The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar

by Graham Diamond

  “I still don’t see what all this has to do with either you or me,” he said gruffly. “Fortunes come and fortunes pass. Avilia, if what you say is true, shall somehow regain her wealth.”

  Diona’s eyes flashed. “Aye, Sinbad! At my expense! Listen to me: When my own father died just this past year, Avilia, being my closest relative, made me her ward — ”

  “A kindness on her part, surely.”

  Diona sneered. “A kindness to line her own pockets! My father’s estate, which amounts to no small sum, was left in trust with her as dowry for the man I marry. Avilia and her former paramour, that pig Kahlil, have plotted between them. Once I am wed, the sheik has agreed to split half the dowry with her — enough wealth to wipe away Avilia’s considerable obligations and let her live wantonly again. But I caught wind of this little intrigue long ago, forcing my cousin to make any hasty plan she could to insure that the marriage takes place as scheduled. Were it not for your presence in Damascus, that brute of a worm Argulo would have personally done Avilia’s bidding. He, too, plans to share in these illicit profits — profits brought at the expense of my misery.” She paused and smiled grimly at the increasingly uncomfortable sailor, then added: “And you, Sinbad, have become her tool. A purse of gold was all it took to bribe the world’s most famous mariner into doing her dirty work for her.”

  Sinbad ignored the insult, but he felt uneasy. He puffed his cheeks and blew the air out of his lungs in a slow, steady stream. Could all of this be true? he wondered. Could he indeed have played the pawn in such a filthy game? Or was this entire story merely another of Diona’s clever ruses to gain her freedom? A carefully-thought-out concoction of half-truths, innuendos, and sheer lies …

  Diona sensed his doubts. “You don’t believe me, do you?” she said.

  Sinbad drummed his fingers nervously. “Should I? Have you any proof of what you say?”

  Diona lifted her chin and gazed at him defiantly. “My true love could prove it to you. He possesses the secret paper upon which my cousin Avilia and the sheik have made their covenant.”

  “Your true love?” said Sinbad.

  Diona smiled. “My only love — the man who’s going to take me far away — and leave Avilia with an empty purse!” A tightening knot grew in Sinbad’s belly. He didn’t quite believe her, but he didn’t quite disbelieve. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been paid to bring you to Jerusalem, and that I intend to do.”

  “Then you’re a fool, Captain Sinbad! But don’t take my word for it. Let my lover prove it for you.”

  “What lover? Who?”

  Her smile deepened. “You’ll find out,” was all she said. Could it be? Was there someone else in her life? No. Impossible. Avilia had explained it to him. This was just another ruse … Or was it?

  “Listen to me, Sinbad. You can save yourself; there’s still time. Take me to my lover — now.”

  The bold captain shook his head. “I gave my word to bring you to Jerusalem, and that much I’m going to do. What happens then, whether you wed the sheik or not, is not my affair. If there is a secret lover, then this quarrel is with your bridegroom — not with me.”

  Diona bristled, her temper flaring. “By then it will be too late! Don’t you see? The sheik’s agents will be following us long before we reach the city. They’ll wrest me away from you, Sinbad, by force — and care all the less if they have to kill you in the process.”

  Sinbad laughed. “I’ll take my chances.”

  The girl’s wet eyes flickered sadly. Diona knew she had pleaded her best case — and lost.

  Sinbad abruptly ended the conversation. He stood up, glanced at the setting sun, which by now had all but disappeared behind the distant dunes, and tended the waiting camels.

  “Beware, Sinbad!” the crying Diona shouted to him. “The journey is not yet half done — and Jerusalem is still far away. You may yet wake to the cold steel of a knife in your back — remember that this is Ben Abdul’s country we are in.”

  Sinbad turned slowly and faced the trembling girl. “Is it the bandit who might use the knife?” he asked sardonically, “Or you?”

  Diona lifted herself from the grass and cleaned off her desert robe. “I am your prisoner,” she reminded. “My hands can be bound. But heed my advice, Captain Sinbad of Baghdad: From here to Jerusalem, you had better not close your eyes even once!”

  A true sirocco had begun to blow in the early hours before the next dawn. The steady, oppressive wind made their going on impossible. Sands swept with fury, lashing at the beasts of burden, causing them to stumble in blindness. It was all Sinbad could do merely to keep Diona beside him while the wind howled like a tempest upon the sea.

  Near a dry bed of a rutted ridge, Sinbad set up an emergency shelter. He pegged the small tent as firmly and deeply as possible, working alone in the terrible storm while Diona stood by idly, gloating at his difficulties. When the work was finally complete, he roughly pushed the girl inside the shelter, secured the nervous camels to posts, and slipped inside himself.

  Diona huddled in the far corner, avoiding any contact. Resigned to her hostility, Sinbad wiped the sand from his mouth and eyes and squatted. From inside his tunic he took out Don Giovanni and the frightened frog hopped toward the blanket and furrowed himself within the folds.

  The wind was picking up; Sinbad peeked at the swirling storm, hoping that by the time the sirocco had ended they would not find themselves literally buried alive beneath a newly formed dune.

  He took out a slab of salted beef from the saddlebag, offered some to Diona, who ignored him, and curled himself up as he ate. Bad weather like this could last for days, he knew. A sirocco was the scourge of the desert, and the wily sailor feared it accordingly.

  Time passed slowly. Diona fell asleep. Sinbad tried also, but was unable. Each time he closed his eyes to drift into slumber he was awakened by the sounds outside. But it was more than that, he knew. The things the girl had told him yesterday played around the edges of his consciousness, nagging at him, gnawing at him, filling him with doubt. He wished the storm would end, wished he could be done with this little side journey of his life.

  He glanced at the sleeping girl, noting the tiny lines of anguish etched into her gentle features. And again he thought of Sherry, his only true love, and the struggle she had fought for the man she loved.

  You’re a sentimental fool, Sinbad, he said to himself with a scowl. The odds are better than even that everything she told you was a lie. She and her lover …

  Who was this secret lover? Sinbad wondered for the first time. What youth of Damascus had so captured Dionas heart and imagination? And he thought back to his first night at Avilia’s home. The fine supper spread before them, the noble and educated guests. And he recalled the words of the dreamy-eyed young poet Dionatus. Should perchance this marriage not work out, I know another more than eager to ask for her hand …

  Then came the laughter at his remark, the light banter of not taking him seriously.

  Sinbad sat up, his eyes suddenly wide. Could it be Dionatus she loves? Can he be the youth so foolhardy as to follow the girl into the desert?

  Sinbad thought hard. The pieces did seem to fit into place. When he had first seen Diona she had been running among the shadows, out of breath and nervously glancing about. Clearly she had just come from a brief interlude with her lover. And certainly Dionatus was at hand that very night — by the time Sinbad had come to the supper table the youth had already taken his seat.

  Sinbad sighed a forlorn sigh; he reflected upon the foolishness of the young. What if the poet tried to stop them from reaching Jerusalem? Sinbad knew he would have to fight him, stop him in any way he could. Yes, even kill him if the poet were so reckless as to demand honor. The mariner groaned silently and put his head to his hands. A simple journey between two cities was rapidly becoming the most complex one he had ever faced.

  The camels began to grunt restlessly, scratching their cloven feet into sand and kicking at the
side of the flapping shelter. They carried on even more frantically in the ensuing moments and Sinbad became concerned. He peered outside and was greeted with a rush of flying sand. Clearing his eyes and staring ahead to where the ridge wound along the trail, he caught sight of a dark shadow moving slowly closer toward the tent. Sinbad drew his dagger and pushed his way outside.

  In the fierceness of the storm he could hardly see a thing, though dawn was breaking and the night sky was growing light. There was another camel heading this way, he saw to his shock. A single rider, covered from head to toe with protective robes and scarves to cover his face.

  The rider saw Sinbad amid the swirls and waved a frantic hand. “Shelter, good traveler,” he shouted. “Can you give me shelter?”

  Through the blizzard of sand Sinbad could see that he rode alone, and the sailor fought his way forward to reach the rider and help lead the blinded beast toward his camp. The animal was in a bad way, gasping and slightly limping.

  Sinbad helped the man down and tied the camel’s reins to the post. Then he pushed open the entrance flap and waited as the traveler gratefully hurried into the tiny tent.

  Diona sat up startled at the sight of the stranger. The man seemed equally surprised to find a woman inside. Removing his sand-encrusted scarf, he bowed politely to the girl and turned to his host.

  “May the Prophet bless you for this kindness,” he said humbly, with a voice that wheezed of sand in his throat.

  “The courtesy of the desert demands no less,” replied the mariner. And he handed the bedraggled traveler his water bag and gestured for him to sit.

  At first glance the stranger seemed old, what with his windblown face and wrinkled eyes that told of many years’ hard living upon the desert. Yet as the man sat and wiped away dust and grime his features suddenly took on a younger look. He was a rugged fellow, muscular and powerful, well bred for a Bedouin’s life. He sported a short beard and brush moustache, with thick, bushy black eyebrows that all but joined above the bridge of his nose. Sinbad caught Diona glancing at him with some fascination, but when she saw Sinbad look her way, her glance quickly turned and she withdrew meekly back into her shell.

  The weary traveler took several swallows of water and, after washing out his mouth, stuck his head outside to spit. Then he returned the water bag to Sinbad. “Your kindness has saved my life, my friend,” he said hoarsely. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Assal Karli of the Bedouin, son of Sheik Aluf. While leading our flocks to the well of Jamura, I became lost in the storm. Hopelessly lost, I’m afraid. As you saw, my animal became lame. He fell beside the rocky bed of the wadi and, in pain, poor creature, led me to this very tent.”

  “Then truly Allah has seen fit to find you safety,” Sinbad told him.

  Assal Karli raised his brows and looked up as though toward heaven. “Tis all too true, my kind host.” He turned to Diona and smiled. “And finding myself in such pleasant company has made me doubly blessed.”

  “Allow me to introduce ourselves,” said Sinbad, bowing politely in acknowledgement of the gracious praise. “The lady is Diona of Damascus, on her way to be wed in Jerusalem. And I am Sinbad of Baghdad, her escort at the bequest of her family.”

  “I am honored,” cried Assal Karli, recognizing the name at once. “Misfortune has turned to fortune indeed. And he bowed his head to both of his companions. “Truly, fate must have ordained this most unexpected turn of events for me.”

  Outside, the storm had continued to intensify. Sinbad listened uneasily to the shrieking of the wind and felt the tent shake and shudder around them. “I fear that fate has not done with us yet,” he said glumly to the Bedouin.

  Assal Karli smiled. “Our sirocco has you most concerned,” he said. “But rest assured, there is no need for anguish. We of the Bedouin tribes are used to such storms. We understand them, perhaps better than any in Islam. Listen … ” And he put his hand to his ear. “The wind approaches its greatest force. Can you hear? That means that soon it shall begin to wane. Wane and, ah yes, die. And so the sirocco shall pass. Such is Allah’s will.”

  “I hope you’re right,” replied Sinbad with an uneasy sigh.

  The strange smile of the Bedouin deepened. “I promise it, Sinbad. By nightfall we will all be on our way.”

  *

  Toward evening the weather did begin to clear. Sinbad was the first to leave the shelter, half digging to get out of the tent. He stood knee deep in sand and looked on incredulously at the altered landscape. New dunes had arisen where before there had been none, old dunes that had marked the boundaries of the ridge were suddenly gone. The face of the desert had been changed, as if the finger of Allah had touched it and redesigned it.

  A flaming red ball of sun lowered rapidly to welcome the coming night as Sinbad and Assal Karli inspected the damage to their beasts. Sinbad’s camels had weathered the sirocco well, but the Bedouin’s stood painfully, drooping its head and softly grunting.

  “He’ll have to be put out of his pain,” said Sinbad. Assal Karli nodded sadly. “A pity; I had come to love the beast. And it’s a long march to my father’s tents.” Sinbad began to discard some of the excess supplies loaded on the extra camel. “Where is this camp of yours?” he asked. Assal Karli pointed to the south. “Not very far from here, Captain Sinbad,” he replied earnestly. “Will you not come with me to my father’s tents? He shall be most appreciative to know his eldest son is safe because of your kindness. And there is no reward he would not grant … ” The proud mariner scoffed at the mention of accepting payment for common desert courtesy.

  “Then will you at least accept Bedouin hospitality?” asked Assal Karli. “Spend but this night among us before you continue your journey tomorrow.”

  As the wadi and the tents of Sheik Aluf lay almost directly parallel to the caravan route, Sinbad knew that little would be lost in going with Assal Karli. And a night safely spent, with hot food and good company, would prove a most welcome diversion during this long and arduous journey.

  “All right, my friend,” said Sinbad with a grin. “We shall be honored to accept your hospitality.” He turned over the reins of the pack camel to the Bedouin, and said: “Lead the way.”

  Assal Karli, whip in hand, expertly nudged the beast into kneeling submissively. Then the two men broke camp, Sinbad giving a hand to the still silent Diona. Their eyes met briefly and Diona quickly cast her glance away. But in that moment of contact Sinbad saw a renewed fire in her eye, and the hint of a cunning smile. Just what it meant, the sailor had no idea — only that he somehow began to feel uneasy again.

  “Up you go,” he called to the frog, kneeling and putting the girl temporarily from his mind. And Don Giovanni, as was his way, hopped onto Sinbad’s shoulder.

  The camels grunted as they rose from kneeling positions. Assal Karli kicked lightly into the flanks of his own and led the way, Diona riding close behind and Sinbad bringing up the rear.

  When the others were well out of earshot, Sinbad turned to his companion. “What do make of this unexpected company?” he asked.

  The frog tapped a webbed foot against Sinbad’s collarbone. “Don’t ask me why,” he replied, “but I don’t trust him.”

  The mariner looked at Giovanni curiously and sighed. “I can’t explain it either. But I think you’re right.”

  The night was cool and clear, the wind blowing gently, as they forded the wadi and, coming down from the dunes, sighted the dim fires of the Bedouin camp. Above the sky glittered with a universe of stars, all the constellations known to man, and Sinbad again fancied himself upon the sea.

  It was not long before the sounds of camp filled the air — the laughter of men, the baaing of herded sheep, the occasional clanging of bells tied around the necks of restless goats.

  Veiled women, silent and sandaled, slipped among the men removing plates and cleaning them in sand. It would have seemed a perfectly typical desert camp except for two things which Sinbad observed. First, there was no sign of children; second, there
seemed to be too many men standing night watch. Rugged, fierce men, who watched the riders coming down from the heights with scowls masked by the shadows.

  Suddenly there was more of a commotion. Men leaped from their places around the campfire, pointing and shouting. From the largest of the tents a heavyset, sweaty man dressed in the heavy robes of the desert appeared. Bearded, with a large mole in his left cheek near his nose, he stood staring as the riders came closer, nervously twirling his many golden finger rings. Then a wide grin broke over his face.

  “Assal!” he called with a laugh. “You’ve come back after all! And what’s this? You’ve brought visitors?”

  Assal Karli slipped from his camel and beamed while the sheik grasped him firmly by the shoulders and held him at arms’ length. “Many had already given you up for dead,” he said with a chuckle and a glint in his cunning eyes. “Your mother despaired and wept all last night, berating me for your death. Foolish woman!’ I told her. ‘Would merciful Allah let such a son die in a mere sirocco?’ I knew my son well enough. I knew that Allah, may His name be blessed, would ride with him on his errand and bring him back safely to me.” Then the sheik glanced to the strangers upon their camels and furrowed his brows. “All … has gone well?” he asked in a whisper.

  Assal Karli grinned. “Very well, Father. I could not have hoped for better fortune.” He swung his body around to face his companions, the hems of his robe brushing against the sand. “Permit me to introduce my friends whose hospitality saved my life. Lady Diona of Damascus” — the sheik eyed her appreciatively and bowed — “and her noble escort to Jerusalem, the famed Captain Sinbad of Baghdad.”

  The older man quickly smiled and faced the mariner. “Indeed, fortune is strange, Captain, that my humble tents should have the honor of greeting a man renowned throughout all Araby.” And he bowed deeply. “My home is your home. Come. Let the women prepare food while you warm yourself beside the fire.”

  Minutes later Sinbad found himself comfortably settled, while serving girls tilled his cup with thick desert wine and placed before him dripping slabs of goat meat on a skillet. Assal Karli’s father proved himself a genial host, eager to cater to Sinbad’s every wish, spoken and unspoken. Yet despite the overwhelming conviviality, he still felt uneasy. Diona had been whisked away to the women’s quarters to be tended as a woman of her rank deserved, but she had been out of his sight — and protection — for quite some time now, and Sinbad didn’t like it.