The Waters Of Eternity Part 13

Sarsour was mighty and skilled and we spun across the courtyard, trading blows. Our shadows, stretched by the sinking sun, loomed across the stone.

The captain's lips were bared in a grimace. He beat me back, then readied another swing as his mouth twisted wide. He blinked, and the blade lowered. He looked down at his side. I might have killed him then, but something stayed my hand. I sensed a ruse.

It was no act. Sarsour collapsed to the stones. His sword rang dully as it landed near his thigh. I wondered if I had struck him and not noticed. He pushed himself up on one hand, groaned.

"Get up!" I called.

Sarsour's eyes rolled like a drunkard's. His lips drew back from his teeth. His brow furrowed. And then he screamed in agony.

"Did you strike him?" Fadil called.

I stepped back, shaking my head.

Sarsour shrieked to the clouds, again and again, his calls rising in pitch. His form twisted and writhed and slid in on itself in a blur...and suddenly there was another bloodred bug crawling on the stone.

Behind me came the unmistakable sound of a man retching-one of the soldiers. I was too shocked by the transformation to look back and see which.

Lina screamed. I was still trying to wrest meaning with my eyes, but she had already done so and reached a terrifying conclusion.

"Dabir!" she cried. "It was the water! It's going to happen to me!"

At last I turned from the insect that had been Sarsour struggling to free itself fully from the empty clothes. The girl wept. Tears seeped from his own eyes as well.

"It's going to happen to me...."

"Shhh." Dabir stroked her hair. "I won't let it happen to you. I promise."

Had he some antidote? My heart sang. Of course. He must have antic.i.p.ated this all along. Was he not the wisest of men?

Dabir smiled kindly. "Go now, with G.o.d."

She must have felt the knife thrust, but I do not think she saw Dabir readying the blade, and I do not think the pain could have lasted long. He was no warrior, but certainly he knew his anatomy well enough to tuck the point up under her ribs.

She gasped, then her head fell upon his shoulder.

He threw the blade far out across the stones, his teeth clenched. It struck the wall and clattered against the flagstones. Then he pressed the girl's body fiercely to him, tears streaming down his face, his mouth working but stricken into silence.

I searched Fadil and Tarik for challenge, but there was none there, only the sorrow mirroring that etched upon my own face.

One thing remained to be done. I strode after the scurrying bug that had been Sarsour and lifted my heel above it.

"Let him be!" Dabir shouted, his voice choking.

Bewildered, I lowered my foot to the ground.

"Leave him to his immortality," Dabir declared, then turned to bear the dead girl from the waters that still bubbled behind us.

What more is to be said? We used our own strength to topple the column and worked into the night to stop the pool and fill it with stones. Lina we bore to the lovely valley with its swaying flowers and interred her deep in soft earth, her slim body wrapped within a shroud. Surely she walks now in paradise.

Marked Man.

I.

It was late in the day when Ba.s.sam ibn Habbab called at our residence, and he was dressed in the finest silk. All of his garb flaunted his wealth, from the turban glittering with threads of gold to the sandals decorated with shards of gemstones. His black beard was oiled so profusely that the hairs looked wet.

Yet gone from him was his typical insouciance. He did not jest that I was a nursemaid as he had once at the governor's banquet, or make sly reference to Dabir's love of books rather than women. Politely he refused refreshment, then sat there across from us, and by Allah it was almost a pleasure to see someone with such a high opinion of himself looking so distressed. Ba.s.sam, you see, was one of the wealthiest young men in Mosul, and famous for his extravagances.

Even after the usual pleasantries were exchanged it took a moment for Ba.s.sam to overcome an uncharacteristic hesitation. "I have monies at my disposal to hire whatever I need." His light baritone, usually ringing with confidence, sounded uncertain. "But my own watchmen have failed me, and I think I need something more than..." He looked over to me and I bristled. "A bodyguard." He hesitated for a moment more, managing finally, "I think what I need is advice. I have always enjoyed Asim's tales of your adventures."

This was news to me, for I had endured frequent jibes from Ba.s.sam while relating them at the governor's banquets.

"And I think," Ba.s.sam continued, "that you might be the man for the job, Dabir. How much do you charge for your services?"

Usually Dabir waved any sort of fee away, for we were well cared for by a generous salary awarded us by the caliph. This time, though, he thoughtfully rubbed his beard. "For me, nothing. But the Tower of Iskander is in need of a new roof over its library annex."

There were several colleges within Mosul, but Iskander's school was Dabir's pet project, owing to its supply of texts, which Dabir had seen to augmenting.

"Say no more," Ba.s.sam told him proudly. "I shall see that the matter is done, and properly."

"That is very generous," Dabir replied. "Now please. What has brought you to us?"

"Someone is trying to kill me." Ba.s.sam paused to gather his thoughts, then added, "There have been four attempts. Well, at least four. Now that I think of it..."

Ba.s.sam looked as though he meant to keep talking, but paused as Dabir held up his hand.

"Do you suspect who it might be?" my friend asked.

Ba.s.sam grinned. "Who does not like me?"

"Your tongue is sharp," I said, more gruffly than I intended. "Maybe it has wounded the wrong man."

"Harmless jests," he protested with a shrug and a short laugh. "The folk of Mosul are not so thin-skinned."

I but grunted.

Dabir shot me a look, by which I understood that I was to remain quiet. "Tell me of these attempts."

Ba.s.sam shifted on his cushion. "Well, I didn't think much of it at the time, but last week I was accosted late at night while coming from the Tavern of the Gray Stallion. Suddenly three bandits stepped out from an alley and ordered my guards to step aside. They did not, brave fellows, and soon sent the murderers packing after a little swordplay. I thought they were simply after my money, until, well, I realized that they hadn't asked for any money. They had meant to kill me. And they knew who I was!"

It occurred to me that the fellows might instead have been kidnappers, but I kept silent. Though Mosul is a lawful city, there are scoundrels to be found nearly everywhere.

Ba.s.sam continued. "The next night, there were two poisonous snakes in my room! I thought it was strange, but, well. Anyway. The next day I received a note, telling me to avoid my usual thoroughfares that evening. I wasn't sure if it was a threat or a joke, and deliberately took my regular route, along with a couple of extra guards. It was only when a horse-drawn cart came charging at me down Baker's Lane that I realized the note had been a warning. If one of my guards had not helped me over a garden wall I would have been run over."

"Do you have the note?" Dabir asked.

Ba.s.sam shook his head. "I crumpled it and the thing was gathered up by one of the servants."

Why, I wondered, do they never keep the notes?

"But I kept the second note," Ba.s.sam added. "I think it was in the same hand. A woman's hand, I believe." He flashed a smile. "Some maid in league with the murderer watches out for me." Ba.s.sam fished about in his sleeve until he withdrew a folded parchment and pa.s.sed it to Dabir, who studied it intently, both the writing and the paper itself.

"I did not ignore that warning, about poison," Ba.s.sam continued as Dabir read. "I took it to heart, and when the wine bottle arrived I poured the thing out. I thought to check it, somehow, to see if it were truly poisoned but, well, I couldn't bring myself to try it on some poor animal, so..."

"Did you keep the container in which it was sent?" Dabir asked.

"I think so," Ba.s.sam said. "At least, I did not throw it out. That was just this afternoon."

"I wish to see it. And I would like to keep this note, if you do not object."

Ba.s.sam waved magnanimously, as if the parchment were a valuable prize. "Certainly. If you really want to go look at the bottle, I guess you can come look."

He started to rise, but Dabir stayed him by holding up an open palm. "A moment. Do you have any enemies? Business rivals?"

"Every man worth his salt has business rivals." He grinned.

"Are there any who come particularly to mind?"

"Nay; I let my managers worry about all of that, anyway. They did a fine job for my father, may peace be upon him, and I've just kept them on."

"Is there anyone you've dismissed from your service recently?"

"Not I."

"Forgive me then for asking if you owe any debts."

At this Ba.s.sam only laughed.

"Or if you have broken a heart."

Here Ba.s.sam smiled proudly and rakishly. "My reputation precedes me. But I can't imagine any of them being moved to murder."

"That's strange," I said, for I could envision it easily.

Ba.s.sam shot me a look, then grinned. "Oh, come now, do you harbor a grudge just because I teased you once?"

"I hold no grudge," I told him, though I well recalled the flush I felt as folk down the banquet table laughed at me in the midst of my tale, thanks to his quips. "But others are less patient."

"Are there any recent loves who might be angry?" Dabir asked.

Ba.s.sam waved his hand dismissively. "That dancing girl. Samar. I'm sure you've heard of her. My barber told me she was especially irritated when I stopped calling on her."

Dabir and I had once a.s.sisted the wily Samar, and we two exchanged a knowing look.

"Did she threaten you?"

Ba.s.sam laughed. "Samar is woman of strong spirit, and has broken many hearts of her own."

This at least was true.

"Let us see what is to be seen, then," Dabir said, climbing to his feet.

II.

Anyone knows that Mosul, though far older, is not as vast as Baghdad; while suburbs stretch out beyond the walls, most of the grandest homes are within. This means that even the wealthy folk do not live in the sort of palaces one finds in many quarters of Baghdad, as they must make do with existing buildings, and under the governor in those days there was no bribe that would have allowed the closing down of even the most minor lane to extend a property. So it was that the footprint of Ba.s.sam's family home was not much larger than our own. But it was stuffed to overflowing with fine things, which hung brightly or sparkled upon so many walls and shelves and nooks that the place felt as crammed as a merchant's stall. It was impossible to rest my eyes in any one place because there was so much to see.

Unfortunately, we had to spend considerable time there, for after Dabir's careful examination of the wine jar with the alleged poison and the questioning of the servant who had taken it from a messenger boy, he then spoke with each of the four guards who had been with Ba.s.sam on the occasions of the attack by bandits and the attempted trampling. Every interview was conducted separately, and afterward Dabir sat down again with Ba.s.sam to ask him about certain events or the appearance of the attackers that the other accounts had differed on, then went on to speak to him at greater length of other people he knew. It was a tedious business and it was easy to see that Ba.s.sam grew irritated, though he did not protest. At least the food was well prepared, though I must admit I found even this wanting in comparison to that served by the cook of our own household.

It was with relief that I left with Dabir in time for evening prayers. Ba.s.sam somewhat sulkily promised to heed Dabir's suggestion to remain in the home that night.

After prayers Dabir led us to a tavern near the city's heart. As the weather was fine, many folk were out, and music and laughter could be heard within.

"Why are we here?" I asked him.

"To visit an old friend," Dabir said. "Were you not listening?"

"There was much to hear," I said.

"Perhaps you were munching at the time. You will recall that one of Ba.s.sam's lady friends is Samar." We turned down a dark lane to the tavern's side.

Samar was like Ba.s.sam in that most everyone in Mosul knew her name. They otherwise differed, for she was very clever, and a dancer in demand throughout the province. We even had once solved a problem for her. This did not mean that Dabir trusted her, for he had declined her advances after the matter was concluded, carefully, so as not to make an enemy of so influential a woman.

"You think she is trying to kill him?" I asked. I could scarce credit the thought.

"I doubt it. But she will tell us something of the matter. Of this I am sure."

I would have asked him how he knew this, but he was already knocking on the worn cedar door at the tavern's rear. The portal was opened by a big bored-looking fellow, garbed only in pants and a vest. From his squinty-eyed look of displeasure it was clear he was used to dismissing drunkards seeking either the wrong way in or attentions of the women, but he recognized Dabir's name, and my own, and bowed over his potbelly, gesturing for us to enter. He sealed the door behind us, then lifted a lantern to light the way. So far as I recall, he never did speak, leading us on past several open doorways until he paused at one closed door and rapped on it with hairy knuckles.

"What is wanted?" came a woman's shrill voice. It did not sound, to me, like Samar.

The guard bowed his head to us and stalked back down the corridor, leaving us in the dark save for the voice and a single lantern to the right of the door. The distant sound of merriment reached us through the walls.

"It is Dabir ibn Khalil and Asim el Abbas, come to call on Samar," my friend said.

There was no immediate answer; Dabir glanced over to me.