The Thin Executioner

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The staff and customers of the inn barely blinked when the odd traders came back minus the tall man and with the boy bound and gagged. That was life in Abu Saga.

Bush and Blair dumped Jebel in his room and tied his legs together. They didn’t remove his gag. Bush pulled Jebel’s trousers down and stuck a bedpan by his side. The pair then retired to the bar, where Jebel could hear them singing drunkenly a few hours later and far into the long, lonely night.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. His world had always been an orderly place. He’d led a calm, steady life. Now everything had fallen into chaos, and he had lost control of his destiny completely. Not only had he failed to complete his quest but he’d surrendered his freedom into the bargain. Not for the first time since leaving Wadi he cursed his rash decision to quest. What a fool he had been to chase invincibility, when he could have simply carried on as normal and put his disappointment behind him. A life of quiet shame as a trader or teacher would have been vastly preferable to one of slavery or an abrupt, early death.

When he considered his range of options, Jebel paused, confusion temporarily getting the better of his horror. What did the bogus Masters have planned? If they meant to sell him, they’d surely have let him go at the same time as Tel Hesani. Were they going to torture him? Kill and eat him? Worse?

Jebel got no sleep that night, struggling vainly with his bonds. He tried to break a chair and use the splintered wood to cut himself free, but he couldn’t. He kicked at the door, hoping to attract attention, but either nobody heard him over the singing in the bar or the um Jedir simply didn’t care. He even prayed to the gods for help, though he felt ashamed afterwards and regretted bothering them.

Bush and Blair slept in late the following morning. They went down for a bath and breakfast when they awoke, and were bright and cheery when they unlocked Jebel’s door and propped him up.

“We’re leaving,” Bush said, cutting through the cloth around Jebel’s ankles. “You’re coming with us. My advice is to accept your lot and make the best of it.”

“We meant what we said last night,” added Blair, grabbing Jebel’s chin. “If you annoy us, we’ll punish you. Push us too far and we’ll kill you.”

“But if you work hard, we’ll reward you,” Bush said pleasantly. “We’re not ogres, merely businessmen who act in our own best interests.”

“A whipped servant is nonproductive,” Blair said. “We’d rather praise you than lash you.”

“Treat us with respect, and we’ll take care of you,” Bush promised. “You might even grow and prosper from the experience.”

“Look upon yourself not as a slave,” Blair said. “Think of yourself as a… I hesitate to say protégé… an apprentice of sorts. You can learn from us and earn your freedom, or you can resist us and suffer.”

With that, they pushed Jebel out of the room, down the stairs, through the town of Jedir, and out into the bitterly cold wilderness of Abu Saga.

The trio headed slowly north, Jebel trudging miserably in front, Bush and Blair following, chatting about the weather, the landscape, what they’d like for dinner. They didn’t remove Jebel’s gag. He was starving by early evening when they stopped for a rest, but the pair ignored him as they ate from a basket of sandwiches and fruit. They proceeded at the same easy pace when they were finished, arriving at a village shortly before dusk, where they paid for lodgings in a private house. Bush and Blair slept on a narrow bed; Jebel, on the floor without even a rug.

The following morning the traders finished off their food, purchased bread and meat, then resumed their path, taking a slight western turn. They paused by a stream at midday for lunch. Jebel’s stomach was growling, and he watched with an angry, hungry grimace as they tossed away crusts and fatty pieces of meat.

When the traders were done, Bush glanced at Jebel and frowned. He made a hand signal to Blair, who studied the boy and nodded. Bush reached behind Jebel and untied the knots of his gag. He unwound the cloth, then pried the ball out of Jebel’s mouth carefully, in case Jebel tried to bite.

Jebel coughed fitfully and gulped in air. His lips were cracked and bleeding, and his mouth felt as if it was full of blood. Bush handed the boy a flask of water. Jebel took a huge swig, rolled the water around in his mouth, then spat it out. He took another gulp and let some trickle down his throat. It was painful, but after a while he was able to drink normally.

“You can finish off the scraps of food,” Blair said, nudging the crusts and offcuts with a mud-encrusted boot. Any other time, Jebel would have refused such an insulting offer, but he was too hungry to turn up his nose. Staggering across on his knees, he bent over the bits of bread and meat and chewed at them like a pig.

Bush and Blair watched Jebel eat, and both smiled thinly. They hadn’t wanted to feed him until he was desperate, so that he learned to depend on them and accept even the smallest shred of mercy with the gratitude of the truly needy. They knew from past experience that this was only the first lesson of many. They couldn’t expect the boy to master obedience instantly. But it was a promising start.

When Jebel was full, he glared at the traders. He hated himself for acting so cravenly, and silently vowed never to behave this way again, although secretly he knew he’d do the same thing the next time they starved him.

“Why are you doing this?” Jebel groaned. “We were your friends.”

“No, my poor, deluded boy,” chuckled Blair. “You were victims waiting to be taken advantage of.”

“Did you really think it was luck that we turned up in Jedir at the same time as you?” Bush asked. “Jedir’s not on the way to Disi. If that’s where we were headed, we’d have sailed farther up the as-Sudat.”

“We’d been waiting for you,” said Blair. “Watching the mouth of the siq to see if you made it through.”

“But why?” Jebel gaped.

“We hoped you’d bring lots of gems and swagah,” Bush said. “Failing that, we knew we could sell the slave and keep you to serve. It was a no-lose situation.”

“But you’re wealthy traders,” Jebel said. “You deal in fortunes. Why pick on a pair of simple travelers like us?”

Blair raised an eyebrow. “Who told you we were wealthy?”

“You did.”

“And you believed us?” Bush chortled. “More fool you! No, young Rum, we’re a pair of lying rogues. We’ve spent our lives searching for fortunes and have come close a few times but never quite made it. We’d have retired long ago if we had. Life on the road is entertaining, but it can be an awful drag too.”

“It was all lies?” Jebel asked, feeling sick.

“Not entirely,” said Blair. “We have traveled a lot, although not as widely as we led you to believe. And we do hope to go beyond the al-Meata one day and mine for riches. But we need funds to get started, and at the moment we’re sorely lacking in that department.”

“We make a nice bit of swagah most months,” Bush added. “But we like to live the high life when we hit a city. We crave luxuries and fritter away our earnings on good food and wine and bad women. We scatter our swagah across a variety of inns and bordellos and leave with fond memories but empty pockets.”

“So what do you want with me?” Jebel asked, steeling himself. “Why hold on to me when you let Tel Hesani go?”

“Ah,” Bush smiled, tapping the side of his nose. “That, my young servant, is something you’ll find out in the not-too-distant future. For the moment it must remain a mystery. Now, if you give us your word not to scream every time we pass somebody, we can leave your gag out. Otherwise…” He produced the leather ball and tossed it up into the air.

“I promise,” said Jebel quickly.

“A wise choice,” Bush said, pocketing the ball. “They’d take no notice of you anyway. Nobody leaps to a slave’s rescue in this wretched country.”

“What about my hands?” Jebel asked. “Will you free those too?”

Bush pursed his lips and checked with his partner.

“Not yet,” Blair said. “Let’s give it a few weeks and see how you get on.”

Weeks…

To Jebel, the word sounded like a life sentence.

The first snowfall of the year came a couple of days later. Jebel had never seen real snow, and he was amazed by the thickness and beauty of it when he woke to find the world transformed into white. For a few moments he forgot his sorrows and stared in awe at the land around him. It looked as if it had been painted by the gods. Patches of trees and bushes were still visible, but much of the landscape had disappeared during the night.

“The fabled Abu Saga snow,” Bush said from within the comfort of a thickly lined fur rug. “Don’t you hate it, Master Blair?”

“With a passion,” said Blair, shivering even though he was similarly protected from the morning chill. “I still think we should have wintered in Abu Aineh.”

“But think of the riches we’d miss out on,” Bush tutted. “We must put business first. There will be long spring and summer nights at the end of this snowy tunnel, when we can enjoy the fruits of our earnings in style.”

“I know,” Blair sighed. “Still…” He sneezed. “I hate it, Master Bush, and no amount of rationalizing can alter that fact.”

“Then let’s not rationalize,” said Bush, unwrapping himself and emerging like a furry butterfly. “Let’s get to work and teach young Rum some useful lessons.”

It would be another few days before Jebel discovered what work entailed. They proceeded slowly, the traders in no rush.

Apart from an extra pair of socks and a cap, Bush and Blair gave Jebel no new clothing. They freed his arms sooner than they’d threatened, and he had to clap his hands together constantly while walking, and rub them up and down his sides to stop himself freezing. His teeth chattered, and he shivered so badly that he found it hard to hold a flask steady when he was drinking. At night when they lit a fire, he’d huddle as close to it as he could and fall asleep sitting up, extracting every last flicker of heat from the dying embers.

Finally, after a week of aimless wandering, they came to a town. Like Jedir, it was fortified. When Bush and Blair saw it, they consulted one of their many maps and discussed their plan in whispers, then skirted the town and made camp at the base of a hill. Not lighting a fire, they sat wrapped in furs, waiting for dark, while Jebel jumped up and down and slapped his sides, trying to keep warm.

They broke camp when night fell. The moon was almost full, so it was easy to find their way. Jebel expected the pair to head for town, but instead they circled around to the north to a graveyard surrounded by a fence topped with thorns, nails, and wicked-looking spikes.

Bush and Blair stopped by the rear gate once they had completed a circuit of the graveyard. The larger Abu Saga graveyards were guarded, but this one wasn’t — the people of the town must have had insufficient funds to stretch to a full-time guard of their dead and instead relied on the fence to keep out intruders. Jebel heard Blair mutter, “Do you think it’s worth our while?”

Bush replied, “We might as well try it while we’re here. Besides, it will be an easy start for the boy.”

The gate was locked with four lengths of chain, but Bush produced a bunch of long needles and went to work on the locks, snapping them open one after the other. When the last had been dealt with, he pushed the gate open and entered. Blair shoved Jebel in, hurried after him, then swung the gate closed behind them.

The graveyard was a dark, eerie place. Trees blocked out most of the moonlight, and the snow didn’t lie as thick here as it did outside. There were no headstones, only mausoleums.

Bush and Blair strolled through the graveyard. Bush was whistling softly and Blair was humming. Jebel recognized the tune, an old ballad, “The Merry Dance of the Dead.” He didn’t like it here and hoped they wouldn’t stay long. But why enter in the first place? Were they meeting someone? Did they plan to perform some dark rite involving the spirits of the departed?

They stopped by one of the largest mausoleums. There were no names on it, but the faces of the dead had been carved on a plaque on the eastern side of the tomb. There were five of them, all men. No women were buried here. Women were second-class citizens in Abu Saga and were hardly ever afforded the luxury of a burial when they died.

“A glum bunch,” Blair noted, studying the five carved, stern faces.

“But wealthy,” Bush mused, then tapped the side of the mausoleum with his foot. “Up you go.”

Jebel stared at the trader. “Up where?” Bush pointed to the roof. “What for?”

Blair kicked him. “You’re not here to ask questions. Get up there quick, or we’ll leave you behind when we go — with the rest of the dead!”

Jebel judged the height of the roof, then jumped and grabbed for the edge. It was covered in snow, and his fingers slipped. He tried again, but the same thing happened. “I’ll need a leg up,” he said.

Bush locked his hands together and bent. Jebel put his right foot on the hands, bounced a couple of times, then jumped. Bush pushed and Jebel landed on his stomach. He started to slide off, but Blair grabbed his legs and thrust him forward. When Jebel was secure, he stood shakily and looked around. The graveyard was even creepier from up there.

“What now?” he asked, eager to finish whatever business they were here for.

“There should be a small window in the middle of the roof,” Bush said.

“I can see only snow,” Jebel said.

“Then edge forward on your hands and knees until you find it,” snapped Blair.

Jebel advanced slowly, scraping snow out of his way, tapping the roof. He soon found the window and cleared the snow from it. It was circular. The glass was stained with various colors, but he could see through it into the tomb. There were five large coffins within, made of stone and metal.

Jebel retreated to the edge of the roof and told Bush and Blair what he’d found. “Very good,” said Blair. “You’re not a complete idiot. Now for the next step…”

“Perhaps a little information about Um Saga burial practices would be useful at this point, Master Blair?” Bush suggested.

“Why not?” Blair grinned. “Many people think that the Um Saga are godless, as most of them don’t openly worship any higher force. That isn’t actually the case. They do have gods, and they believe in an afterlife, but they think that you have to buy a place by the side of your favored deity. The rich get to enjoy the trappings of the next world, while the poor fade away to nothing when they die.

“To ensure his place in the afterlife, an Um Saga must be buried in style, with rings, gems, gold-headed canes, bracelets, that sort of thing. The riches act as a heavenly bribe. That’s why there are only mausoleums here — the poor are simply dumped in an unmarked hole and left to rot. There’s no middle ground in Abu Saga.”

“It seems harsh to civilized folk like us,” Bush murmured, “but I suppose it acts as a powerful incentive to make the most of your opportunities in this life.”

“Violations of crypts are rare,” Blair went on. “The Um Saga are savages, but they have great respect for their wealthy dead — they look upon them the same way that your people look upon their famous warriors and executioners. To help protect the dead from foreign thieves, they never talk of the buried treasures with anyone who isn’t Um Saga. The gods are supposed to strike down dead those who make mention of their customs to an outsider.”

“But even the wrath of the gods can’t deter some loose tongues,” Bush chuckled. “We learned of these treasure troves fifteen years ago, from a not-so-dearly departed colleague. We’ve made a pilgrimage here most years since, always in winter, when people are less inclined to visit the dead — meaning they usually only discover evidence of our raid long after we’re gone.”

“Even if they discover it sooner,” Blair said, “they’re less likely to give chase when winds are blowing and snow is falling.”

The pair smiled at Jebel. He’d turned as cold inside as he was without. “No,” he croaked. “I won’t do it. I can’t.”

“Of course you can,” said Bush. “The windows are normally too small for Master Blair and me. We have to chip out part of the roof around them. You, however, should be able to fit through easily, being so thin.”

“No,” Jebel said again. “I won’t disturb the sleep of the dead. The gods would condemn me.”

“What do the gods care about Um Saga?” Blair snorted. “Come on, boy, it’s not like we’re asking you to desecrate the tombs of your own people.”

“Please,” begged Jebel. “I’ll do anything else. Or you can sell me. But don’t—”

“You wouldn’t bring ten silver swagah,” Bush hissed. “And we’ve no other use for a sniveling Um Aineh brat. So it’s this or we slice you up into pieces and leave your scraps for the vultures.”

“You wouldn’t be the first child we’ve killed,” said Blair coldly.

“But I won’t be able to get out,” Jebel cried. “I’ll be trapped.”

“Not with this,” Blair said, throwing something up onto the roof. It was a rope ladder attached to a steel bar with flat ends. “Feed that through the window. The bar remains on top. If by some chance you pull it down after yourself, don’t worry. Master Bush or I will climb up and help you out.”

Jebel could see that the pair were not to be swayed. Moaning softly, he crawled to the window, gazed into the gloom of the mausoleum, then started smashing the glass.

“Stop that!” Bush cried. “You might attract the townsfolk!”

Jebel paused and thought it over. This could be his chance to escape….

Blair seemed to read the boy’s mind, because even as Jebel was preparing to hammer at the window and scream, he said, “You’d be tied to a tree and left to die if the Um Saga caught you raiding one of their tombs.”

“They wouldn’t listen to your pleas of innocence,” Bush warned.

“And it wouldn’t be a quick, easy death by freezing,” added Blair. “They’d light a fire beside you and leave you for the insects that infest many of the trees in this region.”

“They chew through wood easily enough,” Bush said. “So as you can imagine, flesh doesn’t present much of a barrier to them.”

Jebel took a deep breath, settled his nerves, then said, “How am I supposed to break through the glass if I don’t smash it?”

“One end of the bar has been sharpened,” Blair said. “Slice through the glass around the rim and make a small hole, then start cutting around the edges. When you’re nearly through, grip the glass through the hole, so it doesn’t fall.”

“I don’t have any gloves,” said Jebel. “The glass will cut me.”

“You’re a big boy,” Bush laughed. “You’ll heal.”

“But blood will make the glass slippery. I might drop it.”

There was silence, then a single leather glove came flying up. Jebel pulled it on quickly. The tiny measure of relief that it brought from the cold was delicious. He clutched the hand to his chest, eyes closed, relishing this smallest of comforts. Then, exhaling shakily, he chipped away at a section of the glass and scraped the end of the bar along the rim, inserting his gloved hand in plenty of time to make sure the glass didn’t fall.

Once he’d removed the glass, Jebel lowered himself through the open window. When he was at chest level, he brought the bar in close, making sure both ends were planted firmly, then dropped, holding on to the bar. He came to his full reach, hung there a moment, then let go. He fell a few feet and landed neatly.

Jebel stood and let his eyes adjust. When he was able to see, he stared at the five coffins, waiting for the lids to lift and the dead to attack him, as they did in stories he had heard about graverobbers. When that didn’t happen, he crept to the nearest coffin and examined it. The lid wasn’t bolted down, and although it looked heavy, there was a layer of smooth metal between case and lid which made it easy to slide it forward and back.

Jebel took several deep breaths before he worked up the courage to touch the coffin. It was as cold as he’d expected. There were engravings on the lid, as well as an etching of the dead man’s face. Jebel ignored these and pushed the lid. It slid sideways smoothly. He let it get halfway across, then stopped and forced himself to look down at the face of the corpse.

“Gods protect me!” he shouted, falling away with shock. The man’s face was as freshly preserved as Jebel’s, and his eyes were open. He looked like he’d just awakened and was planning to eat Jebel alive for disturbing him.

Jebel ran for the ladder, missed it, crashed into another coffin, and rebounded. He lay on the floor, panting, heart beating faster than a bird’s. His eyes shot to the open coffin, and he thought he saw a hand reaching up out of the darkness. He began to scream… then stopped when he realized that he was imagining the hand.

Jebel lay on the floor, gasping. Eventually he got to his feet and stumbled back to the open coffin. The corpse was still there, its face as fresh as before, its eyes open. But this time Jebel saw that there was no life in its eyes nor breath on its lips. The cold of the mausoleum must have kept the body fresh, or else the Um Saga used embalming fluid. Either way, this person could do him no harm, and although Jebel still felt queasy, he was no longer terrified.

Jebel ran his gaze over the corpse’s face, neck, and left arm. The man had been buried with a diamond-studded earring and two gold rings, one on his index finger, one on the middle finger. Jebel reached for the earring. Paused. Raised a hand and laid the back of his palm on the dead man’s cold forehead.

“I beg your forgiveness,” Jebel whispered. “I’m a slave to evil men and must do as they command or else join you in the land of the dead.”

Then he took off the earring and pried the rings from the corpse’s hand. That wasn’t so easy — they were jammed on tight and had half-fused with the flesh. Jebel had to use a piece of glass to cut the rings free, and when he slid them off, they had bits of the corpse’s flesh attached. Jebel didn’t clean off the flesh. He would leave that messy task to Bush and Blair.

Jebel went to the other side of the coffin and slid the lid back in the opposite direction so he could get to the dead man’s right side. There was one ring on this hand, and again Jebel had to cut it free. He put it with the others on a piece of cloth, then shut the lid and rested a moment.

Laying his head on the coffin, Jebel breathed raggedly in and out, eyes shut, trembling uncontrollably as he thought about what he’d done. How could he ever eat again, knowing his fingers had touched the cold, grey flesh of the dead? Tears dripped down his cheeks for the first time since his father had threatened to disown him all those years ago if he ever wept again, but Jebel didn’t care. This was a place and a time for tears.

Although Jebel didn’t want to continue, he knew he couldn’t pause here forever, mourning the loss of his humanity. He had a job to do, and grisly as it was, the sooner he completed it, the sooner he could get out. So, pushing himself away, he wiped tears from his cheeks and, with all the sluggishness of a bewitched corpse, moved on to the second coffin.

There was a moment, somewhere in the middle of that dead and chilling night, when Jebel thought of using a shard of glass to slice his throat open. But suicide was not the way of the Um Aineh. It was only acceptable as a last resort, to avoid great disgrace. But Jebel didn’t think the gods would look kindly on him if he took his own life. He wasn’t beyond hope. There would be chances in the future to fight for his freedom. Killing himself now would be an act of cowardice.

So he worked on, from one coffin to the next, until all five had been plundered. Replacing the last lid, he staggered to the rope ladder, hauled himself up, pulled the ladder after him, then rolled to the edge of the roof and dropped off. He thrust the bulging cloth at Bush and Blair, then strode away to draw clean breaths of fresh air.

Bush and Blair were impressed by Jebel’s haul. “You did a fine job,” Bush said.

“Most commendable,” cooed Blair. “Except next time work a little faster — you were in there much longer than necessary.”

Jebel almost retorted, but the traders were in a good mood and there was no sense angering them. Instead he sighed and said, “Do you want me to do another mausoleum?”

Bush looked at the moon, then shook his head. “It pays not to be greedy. Let’s settle for what we have and slip away safely.”

“I agree,” said Blair, pocketing the rings and jewels. “The secret to success is to stop when you’re ahead.” He clapped Jebel on the back. “You did well tonight, young Rum. We’ll reward you with a hot meal when we stop for dinner tomorrow.”

“And we’ll give you another glove,” Bush said. “And a cloak.”

Jebel wanted to refuse the gifts, to tell the pair to give them to the dead instead. But that would have been pointless. So he forced a smile, bowed, and managed a faint but almost genuine-sounding “thank you.”

“See?” Bush beamed. “Life with us isn’t so bad, is it?” Then he led the way out of the graveyard and locked the gate behind them. They marched at a fast pace and kept going through the remainder of the night, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the town by morning.