The Forty Thieves

by Christy Lenzi

  “He tells you to fight each other?” I interrupt.

  “That’s how the games are played.”

  “Games?” Saja cries. “You call fighting each other with weapons and stealing from shops a game?”

  “Aw, we don’t get to keep the stuff—Red Beard’s men round it up and report who did the best fighting. That gang wins, and those boys get to go to Red Beard’s camp with his men and celebrate with feasting like you’ve never seen! You should hear the grand stories the boys tell of the delicious food that seems to appear from out of nowhere. No one knows how it’s done, but everyone wants to go see for themselves! The men say one day the best boys will get to join them and keep the stuff they steal. Sometimes Red Beard even chooses one of the older boys to replace one of his men when he loses one.”

  Saja and I exchange worried looks.

  “But that’s not the tail end of it.” Stinger laughs and twirls his mallet in the air. “There’s talk about a secret bigger than you could ever dream of. And if you end up riding with Red Beard for good, he’ll let you in on it.” He catches the mallet and shoves it back into his belt. “And I aim to be one of the few who finds out.”

  Stinger gallops down the hill to join the crowd of boys in the center. I follow Saja and the rest of the gang after him. Everyone wants to get next to the man on the horse. The boys jostle each other as the crowd presses in. I feel sick with so many strangers this close. Their faces loom too near; their hands and elbows push into my arms, my back. I hold my breath and screw my eyes shut.

  Red Beard’s voice rises above the din of the mob, and everyone quiets down. “I’ve called you here today on a small business matter.” The flames cast flickering light and shadows over his features and blackened eyes, making it difficult to see his face and giving him a ghoulish look. “It appears the wealthy merchant, Jaffar, who lives on Umar Hill, has gone on a journey. Fortunately, he paid the bathhouse gang to protect his property before he left. When he returns, he shall hear how valiantly they fought for him. Of course, it is a shame he will also discover his property looted despite their greatest efforts.”

  The boys chuckle and nudge each other with their elbows. I try to look at Jamal without him seeing me. He sits straight and tall in front of the man, his face beaming as if he’s just found Cook’s secret store of sweets. At least he’s safe—for now. I cringe to think of what Stinger and the other boys might do to him after the battle.

  Red Beard takes the woven helmet from Jamal’s head and throws it to one of the bathhouse boys. A small scuffle breaks out as some of his companions try to wrestle it from him, but they back down when the boy draws his “sword,” a sharpened stick as long as his arm. He proudly tears off his turban and puts the helmet on.

  “Take four gangs—two to fight, two to break in,” Red Beard orders. He pulls out another helmet and scans Stinger’s group. He turns his face toward us and seems to be looking right at me, though it’s too hard to tell with the fire making shadows flicker across his eyes. A chill goes through my bones. Forgetting I’m not wearing it, I reach to touch my scarf. My fingers grasp air and graze my bare face. Red Beard freezes when he catches my careless gesture—I feel his eyes on me.

  “You—bathhouse boy. What’s your name?”

  I shrink back, trying to find something to disappear into.

  Stinger steps toward Red Beard. “That’s Khubz. He and Lumpy don’t even know anything. This is their first time.”

  The man doesn’t alter his stance or turn toward Stinger, but continues to address me. “Take two gangs and fight against the others. The rest will guard the looters.” He throws the helmet at me.

  My hands instinctively reach out and catch it. I stand frozen like a statue, clutching the helmet in front of me. The man smiles faintly beneath his red beard. It makes my skin crawl. Does he know I’m in disguise?

  “No bathie’s going to lead my gang!” Stinger snatches the helmet from me and pushes me down. The fang on his ring cuts my cheek as it flies past. I swallow back a cry of pain and thrust my feet between Stinger’s, forcing his legs apart. He topples to the ground, still clutching the helmet. I lunge for it. If I lead Stinger’s gang, I can control them—keep them away from Badi and Jamal. But Stinger swings the flat side of his mallet at me, hitting me across the chest and knocking me backward.

  Saja cries out and runs to me. “Are you all right, Marjana?” she whispers, clutching my arm. She unwinds a bit of her turban cloth and presses it to the bleeding cut.

  I nod. The wind’s knocked out of me and my chest aches, but I notice Red Beard still has his face turned toward me, so I brush Saja’s hands away and muster up the courage to lift my face as Stinger pulls the helmet on and starts yelling orders to his gang. Out of the corner of my eye, I finally see Red Beard’s head turn away. Jamal didn’t recognize me, yet this stranger suspected at once that I was wearing a disguise.

  After the two helmeted leaders organize their troops, they light some torches in the fire and pass them around. When all’s ready, Red Beard raises his sword in the air and shouts, “To Umar Hill!”

  The wild cry that rises from the gangs makes me jump. Saja squeals and seizes my arm, but no one notices us—everyone’s on the move. As the group surges up the hill to the city, I try keeping Jamal and Badi in my sights. I grab Saja’s sleeve so we won’t get separated as the flood of bodies carries us off toward Umar Hill.

  CHAPTER

  12

  The bathhouse boys arrive at the merchant Jaffar’s home first and position themselves in battle formation in the middle of the street. The boy wearing the helmet rides on the back of another boy like a warrior on a horse, his stick sword thrust into the air. Stinger, too, jumps onto the back of one of his friends and raises his mallet.

  “Marjana!” Saja almost yanks my arm out of its socket. “What are we going to do?” she whispers. “We wanted to keep Badi and Jamal safe, not fight like them!”

  But before I can answer, loud crashes erupt near the house. The looters have begun their work. The boys are breaking down the doors and windows of Jaffar’s store and warehouse. As if this is a signal, the two leaders give a war cry. Their “horses” bolt forward.

  The rush of gangs follows, and Saja and I are knocked over as the boys gallop toward one another, waving their weapons in the air and shouting. I help Saja to her feet and slip the knife from its sheath. Holding it out in front of me like a shield, I struggle to push my way out of the mob, dragging Saja with me.

  We almost reach the safety of a low wall, when a flying rock hits Saja between the shoulder blades. She cries out and stumbles into a clump of bushes. I whip around to face our attacker, but whoever threw the rock is lost in the dark sea of battling warriors. I crawl into the cover of the bushes with Saja.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Saja sniffs. “But I can’t see Badi anywhere. It’s so dark. And crazy.”

  I peer out at the fight. If any citizens dare investigate the scene, they will think one rival gang is protecting the neighborhood by warding off the other. I scan the frantic movements of the bathhouse boys as they fight Stinger’s gang. The flash of a small white qamis near the wall catches my eye. The boy’s arm is raised, ready to throw a rock into the fray. I squint through the darkness at the figure. The torchlight plays with my vision, but I’m sure it’s Saja’s brother. Praise Allah!

  As I head toward him, a bigger boy plows into him, knocking him backward, then lifts his club, ready to strike. A surge of energy courses through my body, and I bolt out of the bushes. I grab the older boy’s club and sling it over the wall. His jaw falls open as he watches it disappear into the darkness. His mouth and eyebrows gather into a knot, and he rushes at me like a demon.

  I twirl away easily and slip behind the boy in one graceful move. Club Boy turns and lunges for me again, but I duck at the last moment and spring away from him like a cat. He loses his balance. With a push, I help send him tumbling over the wall.

  The boy swears at m
e as he picks himself up and runs off to find his club. My blood races and my arms tingle. I’m breathless. Fighting’s almost as exhilarating as dancing. When I reach out a hand to help the smaller boy to his feet, I realize he’s not even Saja’s brother.

  Saja calls out in her girl voice, “Marjana, look out!” She barrels toward me, wielding a branch like a weapon, and runs right past me.

  I spin around. Club Boy’s charging straight at me, ready to strike, but Saja knocks him down before he even has the chance to swing. He falls to the ground, moaning and rubbing his head.

  I gasp. “Saja! He could have killed me with that club. You saved me—”

  “There’s Badi!” She points through the crowd. I can’t see him.

  At that moment, a great shout rises up. I turn to find the bathhouse gang running away and Stinger’s boys rejoicing. They throw their weapons in the air and make loud cheering noises. The looters have finished their job, and several men on horseback arrive with Red Beard. My brother still perches on the man’s saddle like a miniature captain, his face glowing with importance. All the boys gather around the horses. I need to get to Jamal before Stinger does. I run to join the group.

  “Nice work out there, Khubz.” Stinger appears beside me. “I saw how you dodged that big oaf and knocked him over the wall.” He slaps me on the back and grins. “Too bad he was one of ours.” He laughs. “Doesn’t matter—we won.” He eyes my dagger. “Nice knife.”

  “Now what happens?” I ask as the last of the gang members join the group.

  “We go to Red Beard’s camp to celebrate!” Stinger gazes up at the leader. His smile quickly fades as he looks at Jamal. “And we’ll make lamb stew out of Red Beard’s little pet. He won’t recognize the kid by the time I get through with him.”

  A small figure in a white tunic lunges toward Stinger’s gang crying out, “No! Leave him alone.” It’s Badi, punching his way into the group of older boys.

  One of them laughs and shoves Badi into the wall, knocking off his turban. The clunking sound of his head hitting stone makes me feel ill. Saja bolts over to Badi, who lies on the ground like a crumpled dishrag. She glances up at me, her eyes pleading for me to help.

  But I can’t move, afraid of what might happen to Jamal. Stinger still glares at him sitting on Red Beard’s horse. He points and yells, “Hey, you little turd—your bathies lost, and you didn’t even fight in this battle.” He scratches his chin with the fang on his ring so Jamal can see it. “Come on down here and show us what kind of warrior you really are!”

  I grab Stinger’s arm. “No!”

  He almost drops his mallet in surprise.

  I try making my voice sound rough. “He’s mine. You stole my helmet—this time it’s my turn.” I shove Stinger aside; he stumbles back against his mates. “I’ll make sure he never rides with Red Beard again,” I say.

  Stinger stands there gawking as I push my way through the crowd. He starts laughing behind me. “Flatten him like pan bread, Khubz!”

  If I stop moving forward, I’ll never do what has to be done. The wind of fate whips at my back, pushing me on. I tighten my fingers around my dagger and walk up to Red Beard’s horse. Avoiding eye contact with Jamal, I stare at the leader’s beard.

  I feel the man’s gaze and flinch, but don’t turn away. “Let the boy down.” I mean to say it forcefully, but it comes out too softly.

  Red Beard shoves me away with his foot as I were a bothersome puppy. But I won’t leave without my brother. I swallow my fear and raise my dagger. “Give me the boy!”

  The man’s fingers clamp on to my wrist. I gasp. What will he do to me? He takes me off balance and pulls, lifting and swinging me up onto the horse between himself and Jamal. My brother’s small familiar frame is finally within reach. But now we’re both trapped.

  As Red Beard slaps his horse’s reins, I catch a glimpse of Saja cradling Badi in her arms. And then the horse shoots forward, galloping toward the woods at the edge of the dumping grounds, with Stinger’s gang running and cheering behind them.

  CHAPTER

  13

  At the edge of the woods, sparks from the men’s bonfire ricochet off golden plates and silver goblets. A banquet for half a hundred people. Roasted hens, melons, figs, and cheese. Cakes and goblets of sparkling juice. The boys are stunned at their good fortune and everyone’s jostling for a place around the fire. But I can’t eat a thing. I have to get Jamal out of here.

  I pull him close to me and cup my hand around his ear to tell him what Stinger and his boys will do to him at any moment, but he pushes me away and reaches for a cake.

  Red Beard stands so near, watching us. The fire’s to his back and his face is in darkness.

  Stinger’s ignoring the feast and heads straight for Jamal.

  “Jamal!” I try to warn him.

  Before I can stop him, Stinger shoves Jamal to the ground.

  I reach for my knife, but Red Beard’s fingers grasp the hilt before mine.

  He slides my knife from the sheath and over my thigh, drawing a slender line of red across my skin.

  I gasp in pain and shock.

  Red Beard laughs. He holds the knife in both hands as if he’s going to break it in half over his knee, but I grab it from him.

  The boys circle around Jamal like a pack of wolves.

  I have to do something.

  Now.

  My hand shaking, I pull a burning log from the fire and throw the fiery stick into the nearby woods.

  Immediately, the flames devour the dry forest leaves and frighten the mules loaded with loot so that they bolt in every direction. The wind whisks up the flames and carries them along.

  Red Beard’s men rush to gather the mules and put out the growing forest fire, and I pull Jamal from Stinger’s grasp as the boys hurry to help the men.

  “You’re coming with me, you little donkey.”

  Jamal’s eyes grow round as kettledrums, and the light of recognition dawns on his face. I grab him by the ear and drag him away as everyone shouts and runs toward the fire. Smoke fills the air, stinging our eyes. My hand burns from the hot log, and my heart races like a galloping horse as the flames whip into the night.

  Bursting from the woods, free from the gang and Red Beard, I want to shout or sing or dance. I saved my brother and got us safely away.

  But Jamal’s not grateful. He pinches my arm and kicks at my ankles all the way to Umar Hill. “Let me go! I want to go back—Red Beard won’t let me ride with him again if he thinks I ran away instead of helping put out the fire.”

  I glance around, looking for Saja and Badi. “Jamal, those boys were going to hurt you. Even Badi knew that—didn’t you see how he tried to fight them off?” Saja, too, had rushed to my rescue and saved me from Club Boy. The brave proof of Saja’s friendship makes my heart swell. Should I have stayed to help her with Badi? The last time I saw her, Saja was crying and holding her brother in her arms.

  A column of gray smoke rises from the forest behind us as we hurry up the hill. Jaffar’s neighbors have come to investigate the warriors’ damage. Men’s voices call to one another in the street. I keep to the wall, out of sight. A quivering feeling of unease tightens in my chest. Where did Badi and Saja go?

  On the ground near a bush, a large dark stain is visible among the shadows and patches of silver-blue moonlight where Badi had fallen. My knees go weak. Following the trail of bloodstains, I creep under the bush to Saja’s hiding place. A pang of fear shoots through my bones when I see her huddled there, cradling her brother’s limp body in her arms.

  Tears run down Saja’s face. “Oh, my sweet Badi!” she moans. Blood drips from her fingers.

  A sour taste rises to my throat as I examine the wound. It’s so much deeper than I thought. I lower my ear to Badi’s face to listen for breath. The air feels thick, oppressive. I strain to listen, my ears aching to hear something. The silence is painfully loud. Nothing. After several moments, I rest my head on Badi’s chest and listen for the beat of his hea
rt.

  Saja and Jamal watch me, their faces white as phantoms, waiting for me to lift my head and tell them that Badi is just sleeping. But I do not rise, and Badi does not wake. In stunned silence, we listen to the noise of the men in the streets and the sound of a nightingale singing in the trees. When it seems ages have passed, I lift my head from Badi’s chest. My arms and legs are heavy stones. I try to speak. My mouth is dry, but I croak out the words: “Saja, I’m so sorry—”

  Saja stares at her brother’s lifeless body.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Saja, we have to let the men find Badi. They’ll take his body to the master of the baths, and he’ll know what to do. We can’t stay here or carry him ourselves.” I move Badi’s body out into the open as gently as I can. He looks Jamal’s size. I stare at his skinned knees and tousled hair. The quivering in my chest moves to my stomach, and sickness rises to my throat. My eyes fill, and everything turns blurry as I creep back inside.

  Saja shakes like she’s holding back a rising flood. When I take her hand, the dam breaks. Sobs and tremors rack Saja’s body as her words spill out in a torrent of convulsive whispers.

  “No! My sweet Badi!” She wrenches her hand away from mine. “I never should have listened to you and let Badi meet your brother. You thought it would help keep him safe? You didn’t even care. You never did. Why did you run off, right when Badi was hurt? Jamal was safe on the horse, but we needed you. Your brother’s still alive, and now my brother’s dead!”

  I wrap my arms around Saja and pull her close; my tears slide down her heaving shoulder. But she stiffens and peels away my arms. The night feels suddenly cold. Moonlight dances over the ground as the branches of the bushes sway above them. The nightingale’s song sounds sad and far away. I shiver as I listen to the men taking Badi away. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper again.

  Saja holds her hand up, staring at the blood, still wet, on her fingers. She turns to me and, without a word, slaps me hard across the face. Frozen in shock, I watch her crawl out of the bush and walk away without looking back.