The Thin Executioner

Jebel wasn’t comfortable with the idea of eating at the same table as a slave, but he didn’t want to be impolite to the strangers who had saved his life, so he said nothing as Tel Hesani sat down opposite him, for all the world a free and equal man.

“Well, young sir,” the man in the tunic said. “Introductions are in order. My grandfather, rest his spirit, told me to never break bread with someone unless you know their name. I am Master Bush and this is my good friend and business partner, Master Blair.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Jebel replied. “I’m Jebel Rum and this is my slave, Tel Hesani.”

“I hope you don’t mind that we intervened,” Master Bush said, offering the basket to Jebel, then to Tel Hesani. “We’re well aware that questers are more than capable of solving their own problems, but we felt on this occasion that you might… not exactly need… but welcome our modest interjection.”

“The Um Safafaha are a beastly bunch,” Master Blair said, not lowering his voice, even though the savage sitting nearby might overhear. “We thought it would save time if we pointed out your brand to him and spared you the nuisance of having to prove your undoubted strength and courage in a needless, tiring fight.”

“Your help was appreciated,” Jebel said, biting into a delicious leg of chicken. “It’s been a long day and I’m not at my sharpest. I wasn’t sure how to handle him. If you hadn’t spoken up when you did…”

“Oh, I’m sure you would have taken care of matters on your own,” Master Bush laughed. “We just did you… not even a favour… shall we say a very minor service. This is a town of savages. We kinsfolk have to look out for one another.”

“You’re from Abu Aineh?” Jebel asked. “I thought you might be, by the way you spoke, but you don’t look like Um Aineh.”

Both men were small. Master Bush was light skinned, only slightly darker than Tel Hesani, with bright blue eyes. His long hair was tied back in a ponytail and he sported a fine goatee beard, so thin that Jebel missed it first time round. Master Blair was darker, but he wore trousers, rare for one of Jebel’s countrymen. His hair was cut to his shoulders and his moustache was carefully maintained. Neither man was tattooed. Jebel had never seen a pair like this, but if he’d had to guess, he would have said they were from the far west of Abu Nekhele.

“Oh, we’re Um Aineh sure enough,” Master Blair sighed. “But from the border with Abu Rashrasha. We were born on the banks of the as-Burdah. We both come from mixed backgrounds – our family trees are laden with all sorts of rascals – hence our appearance. Also, since we spend most of our time travelling abroad, we removed our tattoos with acid many years ago — it pays to be able to pretend you’re a native of other parts in lands where Um Aineh are less than welcome.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jebel said quickly.

Master Bush waved his apology away. “Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first to mistake us for foreigners. Even some of our own family don’t recognise us on the rare occasions when we return home.”

Masters Bush and Blair spent the next couple of hours engaged in friendly chat with Jebel and Tel Hesani, although the slave didn’t say much. They told Jebel that they were traders. They had been given the title of Master many years ago by the high lord of Abu Judayda, after they had delivered a shipment of medicine to the city state during a time of plague.

“We do not mean to give the impression that we are humanitarians,” Master Bush purred. “We love the roll of a gold coin between our fingers as much as the next man. But when the need is great, how could anyone of good conscience not do all in his power to help?”

The traders spent a lot of their time outside the Great Kingdoms, south and west of Abu Kheshabah, and north of the al-Meata mountains, from where they had only recently returned.

“There’s a fortune to be made up north,” Master Bush said.

“We just haven’t figured out how,” Master Blair laughed. “Everyone knows the mountains are laden with ore, waiting to be tapped. The trouble is, nobody’s been able to locate it, and even if we knew where it was, it snows so much that you could only mine there maybe two months out of any given year.”

“But that’s using traditional mining techniques,” Master Bush added. “We’re on our way to Abu Saga to investigate the matter more thoroughly. We’re convinced that there are other ways of burrowing, making it possible to work all year round.”

The pair of traders went wherever the lure of swagah led them. They bought and traded anything they could lay their hands on. Jewels, weapons, clothes, fruit, wine… they had dabbled in it all.

“We’ve made and lost a couple of fortunes already,” Master Bush shrugged.

“It’s the game we’re interested in, not the profit,” said Master Blair. “We could have retired years ago if we’d wished.”

“But then what would we do for fun?” Master Bush asked.

They were interested in Jebel’s quest and asked many questions about what had prompted him to undertake it and the route he intended to follow. They couldn’t offer any advice about how to navigate the Abu Nekhele swamplands.

“We’ve always steered clear of swamps,” Master Bush said. “Mosquitoes don’t agree with us.”

Master Bush told Jebel not to buy their winter clothes in Hassah. “You can get everything you need in Jedir. Few travellers go that way, so the prices are lower.”

“And I’m certain swagah is a serious consideration on so long a quest,” Master Blair said. “You need to save wherever you can, yes?”

“That’s all right,” Jebel smiled. “We’ve got plenty of–”

“Thank you,” Tel Hesani interrupted. “We were worried about how to finance the rest of our trip, as we brought very little swagah with us. We will heed your advice and save our small supply of coins for further along the road.”

“Most questers struggle with funding,” Master Bush sighed. “In our experience the wealthy are the least likely to take to the wilds on a near-fatal quest.”

Later that night, Masters Bush and Blair joined in the game of cards which was still going strong. The players greeted them suspiciously, but when Master Blair lost nineteen silver swagah on his third hand, expressions changed, more wine and ale was poured and everyone settled down for a good night’s gambling.

“Here, my friends,” Master Blair said dolefully, handing a couple of swagah to Jebel. “Find decent mats for yourselves and a couple for us by one of the walls.”

“I can’t–” Jebel began.

“Take it,” Master Blair insisted. “I’d only lose it to these cunning card sharks if I held on to it.”

The other players laughed at the barbed compliment. Jebel bowed gratefully, then pushed to the bar with Tel Hesani to order four of the inn’s best mats.

“Why did you lie earlier?” Jebel asked Tel Hesani as they lay down, picking dead insects out of the folds of their thin covers.

“Our finances should be our own affair,” Tel Hesani replied. “It is always better to proclaim less than you possess.”

“But they’re our friends,” Jebel said. “We don’t have to lie to them.”

Tel Hesani smiled tightly. “I have spent time with many travellers and found that those who travel widest generally boast the least.”

Jebel’s eyes narrowed. “Are you calling Masters Bush and Blair liars?”

“I would not dare make such a baseless accusation,” Tel Hesani said. “But I have been to a couple of the nations south of Abu Kheshabah of which they spoke. I do not remember them in quite the same way that the good Masters do. And I have no memory of there being a plague in Abu Judayda any time recently.”

“I’d be careful what I said in your place,” Jebel growled. “Your head will end up on an executioner’s block if you go around questioning honest Um Aineh.”

“I will hold my tongue in future, my lord,” Tel Hesani said stiffly, and left his next comment — that he didn’t believe the pair were Um Aineh — go unsaid.

Making himself as comfortable as he could, Jebel lay down, closed his eyes and tried to drown out the noise and stench of the inn, so that he could hopefully grab some sleep and escape the rotten squalor of Shihat in his dreams.

TEN

Aroar jolted Jebel out of his fitful sleep. “Cheats!” someone bellowed, and it was followed by the sound of a smashing plate or mug.

Jebel’s head snapped up. He saw the Um Safafaha who’d confronted him earlier, on his feet now, face flushed, pointing a trembling finger at Masters Bush and Blair. It was late and the inn was quieter than it had been, most of its patrons asleep on the floor. But there were still several people drinking at the bar, and three other gamblers at the table with the Um Safafaha and Jebel’s new friends. All eyes were now on the towering savage, eager to see what would happen next.

“Cheats!” the Um Safafaha roared again.

Master Bush shook his head and sighed. “Some men just cannot accept the cruel misfortune of their cards,” he said.

“A tragedy,” Master Blair murmured. “To play in the expectation of winning every hand…”

“Not every hand,” the Um Safafaha snarled. “But I ain’t won a decent hand since you sat down. Nobody has.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” said Master Bush. “If I recall correctly, you’ve won four or five times in just the last couple of hours.”

“Nothing pots,” came the growled response. “We’ve all had little wins, but you two have won every major hand.”

“He has a point,” one of the other gamblers said, and Jebel felt the mood shift. Sleepers were nudged awake. One man calling foul was the start of a fight, but if others agreed with him, it could turn into a lynching.

“Pick up your belongings,” Tel Hesani whispered. Jebel looked around and saw that the slave had already put his own pack together. “Do it without a fuss. Then walk to the door, but stay close to the wall and keep your eyes on the gamblers — act like you’re moving forward for a better view.”

“We can’t leave now,” Jebel objected. “They might need our help.”

“They’re more than capable of helping themselves,” hissed Tel Hesani.

“But–” Jebel began.

“The people here think we’re their associates,” Tel Hesani said. “If Bush and Blair are hanged, we’ll hang too.”

Jebel didn’t want to abandon the traders, but he didn’t want to end up with his neck in a noose either. So he picked up his bags as Tel Hesani commanded and they slid from their benches and began to steal their way to the door.

At the table, Masters Bush and Blair weren’t panicking. In fact they acted like this was no more than a minor inconvenience.

“I think we are no longer welcome,” Master Bush said.

“Should we retire to our mats?” Master Blair asked.

“Don’t bother,” the Um Safafaha laughed. “You won’t be needing them.”

“But we paid for them,” said Master Bush. “If we’re not to use them, we should be entitled to a refund.”

“We’ll put it towards the cost of burying you,” the Um Safafaha said.

The other three gamblers stood and backed away from the table. People rose from their mats and joined them, forming a purposeful half-circle. Masters Bush and Blair didn’t react, except to casually gather their winnings.

“I’m sure you good gentlemen won’t object if we bag the swagah,” Master Blair said.

“It will save you a job once you’ve hung us up to dry,” Master Bush added.

“Go ahead,” one of the gamblers grinned. “We like men who can see the light side of their own execution.”

“Oh, we believe you have to be able to laugh at everything in this world, don’t we, Master Blair?” Master Bush said.

“Indeed,” Master Blair agreed. He finished bagging his share of the coins. “Laughter keeps the world turning. That’s why my partner and I spend much of our time… I wouldn’t say mastering… but learning new tricks. We like to amuse those we meet. Perhaps you’d like to see a trick before you take us outside — assuming you’re not planning to hang us from the rafters in here.”

“Go ahead,” the Um Safafaha cackled. “Perform all the tricks you like, long as they ain’t vanishing tricks.”

The crowd laughed. Jebel, who was almost at the door, wondered if the Masters meant to joke their way out of their predicament. He didn’t think that they could, but he silently wished them the best of luck as he reached for the handle.

A man stepped in his way. Jebel looked up and saw that it was the innkeeper. “Don’t leave now,” he growled. “You’ll miss all the fun.”

Jebel looked back at Tel Hesani. The slave glanced around. Nobody else had spotted them. The innkeeper was the only one aware that they existed. But if they tried to knock him aside, they’d draw the attention of the mob. Tel Hesani gave Jebel a signal and they took a couple of steps away from the door.

Master Blair had fished a small ball out of a pocket. It was a peculiar mesh ball, made of interlacing strands of a fine material. There was a metal triangle in the middle. “Observe,” Master Blair said, tilting the ball and squeezing it. The triangle slipped through a gap between strands. He caught it, then poked it back into the ball, shook it and teased the triangle through another gap.

“I don’t think much of that,” the Um Safafaha grunted.

“You haven’t seen the best part yet,” Master Blair said. And with a fast flick of his wrist he sent the ball flying at the larger man’s throat. It struck him just below his Adam’s apple and bounced off. The Um Safafaha started to bring his hands up to protect himself, then realised he had nothing to fear. He looked down at the ball which had landed on the table and was rolling back to Master Blair, and sneered.

“Is that it?” one of the gamblers asked, disappointed.

“Almost,” Master Blair said. “But if you look closely, you’ll see that the triangle has disappeared.”

“That’s supposed to make us laugh?” the gambler snorted.

“No,” Master Blair said, then pointed at the Um Safafaha. “That is.”

The Um Safafaha began to choke. Eyes bulging, he staggered backwards and fell over a table, scratching at his throat, gasping for breath, blood bubbling from his mouth. He tried to rise again, but didn’t make it. As a huge gout of blood burst from his lips, he collapsed, shook, then went still.

“And so the giant was brought low,” Master Bush muttered and stood. He was holding two mesh balls similar to Master Blair’s, one in each hand. “Does anybody else want to argue the finer points of the game with us?”

Nobody answered. The eyes of those around the traders were full of hate — not because they’d killed the Um Safafaha, but because they had cheated the mob of a hanging.

Master Blair took his time picking up the bags of swagah and putting them in his pockets. When he was finished, he yawned and stretched. “I could do with a good night’s sleep, Master Bush. Shall we take to our mats now?”

“I would advise against it,” Master Bush said. “The air is rife with treachery. I believe our sleep would be disturbed by agents of vengeful wrath.”

“A pity,” Master Blair sighed, then started towards the door. Two more of the mesh balls appeared in his hands as if by magic. People quickly stepped out of his way, then took another step back when Master Bush followed him.

The traders were almost at the door when Master Blair spotted Jebel and Tel Hesani. “There you are!” he boomed. “I thought you had departed already.”

“We couldn’t get out,” Jebel said, nodding at the innkeeper.

Master Blair raised an eyebrow at the um Shihat. “Would you please step aside, kind sir? We wish to leave.”

“I want a death tithe,” the innkeeper snarled. “That savage was part of a group. They’ll come here looking to cause trouble when they find out he’s dead. The only hope I have of keeping them quiet is to fix them up with ale and women.”

“A troublesome task,” Master Blair said. “You have my condolences.”

“I don’t want your condolences,” the innkeeper growled. “I want a death tithe. A tenth of your winnings — that’s fair. Then you can leave without any trouble.”

“That would be fair,” Master Blair agreed. “Except I think he was travelling by himself and you are trying to con us.”

“A tenth is not so much,” Master Bush said. “Perhaps we should take this good man at his word and pay the tithe.”

“I have looked deep into his eyes, Master Bush. He is a liar. I am certain.”

“I ain’t no liar!” the innkeeper barked. “And I ain’t letting you out unless you pay that stinking tithe.”

Master Blair’s smile tightened. “And if we choose to kill you, sir?”

“You won’t,” the innkeeper snorted. “Killing a savage is one thing, but if you kill me, you’ll have half the soldiers in Shihat on your backs before you’re ten paces out the door.”

Master Blair nodded. “You make a valid point. But I believe we could get more than ten paces from here… twelve at the least. Master Bush?”

“Most definitely twelve,” Master Bush murmured.

Master Blair tutted. “You have placed us in a dilemma. If we pay, we’ll never know who was wrong and who was right. And we are men who hate to live in doubt. So, as hazardous as it may prove to be…”

With a lazy smile, Master Blair’s left hand jerked and the mesh ball struck the innkeeper in the middle of his throat. As he fell aside, choking, Master Blair yanked the door open, grabbed Jebel and thrust him through. He made to grab Tel Hesani, but the slave was already following the boy. Master Blair spun, launched his final ball at the crowd — Master Bush had thrown both of his too — then the pair of traders darted after the um Wadi and his slave, slamming the door shut on the screams of the outraged mob.

“This way, gentlemen,” Master Bush said, heading for an alley.

Jebel started to follow the traders, but Tel Hesani caught him. “We shouldn’t go with them,” he said.

Jebel paused. Events had unfolded so quickly, his head was in a whirl.

Master Blair winked. “You’re free to make your own way if you wish, young Rum, but we know this town better than you or your slave. My advice is to throw your lot in with us.”

The pair fled down the alley. Jebel stared at Tel Hesani, wanting him to make the call. The slave hesitated, then heard the door of the inn opening. Slapping Jebel’s back, he pointed after the traders. They ducked down the alley just before the first members of the mob appeared, screeching bloody murder.

Jebel and Tel Hesani soon caught up with Masters Bush and Blair. The traders were making good time, but they weren’t racing. Master Blair even took the time to stop in front of a window to check his appearance and smooth his moustache.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” Jebel gasped.

“The Um Safafaha?” Master Blair said, surprised.

“No — the innkeeper. Why didn’t you pay him?”

“He would have raised the alarm regardless,” Master Blair said. “I know his sort. He would have set the soldiers on us even if we’d given him all our swagah.”

They turned down another dark alley. Jebel had no idea where they were. He could hear the mob somewhere behind, yelling and cursing. He was terrified, but Master Blair seemed unaffected by the uproar.

“Was it true?” Jebel asked Master Bush as they jogged. “Did you cheat?”

“Please!” Master Bush said with a pained expression. “One never asks a valued friend such an insensitive question.”

“Where are we going?” growled Tel Hesani. He would have gladly broken free of the traders, except he didn’t know the town.

“The docks,” Master Bush said. “We have a small skiff moored and ready to sail. There isn’t much room, but you’re more than welcome to share it with us.”

“We can’t,” Jebel said. “I’m a quester. I have to travel on foot.”

“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.

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