THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (24 page)

It was an interesting question; the captain rubbed a hand at the side of his clean-shaven face and pondered. Whatever they were doing was certainly a mystery; but one thing was certain—there were no meals being served at that hour of night.

“Then you think that the cook might be involved in all this?”

“Seems more than likely. If you ask me, I have a hunch that your galley is being used as some kind of headquarters for the crew to plot whatever they’re up to. And this cook, whoever he is, could well be the mastermind.”

The captain seemed incredulous. “Him? No, Mariana. It’s impossible. Anyone but him. Why, the man’s a virtual hermit. He has nothing to do with any of the crew—or anyone else for that matter. Why, he hardly comes out of the galley for air. The cabin boy does the serving and returns the empty bowls. No one sees the cook. Not even me.”

“All the more reason to suspect him,” growled Mariana. “Why is he so secretive? I’ve been on board the
Vulture
for over two weeks now.
Two weeks.
And I don’t even know what he looks like. Don’t you find that rather odd?”

Osari was forced to agree; it certainly was.

“Who is he?” she asked. “What name did he give you? What does he look like? And where does he come from? I have a feeling that if you question him he’ll provide some pieces to fill in the puzzle. What do you know about him?”

Captain Osari shook his head and sighed. “Very little, I’m afraid,” he replied. “I needed a cook urgently, so I just took on the first man that asked …”

“Asked?”
mimicked Mariana, stunned. “He
asked
to sail aboard this ship? Isn’t that strange by itself? From everything you’ve told me, just about every sailor had to be prodded and bribed to make the journey to Cenulam. Why do you suppose he volunteered?”

Osari snapped his fingers and bit his lip. “You know, you’re right! I never really gave it much thought. I guess I was too relieved to get someone to question his motives …”

“I think we’d better rectify that,” said the girl. “Let’s start from the first peg. What’s he like, where’s he from?”

The captain of the
Vulture
thought hard, trying to recall everything he could. “He’s a small man,” he said at last. “Slightly deformed, poor fellow. A hunchback …”

Mariana tensed. “Go on,” she urged.

“He told me he was from the south. Didn’t say which city. Only that it was urgent for him to find a ship to take him to Cenulam. At first I was skeptical, but then he offered to work in any capacity I had available. Once he knew that I had taken passengers for the voyage, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He gave me a gold doubloon and promised more—anything I asked, in fact—if I’d just let him sail…”

Mariana felt goose bumps rising and her hands began to tremble.

“What’s the matter?” said Osari, suddenly concerned. “Has anything I said upset you? Have I—”

She shook her head briskly. “No, no. It’s all right. It’s nothing. But you just reminded me of something, someone I’d hoped never to see or hear of again …”

The skipper seemed confused. Then the girl faced him again, and this time her smile returned. “Do me a favor, Captain Osari,” she asked. “Don’t mention our conversation to anyone. Not just yet. Not until I have a few things straightened out.”

“But why? I thought it would be best if I called all the passengers together, to see if we could get some of this cleared up—”

“Please, Captain,” she pressed. “Wait a day. Give me until tomorrow to find some answers of my own. Will you do that for me?”

Osari nodded reluctantly. “All right, Mariana. If that’s what you want—”

Her dark eyes flashed. “It’s what I want. Thank you. You’re right, it is getting cold up here. Will you excuse me? I think I’ll go back below.”

And without waiting for a reply, she turned and hurried down the steps to the poop deck. Osari stood and watched her go. He felt bewildered—and more than a little bit worried.

It was late, close to midnight. By ten bells all the other passengers had returned to their cabins and were fast asleep. As Mariana slipped from her door into the dim passageway she could hear a deep snoring coming from the haj’s cabin. She put her ear to the door of the cabin that Ramagar and the Prince were sharing. There wasn’t a sound or a stir. Then she smiled. Ramagar would be furious if he knew about her little escapade. But she didn’t want to tell him—at least not until her frightening suspicions were either proved or disproved. And right now, with her knees quivering like jelly and her hands as cold as ice, she hoped more than anything that she would be wrong.

A dim oil lamp swayed in the distance at the end of the passage. The merchant ship groaned softly with the noises of aging wood. Step by step, wearing her moccasins to muffle any sound, she inched her way to the end of the passage and around the corner.

Back hard against the wall, hands clenched at her side, she held her breath and strained her ears to hear. The door to the galley was a needle of light ajar. There came a steady stream of dim whispers from inside, then a laugh, a shared laugh of several men. Low, and mean, and ugly.

It took all her courage to go any farther. But go she did. Some meters away from the galley entrance she saw an open door to one of the storerooms. Mariana tiptoed for it and quickly slipped inside. There, amid the weighted crates and sacks of flour and grain, she took her first full breath. It was almost black inside the storeroom. The only light was from the closed porthole at the far side, where a trickle of moonlight worked its way inside the edges of the bolted wooden shutter.

Half leaning over a dusty pile of mealie bags, she listened again to the muffled voices. This time, though, they were clearer. Much clearer.

“Aye,” said a thick, guttural voice which she knew belonged to the bosun. “We can do it tomorrow. Best get this matter dealt with as quickly as we can.”

There was a long pause, then: “You’ll tell your lads?”

The bosun chuckled. “They’ve been itchin’ for it as much as me, matey. ‘Bout time we got a bit o’our own say ‘round here. Cenulam, indeed!” The bosun spit, and Mariana could hear it clang into the bottom of an empty spittoon.

“What about the captain?” came a whisper. A familiar voice that made her flesh crawl.

A low laugh. “Ha! Leave that Northern pasty-faced canary to me. Him and ‘is first mate both. Once I’ve dealt with those passengers—”

“Remember what I told you!” snapped the whispered voice. “Don’t get any ideas in that head of yours. The girl is mine!”

Again the bosun spit. “Think yer man enough for her, do ya?”

“We made a bargain, friend. You get the ship and my gold. I get the scimitar and the girl …”

Mariana turned white with fear. Now she knew: she was listening to the plans for a mutiny.

Desperate to run out of there, to warn Ramagar and the captain, she tripped over a small wooden bucket placed beside the crates, causing a clatter like the beating of a drum.

“What was that?” gasped the bosun.

“I don’t know—let’s have us a look-see …”

Perspiration poured down Mariana’s face as she peeked through the crack of the storeroom door’s hinges and saw the galley door swing wide open. She watched the grim-faced bosun and one of his henchmen striding toward her, and then her heart skipped a beat. Following behind, a sneer on his face and a look of hate in his eyes, came the cook, the hunchback weasel of a man she knew to be Oro.

It all became painfully clear in her mind and she hated herself for not realizing it sooner. The evil trader had left Kalimar—left the moment he realized that Ramagar and somehow eluded the Inquisitors and escaped with the precious dagger. Oro had wanted the blade, coveted it at any price. And Mariana was now positive that he had known all along its true secret. No wonder that he wanted Ramagar dead. The dagger meant far more than mere money to him—it was the key to the throne of Speca. An ambition worth any risk.

He must have followed them every step of the way, caught sight of her and Ramagar on the road and trailed them until they sought shelter at the tents of the haj. Then he had pursued them into Baboon Land; there was no doubt in her mind that it was Oro’s shadow she had seen that night at Alasi oasis. By the time they reached Palava, he was already there—waiting, looking to see which ship would carry them across the sea. As Captain Osari’s ship was the only vessel in harbor heading for the far North, it made it that much easier. All he needed to do was arrange his own passage, keep out of everyone’s sight, and hatch his devious scheme. And what better cronies could he ask for than a bunch of shiftless cutthroat sailors who would sell their souls for a purse of gold?

It was a perfect plan; Mariana knew she had to give him credit for at least that. And if Oro had his way, by this time tomorrow all her companions, including Captain Osari and his Cenulamian sailors, would be dead. The renegades would own the ship and a bagful of gold—while the evil hunchback would take both her and the scimitar for his own.

Mariana ducked behind a large crate of boxed spices just as the bosun cautiously stepped inside the storeroom. Shadows bounced malevolently as the treacherous sailor struck a match and peered about. His glowering eyes scanned the room from one side to the other, poring over every inch of darkness.

Oro was paces behind. “Well?” he rasped impatiently. “See anything?”

The bucket stopped rolling at the bosun’s feet; he watched it rock from side to side for a moment, and then he smiled.

“Someone’s
been hiding here,” he said with assurance.

Oro was shaken. “Who? The first mate? Surely not the captain—”

The bosun shook his head, scratched at his matted beard. The tiny jeweled ring in his left ear glittered as he lit a second match. Mariana snuck a fast look between the slats and shuddered at the cruelty of his face. His shoulders lifted from a stoop and he brazenly took a few quick steps forward.

“I know yer in here, somewhere,” he growled. “So ya might as well come out now and make it easier on yerself…” His hand slid down to the hilt of the twin-edged knife strapped at his waist. “I ain’t got no time for little games, mousey. Stand up.”

Mariana swallowed hard and crouched lower. The bosun circled around one side while his henchman grabbed a loose board like a club and covered the opposite end. Oro, meanwhile, backstepped to the door, rubbing his hands one over the other as he glowered in anticipation.

“Better come out, little mouse,” warned the bosun. He stepped between the bags of meal and came frighteningly close to where the girl had hidden. A third match blazed like a torch, and Mariana’s shadow bounced across the low ceiling. As the bosun stared she slipped behind another crate, closer to the wall.

The sailor roared with laughter, his firm belly quivering slightly with merriment. “Think ya can still hide from me, do ya? Hide from old Bucky-boy, eh? Well, Bucky got a little surprise of his own, mousey. Oh, yes. A surprise of his own.” He blew out the flickering match and drew his knife.

Mariana panted. He had her cornered; she had to get away. But how? The second sailor stood waiting along the other wall, while Oro had the door well covered. The only chance she had, she knew, was to make a fast dash for the doorway and somehow hope to knock over the hunchback before he could grab her. Then with luck she could be at Ramagar’s door before they caught up …

Mariana leaped to her feet; spinning, ducking, she fled as fast as she could toward the dim light.

“Get her!” barked the bosun.

His crony flew across the storeroom, diving for her and barely missing. She sidestepped his tumbling hulk and bolted to the entrance. Oro drew to his full height; when they collided they both fell tumbling to the floor.

“Quick!” called the bosun. “Gag her!”

Mariana wriggled and squirmed, trying to free herself from Oro’s tight grip. She tried to scream but it was too late. The bosun and his mate were all over her, pulling out a sweaty scarf and tying it tightly between her teeth. She kicked wildly as they dragged her to her feet, again tried to run but stopped frozen at the feel of the knife positioned sharply at the small of her back.

“Just do as we say, mousey,” growled the bosun in a low, panting voice. And pushing and shoving, they threw her into the galley and closed the door behind.

Oro was sweating. He glanced at the girl and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “What do we do now?” he asked the bosun.

The sailor spat into the spittoon. “Get rid of her. It’s all we can do …”

“Aye,” chimed in his grisly henchman, and Mariana’s eyes widened in terror.

“You can’t do that!” wheezed Oro. “The girl is mine—part of the bargain, remember?”

The bosun scowled. “Sure, little man. Sure. But that was before we caught her spying, right? Now things is different. Very different. She knows what we’re up to. Don’t tell me ya think we should let her go?”

Oro shook his head nervously. “No, no. Of course not. She’ll have the captain after us in a minute. But maybe we can hide her somewhere …”

“Hide her? Not likely! You want to have that bloody lover of hers tearing the ship apart plank by plank? No, little man. She has to be disposed of—right away.”

The hunchback gulped and shuddered. The thought of losing the dancing girl at the whim of this lout made him bristle with anger. He had spent so much time, so much effort in finding her, he wasn’t about to give her up now. But what could he do about it? Clearly the bosun was far too gruesome a character to cross.

“Well, little man? Do you agree or not? Or maybe you place a higher value on the woman than you do on the dagger?”

As Oro flushed the bosun turned to his foul friend, saying, “We’ll take her up on deck after first watch. Then we’ll dump her over …”

Mariana screamed a gurgled scream and fought with all her strength against the two sailors who laughed grimly as they bound her hands and feet with rope.

“Wait, wait!” pleaded the hunchback. “Listen to me, both of you. The girl needn’t die—”

The bosun looked at him with one eye cocked. “Oh? You have a better plan?”

“I do. Alert all your men now, tonight. Why must we wait for dawn to take over the ship? Do it tonight, while the captain’s still asleep. We can get him and all the others out of the way and have done with it. By morning the ship can be in your hands. Sail her where you like, along with all the gold I promised. Well, what do you say?”