by Jeff Gunhus
“I’d feel a little better if we split up,” T-Rex said, looking guilty. “Sorry, Will. But Eva and Daniel are third degree hunters. And Jack is…well, Jack.”
Will loosened up. “OK, I guess you’re right. I can hold my own though,” he added.
“I agree,” Eva said. “That’s why I think you should be with Jack.” She pointed the hook attached to her wrist at me. “That needs to be our strongest team because if there’s an attack, he’s who they’re going to go after.”
Daniel nodded. “Exactly. Like you said, that should be the strongest team. Either you or I should be with Jack. The initial assault, if there is one, will be brutal.”
Eva shook her head. “No, each team needs one of the strongest fighters so there is no weak link.”
“I don’t agree,” Daniel said, his voice rising. “And why are you always contradicting my ideas?”
“The better question would be, why are you always wrong?” Eva said, standing her ground. “Ever think about that?”
I held up my hand, the one with the Templar Ring on it, and they both fell silent. “We’ll do it Eva’s way. Will with me. Eva and T-Rex. Daniel and Xavier. We move out in five minutes. Let’s get ready.”
Eva smiled and Daniel looked away. He clenched his jaw, but he didn’t argue my decision. By some unspoken agreement, everyone understood that this was my mission and my word was final. I used the power with care and tried to ask for advice every step of the way. But a group our size needed someone to be the leader and cut through the split decisions. Otherwise we would still be back in the French Alps trying to decide on the best route to the coast. I was quickly learning that authority freely given has its limits, and I could sense Daniel chaffing against being shown up in front of Eva. I made a note to step more carefully.
“You better get dressed,” Daniel called after her. “Because I think we’re in for some fun today.” He looked at me seriously. “I hope whatever this guy can tell us is worth the risk we’re taking.”
“Aquinas assured me it was,” I said.
“But she wouldn’t tell you why?” he asked.
I shrugged. Daniel had asked these questions many times over the last week. I chalked it up to nervous energy. We all expected trouble today. “She said it was worthwhile but that we must be careful. Whoever this man is, he may not react well to us finding him.”
Daniel grunted. Maybe it was his turn to wonder why I was repeating information he already knew.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
He nodded and headed to the next room to put his armor under his clothes. I turned and walked back out on the balcony and gazed over the low buildings stretching in front of me, a warren of narrow streets and dark shadows. Using my trained eyes of a monster hunter, I no longer saw the beauty of the ancient city glowing red in the sunrise. Instead, all I saw were traps, chokepoints, and likely places where we could be ambushed.
I was with Daniel. I hoped Aquinas was right that all this was worth the risk we were taking. I pulled on a traditional Arabic thobe, the gown worn by men in the area, over my clothes. Next, I wrapped a scarf around my head so it covered my face. I tightened the strap of my armor under my shirt a little more and took a deep breath. We’d know soon enough.
Chapter Three
The souk was alive with frantic energy. The city that had appeared so quiet from above was a living, breathing beast up close. Crowds seemed to have materialized out of nowhere and now filled every road and pathway. Goods piled up on tables spilled out into the walkways, and shopkeepers stood watch, shouting in Arabic to nobody in particular, trying to attract interest.
The buildings rose two or three floors over the market, and most of the windows or balconies held people looking down at the crowd below. In places, the alleys were so narrow that it looked as if the buildings might bend together and touch near the top. In fact, large swaths of bright cotton sheeting were suspended over the street, tied at the corners by rope that stretched to balconies on either side. This provided shade and also created a festive look. Not that the market needed any help. A souk in Marrakech is a complete sensory overload.
Exotic smells filled the air. Everything from exotic spices to the scent of strange meats being cooked on open fires. As we walked past a stall filled with bronze trinkets, a monkey lunged forward, coming out of nowhere, running at us until the chain around its neck jerked it back with a shriek. There was a dizzying parade of street performers, jugglers, snake charmers, fortune-tellers, pickpockets and religious zealots, all vying for the patronage of loose coins.
Lucky for us, the souk was a popular place for tourists as well as locals. While many of the men also dressed in thobes, there was a strong European influence and many shopkeepers wore pants and button-down shirts along with hundreds of Western tourists in blue jeans, shorts and t-shirts. Will adjusted his thobe next to me.
“We didn’t have to wear these gowns,” he grumbled through his scarf. “We could have passed as tourists.”
Despite telling myself not to do so in case there were enemies watching our movements, I reached to my side and felt the comforting presence of my sword strapped to my leg. “You’re forgetting that these robes let us carry our weapons with us,” I said.
Will looked at the flurry of activity surrounding us. “We could have walked around with our swords balanced on our noses. Everyone’s too busy to notice us.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” I said.
The narrow alley we were in branched into three directions. I turned around and searched the crowd behind me until I saw Eva and T-Rex. She was dressed in a black burka with a full veil. The fashion for Moroccan women was more relaxed than other parts of the Arab world, but there were other women in the traditional garb. Beside her, T-Rex ambled along, inspecting each street cart filled with food with great interest. It was either a great performance on his part, or he was getting hungry. Either way, it helped them blend in.
I tilted my head to indicate that we were taking the street to the far right. Eva gave me a barely perceptible nod of the head and then turned to pass the word to Daniel and Xavier bringing up our rear.
We had been on the Rue Sumaine up to this point, the main avenue in the souk. Based on the directions Aquinas had given me, we were about to go deeper in the maze by taking this side alley.
Sure enough, the alley grew narrower the farther we went. Thin wood slats stretched from building to building over us, creating a false sense of a roof overhead. On closer look, these pieces of wood were so old and thin that a fat pigeon landing on them might fall right through. Brilliant sun poured in through the space between the slates, giving the alley an odd light and even stranger shadows.
The types of vendors changed too. The shops in the main area had catered to tourists. Most of them had similar items for sale; brass trinkets, postcards, cheap rugs, plaster casts of famous Moroccan landmarks. Here though, the shops were more specialized and geared toward the locals. One shop held nothing but antique watches. Another displayed beautiful camelhair carpets. There was one with intricate woodcarvings. One sold bags full of fragrant spices. While some of the braver tourists made it this far back, the crowd in this area definitely had a more local feel to it.
“How much farther?” Will asked.
“Still a ways,” I replied. “Why? Did you see something?”
“No,” Will said sheepishly. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
I stopped to look at him. “Are you serious?”
“Don’t worry. I can hold it…I think,” he said.
I saw a flash of movement behind me and spun around. It was Eva taking a defensive position behind us. Farther back I saw Daniel and Xavier do the same. I scanned the area to see what they were reacting to until I suddenly realized they were reacting to Will and me stopping. We had covered a lot of different hand signals, but we hadn’t thought of one for someone having to go to the bathroom. I gave a small shake of my head to indicate everything was all ri
ght. Will turned away, red-faced.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s keep going.”
We made our way deeper into the souk. This drew more stares from the other people in the street since fewer and fewer tourists ventured this far back. Even though we wore traditional robes and headdresses, it seemed like everyone knew we were strangers. There was nothing menacing in the looks, just idle curiosity from the hopeful shopkeepers who thought we might have money to spend. We were several blocks into this area before I saw the face.
It appeared in a window at foot-level, probably opening to a cellar. The window was crusted with dirt and grime from the street and had rusty security bars across it. Maybe because of all this I didn’t realize the face was even there until it suddenly jerked back in the dark and left the window empty. It was like catching the quick movement of an animal in the forest. It’s so quick that you’re not even sure what you saw.
But in my mind’s eye I saw a snapshot of the face. Actually, just the eyes that stared at us. They burned a bright yellow like some cats’ eyes in the dark, only the pupils were thin horizontal lines more like those of a goat. I couldn’t make out any details of the face itself, but the eyes were framed by grey skin, an unnatural color like the ashes of an old campfire. Unless the locals stored goats in their basements, we had a Creach problem.
I tried not to show any surprise or break stride, but I must have tensed somehow because Will leaned in and whispered, “Did you see something?”
I risked a glance back at the window. The face was gone. “I think so,” I whispered back. “It’s gone now.”
“Creach?” Will asked.
I nodded. “But I can’t be sure.”
“Great. And I was just starting to enjoy our little stroll,” he said, searching the balconies and the roofline above us for signs of trouble.
“It might be nothing,” I said. “I only saw it for a second.” I placed my hand on my head in an exaggerated gesture to signal the others behind us that we’d spotted Creach activity. I didn’t look back to see if Eva saw me or not. I knew she was watching my every move, her mini-crossbow cocked and ready to fire under the gown she wore. Looking back would only tip off any Creach watching us that Will and I weren’t alone. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”
We hustled down the alley. The hair on my neck stood up as I felt like dozens of eyes now followed us from the shadows. I carefully scanned each new area we entered, on the lookout for yellow eyes, but I saw nothing. I couldn’t shake the sense that every time I looked at a hiding place I was catching the last split-second of movement, like turning the light on in a dark room as something scurries into its hole. Your mind tells you it was a mouse. Or maybe just your imagination. I had that same feeling over and over again as we walked through the souk. I couldn’t decide whether I was seeing things or if a band of Creach monsters was about to ambush us.
I reached into my robe and felt the hilt of my sword at my side. The leather wrap and the cool steel steadied my nerves as we picked our way through the crowd.
Finally, we found the landmark Aquinas had told me about in her hasty directions. She warned me that she hadn’t been to Marrakech in over a decade, but she felt certain that the Al-Ebrahim would still be there. It was a decent assumption given that the coffeehouse had been on the same street corner for over two hundred years.
It was a simple but sturdy building, with wide archways around outdoor patios in a roped off section of the street. Small wood tables filled the space surrounded by chairs of rough wood and woven straw seats. Plants hung from pots in the center of each archway and filled planters in the patio. Giant fans circled lazily overhead. Men sipped coffee from small white cups as they read from newspapers, played backgammon, or watched the people outside.
I looked up above the coffeehouse and saw two more stories above the main floor. Here there were no archways, just rectangular windows with bars and dark wooden shutters closed behind them. The bars stood out because they were the only windows on the street that had them. They seemed ancient and part of the charm of the building, so I doubted they attracted too much attention. I wondered whether they were designed to keep people in or to keep monsters out. Either way, we had reached our destination.
“Is that it?” Will asked. “Doesn’t look like much.”
“Aquinas once told me some of the best secrets were to be found in the old coffeehouses,” I said.
“I would have thought it would be taverns,” he said with a smile.
I looked behind us and saw Eva and T-Rex nonchalantly walk up the opposite side of the road from us, browsing the goods in the shops as they passed. While Eva looked calm and natural, T-Rex walked stiffly, his hand gestures too pronounced as he pointed out souvenirs to Eva. I could tell he was nervous but he was holding it together pretty well.
Farther back, Daniel and Xavier had stopped and bought some bottled water from a vendor. As Daniel tilted his head back to take a drink, he used it as an opportunity to study the building. We made eye contact for a split second and he gave me a nod of the head. We were ready.
“Come on, Will,” I said. “Showtime.”
We walked across the street and entered the coffeehouse. With all the plants and the fan going, it felt five to ten degrees cooler inside, a little sanctuary away from the dusty bustle of the street outside. Several customers gave us sidelong glances but quickly went back to minding their own business. An old Arab man stood behind a bar of polished wood, hunched over as if his spine had twisted like a tree’s gnarled root. He had a thick torso and a large, square-jawed face that had been ravaged by the sun and wrinkled like an old map. White tufts of hair stuck out from under a cap.
He was cutting lemons into quarters with a knife much too large for the job. But I was most struck by the size of his hands. They were like massive paws, each probably capable of palming my head and plucking me off the ground. The fingers were thick but bent in odd shapes as if they have been broken and left to mend on their own. The man didn’t bother looking up, so I couldn’t see his eyes.
“Sit where you want,” he said gruffly in English with a faint Arabic accent. “Be there in a minute.”
I dug into my pocket and took out the copper coin Aquinas had given me. I placed it on the counter and slid it toward him. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the man barely glanced up at the coin and continued to cut his lemons.
“Eh? What’s that for?” he grumbled.
“I’m looking for a man,” I said, a little unnerved. Aquinas had told me showing that coin here would get a reaction. Boredom wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. “I was told I could find him here.”
The man grinned, grabbed another lemon and continued to slice. He gave a quick nod to the customers seated in the café. “There you go. All men in here this time of day. You can have your pick.”
Will let out a small groan beside me. I felt the same way. This was getting us nowhere fast. We had traveled hundreds of miles for this moment and it wasn’t going quite the way I’d hoped.
“No,” I leaned in, whispering. “I’m looking for one man in particular. A great hunter.”
This got the first decent reaction from the man. He stopped cutting and his eyes narrowed. He looked puzzled.
“A hunter?” he whispered back. “You mean, like birds and such?”
“No, a hunter,” I said, emphasizing the word and raising my eyebrows for extra punch.
The old man looked more serious. He looked around to make sure no one else was listening and then waved me closer. I leaned as far as I could toward him. “You’re looking for Gregor,” he whispered.
I felt a jolt pass through me. That was exactly who I was looking for. “Yes,” I answered excitedly. “Gregor.” The old man looked at me sharply and motioned for me to keep my voice down. I stole a glance around us, suddenly feeling like everyone in the café was trying to hear our conversation. I leaned in closer to the old man. “We traveled a very long way to see him. Do you know where he is?�
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“Perhaps, but which Gregor do you seek?” the old man whispered. “Is it Gregor the Terrible? Or Gregor the Dark Hunter?” He pulled back, his voice gaining volume with each new name. Worse, his tone had changed. He was making fun of us. “Or Gregor the Merciless? Or perhaps you want Gregor the Impaler?” He was speaking loudly now, and the customers were turning in their seats to see what the commotion was about. I tried to hush the old man but he was on a roll. Now each name was accompanied with rolling laughter. “Or Gregor the Infidel? Gregor the Maligned?”
“What’s going on here?” Will asked nervously.
“You boys have been had, I’m afraid,” the old man said. He pointed to a sign we hadn’t noticed when we first walked into the café. It was a crude hand drawn image of a man holding a sword with words scratched below it that made my stomach drop.
Sorry, Gregor doesn’t live here.
The other men in the café all joined in laughing and pointing at us. I couldn’t understand much because they mostly spoke Arabic, but I did hear the name Gregor over and over. My face heated up as I realized we were the center of an enormous joke.
I grabbed the coin off the bar. “There must have been some kind of mistake. Come on, Will. We’re going.”
“Hold on,” the old man said. “Just having a little fun.”
“Yeah, hilarious,” Will snapped.
“It’s been a few months since the last group of earnest young men came looking for Gregor,” the old man said. “It’s just a red herring. A ruse.”
Will and I looked at him blankly, still not sure what he meant.
“Sorry boys, but someone’s having a little fun with you,” the old man said. “There was a book written a long time ago that said a great monster hunter named all the names I said, and many more, lived here in this café. But it was just a fairytale story, nothing more. I can’t tell you how many schoolboys have showed up over the years looking for this ghost, this legend.”
“Wait,” Will said. “So you’re saying this guy Gregor never existed?”