“That may well be so,” said Ramagar, sorrowful to have to decline the kind offer put before him. “But will you also laugh when they draw their swords and threaten your lives? Or when they put your tents and your fields to the torch?” He shook his head from side to side. “No, good haj, it must not be. Mariana and I cannot bring our own misfortunes atop your own head. As much as we have come to know you and respect you. we must turn down your generosity. At daybreak we will leave with our companions and search for our own destiny.”
Burlu sighed deeply. “I am sorry.” he said, “but I understand. Yet it truly grieves me to think that we shall never share each other’s good company again.” He clasped his hands together as if in prayer and said quietly, looking from one guest to the other, “May the Fates bless all of you always. It would make an old man’s wish come true.”
Tears came to Mariana’s eyes as he spoke, and she thought of him now as the father both she and Ramagar had never had.
The Prince turned to the thief, saying, “You know that it will be hard on both of you no matter where you go. Like me, you will find yourselves strangers in a foreign land. Few men will prove as hospitable as our kind host has been. And what of these lands to the north you mentioned? It is true that they are peaceful; but tell me, is the life of a sheepherder the one either of you would choose? Living lonely and desolate in a place as far away from civilization as a man can hope to get?”
“At least well be safe,” Ramagar replied with a touch of bitterness. “Besides, what alternatives are open to us?”
“Come instead with me.”
Mariana’s eyes opened fully wide and she stared at the Prince. “You’re asking Ramagar to join you on the quest?”
“I am asking you both,” he replied soberly. “Listen to me, please. Hear me out and consider what I say before you refuse.”
Ramagar put his arm around Mariana’s shoulder and nodded.
“There are so many things to be done,” said the Prince excitedly. “Far too many for just Homer and myself. I have great need of a man like you, master thief. Your talents and abilities are too valuable to be wasted on tending sheep. Think, just days ago we were all hunted by Kalimar’s dreaded Inquisitors. On his own, each was lost. Yet when we banded together we made stuttering clowns of Kalimar’s entire army. Stand with me, Ramagar. Be my right arm. In victory I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams. Name your price: land, title, gold. I will agree. You shall have it all.”
“Dead men have little need of title and gold,” remarked the dancing girl dryly. “You are asking him to throw away his life.”
“You are wrong, Mariana,” insisted the Prince. “The Druids can be beaten. I know they can. We must only find the key that unlocks the door to their secrets. With both of you at my side and my allies to give us support, we can break the hideous chains that bind my land. And my people will rise up beside us, themselves dealing our enemies the final blows. I need you, Mariana, even as I need your lover. Your cunning and intelligence shall be a heavy counterweight to Druid black art. What do you say?”
She sat there with her breath swept away. Yes, there was adventure and fortune to be found if she went with him, an opportunity as exciting as it was fearful. To cross half a world, see things few women or men ever imagined existed. Yet, this had to be balanced against the very real and dangerous peril that awaited should they fail. Who could say what terrible death they would meet at Druid hands? The thought of some ingenious torture made her shudder.
The Prince sat tensely waiting, and even the haj, normally the epitome of repose, could feel his hands moisten and his breath quicken.
Unspeaking, Mariana and Ramagar looked deeply into each other’s eyes. They each knew and understood the risks, they each realized the slim chance of succeeding. But in one aspect the Prince had been right: as fugitives they would likely be hounded for the rest of their lives, at best forced to live in lonely isolation. Crossing the sea, no matter what the perils, would set them free from the fear of one day being found out for who they were. Even the rewards this prince offered for their help were small when compared to the freedom they sought.
Mariana’s eyes darted to the scimitar, glimmering gaily as it rested in their companion’s open hand. It was a strange, wondrous object, she knew. Men would fight for it, men would die for it. What tales it could tell if only it could speak. What mysteries it must know the answer to. It was the dagger itself that had brought them all together on this night to sit in the tents of the haj, the dagger that had caused all their lives to be turned upside down in less than a week.
Was it an instrument of good? Or of evil? Would it lead them to adventure and victory? Or only to doom? Mariana had no answers to these questions. But somehow she knew that her association with the blade had not yet ended. Forces beyond her and Ramagar’s understanding seemed to control their destinies.
Ramagar finished the last of his wine and cast a weary eye to the entrance of the tent. The wind had all but calmed, and to his surprise he saw that the first hints of red sun were cracking spider-like across the far horizon. So intrigued had they been by the Prince and the tale he told that dawn had come swiftly upon them before they had a chance to sleep.
He drew Mariana closer, crushing her with his strong arm, and looked to the Prince. “I suppose I wouldn’t have been much of a farmer anyway,” he grumbled. “Besides, I hate sheep …”
The Prince straightened attentively. Eyes glued to the thief, he said, “Then you both accept my offer? You’ll come?”
Ramagar glanced down at the sleepy-eyed dancing girl. Mariana drew a breath, sighed, and nodded. “We accept,”
she said softly. “For good or ill, our destinies will be irrevocably bound to your own.”
A broad, cheerful grin crossed the stranger’s face, and his eyes, wide awake and sparkling bluer than ever, danced merrily. “Then it’s settled,” he chortled, clapping his hands in delight. “And neither of you will ever regret your decision, I promise. Everything you ask shall be yours.” He reached for the wine vessel and filled each cup to the brim, making sure to include an extra chalice for the silent serving girl sitting wearily in the corner.
“A toast to our fortunes,” he said, raising his chalice high. “To our success, and the regained freedom of my kingdom.”
They all lifted their cups and drank. The Prince downed his wine greedily and beamed. “At least my army has begun,” he told them in a serious tone. “And never has there been a finer beginning.”
“A ragtag army at best,” observed Mariana. “We have neither weapons nor horses, nor even food to sustain us on our journey.”
The haj lifted his head and searched the faces of his guests. They were honest faces, he knew. Kind and gentle for all their trials. It hurt him to think of the fate that awaited them. In so many ways they were merely children. Children on a noble quest with no one to guide or fend for them.
The sun appeared fully now, washing the tent in brilliant yellows and browns while thin streams of gold poured through the thick curtains. The red clay earth of the scrub hills sparkled in the light and even the yellowed, parched grass took on a deep intensity. Burlu’s swine had begun to stir; so had his sheep and his cows. He could hear the soft patter of shuffled feet and low murmurings as his herders arose from their own tents and set out to start the day’s chores, a routine that both they and the haj had followed nearly every day of their lives.
“I suppose you will be leaving soon,” the haj said sullenly.
Mariana nodded, the smallest hint of a tear welling in her eyes. “We must,” she said. “But we’ll never forget you or your hospitality. And I’ll recall you in my prayers.”
The haj smiled. He had come to like them all, he knew. But of all his guests the dancing girl was his favorite. What was it about her, he wondered, that brought his beloved wife’s image to mind every time he looked at her? Burlu shrugged and smiled to himself. He must truly be getting old, he mused. Why else would he see the faces of t
he dead within those of the living?
Trembling slightly from these thoughts, he turned to the Prince. “What route to the sea have you chosen, if I might ask?”
“They say the northern road will lead to a great river,” replied the Prince. “From there we will follow it west to the sea.”
Ramagar concurred. “It’s the caravan route to Palava. It’s long, I know, but there isn’t any other way.”
“Ah, but there is, my friend,” said the haj with a sly smile. “A way that could cut a month’s travel, and also keep you far from the possibility of any chance encounter with Kalimar’s soldiers seeking you on the road.”
Ramagar furrowed his thick brows in contemplation. Certainly it would be well advised for them to avoid the main trade route. But Ramagar was a city man. What did he know of the broad sweep of rugged lands that formed Kalimar’s northern frontiers? The main road, such as it was, was the only one he knew anything of.
“Which road do you speak about?” he asked, perplexed.
The wizened haj smiled slyly. “Not a road at all, my friend. But there is a way to the port — a short way, if you’re willing to cross the desert.”
“Walk across a sea of sand?” gasped Mariana. “We’d never make it. How could we possibly find our way over this ocean of dunes?”
The haj leaned forward, his smile vanishing. “There is a way to take you across in a single week’s time. It will be difficult, I realize, even dangerous. Yet certainly no less perilous than what awaits in Speca …”
Ramagar looked to the Prince and the man in rags shrugged. “How do we find this path?” he queried.
“It will not be hard. You will begin by going north, but when the dry riverbed is reached you shall follow it west, to the rock country and the Land of the Baboons.”
“Land of the Baboons?” repeated the thief, scratching his head. “What’s that? I’ve lived in Kalimar all my life and I’ve never even heard of it.”
“Of course not,” replied the haj with a hint of a sneer at his city-bred guest. “But we of the hills know it well. All too well, perhaps. It is a vast region of mulga scrub. Many creatures dwell within its confines, particularly lizards and snakes.
The baboons, though, are master. It is their land, their kingdom.”
“What do you mean by ‘kingdom,’” asked the Prince. “Is this a jest? Do these … baboons … actually rule over a patch of desert?”
Burlu nodded darkly, saying, “I never take such matters lightly, my friend. The Land of the Baboons is as real a kingdom as any in the world of men. They are trained like warriors, their armies led by skilled and cunning savage generals —”
“An army of monkeys?” gasped the thief.
The haj’s eyes flashed impatiently. “You will not scoff if chance brings you face to face with them. The baboon king guards his fiefdom well — as the bleached bones of hapless men who wandered upon their lands will grimly attest. It will take a brave heart and total resolve to trespass their domain and cross safely.”
“Still,” protested Ramagar, “they’re only monkeys. If we had good weapons there would be little to fear.”
Burlu smiled thinly. “The proof will be if you make it out of there alive.” He set his jaw and said no more.
“Brrr,” rattled Mariana. “It sounds to me like we should forget this shortcut entirely and take our chances on the trade route. I’d rather risk running into some soldiers from Kalimar than what the haj has told us about.”
The Prince pondered for a moment, then said to Burlu, “How long would it take us to cross through, er, monkeyland, and reach the port?”
“Seven days. No more.” He smiled again. “Of course, you would have to know the exact course to follow. Otherwise you would never find your way out.”
Ramagar frowned. “Well, that should disqualify us,” he said. “We know absolutely nothing about any of these lands. We’d probably wind up as supper for a baboon feast. No, as much as the idea interests me, we can’t take the chance. We’d be as lost as children, roaming endlessly in circles.”
Disappointed, the Prince concurred. “It’s useless to even debate the matter. We would never survive.”
Here the haj’s eyes widened and his teeth glittered like ivory with his mirth. “Yes, you could survive. It has been done. Trust that there is a way to cross in safety. Only you would have need of a guide …”
“And where will we find such a guide?” said Ramagar. “Who in his right mind would be willing to lead us on an expedition through monkeyland, risking his neck when there won’t even be a penny in payment for his troubles?”
“I think,” said the haj slowly, “that I can find someone for you.”
“Who,” questioned Mariana. “The man would have to be demented!”
Burlu pulled a face. “I am not demented,” he said, “And I offer myself as your guide to the sea. Even beyond — if you will have me.”
“You?” cried the girl, astounded beyond belief. “But you’re a haj! A man of wealth, of land. You have many duties and responsibilities entrusted to you. Why would you possibly want to risk all that to make a dangerous journey on behalf of a handful of ragged strangers?”
The haj sighed deeply and looked at them all with sad eyes. “I have seen much in my lifetime,” he said. “I have lived many, many years. The land has been good to me, I am considered in these parts to be a man of substance. Yet, I am alone and lonely. The only wife I chose to take has been dead for more years than I care to remember. My sons are gone their own ways, my daughters married with large families of their own. Do not think that I am ungrateful: I am not. Life has been kind, as unworthy as I may be. But I seek not further riches, nor the pleasures of the flesh. And I do not wish to spend my last years as you see me: sitting in comfort and growing fat while the world spins around me. My eyes are still sharp, my arms are as powerful as any man’s. If I can be of service to you in your quest then perhaps I can find meaning to my life. I am not a man to mince words. In my own way, I have as much need of all of you as you yourselves have of me.”
“But what will happen to your flocks,” said Ramagar. “And your fields, and your swine? Who will tend them in your absence? Who will care for the families of herders who serve you and depend on you?”
Burlu put forward his palms. “All this will be taken care of,” he assured. “My daughters’ husbands are strong, stout fellows who will be more than willing to share in the task. I can have these matters properly attended to in a matter of hours.” Then he folded his hands in his lap and smiled thinly. “And remember, my good friends, to you I can be of invaluable assistance. You need me, if only to lead you through the Land of the Baboons. I can provide mules for our journey and the weapons we will need for our protection, perhaps even a bit of gold to help assure our passage across the sea. All this I willingly offer; you have but to say yes …”
No one said a word, so stunned were they all by their host’s unexpected offer. At length the yellow-haired Prince turned his face to the haj and stared at him evenly. “Knowingly you will give up all you have,” he gestured grandly, “and come with us to a foreign shore? A shore filled with such dangers?”
The haj nodded. “I will pay my part of the bargain, you have my oath. And let me assure you, good friend, that I myself am no stranger to adventure or risk.”
The Prince turned to Mariana and the thief, and they both nodded. “Then welcome to our number,” he said, extending his hand. “Come, then. Make all your preparations. At noon our journey will begin in earnest. We have no time to spare. Speca must be reached before the summer gales make crossing the sea impossible.”
Hand over hand they each clasped the others’ hands, proudly making their vows of allegiance in the light of the sun. Mariana gazed wistfully up at the sky, wondering how many more times they would see it rise before they reached the land where the sun never shone.
But there was a long way to go before they would come even that far. For now it was the Land of the Baboons
that loomed heavily on their minds, the first terrible trial they would have to face.
III
Into Monkeyland … And on to Palava
10
The red desert sand seemed eternal as they made their way from the tents. On either side, stretching as far as the eye could see, it formed long, ever shifting dunes, in some places capped by a surprising sparse cover of wilting grass, in other places stark and so bright it almost hurt to look.
Haj Burlu, the swineherd, took the lead, riding his sturdiest and favorite mule. He was a wondrous sight to watch, dressed as he was in his flowing robes. He wore a tasseled cloth headdress with an intricately knotted cord of crimson that both held it in place and served to show his title. The cord bobbed and bounced as he rode, and the poor mule wheezed and gasped under his weight, the haj whipping and cajoling her onward.
Paces behind came Ramagar and Mariana, riding side by side. The thief shifted uncomfortably in his heavy, loose-fitting robe. It had once belonged to the haj’s eldest son, and Ramagar had taken it gratefully, even though it reminded him of the Karshi fanatic’s robe he had stolen while still in Kalimar. He only hoped this one would bring him better luck.
Mariana’s hair was tightly braided, streaking down both sides of her veiled face. The head cloth she wore was of a light, soft material, pure white in color, and well designed for reflecting the harsh desert sun. Her body moved lithely within the confines of a clean white tunic the serving girl had hastily provided. With the sleeves falling purposely over her hands, and her desert boots up over her calves, there was little to be seen, except around her eyes, of her well-tanned, supple skin.
The Prince came next, also in newly acquired garb, and faithful Homer brought up the rear, leading two packmules heavily laden with goatskins filled with water and other foodstuffs and supplies.
It was hot. Dreadfully hot. The sun passed its zenith and slowly began to slide along the arch of the sky. Burlu first led them north, skirting at times the well-trodden caravan road, then quite abruptly veered his party in the direction of the dipping sun. They came to a deep wadi that widened as it twisted through mounds of rock and scrub.
The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar Page 15
