The Thin Executioner

CHAPTER THIRTY

Jebel’s wet clothes had been removed and replaced with a thick rug when he awoke. For a moment he stretched and smiled sleepily, luxuriating in the comfort and warmth. Then he remembered the voices, and his eyes snapped open. He hoped he had been dreaming, but when he saw the graverobbers sitting nearby, smirking like alligators, his hopes were dashed. Groaning, he stared at the ceiling and cursed.

“Our young apprentice isn’t pleased to see us,” Blair commented drily, stroking his mustache.

“It seems not,” Bush chuckled, combing his beard. “In fact he looks… I hesitate to say fit to murder us… but certainly ready to administer a sound thrashing.”

“How did you get here?” Jebel snarled.

“We tracked your delightful new masters out of Disi,” said Bush.

“We guessed there would be casualties,” Blair added, “that they’d leave the odd razed-to-the-ground village or two in their wake.”

“You can’t have a successful crusade without sacrificing some nonbelievers along the way,” murmured Bush.

“The wonderful thing about the Um Biyara’s kind is that they rarely bother with earthly possessions,” Blair said. “When they massacre, they almost never pillage the bodies of the dead or empty their coffers.”

“That’s where entrepreneurs such as ourselves come in,” Bush grinned.

“For a time it looked as if our plans would be thwarted,” Blair sighed. “The first two villages converted, and even if they hadn’t, they had nothing of worth.”

“But we fared better here,” Bush smiled. “The cave dwellers weren’t wealthy, but they had enough stored away to make our long trek worthwhile.”

“We’ve explored most of the caves and picked them clean,” Blair boasted. “A nice haul, even if I do say so myself.”

“We thought about continuing after the Um Biyara,” Bush said, “but this is enough. We’ll hail the next boat that passes and sell our goods downriver.”

“It’s a bit too wild for our liking in these parts,” Blair confided. “No telling who or what you’ll run into next.”

“Another day or so and we’ll be ready to go,” Bush said.

“And thanks to your impeccable timing, you’ll be coming with us,” Blair purred.

Bush winked. “The graveyards beckon, young Rum. We’ll get another month or so out of them before we head south to civilization.”

They beamed angelically at Jebel. He glared back at them. “The Um Biyara are dead,” he said flatly. “They were killed by bats.”

Bush pursed his lips. “How unusual. Is Tel Hesani dead too?”

“Yes,” Jebel lied.

“You must tell us all about it,” said Blair. “But save it for the journey — it will help pass the time.”

“I met Rakhebt Wadak,” Jebel said softly, and Bush and Blair lost their smiles.

“What are you talking about?” Blair snapped.

“I’ve sailed with the god of death. You don’t frighten me anymore. You’re petty fools, almost out of time. Rakhebt Wadak is waiting. He might even take you tonight.”

The pair stared at Jebel, disturbed. Then they laughed. “Absurd!” Bush hooted.

“Ludicrous!” scoffed Blair.

“The boy’s insane,” Bush declared.

“Or trying to spook us,” Blair grunted.

Jebel smiled darkly. He had a plan. If it worked, he would be rid of the evil graverobbers a lot sooner than they could possibly have expected.

“Where have you stored your stash?” he asked.

“Most of it’s here,” said Bush, waving at the sacks around them.

“Not this rubbish,” Jebel said. “I meant…”

He stopped as if he’d caught himself saying too much. It was a clumsy piece of acting, but the avaricious Bush and Blair bought it.

“What were you going to say?” Bush asked.

“Nothing,” Jebel protested.

“Finish what you started!” Blair barked, and drew a knife. “We saw by your scars that the Um Biyara had been crueler masters than we ever were, but don’t think we can’t match them if pushed.”

“Come on, young Rum,” Bush cooed. “Tell us your secret.”

Jebel licked his lips as if scared of the phony Masters. “I thought you would have found it by now.”

“Found what?” hissed Bush.

“Haven’t you been up to the land at the top of the cliffs?” Jebel asked.

“A few times,” said Blair. “We feasted on a sheep and plan to take a few with us when we leave, but…” His eyes narrowed. “You’re saying there’s something up there that we missed?”

“You didn’t explore the large cliff to the south?” Jebel asked.

The pair shook their heads mutely.

“That’s…” Jebel stopped again.

“Out with it,” Blair growled, tapping the blade of his knife with his fingernails.

“The um Hamata kept their treasure in a cave,” Jebel lied.

“What treasure?” Bush snarled suspiciously.

“They ambushed boats. They set up nets to trap them, then lobbed boulders onto them from the cliff. The wreckage washed up in the nets. They drew them in, sent the bodies and debris downstream, and kept the swagah and gems.”

“Where?” Bush and Blair shouted, eyes alight, not suspicious anymore — they found it all too easy to believe in shipwreckers as merciless and mercenary as themselves.

“There’s a cave in the cliff above,” said Jebel softly, lowering his gaze. “They didn’t dare keep their haul here in case traders spotted it.”

“You saw the treasure?” Bush asked. “This isn’t just a tale that you heard?”

“I saw it,” Jebel said. “They tried to buy their way out of the massacre when the Um Biyara attacked. Qasr Bint cut them down regardless. But afterwards we went up there to check. Qasr Bint said it was a cave of vice, that they must leave it as it stood and never tell anyone about it. I think he was planning to return and claim the treasure for himself when they were through converting.”

Bush and Blair were trembling. “How much is there?” Bush croaked.

“I only had a quick look,” Jebel said. “The cave was at least five times the size of this one. Most of the floor was covered, and sacks were stacked three or four deep in places.”

Bush squealed like a child, then covered his mouth with both hands.

Blair frowned at his partner, then fixed his gaze on Jebel. “If you’re lying…” he said threateningly.

“Why should I?” Jebel replied sullenly.

“A treasure trove,” Bush sighed, so happy he was almost in tears. “All our lives have been devoted to this moment, Master Blair. I always said it would come. If we kept plugging away and searching, if we never lost faith…”

“We can retire,” said Blair wonderingly. “Build a mansion, stock it with the finest wine, food, and women, have children, grow old in comfort and safety…”

“We’ll cut you in for a share too, Master Rum,” Bush vowed, with a wink that for once wasn’t mocking or hurtful. “No more graveyard duties for you! You’ll praise the day your path crossed ours.”

“I don’t want any of it,” Jebel said. “It’s the treasure of the dead.”

Bush and Blair laughed. “Too soft for your own good,” Blair snorted.

“But your loss is our gain,” Bush crowed, then flapped his hands at Jebel. “Pull on some clothes and lead the way, boy. Onwards and upwards to glory!”

Their enthusiasm unsettled Jebel. As they joked and laughed in the tunnels, he was reminded of their first meeting, when he’d thought them an amusing pair of travelers. In this mode they seemed harmless, making wild plans for all the things that they would do with their swagah, the parties they’d throw, the women they’d buy, even the good causes they’d support.

“Men of means must be charitable,” Bush insisted.

“As long as we’re not too charitable,” grumbled Blair.

“I’d say there’s not much danger of that,” Bush laughed.

Jebel almost told them the truth, to spare them. But then he recalled the awful nights in the graveyards, their disregard for the dead, the casual way they had killed, their enslavement of him. As the memories flooded back, his resolve hardened. He put forgiveness and mercy behind him and focused on the dirty job at hand.

When they reached the grassland, Bush and Blair set off ahead of Jebel, jogging eagerly, eyes fixed on the base of the cliff, oblivious to the shadows moving slowly and mysteriously across its rocky face.

Jebel trailed behind the graverobbers, keeping his eyes low in case one of them looked back, saw him gazing at the shadows, and realized something was amiss. He wondered if they’d be collected by Rakhebt Wadak or if they believed in some other god of death. Who collected the spirits of those who didn’t believe in any gods at all, or those who thought that they would be reincarnated?

They slowed as they neared the cliff and looked at Jebel expectantly. “Well?” Bush asked. “Where is it?”

“Give me a moment,” Jebel frowned. “I know the entrance was close to here, but I can’t recall the exact place…”

He took a few steps back. As he retreated, his gaze flickered upwards. He saw that the shadows had converged and were sweeping towards the spot where Bush and Blair were waiting impatiently.

“Perhaps a hot iron applied to the soles of your feet would help,” Blair snapped.

“Hold on,” Jebel shushed him. “It’s close. Just give me a few seconds….” He glanced left and right, pretending to search for the entrance to the fictitious cave. Bush and Blair’s eyes were fixed on the young Um Aineh. They weren’t aware of anything behind them.

The shadow reached the base of the cliff. Jebel took one more step back and abandoned his pretend search. “It’s wrong to steal from the dead,” he said softly.

“Never mind that!” Bush barked.

“The treasure!” commanded Blair.

“There isn’t any,” Jebel said, and pointed behind them. “Unless there’s treasure to be found in the lands of the dead.”

Bush and Blair sensed the danger too late. If they had dived for safety, they might have escaped, but instead they spun around to see what Jebel was pointing at. For a second they gaped at the massive shadow. Then the rock pulsed and snatched them from where they stood.

The pair screamed — their cries muted by the encompassing rock — and thrashed to break free. Bush managed to turn away from the cliff and reached out to Jebel, his face filled with terror, pleading for help. Jebel instinctively raised a hand to grasp Bush and pull him free. But then the rock snapped back into place and hardened, trapping the pair of villainous Masters within its folds.

There was a thin, ghostly cry. “No-o-o-o-o…”

Then silence.

The shadow swirled around its victims for a minute, then split into nine parts and drifted away, leaving the fossilized dead behind.

Jebel studied the rocky remains. Blair’s back was to the boy, barely sticking out of the cliff, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. But Bush was facing him, eyes and mouth wide, hands reaching out to beg for help over the hundreds and thousands of years to follow, until the snow and winds eroded his image.

Jebel stared somberly at Bush’s terrified expression and his extended hands, noting the curl of his fingers, the way his palms tilted upwards. If anyone passed by here in later years, they might think that this was a sculpture carved out of the rock and wonder if it was the representation of some beloved martyr or holy man.

Jebel turned his back on the cliff and the doomed Masters Bush and Blair and trudged down to the caves, where he ate a quiet meal. Then he wrapped up warmly and sat in the gloom, eyes distant, feeling very alone, replaying the death of Bush and Blair over and over in his mind, taking not even a grain of satisfaction from the grisly memories.