by Donald Tyson
Altrus came up the ladder easily and knelt on the opposite side. We helped the girl climb and lowered her into the other garden. The drop to the soft grass was not great. She kept her footing. Ani fell more awkwardly and landed on his side. Altrus threw his walking stick down beside him. We grasped the ladder and lifted it over the wall, keeping it flat, then tilted it down on the other side. He descended its rungs and held it steady while I followed.
By this time, Harkanos had emerged from his back door and stood watching our intrusion, his hands clasped serenely at his waist, hidden beneath the folds of his gold-banded green sleeves. He smiled at me when I caught his eye and came over.
“Do you know what took place at the palace?” I asked.
“Our attempt failed. The portal opened, but Yazid was in the midst of his women. They knocked him flat in their terror to escape. Several who stood over him were pulled through, but the weight of the others lying across his back anchored his body and prevented the whirlwind from drawing him into its vortex.”
“Why does he blame us?”
“Yazid blames the residents of the Lane of Scholars for every work of magic.”
“This time he means to act against you,” Altrus said. “I looked into the street when the soldiers arrived. They are not a token force, and they are well armed.”
“What will you do?” I asked.
“Day is not the best time for works of necromancy,” Harkanos mused. “I doubt we could gather the others here without being discovered by the soldiers.”
“You tried necromancy and it failed,” Altrus said.
Harkanos eyed him keenly. I was surprised the mercenary did not quake before his gaze, so deeply did it penetrate, but Altrus appeared untroubled.
“It is time for the sword,” the mercenary said.
“How will we get into the palace?” the clubfooted procurer asked in a whine. Fear was naked on his narrow face, and I regretted not ordering him to remain at the house.
“I am the Caliph’s astrologer,” Harkanos mused. “I know a little-used door at the rear of the palace that leads into the back chambers, behind the seraglio.”
“Is it locked?” Altrus demanded.
“Of course. But I was given a key.”
He lifted a heavy key ring from his belt and took from it a brass key of simple design. I laid my hand on his as he was about to pass it to Altrus.
“If we use this and are killed by the palace guard, your own life may be forfeit.”
“It is too late for such concerns. Once that madman Yazid gathers his wits and his courage, he will order his guard to move against our houses. He will probably lock us inside with our servants and set them ablaze. Whatever we do must be done at once.”
A shadow of care crossed his face as he glanced behind him. His daughter stood in the back doorway, clinging to the door latch and watching us, her thumb in her mouth. He give the key to Altrus, and described how to reach the door it opened.
“But how are we to get to the palace?” Ani asked.
“You should go back to the house,” I told him. “You do not need to accompany us.”
“No, I will come with you,” he said. “If you die, I have nothing.”
This was too sensible a statement to deny.
“There is a way out of this house that will bypass the guards in the rear alley,” Harkanos said to me. “It is sometimes useful for deliveries at night.”
He led us into the rear hall. With a quiet word he told his daughter to go to her room, and she obeyed without protest, bending to look at us over the banister as she slowly climbed the main stair. When she was out of sight, he escorted us to the cellar door and we descended the stone steps. I saw no servants, and presumed that the necromancer had ordered them into another part of the house before coming into the garden to speak to us. He took a burning oil lamp from its bracket on the wall and made his way to the right, in a direction opposite the room in which we had worked the ritual. At the end of the corridor a set of four steps led down into a depression that accommodated a small oak door, which was set in the wall at a level lower than the floor of the cellar. The door could not have been more than three cubits in height, and had a dank air of disuse.
“Take this,” he said, passing to me the brass lamp, its chains dangling. “The passage exits in the back of a stall in the stables across the alley behind the house. No one will challenge you when you emerge. The front of the stables is in the next street, and should not be under guard.”
The iron hinges of the door groaned with rust as Altrus forced it inward with his shoulder. I passed the lamp to him, and we followed its light through a low passage lined with brick, its ceiling supported by a Roman arch. I judged it had not been used for at least several months. Mold on the damp floor clung to the soles of my boots. Altrus cursed under his breath and used his dagger blade to brush away the hanging webs of spiders. I walked at his back, and behind me trailed the girl, followed by Ani, his stick tapping with unease on the bricks in the darkness.
We climbed a steep stair and emerged at the back of a horse stall. The door was disguised to resemble part of the vertical slats that made up the rear of the stall. The horse shifted its hindquarters but did not kick. Altrus soothed it with a few quiet words and laid his hand upon its neck until we were all out, and the door to the tunnel closed behind us. A stableman spreading fresh hay on the floor of the barn saw us leave the stall, but merely watched in silence. No doubt Harkanos had paid him well to be blind to such comings and goings.
The street wound its way south. For a short distance we followed it, then turned east and worked our way toward the palace, walking without haste and showing little obvious interest in what was behind us, even though we strained our ears for the sound of a shout or the rush of boots on the cobblestones. It was unlikely any soldier of the guard would recognize us, but there was always a chance that one of the men who had arrested and brought me before the Caliph would walk past. Altrus and Martala showed an admirable ease of manner. By contrast, Ani sweated silver beads on his forehead and had the look of a thief, his eyes darting nervously from side to side.
“Relax,” I murmured without looking at him.
“Easy to say,” he replied. “Do you know what the Caliph will do to us if we are caught?”
“Nothing worse than I have suffered already.”
“He will kill us, slowly and with exquisite torments.”
By crossing from street to street, we made our way around the palace to its northern side. Somewhere not far beyond the high wall that confronted us, the concubines of the Caliph lay in silken luxury, awaiting his drunken summons. The unguarded door had the appearance of a disused servant entrance. The planks of its surface were unbroken by any latch, bell pull, or knocker. Four broad iron straps extended from its hinges and held it together with heavy iron rivets. A small escutcheon midway down the left edge indicated the place to insert the key. The look of disuse was a deception. There was no rust on the iron. The key turned easily in its lock, and the door swung soundlessly inward with a light thrust.
I expected to step through onto the rear palace grounds, but to my surprise we passed into a dim corridor. On this side of the compound the palace pressed directly against the outer wall. It was a convenient and inconspicuous access for the Caliph and his courtiers to the streets of Damascus, when they wished to leave the palace without ceremony. I wondered how many held a key similar to that given to Harkanos.
The only light came from the open door behind us. Altrus had left the oil lamp at the end of the tunnel when we exited to the stable. It had seemed natural to allow Altrus to lead while he carried the lamp, but in darkness I knew my own skills were superior. I stepped in front of him.
“Put your hand on my shoulder,” I told him. “Martala, put your hand on Altrus’ shoulder, and Ani, you do the same with the girl
.”
Ani pushed the door shut behind him with his heel. The click of the latch sounded loud in the darkness. A single ray of daylight shone through the keyhole. All else lay covered in pitch. I started down the corridor with caution, using my keen senses of hearing and smelling to guide me, trailing my hand along the rough wooden paneling of the wall. Dust hung in the air. The floor was not swept with regularity, which reassured me that the passage was vacant most of the time. I passed several open doorways, but from the dead air that lay beyond I judged them storage rooms.
The narrow corridor bent to the left, then to the right. I almost stumbled over the bottom step of a wooden stair, and stood for a few moments at its base, feeling its shape with my hands. The mercenary’s fingers flexed on my shoulder.
“Why have you stopped?” he whispered.
“Be quiet. Listen.”
From above came the sound of voices and distant laughter, so faint that I wondered if I imagined it.
“I hear them,” Martala breathed.
At the top of the stair was a small landing. Light shone through the crack under a door. I felt over its surface but could find no latch or keyhole. Reflecting that it must be designed to be opened in the darkness, I slid my hands over the frame in which it was set, and was rewarded by a faint click when I pressed a wooden lever. The door opened toward me, forcing me to step back. We passed through, and I saw that it was a secret panel set in the wall of a hallway of no impressive dimension. The door was cunningly concealed. It was angled to shut against its spring under its own weight, and when closed appeared nothing more than a part of the wall.
We stood at the end of a short passage illuminated by a single guttering oil lamp that hung from a wall bracket. Immediately to the right a door was set in the wall. I tried its latch and found it locked, then laid my ear against it but heard no sound from the other side. Advancing down the passage with the others close at my heels, I listened at the door set in its end wall. Murmuring voices approached. I stepped back and put my hand on my dagger. The voices diminished. I tried the latch and the door opened easily. Through its crack I saw the backs of two men in conversation, walking away along a broad hall decorated on its walls with patterned tiles of white and black. The men wore the plain white robes of scribes. I shut the door.
“This is madness,” Ani said. “The first person who sees us will raise an alarm.”
“Go back if you wish,” I snapped. His whining grated on my nerves.
It was evident that beyond this unlocked door lay a well-used section of the palace. We could not walk into it without the risk of immediate discovery. I went back down the passage to the locked door, set in the side wall, and listened again. Still no sounds. Drawing my dagger, I fitted the fine point into the keyhole and felt for the wards of the lock.
Altrus looked on with some amusement. I suspected he could have picked the mechanism just as easily.
“A useful talent, should you ever return to a condition of poverty.”
“No study is ever wasted. It has served me well.”
The lock clicked, and the door opened easily when I lifted the brass latch. The room beyond lay in shadow. My spirits fell. As like as not it was just another disused storage chamber. We entered, leaving the door open for light. It was an odd room, long and narrow, with a kind of boxed bench running the length of the left wall. At the far end was yet another closed door. It held no furnishing of any kind, but above the bench were a series of small panels set in wooden tracks to allow them to be slid to the side. Each had a knob. I stood on the bench to get a closer look at them, and realized that was the purpose of the bench. It raised my face to just above the level of the panels. Sweat and dirt on the knobs and the panels themselves showed that they were in frequent use.
From the panels came the faint sound of babbling voices and lazy laughter that I had heard while on the lower level, at the foot of the stair. I looked at Altrus, who stood beside me at another of the panels. He shrugged, and together we grasped the knobs and slid the panels to the side. The brightness blinded me for several moments. I had to look away and blink until my eyes adjusted to the glare. The voices were louder. I found myself peering through the fretwork of a finely carved wooden screen, at what might have been a view of paradise.
We gazed down upon a great chamber illuminated by crystal windows set in a ring just under a domed roof of polished marble, so that they admitted the golden rays of the sun from all sides as it moved around the heavens. The windows were above our peepholes. Just below us was a circular balcony of polished marble that ran completely around the chamber, with numerous doors leading off it, and a marble stair in the shape of a spiral that wound down to the lower level. On the marble floor far below was a circular bathing pool, made to resemble the shape of the dome. The water shone like sapphire. Women swam in the pool, or lay on cushions placed around its edge, or stood talking and laughing in groups as they drank wine from golden cups and ate dainties from silver trays supported in the hands of Nubian male slaves. The slaves were clothed in loose silks of many colors, but most of the women were completely naked. As I watched in wonder, two women who floated in the pool swam together and kissed in a way that suggested more than friendship.
“What are you looking at?” Martala asked with impatience.
“Horrible things,” Altrus told her. “Best for you not to look, or you will never sleep again.”
She snorted, and naturally climbed onto the bench and opened another of the panels, standing on her toes since she was a little shorter than those for whom they had been constructed. I heard her draw a breath, and Altrus chuckled. I almost felt a liking for him.
“What is it? What do you see?” Ani asked. He got onto the bench and opened the last remaining panel. After that he said nothing.
“Why are there four panels?” Martala murmured.
“Whoever watches here likes to have company,” I said.
The male slaves must be eunuchs, I mused to myself. Not the worst labor in the world for a man bereft of his manhood. Perhaps frustrating at times, but a feast for the imagination. Sashi’s face came momentarily before my interior sight, her beautiful lips pursed in an expression of disapproval, but she did not speak.
“I can’t see the Caliph,” I said.
“Nor do I,” Altrus agreed.
We closed our panels, and after a few moments Martala and Ani did the same. The door at the far end of the peep chamber was not locked. It opened on a narrow corridor that curved gently to the left, unilluminated save for light that shone around the edges of similar sliding panels, which were set at intervals in its left wall. Beneath each panel was a small bench. It was not difficult to divine their purpose. I climbed onto one and opened the panel above it.
Through a wooden screen I saw a well-apportioned private sleeping chamber, illuminated by light from a circular window in the center of the domed ceiling. The silk sheets on the bed had not been made up, and trailed upon the marble floor, which was warmed by several rugs. Various articles of clothing lay scattered about. Hangings of Bacchic scenes in which nymphs and satyrs played the primary parts adorned the walls. Above a small table was a mirror of considerable size and uncommon clarity. It must be pure silver, and to remain that clear would have to be polished every day. Such is the price of vanity.
Altrus watched me with curiosity. I stepped off the bench and let him look.
“A private woman’s chamber,” he murmured, stepping down.
Martala took her look, and after her, Ani.
“It seems that the Caliph enjoys keeping a secret watch over his concubines,” I said.
“Perhaps he does not trust their fidelity,” Martala suggested.
We continued along the curving passage, and I realized that it must wrap completely around the great bath chamber, which was ringed on its upper level by the sleeping rooms of the concubine
s.
More bedchambers must be on the lower level, since there were not enough in the upper circle to accommodate half the number of the Caliph’s women, but the rooms were of such size and luxury, I suspected they were given to his most favored lovers, as a reward for their efforts in stirring his lust.
It was impossible to resist peeping into each room as we passed. Most were empty. In one chamber, two women lay locked together in lovemaking, their groans of passion clearly audible through the screen. In another, one of the concubines sat on the edge of her bed while a turbaned eunuch with skin black as ebony knelt between her parted knees and gave her satisfaction in the only way available to him.
Altrus cursed softly when he looked. He saw me watching him and shrugged.
“It’s been weeks since I last had a woman.”
Ani tittered. His arousal was apparent. Martala shook her head with disgust.
“This is accomplishing nothing.”
“On the contrary,” I said. “We can watch half of the Caliph’s seraglio through these panels, and if we wait long enough surely he will visit a woman in one of these chambers.”
“But we have no way of reaching him even if we see him,” Ani said.
“Too bad that I did not bring a bow,” Altrus murmured. “I might just be able to shoot an arrow through one of these screens.”
“Perhaps he will come back here to spy upon them,” I mused.
“We can’t wait here,” Martala said with impatience, arms crossed below her breasts. “By the time the Caliph comes, if he does come, every house in the Lane of Scholars may be burning.”
Altrus met my eyes. What she said could not be denied. Had we enough time, we could wait until nightfall and explore the palace while it lay asleep, but whatever we did must be done in the next few hours, before the Lane of Scholars came under attack. If Yazid planned to burn the houses as Harkanos believed, I suspected that he would launch his assault at dusk so that the fires of their burning would be all the more spectacular.
