The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar

by Graham Diamond

  “What are Aladdin’s chances of being found?” asked Christóbal.

  Flavius looked at the giant evenly. “Good, if they’ve only been temporarily grounded due to some minor power failure. But if they’ve been spotted by enemy swimmers, if they’ve strayed too far past our safety zone — ” He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to.

  Already Aladdin had been missing for nearly a full cycle of whitetime; with each passing minute, the chances of being rescued were only going to lessen. The turtle itself carried only a limited reserve of air, and by tomorrow’s whitetime, this, too, would be depleted. No, there wasn’t much time left to search for and locate the capitán. Indeed both he and the pretty scientist might already be dead. That they might have survived the ordeal and been captured by the forces of Hellix was a possibility he wouldn’t allow himself to even consider. The consequences of that happenstance were far too frightening. Christóbal sighed, crossed himself, and silently issued the most serious prayer of his life. He would gladly have given his right arm — perhaps his left, as well — just to know where his friend was at this very moment.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Shara had given him a soft, warm smile, as the turtle reached the shallows of the dark canal, and disembarkment began. Aladdin clutched her hand tightly and, with all the courage he could muster, allowed his captors to lead him off the vessel. Then the girl was taken from him, directed one way, while he was forcibly taken another. Fighting was useless. The Hellixian swimmers were quite adamant on the direction they wanted him to go. By the looks in their eyes, and the webbed hands on their weapons, the adventurer was assured they were in no mood to be argued with. Aladdin had no idea where he was. This couldn’t be Hellix, he reasoned. Or could it? Everywhere he looked the seascape was dark and cavernous, like some huge grotto volcanically blasted long ago in the bowels of an undersea mountain. The air was dank and stale, but breathable. As he followed his captors he gloomily tried to make sense of where he might be.

  The guards proved to be gruff, no-nonsense fellows, shoving him each time he paused to try to get a glimpse of where Shara was being taken. They didn’t talk much; in fact, they didn’t talk at all except for an occasional grunt indicating the path he was to follow. Likewise, the stern countenance of their frog-like features, the webbed hands at all times upon the shafts of their sheathed weapons, assured the adventurer they were in no mood to be argued with. Still, things being what they were, and he being nothing short of an enemy invader in their territory, he was being treated with a degree of deference and respect he did not expect. They marched him well away from the gloomy canal where the dormant turtle waited, along a foul-smelling granite corridor, which twisted sharply every twenty paces or so. Darkness was encroaching, so that he could not even make out the faces of the dour soldiers who accompanied him on both sides. To even think of escape was ridiculous, he knew. Overpowering his captors was out of the question. But even if he could, what then? How would he manage to get out of here, much less ever hope of finding Shara and rescuing her, as well? For the time being he would have to grin and bear it. Bide his time. Try and get a better fix on his bearings. Play the game of the enemies who had captured him but for some reason allowed him to survive.

  So he did the only thing he could do; he put on a brave front. He stiffened his shoulders, stood straight and tall, and acted as though he weren’t the least bit afraid. Then he started to whistle a merry tune, which evoked memories of home. The commander of the Amphibs looked at him curiously. Aladdin puckered his lips, demonstrating how the whistle sound was effected. The soldier tried to do it. He wet his thin lips with a lizard-like tongue, puffed his cheeks out in imitation of Aladdin, and strained to make the sound. Only air came, nothing else. Aladdin demonstrated once more, and chuckled as his captor tried again to no avail. “Nature may have given you the ability to breathe water,” the adventurer muttered, “but she’s robbed you of your more human characteristics.” With a growl the hefty commander abandoned his efforts and nudged Aladdin to keep moving.

  They came into a vast open cavern, far greater in dimension than the cavern of the canal. The floor and walls appeared to be scrubbed clean and smooth, probably due to thousands of years of water erosion. The rock above seemed to be limestone, Aladdin noted, slowly eroded and dissolved, until now it resembled a colourful chiselled mosaic. The gravel-covered earth beneath his feet was deeply pitted and scarred. At one time, great flowing rivers must have crisscrossed this place, now riddled with multiple faults and fissures. Small, black lakes dotted the seascape; even in the darkness, Aladdin could clearly make out their lines. This was a barren scene, reminiscent of the Outland, filled, instead, with deep, bottomless pools. Intuitively, he knew there would be no whitetime in this moribund world. It was cratered like the moon — and nearly as grim and silent.

  He was about to question his captors as to why he had been brought here when, to his surprise and interest, the placid surface of the closest deep pool began to stir. He braced himself and watched intently as something — someone — slowly rose from the black depths and climbed over the sloping bank.

  The Amphibs surrounding Aladdin lowered their heads and crossed their arms reverently over their chests. The man from the pool acknowledged them tersely and moved toward Aladdin.

  He was large and powerfully built, reminding Aladdin more of Christóbal than of any undersea dweller. This stranger wore the customary wet suit and goggles. When he took the goggles off, Aladdin stood transfixed. He was flaxen-haired, like the rest with gill-slits on the sides of his neck, but he appeared, somehow, to be far more human. He had a human mouth and nose. The eyes were deeply set and wide apart, but less bulging. There was wisdom in the craggy face, as well as the sags and wrinkles of advanced age. He appeared to be a generation or two removed from the Hellixians Aladdin was accustomed to, and thus, perhaps, living proof of Shara’s theory that succeeding generations were undergoing far more rapid adaptive changes than their forebears. He bore no weapons, as far as Aladdin could tell, nor did he seem particularly excited about the prisoner before him. He scrutinised Aladdin carefully and then looked at the commanding officer.

  “This is the one,” the Amphib commander said in a tone of earnest supplication.

  The bigger man replied in a deep and resonant voice, far more human than that of the others, “Good. You may withdraw.”

  The Amphibs bowed their heads and crossed their arms again. Then one by one — to Aladdin’s amazement — they slipped into the pool and disappeared beneath the murky surface. Aladdin and the visitor were left alone in the vast cavern.

  The Hellixian placed his webbed hands at his side and fixed a penetrating gaze on Aladdin. For an instant, Aladdin’s mind raced with the possibility of escape. The two of them were alone, and if he could successfully tackle the larger man and make him his prisoner, then he could strike a bargain for his and Shara’s freedom.

  “Do you know where you are?” the Hellixian asked. “Somewhere in Hellix, I would imagine.”

  “The bowels of the labyrinth. There is no way out.” He gestured imperiously with his elongated fingers. “This grotto of the Twin Plates was etched many millennia ago. My people are enclosed in an invincible air pocket, which even the greatest army of Cinnabar cannot penetrate. Once our masses huddled within these walls in fear. No more. We have found our freedom.”

  “Why have you robbed me of mine?”

  The question, abrupt and unexpected as it was threw the Hellixian briefly off guard. But rather than incurring anger, it caused him to smile. An almost human smile. “Do you know who I am?”

  Aladdin shook his head. “From the deference your Amphibs showed, I assume you’re a soldier, a commander.”

  “I am Tamerlane.”

  The name meant nothing, the Hellixian could tell. “Have your Cinnabar friends never spoken of it?”

  “Never,” answered Aladdin, determined not to be put on the defensive.

  Tamerlane placed a clenche
d fist on his lips and paused thoughtfully. “I would have thought differently,” he said with a quiet regard that puzzled Aladdin. He had expected his captor to bluster and rave, and to accuse him of every crime from trespassing to wilful espionage. Instead, he found himself confronted by a rather solemn grandfatherly type who, so far at least, seemed not to bear any hostility.

  “My name is well known among the people of Cinnabar,” Tamerlane said at last. He stiffened, put his hands at the small of his back as if to sooth some nagging pain, then glanced indifferently about the enormous black cavern. When he spoke again, he said simply, “Why have you come?”

  “I haven’t,” Aladdin countered. “I was captured and brought here as a prisoner.”

  The older man shook his head. “I mean why did you come to our world?”

  He knows I’m from the surface, Aladdin thought. He knows I’m not his enemy. Perhaps I can use this fact to good advantage. “I had little choice,” he said. “I gave my word.”

  Sounding much like Shara, Tamerlane said, “It was a mistake. A grave error. Shaman has misled you.”

  Aladdin was clearly taken aback. “Shaman? You know about Shaman?”

  Tamerlane smiled an enigmatic smile, and looked directly at his prisoner. “You are the one brought by the vessel of Cinnabar’s councilman. The one they call Aladdin, the man who could help Cinnabar’s warriors to defeat us.”

  Aladdin was stunned beyond belief. Tamerlane knew all about him. But how — how could he?

  “Cinnabar’s Funnel is constantly under our observation,” Aladdin was told in explanation. “When Shaman’s vessel sailed for the surface, the reason was easy to surmise. Then, when the return Passage was complete, we were certain Shaman had found what he sought. Our spies in the Outland quickly confirmed our suspicions.” Aladdin thought briefly of the strange birds that had overflown that barren waste.

  “Only the names of you and your companion were not known to us. Your purpose, though, was evident.”

  Aladdin fidgeted uneasily. “There isn’t much you don’t know, is there?”

  “Little transpires beneath the sea that escapes our scrutiny. You have been among the Cinnabarians long enough to realise that. Cinnabar gasps for breath, and, like a shark in the throes of death, eats now of her own flesh.” He sighed deeply, this old man who was not quite human, then nudged Aladdin by the elbow. “Come,” he said. “Walk with me. Tell me of the surface world.”

  Tamerlane led his prisoner on a meandering sojourn along the banks of the dark lakes. He asked many questions of Aladdin, about his home, about life upon the surface, which he had never seen. Every answer Aladdin gave seemed only to prompt more questions. It seemed that the old man had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. He asked pointedly about the sky and the stars, and listened, enraptured, as Aladdin endeavoured to explain; however, it was in the majestic sun itself that he seemed most interested. He wanted to hear about the vast continents about which the folklore of his ancestors spoke, the strictly air-breathing peoples and nations of the surface, and how they governed themselves. He wondered about climate, sources of food, agriculture, and appeared to be most intrigued when Aladdin tried to explain rain. The concept of fresh water falling from the sky seemed totally beyond his comprehension. When Aladdin told him about snow, he grinned like a wide-eyed schoolboy, shutting his tired eyes and trying to imagine it. Aladdin spoke of the places men called deserts and jungles, and of fields of grasses that swayed with the wind. Wind was also a concept he had difficulty understanding. It was obvious to Aladdin that Hellix, unlike Cinnabar, had broken its ties to the surface so completely that now, even the most commonplace happening seemed beyond understanding — an indication, perhaps, of how truly alien to each other the two warring factions had become.

  Not once, during the entire conversation, however, did Tamerlane query his prisoner directly about Cinnabar. He avoided the topic entirely. In fact, he seemed to have no curiosity whatsoever about the lives of his avowed enemies.

  When they reached the sharply sloping banks of what was the largest of the grotto’s black lakes, a weary Tamerlane rested himself atop a small boulder and indicated for Aladdin to sit upon a rock directly opposite. The old man asked no questions for a while, contenting himself to stare out at the dark, tranquil water, digesting all the wonders he had been told about, and sorting them out in his adroit mind. In his eyes, if Aladdin was any judge, there seemed to be a mixture of sorrow and quiet acceptance. As though Tamerlane was now seeing how much of two worlds — the old and the new, the surface and the sea — he and his people had been. Of once being fully human as those of Cinnabar still were; but also of the sea and its everlasting lure that had transformed them upon a course of irreversible adaptation, into creatures of the sea. He folded his spidery arms and drew deep sighs. Then he looked at Aladdin and smiled.

  “You have had much to say and it has been good hearing it.”

  “Perhaps one day you can voyage to the surface and see it all for yourself.”

  Tamerlane shook his head gravely. “No. That is no longer possible. We have come too far. Too far.”

  “I don’t understand — ”

  The smile deepened in a grandfatherly way. Tamerlane said, “To the surface, my people are outcasts. It was our own doing — we wished it that way.” Clearly he was struggling with himself as he spoke, perhaps with the same passion that had long ago caused this same casting out. “We have not enjoyed having to fight in this interminable and winless war, but the steps we took to ensure survival and eventual victory were necessary. We are what we are. I envy you, your surface world, Aladdin, but the sea is our home. We are no longer intruders, but an indigenous species.”

  It was a compelling and irrefutable statement. Aladdin knew that what he was about to say might cause friction between him and the old man; nevertheless, it needed to be said. “Why must you continue this fight? Why not sue for peace and share the sea with Cinnabar.”

  Tamerlane snapped out of his idling thoughts. The surface stranger had spoken the unthinkable. “There can be no peace,” he said flatly, like an immovable patriarch of granite. This abrupt change in attitude startled Aladdin. Up to now, Tamerlane had seemed to be the most reasonable man in the world. Certainly he was far more understanding than any of Cinnabar’s exalted generals. But on this he seemed uncompromising.

  “There is horror and death to come,” he said slowly, making certain that his prisoner fully understood the gravity of his words. “Vindication of my people.” Rage seemed to bubble inside him as he said this.

  “Vindication of what?”

  “Of Hellix. Of what I am — and what my children are.” He held out a hand, a webbed hand, as if to demonstrate the differences between those human and those not human. The hatred burning in his deep-set eyes was little different than the hatred shown by Rufio. Only now did Aladdin begin to perceive the depth of this long-standing animosity.

  “You do not belong to this world, surface man. You should not have come.”

  “My own fate has taken its course,” Aladdin answered. “Maybe you are right, maybe not. Nevertheless, here I am. But know this, Tamerlane, I need not be your enemy.”

  The Hellixian regarded him askance; he lifted one hairless brow in a cold gaze. “Beneath the sea all air-only breathers are my enemies and the enemies of my people. You speak as though you have come in peace, but have chosen to fight beside those enemies who would banish us from our home.”

  “That isn’t true!” the adventurer protested.

  “Isn’t it?” Tamerlane’s tone became dry and factual. “Have you not been summoned to aid Cinnabar and its cause? Have you not partaken in the fight for the Academy, killed and — ”

  “I was attacked, and I fought back in self-defence. Besides, there were no Cinnabarian troops at the laboratory. Only civilian men and women — scientists — whose sole duty is the advancement of their understanding of the sea.”

  Tamerlane laughed with biting sarcasm. He chose to ignore
the pleas and excuses of his surface prisoner, and to believe Aladdin was merely naive in the ways of a treacherous foe. “Then why did you come?” he asked.

  “At first, to satisfy a promise. Then, as you say, to fight in a war against you. But everything I’ve witnessed since my arrival convinces me that this blood need no longer be shed. You and Cinnabar share a magnificent heritage. A hundred empires could flourish here, side by side. The Twin Plates together are no more than a speck in the eye of God’s great ocean.” He gestured around him. “Everywhere there is endless abundance. You are both rich beyond a surface man’s wildest desires...”

  “Your argument might have rung true — once.”

  Aladdin watched a shadow cross Tamerlane’s wise and bright eyes. “But not now?”

  “Never now. Never. Too much has transpired. It cannot be erased.”

  The adventurer clenched his teeth and pounded a fist against the smooth side of the rock. “I’ll never understand you people. What do you want from each other? Will no one be satisfied until the last drop of blood has been spilled? Until the Twin Plates are both totally devastated?”

  “We seek no empire; merely what is ours.”

  “And what is that?”

  Pausing, Tamerlane finally said, “A moment ago you spoke of God. We, too, are a religious race. We revere the Creator, much as you do. For each species, fish or fowl or beast, there is a kingdom. Yours is the surface. Ours is here.”

  “And Cinnabar’s?”

  “Cinnabar will meet its fate.”

  Aladdin felt an icy chill run up his spine. He made a futile effort to stifle his anxiety, his fearful realisation that Shara had indeed been right. The wounds were too deep. Nothing and no one could alter the inevitable course of what would surely follow. Yet, what staggering wastefulness he saw. Each empire was so preoccupied with ancient grudges and festering hatreds that neither one could see the forest for the trees. They were determinedly set upon a course that compounded their sufferings. In the land of the blind, the cyclops is king, Aladdin mused bitterly; here amidst the vastness of the eternal sea, he felt as though he alone were sighted. Not with great foresight or vision, but merely with the realisation that the situation would become increasingly furious and untenable with each passing day as each side sought to strangle the other.