The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar

by Graham Diamond

  Once more the dying man held out the blue pearls. “And are these but an illusion as well?”

  “They seem real enough.” Aladdin shrugged. “However, I’m sure that if we delved deeply enough we’d find a more plausible explanation.” He closed Shaman’s feeble hand around the priceless pearls, putting them out of temptation. “I thank you for coming to me, and I wish you fortune in — er — persuading some other soldier-of-fortune to accompany you to Cinnabar.”

  Shaman stiffened and cast a sidelong look at the bemused adventurer. “You think me a lunatic, don’t you?”

  “I think you are misguided, Shaman. If Cinnabar were real, then its existence would be known to us all.”

  “I am a proud man, Aladdin, and did not come all this way to become the focus of your amusement. I will not be spurned!” His spate of angry words turned into a fit of coughing. Poor demented fellow, Aladdin thought. He probably believes every word he said, Cinnabar and all.

  “My vow remains unbroken, Shaman. Now excuse me; it’s been a very long night and I need some rest.”

  The sick man’s face twisted into a snarl; his eyes smouldered with outrage. Pointing a trembling finger at Aladdin, he said, “I came to you in good faith, adventurer. Now I realise I was gravely misinformed. You are no better than a common mercenary, unmoved by the tragedy of others, not caring about the sacredness of human life.”

  Aladdin ignored the slander. He prided himself on the righteous causes he’d fought for and considered himself a man of high principle.

  “Think of me what you like, Shaman. My conscience is clear. Return to your Cinnabar where there is no sun or sky or moon. Leave Basra in peace, as you came.” He turned to go.

  “Be warned, adventurer!” rasped the enraged stranger. “You will regret your short-sightedness.”

  Against his better judgment, Aladdin stopped and regarded the sick man one last time. “You tax my patience to the limits, Shaman. Be gone before there is trouble.”

  Shaman stood defiantly and lifted a clenched fist. “I can force you to do as I ask,” he growled. “Do not make it necessary.”

  Aladdin looked quizzically at the frail man. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “Only a warning, Aladdin. Perhaps I cannot touch you, but I can make my will known through those you love.”

  “I am not easily frightened,” he answered.

  “Then do not tempt me to do something we may both regret. At my command are ways and means which transcend my dying body.”

  “If you claim to be a wizard, conjure up your evil. I have battled men of sorcery before — ”

  Shaman glared at the turbaned adventurer. His nostrils flared, and the scowl that parted his thin lips was grim and malevolent. Clearly, Shaman was not a man used to being scorned. Seething with anger, he lifted his arms high and wide, saying, “Today I make a vow of my own, Aladdin: within two dawns you shall be at my side upon my ship.”

  Aladdin regarded him with cocky assurance, though the vow left him more shaken than he was willing to admit. “Not in two dawns or two centuries of dawns,” he rejoined. “Neither you nor anyone else can spoil the peace and well-being I have finally found.”

  “We shall see, Aladdin. We shall see...” Then Shaman stepped back toward the cover of boughs, a tight smile on his lips. In the blink of an eye he was gone, leaving Aladdin staring after him at the edge of the garden.

  Shaman is truly insane, he thought. And a crazed man is the most dangerous kind of all. Aladdin shuddered, hoping that the threat would prove idle and their paths would never cross again.

  Chapter Five

  “By the holy seal of the papacy, you look paler than a virgin’s bridal gown!” Christóbal pushed himself up into a sitting position, his long feet stretched over the edge of the bed. He stared wide-eyed and puzzled at his friend.

  Aladdin said nothing; he unwrapped his turban, shaking free his curly hair, then proceeded to take off his robes and tunic and wash himself at the basin. Early morning sunlight spilled luxuriously inside. The rooms supplied for the sultan’s guests lacked nothing. Every amenity had been dispensed for the two weary travellers. Eating sweet grapes from a bowl, Christóbal observed his friend with some interest, then turned his attention to the fair sea wind carried in from the bay and the gentle murmurs of the breaking tide. The view from the balcony was spectacular. From his lofty palace perch he could gaze down at the entire city as it blazed with muted light and colour.

  Shrugging off Aladdin’s silence, he lifted himself off the bed and began his morning exercises. Holding his enormous sinewy arms over his head, he clapped his hands together, back and forth, back and forth. His legs looked thicker than freshly cut logs, and the sound of his joggling feet hitting the floor was like rolling thunder. He huffed and puffed, straining to touch his toes with bearlike paws, flexing his chest and biceps. His nude frame was so massive that the chamber seemed designed for dwarves in comparison.

  “So, capitán?” he panted, after the conditioning was complete. “How was the party last night, eh? He himself loathed crowds of any kind, especially when they involved the pomp and buffoonery of the aristocracy. Exhausted upon his arrival, he had declined to attend the festivities and was more than grateful when the servants ushered him here to get some rest. The mere sight of the feathered mattress with its satin sheets was far more enticing than a palace ball, even if it was being held by Aladdin’s oldest friend. So, while the rest of the guests had made merry, he was more than content to plop down in his clothes and go to sleep. A woman to keep him company would have been a welcome addition, but a man can’t always have everything he wants. Christóbal was content enough. He hit the bed and slept like a rock.

  Aladdin lay atop the opposite bed, and shut his eyes. The cries of gulls soaring above the harbour lulled him toward sleep.

  “You mean you are going to sleep without uttering a single word, capitán?” The Spaniard scratched his unruly hair. “Without even telling me about the pretty girls you have waiting for me? I tell you I haven’t slept a wink all night, so eager have I been to hear. I swear it, capitán. Capitán? You lie there like a dead man. Are you dead, my friend? If you are then I must make arrangements for your burial so that your corpse doesn’t stink up the palace.” He pretended to wipe away a tear. “But,” he went on, “if you are still breathing, then please speak to me.”

  Aladdin could not contain his laughter any longer. He chuckled at the big oaf’s sheepish grin. “You act like a village idiot, do you know that?”

  “Because I am an idiot. By the blessed Madonna, if I were not an idiot, why would I be spending my days with you? Now what about the women, capitán?”

  Propping himself on his elbows, Aladdin winked and said, “I came across an Ethiopian veil dancer that might interest you. Tall, Christóbal, sleek and long-legged the way you like. With ebony flesh that gleams, and a face carved as intricately as the face of an Egyptian goddess. Jet black hair and blacker eyes...”

  “And tits? Does she have big tits?”

  “Like ripened melons, my friend. I’ve already spoken with her on the sly and she claims she’d be delighted to meet a man of your — er — endowments. In fact, she implored me to bring you to her this very night.”

  Christóbal swelled his gargantuan chest. “Ah, it is nice to have friends who look after me so well. Thank you, capitán. You have made an aging fool very happy.”

  “Good. Now may I get a little sleep?”

  The big Spaniard strode across the room and thought about the coming evening with anticipation. He poured wine from a pitcher into his cup, and admired the stunning balcony view. “You know,” he said, downing the heady contents in a single swallow, “I think I am going to like this village.” Wiping dribble off his chin with the back of his hand, he said, “It reminds me of my home.”

  He watched the city stir and then steam with life. Crowds jostled across the major thoroughfares spilling into side streets. The cries of vendors and street entertainers at trell
is-covered suqs and bazaars mingled with the drone of beggars and pilgrims pleading the alms. The shops and stalls were overflowing with merchandise. A steady stream of wagons heaped with goods wedged between the masses and the narrow, winding byways which crisscrossed the central district. Merchants proudly displayed their wares: rugs, jewellery, heaps of fresh fruit and hot bread, Damascan blades and Oriental jade, sweetmeats, pastries, horse saddles and camel saddles, toys for children and playthings for adults. Exotic birds squawked in cages, lazy mules refused to budge, cuts of juicy meat hung in open shops while butchers’ assistants swatted away flies. Wolf and lion pelts were in great demand, as were hanging lanterns and shining brass oil lamps shipped from Akaba, flowers and potted plants, alchemists’ potions, silver urns, and gold candlesticks; local and imported wines, goat’s milk and cow’s milk; butter and cheese. A lumbering caravan of camels and mules made its way through the central gate. All of Basra was abuzz with activity. Change only the tongue and the garb and the Spaniard could indeed picture himself back in Valencia. “Yes,” he repeated, “I think I am going to like this village.”

  Aladdin sat up. “Now that you mention it,” he said, “I’ve been thinking the very same thing myself. Basra is a marvellous city.” He inhaled the fresh air and glanced at the clusters of tiled roofs sloping down the hills. “It seems to me that a man could do a lot worse for himself. Why, here we have all the world’s luxuries at our fingertips.”

  Christóbal regarded his companion with curiosity. Moving from the balcony, he loomed over Aladdin’s bed like a giant. “Eh? What are you talking about, capitán?”

  “A home, compadre.” He used the Castilian word for companion. “A real home. The kind we’ve been without for too long.”

  The gawking Spaniard crossed himself. He was not a religious man, but when something jarred him, he subconsciously lapsed into the traditions of his people. “Am I hearing you correctly, capitán? You are talking of remaining here — for good?”

  “I have been mulling it over, yes.”

  “Blessed Madonna!” He struck himself a blow in the forehead that would have sent a punier man spinning. “Am I still sleeping or what? Has this sultan’s wine affected your brain, the sea air poisoned your powers of reason?” He shivered involuntarily. “My friend Aladdin, what are you saying?”

  Wrapping his arms around his knees Aladdin heaved a weary sigh. “I’ve been asking myself the same questions again, Christóbal, about who I am, what I am, what I’ve become.”

  “It is dangerous for a man to think too much.”

  “Perhaps. But I can no longer deny it to myself.” He looked fretfully at his oversized friend. “Sometimes I feel that not having roots has robbed me of my identity.”

  “You are Aladdin, capitán! The Aladdin. A man of honour, admired in every court we ever visited. A man whose skills are so highly valued that he can command his own price. One who has never lost a battle, or gives up — ”

  “Until they kill him,” Aladdin interjected dryly, finishing the thought.

  Christóbal narrowed his gaze. “Is that a note of bitterness I detect, eh?”

  Aladdin shook his head slowly. “Do you never weary of being a nomad, my friend? Do you never yearn secretly for those simple blessings a common man takes for granted?”

  The Spaniard shrugged his massive shoulders. “What blessings?”

  “Oh, like a real home of your own, a wife to dote over you, children...”

  What was Aladdin ranting about? Christóbal wondered. He curled his lip in distaste. “Wives, children? An adventurer takes a hundred wives and sires twice as many offspring — without being wed a single time! Why, when I was younger, capitán, I bestowed sons in every city from Cordoba to Calcutta.” He grinned with the thought of his youthful prowess. “Why would a man settle for just one woman, just one set of offspring? I tell you a man was not meant for such a mundane life. It is unnatural. By the sacred saints, he would go mad. Look around you, capitán. Even Basra is filled with such crazy men, their backs caved-in by the burden of their responsibilities, suffering a life ruled by some demanding shrew, forced to tolerate the intolerable, without any hope of rising from despair. Any such man would give his right arm, yes, even his prized manhood, for but a single year free of his torment.”

  “I don’t think you really understand,” Aladdin muttered sleepily, stifling a yawn.

  “I think you need rest more than I realised. Sleep, capitán. We can discuss it later.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. But I’m still serious about this, Christóbal. Allah has shown me the light and the way. Thankfully it’s not too late to do something about it. The same goes for you, my friend.”

  The Spaniard sat on the edge of the bed, rocking himself slowly. “In my homeland there is a saying, capitán:

  Only an old man is content with memories;

  A young man must seek his own, wherever

  they lead him, from home to Cinnabar...”

  At the word, Aladdin bolted upright and grabbed hold of Christóbal’s huge biceps. He had all but forgotten about Shaman and the threat.

  “What made you say that?” panted Aladdin.

  Christóbal looked puzzled: He gently removed the hand from his arm, and said, “What are you talking about?”

  “Cinnabar... About Cinnabar...”

  “I do not know why I said that. It came to me, that’s all. It is a children’s rhyme.” He studied the face of his friend with concern, noticing that Aladdin had suddenly broken out into a sweat, and his eyes filled with worry. “What is wrong, capitán? What has happened?”

  Aladdin lay back and waved his hand in dismissal. “Only the foolish rantings of a sick old man I met in the garden.” Then he forced a grin, adding, “Forget it. I’m overly tired. The effects of the last few days must finally be catching up to me.”

  “Go to sleep, Aladdin,” Christóbal said quietly. “Rest, and I shall wake you later.” No sooner had Aladdin shut his eyes than he was fast asleep; the Spaniard tossed a blanket over him and left his friend to slumber.

  Chapter Six

  A sinister violence swept him mercilessly from sweet illusion into nightmare. Suddenly he found himself falling into a swirling void inside a whirling vortex. He cried out, spinning dizzily in a free fall that sucked him ever deeper. Enveloped within the maelstrom, he groped at nothingness. Then he heard the dark and grim laughter grow in volume until it echoed thunderously in his ears. The voice of Shaman mocked him.

  “I warned you, Aladdin... I warned you...!”

  His body twisted and lurched. Aladdin awoke to find himself back in bed, the stain sheet crumpled and cast aside. He was drenched in perspiration, breathing heavily, and trembling. It took a long while for his vision to clear.

  Late afternoon sunlight brought buttercup yellow into the room. He heard birds chirping in the garden below, wet his lips and tasted the tangy salt. A breeze caused the Chinese bells to tinkle. Looking around at the familiar walls, Aladdin sighed with relief. The nightmare had been so vivid that he was not quite convinced it had been only a dream.

  “Lazy good-for-nothing! About time you woke up.” The big Spaniard loped in from the balcony where he’d spent the day lounging in the sun, picking from bowls of dried nuts and dates. He plopped a handful of cherries into his cavernous mouth and chewed loudly, spitting out the seeds and smacking his lips. Stocking cap askew, an expansive little-boy grin across his face, he seemed more an overgrown child than a fearsome soldier-of-fortune.

  “What... What time is it, Christóbal?” Aladdin asked groggily.

  The oxlike figure looked toward the horizon and gauged the hour by the sun’s angle. “Too early for supper,” he answered, feeling his belly growl. “All this sea air makes me extremely hungry, eh? What about you?”

  Aladdin shook his head; food was the last thing on his mind.

  “I swear you have been sleeping more soundly than a rock, capitán. Three times the servants came and,” he held up as many fingers, “t
hree times I chased them away, saying you were not to be disturbed.” He gnashed his teeth and frowned, annoyed he had finished off the last bunch of grapes.

  Gulls were soaring and diving above the bay. A few ships sailed from the harbour in the evening tide, bobbing like corks as they ploughed the waves.

  “Time for you to get dressed, eh? Or have you forgotten that tonight there will be a banquet held in your honour?”

  Aladdin nodded sluggishly; he hadn’t forgotten. He sat up over the side of the bed with his feet dangling. The memory of the bad dream was beginning to fade. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long,” he muttered, hand to his mouth as he yawned lazily. “The sultan will consider it most rude.” And the banquet tonight was certainly something he didn’t want to be late for. He was going to surprise his boyhood friend with the announcement of his decision to forswear adventuring.

  He ducked his head in the washbasin and jerked it out, dripping icy water. Wiping his hair dry with a towel, he concentrated on what he was going to say. A little speech was working inside his mind as he found a fresh tunic and pulled it on. “We’re expected at dusk, Christóbal,” he said absently, searching for his crimson sash and silver loop bracelets. “And don’t forget that later we’ll steal away to meet the Ethiopian girl.”

  The Spaniard sprawled out on the cushions, stretching his big feet across the floor. “Ah, capitán, how could I fail to remember? You know, it is truly a shame you slept the whole day away. From the balcony I noticed many more delights”

  “You mean more women, don’t you?” said Aladdin, combing his hair.

  “By the Madonna, what other delights are there? Que linditas! What pretty little things this sultan fills his palace with. Each one a jewel of perfection.” He scratched his belly, tangled his fingers in the forest of thick hair. “Your friend the sultan has a good eye for females. A harem worthy of any man — including myself. Especially myself, a poor creature who needs to be loved...”

  Aladdin looked at him sharply. “Don’t I recall your saying the same thing before? Two summers ago when we were guests of the Persian court? Or have you forgotten that little incident?”