The Thin Executioner

“I understand,” said Master Bush. “But in an emergency such as this…”

“No,” Jebel said stubbornly. “Sabbah Eid would curse me if I did.”

“As you wish,” Master Bush sighed. “I admire your dedication, even though I fear it may prove your undoing.”

They jogged in silence, winding their way through the dark, twisting streets. The sounds of the mob faded, but didn’t go away. Jebel’s heart pumped furiously. He had never had to flee for his life before. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

Ten minutes later they reached a quiet section of the docks. There were few boats moored here and Jebel soon smelt why — they were by the rim of a sewer, where waste overflowed into the as-Surout. The stench was overwhelming. Jebel reeled aside and was sick. Tel Hesani was almost sick too, but he managed to keep his food down. Masters Bush and Blair seemed oblivious to the smell. They made for a skiff tied close to where the waste opened into the river. A wretched boy was standing guard. He was naked except for a short sword strapped to his side. He drew it now and snarled at the traders. Master Bush tossed him a silver swagah and pushed on to the boat.

Master Blair tossed another piece of swagah to the boy, then shooed him away. He turned to smile at Jebel and Tel Hesani. “Last chance, good sirs. We’re sailing north, following much the same route as you. But we’ll cover it faster and we won’t have to worry about cannibals, alligators, mosquitoes or the other nuisances of the swamp. We’ll gladly take you with us.”

“We can’t,” Jebel said miserably. “It’s a condition of the quest.”

“Very well. On your own heads be it.” Master Blair jumped down into the boat and untied the last of the knots.

“There’s a bordello two streets over,” Master Bush said as they pushed out into the current. “It has a cellar bar, one of the worst holes in Shihat — and that’s saying something! But it’s dark and quiet there. My advice is to pick your way to it and keep your heads down until morning.”

“Thank you,” Jebel said, sorry to see the pair leave, despite the trouble they’d brought upon him. “I wish you luck with your mining venture.”

“And we wish you all the luck of the gods with your quest,” Master Bush said. As the current caught the skiff, the trader sat alongside Master Blair and each man took up an oar and began rowing.

“We’ll look for you further up the trail,” Master Blair called, waving with one hand. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

“I hope so,” Jebel replied, waving in return. He would have liked to watch the strange Masters sail out of sight, but Tel Hesani nudged him roughly. “All right,” Jebel snapped. Turning his back on the river, he hurried after Tel Hesani as the slave led him in search of sordid sanctuary.

ELEVEN

The cellar bar was dark and mouldy, filled with shifty, foul-smelling clients of the bordello. A few candles burnt in a corner, the only light except for occasional flares as somebody lit up a length of smoking tobacco.

The pair of refugees bought drinks and stood — there were no chairs or benches — in the darkest crevice, trying to avoid contact with those around them, shivering with cold and fear.

The night passed slowly and uncomfortably. At one point Jebel leant against the wall and tried to doze standing up. Something long and slimy slithered down the neck of his tunic. Yelping, he tore off the tunic, slapped away a leech-like creature and kept clear of the wall after that.