The Thin Executioner

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jedir was a small town less than a day’s walk from the mouth of the siq. Tel Hesani led Jebel there once they’d parted company with the soldiers. Jebel was shivering and sweating even worse than before, but Tel Hesani wasn’t overly worried. He was more concerned with the conditions in Jedir. The Um Saga were generally hostile to foreigners and quick to enslave stragglers, so he knew they would need a good story to stave off the interest of those who would otherwise view the pair as easy pickings.

They made slow progress and arrived at Jedir a couple of hours after sunset. It was a square, walled town. Entrances were set in each corner, where suspicious guards judged visitors from a platform overlooking the gates. If they disapproved of those who presented themselves, there was a pot of scalding oil close by to tip over the unfortunates beneath.

The guard who addressed Jebel and Tel Hesani was covered from head to foot in thick furs, and only a small area of his face was visible. He called out to them in his native tongue, a challenge to state their business.

“We do not speak your language,” Tel Hesani replied.

The guard rolled his eyes, then stepped back as one of the men with him moved forward. “Who you?” the second guard bellowed. “Where from?”

“We’re Um Aineh traders,” Tel Hesani said, knowing they’d stand no chance if he admitted to his true nationality — the Um Saga thought even less of slaves than Jebel’s people did. “We’ve come from Abu Siq. We want to spend a few days here, make contacts, and establish business links.”

“Came through the siq?” the guard roared. “I not believe!”

Tel Hesani shrugged. “Believe what you want. But if you turn us away, you’ll have to explain your decision to your superiors when the rest of our party turns up and inquires as to our whereabouts.”

“Not travel alone?” asked the guard.

“Of course not,” Tel Hesani snorted. “We’re part of a large trading party. The rest are coming by river. We only came by land because we wanted to check out the path between the mountains.”

The guard had his doubts — this pair didn’t look like traders — but if they truly had come through Abu Siq, they weren’t to be lightly dismissed. He barked an order for the gate to be raised. Tel Hesani didn’t thank him, only nudged Jebel forward before the guard changed his mind.

Jedir was a cramped, messy town. The houses pressed tightly together, cutting out all but a sliver of light from the moon. The people were surly, hard-faced, wary of strangers. They didn’t see many unfamiliar faces here. The town was off the main trading routes. There had once been a tin mine nearby, but that had run dry years ago. The town was maintained purely because it was useful to have a post this close to the siq so that the Um Siq could be spied upon.

There wasn’t a great choice of inns. The first two they passed were foul. The third had no vacancies. The fourth, according to an old crone squatting outside, was the best in Jedir, the place favored by wealthier traders. Tel Hesani tipped her a small silver swagah, then entered with Jebel. They made their way to the bar, and the Um Kheshabah asked about a room. The barman didn’t speak their language but gathered their intent. With hand gestures he set a price — six silver swagah for the night. Tel Hesani haggled him down to four, then led Jebel upstairs.

The room was on the top floor of the inn. It was basic — rugs laid on straw for a bed, one rickety chair by a tiny window — but cleaner than Tel Hesani had dared hope. He told Jebel to lie on the bed and remove his clothes, then examined the boy’s chest. Jebel was coughing miserably, but there were no signs of a dangerous infection.

“You’ll be fine,” Tel Hesani said. “You’re just not used to the cold and damp. With rest and warmth, you will make a full recovery.”

“I feel terrible,” Jebel moaned. “Why aren’t you sick too?”

“I have traveled widely. I am accustomed to changes in the weather.”

“It’s not fair,” Jebel sniffed. “You’re the slave. You should be suffering, not me.”

Tel Hesani laughed, told Jebel to put his clothes back on, and went down to find out if he could buy some milk and honey.

Jebel spent the next forty-eight hours in bed, shivering and coughing, but he was gradually improving, and Tel Hesani thought they would be able to resume their march north by the end of the week.

When he wasn’t nursing Jebel, Tel Hesani spent his time exploring the meager markets of Jedir, asking questions related to trade. He’d spotted one of the guards from the gate talking with the barman not long after they arrived. He felt he should back up his story by acting as if he was a trader. So he did the rounds, paying a translator to ask questions about supply, price, and delivery times. He pretended to be a representative of an influential group. He didn’t talk much about his business but allowed a few “hints” to slip, letting people believe he’d struck a deal to trade with the Um Siq.

On the third day Jebel felt a lot better. After a short examination, Tel Hesani agreed to let him come down for lunch. The pair were at the top of the stairs, Tel Hesani ahead of Jebel, when the door to the room beside theirs swung open, and a man boomed happily, “The bet is mine, Master Blair!”

“Indeed, Master Bush,” came the reply. “You’re a keen judge of circumstance.”

Jebel whirled around with excitement. “Master Bush! Master Blair!”

The two traders from Shihat were standing in the doorway, beaming. They were dressed in the same clothes they had been wearing in Abu Aineh, although Master Bush now wore thick, knee-length socks beneath his tunic, and both had heavy grey capes draped around their shoulders.

“Greetings, Jebel Rum,” Master Bush smiled, stroking his goatee, which was thicker than before.

“And greetings to you also, Tel Hesani,” said Master Blair, clapping Jebel on the back, then striding forward to clasp the slave’s hand.

“How long have you been here?” Jebel exclaimed. “We’re staying in the room next door!”

“We know,” Master Bush said. “We could tell by the snores.” He chuckled. “Actually, we arrived only a few hours ago. As we were checking in, we heard talk of a pair of traders who had come through Abu Siq. I said to Master Blair, ‘I bet those are the friends we left behind in Shihat.’ ”

“To which I replied, ‘Don’t be a fool!’ ” Master Blair grimaced. “I thought you would have been chewed to pieces by alligators long ago.”

“We nearly were,” Jebel said. “There were snakes too, and—”

“Hush, my young friend,” Master Bush interrupted. “I’m sure you have many thrilling stories to tell, but such delights are best shared over a meal. And while the food here is… I hesitate to say disgusting… not of the highest possible standards, it should nevertheless provide a fitting backdrop to your stirring tales.”

Laughing warmly, the slim trader led the way down to the dining area and insisted that he and Master Blair treat the weary travelers to lunch.

Masters Bush and Blair had enjoyed a pleasant journey since they had parted company with Jebel and Tel Hesani. The traders had sailed up the westernmost tributary of the as-Surout before crossing to Hassah on foot. They conducted some business there—“We made… it would be inaccurate to say a fortune… but a more than modest profit,” Master Blair purred — then sailed to Abu Saga through the al-Attieg gorge. They’d met with a few miners and discussed their plans for mining in the lands north of the al-Meata mountains and were now on their way to Disi, the capital of Abu Saga.

“Disi’s where the action is,” Master Bush declared. “Most of the miners we spoke with weren’t interested in our proposals, but we’ll find keener ears in Disi.”

They were impressed by Jebel and Tel Hesani’s adventures and pressed them for details. They asked a few questions about the um Khathib, how they lived, and what they traded, but their interest in the swamp folk was nothing compared to their eagerness to learn about the Um Siq. They wanted to know the condition of the path in the siq, the layout of the buildings, their military strength, and so on. Tel Hesani didn’t say much. Jebel spoke more freely, describing Abu Siq as clearly as he could, enjoying the envious looks of the traders and their lavish compliments.

“They must be overflowing with riches,” Master Blair murmured.

“Yes,” said Master Bush. “Are the legends true? Do they really sleep on beds of gold and play marbles with gems?”

Jebel laughed and was about to tell them how ridiculous the legends were, when Tel Hesani laid a hand on his knee and squeezed. Jebel winced and glared at the slave but then recalled his promise to Ramman and flushed.

“The legends are exaggerated,” he muttered, “but only slightly.”

“Do they leave diamonds lying around?” Master Blair asked. “Are the streets overrunning with swagah? Could you stroll along, fill your pockets, and walk out a rich man?”

“No,” Tel Hesani said. “They guard their riches hawkishly. Only a very brave and stupid man would try to steal from the Um Siq.”

Master Blair’s face dropped, but Master Bush smirked. “I never did believe the legends. Tell me more of the Khazneh. It sounds like a marvelous spectacle.”

As Jebel started to describe the Khazneh again, three Um Saga entered the inn. They were all heavily bearded and dressed in dark blue clothes. One was carrying a rusty ring on his belt from which dozens of tiny keys hung. When Master Blair saw this, he cocked his head and eyed the man speculatively. Rising, he made an excuse and strolled to the bar, where he introduced himself to the trio and had a hushed conversation. After a while he returned to the table and smiled as he sat. “I thought I knew one of them, but I was mistaken.”

Jebel had been talking of their fight with the mamlah. As he recounted it again for Master Blair, the trader laid his right hand on the table and began lightly drumming with his fingertips. Neither Jebel nor Tel Hesani noticed, but Master Bush’s eyes narrowed, and he pursed his lips. He rubbed his left ear, stole a glance at the Um Saga, then gave the ear a meaningful tug.

“You must be thirsty after all that talking,” Master Bush said, getting up. “Let me fill your mugs.” He took the boy’s and reached for Tel Hesani’s. “Anything stronger than water for you, my friend?”

“No,” Tel Hesani said. “In fact, I think we should return to our—”

“Don’t rush off!” Master Blair exclaimed, grabbing Tel Hesani’s mug and shoving it at Master Bush. “I know the boy’s been poorly, but talk is good for him. Let’s have one more drink, then we can all retire for the afternoon.”

“How about goat’s milk?” Master Bush asked. “A mug for each of you. Milk’s good for healing, especially if you add a spoonful or two of honey.”

“They have no honey here,” said Tel Hesani.

“But we do,” Master Bush beamed. “Master Blair has a sweet tooth, and we never travel without a few jars. I’ll fetch some.”

Tel Hesani checked with Jebel. “I don’t want to go up just yet,” Jebel said.

“Very well.” Tel Hesani nodded gratefully at Master Bush. “But you paid for the earlier drinks, so please let us pay for these.”

“Nonsense,” Master Bush snorted. Before Tel Hesani could argue, the trader hurried to the bar, where he called for two mugs of their finest milk, then darted upstairs and returned with a large bag. Setting the bag down next to the mugs, he undid it, took the top off a jar hidden inside, and stuck a spoon into it. With his back to Tel Hesani and the others, he transferred a couple of spoonfuls to one of the mugs, then half a spoonful to the other, before screwing the top back on the jar and tying up the bag. As he carried the mugs to the table, the three Um Saga at the bar paid for their drinks and left.

“To your good health,” Master Bush toasted Jebel when he sat down again.

“And yours,” Master Blair said to Tel Hesani after they’d drunk the first toast.

“And ours,” Master Bush laughed, and they drank yet again.

Jebel made a face. “It tastes strange,” he said. Tel Hesani was also grimacing.

“Abu Nekhele honey,” said Master Blair, “from al-Attieg bees. They’re larger than most, and their honey isn’t the sweetest. But it’s better than none at all. You develop a taste for it after a while, especially when it’s all you can find.”

Master Bush moved the conversation on to Jebel and Tel Hesani’s plans. Where would they go next? Did they need any swagah to tide them over? Could he and Master Blair help in any way? Jebel said that they were fine, that they meant to head west, then north along the as-Sudat. Remembering Tel Hesani’s warnings, he didn’t tell them how much swagah he and his slave were carrying but said they had enough to struggle by on.

“We hunt for food most of the time,” he lied. “We’re getting quite good at it.”

Jebel thought Tel Hesani would be proud of the smooth way he’d lied, but the slave was paying little attention. His head was swimming, and his vision had blurred. Then his stomach clenched, and he doubled over. He thought at first that his food had disagreed with him, but as he straightened he caught Master Blair studying him with a cold gaze and realized he’d been tricked. Summoning all of his strength, the Um Kheshabah tried to leap to his feet and cry foul. But dizziness washed over him, and he fell off his chair, moaning.

“Tel Hesani!” Jebel cried. “What’s wrong?” He bent to turn the slave over.

“Easy, young Rum,” Master Bush said, holding him back. “If he’s having a fit, he might bite.” He pretended to examine Tel Hesani while the barman and the other customers looked on with mild interest. Then he cursed. “Master Blair, have you tried any of that honey?”

“Not that particular jar,” Master Blair answered. “Why?”

“You’ve been conned,” Master Bush huffed. “It’s old stock.”

“What’s happening?” shouted Jebel. “Will he be all right? Is there anything—”

“No need to panic,” Master Blair said, reaching down to pick up Tel Hesani. “Foul honey can turn a man’s stomach. But it’s nothing to worry about. We’ll take him outside, pump him dry, and once he’s thrown up, he’ll be fine.”

Master Bush grabbed the Um Kheshabah from the other side. They stood, holding the semiconscious slave between them. “Jebel,” Master Bush grunted. “Could you get the door for us? The effects of the honey will probably strike you as well sometime soon.”

Jebel ran ahead to open the door. He did feel somewhat queasy, but his wits were still his own. He stood aside as the traders tottered out, then closed the door and followed as they dragged Tel Hesani around to the rear of the inn. There was a gutter there. It was overflowing with waste, and flies buzzed around it. Masters Bush and Blair dropped Tel Hesani close to the gutter, then stood back, wiping their clothes, smiling slyly.

“Shouldn’t you hold him up while he’s vomiting?” Jebel asked. “And I thought you said you were going to pump—”

In a flash, Master Bush clubbed the side of Jebel’s head with a cudgel. As Jebel staggered backwards, Master Bush whipped the boy’s hands behind him and bound them with a strip of cloth. Stuffing a leather ball into Jebel’s mouth, he tied another piece of cloth around his chin and neck, rendering him incapable of anything louder than a grunt.

While this was happening, the three Um Saga from the bar stepped into sight. Two of them picked up Tel Hesani. “A moment, good sirs,” Master Blair stopped them. Crouching over the slave, he rifled through his pockets and picked him clean of his bags of swagah. Then he stepped back and grinned. “He is yours now.”

“You not say he have swagah,” one of the Um Saga said, eyeing the bags.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” replied Master Blair. “I don’t know what’s in these. But whatever they hold, it’s ours. You get the slave as we agreed, nothing more.”

“Maybe we take boy too,” the Um Saga growled. “And not pay you anything.”

“That wasn’t our deal,” Master Blair said, and there was an edge to his voice. “You haven’t had to fight to subdue the slave. We’re giving him to you for a pittance. It would be foolish to get into an argument, when you can simply pay us the price we agreed and be on your way without any bother.”

The Um Saga studied the foreigners. They were smaller than him and his partners, but something about them made him think they would not go down easily in a fight. Besides, he and his men had come to Jedir only to kill a few free hours. The slave was an unexpected bonus. There was no point risking their lives when there was no need.

“Here,” he said, tossing a handful of silver swagah down by the gutter. “Keep the boy and bags. May they bring you no luck.”

“The same to you with your slave, good sir,” Master Blair laughed, stooping to retrieve the coins, picking a few out of the waste where they’d fallen, taking no notice of the filth or swarming clouds of flies.

Jebel roared into the folds of his gag when he saw the Um Saga pick up Tel Hesani and head away with him. He kicked at Master Bush and desperately tried to tear his hands loose. But the fake Master had bound him expertly. He knew the boy couldn’t break free, so he stood back while Jebel struggled angrily, then took his cudgel and clipped Jebel’s right knee, so that he collapsed in agony.

“That’s what you’ll get anytime you make a nuisance of yourself,” Bush said.

Blair came over and kicked Jebel hard in the ribs. “And that’s what you’ll get if you look at us the wrong way,” he added.

Then they picked up Jebel, stripped him of his swagah, pointed him towards the inn, and thrust him ahead of them, casually debating what they could buy with the surprising amount of money that they had taken from the pitiful boy and his slipshod slave.