s already been inspected. All my cargoes have been checked through and through.”

“It’s not cargo I’m concerned with, Captain Osari…”

Ramagar looked quickly to the Prince and the haj. He felt his body tense; his mind began to click, looking for quick avenues of escape, if it came to that.

“What’s this all about?” demanded Osari. “By what right do you dare stop a free ship in a free port?”

The soldier drew a hand inside his tunic and came up holding a small, rolled piece of parchment. “These orders have just come from the capital,” he said. “No ship can leave unless she’s been checked by me and my men. I’m sorry if this will be an inconvenience, but …” He sighed and gestured to his men, who had all drawn their swords. “But neither one of us has any choice. If you try to refuse me boarding rights, I’m afraid I’ll have to do it by force.”

Mariana glanced at the dozen or so rugged soldiers and shuddered. It was plain they meant business; she knew they wouldn’t hesitate to follow their orders even if it meant bloodshed.

Captain Osari seethed, but relented, knowing there was nothing he could do. “Very well,” he said sharply to the waiting captain. “Come aboard, but make it quick. I’ve lost too much time in this stinking country already.”

The soldier ignored the remark and made his way to the main deck. “We’re looking for a fugitive,” he said, glancing around. “A murderer escaped from the capital and believed to have fled to Palava.”

Osari knitted his brows. “You won’t find any fugitives on my ship,” he assured the man. “I chose my crew as carefully as I could. They’re all honest seamen.”

The soldier smiled thinly. “Let me be the judge of that, Captain. The man I seek is a master criminal, the most wanted soul in Kalimar. He’s as clever and as dangerous as any we’ve ever known.” Here he leaned in close to the sea captain and whispered, “He’s killed in cold blood before. Mark my words, if he’s on your ship, he’ll do it again. Now, assemble your crew.”

Osari nodded, and the first mate, a trusted man from Cenulam, rounded up everyone on deck. And what a surly bunch they were, even Ramagar had to admit. Stiff-necked, growling men. Some bore scars of knife fights along their faces, others showed the marks of the whip upon their shirtless backs. They scowled and grimaced as the tight-lipped soldier walked among them, checking their descriptions against the one he had written on his orders.

The crew stood sullenly while the captain completed his chore. It was as obvious as their scars that each and every one of them was a known criminal, a wanted man either in Kalimar or some other land. But it was equally plain that none of them was the man being sought, the master rogue, the thief of thieves: Ramagar.

“Are there any others among your crew?” questioned the soldier as he turned away from the brigands, leaving the grim line of renegade sailors smirking among themselves.

“Two others,” replied Captain Osari truthfully. “One is my personal cabin boy, brought with me from Cenulam. The other is a cook I hired. A hunchback, seeking to work for his passage across the sea. Shall I have them brought topside?”

The soldier deliberated for a second, then frowned and shook his head. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary, Captain.” Then, catching sight of the five passengers standing mutely at the steps of the quarterdeck, he said, “And who are they?”

Osari shrugged. “Paying passengers,” he said. “I know little about them, but surely you don’t suspect one of them to be your fugitive—”

“Let me decide that, Captain Osari.” He walked over, eyeing them one and all suspiciously. The message from Kalimar had not gone into much detail, but it did say that the thief Ramagar would probably be found traveling with a woman, a woman not at all unlike the pretty girl he was looking at now.

Mariana thought she was going to die right then and there. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she couldn’t understand why the soldier didn’t seem to hear it.

“Who are all of you?” the captain asked at last.

The haj stepped forward quickly, partially shielding his friends from observation; he bowed graciously before the doubtful-looking soldier, and said, “I am haj Burlu, of the hill country in the south. I travel on board the
Vulture
to reach Cenulam, where I am told I can purchase the world’s finest stallions. Stallions for breeding …”

“I see,” replied the soldier, rubbing his thumb along the side of his thick jowls. He narrowed his eyes. “And who are your companions?”

The haj gestured grandly to Mariana. “She’s my granddaughter,” he beamed, squeezing her hand. “The jewel of my life. And beside her is her husband …”

At the feel of the soldier’s steely glance Ramagar bowed his head in a respectful fashion and lowered his gaze to the freshly scrubbed deck.

“Take down your hood,” said the captain sternly. “Let me see your face.”

Ramagar did as asked, but he still kept his stare firmly fixed on the damp planks.

Once again the haj interceded to cut off trouble before it began. “My granddaughter’s husband is a slow-witted fellow,” he said in an apologetic tone. “But as you can see, his brawn and muscles more than make up for what he lacks in the head.”

Ramagar fumed, but he didn’t move and didn’t say a word.

The soldier took a step closer, looking at the written description. “What is your name?” he asked. Before the thief could reply, Mariana said, “We call him Ishi. Among hill folk it means the Foolish One. My husband does not speak very much, as he rarely has anything intelligent to say. But he enjoys making up poems, and he also likes to sing on occasion …”