by Paul Haven
Mr. Haji rested a hand on one of its bullet- pocked pillars.
“Here we are,” he said without turning around.
“If what my uncle taught me is correct, there is a narrow staircase under the floor at Hagur's foot,” said Mr. Haji, gesturing toward a flagstone directly in front of the tomb. “It won't be easy to open. It hasn't been moved in centuries.”
Schleim nodded his head, and the four men stepped forward.
“You heard the man,” he said. “Get to work.”
The men took up position around the flagstone, working the two crowbars into the crack. One by one, they leaned with all of their weight, but freeing the slab was a back-breaking task. After five minutes, they had managed to pry the flagstone up about an inch, their faces red with exertion.
As they worked, Schleim hovered over them, his cold eyes twinkling with excitement. He held the revolver tightly in his hand, his knuckles whiter than ever. The four men gave a great heave and pushed the flagstone aside. Schleim let out a yelp of excitement.
“There it is!” he shouted. “The path to the Salt Caverns.”
Oliver walked over to the tomb, Alamai and Zee behind him. Sure enough, underneath the tablet was a steep set of stone steps, so old they looked to be a part of the earth itself.
The four men wiped their brows and leaned panting against Hagur's marble sarcophagus. One of them, a lanky man with gaunt features and hollow eyes, cleared his nose loudly, then spat on the floor next to the tomb. Another lit a cigarette and took a long drag.
As Mr. Haji watched him pass the cigarette to his neighbor, his hands began to tremble and his eyes grew narrow with rage. Suddenly, he lunged at the men, screaming in Baladi and grabbing the lanky one by the collar of his threadbare top. The man's jaw dropped in panic as Mr. Haji let loose his angry tirade.
“What is he saying?” Oliver whispered to Alamai.
“He says they are the lowest villains he has ever laid eyes upon,” she said. “And he is asking how much Schleim paid them to sell out their country.”
“And what did the man say?” said Oliver.
“He said it was just a job,” Alamai replied.
Suavec stepped forward and pulled the two men apart.
“Temper, temper,” said Schleim, who seemed more amused than alarmed by Mr. Haji's outburst.
“These fine men are simply doing what's best for their families,” he said. “You could have done the same if you hadn't been so stubborn.”
Schleim waved the revolver at Mr. Haji, ushering him toward the stairs.
“All right, let's go,” he said. “Mr. Haji first, then me, then the kids, and then the rest of you. Let's be quick about it. I've waited long enough already.”
Haji shuffled reluctantly toward the top of the stairs and took a first gingerly step down toward the caverns.
Suddenly, there was a sharp snap and the gun flew out of Schleim's hand. The archaeologist leapt back with a yelp of pain and surprise, nursing his long, pale fingers.
“What the—” he began.
Just then, four Baladi men rushed out of a clutch of bushes at the edge of the lawn. Each was armed with a slingshot pointed straight at Schleim.
Oliver, Alamai, and Zee spun around as a low rumble rose from the bottom of the hill. All at once, six horsemen leapt into view. Their steeds were adorned with bright pompoms that hung from their manes and tails. The horses’ nostrils flared, and their lips were drawn back to reveal long yellow teeth.
At the head of the pack was the most enormous man that Hugo Schleim had ever seen. He charged forward with a warrior's fury, a rifle slung over his shoulder. He was dressed all in black, with a thick beard, and a patch covering his left eye.
The man let out a great roar.
Schleim stumbled backward, his eyes wide with terror.
“What the devil?” he gasped.
“Daddy!” shouted Alamai.
chleim shot a quick glance at the men rushing toward him from the bushes, then at the horses charging up the hill. His eyes leapt to Suavec for help, but he and the four men from the Thieves Market had all raised their hands high in the air.
Suddenly, Schleim turned on his heels and ran, his gangly arms churning and his legs kicking high in the air.
He didn't get far.
From across the field, Hamid Halabala shouted a command at the other riders. Two horses broke out of the pack, their hooves falling hard against the ground. They caught up with Schleim just in front of the marble stairs to the palace, one cutting his path and the other galloping up alongside him.
The rider on the second horse leaned far over in his saddle so that he was nearly parallel with the ground, a leather whip stuck in his teeth. With a confident swoop, he grabbed Schleim around the waist and lifted him off his feet, slinging him facedown across the horse's back.
“Put me down, you savage!” Schleim shouted, wriggling helplessly. “Let me go this second!”
The archaeologist was still struggling as the horse reared up, its front legs kicking high in the air, and began to canter back toward the mausoleum.
Hamid Halabala and the other horsemen reached the children a moment later. The warrior's brow was sweating, and his face was stern as he surveyed the scene. In one motion, Halabala's men dismounted their steeds and rushed over to the mausoleum. They grabbed Suavec and the others, using the sashes of their shalwar kameez to tie the men's hands behind their backs.
Halabala pulled a massive leg over his horse's saddle and jumped to the ground with a great thud.
“Are you children all right?” he said.
Alamai rushed forward and buried her face in his enormous chest, her voice breaking.
“I'm so sorry, Father,” she said. “I'm so sorry we didn't listen to you.”
“You've certainly given this old soldier quite a fright,” Halabala said, bending down and wrapping his thick arms around her. “But don't worry, dear Alamai. It is a father's job to make rules, and a daughter's job to break them.”
The great man shifted his gaze to Oliver and Zee: “If all of Balabad's children were as brave as you three, this country would be the most powerful in the world.”
“That is indisputable,” said Mr. Haji, striding forward to embrace his friend.
“Now, what I want to know, dear Halabala, is what took you so long?” he said with a mischievous grin. “I have lost three whole days of business.”
Halabala let out a deep laugh, his hand on Mr. Haji's shoulder.
“I came as soon as I could,” he said. “It is not easy keeping such a mysterious person as you out of trouble.”
“Seriously, how did you find us?” asked Oliver.
“Yeah,” said Zee. “How did you know where we were?”
“I have my friend Rahimullah Sadeq to thank for that,” said Halabala. “He sent a messenger over to my apartment yesterday evening with a letter. It said he was most honored to be of service to me on such important business, but that next time I needed information I should come to his shop myself, rather than sending my daughter to the Thieves Market alone with two perfect strangers.”
Alamai looked down at the ground.
“Yes, my dear, you should be embarrassed,” said Halabala. “You all should, for what you've put your poor parents through.
“At any rate, when I realized that Alamai was with you two boys, I rushed over to the ul- Hazais’ house,” said Halabala. “There was a servant there by the name of Sher Aga who said Zee hadn't been back all day. He was kind enough to send me off in the direction of the Finches.
“When I arrived at their door, they were in a terrible state,” said Halabala, leveling his gaze at Oliver. “Your mother said she had no idea where you could be, but that you had called her earlier, asking strange questions about a c old- fingered archaeologist who she had once gone to see at the Mandabak Hotel.
“I went looking for him there, and sure enough, they said they had recently had a visit from three curious children asking similar questions.�
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Halabala looked at Zee.
“They said that young Mr. ul- Hazai had been particularly interested in some fruit left behind in Schleim's room.”
“But how did you know to come to the palace?” asked Zee incredulously.
“Where else in Balabad can one find such delicious damsons?” replied Halabala, shrugging his shoulders. “I fought for many months in these hills during the war. Any soldier who has slept a few nights in that gutted palace knows about the damson trees in the garden.
“After that, it was just a matter of rounding up some of my buzkashi friends,” said Halabala, gesturing toward the horsemen around him. “You would be amazed, Mr. Schleim, how quickly we can raise an army in Balabad to defend what is rightfully ours.”
At the mention of his name, Schleim began to kick his legs. He was still lying facedown on top of the horse, held down by Halabala's man.
“I demand that you release me,” he hissed. “I will take this up with the president himself.”
“I do not think you will find him very sympathetic,” Halabala said. “At first light this morning, President Haroon and his Cabinet were alerted to your plot. He is well aware of your treachery.”
There was the sound of footsteps running up the garden steps. Halabala looked from Oliver to Zee.
“There are some people here who will be very happy to see you boys,” he said. A moment later, Scarlett and Silas Finch and Mr. and Mrs. ul- Hazai came rushing into view, a squadron of presidential guardsmen behind them, the silver medals on their dark blue uniforms gleaming in the early-morning light.
“Thank God you are safe,” shrieked Scarlett. She and Silas ran forward to hug Oliver. Mrs. ul- Hazai took Zee's face in her hands and planted a kiss on his forehead.
As she wiped a tear of relief from her cheek, Zee's father turned to Hamid Halabala, placing his right hand over his chest.
“I will never be able to thank you enough for what you have done for us,” he said. “If it weren't for you, we would never have found them.”
“If it weren't for me,” Halabala laughed, “they might never have gotten into so much trouble in the first place.”
“That's true,” said Mr. Haji. “But then I would still be sitting in that damp cellar.”
Mr. ul- Hazai turned to the carpet salesman, clasping his shoulder in his hand and fixing him with a warm gaze.
“Haji Majeed ul- Ghoti Shah, I have known you for many years, but I am seeing you now in an altogether new light,” he said. “If Schleim's interest in you was due to what I think it was, then it seems we have both been keeping secrets from the world for a very long time.”
Mr. Haji nodded his head solemnly.
“It is my privilege, then, to make your true acquaintance,” said Mr. ul- Hazai, embracing the carpet salesman tightly and planting a kiss on both his cheeks.
Finally, he turned to Halabala.
“Would you mind escorting your prisoners down the hill?” he asked. “There is a police van waiting to take them to Almajur prison, where I imagine they will be spending quite a good deal of their time in the future.”
“My pleasure,” said Halabala, nodding at the horseman holding Schleim. The man leaned forward in his saddle, grabbed Schleim by the collar, and pulled him off the horse's back and onto his feet.
“Oh, one more thing,” said Mr. ul- Hazai, pointing to the heavy set of keys fixed to Schleim's belt. “I believe those belong to us.”
Halabala grabbed a dagger from his waist and cut Schleim's belt in two, snatching the keys as they fell to the ground.
“What a relief to see them safe again,” said Mr. ul- Hazai. “And now, if the rest of you would come with me. I must call the other members of the Brotherhood and let them know the good news. Then, perhaps, we could all have a nice breakfast.”
s the sun peeked over the Ghozar Mountains the next morning, Oliver, Alamai, and Zee found themselves standing once again at the foot of Hagur's mausoleum. Mr. Haji stood beside them, wearing a freshly pressed shalwar kameez, his head covered with a crisp new turban. Behind him stood Zee's father, and next to him were Silas and Scarlett Finch.
Two dozen soldiers were dotted around the grounds of the garden, guarding the tomb as they had since Hugo Schleim's arrest the day before.
The children wore fresh clothes and sturdy walking shoes in preparation for the trip ahead, and Oliver had on his New York Yankees cap as well, for good luck. On the floor at Mr. Haji's feet was a backpack filled with flashlights, rope, a compass, a first- aid kit, and plenty of water for the journey. The rest of the party had stuffed their packs with sandwiches, lemonade, and a couple of dozen chocolate-covered granola bars.
What a difference a day made.
The children and Mr. Haji had spent the past twenty-four hours catching up on some much- needed sleep while Zee's father had made phone call after long- distance phone call from his quiet study, contacting the remaining members of the Brotherhood.
Mr. ul- Hazai told them of Schleim's plot, and of Aziz Aziz's treachery. He spoke of how the children had unraveled the scheme, and of the discovery that Mr. Haji was the long-lost guide.
From Sydney, Chicago, Hamburg, and Gosht, the answer from the Brotherhood was the same: five hundred years was long enough for any secret to remain hidden, particularly one as important as Agamon's treasure.
Balabad would never have a better chance for lasting peace than it did now, and it had never been in such dire need of a small fortune to help it get there.
Thanks to Hugo Schleim's greed, the Seven Keys of Arachosia were already reunited. The members of the Brother hood would follow as soon as possible. There was a flight leaving Sydney the following evening, and another out of Chicago at noon the day after that. Within a week, they would be together in Balabad for the first time in five centuries.
In the meantime, they could think of no one better to represent the Brotherhood on the journey through the Salt Caverns than Oliver, Alamai, and Zee.
Mr. ul- Hazai was named the official key bearer for the trip, and all agreed it would be useful to have an expert art historian like Scarlett along to help them decipher whatever they found. Silas was there for strictly professional reasons, having secured a promise from his editors back at the New York Courier to reserve a space on the front page for what he guaranteed would be a Pulitzer Prize-winning piece.
And so the following morning, the team assembled at the threshold of the Salt Caverns for the journey of a lifetime. Escorting them would be several members of President Haroon's personal guard.
Mr. ul- Hazai checked his belt, where the heavy iron key ring was tied on tight. Just to be certain, he counted out the keys one by one.
They were all there. All seven of them.
Mr. Haji bent down and checked his backpack, making sure that everything was in order. It would be a deadly mistake to descend into the dank gloom of the Salt Caverns and find out that something was missing.
When he was satisfied, he got to his feet. The other members of the party gathered around him in a circle.
“This trip is not going to be easy, especially for the children. You must all be sure to stay close together. If we get separated, we will not find each other again,” he said.
“And be careful to keep your footing, my friends,” Mr. Haji continued, wagging his finger for emphasis. “When I was a boy, my great- uncle told me that there are unexpected drops in the Salt Caverns, as sheer as the cliffs of Badur and twice the height. In the darkness, it would be impossible to get out again.”
“Is this supposed to be some sort of a pep talk?” said Oliver, who was starting to feel a little queasy.
“I am just trying to make sure everyone is ready,” said Mr. Haji.
“We're ready!” said Alamai.
Oliver, Zee, Scarlett, and Mr. ul- Hazai nodded in agreement while Silas scribbled frantically in his reporter's notepad, occasionally snapping photos with a digital camera that hung around his neck.
“Dangerous journ
ey… blacker than night… deathly precipices,” he mumbled as he wrote.
Scarlett put a hand on Oliver's shoulder.
“I don't like the sound of this,” she said. “Are you absolutely sure you want to come? Your father could take pictures, and you and I could wait at h—”
“Mom?” Oliver moaned. “Don't even think about it. Be sides, aren't you the one who said I had to get into Baladi culture? You can't get too much more into it than this.”
“All right, all right,” said Scarlett. “I was just saying …”
She leaned down and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Just be careful,” she said.
“You too,” Oliver replied.
He bent down and picked up his backpack, and Zee and Alamai did the same. Suddenly, Oliver realized that something was missing.
“Mr. Haji, where have you put the map?” he asked.
“Map?” said the carpet salesman.
“The map to the treasure!” said Oliver. “You know, the one you spent half the night drawing.”
Mr. Haji scratched his forehead.
“Er, to be honest, I'm not sure what I did with that,” he said calmly.
“You don't know what you did with it?” cried Zee. “But without that map we'll never find the treasure.”
Mr. Haji bent down and picked up his own backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. He gave the children a sly wink.
“The truth is,” the carpet salesman explained, “I never really needed a map in the first place. I had every stitch of the Sacred Carpet of Agamon memorized by the time I was your age. Though I have never seen it, the route through the Salt Caverns is seared into my brain.”
Oliver couldn't believe his ears.
“But I wasn't going to tell Schleim that,” Mr. Haji continued. “I figured if I stalled long enough, maybe somebody would rescue us.”
“You really are the finest salesman in the world,” said Oliver.
“But, as usual,” said Zee, “you needed a little help from us.”
“That I did,” said Mr. Haji. “That I did.”
And with that, the carpet salesman turned and descended the steep stairs at the foot of Hagur's tomb, the darkness of the Salt Caverns enveloping him as he went.
