The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar

by Graham Diamond

  “You mean I should run — while your forces bring destruction upon an entire civilisation.”

  “They are our enemies,” Tamerlane said quietly.

  “All of them? The women, the children who have never even seen a Hellixian, much less opposed you? No, Tamerlane. I cannot so easily turn my back on them. Even if you are right, even if their history has indeed been the cause of your suffering. No. I have my own obligations to fulfil, just as you do.”

  The fish man looked at his companion, his body as spare and austere as his face, his eyes grim and liquid. His first reaction was to sneer at the surface man’s pride, at his display of emotion. But then his anger subsided, replaced by the calm rationality he was so noted for among his people. There was a weariness, also, brought on by advancing age and the realisation that there was still so much to accomplish in so little time. “You understand what will be the result if you choose to disregard my warning, don’t you?”

  Looking him unflinchingly in the eye, Aladdin nodded. “Most likely I shall die standing beside those I have vowed to save. I cannot meet your conditions, Tamerlane.”

  “Is the sacredness of life so meaningless to you?”

  Aladdin laughed caustically. “Life is more important to me now than ever before,” he answered. But there was no way he could explain to the old fish man how much had happened to him and changed him in these past few years. How, not very long ago, he was all spit and fire, an adventurer’s adventurer, ready and willing to meet any adversary head-on, rather than accept the defeat of a cause he believed in. But the hot-headedness of youth had passed; he now sought no more than to live peacefully, with a wife and children beside him.

  “I do not wish to see you die, Aladdin. That is why I impose my conditions. Such a death would rest heavily upon me. A terrible waste. Cinnabar is not your home; you owe it no allegiance. Will you not reconsider?”

  “I can’t, Tamerlane. Like yourself, I have my own commitments.” He reached out and touched the older man on his shoulder, saying, “But I ask of you again, is there no way to reconcile the differences between your noble peoples? Come to terms, grant Cinnabar the same chance for life and freedom you ask for your own people?”

  Tamerlane heaved a great sigh. “It is not possible. Would that it were, Aladdin! Even as we sit speaking, Cinnabar positions its forces against us. Its army moves to the Outland, its submersibles wait in abeyance along the ancient demarcation lines. Yes, and our swimmers also close in around them. The battle cannot be stopped — not even by you. Our world is too corrupt.”

  The old fish man would not be moved, no matter how hard Aladdin tried. Still, there was too much at stake not to try, he knew. “Then at least allow me the opportunity to speak with Cinnabar’s leaders. They know me, respect me. If I can return, I will relate our discussion, perhaps convince them the war can be stopped.” He implored the old fish man, but Tamerlane remained unmoved.

  “You are a brave and well-intentioned man, Aladdin-of-the-surface. You speak plainly, from the heart. A quality to be admired. I would have liked to have one such as you as a friend.”

  “But we can be friends. We can.”

  He shook his head. “No, Aladdin. I fear you have come to the water world centuries too late. Hellix shall survive. Cinnabar is doomed. Cinnabarians are corrupt and have sealed their own fate.” He said this with an air of finality, making it clear that further protestations on Aladdin’s part would fall upon deaf ears.

  Aladdin stiffened. “Then you understand the part I must play? To try and save Cinnabar from your promise?”

  Tamerlane inclined his head. “I do. It is the role you were brought here for — ”

  “Then I must consider myself your enemy.”

  The old fish man was saddened; he turned away from the earnest younger man. “You came to the water world as a foe, so I suppose it is fitting that you leave this way also.” The gravity of his tone was unmistakable.

  “Then you release me of your conditions? I’m still free to return to Cinnabar — knowing what must happen?”

  “You are free.”

  “What about Shara, my pilot?”

  Tamerlane hesitated. The woman was his avowed enemy. A scientist whose sole function in life was to find ways to counter the efforts of his people. As such, she was a dangerous enemy indeed. After a thoughtful pause, he lifted his webbed hand and waved it imperiously. “She can no longer do us harm,” he said. “Take her. She is free to leave as well, and I shall instruct her guards to that effect.” He stood and faced Aladdin with his hands behind him. “She has been taken below the lakes to our city. Swimmers will bring her to you, then escort you both back to your turtle. You will find the craft untampered with; I give my word.”

  “Your word was never doubted, Tamerlane.”

  The fish man, scion of so many generations of his people, stared long and hard at the puzzling stranger from the surface. Without anger, he said, “Good-bye, Aladdin. We shall not be seeing one another again.”

  “I’m sorry it had to turn out this way,” Aladdin told him.

  With a nod, Tamerlane replied, “So am I.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Sir, we have a sighting on the screen,” said the serious young officer.

  Rufio turned sharply and walked across the pilot’s compartment. The ship was dark in silent running, the hum of the rotors barely audible. He peered, from the aft window, into the dark water ahead. Tightening his eyes, conscious of the quickening beat of his heart, he waited with baited breath. The Green Line submersible came to a full halt, hovering only a few fathoms above the crusty seabed.

  “Edging closer,” came the voice of the second officer at the control panel.

  “Dammit man, I can’t see a thing!” barked Rufio. “Where?”

  “Eight points off starboard, sir. Tracking this way at ten knots.”

  Rufio clenched his fists and his teeth. These were dangerous waters, far from the rim of the Outer Circle and Cinnabar’s safety net. Total precaution was needed, despite the fact that this ship was one of the largest, and potentially the most punishing, in the fleet.

  He grew tense at seeing the distant amber flicker. “Identity?” he said, keenly observing its flash through the darkness.

  “Too soon to be certain, sir. But she’s solid iron, sir. Has to be one of ours.” As he spoke, the knot of senior officers on duty gathered around the Legion Commander, each staring out intently.

  “Could be a trick,” someone mumbled. “One of ours commandeered by the other side.”

  “What distance now?” demanded Rufio.

  “Quarter league and closing. Shall we switch on the pods?”

  Rufio ground his teeth. “Not yet. Hold until one eighth distance.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “We have red lights on, sir,” called the younger officer. “What message shall I send?”

  “Only the usual, Captain.”

  The military craft’s message blinker was turned on; the pilot’s compartment glowed intermittently as the red beam flashed its coded message. Rufio held his breath as he waited for a response. He read the return code series himself, letter by letter.

  “T-U-R-T-L-E T-H-R-E-E A-C-A-D-E-M-Y...”

  A great cheer went up in the stuffy compartment. “It’s them, sir!” cried the jubilant captain.

  Rufio grimaced, barking gruffly, “Switch on the pods.”

  White light exploded in front of the ship. Hanging in the distance, she came, Shara’s scientific turtle, looking worn and faded but fully intact.

  “Ask them if they need assistance. If they don’t, instruct the pilot to proceed alongside until we clear Free-zone.”

  The officer beamed. “Aye, aye, sir!”

  A minute later the turtle was directly off the portside bow, and both ships, steam engines humming, made a hasty retreat toward the safety of Cinnabar.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Against the backdrop of a strawberry sky heralding the arrival of darkout,
the verandas of the Grand Ballroom of the Pavilion glimmered with light. A perfect evening for the wedding gala, the marriage of Legion Commander Rufio to the lovely widow of one of the Privy Council’s most respected members. And also, by fortuitous timing, the proper setting for Cinnabar to welcome home its most important guest, Aladdin.

  The Ballroom was huge; nearly a hundred meters long and half as wide. Its oval ceiling was supported by no less than two dozen pilasters, each of which was colourfully decorated with heraldic insignias of Cinnabar’s great families. Gleaming black marble tablets bore names inscribed in silver and likenesses of historical figures, men and women of outstanding achievement. The most recent additions, however, were the names of famous soldiers; great heroes who had fought Cinnabar’s costly wars and kept her free.

  A military orchestra was on hand for the gala, its members spic and span in their ceremonial uniforms, playing sweet and melodious music while hundreds of couples swayed gracefully across the tiled dance floor. So many had been invited to attend that the magnificent chamber was cramped. Here, come to pay respect to Rufio and his bride — as well as to get a chance to see and converse with the surface adventurers — were the cream of Cinnabar’s elite. Dowagers and matrons in sari-like gowns of satin, younger wives of the nobility, daughters of ranking officers and War Room High Command staff, all fashionably displaying their priceless baubles and heirlooms. In their coiffed and ribboned hair, necklaces of blue sodalite and white pearls around their necks, enchanting earrings of jade and twists of dangling gold, they laughed merrily at the jokes of their husbands and suitors and danced the evening away.

  A veritable relay of tailored servants smilingly took away cloaks and capes and lavender shawls as new arrivals further cluttered the hall. Rufio himself, garbed in his finest uniform, replete with white sash and a chestful of medals, stood greeting every one after the majordomo’s announcement. He ushered the guests inside with hearty smiles and a politician’s flattery, beaming proudly at the coup of his marriage. Garlands of Cinnabarian flowers had been tossed after the ceremony in a blizzard of colour. A choir had sung, his friends had applauded. Truly, tonight was his triumph — made all the more victorious by his swift finding of the missing Aladdin, already written off as dead by many.

  For tonight, at least, all rivalry and backbiting was put aside and forgotten. This was the grandest affair to be held within recent memory. The leaders and future leaders, shapers and keepers of Cinnabar, all mingled in unity with an elegance and camaraderie at other times lacking. Toasts of goodwill reigned. Not even Rufio seemed disturbed that it was Aladdin who stole so much of the attention.

  “How handsome he is,” muttered some of the prim dowagers as they observed the tanned adventurer giving his account of the bizarre encounter with Tamerlane, acknowledged leader of the fish men.

  “Yes, and unmarried,” commented another, fanning herself, thinking of how she might entice the brave guest to meet a favourite niece.

  Aladdin sipped of Neptune’s Elixir, that heady brew he had first tasted aboard Shaman’s Cinnabar-bound ship, held his hand-sculpted glass high and joined in the succession of toasts in his honour. At his side, steady as a rock, stood the bear. Christóbal was the most delighted of all to have his capitán back safe and sound, and he was unperturbed by the bevy of full-bosomed lovelies that circled around like flies.

  “This fellow, Tamerlane, then,” the senior privy Council staff member addressing Aladdin frowned with open distaste, “actually conceded that his hope is to govern a race of fish?”

  “Not exactly,” Aladdin said, trying to explain.

  “Well I find it disgusting,” croaked an elderly, pompous ranking official. “Hear, hear!” chimed many around him, taken aback by the primitive if not barbaric plans of their enemies. “Shed themselves of humanness! How revolting,” they said. Another added, “I’ve always maintained they aren’t human. We should have destroyed the lot of them when we had the chance.”

  Aladdin looked about in frustration. He had been hoping to engage these petty officials in a meaningful dialogue — if not convince them of the rightness of Tamerlane’s vision, then at least make them understand and want to come to terms with the alien enemy. Instead, he had met with derision. They were giving no more serious attention to Hellixian ambitions than the cultured philosophers of ancient Athens might have given to a band of jungle head-hunters.

  “This fellow Tamerlane can’t really be serious, old boy,” interjected Crispin. The young adjutant stood aside with a full goblet in one hand and a decanter in the other. “Does he expect us to buy his silly hogwash about ‘ruling the water world’?”

  A Privy Council member guffawed. “Don’t concern yourself. Old Flavius and his legion will send these frogs packing. Eh, what, Flavius?”

  The old Commander, walking stick in hand, remaining characteristically aloof from the conversation, merely smiled at the question. Aladdin could tell that only Flavius was taking news of Tamerlane’s vows seriously. Abhorring politicians in the same way Rufio did, he saw them for what they were: dreamers at best, fools at worst.

  “I say then,” went on Crispin, “it’s true that these fish men actually live beneath the dark lakes?”

  “Apparently so. Tamerlane says they have a city, but I doubt it’s what we think of as a city.”

  “A pity you didn’t get a first-hand view,” someone said.

  “Yes. A fish-eye view,” remarked someone else.

  “Well, I still think it’s horrible, horrible,” said the dowager, fanning herself. “And the Council — especially Damian — should issue an edict at once to do something drastic.”

  “My dear lady,” said a tight-lipped political hanger-on, “don’t excite yourself over a mere story. Save such passion for reality.”

  Aladdin glared at the wispy man. “This isn’t a mere story; these people are very real. Just ask any front-line commander who’s had to fight them.”

  The politico blanched. “You sound as if you’re taking their side,” he grumbled.

  “No, I’m not.”

  A consoling hand was placed on Aladdin’s shoulder, as a voice said soothingly, “Our surface friend is only trying to drive home his point, isn’t that so?” All eyes turned toward Damian, who had just come into the Ballroom and was heading straight for the heated conversation.

  Damian looked the picture of aristocracy, dressed in his most resplendent robes of office. The soldiers in the group snapped to attention at the sight of the Privy Councillor; the politicians stood stiff and mute. “I look forward to your full report,” Damian said to Aladdin.

  “I’d be glad to give it to you personally,” rejoined Aladdin. At least with thoughtful Damian, he knew he could count on a serious hearing.

  “But already it sounds like a gloomy one,” said Damian, frowning now, rubbing the side of his nose. Behind him the jester pranced.

  A few smiled; others chuckled. But there was something forced about the festive mood, Aladdin realised. Despite the bravado and typical assurances of invincibility it seemed few Cinnabarians had really been able to shed the mantle of underlying fatalism.

  “Well, let them come,” Crispin was saying as Aladdin returned his attention to the group around him. “They’ll find out a thing or two about resilience.”

  “Hear, hear!” came the cry.

  Damian turned toward the new additions to the group. Shuffling along characteristically, looking more ill than ever, came Shaman, with his daughter on his arm. The girl looked radiant; garbed in a soft yellow sari, her hair pinned with a magnificent silver and mother-of-pearl brooch, her slender arms jangling with stunning bracelets, she curtsied graciously before Damian. Then she gave her hand to Crispin and several other officers, and grinned broadly at Aladdin. This was the first time the adventurer had seen her — as well as his enemy, Shaman — since returning to Cinnabar. Her loveliness and vitality was in such contrast to the deteriorated condition of the old man that, by comparison, Shaman appeared to be even
more frail than he actually was. Aladdin suddenly found himself feeling pity for the dying emissary.

  The conversation resumed. Shara chatted gaily with a few of the younger officers and their wives, and completely immersed herself in the festivities. She made her way toward Aladdin, then to him quietly, said, “Perhaps we could have a word alone.” Her smile belied the seriousness of her tone.

  Nodding, Aladdin’s eyes drifted toward the huge doors leading onto the balcony. As a senior War Room commander gravely told about the new defence ring being placed at the Green Line, Aladdin whispered to Christóbal, “Cover for me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” With drink in hand, cheerily smiling and mouthing hellos to well-wishers and other officials who tried to collar him for a few moments, he made his way to the terrace. Shara was already there when he arrived.

  The shadows of darktime, along with the glow of the city lights below, left the girl looking like a caliph’s dream. Aladdin took her hand and closed it inside his. Dark sky looked like velvet above; the only thing missing was the stars. He kissed her briefly on the cheek, saying, “You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight.”

  Shara blushed. “And I see that you’re the centre of attention. Poor Rufio; this was supposed to be his evening, you know. I hope he’s not angry at you.”

  Aladdin made a flippant gesture. “Stuff Rufio,” he said. They both laughed. Then Shara became serious.

  “What’s the matter?” asked the adventurer. “Have the military boys been giving you a hard time? Blaming you or interrogating — ”

  She shook her head. “It isn’t that; I can handle them well enough. It’s just that — ”

  His eyes narrowed with uncertainty. Neptune’s Elixir had left him feeling good, better than he had for a long while. Now, Shara’s seriousness was quickly tugging him back to grim reality.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear the argument,” she said.