The air inside the tomb was musty and stale. A layer of grit dusted the floor, crunching underfoot as they went, and William’s flame revealed two rows of stone coffins separated by a narrow aisle.
“You don’t think Grandpa is…,” said William, laying his hand on one of the rectangular boxes, “I mean, he can’t be—”
“Shush,” said Maxine. “There’s something carved on the lids.”
William held the flame close to the top of the nearest sarcophagus, and then to its matching twin across the aisle.
What is the word?
The tongue’s keen arrow.
“It’s some sort of riddle,” said Maxine, studying the lids. “Questions on one side, answers on the other.”
The match burned low, singeing William’s finger, and he dropped it with a yowl. The girls heard scrabbling in the dark, and then a sharp scratch followed by another yellow flame. They continued down the aisle slowly, reading the lines aloud.
“What is the tongue?
The traitor of the mind,
The blight of the air.
“What is the air?
The sustainer of life.
“What is life?
The joy of the blessed,
The burden of the wretched,
The journey of man.”
They reached the back of the crypt and leaned over the final pair of coffins.
What is man?
The flame sputtered and went out.
“ ‘What is man?’ ” said Nura, prodding William in the back.
“Hold on,” he said. “I have to find another match.”
He struck the light, sheltering it with his hand as it writhed and twisted, and the three of them bent their heads close over the stone slab.
The slave of death,
A wanderer upon the earth,
A traveler passing.
Nura gasped in surprise, and the weak flame flickered, then went out. The crypt was pitched into utter blackness.
“I hate it in here,” muttered Maxine, a mounting terror creeping up her back like a spider under her clothes. She clawed at the buttons on her jacket, which all at once seemed suffocating. “Light another match, Will!”
“That was the last one,” he replied shakily.
“The door shut behind us!” Maxine cried, realizing all at once how foolish they had been. She fumbled her way back toward the entrance.
“We’re trapped!” she said. “I can’t find a handle!”
A voice spoke up in the dark. It belonged to Nura, but the sound of it was cold and strange.
“The way out lies below us,” she said. “Beneath the tomb of the passing traveler, just as the Pigeon told us.”
“What? You mean we have to open up this box?” asked William.
“Of course not!” Maxine burst out. “That’s ridiculous!”
But Nura and William had already found the edge of the lid, and in the darkness Maxine could hear them straining to shift it.
“Well, don’t just stand there, M,” said William. “Give us a hand.”
They all leaned hard against the weight of the lid, and there was a dull grinding sound, a rumble as deep as the planets turning on their axes. The stone slab slid back, and an orange light erupted from the box. Eerie shadows danced hugely on the ceiling of the crypt, and their three faces were cast with a lurid glare as they peered into the tomb. A narrow shaft sank into the ground, empty except for a wooden ladder and a hissing torch lit with a bright flame that fluttered and swayed in the depths below.
They stared down into the pit, their expressions as somber as the figures carved on the outside of the crypt.
William cleared his throat nervously. “Who’s first?” he asked.
At the bottom of the hole they found themselves in the mouth of a tunnel of raw earth. Peering down the passageway, they could see no farther than the next burning torch, but Nura prodded the cousins, and they all ventured in single file, holding on to one another like elephants marching a darkened trail.
Their fingertips brushed against walls of rock and clay as they stumbled over loose stones at their feet, past an endless succession of hissing torches, until it felt as if the tunnel were digesting them, pulling them down to the earth’s very roots.
“We’re lost for sure,” said Maxine.
“But the path has never turned or forked,” Nura replied.
“Well, we’re not under the graveyard anymore, I can tell you that much,” Maxine insisted.
William squinted down the murky tunnel. “How much farther does it go on?” he muttered. But even as he spoke the words the passage widened, ending unexpectedly at a smooth section of hewn stone that looked as if it had been exhumed from long burial. In the middle of the exposed wall stood a heavy wooden door, and branded on the front was a blackened seal: a twelve-pointed star formed of curving daggers.
Nura turned the knob delicately, and the door opened with a creak. Placing a finger to her lips, she motioned for Maxine and William to follow.
They were standing in the mouth of a wide hall that stretched away before them like the nave of a dim cathedral. A scarlet carpet paved the aisle, embroidered with gold vines and blue medallions and the likenesses of serpents and apes. The way was lined on either side with carved pillars that spiraled up into the gloom, each one writ black with words of unknown script and hung with brass lamps that glimmered like flickering tongues. The entire narrow aisle winked with a thousand shifting lights, but outside of the long rows of stone columns to their left and right, the walls of the chamber were lost in shadow.
“What is this place?” whispered Maxine.
“A lair,” answered Nura, padding forward on the carpet. “The hiding place of evil.”
“But it’s deserted.”
“Deserted? Who then tends the torches and the lamps?”
“So where is everybody?” asked William, his voice echoing throughout the hall.
They stopped and turned about, but nothing stirred, and they continued on.
At the far end of the hall, the carpet expired at a flight of three stairs. The children stepped up and passed beneath a covered porch, then halted at a curtain of beaded strands that glittered with colored stones and tiny silver bells.
Nura parted the beads and put her eye to the gap. She hesitated momentarily before gesturing onward.
They stepped through into a room that was smaller than the last. Smaller, but not small; a room without corners; a room of concentric circles. In the middle of this wide rotunda stood a large, round table draped in a coverlet of loosely woven linen, and on its surface sat a claw-footed brazier that burned bright with a purple flame. All along the room’s outer edge was a ring of squat tables scattered with a hundred silken cushions of blue and orange that encompassed the entire chamber.
“Look at the walls,” murmured Maxine, turning slowly.
Nura and William lifted their eyes and beheld a magnificent mural that glinted with gems and hammered gold. Peacocks and leopards wandered among crystal fountains; long tables groaned under platters and bowls piled high with delicacies of every kind; young maidens with pale flowers in their hair reclined beneath ivory pavilions; and high above, crimson pennants waved upon a breeze.
“It looks like some kind of picnic in the park,” said William.
“The Garden of Paradise,” replied Nura. “The eternal reward promised to the Old Man’s followers.”
Set into the muraled wall was a succession of five evenly spaced niches lit with living flames, and between them five arched doorways. Above each arch was the crude symbol of a strange beast: a scorpion, a winged serpent, a two-headed sphinx, a leopard, and a one-armed, one-legged man.
“Which doorway do we choose?” asked Maxine.
“I don’t know. Which one looks like Grandpa might be behind it?”
But even as William spoke the words, Maxine froze and cupped her fingers behind her ear.
Footsteps fell outside the curtain where they had entered.
<
br /> “Someone’s coming!” she whispered, pointing to the hall without.
They all sprang to the middle of the room and leapt beneath the center table, ducking under the linen coverlet just as a knot of men brushed through the beaded curtain. They were clad like desert raiders, in long black cloaks with scarlet sashes double-bound across their chests and staring eyes that burned behind their tightly wound headscarves.
“The fida’i,” whispered Nura in terror as she peered through the gauzy veil of the tablecloth. “The Old Man’s living daggers.”
Among this tight cluster was another pair of figures. Their dress was western, and they seemed entirely out of place among the cloaked fida’i.
Nura, William, and Maxine stared through the sheer fabric at the faces of the two men at the center of the huddle.
“What are they doing here?” whispered William.
It was Binny and the White Rat. Both looked somewhat worse for wear. Binny’s head was held high, but his right eye was swollen shut, and his collar was wet with blood. ST walked in front of him, carrying the leather satchel over his shoulder and taking in his surroundings with a wary eye.
One of the fida’i struck a ringing note on a large bronze bell that hung near the curtain, and by and by a solitary figure emerged on the far side of the chamber through the doorway marked with the winged serpent. He wore a long, pale mantle trimmed in crimson and a carved-ivory breastplate figured with the same twelve-pointed star they’d seen branded on the entrance of the lair. A jeweled dagger hung at his waist, and his hooded eyes brought into the room a palpable dissatisfaction.
The fida’i bent low and laid three fingers across their foreheads.
“It’s him! The specter from the Needle!” whispered William beneath the table. “Is that the Old Man of the Mountain?”
Nura shook her head. “He is the Rafiq, second in command. His silver ring signifies his rank among the Hashashin. He rules the fida’i in the Old Man’s absence.”
“Mr. Benedetti,” said the Rafiq with a corrupt smile. “What an unexpected honor.” He moved close and fingered the wound on Binny’s neck. “As I recall, you scoffed at the suggestion of an alliance last time we spoke,” he said with a frown. “But perhaps you are wiser now. Why resist the rising tide? All the others of your kind have bent the knee in allegiance. The Old Man of the Mountain will rule this city, and someday every realm, in every corner of the earth. You would do well to take him for a master and not an enemy.”
Binny labored to draw a full breath. “The Old Man can shine my shoes if he’d like,” he said with a grunt.
The Rafiq motioned minutely to the fida’i on Binny’s left and right, and they gripped the wounded man’s wrists and spread his arms wide. The Rafiq’s hand dropped casually to the gangster’s waist, and he unfastened his belt buckle, pulling it free, dangling the length of smooth leather limply in his outstretched hand. His face was vacant as he watched it sway, serpentlike, above the floor, as if the movement itself was a fascination.
All at once, he swung it with breathtaking violence, catching the gangster with the buckle just above the eye.
Binny staggered and sank to his hands and knees, blood streaming down his nose and into his mouth.
The Rafiq tugged at the curl of his long goatee and squatted. “The offer still stands. My master would very much appreciate your allegiance.”
Binny licked the blood from his lips and spat defiantly.
“As you like,” said the Rafiq, tossing a ring of heavy keys to one of the fida’i. “Put him away with the colonel. Let them share the same fate.”
Beneath the table, the children’s pulses skipped a beat at the mention of Colonel Battersea.
The fida’i swept out of the round room through the scorpion doorway, taking Binny with them. The chamber was empty now, except for ST and the Rafiq.
“What have you brought me?” asked the Rafiq, crooking a finger toward the leather satchel.
ST’s tongue flicked across his teeth. “I did just like you said. Kept an eye open down at the harbor for the little girl with the checkered scarf. She showed up the other day, and I grabbed the bag.”
Nura and the cousins traded startled glances. The theft of the package had not been a chance encounter after all.
“Indeed?” said the Rafiq, and his eyes glittered. “Aferin! Give it to me.”
“I would’ve brought it to you sooner, but Binny got his mitts on it. He said if you wanted it so bad, then he wanted to know why.” ST presented the bag to the Rafiq with a mock flourish. “You don’t got to worry about him no more, though.” He grinned. “I took care of everything. Now you got Binny and your shiny mirror both, all wrapped up and hand-delivered.”
The Rafiq grasped the satchel, but ST didn’t release it. He gripped it tight and held his ground. “You know, I been thinking,” he said slowly, “maybe Binny has a point. Seems like you want this thing awful bad. Maybe I shouldn’t oughta just hand it over. I ain’t been paid yet for my trouble.”
Unearthly shadows flickered over the Hashashin’s face in the light of the purple flame.
“All in due time,” he said, baring his teeth.
ST stood and pondered his position, measuring up the Rafiq. Reluctantly he surrendered the bag.
The Rafiq’s fingers trembled as he unfastened the buckles and reached inside the satchel. His eyes narrowed and his countenance fell as he groped within.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, withdrawing his hand and grinding a fine powder between his thumb and forefinger. He upended the satchel, and an acrid cascade of cinders and cigar ends spilled onto the floor along with the dirty ashtray.
ST snatched his hat from his head. His face twisted in an imbecilic grin and he staggered backward.
“It—it was those kids!” he stammered. “The girl I took the satchel from. Her and the other one. They showed up at the warehouse today looking for the bag.”
The Rafiq studied the back of his thumb coldly, waiting for the young man to continue.
“We had them all tied up,” said ST. “There was some excitement down at the warehouse, though. Things got a little hot when we went to put Binny in the truck. And when it was all over, the kids was gone. Poof! Just up and disappeared. They must have grabbed your mirror on the way out.”
The Rafiq opened his hands slightly to indicate that such news did not interest him. He walked slowly to the center of the room and laid his hands flat upon the table. Behind the thin linen cover, Nura and the cousins cringed as they stared at his heavy boots.
“The Old Man of the Mountain requires the Eye of Midnight,” he said, his voice calm and composed as he stared into the purple flame. “It is all he thinks of, all he cares for, day and night. It is his most prized possession. And yet you dare to come to me empty-handed, telling stories of magical, disappearing children.”
“I can get it for you,” said ST. He twisted the brim of his smudged white hat and held it close to his chest. “I found the girl before, and I can do it again,” he said, recovering some semblance of his former confidence. “But I risked my neck for your little trinket once already, and I never seen a dime for my trouble.” He set his jaw and did his best to draw himself up to his full height. “So like I said, I think maybe it’s time I get paid.”
A thick vein throbbed in the Rafiq’s temple like a sucking leech. He turned and crossed the room, backing ST toward the wall until his beard almost touched the young thief’s brow. His eye twitched once, and for the time being the children’s view of ST was obscured by the Hashashin’s tall frame.
“Yes,” he snarled. “Receive your reward.” His hand dropped to the jeweled hilt at his waist. “The wages of a fool.”
Through the weave of the linen tablecloth they saw a silver flash as the Rafiq’s clenched fist passed across the White Rat’s throat. He stepped back, and ST swayed gently on his feet, his expression puzzled and glassy, and now the front of his white suit was streaked with a scarlet stain. He looked down a
nd daubed at it clumsily as if it were a soiled necktie. Then he crumpled in a heap, like a marionette whose strings had all been cut in a single pass.
Maxine clapped her hand to her mouth in horror, stifling a gasp, and William and Nura trembled beside her. The Rafiq crouched and wiped his blade clean on the dingy white suit, then rose and withdrew through the door by which he’d come, to the inner recesses of the lair.
William and the girls scrambled out from beneath the table, averting their eyes from the limp form on the far side of the room.
“We must not stay here,” said Nura, adjusting her haversack across her shoulder. “Someone will come to carry away the body.”
She glanced at the dark passage where the fida’i had taken Binny, then crept inside. A moment later she returned, shaking her head.
“There is a locked door within,” she said. “The way is blocked.”
She took one of the brass lamps from its niche in the wall and made a slow circuit of the room, peeking into the other arched doorways. Choosing the opening beneath the sphinx, she disappeared from view.
“In here,” she said, emerging partially and waving them in.
The cousins obeyed, stumbling after her into a gloomy storeroom stacked with basins and crockery. William steadied himself against a heavy butcher’s block and reached for a damp rag slung across a nearby water tap. He pressed it to his forehead and passed it to the girls. Feeling somewhat restored, they turned slowly and glanced about their dim surroundings.
The room was full to bursting with provisions: tall urns and bulging sacks, quarters of smoked meat, long shelves sagging with olives and dates and spices, and countless baskets full of nuts and cheeses and eggs and every other thing.
Nura fell on the food ravenously, pushing bread and raisins into her mouth with both hands. She passed the baskets to William and Maxine, and for a few minutes there were no words, only gulping and chewing with barely a space for breath.
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