THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (7 page)

His tone was cold and impassive. “We have a witness. The noble was murdered for his gold—and the killer was your lover.”

Her head was spinning. “But they say a stranger murdered this noble. A foreigner. You yourself—”

“We were deceived,” countered the captain. “Taken for fools. The beggar we sought does not exist. And the pickpocket who devised this deception will pay as dearly as your lover. We now have positive proof that Ramagar is the one who committed the crime. We have a witness whose word cannot be refuted—even in the Jandari.”

“It’s not true!” Mariana flared. “This witness is a liar and I can prove it! Ramagar was with me yesterday. All day and all night. I’ll swear to it with my last breath.”

He smiled thinly and cruelly, yet also with a tinge of admiration. The loyalty of the girl to her lover was without question and he would wager every copper he owned that rather than see him punished she would admit to the crime herself. But the word of a dancing girl, even if it were true, would carry little weight in the courts of Kalimar. No, the thief of thieves would have to pay, guilty or not. His cunning and wits would avail him no longer.

Mariana burst into tears as the soldier turned to go. “Tell your lover we’ll be back,” he warned. “And we’ll tear apart the Jandari brick by brick if we have to. This time he’ll not get away.”

And then he was gone. Mariana scampered to the door and bolted it, as if in this way she could pretend to herself that the world outside was safely locked out.

But she knew too well it wasn’t. Without a second thought, she scooped up the pillow and slit the new seam. The scimitar glistened in the morning light. She knew she must find Ramagar. Find him quickly and warn him before it was too late. He must escape the city, escape the Jandari and Kalimar completely. It was his only chance.

But where was she to look? There were ten thousand alleys and ten thousand roofs. Shadows to cloak each and every one. In which of a hundred hiding places might he be found? Or was it too late already? Perhaps by now the unsuspecting thief was bound and gagged, lying helpless somewhere in the labyrinth of dungeons within the palace walls.

It was with desperation that she fled her room and hurried into the bright daylight of the street. Giving neither thought nor care to her own safety she raced in the direction of the Demon’s Horn. Only there might someone be able to say where her lover had gone after he left her in the middle of night. Only there might there be someone she could trust.

Oro the hunchback ducked swiftly into the doorway when he saw her leave. His twisted features hidden by his hood, he leaned back and chuckled, rubbing his hands in a slow, deliberate motion.

Ah, yes. Today would be a day never to forget. The Inquisitors would pay him handsomely for his lies. And now, with the thief as good as dead, both the mysterious scimitar and the dancing girl would soon be his. All that he had ever desired was about to be gained in a single stroke. The thief of thieves would be a thorn in his side no more.

5

It was the longest day of her life. Hour after hour she had searched, high and low, in and out of every alley and every byway both familiar and unfamiliar. But all her efforts had been futile. Bravely she had climbed to the roofs, investigated the winding, endless narrow alleys that weaved in and out among streets ancient and crumbling where only urchins and packs of wild dogs could be found. Panting from fatigue and hunger, her body glistening in perspiration, she went relentlessly on, vowing never to give up until he was found and warned of the dangers that lurked from every direction.

Now, though, as the shadows of day deepened, Mariana began to despair. Up to the present, her search had been relatively easy, seeking her lover in places he was known to frequent. The night could only serve to complicate matters, adding personal risk and peril to her search. Not only must she avoid the patrols, who seemingly had preceded her every step of the way, but now also the robbers and cutthroats, men who would not hesitate to deal with a woman as harshly and callously as with any other mark caught in the web of their private territory.

But this danger made no difference. Upheld by sincere love, she would never regret her actions, rash and dangerous as they were.

Nightfall spread across Kalimar, bringing calm and quiet. Mariana listened as the last of the priests sang evening prayer from the distant minarets and considered which avenue she should try next. Candlelight from the windows above illuminated the streets, which slowly began to swell with life as the Jandari prepared for another evening. The odor of sweetmeats and sour sauces permeated the air. The glow of cooking fires from stalls and hearths brightened the byways and sent shadows dancing above her head. Mariana put a hand to her brow and tried to compile a list of all the places she had searched, and those she had yet to seek. But there were so very many, and her task seemed to become more and more impossible. Yet there was a measure of comfort with her despair. For if Ramagar could keep so well hidden from her, then he may have managed to elude the cohort of soldiers who shared her eagerness to find him.

At last she made up her mind and changing directions decided to follow the old gutted street that ran parallel to the Avenue of Pigs. The crumbling hovels, mere shells of what they had been during the Jandari’s moments of glory, towered above her at either side. Once upon a time they had housed the finest families in all of Kalimar, centuries ago, before the desert winds had swept across the land and turned her fertile plains into dry and barren wastes. Every kingdom and every empire has its day, and Kalimar was no exception. But now its glories were past, faded into recorded memory. A thousand years of splendor were lost upon the rotting brick and dusty streets of a once proud city. Its founders and heroes were dust scattered to the winds; the vultures remained to feed off what was left. And the street people of the Jandari were only mirror images of the ugly world around them.

But gentle Mariana was unaware of all these things as she passed the ancient relics. She could think only of her lover, and her urgent need to save him.

A strange silence followed her as she made her way among the piles of stone and garbage. Alone and frightened, she ran as quickly as she could, anxious to reach the wharves and her lover’s secret hiding places among the abandoned warehouses.

As she crossed the narrowing road, avoiding the path of a pack of lean scavenger rats that poked their heads up among the refuse, she stopped short with a gasp. Lying in the middle of the road was a man—a sad, pathetic figure, writhing and moaning upon the ground. At first she wondered if this was a ruse and the man was actually a cutthroat of some sort, playing this role while waiting for his mark.

Backstepping slowly, her hand reached to the pocket of her cloak and she clutched tightly at the scimitar. The razorsharp blade felt as cold as ice. She was ready to use it if the need arose, and not in the least bit reluctant.

The writhing man caught sight of her and stuck out his arm, fingers groping in the air as if to grab her. Mariana sidestepped him and drew the blade, ready to plunge. Then, as her arm rose and the blade glittered in the starlight, she froze. A pair of small tortured eyes peered sharply at her; tormented, sad eyes, bloodied and bruised.

“Az’i!”
she cursed, the whispered word rolling off her tongue.

The man on the ground cleared his throat and tried to speak. A rasping, labored and pained. “Mariana …”

“Vlashi! Sweet paradise! Is that you? What’s happened? Who did this?”

The pickpocket tried to lift himself and Mariana kneeled down beside him, using her handkerchief to wipe away some of the drying smears of blood.

Vlashi struggled to his knees, holding onto the girl’s arm for balance. “Ramagar,” he rasped, “where’s… Ramagar?”

Mariana’s eyes began to flood and she felt the terror rising inside her again as it had all day.

“I—don’t know,” she replied. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Must find him,” Vlashi grunted. “Must find him and warn him. Danger, terrible danger…”

Feeling pity for the injured man, she tried to soothe and assure him. “Shh, Vlashi. Leave it to me. You must rest, find some shelter, and tend your injuries.”

His hand grasped her shoulder and she winced, feeling his fingernails dig through the cloth into her flesh. “You don’t understand, Mariana. There is … no time. Ramagar must be found and warned—before it’s too late.”

The girl drew back, her eyes now narrowing and searching his. Vlashi, unable to meet her gaze, hung his head on his chest and put his hands to his eyes. And to the dancing girl’s surprise, he began to sob.

Mariana took hold of his shoulders and forced him to look at her. “Tell me what’s happened, Vlashi,” she said calmly. “I can’t help any of us if I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

Tears rolled down the pickpocket’s cheeks, mixing with the grime and dirt. His normally tanned face was white and his eyes hollow and vacant. He took a deep breath and drew his courage. “Forgive me, Mariana,” he implored. “I didn’t mean to do it. But I had no choice, no choice at all. I would have been killed if I didn’t tell everything…”

Mariana shuddered, fearful of what he was going to say. “Who, Vlashi? Who forced you? The soldiers?”

Vlashi clutched at his aching ribs and moaned while the girl waited in exasperation. Then he shook his head, forcing the words to come, aware that now he must admit the truth—no matter what the cost. And he told her how the beggar found him and beat him, forcing him to tell that Ramagar was now the owner of the precious scimitar. Mariana listened in shock.

It was hard for her to accept what she had heard, hard for her to accept the pickpocket’s treachery. The laws that governed the Jandari were simple; when a man betrayed a friend, when a thief betrayed another thief, he himself would be forever marked, disgraced, and scorned, with no hope of ever redeeming himself in the eyes of his peers. Vlashi knew this as well as the dancing girl. He knew Ramagar had the right to kill him for his deed, and half expected the girl to commit the act in his place.

Mariana stood over him, trembling. She wanted to hate the little weasel of a man for what he had done, but all she could feel was pity.

Vlashi reached out and tugged at her sleeve, his eyes red and watery. “This beggar will stop at nothing to regain his prize,” he sniveled. “He will kill Ramagar to get it back. Kill him without a second thought. Find him first, Mariana, I beg you. And tell… tell Ramagar that I’m sorry…”

Her eyes flashed with burning rage. Right there and then she would have struck him, plunged the bejeweled blade into his heart. But her own heart was too gentle, and she saw in Vlashi now only the pathetic man that he was. His blood on her hands would prove nothing, settle nothing. Leaving him to live with his conscience was a far greater punishment.

Her mind was swimming deliriously. Matters had become even worse than she had realized. For now there was a double threat against the thief; not only were the inquisitors searching for him for a crime he did not commit, but this strange and mysterious beggar as well. A man cunning enough to walk brazenly among the shadows and not be seen, crazed in his desire to reclaim his blade, and willing to pay any price to ensure he got it back. And Ramagar was aware of none of it.

Leaving the pickpocket to bemoan his fate, she spun and raced for the closest byway. The night wind rushed by her, cold against her sweat-drenched clothes. Mariana ran as fast as she could, panting, taking breath only in short, quick spurts, and far too fearful to pause for even a second lest in that brief moment her lover might be found.

The lanterns of the wharves shone dim and yellow in the evening pall. The moon, crescent and low, had turned hazy behind a thin film of fog that rolled slowly across the water. She could dimly hear laughter from the distant Street of Thieves, where the night crowd of visitors and merrymakers would be at its height.

A ship’s horn sounded lonely and forlorn in the night. The sound echoed in her ears, mingled with the subdued shouts of the captain cajoling his crew as they slipped closer into berth. From across the estuary a thousand lights glittered from the palace. It rose high at the top of the largest hill, overlooking the sprawl of Kalimar, and she could make out the tiny forms of sentries patrolling the long walls. Curved swords dangled from their sides and the colorful plumes in their helmets rustled in the breeze.

She skirted the rows of warehouses still in use, avoiding the watchful eyes of guards marching back and forth along the piers and docks. Across the footbridge she dashed, coming at last to the old port. Filled with decayed and weatherbeaten wooden structures, it had been unused since the time of the last fires which had almost destroyed half of the city.

Pulling her cloak more tightly about her, she wandered down the broadest of the deserted streets and kept a careful lookout for signs of being followed. Often Ramagar had spoken of his hiding places in these warehouses. Places shown to him by his tutor and friend, the Jackal. A wanted man’s dream; a virtual labyrinth of dark cellars and lofts so multiple and so complex that a man using all his wiles might be able to hide for a lifetime without ever being found out. And it was here, Mariana knew, that Ramagar would have come if he had fled the Jandari. At least that was her prayer, for after here there would be no other place for her to turn.

Crisscrossing back and forth to avoid unwanted eyes, she at last reached the long stone wall that surrounded the massive array of storehouses known as the old compound. The familiar black doorway loomed ahead and she nervously bit her lip as she entered.

The passageway was totally black; not the slimmest beam of starlight passed between the cracks in the rotting beams. Her shoes disturbed a thin layer of dust as she walked cautiously in the center, careful to keep away from the walls, where water rats and mice nestled in clusters among the holes in the corners. Somewhere beyond this passage Ramagar might be found. Somewhere high in the highest loft, above the alley and courtyard.