THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (3 page)

So it was, after a reasonable time of training, that the Jackal, one-eyed and hobbled, took the lad every night into the alleys and made him learn to walk them with eyes shut. Then it was the streets themselves, and not just of the Jandari, but in finer quarters where those such as Ramagar had never been before. He would gape at the fine, stately homes, stare in disbelief that anything so luxurious could exist. Real grass in front of the houses—and walls of brick that did not crumble. The Jackal would laugh at the boy’s gasps. “These are your marks,” he would say. “Learn everything you can. A man from this house carries no coppers nor silver. Only gold, Ramagar, only gold.”

And the lad would listen and nod. One-eyed Jackal gave him the finest education anyone could receive. Those lessons were never forgotten, even now, years after the Jackal had died a miserable death in an alley and Ramagar became alone again.

Yet Ramagar knew that his friend would be proud; his legacy would never die, not as long as the thief of thieves still lived. Not as long as Ramagar held breath in his body.

Saddened by these fond memories, Ramagar made his way to the tiny arched street at the very edge of the district. Mariana’s street.

Now, as everyone knows, a thief can never have a real home, nor a wife to share his bed and give him children. Yet a man must have somewhere he can turn. Someplace where he knows he is welcome and will be received, where he can rest in the knowledge that he is as safe as a thief can possibly hope to be. Equally important, he needs someone to love and to love him in return. And Ramagar loved the dancing girl. Perhaps his shyness would not let him say so in words. But his kisses would not lie. Women he had known for all his life; from prostitutes to servant girls, once even a priestess from the temple. Never, though, had there been the attraction that he felt the first time he had seen her. So struck was he by her loveliness that he was unable to work the entire night. Instead, he spent his money and his time finding out just who she was. And when he learned her name he whispered it upon his lips a thousand times over. Mariana, Mariana. The sweetest sound he had ever known.

As he came close to the two-story house he glanced up at the corner window. It was dark and he frowned. Either Mariana had not come home yet or, angered at his being so late, she had put out the lamp and gone to sleep.

Probably the latter, he thought with a sigh. Lately she had been trying harder than ever to domesticate him, to make him a husband in deed if not in name. Oh, he might bark and carry on at her nagging, but in truth he was pleased. It showed how important to her he was. For the first time since the Jackal’s death he was wanted again. It was a feeling he hoped never to lose.

Still, if Mariana was as angry as he feared there would be bell to pay. It could take days to placate her. But then he thought of the scimitar, the fabulous prize in his pocket. He smiled. He could picture the glow in her eyes when she saw it.

A chilly gust of wind blew leaves at his feet as he came to the door. His sharp senses picked up the faintest of sounds from behind.

Ramagar whirled; his fist lashed out at the darting silhouette. There was a groan and a gasp when the fist connected, and the attacking figure rolled in pain to the cobblestones. The thief was about to deliver a swift kick to the face when he was stopped by a pair of haunting eyes; sad, pitiful eyes. He peered more closely at the shadowy face. It was a boy’s. Not even a boy’s, it was a child’s.

“Please, please, sir! Don’t strike!”

Hands on hips, Ramagar said, “Get out of here! Fast! Be glad I let you off so easily. And the next time you seek a mark be certain he’s someone you can handle!”

The boy staggered to his feet, and Ramagar got his first good look at his face. It was drawn and haggard, the eyes puffed, the lips blue from the cold. The boy wore no covering on his feet. No boots, no sandals, not even rags.

“Thank you for letting me go,” the boy rasped sincerely. “Forgive me… I had no idea it was you…”

The thief cast a wary glance. “You know who I am?”

“Oh, yes! You’re Ramagar. The finest thief in all of the Jandari. The master of thieves…”

Ramagar stifled a chuckle and looked at the boy sternly. “When was the last time you ate?”

The lad shrugged. “Yesterday, I think.”

The thief’s heart ached for the lad, although he would not let himself show it. And he took pity on him, perhaps in the same way one-eyed Jackal had done, so long ago. But Ramagar had no money, no spare coppers to put into the boy’s palm.

“See that window?” he asked, pointing above.

“The street urchin nodded.

“Wait for the light to go on. Then stand directly below. Take what I throw you and be off.”

The youth’s jaw dropped, his eyes grew wide with excitement. What would he tell his friends? Who would believe that Ramagar had offered him not only his life back, but was going to feed him as well!

“I will wait, Ramagar. As long as you say. I am indebted to you forever—”

Ramagar grimaced. “Be indebted to no man, boy,” he said. “That is the best advice I can give. Hold your own counsel and trust no one and nothing. Do you understand?”

The boy shivered as he nodded. His tattered cloak looked as though it was about to tear into shreads.

Ramagar turned abruptly, flaring his cloak behind, and entered the house and climbed the stairs. The hallway was black. Only his night sight allowed him to find the right door. The muffled cry of an infant came from somewhere below. Ramagar ignored it and knocked.

“Who’s there?” came a sleepy voice.

“Me. Open up.”

The door cracked open, and he could see the pupil of one eye. “Oh. It
is
you, isn’t it. What do you want?”

“Very funny. Let me in.”

The voice was a sneer. “Go sleep in a gutter.”

Ramagar gritted his teeth. “Don’t make bad jokes, Mariana. Look, it’s cold out there. Freezing.”

“Too bad. Come see me tomorrow.”

He groaned out loud. “Open the door or I’ll break it down.”

“Try it and I’ll make you a eunuch.”

The woman was incorrigible! But what was he to do? “Please listen, Mariana,” he said wearily, holding his hand firmly against the wood so she could not shut the door in his face, “I meant to come hours ago, like I promised. But I was detained.”

“By that whore from the Demon’s Horn?”

He threw up his hands in exasperation. “With Vlashi.”

“That’s worse.”

“Please, Mariana, let me in just for a few minutes. We have to talk. It’s important.” Here his eyes narrowed into slits and he looked at her seriously. His voice became a whisper. “Perhaps the most important thing that’s ever happened to either one of us.”

She eyed him skeptically, then reluctantly opened the door wide. “All right,” she agreed, putting her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. “But not for the night, mind you. Just to talk.”

Ramagar nodded appreciatively and closed the door behind. The girl struck a match and lit the single wax lamp on the table. The light flickered, then burst into yellow and blue flame, brightening the tiny room and sending long shadows bouncing off the walls.

Ramagar smiled as he faced her. Mariana, aware of his amorous tricks, stepped back a pace, hands tightened into tiny fists at her side. Long black hair flowed over her shoulders, down the pink nightgown, the edges curling just below her round, firm breasts. Brooding eyes peered at him from below thin dark brows.

“Now what’s so important?” she asked.

“Just a moment,” replied the thief. She gaped while he went to her purse and drew a few coppers. From the small wardrobe he pulled one of his old cloaks.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping a promise.” His eyes scanned the room quickly, focusing on the fruit bowl set aside on the ledge. He took a few apples and pears, then wrapped them, along with the coppers, into the old cloak.

The girl looked on while he opened the window, straining to make it budge.

“Are you insane?”

“Shh!”
Then he poked his head out, calling in a whisper, “Hey, boy! Catch!”

The bundle fell to the earth, and Mariana heard the shuffle of feet running down the cobblestones. Ramagar smiled and shut the window. She came to his side. She had not seen the urchin, but she knew her lover well enough, knew his soft heart’s charity.

Ramagar turned to the dancing girl and kissed her on the cheek. She turned her head away. “Pig,” she mumbled.

“Don’t be angry. Not tonight…”

Black eyes flashed as she snarled, “And why shouldn’t I be angry? Where in hell have you been? I haven’t seen you for days.”

He patted her on the behind, then slumped wearily onto the worn divan, which, except for the bed curtained off in the corner, was the only major piece of furniture in the flat.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” she told him sarcastically.

The rogue grinned and closed his eyes. “You look beautiful, Mariana. Why don’t you come over here?”

She rudely intimated that his parents were unwed and gazed at him with her hands on her hips. “I suppose you’re hungry?”

“Ravished. It’s been a very long night and I haven’t a copper.”

“Serves you right. Just remember that you owe me those coppers you just took.”

Propping himself up on his elbow, his head resting gently on the laced pillow, he said, “But the night wasn’t a complete waste. I do have something to show you. Something you might want to examine for me.”

“I’m not interested. Take it to Oro.”

He unsnapped his cloak, placed it beside him on the floor. Then he reached into his pocket and took out the scimitar, which he dangled loosely between two fingers.

Now, Mariana was a shrewd girl; perhaps the shrewdest he had ever known. She possessed a vast knowledge of many matters. Not only could she read and write properly—which in itself was a rarity for a dancing girl—but she knew more about the city and the world than Ramagar would ever know. Whenever a matter puzzled him, he could be sure that Mariana would be able to find the answer. And tonight he was more puzzled than anytime he could remember.

“What
is
that?” she asked, the dazzle of the scabbard holding her attention.

He handed it to her without a word.

Her eyes lit up like stars and she stood breathless. Never in all her twenty years had she seen anything like it. “It … It’s magnificent,” she whispered. “God above, you must have lifted it from a king.”

The thief laughed. “I didn’t lift it at all. Vlashi did—and he claims his mark was a beggar.”

“Don’t joke with me, thief,” she snapped.

He held out open palms. “I’m not! It’s the truth. I paid Vlashi everything I had to get it. And even then I had to cheat him at jackals and hounds to make the price.”

While he was speaking Mariana examined the scabbard, her heart thumping louder with every new jewel she recognized. Slumping down next to him, she spoke with amazement, mumbling softly.

“A ransom … It must be worth a king’s ransom.”

Ramagar took her hand and scowled. “I know that much myself. But look it over carefully.” He pointed to the strange markings near the hilt. So tiny, so intricately woven into the design that they could easily be overlooked.

Mariana was quick to comply. Straining her eyes, she held it close to the lamp, searching for the engraver’s mark, the telltale sign of who made it and where.

“The craftsmanship is superb,” she told him, observing everything, missing not even the slightest nick or scratch, of which there were many. “But it’s old. Very old. Ancient, perhaps. I’ve never seen a prize so fine.”

“Was it made in the city?”

The girl pursed her lips and shook her head. “Definitely not. Look.” She ran her finger along the edge. “I can’t understand the inscription. The writing is foreign, like nothing ever done in Kalimar.”

The thief whistled. Kalimar was a vast land, extending between two great seas. It included many cities, including his own. But if the scimitar was indeed from somewhere foreign, then it must have traveled thousands of miles to reach its destination in the Jandari. And Ramagar could only wonder what strange adventures it must have known during its long journey.

“I wonder who its original owner could have been.”

The girl hardly heard. She was too busy studying the peculiar mark close to the hilt. It was a tiny circle, no larger than one of the lesser jewels, and within the circle was an X-like rune with an arrow-like letter running through the middle.

“How much do you think we can sell it for?” he asked.

She took a long time in answering, and when she did, she said, “I think we should try to find out more about it before we sell it. It could be rarer than either of us realizes.”

“Not sell it?” He looked at her incredulously. “But we have to sell it! What use is there in keeping it? Imagine all the things we could do with the money.”

“You’re impatient, Ramagar. Don’t let it slip out of your hands so easily. Not until we know all there is to know.”

Her reasoning did make sense, he had to admit, even if he didn’t particularly like the idea of hanging onto it. After all, what he had told Vlashi was in part true; its owners would surely be seeking it back. And the man caught with it…

He scratched at his beard. “How can we find out more about it?”

The girl shrugged and sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to take it to Oro after all…”

“That dog? I wouldn’t trust him with a copper!”

She ruefully agreed. But the hunchbacked merchant was a cagey old devil. And a foreigner. For twenty years he had dealt in stolen and smuggled merchandise, and in that time learned more about such matters than any man in the Jandari.

“I don’t trust him either,” she said. “But at least he’ll be able to tell us more than we can find out ourselves. If only we can learn where it comes from, we might get a true idea of its value. Why, if it was taken from a prince, then the reward for returning it should make us rich.”

“Return it?”

“Why not? Its owner would certainly be most grateful—”

“Ah, Mariana, you’re dreaming again. But never mind. Tomorrow we’ll see what to do.” He blew out the candle and tucked the scimitar under the pillow. Then he pulled the dancing girl close and pressed his lips to hers. Mariana squealed with pleasure in his embrace, offered no resistance when his hand loosened the string of her nightgown and slid it to the floor. She closed her eyes and forgot about the harsh world outside. She was his; he was hers. For tonight that was more than enough. And then she smiled, knowing that the golden scimitar would change their lives forever—and make all of her foolish girl’s dreams come true.