Даррен Шен – The Thin Executioner (страница 12)

“I hope you don’t mind that we intervened,” Master Bush said, offering the basket to Jebel, then to Tel Hesani. “We’re well aware that questers are more than capable of solving their own problems, but we felt on this occasion that you might… not exactly need… but welcome our modest interjection.”

“The Um Safafaha are a beastly bunch,” Master Blair said, not lowering his voice, even though the savage sitting nearby might overhear. “We thought it would save time if we pointed out your brand to him and spared you the nuisance of having to prove your undoubted strength and courage in a needless, tiring fight.”

“Your help was appreciated,” Jebel said, biting into a delicious leg of chicken. “It’s been a long day and I’m not at my sharpest. I wasn’t sure how to handle him. If you hadn’t spoken up when you did…”

“Oh, I’m sure you would have taken care of matters on your own,” Master Bush laughed. “We just did you… not even a favour… shall we say a very minor service. This is a town of savages. We kinsfolk have to look out for one another.”

“You’re from Abu Aineh?” Jebel asked. “I thought you might be, by the way you spoke, but you don’t look like Um Aineh.”

Both men were small. Master Bush was light skinned, only slightly darker than Tel Hesani, with bright blue eyes. His long hair was tied back in a ponytail and he sported a fine goatee beard, so thin that Jebel missed it first time round. Master Blair was darker, but he wore trousers, rare for one of Jebel’s countrymen. His hair was cut to his shoulders and his moustache was carefully maintained. Neither man was tattooed. Jebel had never seen a pair like this, but if he’d had to guess, he would have said they were from the far west of Abu Nekhele.

“Oh, we’re Um Aineh sure enough,” Master Blair sighed. “But from the border with Abu Rashrasha. We were born on the banks of the as-Burdah. We both come from mixed backgrounds – our family trees are laden with all sorts of rascals – hence our appearance. Also, since we spend most of our time travelling abroad, we removed our tattoos with acid many years ago — it pays to be able to pretend you’re a native of other parts in lands where Um Aineh are less than welcome.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jebel said quickly.

Master Bush waved his apology away. “Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first to mistake us for foreigners. Even some of our own family don’t recognise us on the rare occasions when we return home.”

Masters Bush and Blair spent the next couple of hours engaged in friendly chat with Jebel and Tel Hesani, although the slave didn’t say much. They told Jebel that they were traders. They had been given the title of Master many years ago by the high lord of Abu Judayda, after they had delivered a shipment of medicine to the city state during a time of plague.

“We do not mean to give the impression that we are humanitarians,” Master Bush purred. “We love the roll of a gold coin between our fingers as much as the next man. But when the need is great, how could anyone of good conscience not do all in his power to help?”

The traders spent a lot of their time outside the Great Kingdoms, south and west of Abu Kheshabah, and north of the al-Meata mountains, from where they had only recently returned.

“There’s a fortune to be made up north,” Master Bush said.

“We just haven’t figured out how,” Master Blair laughed. “Everyone knows the mountains are laden with ore, waiting to be tapped. The trouble is, nobody’s been able to locate it, and even if we knew where it was, it snows so much that you could only mine there maybe two months out of any given year.”

“But that’s using traditional mining techniques,” Master Bush added. “We’re on our way to Abu Saga to investigate the matter more thoroughly. We’re convinced that there are other ways of burrowing, making it possible to work all year round.”

The pair of traders went wherever the lure of swagah led them. They bought and traded anything they could lay their hands on. Jewels, weapons, clothes, fruit, wine… they had dabbled in it all.

“We’ve made and lost a couple of fortunes already,” Master Bush shrugged.

“It’s the game we’re interested in, not the profit,” said Master Blair. “We could have retired years ago if we’d wished.”

“But then what would we do for fun?” Master Bush asked.

They were interested in Jebel’s quest and asked many questions about what had prompted him to undertake it and the route he intended to follow. They couldn’t offer any advice about how to navigate the Abu Nekhele swamplands.

“We’ve always steered clear of swamps,” Master Bush said. “Mosquitoes don’t agree with us.”

Master Bush told Jebel not to buy their winter clothes in Hassah. “You can get everything you need in Jedir. Few travellers go that way, so the prices are lower.”

“And I’m certain swagah is a serious consideration on so long a quest,” Master Blair said. “You need to save wherever you can, yes?”

“That’s all right,” Jebel smiled. “We’ve got plenty of–”

“Thank you,” Tel Hesani interrupted. “We were worried about how to finance the rest of our trip, as we brought very little swagah with us. We will heed your advice and save our small supply of coins for further along the road.”

“Most questers struggle with funding,” Master Bush sighed. “In our experience the wealthy are the least likely to take to the wilds on a near-fatal quest.”

Later that night, Masters Bush and Blair joined in the game of cards which was still going strong. The players greeted them suspiciously, but when Master Blair lost nineteen silver swagah on his third hand, expressions changed, more wine and ale was poured and everyone settled down for a good night’s gambling.

“Here, my friends,” Master Blair said dolefully, handing a couple of swagah to Jebel. “Find decent mats for yourselves and a couple for us by one of the walls.”

“I can’t–” Jebel began.

“Take it,” Master Blair insisted. “I’d only lose it to these cunning card sharks if I held on to it.”

The other players laughed at the barbed compliment. Jebel bowed gratefully, then pushed to the bar with Tel Hesani to order four of the inn’s best mats.

“Why did you lie earlier?” Jebel asked Tel Hesani as they lay down, picking dead insects out of the folds of their thin covers.

“Our finances should be our own affair,” Tel Hesani replied. “It is always better to proclaim less than you possess.”

“But they’re our friends,” Jebel said. “We don’t have to lie to them.”

Tel Hesani smiled tightly. “I have spent time with many travellers and found that those who travel widest generally boast the least.”

Jebel’s eyes narrowed. “Are you calling Masters Bush and Blair liars?”

“I would not dare make such a baseless accusation,” Tel Hesani said. “But I have been to a couple of the nations south of Abu Kheshabah of which they spoke. I do not remember them in quite the same way that the good Masters do. And I have no memory of there being a plague in Abu Judayda any time recently.”

“I’d be careful what I said in your place,” Jebel growled. “Your head will end up on an executioner’s block if you go around questioning honest Um Aineh.”

“I will hold my tongue in future, my lord,” Tel Hesani said stiffly, and left his next comment — that he didn’t believe the pair were Um Aineh — go unsaid.

Making himself as comfortable as he could, Jebel lay down, closed his eyes and tried to drown out the noise and stench of the inn, so that he could hopefully grab some sleep and escape the rotten squalor of Shihat in his dreams.

TEN

Aroar jolted Jebel out of his fitful sleep. “Cheats!” someone bellowed, and it was followed by the sound of a smashing plate or mug.

Jebel’s head snapped up. He saw the Um Safafaha who’d confronted him earlier, on his feet now, face flushed, pointing a trembling finger at Masters Bush and Blair. It was late and the inn was quieter than it had been, most of its patrons asleep on the floor. But there were still several people drinking at the bar, and three other gamblers at the table with the Um Safafaha and Jebel’s new friends. All eyes were now on the towering savage, eager to see what would happen next.

“Cheats!” the Um Safafaha roared again.

Master Bush shook his head and sighed. “Some men just cannot accept the cruel misfortune of their cards,” he said.

“A tragedy,” Master Blair murmured. “To play in the expectation of winning every hand…”

“Not every hand,” the Um Safafaha snarled. “But I ain’t won a decent hand since you sat down. Nobody has.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” said Master Bush. “If I recall correctly, you’ve won four or five times in just the last couple of hours.”

“Nothing pots,” came the growled response. “We’ve all had little wins, but you two have won every major hand.”

“He has a point,” one of the other gamblers said, and Jebel felt the mood shift. Sleepers were nudged awake. One man calling foul was the start of a fight, but if others agreed with him, it could turn into a lynching.

“Pick up your belongings,” Tel Hesani whispered. Jebel looked around and saw that the slave had already put his own pack together. “Do it without a fuss. Then walk to the door, but stay close to the wall and keep your eyes on the gamblers — act like you’re moving forward for a better view.”