The Tyrant's Nephew

by Sophie Masson

  ‘Now, just rest one foot on that peg below you and drop the sprig in the jar you have around your neck. Careful, it must not touch you.’

  Omar did as he was told. The sprig dropped into the jar. As soon as it did, a little panel shot out from the mouth of the jar, sealing its contents.

  ‘Well done,’ said Farid. ‘Now, carefully does it – we’re going down. Don’t worry. Just put your feet on each peg. That’s it.’

  And so, talking gently, kindly, the young climber coaxed Omar back down the rock wall. It was quicker than going up, but now he had the jar and its contents to worry about. Imagine if he dropped it!

  But he didn’t drop it, and very soon, he was back on the ground again. The others were all watching him, grinning. Burhaan said, ‘You did well, Ahmed. Very well indeed. You’ll make a mountaineer yet.’

  Omar shook his head. He couldn’t speak, his throat was so dry. He sat down for a moment, his head in his hands, trying to calm himself.

  Fifteen

  They set off down the mountain. Omar had thought it would be easier going down than going up, but in fact it was just as hard. His legs, which seemed to have turned to jelly and fizz, hardly supported him in what seemed like a headlong rush down the scree, and more than once he stumbled and almost fell sprawling. But at least it was faster. Soon, they’d be back in the village and he could set off on the carpet once more. He’d decided he couldn’t wait till morning. He must get back to Madinatu es Salam tonight.

  Ketta ambled along beside him, as untroubled by the downhill as she had been by the uphill. Four legs were definitely better than two in this kind of place, though the Alqaba men seemed perfectly at ease and were setting a grand pace. Omar was glad to leave the mountain. From a distance, it had looked magnificent, picturesque; up close it was frightening, exhausting and very alien. I could not live surrounded by mountains, he thought. I prefer the –

  ‘Ow!’ he yelped, as Ketta sprang onto his shoulder. ‘You could have done that more gently.’

  Ketta’s voice purred in his head. ‘Just helping you to stay steady.’

  Omar snorted, but he found it was true. The presence of the Jinn on his shoulder did seem to have stopped some of the worst of the shakes, so that he could pick his steps more carefully.

  They went on in silence for a little while longer, Omar gradually becoming steadier, his legs feeling like they belonged to him once more and not as if they had a will of their own, his breath less ragged and painful. He could feel the little jar bouncing against his flesh under his shirt, and in his mind relived that moment when he had swung out against the void and plucked the herb from the rock face. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he would be able to do a thing like that. It felt good, now that it was all over, to know he had been capable of it.

  They had almost reached the edge of the woods when it happened. Suddenly, the night exploded with blazing white lights, and shouts, and the rattle of machine-gun fire. Omar hardly even needed to hear Ketta’s shout of, ‘Duck down! Take cover!’ before he’d flung himself instinctively into the nearest bush. It was horribly prickly but he managed to stifle his yelps and lie as still as a mouse in the dark thorns, Ketta a white blob beside him.

  He heard her whisper in his head, ‘Don’t make a move. Don’t make a sound. I don’t think they’ve seen you. You were a fair way behind the others.’

  From the bush, all he could see was a dazzle of lights. But he could hear a lot of sounds: gunfire, and screams, and shouts. And then, suddenly, the most chilling sound of all – a long, drawn-out wolf’s howl, appallingly close. There was a quality in the howl that was not natural – something that froze his blood and made his hair stand on end. The howl was answered by another, and another, and then a deep snarl. Ketta was pressed up against him now. He could feel her trembling violently and he knew that, for the first time, she was afraid. And that was the worst thing of all.

  ‘The White Wolves,’ he heard her whisper.

  A sudden silence fell; it seemed as if the whole mountain was holding its breath. Then the howl came again, and it was one of victory, of unholy glee; a howl that was neither that of a true wolf, nor that of a true man. It was the sound of sheer cruelty, of bloodlust triumphant.

  Suddenly, something appeared in Omar’s field of vision. It was a giant beast, a massive creature of pure white, its eyes glowing with a hideous, cold flame, like the fires of Jehannem. Its silver jaws were stained with blood, and something ghastly dangled from them. The beast raised its head and gave voice again, to that long, chilling howl that resounded over the countryside.

  In the thorn bush, Omar and Ketta crouched in utter terror. Omar was so frightened he felt as if he did not belong in his body any more. He was sure his last hour had come. The White Wolf would leap on him and tear him to pieces.

  Agonising seconds passed. But the creature did not spring. In what must have been only a minute or less – though it seemed like a vast eternity to Omar – it passed from their sight. Silence fell again; a deathly silence. The dazzle of lights was switched off. The paler moonlight returned.

  Omar had no idea how long he and Ketta stayed there, without moving. He couldn’t think or even feel. He was completely numb.

  Slowly, his senses returned. He put out a hand and felt Ketta.

  He whispered, ‘Are they gone?’

  ‘Yes. Is the jar of nablaylee safe?’

  He felt for it. It was still around his neck.

  ‘Yes. Oh, Ketta, what shall we do?’

  ‘We must get to the carpet and fly away as soon as we can.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Carefully. Quietly. Don’t stop, whatever you see.’

  Her voice was so grave, so lacking in her usual teasing, that it made Omar’s stomach churn. He knew what they would see out there, and he would give anything not to see it.

  They crawled backwards out of the thorn bush, and Omar didn’t even notice the sting of the thorns and prickles. When they emerged into the moonlight, he thought at first, in a moment of mad hope, that the others had got away. Everything was so still, and close to the bush there was nothing to be seen. But then he saw the first body – Farid, the young man who had helped him on the rock face. He had been riddled with machine-gun fire. His sightless eyes were open to the moon, his face a mask of blood.

  The horror rose up in Omar’s throat. If Ketta hadn’t jumped on his shoulder again he would have run away, or fallen to the ground. But her claws dug into him, forcing him to keep going. Further down the mountain, he saw another body, then another, this time of a man he didn’t recognise – he must have been one of the attackers. Further down, there was yet another body – one of Hirpus’s men who Omar remembered from the climb. Ketta urged him to turn his steps away, but not before Omar had seen the torn throat, and the marks where cruel jaws had gouged into the flesh of the man’s limbs.

  Omar stumbled on blindly, stricken with horror and sorrow, Ketta riding on his shoulder. They saw no more bodies, and no more sign of the rest of the party: Burhaan and two of Hirpus’s men. Either they had escaped or been taken prisoner.

  When they got to the village a big, noisy crowd was gathered. They were armed with rifles, with knives, even with pitchforks and scythes. Omar could see Hirpus amongst them, gesticulating. There was no sign of Burhaan or the two men. Ketta whispered, ‘Don’t go to him. Go straight to the house. Get the carpet. Fly away. This is not something we can help with. And Latifa needs us above all others.’

  Omar whispered back, ‘But surely we can’t just –’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Omar. There is nothing you can do. Gur Thalab will be here soon. He knows what he’s doing in these mountains. You don’t.’ She paused. ‘If they’re dead, they’re beyond any help. My guess, though, is that they’re alive and being held prisoner.’

  ‘Perhaps they were ambushed because I was with them,’ said Omar, faintly.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said the cat. ‘They didn’t know you were there, or else they’d have gon
e looking for you, wouldn’t they? My guess is the White Wolves intend to ask for a ransom for them. They’re bandits as well as killers, you know, and it’s not the first time they’ll have done something like this. Besides, the Alqaba men know the risks they take on the mountain. This problem is not your fault, and you can’t solve it. But Latifa is. Yours and mine. Please, Omar. Remember, my girl will die for sure if we don’t get back soon. And Hirpus will see you any minute now. Take that alleyway, at the back.’

  Being small and thin did have its advantages: you weren’t noticed in a crowd of adults. Keeping out of Hirpus’s sight wasn’t difficult, but Omar didn’t feel good about it at all. He was creeping about like a coward when the men who had risked themselves to take him up the mountain were dead or taken prisoner. Yet Ketta was right, too. These were mountain men who took risks every day. And what could he do? The fate of Latifa was his direct responsibility, and spending time on anything else would bring ultimate doom upon her. He could not afford to wait. He must do as Ketta said.

  They reached the compound. It appeared deserted. Following Ketta’s instructions, Omar climbed up the wall, delicately evaded the barbed wire at the top and, clinging on to the cat, sailed down into the garden below. He crept into the house, unnoticed by anyone, and went to the main dining room, where he’d left the carpet rolled up in a corner. It was still there. His heart thumping, he picked it up and took it to the open window.

  ‘Get on,’ whispered Ketta. She jumped on in her turn. ‘Turn the compass to south and tell the carpet you want to go to Madinatu – unobserved.’ Omar did so. ‘Now tell it to rise.’

  He did, and the carpet flapped up, hovered in the air, then headed for the window. As they cleared the sill and rose into the air, Omar heard shouts below and saw that a couple of servants had come running out, and were pointing up at him. One of them had a gun!

  ‘Quick, tell it to rise higher. Higher!’ shouted Ketta’s urgent voice in his head. Stammering in his panicked haste, Omar shouted at the carpet to rise, and it did, just as a bullet came whizzing past his ear. Yelling, he urged the carpet higher, higher, till the figures below were no more than tiny dots in a chequered landscape.

  Sixteen

  It took a while for his nerves to steady. But the cat seemed quite unconcerned. She curled up, daintily; and just as daintily, fell asleep. Omar was left with his whirling thoughts.

  What would the al Kutroobs think of him now? Perhaps they would think he had betrayed the men. Or perhaps that he had run away. Or perhaps they’d think he, too, had been taken prisoner? But no – the servant who had shot at him would be sure to tell the old man what he’d seen. Flying away as they did, without a word to anyone – would that look like guilt, to Hirpus? And what of Gur Thalab? He shivered. He did not want to have made an enemy of the clan.

  He had to concentrate on Latifa. If he closed his eyes he could see her thin little face, the bright scornful glance she’d turned on him in the palace. He groaned. He’d done everything wrong. Ketta was right. He was a fool.

  He’d been brought up in awe and fear of his uncle. He’d thought that made him like the rest of Mesomia. But that was wrong. If a stranger had said to his uncle half the things Omar said when Latifa was brought in, he’d have been killed as he stood. Omar had always been protected from the reality of his uncle’s rule; had never had to see the dead and tortured bodies, the burnt homes, the shattered families that marked his uncle’s reign. He and his mother and sister had been under the tyrant’s thumb, unable to make a move without his consent, but compared to the al Kutroobs, Latifa and thousands of people like them, he and his family had endured nothing. They had never wanted for anything in material terms; Omar had been able to tend his garden in comfort and safety, even if his uncle scorned him for it.

  He wished he were braver. He wished he could fight the tyrant, too. But he could not – except in this matter – because otherwise his mother and sister would suffer. He couldn’t, because when all was said and done, his uncle was his father’s brother, of the same blood. And they had loved each other, despite it all.

  Soon they would be back in Madinatu. They would have to go back to the palace. His uncle would know, of course, that he was missing. He would be furious. If Omar got caught, it was likely his uncle would not be very gentle with him.

  He looked over at the sleeping cat. She seemed so relaxed now, yet back on the mountain, when that thing was prowling around, she had been afraid. He had not known a Jinn could be so afraid of another shape-shifter. But the White Wolves might well be sorcerers as well as shape-shifters; the one they’d seen certainly had a maleficent power to it. And Jinns were afraid of sorcerers because they enslaved Jinns to do their bidding. Usually, sorcerers preferred to enslave the powerful, wicked Jinns known as afreets, who came from the realm of Iblis, Lord of Jehannem, or hell. But they might enslave any kind that came to hand, if they had a mind to do it.

  The moon had set and it was very dark. Omar couldn’t see the land below. He knew he should catch some sleep, but couldn’t.

  He touched Ketta. ‘Please, wake up. What are we going to do when we get back to Madinatu?’

  Her eyes flew open. She looked cross. ‘Can’t you think for yourself?’

  ‘No,’ said Omar humbly. ‘I’ve never had to.’

  She gave him a long glance. ‘Hmm. True enough. Well, Omar, what we’re going to do is find where Latifa is held. Then we’re going to go there, put nablaylee on her lips, and hope that we’re not too late.’

  He stared at her. Then he said, ‘But that’s not a plan. I knew we were going to do that. Question is, how? Or don’t you know?’

  ‘I never said I did,’ said the cat, infuriatingly, and lifting up her leg, she began to wash behind one ear.

  Omar sighed. ‘You said the only way you could get into the palace was through the chimney in my room.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But we can’t – we can’t go in there.’

  ‘Why not? It might well be the last place they’d look for you. And they don’t know you got out that way. They don’t know you’re with a Jinn. They probably think someone betrayed The Vampire and let you out. If we’re really lucky, they might even think you got kidnapped, maybe by Shadow Walkers.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Omar, who hadn’t thought of that. His spirits lifted, just a little. Then a bright idea struck him. He said, the words tumbling over one another, ‘What if … what if I pretend that’s what happened? What if we don’t go in the way we came out, but through the palace gates? What if we land a little way from there, and I pretend I’ve escaped from the kidnappers? If my uncle believes me –’

  ‘A big if!’ snorted the cat.

  ‘If my uncle believes me,’ repeated Omar, ‘then it will be easier for me to roam the palace and find out where Latifa is being held. If he thinks I ran away, he’ll just lock me up somewhere I can’t possibly escape from. I must try, Ketta.’

  There was a short silence.

  Then the cat said, with a grudging air of respect, ‘It’s not a bad idea. And it might just work. What’s more, it will make The Vampire very nervous to think that the Shadow Walkers even managed to get into the palace and kidnap you. But you’re going to have to get your story right. And to do that, you need to know a lot about the Shadow Walkers.’

  ‘I know some things already,’ said Omar eagerly. ‘I know what Gur Thalab told me, as well as what I saw when they ambushed us in the car.’

  ‘That’s not enough,’ said the cat. ‘Right, Omar, listen well. This is what you’re going to have to tell him …’

  Some time later dawn arrived, and shortly after, Madinatu came into view. The first thing Omar saw as the carpet dipped and banked sharply down was the forbidding dark mass of the Black Prison. He hoped with all his heart that it wasn’t an evil omen.

  Seventeen

  On Ketta’s advice, they landed in a dark, deserted alleyway, which obviously served as a dump for the Carpet Bazaar, which backed on to it. Oma
r rolled the carpet up and hid it deep in a pile of old carpet ends that looked like they had been there for years; he could only hope no-one would discover it before he had a chance to retrieve it. For he had decided that as soon as he had freed Latifa from the spell he would take her and Ketta, fly back to Sadana, pick up his mother and sister, cram them all on the carpet, and fly to Ameerat, where he would ask for help to disappear far away from Mesomia.

  Omar picked up some mud from the road and rubbed it on his face and hands. He tore his shirt. He had to look as though he’d put up a struggle. Ketta watched him. She came purring over to him and rubbed at his legs. He heard her voice. ‘You need more than that. I think I’ll have to do some damage myself.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This,’ and she jumped up onto his shoulder. Her paws moved like lightning, one, two, three times, and Omar yelled in genuine shock as the blood pearled from long scored scratches on his shoulders and arms. They stung like crazy.

  ‘Your face,’ she said.

  He shouted, ‘No!’ but it was too late; her claws had drawn blood across one cheek, and then across his forehead.

  ‘The Shadow Walkers are not tender,’ she said harshly, as he staggered in shock. ‘None of these will actually hurt you, but they look bad – the forehead especially bleeds like mad – and it’s more unlikely now that anyone will think of doubting your story. Now go, Omar. The palace is just a few streets away. By the time you get there, you should look pretty bad.’

  ‘But you …’ Omar could hardly get the words out. He could feel the blood running down his face and into his mouth. The scratches stung. He felt light-headed. ‘Aren’t you coming with me?’

  ‘I cannot be seen entering the palace with you, Omar. I will try to enter through the fireplace in your room, but they may have discovered the breach in their security by now and repaired it. If so, I will be waiting for you in the guards’ courtyard tonight at midnight. Make sure you’re there.’