Eagerly he removed the message ring and carried it to a high table beneath the guttering torch that lit this solitary room. His breath quickened as he unlatched the ringlet and pried out the thin strip of cut cloth that would contain his message. He unrolled it slowly, his eyes hoping to find the stain of blood that would sanction him to take matters into his own hands here. The cloth was clear and unblemished. He stared at it, unwilling to believe his eyes. He turned it over and over, as if the message he sought was merely hidden from him by a trick of the light.
The cloth was unstained.
Bitterly, he grasped the tiny strip in his clenched fist, angry and frustrated. Perhaps this was not the final order, he chanced. Perhaps this message was meant for another. The Kadi will have birds aloft as well. This bird may have been meant for him.
He went to the window, expecting to see more dark winged messengers wheeling about the tower. He called out, his voice shrill and demanding, but no bird came. The flock had passed on to the west, as they did each night. Only this one gave pause here.
He turned from the window and struck the high table with his balled fist, startling the courier in a flutter of beating wings. The Sheikh had spoken. The cloth was pure and unstained. Perhaps his silence speaks louder than any command he might give. He chooses not to speak on the matter. It could only mean that he wishes to come to this man himself, so that the stranger might pass the discernment of a more careful eye.
Then a thought occurred to the Sami that gave him pause. Exactly! This is exactly what he should have expected; what the Kadi might presume as well. Why else would he threaten the intervention of the Sheikh to stay my hand in this matter? The Kadi knew that the Sheikh would bend his curiosity around this man, and draw nigh to place him beneath his eye. If this man was sent here as an agent of the Order, how better to draw his victim close!
The Sami paced the dusty stone floor of the Eyrie, his voice muttering his thoughts aloud as they gathered shape in his mind. The stranger was an enemy. He has defiled the Well of Souls, sent here by the Order to work some mischief. Now Sinan comes riding home, and right into the web this man must be weaving. It could not be allowed!
With each step he took his restless spirit infected the messenger that had brought him these tidings. The bird’s wings fluttered and beat the still airs of the room. Then it leapt to the lancet window and was gone, soaring up from the high tower to seek the dry winds and the night.
The Sami’s mind seemed to soar with it, spiraling into the darkness overhead. Thoughts came to him on the wind, plans, strategies, strong measures that seemed more imperative to him now than ever. He knew what he must do, but the Kadi would not heed him. The Kadi would not see the danger. He would sweeten this stranger with apricots and dates and honeyed mead. He would soften him with the touch of the chambermaids and hope to loosen his tongue with the likes of Jabr Ali S’ad. He did not perceive the danger. The man has already found the Well, what more might he learn? This stranger was yet another wolf in the fold, but the Kadi thought only to milk him like a goat.
Plans came to him; dark ideas gathered shape and form in his mind. He knew what he must do. For the stranger, he would now take measures into his own hands. He could not expose the Sheikh to this man’s ire and evil eye! He would use the chambermaid for she could bring his wrath to the stranger’s very bedchamber. That would be his simplest task. But the Kadi presented yet another problem. He sought to shame and berate. He was weak, and soft, wavering in his thought. He was no longer rightly guided. For the Kadi’s death, he would have to first prepare the way and sway the minds and hearts of the initiates. There were still too many men in the castle who would bend their knee at the Kadi’s hem. They would need strong argument—persuasion.
He was decided.
He looked at the swatch of cloth in his clenched palm, and then set it lightly upon the high table. Without a moment’s hesitation he drew out the dagger from his sash and pricked the tip of his thumb. He waited until the blood welled there, and deftly used the point of his dagger to dab two small drops on the unstained cloth. He smiled, for this was now the very message he expected! What else could he do but obey?
Yet others would not be so easily persuaded. There was a room at the base of the high tower that would serve his need well. He had dug there a deep pit, just wide enough for a man to stand upright so that his head would protrude from the cavity in the hard stone floor. Now he knew what he should do.
First the woman!
Without another thought he rushed to the arched doorway of the keep and opened the bolt with a dry scrape. Two guards would be waiting for him at the base of the winding stair. They were two of his most loyal servants, sworn to fealty, even unto death, his faithful Fedayeen. He rushed down the stair, his robes rustling over the smooth steps as he went.
“Bring me the harlot!” he ordered. “You will find her in the chamber of greeting. The one called Samirah. Then go to the initiates where they sleep and seek a man yea high. His head will just reach your shoulder. Go quickly! Time flees, and danger has come upon us all.”
Part V
Tempting Fate
“The Fates lead the willing—and drag the unwilling.”
13
Nordhausen was more shocked than hurt by the blow. The leader of the Arab band still fixed him with a darkly threatening stare, his eyes searching, as though trying to decide what to do with him now that he had trespassed upon this secret lair in Wadi Rumm. What was so important about this place? There were a hundred caves like this scoring the striated flanks of the canyon walls. What was so special about this one? Perhaps these men had secreted away a cache of weapons. Before the professor could react the man strode forward and snatched up the flashlight.
“Move,” he said curtly. “Inside!”
Now what, thought Nordhausen? Does he mean to get us neatly out of sight so he can do us in? Given the circumstances, however, it seemed wise to comply. He needed to ascertain Paul’s whereabouts and status. The unaccountable silence in the cave was disturbing, and he wondered what could have happened to his friend. No doubt the Arabs were wondering the same. The first guard had returned with a shrug, so it was clear that Paul had not been found. Perhaps he had sized up the situation and was hiding in some darkened nook of the cave, waiting for an opportunity to do something.
They worked their way back into the throat of the cave, with the leader close behind the professor and the two guards hugging the walls. “If you value your life, and that of your friend,” he said “then you will convince him to show himself—and quickly!” His voice seemed very edgy, almost rattled. Why should he be so upset about this, Nordhausen wondered?
He called out for Paul again, but to no avail. Either he was stubbornly hiding, or something had happened to him. Could he have wandered off into another series of caverns? Nordhausen turned to his captor with a look on his face that was half apologetic and half bemused.
“He was just through that cleft,” he pointed. “We heard water and I went back for my canteen.”